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[Picks up after "Knight Moves"]

*

Denby was exhausted, both physically and mentally. He'd been working out like a crazy man, then thinking just as hard. He stared out of the taxi window as the cabbie weaved in and out of traffic on Broadway. It was a damp, drizzly day, cold as hell - as was his mood.

The radio inside the cab was cranked:

"Many rivers to cross and it's only my will that keeps me alive.
I've been nicked, washed up for years, and I've merely survived
because of my pride."

He was listening more to the singer's droning, than he was paying attention to the threatening swerves the cabbie made on the slick streets. The weather sucked, his head pounded, and he looked down at his hands.

"And this loneliness won't leave me alone
It's such a drag to be on your own..."

"Hey, right here!" He almost missed his stop - monthly review meeting. Inside the precinct at the long conference table sat a robust group of middle-aged men, some women, all members of the Narcotics Division. At the podium was Pete Stone, Chief of Task Force Operations, ready to begin.

Denby spotted Rudy over by the coffee cart. "Now this is a great cup of coffee," Rudy said, holding up his styrofoam cup. He watched Denby fill his own and gulp down three aspirin, noticing the way his hand trembled slightly and splashed the scalding liquid over his wrist -- he didn't seem to flinch, or maybe it just didn't hurt, anymore.

*

Mornings were her favorite part of the day, no phones, no voices, no sirens, just peace. Diane sat in an easy chair, legs crossed, sipping a cup of tea. She stared out of her third-floor apartment window, counting the drops of rain that lazily slid down in perfect tempo. Her thoughts wandered back to Friday night, his apology for having to leave. Tapping her nails on the teacup, she made herself get up and go to work.

*

"How was the Knicks game?" Rudy asked. The small diner was two blocks from the precinct.

Avoiding the real question, Denby chose to focus on Shannon. "You should have seen him, stumbling over his own two feet, gawking at Diane's partner. Christ, he acted like he was fourteen."

"And you? "

"I will not answer that on the grounds that it might come back to bite me in the ass." Denby said.

Rudy still waiting for an answer. "Well, the game?"

"What little I saw of it?" Denby said, staring at a small catsup smudge on the table the waitress missed. "You know how it went. I got beeped before half-time, met you over on Chambers, and from there it spiraled right down into the toilet." Denby was pissed. "These scumbags have great timing."

"Hey, you can't pick your relatives or your scumbags," Rudy cracked. "Stone said the kid was so doped-up, he doubted his statement would hold up in court."

"Where's the kid now?" Denby asked.

"At the 1-5, in a holding cell. He gave his statement already, but he's not naming names. Fancy is having him questioned by one of his own."

"Well, that gives us one hour before we have the pleasure of paying them a visit," Denby, unsmiling, asked for a refill.

*

"Hey, Andy." Diane hung up her soaking wet coat. Umbrellas in the city: you either lost them to the wind, or you just couldn't use them at all. She threw hers in the garbage can by his desk. "Worthless piece of shit this is."

Andy continued sharpening his pencils, not looking up. "Haven't owned an umbrella in twenty years."

"Where is everyone?" Diane asked.

"Baldwin and Medavoy are out already; Danny's dropping something off at the D.A.'s office, and your partner is in there," he pointed to the interrogation room, "the dirtbag decides he's not dropping any names."

Just then Kate emerged, not looking very happy. "I've got exactly one hour before Narc is due to pick this doper up, and he decides he's not talking."

"Would you like me to go in there and plant a fresh one on him, right up side his head?" Andy snidely remarked, raising his hand.

"Sounds like he's afraid." Diane asked.

"Could be." Kate pushed a curl out of her face, she was exhausted. "Although, he may have more of a problem spilling it to a woman."

"Lemme tell you something, Kate," Andy said, shaking his finger at nothing, "if this kid's not jones-ing over giving you anything, then he's one of those, you know, el-queero's."

"I have an idea. I'll be right back." Kate flew off.

She knocked on Fancy's door. "Boss, I have a situation here with the doper who was picked up Friday night. He's not talking -- probably because I'm not wearing a suit and don't have two-days' growth on my face."

"Well, I'd offer Andy up, but I'm sending him and, I guess, Diane, out on a call I just received." Fancy looked at his watch. "When's his pick-up?"

"Less than an hour," Kate said.

"Let one of them have a round with the kid." Fancy suggested.

*

Kate met them outside the bully room. "This kid's statement reflects everything the officers wrote in their reports. However, he wasn't as doped-up as you thought - he could tell you exactly what he had to eat for dinner that night and what he was wearing, yet he can't give a description of what this guy looked like?"

"He said he was hiding under the stairwell peeking through the steps, it was dark, but he had the best seat in the house." Rudy said.

