Ingrams & Assoc 3: American Life 01

She put her hand in her pocket and twisted on the key she had in there. As the man was dying, he'd put the key in her hand. She'd take the last moments of his life with her to her death, she knew. She'd run over to him, dropped onto the ground, not heeding what it did to her expensive skirt and gathered him up on her lap, trying to talk to him and keep him with her. She'd grabbed her cell phone and made a very fast 911 call, and then just sat there, talking to him. He tried to talk to her, looking her in the eye, but the only thing that came out of his mouth was thin bubbly blood, and she could see him trying to take breaths that didn't seem to work.

She just sat there, talking to him, telling him it was going to be all right, that he wasn't alone, that she wasn't going anywhere, that she was so thankful for her life, that he had intervened, and then she watched the light go out of his eyes and she felt such grief, such pain, and such numbness, all at the same time.

And then the cops and EMT's were there and she was sitting on the back of an ambulance, wondering what her rescuer's name was, and whether he had someone. She would find out. She was good at that.

The EMT took her back to the ambulance and took a look at her lip, giving her some small slurry that would encourage healing or, as he put it, "Frankly, your saliva has more stuff in it that will promote healing than this shit has. But it'll stop you bleeding now, and that's good enough."

Once he was done, Hillier was hovering again.

"Ok, Detective, what else can I tell you?" she said, exasperation starting to show through.

He held up his hands in supplication. "Questions are over for now. We'll need you to come down and give us an official statement some time in the next couple of days, but right now, I think we have all we need."

He looked at her closer and said, "Do you have a friends? Local? Who might be in the same game you are?"

She looked at him and nodded.

"Ok," he continued, "here's what I want you to do. Pull out your phone and call me right now."

She smiled at that. A transparent ploy to ensure he had her number. She couldn't blame him.

"Yeah, ok. I don't date cops though," she retorted drily. But then she tapped in his number and heard his pocket trill. So it was a smart phone recording not an actual recorder.

"Yeah, like I'd to date you. Or you me. Waking up with you would be like a full on analysis of which side of the bed I was on. I'd be afraid to sneeze around you, for what you'd read into it. Right, now call that friend. Right now. In front of me."

April started to protest when he said, "Or I can just recommend you be taken to the hospital for observation, and then insist you come down to the station right now. Your choice."

April narrowed her eyes at him and said, "Really?"

Hillier smiled a wry smile and said, "Look, if you are anything like any other profession, now that you need your own services, you'll dither, make excuses and generally fuck up your own diagnosis. They say the lawyer who represents himself has an idiot for a client. So call."

April could see the logic. She didn't like it, but she could see it. She looked through her list of contacts, and selected Desirea McGee. She wanted Megan, but she was currently out in the field. Desirea would do. She was less of a friend and more of a boss, but she was also a PhD in clinical psychology, and as such, probably the best person to call.

She dialed and after four rings, Desirea answered.

"Hey Des," she said, "look, something has come up here, I kinda need to talk to someone...yeah. Is there any chance... yeah, my place. Sure? That's ok? I'm not taking you away from anything...?"

The moment she started talking, Hillier snapped his fingers at her, gesturing for the phone. April kept staring at him as she continued the conversation.

"Give me the phone please," he said firmly.

April looked at him, debating, until she just gave it to him.

He held it up to his ear and said, "Hello Ma'am. This is Detective Ambrose Hillier of the 17th precinct. I'm really sorry to barge in on this conversation like this. Am I right in understanding you work for the same outfit as our Ms. Carlisle here?...Yes?...Good. I don't want to alarm you, but you should have some background, because unless I miss my guess when you come over, Miss Carlisle will feed you some rubbish and send you on your way.

"Miss Carlisle was the victim of an attempted mugging and potential homicide attempt tonight...no, she's fine. The muggers aren't though, and neither is a bystander who attempted to defend her. No, he's dead I'm afraid.... Yes, you can imagine. I need to be sure there is someone with her tonight. She'll need it later. Yes, thanks. Here she is."

He handed the phone back to April, who was extremely pissed.

