Tales of the City 04 - Babycakes

had already staked out a sunning spot on the first landing. He sat down and stroked the old cat’s belly.
“How’s it goin’, Boris? You havin’ a good Easter? You didn’t know it was Easter? Well … wake up and smell the coffee, man!”
Beneath him, on the steep slope of Leavenworth, two pint-sized Chinese kids emerged from a doorway and began fighting over a plush Smurf that was bigger than both of them. He watched them for a while, then shouted through cupped hands: “Hey, guys!”
Their squealing stopped. They looked up at him.
“The Easter Bunny bring you that?”
Without answering, they stood and stared at the crazy man on the stairs.
“Be cool,” he said.
The kids backed into the doorway, emerging seconds later with their mother.
Brian waved at the three of them. “Happy Easter,” he yelled.
The woman waved back halfheartedly, then herded the children into the house.
Brian got up and headed into the leafy canyon of the lane. When he reached the courtyard, he noticed that a row of pink hyacinths had popped up in the soft, dark loam where Jon’s ashes had been buried. Mrs. Madrigal’s doing, no doubt.
The landlady was probably still sleeping, so he took special care to close the door quietly behind him. Tiptoeing across the foyer, he reached the carpeted stairs and began to climb, avoiding the familiar squeaky spots.
As he reached the second floor, he heard movement in Simon’s apartment. The Englishman was already up. He wondered for a moment: Should I stop and tell him about my all-nighter with the rock widow?
Why not?
The buzzer was noisy as hell, so he rapped on the door. There was more activity inside, but no one came to the door.
He knocked again.
Footsteps.
The rattle of the latch chain.
A slice of Simon appeared through the door. “Oh … hello there.”
Brian kept his voice down. “You weren’t asleep, I hope?”
“Well … ah … no, actually.”
“I’m back from the front.” Brian grinned.
“What?”
“Theresa’s bash.”
“Ah.”
“We’ve been doing nose candy all night.”
Simon nodded.
“It was wild, man. She was after my ass.”
Simon arched an eyebrow, “Indeed?” He was trying to sound impressed, but something was distracting him.
The light dawned.
“Jesus.” Brian banged his forehead with his palm. “You’ve got a lady in there.”
Simon blinked, then nodded.
“Sorry,” whispered Brian, backing away. “Catch you later.” He gave the lieutenant a thumbs-up sign. “Carry on, old man.”
He climbed the stairs feeling pretty stupid. The coke had obviously numbed his reasoning powers. It was Sunday morning, the morning after Saturday night; Simon was hardly likely to be alone.
No.
Simon had gone to the sunrise service.
Maybe he had changed his mind, though.
Maybe he had bailed out at the last minute.
Maybe he had picked up someone at the service.
Maybe not.
Maybe he didn’t have to.
He reached his door and found it locked. His temples were throbbing angrily as he searched for his keys. Be cool, warned the last tattered remnants of his reason. Be cool.
He went straight to the bedroom.
The bed was empty.
Maybe Mary Ann was still on the job.
Maybe there had been technical problems.
Maybe she had gone to breakfast afterwards.
He sat down, then got up again and went to the landing.
He had been there almost a minute when he heard Simon’s door open and close. He ducked back inside and sat there massaging his temples as the crippling green poison flooded his brain.
Someone was climbing the stairs.

A Name for This
S HE TRIED TO BE STATELY ABOUT IT, CHIN UP AND shoulders back, like Mary Queen of Scots striding toward the ax. If Brian had been doing coke all night, her own level-headedness was even more important.
She opened the door. He was silting in the armchair facing her.
“Hi,” she said, closing the door behind her.
His face seemed to do a dozen different things at once.
“I’m not going to lie to you,” she said.
“Go ahead,” he said darkly. “One more time won’t make a fucking bit of difference.”
“It isn’t as bad as it looks, Brian.” She skirted his chair, heading for the kitchen.
“Where are you going?”
“To get us a drink.”
“No! Get back here. We’re talking.”
“O.K., but …”
“Get back here, I said.”
She came back and sat on the sofa. “We shouldn’t be doing this now. You’ve been up all night. Your nerves are raw. There’s no way you can rationally …”
“Shut the fuck up!”
She folded her hands in her