The Axeman's Jazz

talking.” His mouth found hers.
    She couldn’t quit talking for long—that could mean real disaster. She pulled away from the kiss.
    “Alex, I don’t think I can do this.”
    “Do what?”
    “Have sex with you.”
    He stepped away from her. “What the hell are you talking about?”
    He was suddenly transformed from pushy suitor to crazy man. Black fury seeped out of him; his voice was a raspy shout.
    “I guess I’m getting cold feet.”
    “You bitch!” An unhealthy redness flooded his face.
    “I’m sorry.”
    “After manhandling me all night!”
    “All of a sudden you seem a little too much for me.”
    “Shit, I could have had the young blonde.”
    “Why didn’t you?”
    “Fuck!” He took a spin around the room, stomping. “You fat, ugly
bitch
!”
    “You like to insult women, don’t you, Alex? And pull their hair and bite. What else do you like to do?”
    “Oh, no. You’re not going to get me to fall for that again. You’re like some high school girl on a date.”
    She took a step closer to him, poised, ready. But he didn’t move. Finally, he said, “You want to know what you need? A spanking.”
    She tried getting mad, yelling as loud as she could, anything to provoke him. She knew she was walking a thin line, maybe stepping over to the edge of entrapment, but she went ahead. “Don’t you talk to me like that, you airhead. All you want to do is rough somebody up!”
    “Shut up.” He grabbed her neck with one hand.
    “Take your hand off me.”
    To her consternation, he did. But she wasn’t done yet. “You’re the Axeman, aren’t you? Oh, Jesus! Oh, no!” She moved, scared and crablike, toward the kitchen. “Don’t come near me—leave me alone!” Her voice was shrill, harsh and terrified.
    But he didn’t move, instead looked at her with pity. “You’re crazy, you know that? You’re really crazy. I don’t know why I didn’t see it before.”
    He pushed past her and clattered down the stairs.
    Cappello and Hodges burst out of the bedroom. The signal had been a simple one: “Help.” If she’d needed it, she would have asked for it.
    They radioed O’Rourke: Stay on him.
    They phoned Joe. When he was done swearing, he said, “Pack it in, Langdon. Tell the other two to back up O’Rourke.”
    “But, Joe…”
    “Yeah, I know how you feel. But trust me—you’re stressed out and you’re a lot more tired than you think you are. See you in the morning.”
    Feeling sad and let down, she watched her colleagues, still in full adrenaline rush, take off down the stairs. She felt she had failed. Felt like a kid on Christmas Eve, sent to bed while the grown-ups stayed up to do mysterious things. Felt like a kid, period. Her own adrenaline was still pumping. She longed for the thrill of the chase. And yet, she told herself, things would wind down soon. It was nearly one, and even in the City That Care Forgot, tomorrow was a workday.
    Half an hour later, at home, the phone rang. Her heart leaped. But it was only Jimmy Dee begging her to come to his party. He had seen her light go on, and she was touched. Why not go over?
    It was as crowded as Cookie’s, but a lot more colorful. Jimmy Dee, a partner in a very proper law firm, remained, in some circles, discreetly in the closet. Skip was perfectly aware that his nightly shows of camping it up were purely for her benefit, that the city was full of women who hadn’t yet given up hope.
    He kept his gay and his straight friends separate; his Uptown friends and his Quarter friends; his artist friends and his lawyer friends; his weird friends and his button-down friends. Tonight he’d invited the gays, Quarter-crawlers, artists, and weirdos. There were enough costumes for a Mardi Gras party. Jack the Ripper was there; so were Charles Manson and Ted Bundy. They wore appropriate clothing (blood-smeared, for one thing) and name tags.
    Jimmy Dee had decorated with black bunting, black balloons, the requisite skulls and axes, and a life-sized mannequin strangled with a scarf, a scarlet A on its white shirtfront.
    “Real tasteful,” said Skip.
    He gave her a big, wet kiss. “What are you doing home, Officer Darling?”
    She sighed. “We didn’t get him, Jimmy Dee.”
    “The night’s young.”
    “I’ve been sent to bed.” She felt embarrassed to say it.
    “Well, come to the buffet. I brought out the warm blood at midnight … let’s see. Ah, yes, still some left.” He handed her a cup of it.
    “What is this? Bloody Mary