investigator is supposed to deduce, not guess."
"The note, then. Somebody slipped it under my door."
"Who?"
"Maybe the person who shot me."
"Then why didn't the person just knock on the door, wait until you answered, then shoot you?"
"Plot complications? Fool the cops? Fool me?"
"Right. It's never the most obvious answer. Who else?"
"Well, the note was from Bailey DeBussey , I think."
"Bailey DeBussey . DeBussey ." Miss Titanic went to the filing cabinet, prowled for a moment, then pulled out a slender folder. She opened it and whistled. "Pretty."
" I seen worse."
She closed the folder and slipped it back into its proper place in the chaotic universe. "So why would Bailey want you to meet her at a certain time, which you say happens to be the exact same time you got a chestful of hot lead?"
"My killer must have known about the note."
"Jeez, Steele. You're so quick on the draw, maybe we'll reincarnate you as a postmodern Billy the Kid."
"She must be in on it, then. She was putting on quite an act in the coffee shop."
"And you thought she was after you for your looks."
I stood up. "Hey, Lee likes my looks just fine, and she—"
My caseworker leaned back in her chair and smiled. "Aha. I knew there was somebody back there worth fighting for."
Busted. The worst thing about real love, the kind you feel in your guts and soul, is you can't really keep it secret. You can hide names and places, but there's something different inside you that bursts out when you least expect it, a light you can't hide. Even to yourself, the one person who is often the easiest to fool.
She stooped down and rummaged in a bottom drawer, then came out with a piece of paper. "Here, fill this out. Form 3716, a deadline extension. Forgives the penalty you should have drawn for committing afterlife suicide. And don't let anybody know I did you a favor. Word gets around fast up here and no good deed goes unpunished."
I fidgeted with the paperwork. When I was done, she said, "I see something else in your eyes, Steele."
"What?"
"The thing you're running from."
"I'm past it now."
"Really? It looks like the kind of dead weight that makes a lovely anchor in the lake of fire."
"Well, it's my problem, not yours."
She pursed her ice-blue lips. "Okay. But don't make it my problem. I've got to clear up this clutter or I don't get to move on myself, and I want to get my lovely bones out of here and meet five people in heaven."
"Sounds like you're bound for the great Oprah Book Club in the Sky."
"It beats learning to play a harp."
"Hey, wait a minute. I thought you were Jewish."
She shrugged. "Did I say any of this made sense? If we knew what we were doing, life would have no point."
She waved me out the door and returned to the heaps of business on her desk. I didn't ask the way out. I figured there would be an exit sign somewhere. I'd discovered God had a great sense of humor, despite being a heartless bastard.
***
6.
The hall was empty. The woman in white no longer occupied the bench, and presumably she'd been swept off to some make-good mission of her own. There was a door at the end of the hall, but the sign above it said "Emergency Exit Only." What were they going to do, slap me with a civil fine? Give me the death penalty?
I pushed the door open and took a step, expecting a set of corny golden stairs. Instead, I found myself fighting for balance in a river of red lava. Heat singed my eyebrows as I slipped waist-deep into the bubbling morass. Though the air was hot, the lava itself was clammy against my skin, as thick as sewer sludge and about as odiferous.
The river flowed into a dark cavern that yawned like an afternoon wino. Was this the route I was supposed to take? Because of my slip-up, was I now to take the hard road home?
Turned out harder than I expected.
"Get your ass down here," she roared. " Now! "
Diana. I turned, fighting my way back up to the landing and the hall I'd left behind. But you know how these things
"The note, then. Somebody slipped it under my door."
"Who?"
"Maybe the person who shot me."
"Then why didn't the person just knock on the door, wait until you answered, then shoot you?"
"Plot complications? Fool the cops? Fool me?"
"Right. It's never the most obvious answer. Who else?"
"Well, the note was from Bailey DeBussey , I think."
"Bailey DeBussey . DeBussey ." Miss Titanic went to the filing cabinet, prowled for a moment, then pulled out a slender folder. She opened it and whistled. "Pretty."
" I seen worse."
She closed the folder and slipped it back into its proper place in the chaotic universe. "So why would Bailey want you to meet her at a certain time, which you say happens to be the exact same time you got a chestful of hot lead?"
"My killer must have known about the note."
"Jeez, Steele. You're so quick on the draw, maybe we'll reincarnate you as a postmodern Billy the Kid."
"She must be in on it, then. She was putting on quite an act in the coffee shop."
"And you thought she was after you for your looks."
I stood up. "Hey, Lee likes my looks just fine, and she—"
My caseworker leaned back in her chair and smiled. "Aha. I knew there was somebody back there worth fighting for."
Busted. The worst thing about real love, the kind you feel in your guts and soul, is you can't really keep it secret. You can hide names and places, but there's something different inside you that bursts out when you least expect it, a light you can't hide. Even to yourself, the one person who is often the easiest to fool.
She stooped down and rummaged in a bottom drawer, then came out with a piece of paper. "Here, fill this out. Form 3716, a deadline extension. Forgives the penalty you should have drawn for committing afterlife suicide. And don't let anybody know I did you a favor. Word gets around fast up here and no good deed goes unpunished."
I fidgeted with the paperwork. When I was done, she said, "I see something else in your eyes, Steele."
"What?"
"The thing you're running from."
"I'm past it now."
"Really? It looks like the kind of dead weight that makes a lovely anchor in the lake of fire."
"Well, it's my problem, not yours."
She pursed her ice-blue lips. "Okay. But don't make it my problem. I've got to clear up this clutter or I don't get to move on myself, and I want to get my lovely bones out of here and meet five people in heaven."
"Sounds like you're bound for the great Oprah Book Club in the Sky."
"It beats learning to play a harp."
"Hey, wait a minute. I thought you were Jewish."
She shrugged. "Did I say any of this made sense? If we knew what we were doing, life would have no point."
She waved me out the door and returned to the heaps of business on her desk. I didn't ask the way out. I figured there would be an exit sign somewhere. I'd discovered God had a great sense of humor, despite being a heartless bastard.
***
6.
The hall was empty. The woman in white no longer occupied the bench, and presumably she'd been swept off to some make-good mission of her own. There was a door at the end of the hall, but the sign above it said "Emergency Exit Only." What were they going to do, slap me with a civil fine? Give me the death penalty?
I pushed the door open and took a step, expecting a set of corny golden stairs. Instead, I found myself fighting for balance in a river of red lava. Heat singed my eyebrows as I slipped waist-deep into the bubbling morass. Though the air was hot, the lava itself was clammy against my skin, as thick as sewer sludge and about as odiferous.
The river flowed into a dark cavern that yawned like an afternoon wino. Was this the route I was supposed to take? Because of my slip-up, was I now to take the hard road home?
Turned out harder than I expected.
"Get your ass down here," she roared. " Now! "
Diana. I turned, fighting my way back up to the landing and the hall I'd left behind. But you know how these things
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