Detective Holt placed the mug in front of her and sat on the corner of the desk watching as she tasted the contents.

"It's a mystery recipe." He said, seeing the slight grimace.

"At least it's hot. Thanks, I'm not really dressed for this weather."

"I'll see if I can scrape up a jacket." He left the office and Des sipped at the coffee, wondering what she was going to do.

Holt returned with a police windbreaker that fit her like a greatcoat. "So you think this was the man Nevens saw with your boss, before he was killed?"

"I know it was him."

"Okay. I guess it's reasonable to assume since he must have seen you both with me outside the club the night he tried to nail Nevens."

"But what do I do now? You said he was gone when your men arrived."

"Yeah, he was. Your neighbours gave us a ton of information, mostly crap but it seems he was bleeding pretty badly from the head when he ran out and his face was a 'bright' red. The coffee I guess."

"Good thing it wasn't this stuff, I'd be up on a manslaughter charge."

Holt laughed and slid off the desk, settling into his chair. "Think maybe you know why I suggested staying somewhere else now?"

"It's fine to say that but where do I go? I sure can't afford a hotel. You even had to pay for my taxi ride here. I've no family and no friends I could impose on like that when I have no idea how long; besides, I could put others in danger."

"What about somebody staying with you? Could that work? We'll find this guy but I can't say how soon."

"I just told you that I have nobody I can impose on like that."

"How about Nevens?" She gaped at him and saw the shrug in his expression.

"You suggesting that's supposed to be a safety measure?" She set the mug down and picked up her purse. "If that's the best you can offer me thanks but no thanks."

"Miss Jones I can't offer you anything else; the department wouldn't allow the expense. I know how that sounds but you have to see it from our side. We can't assign men to every person who's been threatened with something. Nevens is in the same boat, together you might at least have support until we can get a line on this guy."

******

Back home, Des cleaned up the mess from the attack then sat down fretting about her situation, the club was closed and she had no other income. Whoever the man was that was after she and Parker won't just stop now; he might not come back to her apartment but then she wouldn't be safe going anywhere outside.

The thought of having Parker staying with her just made her more despondent yet the logic was sound. It would be a disaster. He might not even want to although instinct belied that probability. The groan was long and loud and ended in a deeper growl as she stood and went to the telephone.

Parker hung up and sagged back into his chair; he couldn't believe what had just happened. It wasn't so much a request, a plea or even an invitation; he was told to get his ass over to her place and bring whatever he needed for a hopefully short stay. He needed everything for God's sake! He dragged himself down to his bedroom and hauled a large sports bag from under the bed.

Dust covered the unwrinkled surfaces and he grabbed a wad of toilet paper and wiped it all down. What was he supposed to take? He stared at the bag and took a deep breath. "Okay," he addressed the room. "Toothbrush and paste." He fetched those and set them on the bed. "Shaving kit. Socks. Underwear." He opened his drawer and plowed through the contents. "How many?"

Parker flopped on the bed and slapped a hand on his forehead. What the hell was wrong with him? A beautiful woman, one I've been pining over lately, has asked me to stay with her and I'm dragging my feet over what to pack like some little kid going to camp.

He stood and tossed a bunch of stuff in the bag, checked all the windows, the stove and unplugged his TV then dragged the bag out to the front door. He wondered if he should speak to the landlord then thought better of it. Nobody needs to know where you are dough-head, that's the whole point.

******

Tabor sat up on the narrow table and winced as he looked across into the mirror on the wall.

"Jesus, Sammy, what the hell did you do to me?"

"I cleaned and put twelve stitches in a gash in your head."

"But my hair! You shaved part of my head!"

"I had to clear the wound of all the hair, Tabor, I don't do needlepoint you know."

"But the side of my head looks like a friggin' crop circle!"

"I can put a covering bandage over it so it won't look so bad. It'll grow back for Christ's sake."

"Yeah, okay, a cover. Do that." He leaned closer and examined the raw looking skin down one side of his face. "What about this?" He asked, touching it tenderly.

"I put some cream on it. You can have the tube. It'll just have to heal on its own. Be a while." Sam Gold squashed his cigarette in the ashtray on the counter and blew his nose on a dirty hanky.

"You wanna do that covering bandage thing then I'll get outta your hair."

Tabor slumped out of the side door of the small house and down the drive to his rental car. He cursed aloud at the scratches and dents on the side of the car. Almost blind while driving, he remembered side swiping something on the way to Sammy's. He began muttering more obscenities, this time about his friend Sammy Gold.

He climbed into the car, yanked the visor mirror down and groaned. Not only had he paid a large sum for the medical work, now he looked like a Jew in a jaunty white yarmulke. He needed a hat.

******

Grace checked her watch and felt a stirring of hunger as she shifted the phone to her other ear and shook her hand at the young woman placing a flower arrangement on the pink decorated head table in the reception hall.

"Your message was delivered, Lester. I think you'd best write this one off, he would have given me his mother for target practice before lying about being unable to pay you. As it is, he won't be getting around much for some time." She waved the woman away with a roll of her eyes.

"So not only don't I get paid, I have to pay you." Lester complained.

"Poor baby, should have sent your lackey, what's his name, it would have been just as successful and a lot cheaper."

"Mickey you mean. Mickey can barely get a coffee order straight."

"And you keep him on why?"

"He's my sister's nephew."

Grace laughed into the phone. "Oh, Lester, how noble you are, you do know that makes him yours as well. Listen, when I come for my money I'll bring you a dozen of the Napoleon cream tarts we're serving at the wedding."

"Make it a baker's dozen." Lester said goodbye and hung up.

Grace called the young woman over and explained about the flowers, oozing encouragement and patience. The Grandcastle wedding would be this year's society highlight and Grace would stand to clear a tidy sum for her service; apprentices had to be coddled.

^^^^^^

Lester hollered for Mickey who burst into the room ready to genuflect.

"What's happening with Tabor?"

"I haven't been able to reach him." Mickey eased back from the desk.

Lester swiveled his chair slowly and folded his hands over his large stomach, his eyes mere slits as he contemplated his aide.

"He left here yesterday to take care of the witness from the club. I suggest you find a way to get in touch and report back to me before this evening."

"But where would I start?"

The chair creaked as Lester leaned forward, arms on the desk. He flexed his fingers and picked up the small stapler, opening it and checking the contents.

"C'mere Mickey."

"Lester, I swear I'll find him, you don't have to give any lessons." Mickey was vibrating.

Lester dropped the stapler and sat back. "Before this evening, now get out."

Mickey swore all the way to his car and slammed the door banging his elbow painfully. He took out his cell phone and drumming his fingers on the wheel, called Tabor's number.

"C'mon answer you-"

"What do you want, dickhead?"

"Where the hell have you been? Lester wants to know what you're doing."

"I'm takin' care of things, okay? Just let me get on with it without pestering me every five minutes."

"He wants results now, Tabor or the shit's gonna hit the fan."

"He gonna toss you into the air conditioner?"

"Don't be a smartass or you might just be meeting his personal mediator."

"Well sure as hell ain't you."

Mickey squeezed the phone and gritted his teeth. He knew what he was about to do was very bad judgement but Tabor was so far under his skin he was feeling left out.

"No it isn't, asshole, it's Grace Purcell." The line was silent and Mickey could here Tabor's breathing. It was strained and he grinned widely. "Still a smartass, Tabor?" The connection ended and Mickey figured he had accomplished his mission.

He started the car and pulled out of the parking lot, his hands were trembling and his shirt was damp under the arms; it wouldn't do for Lester to learn about the threat he'd made.