She took the phone and said, "Sure, yeah, I'm fine Des. Yeah, I'll see you in fifteen. I'll be there. Yes." She ended the call, then hissed at Hillier, "You did NOT have to do that."

He just looked at her. "Sure I did. And tomorrow you'll understand that I did. Hell, if you were thinking and not emoting right now, you'd see it now. Right now though, Miss Carlisle, you need to go home, take a long shower, have a hell of a drink and talk to your friend. I'll be in touch. Now go home. And be grateful. You are still here. This poor bastard is not. Don't blame yourself, you didn't ask him to get involved. He decided to do that, for better or worse. Be grateful and do not feel guilty. Easier said that done, but it's the truth and you are smart enough to know that. Either way, here is my card. My info is on there if you remember anything else."

He offered the card to April, who just stared at him for a moment, before snatching it out of his hand and then pushing off and walking off towards the entrance to the alley and her car.

She didn't look back. Hillier stared after her, appreciating her lines, but then shook his head and turned away and called for Savage.

*****

I don't know why I am still writing this. Marianne said it would help, but that was years ago. I mean, who the hell is going to read this? Who cares? The daily doings of a man's wasted life. If this is helping though, I have to wonder how bad would it be if I wasn't doing this?

I suppose it's therapeutic. Not really sure, but it's like a habit now. It's funny though, when I write the events of my life in here, it makes it less...pointless? Wasted? I dunno what the word is. Tara would have known. She always knew the right word.

It's funny to think that this document is probably going to end up being the only proof that I even existed and no one will ever read it. No kids, two failed marriages, bankrupt business. I don't have any friends, apart from Mr. Beam and Mr. Daniels, and Maximum the Dog. It's weird to go through life knowing that no one gives a shit if you live or die. That your presence here has so not influenced anyone or anything. I can't decide if I should be thankful or depressed. Well, that's what Jim Beam is for.

So I need to go into town today. It's Donnelly day. They should have some more stuff I can pass onto the Salvation Army group. I may have been vilified for that days work, but not by everyone. And my luck is their luck I guess. Have to have something good come out of it. Silver linings and all that. Maximum will be fine while I am gone. He's a good mutt, I've said it before. I don't think I'd manage to continue without him. He keeps looking at me and coming to get affection. It's weird, but hey, when someone loves you and wants you to love them, well, that's about the best thing in the world. You don't look that horse in the mouth. God knows, my life is the poster child for that.

*****

Desirea was already waiting outside April's apartment complex when she got there, fifteen minutes later. She drove a red Lexus, and April could see it parked right in front. She drove into the parking garage under the building and walked up to let Desirea in.

"You ok?" were Desirea's first words.

"What do you think?" answered April, more testily than she intended.

"I think you need a stiff drink. Hell, I need a stiff drink. You need to tell me what happened and we both know you need to talk about how you feel about it, whether you want to or not."

So that's how it was. Professional Desirea made an appearance. It was hard for April to blame her – it's exactly what she would have said had the positions been reversed, but it wasn't and she didn't want to talk. Which probably meant she really needed to. Or something. It was complicated. April was smart enough to know she probably wasn't making terrific decisions right now. Time to trust someone, and Desirea was elected.

They both went inside, and Desirea went straight to the drinks cabinet, not even bothering to ask April what she wanted. She fixed her a Jameson on the rocks – a double – and made herself one at the same time.

She took it over to where April was sitting on the couch, trying very hard to make herself as small as possible and handed it to her. April looked up and said, "Thanks."

Desirea could see that April was heading into the first stages of post shock, and needed to keep her both warm and coherent. "Got a blanket?" she asked.

April nodded at a large wooden bench that opened, and Desirea found two quilts inside. She took them both out and gave one to April, who wrapped herself in it, staring in front of her at nothing.

"Ok, work shit first. What did you tell the cops about what you do?"

This was a big question. April worked for Ingrams & Associates, a semi-secret organization that provided clandestine therapy, usually sexual in nature. They had field agents – almost all PhD's in psychology and psychotherapy, who were also sexually trained.

