The Tin Collector

Chapter 42

Shane didn't want to attempt a B amp;E in broad daylight, so they went back to Alexa's apartment to wait for the sun to go down.

He felt dirty and tired as he sat on her snow-white sofa. Mayweather's confession had darkened his mood, driving his spirit down without producing Chooch.

Shane had always considered police work a noble calling, where Blue Centurions defended the public, upholding society's laws. The slogans reverberated in his mind: Protect and Serve; Reverence for the Law; Integrity in Word and Action. His oath made seventeen years ago while holding his head and right hand high now seemed hollow and meaningless. "J recognize the badge of my office as a symbol of public faith and I accept it as a public trust to be held so long as I am true to the ethics of police service."

Years on the job had shown him that police work was a flawed occupation at best, its participants on a narrowing, cynical path toward destroying the very thing they had pledged to uphold. Mayweather's crimes made Shane as dirty as if he had committed them himself.

"Is it okay if I take a shower?" he asked Alexa, hoping that maybe a long, hot soaking would wash the feeling away.

"Sure," she said. "I was just thinking the same thing, but you go first."

Shane heard a sadness in her voice that matched his own. He got up and walked into the bathroom, closed the door, and looked at himself in the mirror. The face staring back at him was tired and craggy and didn't resemble what he'd come to expect. The change worried him. He stripped off his shirt, pants, shoes, socks, and underwear, then turned on the shower and waited for it to get hot. Shane stepped in and stood under its steaming spray. He looked up at the nozzle, his eyes squinting as the spray bounced hard pff his face and hot water filled his mouth. He was dirty in places it could not reach.

"You want, I'll do your laundry. I'll throw it in the machine with mine," he heard Alexa call from outside the bathroom.

"Good. Thanks. I tossed 'em next to the sink," he shouted back. Then, through the frosted shower door, he saw her step into the bathroom, retrieving his clothes. He turned his back, pinching his eyes shut, trying to blank out his troubled thoughts, when, almost before he knew what was happening, the frosted glass door opened and Alexa was in the shower with him, standing there naked, the steam turning her beautiful body slick with its moisture.

"Move over, you're hogging the spray," she said.

"What're you doing?" Shane's mind was doing flip-flops.

"I feel… I feel…" she stopped, then looked up at him "like I don't exist… like I don't even want to."

"Me, too," he said softly.

"I thought if we…" She stopped. "Bad idea…"

Shane didn't say anything, just took her into his arms and held her. As her wet body slid up against him, for the first time in days he felt the tension disappear; the knot in his stomach released as they stood locked in a cathartic embrace. They remained like that for a long time holding each other, feeling each other's comfort and warmth. Then Shane felt his desire for her swelling and pushing between her legs, proving that he was still alive, still a man; perhaps all his failures of the past week could somehow be forged into a new beginning. He desperately wanted to start over. Then he felt her clutching him, pulling him closer, and was overtaken by a desire for her that was so intense, it brought tears to his eyes. "Is this right?" he said, asking for absolution, permission, and maybe directions all at the same time.

"Shut up," she whispered.

And then they were caressing each other in the steaming shower, Shane's mouth covering hers, his body pushing her back against the wet tiles on the wall of the small shower, kissing with abandon, feeling each other's warmth. Suddenly she pulled herself up, wrapping her arms around his neck, bringing her legs up around his waist. While she clung to him, he entered her, slowly at first, then thrusting more deeply. As her moans of pleasure washed over him, he felt changed and reborn.

Shane didn't know how long it lasted; time, in that small place, had become endless. They were in a wet cocoon of human ecstasy, and then he heard her cry out as he released inside her. She kissed him hard on the mouth, her breath mixing with his in the steaming shower.

Shane finally set her down, and they remained under the hot spray in a desperate embrace, almost afraid to let go, afraid to return to their individual fears and loneliness. Finally she took the bar of soap and began to wash his back, his arms, lathering him in erotic places. After she was finished, he did the same for her. They held each other in a sweet fragrance of body and soul. Shane felt different, stronger, more alive.

He looked down into her laser-blue eyes, which now seemed softer and filled with caring.

"Now we can start over," she said, putting his exact thoughts into words.

???

Later she made dinner and they sat at her kitchen table. She was wearing a white terry-cloth robe; he was wrapped in a towel.

After dinner she handed him his clothes, fresh from the dryer; they felt soft and were still warm as he put them on. When he walked into the living room, he noticed that there was renewed energy in his stride and a spring in his step.

They said very little, but as they locked her front door and headed to her car, she reached out, took his hand, and squeezed it.