​        Frank Gregson had built his home right on the boarder of a part of town nicknamed University Square, that surrounded Orson University.

       He'd brought his wife back from the Philippines after he'd injured himself in the army more years ago than I can remember. They'd fixed their eight bedroom home up to accommodate college kids who might have wanted to rent a cheap room, but because of their strict rules the university students tended to shy away.

        Most people who rented a room there were immigrants and people trying to get back on their feet after life had crushed them down to their lowest. And apparently it was a place for grumpy men who dressed kinda of ratty.

        I rung the doorbell and waited patiently until Mrs. Gregson opened the door.

        "Oh, Evie. You've come to pay me a visit?" She was a short woman in her fifties. She had large brown eyes and had known me from around town ever since I was a little girl.

        "I'm actually here to see one of the boarders, Mrs. G."

        "I don't think we have anyone here right now that you'd know." Boarders came through the Gregson house frequently. Some would stay in town and make friends with us locals, while others would pick up and leave as soon as the wind blew like nomads.

        "I'm looking for a dude. Bout so tall," I held my arm over my head. "medium black hair, around my age. Dresses like he bargain shops at the Goodwill's Goodwill."

        "Oh I know who you mean. Come on in, Sweetie." She stood aside and let me enter the dimly lit parlor.

        "He's such a good boy." She was saying as she led me through the kitchen. "He always pays his rent on time. And helps fix things around the house."

        They had one teen aged daughter named Maganda, but who everyone just called Maggie. She was a sweet fifteen year old who spent most of her time at home studying and helping her parents around the house. I waved as I passed her sitting at the dinning room table, nose deep in a textbook. She smiled and waved back.

         Mrs. Gregson led me into the living room where she had me sit on a dusty old sofa.

         "Would you like something to drink, my dear?"

          "No ma'am." She moved toward the stairs and disappeared into the darkness above.

          A couple of boarders were huddled around an ancient t.v. set trying to watch a football game through fuzzy reception. One of the men fumbled and curses flew throughout the room.

          The Gregson's were careful of who they let in the house so I wasn't too worried, even when one of the sleazier older looking ones started eyeballing me. A few years ago they'd had an incident where one of the boarders had tried to pick up Maggie and since then they did extensive background checks on all single men they let move into their home.

           Mrs. Gregson came back down the stairs with Raggedy Man on her heels. As soon as he saw me his eyes rolled to the back of his head and he let out a deep sigh. Guess someone wasn't glad to see me. Once Mrs. Gregson left the room he turned to me and with undisguised annoyance asked:

          "What'd you want?" Well somebody's not winning the friend of the year award.

         "I heard you witnessed the scene that went down at Taste Teas the other day."

         "Yeah, so."

         "Can we talk somewhere private?" A couple of the boarders had turned to listen intently to the conversation. Nosy bastards.

        "If it'll get you away from me faster." He led the way up the stairs onto the dark abyss of the second floor.

        Down the long hall of the scarcely lit second floor we stopped in front of an aging oak door. He opened the door and stood aside so I could enter first. I caught the smell of his cologne as he closed the door behind us. It was a curious mixture of lumber, man smell, and cigarettes. He smelled better than I thought he would considering the first time I saw him he looked like he spent all his time hanging out in dumpsters. I figured he'd smell more sweaty or something. Looking at him I noticed he was much more clean than last time I'd seen him, though his dress was still a little frumpy.

        The room was small and mostly bare. There was only a dresser and an old wooden desk in the corner cluttered only with a single desk lamp. A Murphy bed was neatly pulled up into it's cubby but otherwise I noticed a serious lack of decorum. I guess he wasn't planning on staying in town too long.

        "What do you want to know?" He folded his arms over his chest.

        "My sources tell me your a witness in the murder of Bo Conway and I wanted to ask you a few questions."

        "Aren't the police supposed to not tell people about that stuff. Isn't there witness confidentiality or something?"

        "Yeah well, some of our boys in blue haven't mastered the art of whispering."

        "So you're eavesdropping on conversations? What are you some kind of private eye?"

        "Something like that."

        "And what exactly is prompting me to tell you anything you want to know?" Shit, that was a good question. He didn't have to tell me anything, I wasn't the cops.

        "Well..." I tried to think of a good reason but I was drawing a blank. My only option was to try that thing called honesty, though I didn't think it'd get me anywhere.

​       "Look, I know you don't like me Raggedy Man, but this isn't about me. My cousin, an innocent man could go to jail unless I find the real murderer."

        "I don't know your cousin from Adam. And stop calling me 'Raggedy Man', girlie."

        "I could call you by your name if you told me what it was."

       "I only give my name to people I want to know."

        "Burn. You always so friendly or am I just lucky?"

         "If I tell you what I told the cops will you go away and leave me alone?"

       "Throw in your name and we've got a deal. I'll never darken your doorstep again."

        "Deal. It's Johnny."

        "Okay Johnny, for starters, what were you doing in Taste Teas?"