They went in to fix marital problems, relationship problems and situations where the recipients of the therapy would never either allow it or acknowledge it, but needed to be 'fixed', because of work or personal connections that wanted them to get treatment. Ingrams was good, very expensive, and used by governments and large business all over the world. They did a huge amount of research, formed a treatment plan, then sent in field agents to effect change on the part of the targets.

What they did was pretty much illegal, but that didn't stop almost every government employing them at some point or another.

April was a field agent for Ingrams, and had been for the past three years. She'd helped put marriages back together, or – in one case – ensuring a marriage dissolved. She'd helped people overcome infidelity, betrayal, manipulation, facing their fantasies, and in the process she'd stopped one government being toppled, helped several treaties get written and in her favorite case, taken down a bank robber who was masquerading as a stripper. She had access to a state-of-the-art Research department, and several of the more esoteric spy gadgets. She was trained to defend herself, as was evidenced by her ability that evening.

What the police was told in any official capacity needed to be reported to Ingrams, so they could prepare a cover story to cope with it. It was standard procedure to report any official organization contact, just so Ingrams could watch for fall out.

"I gave them the standard story. Head shrinker for a think tank." This was the standard response to official enquiries. Some truth mixed in with omission.

"Ok, good. Now, are you on mission?" asked Desirea. "Was this blowback from a mission?"

"I doubt it. I've just gotten back from Baton Rouge. Jessica asked me to look over a potential recruit who is publishing papers there. I am officially on vacation. This event this evening did not have any relation to any mission I'm aware of. It's just bad luck," April responded, tossing down the rest of her drink.

"Well, that makes it easier to deal with officially. Ok. So not work related. What's the word on the recruit?"

"Not going to fly. It's not one person, it's a group of them publishing this under the name of a student there that was drummed out last semester. Unless we hire all of them – and I don't think any of them are Ingrams material – then we are out of luck."

Desirea nodded at that. Ninety percent of the investigations they did into potential recruits came back as 'no hires'. This particular situation was no surprise.

"So. How are you doing?" she asked.

"I'm fine," said April.

"No, you aren't. A man died in your arms tonight, April. You know as well as any the kind of emotional and mental damage that can do to you," Desirea replied calmly.

"I know. I don't even know his name. He died for me, and I don't even know his name."

"OK, I'm going to recommend a couple of weeks off for you over and above the vacation time, ok? Full pay. I want you to come in and see Dermott and probably me, on a two-day basis. We need to talk this through. This could come out in a very sticky situation in the field, and we need some degree of closure on this. You can see that, right?"

April wasn't listening. "I didn't even know his name. But I will." April hunched forward on the couch and stared into Desirea's eyes. "I will know everything about this man. And I will find someone of his. Some relative. And I will help them. And I will find the man who killed him and I will make him pay. I owe this man my life and by God, I pay my debts."

Desirea pursed her lips and considered what April was saying. She was displaying some degree of mania, but she was also in shock. Having a project like this could well be what she needed. Something to focus on, but something that was related to the reason for obsession. It was probably better than having her sit at home, moping. And April was a capable field agent. If she said she was going to find out about this man, she would.

"Ok. I can see how you'd need this – I know I would. I'm giving you Ingrams' support if you need it. You have two weeks. But no collaboration with the local cops, ok? I don't want awkward questions about where you are getting your information."

April looked at Desirea as though hearing her for the first time, and then nodded. "Understood."

"I still want you to stop by in a couple of days to talk to Dermot and me, ok? Now. One more drink, then you need to take a shower. Do you want me to stay?"

April understood what was being asked. If an Ingrams' agent asked if you wanted them to stay, what they were really asking was 'Do you want to cum repeatedly this evening under my extremely trained hands?' Due to what they did, most of the agents found external relationships almost impossible to pursue while they were still field agents. Aprl had first hand experience of that. They could never explain themselves and if some of their professional work was discovered, there was no chance of a relationship surviving that. So they tended to date among themselves in a very casual way. Sharing sex, to them, was like bringing a potluck meal to a party.

April was no stranger to female love, but that night, she just wasn't in the mood. "Thanks, but no. I appreciate the offer, but I can't get into that mindset."

Desirea nodded. "Ok. Drink. Then shower. Then bed. Alone, if you must," she pouted, in a faked way.

