Ingrams & Assoc 3: American Life 01

Hey Folks. A darker story for April this time. I wanted to try a BTB story, but with a twist. Where the hero doesn't magically write a best seller or turn his life around after being dumped on. It's about you and me, and what happens to us when we are shat on from a great height. There's sex, but it's more about the story than that.

Again, thanks to PennLady for the editing and pointing out where I suck. And there's a lot of that;)

He died in her arms, and she was shaking and crying frantically. She didn't even know his name, only that she owed him her life. She sat on the ground, clutching at his body, holding him, as she felt the warmth leave his body, with him staring up at her, trying to speak and only bloody foam leaving his mouth.

April had never seen anyone die before. She'd never watched the life leave the eyes, the face go slack and realize that this person, this set of memories and experiences and reactions would be gone forever.

It was cold, it was dark and it was a back alley. It probably wasn't the worst place to die, but it was probably up there in the top five.

That's where the EMTs found her: sitting on the ground, hunched over him, clutching at him desperately, crying and shaking. The attended to her, dragging her away from the body, and then attended to the other two people lying on the wet ground – it had rained earlier that day, before the sun went down, and the alley was still slick from it.

The alley itself was nothing special. Back doors to businesses, all mismatched, brick walls with graffiti on them, large garbage cans, cabling overhead. Exactly what you'd expect to find in a back alley way in any city in the world. Anonymous. Unspecial. And for one man, deadly.

The EMT's took April to the back of one of their red ambulances, to wait for the police to arrive. They gave her coffee and a blanket and recognized the onset of shock. She didn't stop shaking and asking inane questions. The EMT's were used to that – it didn't phase them at all.

Eventually the cops arrived, and with it, Detective Ambrose Hillier. Ambrose was thirty-seven, looked forty-five, was tired and grouchy and didn't want to be in a dark alleyway with a dead John Doe. He'd gone through a nasty divorce the year before and he'd only just started out dating again, and on the second date, the call had come through and here he was.

He was probably never going to see Mercy again – she'd made it clear were she thought his priorities should be – and in some ways, it was a good thing, because the life of a homicide detective meant there would be lots of missed nights, so better to find out she had no stomach for that now than later.

He pulled up his pants again –in the last year he'd lost thirty pounds and none of his clothes fit properly any more, but he was damned if he was going to wear suspenders like his colleagues. He knew he looked slovenly enough, with adding to the impression.

Looking around, he saw the EMT's helping one man who was just recovering consciousness. He looked over at one of the other bodies and caught the eye of the EMT trying to help him – it was Harry Smiles. Harry looked up, saw Hillier looking at him and shook his head. No chance there then.

Hillier looked over at the other body, the one where the girl had been found. The EMT there was still working on the body, so Hillier walked over. He put his hand on the EMT's shoulder and startled her. She looked up, not stopping what she was doing with chest compression. There was no hope in her eyes; she was doing what all EMT's are duty bound to do, just in case. In this case, there was no just in case, but she was contentious and so she was doing it anyway. He noticed her eyes were extremely blue and she had blond hair coming out of her cap that was jammed on her head. It was strange, the things you noticed in these circumstances – what leapt out at you.

He looked around and saw the girl, the victim, sitting over at the edge of one of the ambulances. She was pretty. Tall, slim, well dressed, blond short hair, cut in a page boy style. Diamond earrings, expensive shoes. Blanket that had been put around her shoulders that was now sitting on the floor. Very out of her element, he judged. He headed towards her, being stopped on the way by one of the uniforms swarming around.

"Hey, Detective," he said. It was Paul Savage. Good cop. Did the whole Blue Knight thing, knew everyone in the neighborhood and they knew him. It was nice but it didn't mean squat. No one around this particular part of the neighborhood would talk to him about things they didn't want to talk about, regardless of how he swung his truncheon. This was 2015, not 1956. Still, he was solid. If he told you something, it was so.

"What do we have, Paul? First impressions?" asked Hillier.

"Looks fairly open and shut, Detective. She," he gestured to where April was taking another sip of coffee and looking right at him, "was mugged by three ne'er-do wells. Two of them are still here, but one got away. I haven't got out of her what she was doing in an alleyway like this – rich girl like her – but according to her, these three jumped her.

