A visit from the cops
Three weeks later I met up with our friend again at a jazz club. I saw him out back handing out little packets and taking fifty dollar bills in exchange. We sat down at a small table in a smoky corner. He was very high.
“Alexandra got busted.”
“What do you mean?”
“Busted. You know.”
“Yes. But for what?”
“What d’you think?”
“I have no idea. Was she dealing?”
“Oh sure. She was dealing all right. Dealing in military secrets I think.”
“What?” I was really confused by then.
“Commander Tice.”
“Yes.”
“A big guy at the Pentagon. Real hush-hush.”
“At the Pentagon?”
“Shhh. No so loud. I don’t know if I’m being followed. I thought I saw a guy the other day. And then tonight I had the feeling someone was on my tail.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Boy, you really are a cute one, y’know?”
“What do you mean?”
“Is it possible you really are as innocent as you play it?”
“Look. I am seriously in the dark here. Who is Alexandra? I thought she was Mrs. Tice. She lives there. His name is on the mailbox. What else am I to think?”
He looked at me for a long time, not saying anything. Whatever drug he had taken was now at its peak.
“She’s a hooker, you idiot. Commander Tice lives in Washington. He keeps her up here in that huge apartment. He owns her. Everything in there is his.”
“No.”
“God, you really are stupid.”
“Well, where is she?”
“Gone.”
“Yes, but gone where?”
“You think they left a note saying where they took her?”
“Who is they?”
He just stared at me then. The drug was on the downhill slide now. He closed his eyes and grooved on the music. I didn’t know what to do. I just sat there feeling small and young and dumb, wondering what Alexandra was doing at that moment and if she was okay.
