Midnight Somewhere

"Yes?"

"If you're on this case...why isn't my step daughters killer been caught yet?" she asks.

I pause for a half-second and let the quick response pass by.

"Because the killer is smart. She did things that make it hard to identify clues." I give a bit of a shrug. "Plus I've only been on the case two days. Most take me about a week to solve."

"She?" Tabitha's eyes go wide. "You think she was killed by a Woman? Why...or is that just a guess?"

"No not a guess. The killer did something foolish with the body that makes more sense if it was a woman and not a man. I could be wrong but I don't think I am." I put my unlit cigarette back in my mouth. I blink started a second of so later when a lighter clicks on under my nose. I suck in the flame listening to the paper crisp.

"Can't smoke without fire Mr. Taline. If you find out anything that I can help you with ...look me up." her voice is a sex purr. I can tell she does it without thinking about it anymore.

"I will."

Watching her ass as she walks away I smile. Nice view.

"Taline get the fuck in my office already!"

Dixson's voice is still like a file on sheet metal,dragged across a plate with a fork, onto a chalkboard.

"And put that cigarette out!" He turns away from me confident I'll follow.

I send a puff of smoke towards his back

"So learn anything new from the Porn queen?" I ask taking a seat without being asked.

Dixson eyes me and my still smoking cigarette. After a second I shrug and go to get back to my feet.

"Solve it yourself."

I'm halfway to the door when he calls after me.

"Sit back down Taline and stop being an asshole."

I ponder an answer then suck in one last puff. Old habits makes my fingers field strip the cigarette before I put it back into the case.

"Well?" I ask after I take my chair back.

"Not too much" Dixson sits back in his chair his fingers come up to start to play with the tip of his nose. "She said that most likely it may have something to do with her ex's career outside the fluff and stuff business. He had a lot of dealings with some darker sides of the street. Liked to make the odd buck here and there. Dealt coke to a few stars that wanted their mind blown, that kind of shit."

"Ten year after he's dead? Not likely. Those guys have a very short memory for problems that are already solved by the person being dead." I shake my head. "No...this is personal. James knew the lady that's doing this when he was alive."

"Well that's kind of a problem, Taline, given the number of women he knew. I think it's well over two thousand."

I don't let myself give the exact number. I hate it when people make me do that by quoting numbers wrong. I can see him waiting for it.

"Run it down with me Dixson." I say softly after a bit. I may not always like SVU's people but they are good at this kind of thing when they make an effort.

He flips open a file.

"Okay victim Sadie Davion was the daughter of the famous porn star James Davion. Only partial remains have been recovered. There was the presence of her father's semen on her left arm. Semen was stored at a sperm bank prior to it's being...used. Sadie was tortured then killed. Dismembered after death."

"We can hope." I say softly. I notice my hands are fiddling with my jacket buttons. I make them stop before I have to break out a needle and tread to repair it again.

"Yea. Lets see...the remains were recovered two miles apart on different roads."

"Killer rode around with a car full of bloody hunks of fur wrapped...meat...tossing out pieces in the middle of the night. Some where out there is a car with enough DNA evidence to convict." I say before he can speak again.

He looks up startled then after a second nods.

"Yea. If it's not been burned. I'll check with DMV." He gives the notebook in front of him a tap with his pen. It's an annoying habit. "So you think it's a woman?'

"Yea. Can you picture an man holding a vile of some other man's semen and splashing it onto his victim?"

Dixson sits working that through his head for a second.

"Yea...okay I can kind of see what you mean. It's not a guy kind of thing. So we are looking for a woman."

"Yes. One with a personal history with Mr. Blades. One with grudge of some kind that needed to be settled by killing his daughter?" Hands off the buttons! Study the wood patterns in his desk or something.

"Anything in his past that could lead to this kind of crime?" I ask after bit of thinking and wood grain inspection.

"Outside of the porn? Maybe. I found a reference to a fire that's interesting."

My head comes up and my eyes focus on the page in front of him, then his eyes, behind those coke bottle glasses he wears.

"The one that destroyed his first movies?" I ask after a second.

"Yep...that one. It was in a building owned by a Wilson Monrow."

** ** ** ** ** ** **

Criminals have a smell. Go to any police holding cell and you can notice it. It tends to linger long after the last suspect leaves.

