Chapter 7

2:27 PM, OFFICE OF DR. FRANCINE LIPSCHITZ

"Ready for round two?" Andy asked, jovially following Sharon up the steps.

"I'll just be happy when this whole thing is over."

It was Saturday. Saturday usually meant a day off. Back when Andy had first started, he worked almost every weekend. But now, with the departmental budget freeze and drastic spending cuts, overtime had become a dirty word. Policy was that unless the case posed a threat to public security, it could wait until Monday.

Unfortunately for Sharon and Andy, Dr. Francine Lipschitz was not aware of the LAPD's new policy. She had blatantly refused to schedule their second appointment on any other day but today, leaving them with no other choice but to show up. Their undercover investigation was a critical step in finally arresting and convicting the long time mobster and known murderer, Joe Abrams. Nothing as pointless as an overtime dispute should jeopardize an investigation of this magnitude. Through sheer tactical persuasion, Sharon had managed to convince Taylor to pay for Andy's overtime. She would go without compensation.

That is how the pair of detectives found themselves here, on a Saturday, once again weaving their way through Francine's obstacle course of a porch toward the front door. Andy pounded on the glass. He glanced at Sharon who seemed more relaxed than he had seen her in weeks. Maybe it was just the change in attire. Instead of her normal business suit, Sharon wore jeans and a dark purple button down shirt that hugged in at her waist. Her hair seemed to have a bit more wave than usual, but still swept swiftly down her back. Andy almost liked it better this way. It seemed more natural.

"Maybe you should knock again," Sharon said, interrupting his thoughts. Andy once again slammed his fist against the thin glass of the door, causing the entire porch to shake. They waited, but still no one came. "This is ridiculous," said Sharon, attempting to peer through the stained glass windows that lined the doorframe.

"I could try calling," Andy said, pulling his cell phone from his pocket.

"Don't bother, the phone is disconnected."

"How do you know?"

"Because I tried calling earlier."

"You tried calling earlier? Why?"

"I thought it might be a good idea to remind Francine of our little appointment today. Obviously, she could have used the reminder." Sharon began to jiggle the latch on the outer door, moving it up and down in a singular, forceful motion.

"What are you doing?"

"Ahh!" she said, as the door clicked.

"Sharon, what the hell are you doing?" He had never pegged Sharon as one to break into locked buildings.

"Going inside. I want to check and see if she's here." Sharon looked at Andy and sensed his trepidation. "Don't look so worried," she whispered mockingly. "We're not breaking in. This is a place of business."

"Okay fine," he said, following her inside. The hall was even dustier than he remembered. The air was laden with a layer of invisible dirt that seemed to settle at the back of his throat. He wanted desperately to cough, but managed to suppress the urge.

"Hello? Francine, are you here?" Sharon's voice sounded heavy, as if she too was having difficulty propelling it thorough the gritty air. Sharon took a cautious step forward, the floor creaking beneath her feet. Andy followed, one hand resting on top of his gun. "Hello," she said again, this time quite a bit louder.

Seconds later, they heard the distinct squeak of Francine's voice followed by the sound of feet above them. Andy and Sharon both looked up as the hall's chandelier wobbled threateningly on its hinge, sending a showering of dust onto their heads. "I'm coming," Francine yelled, as she ran down the stairs. She appeared before them in one frantic heap. Her previously smooth red hair was frizzed at the bottom, some pieces sticking out at odd angles. The dramatic shawl had been replaced with an oversize sweatshirt pulled down over a pair of torn tights. Undoubtedly, the most noticeable difference was the lack of bright red lipstick. Andy felt as if he was meeting an entirely new person.

"Umm," Sharon was just as surprised by Francine's change in appearance. "Sorry to intrude, but we have an appointment today at 2:30," she said, holding her arm out so that her watch was level Francine's eyes.

"Right." Francine's voice shook slightly. "Yes. I'm sorry. Right this way."

The pair followed Francine into the sitting room where their previous session had been held. It was much darker than before. Last time, the curtains had been open, giving the decrepit room an almost warm glow. Now, there was only a thin strip of pale light escaping through the crack where the curtains didn't quite close. Between the dimness and the smog-ridden air, Andy could barely see. Francine turned on the lamp next to her chair. It didn't help much.

Andy looked quietly around the room. Nothing much had changed since their last visit. In fact, nothing had been moved at all. Every object, down to the match Francine had used to light the candle, was in the exact same place. He was starting to get a bad feeling about this. Sharon, who was now questioning Francine as to why she was late, seemed to share in his concern.

"I was taking a nap."

"I thought this was your office. Why would you have a bed upstairs?"

"Sometimes, I get tired and need a place to rest." Francine was holding one of her incense sticks before her, trying unsuccessfully to light it. Her thumb seemed unable to stay steady long enough to hold the flame in place.

"Francine, are you sure you're alright?" asked Sharon. "You seem a bit…shaken."

"I'm fine," she said tersely. After several more tries, she finally gave up, throwing the lighter onto the floor.

Sharon studied the woman intently. Francine had yet to stop moving since she sat down. Her right leg bounced manically up and down, while her hands twisted in her lap, fingers clumsily interlacing with each other. Her eyes darted frantically around the room, every so often stopping briefly to glance at the intricate plaster designs on the ceiling. She resembled a dead leaf, shaking in the wind.

"Francine," Sharon said, sliding forward in her seat and placing a steadying hand over the woman's tangled fist. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Nothing at all. Everything is just fine." She quickly looked up at the ceiling again.

