Tabor closed his phone and sat spinning the case around on the table. Why did he get himself involved with idiots like Mickey Spataro? Grace Purcell was not an outcome he cared to entertain; Lester is not the buffoon he originally assessed. He stood and paced the room, trying to formulate a plan and in the end dismissed the planning and decided to just plunge ahead, find Nevens and the woman, do them both and leave town; the name Grace Purcell blinking behind his eyes.

He went to work with a phone book and found an address that was close to where he felt Nevens could walk to from when he last saw him and left... determined. Another car, stolen from the back of an industrial complex, carried Tabor to the address he had for Nevens. He parked half a block away and walked to the house, checked the names on the mailboxes and quickly down to the door of the basement apartment.

Listening carefully, he knocked softly a couple of times then he picked the lock and slipped inside. Drawing the curtain over the single window, he switched on the table lamp and looked about the room. This wouldn't take long, he thought, swiftly checking everything he figured would give him a clue as to Neven's location. Nothing stood out and he wondered about just sitting down and waiting for him to come home.

There was one beer in the fridge and leaning on the counter, he drank it in one long swallow. Where would he go? There was a card on the counter with a Detective's name on it and he tapped it against his lips, thinking. The dame had already been to the cops after his disaster in her apartment... would they be together? The dame's place? Why not, they seemed to be an item. He switched off the table lamp, opened the curtain, relocking the door as he left.

Sitting in the car he assessed his situation. If he hung around and finished his business would it change anything? No. If anything it could be worse; with his luck there'd be another witness along with three killings. Would Lester care? He wasn't connected in any way so why would he bother to sick a Grace Purcell on him? He wouldn't. Mickey was just being an asshole. Mickey. Aw shit, Mickey would be the connection; he spoke to Earl first. If the cops found out about Mickey the string would lead to all of them. Tabor banged on the wheel in frustration.

To hell with it. He'd take his chances, go somewhere and heal peacefully. He looked in the mirror, seeing the lather of white burn cream and winced, "Friggin' Phantom of the Opera."

***********

"I don't have much space for your stuff so don't unpack a lot."

"Excuse me? You tell me to get over here to stay but now I have live out of my sports bag?" Parker kicked it aside and flopped on the loveseat.

"You aren't here to live, just to stay... for a bit."

He glanced around with annoyance. "And just exactly where do I stay... for a bit? I'm not a horse, I don't sleep standing up."

"You can sleep where you're sitting." She folder her arms defensively.

"On this? Even in a fetal position there's barely enough womb." He stifled a laugh and nodded. "That was a pretty good line." He saw her expression and he waved a hand. "Okay, okay. You aren't in the mood for jokes."

Des toed the rug and wet her lips. "Look, Parker, we both know why we're doing this. It's not a new life direction; Detective Holt suggested staying with somebody and I... well I don't have anybody... else."

He sat straighter and looked at her. "No family?" She shook her head. "Friends? Who's Monica then?"

"My mother, or at least it's her name on the lease. It's a long and complicated story so just drop it."

What about the women at the club?"

"We are definitely not friends." She walked into the kitchen area and grabbed the coffee pot, filling it with cold water and pouring it into her coffee maker. Parker watched silently as she scooped coffee into the filter, dropped in the top and turned on the machine.

"I always thought you guys were tight. You know, not poles apart."

She turned and leaned on the counter, glaring. "Listen, Parker. As long as you are here you will cease your crappy humour; I don't want to listen to second rate routines for−"

"What, a week, a month, a year?" Her eyes narrowed. "Fine, I'll be a good boy. Jesus... second rate... swell."

Des was suddenly contrite and admitted that everything that had happened had her very upset and she hated not feeling her usual confidence. The fact that she felt the need for someone like Parker to assuage that feeling was even more upsetting.

"Oh thanks so much. Someone like me? Nice remark there Jones."

She drew in a long breath and shook her head, looking down at the counter. "Are you going to stay or not?"

"I'll stay." He shrugged. I'd stay if I had to sleep in the oven. The coffee was ready and she told him to come and fix his own. He accepted the milk carton and poured some into his mug, waving off the sugar and without stirring he sipped the hot drink, following her back to the loveseat. Des leaned far to one side and he read the motion as a warning so he copied her and they sat silently looking at the blank TV set.