"She takes some kind of martial arts and was fighting back. She took out one guy and was about to deal with another when our John Doe back there appeared. From what she says, even though she dealt with one, and was facing off against another, the third managed to get behind her, and was armed with a knife. She didn't know.

"This guy," he gestured to the body on the ground, "appeared, jumped on the guy with the knife and took him to the ground. He dropped something, and we picked it up; it's in my squad car. Just a bag of old clothes. Anyway, she belted the other guy, and kicked him the nuts. By then, our perp with the knife was up and had already stabbed this guy twice. Somehow he managed to get the knife away from him – we found it in the corner, and the guy with the knife then did a runner.

"Our John Doe tried to get the girl out of the alley and collapsed on the way. He died in her arms. She has no clue who he is. She says he just appeared and saved her life. She's pretty shaken up; obviously. That's how it's reported and frankly, it looks that way. She broke the other guy's neck, by the way. He's alive but he'll never walk again. And the other guy is protesting about how he was attacked out of the blue.

"But we've got video from two different angles," Savage pointed out two different cameras mounted on the walls, "and what's more, one of them is even an infrared camera. It's all exactly as she said. There's no incitement here; it's a clear case of stand-your-ground. We still don't know why she was here or why they jumped her, but in terms of events, it's exactly as she said," Savage finished.

"Witnesses?" asked Hillier.

"None yet. And I don't really expect any. It's late and it's a dark alley and most of these business are shut anyway. I think that's why they tried it on in the first place."

Hillier nodded.

"Well, time to talk to the lady then. What's her name?"

"She is one April Carlisle. Thirty-two years old. Works as a clinical psychologist for some think tank downtown. Single."

Savage suppressed a small smile at that last statement. Hillier saw it and didn't respond. He knew his fledgling dating efforts were watched with great amusement by the department, but right now he didn't care. This was a murder scene. Time enough for the funnies later. He just looked at Savage with a hard stare and Savage looked away.

He walked over to April, aware that she was studying him.

"Miss Carlisle?" he said.

She nodded and looked around for somewhere to put down the now-cold coffee. She couldn't find anywhere to hand, and just put it on the ground, by the Ambulance wheels.

She looked back at Hillier and he was aware of how good-looking she was. Groomed was the word. Hair perfect. Perfect application of makeup, apart from the ugly bruise on her cheek and the marks on her neck.

"Can you tell me what happened here please, Miss?" asked Hillier. At times like this, you used as little words as you could. Let them fill in the blanks and the silences. Often they said more than they meant to.

She said nothing, tilted her head and studied him. A full minute passed.

"Miss?" he prompted.

"Does it still hurt? Being dumped?" she asked out of the blue. "You aren't over it yet, are you?"

Ambrose Hillier stood stock still, not knowing what to do or respond.

"It's ok. It's a bit obvious. Your friend over there looks over at me, has a little smirk and you have a face like stone. Obviously something going on there. Then there's your clothes. They don't fit, so obviously something changed recently. But no woman would allow you out looking like that, so there's no woman. But at your age, no woman? Good looking man like you? There had to be a woman. So something happened, you lost weight, you are dressing like a bum. Obvious really."

Hillier took a deep breath and buried his initial response. "Be that as it may, Miss, we need to talk about what happened here."

"Yes, of course," said April. She also took a deep breath. "As I said to the other guy, I got jumped by those delightful gentlemen."

Hillier could see she was getting herself under control. Just in the few short minutes he'd been on the scene, she'd stopped shivering and was breathing easier and the color was returning to her cheeks. 'This was a tough one,' he thought.

"What were you doing in this alley anyway? This time of night? Hardly a time for window shopping."

She smiled at that. It was an alluring and wicked smile and he could see how this woman could incite men.

"I was buying crack. What do you think I was doing here?" she answered sarcastically.

"For all I know, you were buying crack. Look at yourself. You don't belong here. So I ask again. What were you doing here?"

She sighed and nodded at a door two buildings down. A red door.

