Desdemona watched from the lobby window as Parker trudged down the street, hands in pockets, head and shoulders hunched. He looked defeated, more likely frustrated. She smiled grimly and climbed the stairs to her second floor apartment.

Tossing her stuff on the love seat near the door, she wandered into the tiny kitchen and took out a juice container from the fridge. Out the window, she could see a blob of moon peering through the tree branches and the peachy glow of the streetlight below. Juice glass rinsed and in the sink, Des walked through the living room, gathering her things, and down the short hall to her bedroom.

The wall switch turned on a bedside light that had a shrimp coloured shade, giving the room a soft pastel glow. She peeled off her top, dropped the blue skirt to the floor and stepped out, flipping it up with her foot and arranging it to hang in the closet

The cotton shift slid on and stopped short of her knees and with the fluffy slippers, she padded back out to the kitchen this time pouring a glass of wine from the bottle under the counter and then, with her book, folded herself onto the love seat and sighed heavily.

Parker popped into her head for a minute and she wondered just how his story about the man he saw with Earl might turn out. A smile formed as she thought about how ingenuous he was for a guy making a living the way he did. The smile faded as she thought about making her own living, something she didn't have at the moment and maybe wouldn't have at all.

She set her book aside and sipped from the wine glass; the future wasn't looking very promising . . . particularly in her profession . . . at her age. The empty wine glass clunked on the side table and the book slid off her lap as she stared blankly at the picture she had drawn in her mind.

************

Down the steps to the side door of the townhouse and in to his basement apartment, locking the door and standing against it in the dark, Parker slowly controlled his breathing. Every passing car had him flattening against buildings in terror and he could feel his heart thumping in his ears. Now safe in his little apartment he finally relaxed and turned on the table lamp by the door.

Parker's apartment was just two rooms and a small two-piece bathroom. The living/dining/kitchen was originally a recreation room, twenty-four by twelve, and the old laundry room was his bedroom. It was all quite compact and, for Parker, suitably cozy.

He ditched his coat and work clothes and wandered around in his boxers and socks getting a beer from his small fridge and flopping down in front of his one extravagance, a 34 inch Sharp Aquos.

"Aah, a man's home is his castle - in a manor of speaking." He said, spelling the word aloud to the room. "Sure as hell the crowd at Gut Buster's wouldn't get that one."

He chose a news station with the remote and gulped a mouthful of beer. There was a small blurb about Earl's killing but nothing substantial and nothing at all about the attempted hit and run. He wondered if he should try to call Des then realized that she had nothing to worry about, she never saw a thing, yet they had been seen together.

He caught himself thinking of her in more personal terms; the obvious physical attraction but also the way her mind worked, the confidence that he suspected was a partial mask for hidden feelings and the fact that she genuinely seemed to care since she offered to meet in the first place.

He also wondered now what would happen with his job that he was about to shuck. Would there be any financial settlements? Would Des have a job? Would any of them have a job? Tomorrow he would call her and commiserate. Yeah, that sounded like a plan. The beer slid down deliciously and he settled back with his feet on the collapsible footstool letting the TV lull him to sleep.

******

The sports announcer's voice rose in pitch and volume as he hailed the towering home run blasted by the star player of the home team. Excited chatter followed between him and the colour commentator, using just about every cliché imaginable in describing the pitch, the swing, the sound and the distance of the hit; the home team had tied the game.

"SHIT!"

"Told ya your pitcher was too cocky by half."

"Asshole. If I was there I'd drag him off the mound and send him to the first bus outta town."

"You should be a homer, Les, at least there's a feeling of community even if you lose."

The big man turned in his chair and stared at the speaker. "Community? What he hell is that? I don't make money feeling community for Christ's sake. I should stick you on the same bus." He cursed and drained the rest of his drink, slamming the glass down on the side table.

"You aren't goin' to make any off this game." The man offered snidely, ignoring the threat. "

Lester grabbed the remote, sought out a news station and watched some topics before sitting up and gesturing at the screen. The news reporter described the earlier murder of Earl Barkluster, owner of the infamous Gut Busters. Police had determined it a homicide and were asking for any information to be directed to their tip line. The newscaster went on about Gut Busters reputation and the type of entertainment it provided, a brief bio of Earl and then the weather.

"Was he supposed to do that?" Mick asked.

" I told him to collect one way or another. Looks like he wasn't able to collect shit."

Lester punched in another news channel.

Doesn't sound like they know anything; guess you're okay."

"Better bloody had be or that bus is gonna be full." Les growled. "It's bad enough I hafta eat what that pig owed me. This guy was your idea, Mickey." Lester's face turned dark.

"I haven't heard from him yet, he was supposed- hey!" Mickey sat up and pointed. "Did you read that?"

"What?"

"The banner under the picture. It said an employee of Gut Busters was involved in an attempted hit-and-run and had been interviewed earlier by police. They're trying to determine if it was somehow connected."

The chair complained as Les heaved his bulk out of the leather seat and it seemed to sigh when he was up.

"You find that Tabor and bring him to me... tonight. I wanna first-hand report. If there's gonna be fallout from this I don't want it landing on me."

"I'm on it." Mick left his drink unfinished and rose from his own chair, tugging at the over-shirt wrinkled about his waist.

"And find out about that guy on the news while you're at it. Goddamn pain in the ass all these business potholes."

Lester Ward hitched up his pants and scowled as his employee left the room then continued his rant aloud. "Twenty years making book on the sports scene and now, when I want to slow down and think about retiring, I start running into welchers, deadbeats and so-called professionals that can't get the goddamn job done." He waddled awkwardly over to the TV and punched off the power button.

Where was the loyalty and integrity of the people he used to deal with? A man's word used to count for something, now you had to break bones to get a deal done. "Godammit!" He left the room and trudged down the hall to his bathroom, head shaking and mumbling the entire way.