******

Grace Purcell listened patiently to her client wail on about the colour of the serviettes adorning the head table. The flatware and the dinner service was perfect. The flowers absolutely magnificent, and Grace sighed inwardly at the entire presentation soon to be spoiled by the bride's mother's choice of dress material.

"Mrs. Grandcastle, your dress is not the same one you showed me when I was designing this setting. I have photographs of all the gowns and you have changed the shade of material that is in those photographs."

"But I saw this other dress and I felt it was much more representative of me." The statement sounded like a request for affirmation.

"Perhaps but as you can see, the tablecloth and the serviettes are perfect for the dress you initially showed me. This colour makes your dress look like a very bad attempt at matching. I'm sorry but this," her hand swept across the head table with narcissistic pride, "can't possibly be redone at this stage."

"But I will look... dowdy..."

"I'm truly sorry, Mrs. Grandcastle because that is exactly how you will impact my artistic endeavor. I think the best plan would be to retrieve the original dress and allow your daughter to have the final say. I will abide by her decision but any major changes at this stage will simply blow your budget well out of the frame."

She watched the mother of the bride slump away and gave her back a volley of darts with her eyes. Stupid woman. She strode across the hall to the kitchen area and greeted the head caterer who was organizing his own people with sharp barks and frustrated hand waving.

"Giles, is everything all right?"

"But of course. One just has to keep cracking the whip to retain focus."

"The cake looks lovely don't you think, Melrose did a wonderful job."

"Yes, he did but my sorbet will have to be delayed because the bride wants the guests to have cake to eat right then and there instead of the packages you recommended."

Grace blinked and her face reddened. "What did you say?" Giles repeated the change and Grace spun on a stiletto heel and left without another word.

******

Lester hammered both fists on his desk and swore noisily for several minutes while Mickey cowered near the door.

"You're telling me this grand facilitator of yours is gone! He never took care of the witness and he just buggered off!"

"I've checked everywhere, Lester, nobody knows a thing. His apartment is empty and there's no answer from his phone... it's off."

"So you're saying he's gone, in the wind."

"Well if he's gone he won't want to show up and make any trouble. That could be a good thing, eh? He's the only connection to you and Earl. The two witnesses don't know anything about you."

Mickey felt his stomach roll over, hearing his earlier threat to Tabor in his head, he knew what made Tabor split.

"Exactly, he's the only connection and as long as he's out there somewhere I am connected, thanks to you, Mickey." Lester's face resembled an active volcano. "Find out where he went."

"But where would I look, Boss?"

"If you want to be able to look anywhere again you'd better find him."

Mickey groaned and left the office, worry carving trenches in his forehead.

******

Parker sat up and winced at the pain that shot up his back. The blanket Des had given him was in a tangle about his legs and his t-shirt was all pushed up to his armpits. He kicked his legs free and hoisted himself into a sitting position, tugging his shirt down to his waist. The smell of coffee struck his nose and he turned to look into the kitchen area.

Des was standing with her back to him and he could see she was wearing a bed shirt with a yellow egg yolk design splattered randomly over the material. He stood and grabbed his pants from the chair and wriggled into them before speaking.

"Morning."

Des turned and popped some orange into her mouth, holding up a wedge toward him.

"Yeah, thanks. My mouth feels like Velcro." He sauntered into the kitchen and accepted the orange wedge. "You been up long?"

"Long enough." She side-eyed him with an impish smile.

"Swell... no pun intended." And he smiled back as she blushed. "So uh- did you sleep well, with a stranger in the next room I mean?"

"Well enough; it's hard to sleep when you're thinking about people out to kill you."

"Yeah, about that." He wiped his fingers on the tea towel. "What are your plans?"

"Plans for what?"

"Work, or just getting around." He shrugged. "I don't know about you but I don't have a ton of savings to live off after my rent and whatnot."

"I won't charge that much."

"Fun-n-n-y. Maybe you want my job?"

"We could switch and see how it goes." She finished the orange and tossed the skin in the trash then rinsed her hands.

"I'm not going to do a pole joke under the circumstances." Parker went back to the living room and grabbed a shirt. "Can I use your bathroom to get washed?"

"Last door on the left. There's coffee if you hurry."

"So much for my luxuriating shower." He walked down the hall, pausing to look at the crumpled sheets on her bed and the stuffed animal that grinned by her pillow. Still some little girl in the woman, he thought.

******