F Wilson - Sibs

That was when it finally got through his thick Irish skull that she really and truly wanted no part of him.

That had hurt him like never before. As if the heart had been ripped out of him, leaving him with an empty hole where it had been.

Rob stretched. But that was all in the past now. Time heals all wounds. Or so they said.

Kara certainly hadn't needed much time to heal. She'd bounced back and married Mr. Right. He might be dead now, but at least she'd found him.

When's my turn? he thought. When would he find Mrs. Right, if there was such a person? Or had he already found her and let her slip away? Or was the job going to turn out to be Mrs. Right, like it had for so many cops he knew?

He wondered how many chances you got.

He still loved the job, but it wasn't quite the same anymore. It had been getting to him lately. The human misery he saw on a daily basis seemed to be deeper, more soul-wrenching; the scum he had to deal with seemed scummier. Was the city changing for the worse, or was it him?

That little restaurant he and Kara had dreamed of opening was looking better and better. Even though Kara wouldn't be with him, he still wanted to give it a try. He'd put in his twenty years, then use his pension as a back-up while he made the restaurant a going thing. He just had to hold out until—

He felt a hand slide up the inside of his thigh. He looked at Connie. She was awake and staring at him with her curly brown eyes. Her long dark hair flowed over her cheek and throat.

"An option on your thoughts," she said.

"Nothing. A blank."

"Come on. Your face reminded me of the first time I made you try sushi."

"Okay. I was thinking about a murder that maybe wasn't a murder and how I'm probably never going to know."

"Hey, it's Sunday. You're not suppose to be thinking about work. You're supposed to be thinking about me."

As if to emphasize that point, she ran her hand further up his thigh and began caressing him. Rob felt a faint tingle of pleasure but little more. His usual quick response wasn't there this morning.

"Not in the mood, huh?" Connie said after a couple of minutes.

"Not really."

"I hate it when you get so wrapped up in a case. You're good for nothing else when that happens."

"And I suppose you were a barrel of laughs back in October of '87?"

She laughed and punched him on the arm.

He'd met Connie during a robbery investigation when he'd been assigned to the Upper West Side. Her apartment—condo, rather—was next door to the scene; she'd heard noises and knew her neighbors were in Tortola for the week, so she called the police. Rob had questioned her and learned that she was an investment banker with Saloman Brothers. A few days later she had called him back to her apartment, saying she'd remembered a few more details. She'd greeted him at the door… nude. They'd been seeing each other ever since.

Neither of them had any illusions that this was going anywhere. There were no problems in bed. That was fine. Connie wasn't easy to keep up with, but Rob managed. It was out of bed that they ran into problems. They moved in radically different circles. Rob had taken her once to Leo's, the watering hole where most of the Midtown North cops did their post-shift relaxing. She'd loathed the place. And Rob felt far out of his depth with her yuppie friends.

"How about going out for brunch?" she said.

"Brunch? I don't do brunch."

Connie hopped out of bed and went over to the mirror above the dresser. Rob had never met a woman so totally unselfconscious about nudity. Maybe that was because she had a great body and knew it. She pulled a brush out of her purse and began working on her hair.

"Sure you do. Every time you order breakfast when you're supposed to be having lunch, you're doing brunch."

"Oh. Okay. Let's do brunch."

She turned to him, her eyes bright.

"I got a great idea! We'll go to this place Pete McCarthy and I found up on Columbus Avenue.. It's called Julio's."

"Not another yuppie eatery!"

"No. This place is really declasse—determinedly so. It's a working man's bar left over from pre-gentrification days. It's grungy, the owner's the bartender, and the service is surly at best."

"Doesn't sound like your kind of place."

"It's not, but then again it is. Actually, it's a little like Leo's, but the hamburgers are great. Pete and I are keeping it a secret. We're only telling our closest friends, otherwise this place will be overrun."

"Just what I want to do on a Sunday—listen to your friends talk about money," he said, jabbing out his cigarette. "Almost as much fun as a tetanus shot."

"No, really." She began slipping into her bra and panties. "You'll like it."

Rob shook his head. "Sounds like too much fun for me. I think I'll pass."

It wasn't that he was into the anti-yuppie vogue. Sure, they seemed like a pretty empty-headed bunch, but He wasn't all too sure that if he had an income well into six figures that he wouldn't be just like them. It was just that he never seemed to have anything to say to her friends. They all liked to hear him talk about police work, but that was the last thing he wanted to discuss during his off hours.

"No, you won't," she said as she buttoned up her silk print blouse. "You can come back to my place while I spruce up, then we'll head for Julio's."

Rob didn't move.

"Are you coming?"

"No, Connie," he said. "Really. It sounds like a drag."

Suddenly, she was angry. Her eyes flashed.

"No! You're the drag, Rob! You've been moping around for a couple of days now! What's wrong with you?"

The last thing Rob wanted this morning was a fight.

"Nothing, Connie. Let's drop it, okay?"

"Drop it?" she said. "I'll drop it! But that's not all I'm going to drop! You're no fun anymore, Rob! And you weren't so hot in bed last night either!" She turned and headed for the bedroom door. "See you in the movies, Rob!"

"Say hello to Peter McCarthy for me," he said to her retreating back.

A few seconds later, the walls of the apartment shook with the booming slam of the front door. Rob sighed.

"Women."

He lit another cigarette and stared out at the Sunday morning sky.

February 9

9:47 A.M.

"It smells in here, Mom," Jill said, her nose wrinkling at the rancid odor.

Kara coughed. "That it does, Jill. That it does."

Smells like something died in here.

Which wasn't a very comforting thought, seeing as this was Kelly's apartment. Kelly had given her the key years ago, telling Kara to feel free to come visit and stay any time she was in the city.

Kara left the door open. "Wait here," she said.

She left Jill standing in the hallway by their overnight bags while she made a quick round of the rooms. Empty. Good. No one here who shouldn't be here. The odor was strongest in the kitchen. Kara opened the door under the sink and found the cause: rotten leftover Chinese take-out in the garbage sack. She tied the bag closed and brought it out to the hall. She'd throw it away later.

"All clear," she told Jill.

"What was it?"

"Week-old egg foo yung and fried rice, I think."

"Ugh!"

"You said it."

Kara helped Jill off with her coat and shrugged out of her own. She felt uneasy here, like some sort of grave-robber, or a vulture picking at the bones of the dead. But something had to be rotten here besides egg foo yung. Something had gone wrong in her sister's life. Kara wanted to know what.

She stood in the center of the main room and did a slow turn, taking in everything around her.

So ordinary.

Kara found that very ordinariness reassuring, but it didn't answer the questions that had brought her here.