In a prison it never goes away. It just rots down into a miasma of stink. I hate it.

I also hate the sound of the bars closing behind me. I feel a second's anxiety till the ones in front of me open.

The guard beside me doesn't seem to notice the smell. But then workers at a sewage treatment plant don't notice they smell like shit either.

Wilson Monrow. Doing life without parole for being an accessory to more than fifty murders. He never held the knife...just the camera.

And he's here because of me.

As I cross into the visitor's section I look out through the thick plexi at the world I only just avoided being sent to myself. Many times.

Sitting down I ponder the changes in my life that led me away from here while I wait.

The door opens. He's led into the room in chains. He looks older but then so do I.

"Well I'll be fucked. My favorite person in the whole world," he says grinning. The guards deposit him into the chair and cuffs him too it. "Come to gloat John? Wouldn't have thought that was your style."

"It's not." I move over one to take the seat opposite him. "I want to talk to you about James Davion."

"The Sex Saber? Old curve dick himself?" Wilson just looks at me for a second. Then shrugs. "Well what the hell I got nothing better to do for the next two hundred and fifty years. At least I'm out my cell while I'm talking to you. Ask away, John."

"You knew James for about eight years. Filmed about thirty movies. They were destroyed when you torched your offices trying to destroy evidence of the Midnight movies you were making. Did James ever leave a sperm sample somewhere?"

"Yea, on the faces of about a thousand whores. He was kind of known for that, John. You know the whole Porn star thing." He chuckles. "Plus a few camera men who got in too close when the curved cock exploded."

"I kind of meant in a sperm bank."

Wilson sits just looking at me for a few seconds. Then nods.

"Yep. Him and his first wife wanted to have kids but not till they had the money to support them. He was letting it fly maybe ten times a week on camera plus his normal husband duties. Had too low a swimmer count to do the job. He took a two-month vacation from...work... went, and left a sample. Somewhere. I don't know what happen to it. Wish I had it myself."

"Why thirsty?"

He just looks at me for a few moments.

"That was beneath you, John. I expect better from you." He sits up a bit in his chair and goes to look over his shoulder.

"Sorry," I say softly.

Wilson chuckles.

"God I bet that fucking hurt for you to say. Having to apologize to the likes of me...just to keep me talking." He laughs at me then. A deep smirking laugh.

"Why would you want it?" I ask after a moment of letting him have himself a chuckle.

"You're fucking kidding right? With what it would be worth? I could sell those happy wigglers and hire me a lawyer that would have me out of here faster than the 'Hedgehog' could cum." He must see the look on my face. "James Blades? Six foot two inches tall, Nordic looking, body that could make women swoon. Dick like a Satyr and just as randy. You could crags list that stuff at ten thousand dollars per sperm."

My mind starts doing the math. Six million sperm per sample...

Holy fucking shit!

I look up to see that look on his face.

"Worth fucking dying for hu? Worth fucking killing for! News reaches even into here, John. Little Saber Dick's daughter got herself chopped up. So what do they do? They call in the great John Taline! The problem solver, the man who can solve the unsolvable. The miracle worker who put away so many who would have walked other wise. Got a fucking clue this time John or are you still just whistle fishing?"

Whistle fishing. Whistling to make other people do it. A hobby for when your truly bored and have a need to make other people jump through hoops.

"We're done." He calls out to the guard. I look up blinking when the door opens.

"Have a nice day John. Oh and hope you never end up on the wrong side of this window. There are a lot of people in here that would love to see you comes strolling into this place." He grins at me savoring the idea. I listen to him whistling as he walks away in chains.

I have to make myself not whistle.

It would give him the satisfaction of knowing he won.

Even when he did.

** ** ** ** ** ** **

Awakening with a hangover sucks. That's my first thought. It explains the pain in my head and the vomit smell by my nose. I must have really tied one on though.

I have no memory of getting drunk.

Or why I'm in an alley!

The sounds of the city come back to me then in a rush. They make the pounding at the back of my head far worse.

I sit up a bit and lift my hand towards the back of my head. My hair is wet. I bring my hand back around and hold it in front of my eyes.

My hand is covered with blood.