"That's the back of the Mongolian Palace. I have a deal with one of the cooks there. I like my Mongolian beef made a certain way, they do it for me. I pick it up at the back. The boss there doesn't like them to do anything special for customers, so we have to indulge in the cloak and dagger for me to get it. The cook's name is Peng Lo. By all means go and check into it."

She was relaxed as she said it, and didn't look up while recalling the details, only meeting his eyes once she was done. It was either true or she was one hell of a liar.

Hillier didn't like the way she was looking at him. More like looking right through him.

Hillier made a show of looking around. "Where's your car?"

"Round the corner. It's a late model Nissan Z Convertible. There is no way I am leaving it running in an alleyway like this. I left it on the street. Your guys have already gone to look at it," she replied. She was amused. No, she was impatient. She knew he had to go through all this, and she just wanted to get on with it and get to what she wanted to talk about. He could tell. She was good at not showing what she was thinking but she wasn't that good. Not the kind of good you need to be to hide from an observant man who'd spent almost eighteen years as a cop.

"Ok," said Hillier, noting down a few things. He still used a notebook, even though his iPhone in his pocket was recording everything anyway. He liked to give them impression he was old-fashioned even though he loved new technology. Anything for people to underestimate you. "So, walk me through it."

April got up and walked to the entrance of the alley, which was still wet enough to reflect light off the ground from the yellow sodium street lights of the main street.

"I walked in from here. I got to about here,.." she walked a few steps, "and they came out from behind that dumpster over there." She gestured to a group of three dumpsters, arranged in a quad.

"They surrounded me, giving me all that 'Hey babe' shit. I mean, it's like it was the start of one of those super hero movies, where the girl gets mugged and the superhero shows himself for the first time. I half expected to see Batman or the Teenage Mutant Ninja turtles show up."

She was making quips. She was even more composed than he had thought. An hour ago she'd watched a man die in her arms, and now she was making witticisms. This girl was tough.

"Anyway, I took my heels off – when you are in a fight, you don't want heels on. Trust me on this."

She had been trained then. People don't know stuff like that just naturally. They have to be told and they have to be told repeatedly so they remember in the heat of the situation.

"One of them got behind me, and jumped on me from behind. He got his arm around my neck – you can see the bruises. The other one tried to get my bag, and I let him, just so I could get him in the right position. He grabbed the bag, fell a bit backward since he thought I'd be holding on to it tight, and was in the perfect position, so I kicked him the in balls. Hard. Fucking hurt my toes, let me tell you, but it was a perfect kick. Very squishy." April smiled ghoulishly and Hillier couldn't help grimacing and feeling the need to adjust his balls.

"He went down like the sack of shit he is," she continued, "and then I dealt with the guy behind. I pushed up, which made him push down, and I went down with him and stamped on his instep. That made he let go, and I turned on my toe and then punched him as hard as I could. The guy literally flew. I turned back again, to see where the other guy was and saw he was coming right at me, running full tilt. I just got out of the way in time – he connected with a flailing arm – you can see the bruise here, and then ran full tilt into the brick wall. I think he broke his neck when he hit. The EMT's say he broke it. Too fucking bad. Don't run at people with intent to harm, you know?"

She stopped talking for a second, looking at the wall and the small blood splat which indicated where the hapless mugger had run himself into paralysis. She also seemed aware she was babbling a bit. Hillier noted that she was still rattled and her calm was only on the surface. .

After taking another breath, she said, "That's when my hero jumped in. The guy I'd kicked in the balls was just starting to get up, but the other guy, who I punched, was already up and ready to get back in the game. I didn't even know it – he was behind me and I was looking at the guy on the floor. Next thing I know there's a thump and a feeling of wind behind me and the John Doe was on top of the guy with the knife. I turned to help and got tripped by Mr. Happy Sacks over there, who grabbed my foot. I could see my guy on top of the guy with the knife, and the guy stabbing him, repeatedly, in the side. I think he was being stabbed in the lungs. I kicked Mr. Scrotum in the face and he went out, and got up and scrambled over to where my guy had been pushed off the guy with the knife, who'd managed to get to his feet. He just stood there, looking at the scene, looked at me and took off. I think my guy got his knife – something clattered over in the corner there."

