They Don't Play Stickball in Milwaukee

Peekaboo

I knew one of them would be waiting for me when I got back. I was glad it wasn’t Kira, if that was her name. I don’t know how I would have handled that. Ripping her heart out seemed fair. I could hear the interrogation now.

“Why’d ya do it, Klein?”

“I was looking for a hooker with a heart of gold.”

I wanted to tear my own hair out, I had been so stupid. Why hadn’t I listened to my own suspicions? I cursed my own vanity, my insecurities. And for some reason, at that moment, I found myself missing my father. It was an unfamiliar feeling. During his life, he had not been the type of man to be missed. His anger, his bitterness had seen to that. Who would miss me, I wondered? Who would miss me?

The TV was on and MacClough was passed out on my bed when I came in. He looked tense these days, even in sleep. I noticed he was dreaming. His fingers and legs jerked. His eyeballs rolled frantically beneath his lids. He kept mumbling something that sounded like I’m sorry. He wasn’t the only one. It was a night for being sorry. Some nights you fry fish. Some nights you’re sorry.

He was up when I got out of the shower and busy worrying a bald spot in the carpet. He wanted to know what that mumbo jumbo was that I had whispered about taking a test. I detailed my conversation with the desk clerk. MacClough didn’t bother calling Kira names. He had been a cop too long to get indignant about prostitution. To him, it was a business not too unlike most others. There were users and people who got used. Sometimes it was hard to tell them apart.

“How long before you get the results?”

“You know,” I laughed, “I didn’t ask. Having the test done was stupid, anyway. It’ss take weeks for me to develop HIV antibodies if I’m infected. I guess I just panicked.”

“Yeah, I never thought I’d ever look back at worrying about the clap as the good old days, but Christ almighty, it’s a nightmare out there now.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Listen,” he said, “I don’t think you’ve got anything to worry about.”

“Thanks, John, but-”

“Hear me out, schmuck. If she’s a high-ticket girl, her employers have a vested interest in keeping her healthy. She’s a valuable commodity. She probably gets tested all the time. Besides, whoever put her close to you wants you outta town as soon as possible and wants you to stay out. Why risk getting you sick and coming back here dredging up all kinds of shit? It’s stupid and from what I’ve seen so far, I don’t think we’re dealing with idiots. Crime works best when nobody notices it. Sound reasonable to you?”

“Sounds like a rationalization,” I winked, “but thanks.”

“Yeah, well, maybe it is.” He hesitated a bit before speaking again. “You know you’ve got to let her keep coming here. If she finds out her cover is blown, we’re fucked. Her employers will close down shop and we won’t find jack shit.”

“I know, John.”

“I’m just worried about you, Klein.”

“That’s funny,” I said. “I’ve been pretty worried about you lately. When I came in here, you were having a bad dream. You were twitching like mad and mumbling, ‘I’m sorry.’ What’s wrong? Does this have anything to do with the Boatswain-Hernandez thing?”

“You’re right, I was having a bad dream.” His whole face smiled but for his eyes. “I dreamed I was asking a Jewish girl to marry me and she thought the five carat ring I bought her wasn’t big enough. You bet I was saying I was sorry.”

“Get the fuck out of here, you antiSemite.”

“I’m not antiSemitic,” he protested, “I only hate you. Now get some sleep. The slopes await us.” He closed the door behind him.

I dialed both Larry Feld’s office and home numbers and got two machines. I hung up twice without leaving messages. After the second hang up, I dutifully went through the motions of going to sleep. I spent the rest of the time till sunup playing peekaboo with every bad decision I had ever made.