"Okay that's not good." I say to myself. I lift the other hand. It's dirty but not bloody. Placing it on the back of my head I still feel wet. I bring it back around.

"Okay now it's bloody."

Far to slowly memories start to come back. A hard blow to the back of my head, a loud pop just after. The feeling of hands catching me then dragging me as I go limp.

Then a line of fire at my side!

Falling, falling the cold payment hitting my face. Then a second hard blow at the back of my head.

Then darkness.

I try to sort the memories and can't

"Yea that's not a good thing."

I lean back into the wall and bring my hand to my side. The pain there is intensive. I unbutton my shirt with bloody fumbling fingers.

Just under my ribs is an oozing hole.

"Four inches across Looks deep. Stab wound that got sliced after the puncture."

I blink at the red flow down my side as it starts to get worse.

"I fell on my wound. My body weight kept pressure on it."

Blinking some more I stop and look up at the building across the alley.

"Stop analyzing and fucking do something John. You're going to bleed out."

Nodding which was a mistake I fish around in my pocket and find my handkerchief. I press it into the wound only to see it almost immediately saturate.

"Yea not good. On your feet John!"

There are days when I hate myself.

Groaning in pain I lever myself to my feet somehow and feel an immediate need to throw up. The idea of dry heaving with my head hurting like it is and a knife wound open on my side convinces my stomach that's not a good idea.

I stagger down the alley using the wall to hold me up. Already getting tired of the Quasimodo walk I try to straighten up then decide hunchback is coming back in style anyway.

Scanning the street to see if I can see anyone watching me with intent I'm hoping my attacker is long gone. It would be iffy on whether I could take more right now.

"God my fucking head hurts."

After a second I decide God has better things to do than get me some aspirin.

I stumble down the street to an open storefront. The street traffic goes by uncaring But I notice a few pedestrians eying me. The looks are a mixture concern and disgust.

"Great they think I'm hungover too."

The storefront is a small mom and pops quick stop grocery. I stumble in leaving a red train across the black and white floor tiles.

"One foot by one foot black and white tile. Put in back in the late 1960s. Most likely asbestos. Was placed in almost every thing back then. Causes respiratory failure do to micro fibers tearing at the lining of the lungs. Shredding tissues like glass." The words mumble out from between my lips.

"Sir?"

"Call 911, if you please. If you'll excuse me I've got some shopping to do." The lady is wide eyed as I lurch past her.

I do hope she'll call 911 at least.

Walking down the isle till I see what I'm looking for when I stumble into the shelf and kind of slide to the floor.

"Sir? Maybe you should sit down till the ambulance gets here." she says.

Focusing on the pack of tampons in my hands I start to fumble the wrapper open.

"I'll be dead by then if I don't stop this bleeding." I say trying to make my figners work.

The package slips out of my bloody hands.

"Damn it." I cough. "Oh that wasn't good." I say, as I taste blood from the back of my mouth.

The lady kneels down next to me; I see her doing her best to avoid the red smear on the floor.

"Can I help, Sir?"

I lift my eyes to her face. She has the look of Asia to her features but not full-blooded. Maybe a third or less. I slowly nod.

"Open those."

She takes the package of tampons and looks up at me.

"Sir I don't think it's your time of the month"

I chuckle again, a bad idea.

"Yea it is. I'm having a heavy flow day in fact. Just open it."

I fumble with my shirt. Why the fuck did I button it back up. John you idiot.

I focus on the long pink tube in front of my eyes. Taking it from her I make sure the string is accessible.

"Fuck why do these things have to be so big." I mutter under my breath. Looking up I see her watching me with a sick lack of color to her face. "You have my sincerest admiration for having to put up with this."

I bite hard on my teeth as I push the applicator into the knife wound. I can't keep in the moan when it scrapes the bottom of a rib bone.

Panting I stop and lean back to the rack of pampers and baby wipes. I grab one that says antiseptic and start tearing at the plastic. She takes it from my bloody hands and opens it for me. I look up at her blinking.

"What's your name?"

"Susan. Susan Lee."

"Did you call 911?" I ask as I try to focus on her face. Lee, common name in many Asian countries. More Lees in the world than any other last name including Smith and Jones combined.

"My grandmother did."

I look past her to where an older, full blooded, Asian woman is standing with a phone to her ear.