"And he had just bought his stash from the dealer, and decided to use first before he left. That's how he ended up under the stairs." Kate added.

"Let me see him, alone." Denby said.

*

It was well after lunchtime when Diane and Andy returned. Before Diane could sit down, Kate grabbed her up. "Come here, now."

She followed Kate into the observer's room. There, beyond the glassed wall, was Denby. He was sitting down in a chair across from the boy, shirt sleeves rolled up to his forearms. His hands were folded on the table, as if in prayer.

"Diane, have you met Detective Denby's partner, Rudy Russo?"

"Yes, we've had the pleasure." Diane said, recognition appearing in his eyes, as well. "What's going on?"

"Have you ever seen Denby work a prick?" Rudy asked, smirking.

"No, but I've seen him act like one." Diane said, sarcastically, getting another smirk out of Rudy.

"Well, my guess is, he's just about finished."

Denby stood, sat, leaned against the wall, anything to distract this kid into slipping up. He never broke a sweat, and he kept his eyes fixated on his subject, penetrating through until obviously the kid couldn't take it anymore. For what seemed like hours, but only minutes short of that, Denby turned off the recorder, and stood silent in the middle of the conference room, his unfocused gaze landing somewhere on the carpet in front of him. He waved his hand to the guard, who led the boy out. Kate followed.

"That's my man," Rudy proudly said, and left immediately. His words trailed after him, and she thought to herself, of course, he's your man, and you're probably his only friend. She crept further back into the corner of the darkened room.

There he stood, alone, not moving, staring blindly at nothing. He turned and grasped one of his hands with the other, so viscously, she thought he would surely break it. It was then she noticed and understood. Hers were just as violent, she recalled. He moved, suddenly, throwing his trenchcoat over one shoulder and walked out. Diane, terrified, quickly drew the curtain closed. And waited.

He's coming in here, I feel him, he knows I watched.

The door creaked open, and a beam of light spread wider and wider into the black room. He stood motionless, coat still slung casually. Please don't come any closer. But she knew he saw her.

Without saying a word, he walked over to her, a dim light shining on her face and his. Despite the long day, he was vibrant, pulsing with intelligence, and so handsome it made her eyes sting to look at him.

But still she looked. She stared at those eyes, and his hair, and his shoulders stretching out the smooth white cotton of his shirt. Her eyes traced the square line of his unshaven, rough jaw and up to the sensuous curve of his mouth. And stayed there.

He spoke first. "Diane. Have you been here all along?"

"Yes," she said softly, watching his lips move as if she were in a trance. All along.

Suddenly, she went stiff with horror. He saw. Her face held all the longing she was just beginning to feel herself. This time, he saw.

She jumped from her safe corner and gathered herself in a flurry, she could not meet his eyes, for she knew he was staring at her.

"I'm sorry. I didn't realize. I guess I got caught up in there." He noticed her uneasiness.

Looking for something to do, somewhere to go, her eyes fell on his hand, which he raised to open the curtain. She noticed how it shook and, without realizing it, grabbed hold to prevent him from drawing the curtain and, to also stop his shaking. She held it tightly. If he knew, he did not say. "Don't open that," it sounded silly as soon as it left her lips.

He smiled. She was still holding on, and he looked down at her small, soft fingers laced over his cold, rough hand.

He moved closer.

She flushed and looked at him, petrified.

Raising her hand to his lips, he inhaled her sweetness, brushing her skin with his mouth. And, in one quick motion, he leaned in so close she felt his breath inches from her own, and he said with remorse and bitterness: "Don't worry, Diane, if it ever happens again, and it will, trust me, I won't have to ask -- I'll just do it."

And with that, he was gone.

*

She threw cold water on her face, looked in the mirror, and then threw more cold water, everywhere. What an arrogant son-of-a-bitch. Well, he could rot in hell if he thinks it will ever happen again!

What are you doing, Diane? Look at yourself. And she did, her face still flushed. Absent-mindedly, she pressed her fingertips to her lips -- closing her eyes, remembering that kiss. She could feel it still; the memory of it was clouded, though, only by the unhappy circumstances of that time.

*

He took the towel from his waist and stood naked in his dark, one-bedroom he called home. He remembered everything. Her smile. Her laughter. Her smell. God, he was as good as drunk, again - but this time, from a woman. And he didn't know how to handle it; rather, handle her, how to speak, and if he should even touch her. He was tortured still, and lived in fear of losing again.

He walked slowly over to the bed; a sheet draped over the figure whose name he did not want to know. She was willing and free, and someone to lay down beside him.

"What's the matter, Harry?" she asked, lazily turning over.

Not answering, he put his arm around her neck and pulled her closer to him. She began again what she was taught long ago to do. To please.

And even though he knew it wasn't real, he couldn't ask for more right now.

THE END