She stopped again and bit her thumbnail. In any other situation it would have been adorable. In this one it just made her look young and small and frightened, and with good reason.

"The guy, John Doe, tried to get up. For Christ's sake, the guy had been stabbed, repeatedly, and he tried to get up and help me! Fuck. Where do they make men like that? I wanna go there. He was almost dead and all he could think of was to help me? Jesus Christ."

She was starting to lose it. Hillier had to do something.

"Miss Carlisle. Lets take a second. I have some questions and we can get back to it in a second, ok? Take a breath."

April was breathing heavily and couldn't take her eyes off where the body was being loaded into a body bag and onto a gurney by the morgue staff, who'd finally turned up and been granted access by the forensic guys.

She nodded and her breathing slowed.

"Sorry. It's just..."

"Yeah, I know. It's a heavy thing. It really is. Take your time." Hillier had no idea what he was saying, he just wanted, - no needed -, her to calm down. In the interim he took notes, jotting down random words of his impression of the moment.

April opened her mouth to speak and then closed it again, then said, "Why are you doing that? Why bother? You're recording it all anyway."

He stopped writing and looked over the notebook at her and said, "What makes you say that?"

She looked away and said, "Either you were playing with yourself before you came over to talk to me, or you were fiddling with some thing in your pocket. If I had to guess, it was a recording device. Certainly fits, because the amount I've said and the amount you've written down is not even remotely comparable. Ergo, must be a recorder."

He closed the notebook and smiled tightly at her. Way too smart for her own good.

"So, what do you think they wanted?" he asked her.

"I dunno. Money? Me? Both? Who the hell knows? They aren't going to say, are they?"

"No, perhaps not."

They just stood and stared at each other for a moment.

"You got any idea who he is?"

"Nope. And neither do you, or you wouldn't be asking."

"He had no ID. No wallet, no dog tags. Nothing."

"Well, shit," said April, realizing how rattled she really was by using so many swear words in one go, "there's a lot we can tell."

"Oh really?" he answered sarcastically. "OK then, Sherlock, you tell me what you see. I'm all ears. Us idiot cops can use all the help we can get, so we can."

She looked at him strangely, and then said, "Ok, you wanna be a dick about it, fine. Firstly, he's single. He's a mess – he has no one to impress or dress for. Like you, for that matter. Secondly, he's not trained to fight hand to hand in this kind of situation, or at least not recently anyway, but he has courage. He just jumped in there with no second thoughts. Another reason to believe he's single. It's unlikely someone with a woman or family at home would do that. Thirdly, a man who feels a social conscience like he did had to be involved in other things. Helping people out, donations, something like that. This is a man who threw himself in to save me..." she faltered for a second and then continued, "even when it cost him his life. A man like that helps people. I'll put even money that when you find out who he is, you'll find a history of him helping people."

She looked defiantly at Hillier, who stared back. He agreed with most of what she said and some of it he'd not actually thought of himself.

"So, you've been trained, right? What kind of psychologist are you?" he asked.

She smiled back at him. There was no humor in it, just satisfaction. "It's a personal thing. My dad, well, Uncle, well, Dad – it's complicated - made me take aikido and karate as a kid. I still run and play volleyball and I do katas occasionally. This is the first time I've ever used it. It's good to know it works."

"Mostly," said Hillier, nodding at the hearse, which was just leaving.

April bit her lip and looked down. And then said sharply, "MOTHERFUCKER..." and held her hand up to her lip. There was blood when she moved her fingers away and looked at them. "I knew he hit me, but damn..."

Hillier didn't smile, but turned and indicated for one of the EMT's to come over and help out.

April was taken over to the ambulance and breathed a sigh of relief that the nosey cop wasn't asking more questions. She'd been extremely pleased that she'd almost not lied at all to him about the events of the evening. Given what she did for a living, it was almost impossible that the situations of the night had nothing to do with what she did, but in this case, implausibly, they hadn't. It had been exactly as she had described it. She wasn't on a case, she was on vacation. The guys had come out of nowhere and she'd just reacted. And someone had died over it.