Sharon's eyes followed. "Is someone up there?" she whispered, barely loud enough to hear.

Francine nodded her head, finally looking Sharon in the eye.

"Can you tell me who it is?"

Francine shook her head violently, as tears started to stream down her face.

"It's okay," Sharon said. "We're the police. We're here to help you." Francine shook her head, yanking her hand away.

"Look. Here's my badge." Andy held the shiny gold medal out before him, hoping to offer some reassurance.

"Tell us where he is, and we can help you," Sharon's calming voice seemed to sooth her.

"He's in the bedroom," she said finally. "First door on the right."

Sharon stood, pulling her gun from her bag. "Stay here," she whispered to Francine. The woman was shaking more than ever. Trails of dripping, black eyeliner swept across her porcelain cheeks.

Since their first appointment, her and Andy had known of Francine's connection to the Abrams crime family. She was thought to have been an old girlfriend, someone who had been privileged to some information, but was not longer involved in the day-to-day business. Maybe if they were lucky, they could get her to testify in one of the murder trials. Now it seems, Francine had been much closer than either of them had anticipated.

Andy held is gun firmly out in front of him waiting for Sharon's direction. For a brief second, their eyes met in mutual reassurance. Sharon looked away first, motioning for him to lead the way up the stairs. He moved forward without a moment's hesitation. In normal circumstances, it is best to move slowly. Take it step by step and then surprise the person at the last second. However, the creakiness of the house posed somewhat of a challenge. Each step Sharon and Andy took was accompanied by a loud, drawn out groan from the floor. The element of surprise was all but lost. Realizing their dilemma, Andy quickly changed the plan of attack. He scaled the stairs two at a time, moving faster and faster the higher he climbed. Sharon kept up pace behind him.

In seconds, they had reached the top of the stairs. The first door on the right was just on the opposite side of the railing. Andy kicked in the door and a translucent curtain of dust billowed around them. Careful not to inhale too deeply, Sharon followed Andy down the hall and watched him disappear into the smoke filled room. She saw a man, medium build with dark, curly brown hair, lying on the bed. He was wearing nothing but a pair of black boxer briefs and was searching frantically in the dresser drawer beside the bed. At least six cigarettes sat in the ashtray next to him.

"HANDS UP! HANDS UP WHERE I CAN SEE 'EM!" Andy screamed.

The man continued searching. "HEY! HANDS UP OR I WILL GLADLY SHOOT YOU."

Raising both hands in the air, the man turned to face the door. Andy quickly instructed him to climb off the bed and lay face down on the ground, hands behind his head.

Sharon's heart was slowly returning to its normal pace and she managed to take a calming breath without inhaling too much dust. As she lowered her gun and began moving further into the room, an arm circled around her neck, lifting her into the air. She let out an exasperated scream and her entire body was slammed into the wall opposite her. The gun flew out of her hand, crashing loudly to the ground.

"Sharon!" Andy's voice seemed distant. Maybe all this dust was just clogging her ears.

The man's hand slid away from her neck and circled around her middle just below her breasts, trapping both arms against her sides. "Shoot him and I shoot her," the man said, bringing a gun to Sharon's head.

Andy backed out of the room slowly, his gun still pointed toward the man in the boxer briefs.

"Hey! Are you deaf or just stupid?" said Sharon's captor, tightening his grip considerably. "I said put down the fucking gun or I shoot the girl." Sharon struggled against him with little success. His muscular arm held her firmly against his chest making her top half almost immobile. She kicked wildly, hoping that she could hit a weak spot in his leg, but it was no use. The man was so tall that her feet barely touched the ground. If he could hold her entire weight with a single arm, it was unlikely that a few kicks to the shin would cause him to buckle over in pain.

Andy had finally emerged fully from the room, his gun still pointed in the direction of the man on the floor. He looked directly at Sharon. She met his gaze, letting her fear finally bubble to the surface. His shook his head as if telling her not to worry, that he would find a way out. She took a steadying breath and let his placating eyes wash over her. For that brief moemnt, she felt safe.

"Put the gun down!" the man screamed at Andy. "I don't want to have to tell you again."

"Are you his security guard?" Andy asked, his voice surprisingly steady.

"What kind of a fuckin' question is that?" the man yelled. "I said put the gun down."

"You know, if you are supposed to be his security guard, you sure are lousy at your job."

The man's grip on Sharon tightened further, making it difficult for her to breath. "You won't be sayin' that after I blow her brains out." Sharon felt the cold metal graze against her temple.

"I put this gun down and what happens to you?" Andy continued. "What happens to the guy who fucked things up? What happens to the guy who didn't do his job? I'm guessing the Abrams don't take that sorta thing real well. Do they?"

"Hey shut up! Shut up! Okay? You don't know a fucking thing." Sharon felt the barrel of his gun digging further into her skin.

"Been working as an LAPD detective for thirty years pal. I've seen my fair share of mob killings. Do you know what they do to fuck ups like you? They get rid of them." Andy's last words were barely louder than a whisper. Sharon felt the man's arm quiver around her body, as a bolt of anger surged through him.

"THAT'S A LIE," he screamed, releasing his death grip on Sharon and throwing her into the opposite wall. She crumbled onto the floor. In the blink of an eye, he had brought his gun out in front of him and was aiming toward Andy. "Take that back."

Andy didn't hesitate. Without so much as a pause, he shot the man straight in the chest. The entire house shook as the man dropped to the floor in front of Sharon. He was dead before he hit the ground.