The Axeman's Jazz

followed by Steve, having apparently taken just time enough to throw some money on the bar, and looked both ways. For her? Was he trying to catch up with her?
    Or follow her?
    He went back to the coffeehouse, started to straddle the hog, then shrugged and went back in, maybe remembering Nini and Peggy.
    Skip gave Steve the high sign and watched him follow. Then she got in her car and waited. Sonny came in without Missy, maybe having taken her home and come back. For about forty-five minutes nothing else happened, and then Alex left with Peggy astride his bike. He took her to her car and went home, having apparently struck out yet again. The lights were out, which Skip assumed meant Lamar was asleep, which probably meant Alex would stay home.
    Home, then? Did that mean she could go home? She didn’t dare.
    She went back to PJ’s to see if any coffee-drinkers were left. There were none.
    Home now?
    Yes.
    Home to a message from Steve: “I want to see you.”
    It all fell away—her tiredness, her despair of ever catching this creep, her worry, even, momentarily, her puzzlement about Alex. Desire mushroomed in her; not sexual desire, but simple desire to see Steve, to be with him, to be with someone she loved.
    She phoned him at Cookie’s, invited him over, and stepped into the shower. She met him at the downstairs entrance in a white terrycloth robe, hair dripping, feet in thongs.
    “Miss Elegance.”
    “Mmmm.” She couldn’t be bothered answering. She just wanted to bury her face in his neck.
    “But you smell good.”
    She’d thought they’d talk first, but later wondered why she had thought that. She would have opened her robe and thrown her legs around his waist, ridden him right there in the tiny, dingy entranceway, if she’d been small enough. As it was, they ended up on her apartment floor—she’d folded her sofa bed for company and they couldn’t stop to unfold it.
    Steve said, “Women are crazy, you know that?”
    “Why?”
    “They always want to shower first and then make love.”
    “In this town, you’d better.”
    “All women are like that.”
    “All women? Are you trying to tell me something?”
    “I read it somewhere.”
    She got up, found her robe, and tugged it on. “Want something to drink?”
    “Something alcoholic. I’ll never be able to sleep after all that coffee.”
    “Who asked you to come, by the way?”
    “To coffee? Di.”
    “To the meeting.”
    “Haven’t you heard? Ninety-six percent of the population’s codependent. Why should I be in the healthy four percent?”
    He followed her in the kitchen, winced as roaches scattered. “I’ll never get used to that.”
    “How about a Dixie?”
    He accepted it and she made herself an iced tea, hoping it would counteract her returning weariness.
    “That was the weirdest conversation with Alex. Did you hear it?”
    Steve shook his head.
    “He’s figured out I’m a cop. He even knows I asked him out yesterday because I thought he was the Axeman. But he seems to think I don’t have the backing of the department—that I’m just some dummy with a theory. And he pretty well let me know he wasn’t even slightly nervous about me.”
    “That’s creepy. Just how some super-arrogant psychotic would react.”
    “Yeah. Or some arrogant but innocent bystander.”
    “I’m serious. Maybe he was throwing down the gauntlet.”
    “Maybe. But he’d have to be really crazy to do that.”
    “The Axeman’s not a well human.”
    “I wonder what Cindy Lou would say.” The phone rang. “Maybe that’s her calling. Has to be. If it’s not Jimmy Dee.”
    At the mention of her landlord, Steve winced. She answered happily, a musical “Hellooo,” and the next thing she said was “Oh, shit.”
    Steve mouthed. “What is it?” and she turned her face, finger in her ear.
    When she hung up and turned around, he said, “Oh, my God.”
    “What? You’re white. Do you feel okay?”
    He got up as if to steady her but she moved back. “I’m fine.”
    She hated this in herself. Some people blushed when they were in love, Skip lost her color when she’d had a shock. She’d gladly have traded. “There’s been another.”
    “Someone you know?” She thought he asked because she seemed so upset, and it was almost true, almost someone she knew. Should she tell him? Hell, she’d have to interview him—might as well do it now and save time.
    “I can’t tell you yet. You’re a witness.”
    “What do you mean? I didn’t see