The Aftermath

34

Roads arrived back at his apartment just after 1:00 PM. He opened the door and scanned the room like a crime scene. There was no blood on the walls or a body on the floor, but something had gone terribly wrong here, and he wanted to uncover the facts of his own demise.

Closing the door behind him, the only noises were the traffic on 6th below his windows and the police radio, which was always on. He sighed at the persistent chatter. Two months' suspension, with thirty days spent in an alcoholic rehab program. A fucking alcoholic rehab! And probably clean tests during those thirty days.

"Son of a bitch," he rasped, shrugging off his sports jacket. He hung it on a peg near the door, rolled up the sleeves of his white striped shirt, loosened his tie, and unbuttoned the top two buttons.

Again, he looked around the apartment. He lit a cigarette and waited for something to move or change. This was where he slept and sometimes ate. That was all. There was nothing 'to do' here. Sure, there was internet porn on the computer and some chat rooms, but that wasn't doing anything. It was just coming down off the day so he could sleep. Sleep was the only goal of those activities. If that was all he could do for the next sixty days, he would rather put a bullet in his head right now.

Clean the place? No. Hire someone to clean the place? Yes.

He took out his cell phone, found Tammy's number, and dialed. Tammy was a waitress downstairs at the pub.

"Yes?" "Tammy, it's me, Roads." "I know, silly. What's up?" Tammy asked. "You working today?" "Yep, I'm down here right now," Tammy told him. "You know anyone that cleans apartments? Maybe someone who does it on the side? The job pays $200," Roads asked. Tammy was silent for a moment and then said, "Well, I get off at 4:00. Is that alright?" "Yeah, that's alright." "Is this your place we're talking about?" Tammy asked. "Yeah, right upstairs. That alright?" He asked. "Yeah," she said, "That's alright. So I'll see you at 4:00 then, ok?" "I'll be ready."

With that accomplished, he now had a list of things to do. First, go to the CVS across the street and buy lots of cleaning stuff. Then, go through the bedroom and make sure nothing embarrassing is lying about.

This list of things to do got him through the next hour. He still had two more to go before Tammy would be up here, and he would be in the pub. He could go down there now, but that felt awkward.

Roads only had her number because she had some ex-boyfriend problems about six months ago. The problem was that the ex-boyfriend kept coming over and trying to have sex with her. He would slap her around a bit if she put up a fight. Roads caught wind of this while in the pub, having dinner.

Normally, he didn't get involved with domestic disputes. They tended to continue. Also, a large percentage of homicides were the result of domestic disputes. But he told Pat, the bartender, that he was a cop and he could help Tammy if she wanted help. If she believed she could handle it on her own, no problem. Forget he offered.

An hour later, she came over to him at the bar. "You're a cop, huh?" she said. "Yeah, and you have a boyfriend problem," Roads said. "Yeah. So, what can you do about it?" Tammy asked. "Well, first, you get a restraining order. Then I can do plenty. If you're not willing to do that much, I can't help you," Roads told her. "What does that take?" Tammy asked, "I don't have much money." "I think the filing is a five-dollar charge. I can walk you through the process," Roads told her.

She spent some time considering this, and then told him she would think about his offer.

Roads figured that was the end of the conversation, and he would never hear from her again. She surprised him by coming back and telling him, yes, she wanted his help.

The boyfriend problem was easy to solve. Tammy started getting regular visits from black and whites, just stopping by to say hello. The boyfriend got a similar treatment, except with fewer smiles. Unfortunately for him, he was a crystal dealer, and they popped him three days after the restraining order went through.

After that, Roads had Tammy's number, but he never called her. He was as close to fifty as you could get without actually being fifty, and she was twenty-three or something close. Besides, he liked them with a little more in the package areas. Tammy was tall and good-looking, but thin as a board. She had a cute little ass, but it was an ass made for porn, not actual fucking.

Roads smoked another cigarette and sipped scotch from a highball glass. After nearly an hour, five cigarettes, and three glasses of scotch, he was ready to jump out the window! He had to get something going. A project.

His project was Tom Blake. That was his project.

Roads glanced up at the wall where his private detective license was posted. He got it years ago, nearly ten years ago, before Captain Burns came on the floor. Roads was getting fed up with the department and ready to quit. He applied for, and received the license fairly easily. After Burns showed, however, things changed quickly and for the better. Roads could work with Burns. Eye to eye. So he never actually used the license, but he kept it current.

"License to investigate," he murmured.

A knock at his door interrupted his thoughts. When he answered, he found Tammy standing in the hallway. "It was slow, so they sent me home early," she explained without being asked.

"Come in," he said, opening the door further.

"So..." she started while looking at the place. "What do you want done?" she finished.

"I bought a bunch of cleaning stuff. It's over there," he told her, pointing at the bottles and canisters lining the kitchen counter. "Just pretend that you were suddenly forced to live here for the next sixty days."

Tammy looked at him doubtfully. "Live here for sixty days?"

Roads sighed, "Look, I'm going downstairs. You clean until you feel it is livable. Then come down to the pub, and I'll pay you the two hundred. Alright?"

"You are leaving?" she said.

"Just down to the pub. You still have my number. Call if you need something," he told her and headed for the door.

"You... you don't have bugs, do you?" she asked when he was just about to leave.

"Not that I know of," he told her.

"Alright then. See you in a few hours," she said.