        "After I finished running errands for Tad at Prick Pros I wandered in to see what all the commotion was about. I stayed to have a glass of iced tea because I was thirsty from working all day. Is that a crime?"

        "No, I just find it odd since you clearly don't like the owner." He nodded in agreement. "What'd you tell the cops?"

        "They just wanted to know what happened, so I told them that the baker tried to beat up the snarky news guy and then he dropped dead after eating a piece of blueberry cake."

        "Anything else?"

        "They wanted to know if anyone else had been eating the cake to which I said no. Then I told him about the fight and that when Bo got up to leave he keeled over and died. I almost-" Before he could finish his sentence Mrs. Gregson knocked lightly on the door.

        "Mr. Johnny, telephone. I think it's another job."

        Johnny turned back to me before walking out the door."I'll be right back. Don't touch any of my shit, I wouldn't want to get any of your weirdness on me." And then he left.

        "Asshole." Now that he was gone it was a perfect time to touch his stuff just for spite.

        There was nothing really in the room to look through, but I was feeling noisy so I opened a few drawers and checked behind the bed.

        My search turned up nothing but meticulously folded clothes, an old empty suitcase, and an extra pack of cigarettes. In the top drawer I found an envelope full of money, which just screamed suspicious but I left it alone.

        The guy really did have close to nothing in possessions. I was strumming my fingers on the desk impatiently when a piece of cloth caught my eye.

       Behind the worn wooden dresser was some kind of thin rectangular object wrapped in an old white sheet.

        Not one to leave things be, I sauntered over and gently pulled the sheet until it gave and slid carelessly to the floor. Underneath I discovered four canvases, lined up neatly. Was Johnny an artist? Intrigued I knelt down and tilted my head for a better view.

        The first was a landscape of a park, warm colors telling the tale of a lazy day in the sun. The next was an odd collage of skulls, painted on a somber shade of black, all merging into one giant skull. That one creeped me out so I flipped to the third one. It was just an abstract, splashes of reds and dark oranges littered the canvas and though I know nothing about art I got the feeling he'd been angry when he painted it. All three of them had the name Johnny Ishikawa etched sloppily on the bottom.

      The last in the collection was a portrait of a young woman. She was standing in the center, body slightly turned askew and head tilted to catch the light. Her flowing hair was spread around her shoulder like a cloak of ink colored silk. The colors around her were deep and brooding, almost obsessive. The brush strokes soft and gentle around her delicate face. But her eyes were haunted. Staring into them I felt the weight of love, rising from some unknown crevice and pressing down on my soul. My breath caught and I knew an in instant that he felt more passion for her than I could ever begin to understand. I stared into the eyes of the nameless woman and saw sorrow, heartbreak, and despair. She was beautiful but deeply troubled. Whoever she was, girlfriend maybe, he loved her terribly.

        "What do you think you're doing?" Johnny was standing in the doorway glaring down at me.

        "Did you paint these? Johnny there beaut-"

        "Who do you think you are? Who said you could look at those?" He marched over to me and I inched back away from him. He was pissed.

        "Who said you could see?!" He dropped down and desperately tried to recover the paintings with the sheet. His movements were jerky and quick in his anger. He finally gave up and shoved them forcibly behind the dresser then stood over me, face a mask of outrage.

       "I'm sorry. I didn't know." I got to my feet.

       "That's right you don't know!" He inched closer to me. "You think you can just walk in here and demand things out of me then go through my shit after I asked you not to?"

      "Why are you mad?" I could understand being a little peeved because I'd violated his privacy, but this was too much. The rage radiating off him was so intense I actually started wondering if he'd hit me. Usually my gender was guaranteed protection from random male fists but in this case I wasn't so sure.

      "I'm mad because you have no respect for anything. Just like in the alley. You can't just let well enough alone. You think just because you're a cute girl you can get away with butting in where you aren't wanted!" I tried easing my way toward the door but he held me against the wall in a death grip.

        "Okay fine, I'm sorry are you happy now?"

        "You got what you wanted right?" And just like that his voice went from a high rage to a low threatening tone. He let go of me.

        "Well...yeah." He went and opened the door, my cue to exit.

        "Get out."

        "Johnny-"

        "I don't wanna hear it right now, just go. Leave me alone from now on, okay."

        "Fine." I walked out of there so fast my heels started smoking. Well fine, if he wanted to sulk in his misery let him. He could wallow in it for all I cared.

         I made my way out of the Gregson's, waving goodbye to Maggie and headed for my car. Inside the sanctuary of Douglas I allowed myself to tremble freely. I'd kept it together in there, but he'd frightened me a little. Now I just wanted to get as far away as I could from Mr. High Strung.

       I put the keys in the ignition and cranked it but instead of hearing my baby come to life he sputtered and stalled, finally giving out. I slammed my head against the wheel.

      "No! Not now." I tried again, this time getting nothing. Great now my car was dead, how could the day possibly get any worse?

         A clash of lightening cracked, startling me. Then, as if they'd heard my question, the heaven's opened up and it started to rain.