April smiled, for the first time that night.

"Next time, I promise."

*****

The next day, April woke late, having had many small minor nightmares, all involving a man with no face being shot in front of her. She'd got up, had some hot milk, gone back to bed and had another one. Eventually she fell into a dreamless sleep. She had no idea why he was being shot – her man had been stabbed. She was aware enough that the dreams were just that, dreams. The confused ramblings of a tired mind that pieced together random events and tried to construct narrative around them. Not something to pay too much attention to unless they were repeated.

At eleven, she got a text from Hillier, asking her to drop by so she could give an official statement. She arrived at midday, and spent an hour going over her statement in a witness room.

After she finished, Hillier invited her to lunch. As they exited the station, Hillier saw her Nissan Z Convertible and raised his eyebrows. "So the head shrinking game pays well then? How small do you shrink the heads to get paid like that?"

April just smiled back and said facetiously, "I'm just that good."

Hillier took her to a local ribs place, and studied her as they waited for their orders. This was a very different woman from last night. April was composed, well made up, calm and curious about him.

"So, lets get straight into it," Hillier said. "The likelihood of us finding the guy that killed this man is very low. We have a good idea who it is – the other two always traveled with a third guy, Hector Gonzales. But we asked around today, and he's gone. Long gone. Took off last night. We think he's either in Mexico by now, or Paraguay. Finding the details on our John Doe might also be hard—"

Their order arrived and Hillier stopped while the food was put on the table. When the waiter left, he hesitated after seeing the expression on April's face.

"So that's it? He died, case closed? What the fuck, Ambrose?" It was the first time she'd used his first name, and he liked it. After a second he shook himself mentally. He could not get involved, and he also judged she wouldn't want to.

He sighed. "The thing is April, it's not about desire. It's about resources. This guy is dead. Yeah, it sucks what happened to him, but he put himself in that situation. Sure, we could throw resources at him, but if we find out who he is, then what? Did we solve anything? Is anyone better off? For the cost of all that effort? The bottom line here is that my captain, who is trying to make lieutenant just doesn't see this as a priority. Sure, finding murderers is what we do, but the bottom line here is that it's just very unlikely we'll find the guy who did it. He's long gone and he won't be back."

April couldn't quite believe what she was hearing.

"This man saved my life. What does it take for a little justice for him? A blowjob? Is that what it takes?" April was being deliberately crass, but she didn't care. She was pissed.

Hillier ate some of his ribs and wiped his mouth. "Chance would be a fine thing, but my dick would likely drop off if you tackled it. Look, April. I didn't say we weren't going to try. I am just trying to let you know that there's a good chance we won't resolve it, at least to your satisfaction."

"I think you need to do better than that. What if there is a wife waiting for him? Fucking. Do. Your. Job" she said, poking at him with a rib, that she then ate.

"Well, I can tell you something," said Hillier, "he was military at some point. He has a tattoo that we think is from an artillery group from back in the '90s. We're hoping that will lead us somewhere."

Now it was April's turn to think. She had the key, and hadn't mentioned it yet. She had a lead, and now he had his. She wanted to know what he discovered, but she was also mindful of the warning from Desirea, so she just nodded.

"If we find out anything, I promise to let you know, ok?"

April just nodded at him again, not trusting herself to speak again. They finished their ribs in silence.

*****

I got a note from Old Man Donnelly a couple of days ago, via the P.O. box at the post office in town. He asked me to stop by and said he was sorry things had worked out the way they had. His kid had no ill feelings towards me – as such he shouldn't I would have thought - he's still breathing because of me - but I just didn't say anything. No point in getting belligerent. Been there, done that, got me nowhere.

Anyway, upshot was that he runs a bunch of dry cleaners in town. He says that people leave their clothes there all the time, and they usually just throw them out. I could see he was groping for words. Upshot was that he offered me everything that was over six weeks old, left at their stores. I could see he thought that I needed this charity. I don't, but there are plenty of people who do, so I said yes. I'd pick them up once a month and then run them around to the various Salvation Army outlets and battered wives shelters. He doesn't need to know where they are going, and they'll be grateful for whatever is given.