Harry screamed as well, an octave higher, and whipped his Magnum across the perp’s face.

Again the guy went down.

Again the guy sat up.

McGlade took a step back. “This isn’t right, Jackie. Maybe we should just let him go.”

“If he gets away, he’ll bleed to death.”

“And that would be bad?”

The man made it to his knees, and then his feet. I didn’t want to hit him with the gun again, so I went with a roundhouse kick to the side of the head.

He went down. Came up.

Harry scratched his chin. “It’s like one of those old toys. The little egg-shaped people that wobble but don’t fall down.”

“Weebles. But I don’t remember them being this bloody.”

Harry hummed the Weebles theme from the old commercial.

“I think I’ve got an idea.” He turned and began walking away.

“You going to rent a tank?”

“No. Just need a running start.”

McGlade took four quick steps toward the guy, then punted him square in the stones.

The perp’s howl punched through the hot Chicago night and seemed to echo on forever.

“There.” McGlade smoothed out his jacket. “That would knock the Terminator out.”

He was right. The guy wheezed, then toppled over, hands clutched between his legs.

“He’s all yours, Jackie. You can go ahead and read him his Fernando rights.”

I fitted him for bracelets, then left McGlade with the perp while I went to find backup.

The cab spit us out at my place just after four in the morning. Latham, gentleman that he was, stuck with me through two debriefings and a trip to the ER to get some glass removed from my foot. He walked me up to my apartment, and I gave him a hug.

“Some romantic evening, huh?”

He smiled, kissed my nose.

“Are you kidding? On our first date I get kidnapped by a serial killer, and tonight I get to see you save a bar full of yuppies from a drug-crazed maniac. Are you free tomorrow? Maybe we can find a bank robbery in progress.”

He slipped his hand around the small of my back, pulled me gently against him.

“Would you like to come in?” I asked.

“That’s the best idea I’ve heard all day.”

I opened the door, knowing that I had no sheets and wondering if I was too old to do it on the sofa.

“Too late for a drink?” I asked. “Too early?”

“I’d drink muscatel from a dog bowl right now.”

“Settle for a whiskey sour?”

Latham nodded.

I went into the kitchen, frowned at the gigantic mess, and built two serviceable highballs. Latham stood in the living room, his jacket off. A good sign.

“Do you like it here?” he asked, as I handed him his drink.

“Here with you?”

“Here in this apartment. I know you don’t really like the neighborhood, and I know some – well – bad things happened here.”

“I guess I never really thought about it. Why do you ask?”

He smiled; a little-boy smile tinged with mischief.

“I just bought a condo on the lake. Big place, plenty of room, killer view.”

“That’s great.” I took a sip of my drink. “What about the house?”

“Sold. Move in with me, Jack.”

Before I had a chance to answer, I noticed Mr. Friskers perched on top of my television, ready to pounce.

“Latham, don’t move.”

“But I have to move, I signed the papers-”

“Shh.” I put my finger to my lips. “It’s the cat. He looks like he’s about to jump on you.”

“Hey, I like cats. If you want to bring a cat along, that’s fine with – Jesus Christ!”

Mr. Friskers launched through the air like a calico missile and attached himself to Latham’s face, all four claws locking in.

Latham screamed something, but I couldn’t hear it through the fur. I grabbed the cat and gently tried to tug him free. Latham’s reaction was muffled, but came through.

“No! Stop pulling! Stop pulling!”

I let go, frantic. On the floor, next to the sofa, was the catnip mouse I’d bought at the pet store. I picked it up and held it under the cat’s nose.

“Good kitty. Let go of his face. Let go of his face, kitty.”

Mr. Friskers sniffed once, twice, then went totally limp. I carried him into the bathroom, keeping the catnip up to his nose, and then set both of them down in the bathtub and locked the door.

I found Latham in the kitchen, liberally applying paper towels.

“Oh, wow, are you okay, Latham?”

He forced a smile.

“I may need a transfusion.”

“I’m sorry. I should have warned you.”

“I thought it was illegal to keep mountain lions as pets.”

I gave him the short version, helping him dab at his wounds. They weren’t as bad as Herb’s, so perhaps Mr. Friskers was mellowing down.

“So you’re not keeping him?”

“Not if I can help it.”

“Good. I mean, if he was part of the package, I’d accept him. But I wouldn’t want to take off my pants with him in the room.”

I opened my mouth to say something, but I wasn’t sure what to say. Moving in with Latham would be great. He was right – I didn’t like the neighborhood, and I didn’t like my apartment, and having him to hold every night would go a long way toward helping my insomnia.

But instead of focusing on all of that, I focused on my mom, stranded on the floor of her bathroom.

“Latham, I’d love to move in with you-”

“That’s great!”

“-but I can’t. When my mom gets out of the hospital, she’s coming to live with me.”

I winced, watching the disappointment slowly seep into his face.

“The condo only has one bedroom.”

My guard went up. “Latham, I didn’t ask if my mother could move into your condo.”

“I know. I mean, I’d want her to, if she’s with you, but the place is only one bedroom. There wouldn’t be any room for her.”

“Hey, I didn’t ask.”

“That came out wrong.” Latham touched my cheek. “Look, Jack, I really want to be with you. This whole I- sleep- over- at- your- place, you- sleep- over- at- my- place thing, we’re too old for that, you know what I mean?”

“I know, Latham. I wish there was some way.”

“Is there? Some way, I mean?”

I didn’t like where this was going, but I baited him anyway.

“What do you mean?”

“How about she stays here, at your place? It’s only a twenty-minute drive away.”

“She needs someone around her at all times.”

“Okay, fine. There are facilities. Good ones. Your mother could get the assistance she needs, the medical care, and we could visit her every-”

“I’m going to say good night now, Latham.”

I took him by the crook of the arm and escorted him to the front door.

“Jack, all that I’m saying is that taking care of an elderly parent is a lot of work. I don’t want you wasting your life-”

I opened the door.

“Caring for my mother is not wasting my life.”

“I didn’t mean it like that. Look, Jack, it’s been an awful night and I’m not thinking clearly.”

“Apparently not.”

Latham’s eyes got hard. I’d never really seen him angry before, and I didn’t like the preview.

“I may be tooting my own horn here, Jack, but I think I’m a pretty decent guy.”

“You’re right,” I told him. “You’re tooting your own horn.”

I felt terrible the moment it left my lips, but before I could apologize, Latham was halfway down the hall.

“Latham…”

He disappeared through the stairwell door, not giving me a backward glance.

Nice one, Jack. You just screwed up a relationship with the last decent guy in the Midwest.

From the bathroom, Mr. Friskers howled in agreement.

I walked back into my apartment, finished my drink, Latham’s drink, and one more on top of that. Pleasantly tipsy, I let the screaming cat out of the john, took off my makeup, curled up on my sheetless bed, and slept for forty-five wonderful minutes before jerking awake.

For the next three hours, sleep was a stop-and-go affair, short stretches interspersed with bouts of anxiety, nagging questions, and doubt.