Taking the baby wipes I clean the wound as much as I can. I notice then that I haven't pulled out the plastic applicator.

"Oh this is going to suck so badly." I grab it and slip it out of me. It falls to the floor from my numb fingers. After a moment I finally catch my breath. "No that was an understatement."

"Sir?"

I blink and look back up to Susan. I can hear the sounds of ambulance and police cars coming. The Doppler effect is getting stronger. Doppler a compression of sound waves....

"Let it rest, John."

I hear plastic being opened and I look up through the throb to see her opening a pack of panty liners. I nod. She peals then open and hands them to me one by one. They stick to the skin nicely. The stab wound covered I lean back only to sit up when my head hit the rack behind me.

"One down. One to go."

Moving through the molasses that has filed the store I lift my hand to the back of my head.

"Molasses flood killed twenty one people when a 2,300,000 gallon tank burst in Boston Jan 15, 1919."

"Sir?"

"Nothing,"I mumble.

I feel blood-matted hair and two more oozing places at the back of my skull. I lack the energy or focus to tend to them. I can hear the sounds of the sirens. They must be almost here.

"Tell them to check the back of my head. I'm probably going to take a nap now," I tell her softly.

"Sir?"

Why does Susan sound so much like Peppermint Patty's little friend. Peppermint Patty, character in the Charley Brown cartoon strip original design by Charles Sholts. Often sighted at the first openly lesbian cartoon character...

I drop into a haze of snoopy dancing kids and parents that talking in "wawwas"

** ** ** ** ** ** **

"For fuck sake, John! Lay the hell down."

I turn on the side of the bed to look over at Leia as she comes walking into my hospital room. She looks gorgeous.

I look like hell.

I don't even need a mirror to get that one spot on.

"I need to take a piss." The tile floor is shockingly cold. I take the IV stand along just to keep it happy.

Leia shakes her head and puts her purse down in the chair. I take her arm and she more or less guides me to the bathroom. Ten feet away and I need a guide to find it. That should tell you something of my state of mind.

"Need me to hold it for you?" she asks. I can't quite tell if she's being sincere or sarcastic. It might be a bit of both.

"Nope. I like you to eat at that restaurant, you don't need to know the health score."

She huffs and moves away.

"You know that made no sense, John?"

"Don't bother me with technical quibbles about language can't you see I'm pissing." I say blinking at the yellow stream.

It takes far too much of my concentration to manage so simple a bodily function.

The ridiculous gown back into place I make my way back to the bed. Before I went to piss I had thought about trying to get dress and getting out of here. Now...not so much.

"Princess, will you be a wonderful and loving lover and tell me exactly what happened? These white coated pill pushers won't give me a straight answer."

I slide back into bed. She helps get the sheet back across me.

"You were shot, John. In the back of the head, close range...22-rim fire. You were dragged into an alley then stabbed. You got lucky there it didn't hit anything too major. You were then shot a second time also in the back of the head. Probably from a distance of about three feet."

"Stood over me gun held at waist level. Execution style." I run my tongue over my teeth and start to wish I had a toothbrush. "Let me guess I'm still here because of that steel plate?"

"Yep. An inch either way, with either shot, and you would be on my tables." She sits down in the chair next to the bed. "I talked to your paramedic. He said that was smart with the dressing for the stab. Tampons? Cute John."

"One of my better idea's given the state of my brain at the time." I reach around to the back of my head. The dressing is far to thick for me to feel anything. "All those years cussing the damn thing at every airport and it goes and saves my life."

"It was close John. Damn close." she says softly.

I look over at her and see the tears just at the edge of her eyes. I reach a hand out to her.

"Come on my little Princess. We talked about this years ago. So long as I do what I do there will be people that don't like it. They will eventually not like it enough and that will be that. Till then I'll do what I can to make the world a better place."

"Who do you think you are,Batman?" she asks with a slight smile.

"Batman? I'm bouncing bullets off me, more like Superman."

She smiles.

"Well...Superman, what did you do that made them not like it enough this time?"

Sitting back into the pillows I try to think. My head hurting is about all I can focus on at the moment.

"I got close. There is more to this than I can see. Someone didn't like the questions I was asking or who I was asking and decided the best thing to do would be to get me out the picture.