"You're a piss poor shot, Scooby."

           As I held the gun in my hand, aiming as best as I could, I waited. The warehouse was big and empty. And so dark I had to squint so I could see. I reloaded my gunjust in case and kept moving. I thought I saw something so I crouched behind a crate.

            Out of nowhere a man with a gun jumped out—then another, and another. They began firing in rapid succession with each other. When they reloaded I stood and started shooting. I killed one of them but missed the others. A bullet got me right in the face.

            "Aw shit," I said. "This game cheats."

            He laughed. "It doesn't cheat; you're just really bad at it."

            Manny Juarez had a characteristic presence, one the exuded authority, strength, and a mild uptightness that a part of me was dying to loosen.

            What it did not exude, however, was adult arcade. Seriously. I admit I was a skeptic when he showed up at my place and told me we two adults would spend the evening of our make-up date playing video games, but he's made a believer out of me. There's something oddly soothing about playing classic arcade games while you throw back a couple beers.

            Well, I had a couple beers. He just sort of nursed one.

            Jackson and I had decided to split up. I'd go on my date with Manny, and he'd go back to Palm's Up and infiltrate the private rooms. He'd report back to me tomorrow. In the mean time, I was enjoying the break from the case.

            When we first got here we decided to have dinner at the arcade's restaurant. We'd gotten to know each other a little better over burgers so massive I could only eat half. Then we'd gone over to the race track where he schooled my ass in go-carts. Lastly we'd hit the batting range. That's where I schooled him.

            I think the most impressive thing about him so far is what a good loser he is. I'm relived he doesn't take games as seriously as some other men I've dated.

            After I shot a couple more men I heard him snickering behind me. "And what's so funny?"

            "You're stance. It's a mess. You're sloppy, too slack, and every time you shoot you flick your wrist. It's kind of cute."

            "I guess now's a good a time as any to come clean. I don't really know guns."

            "I can tell, but it doesn't matter. It's not like it's accurate. It feels nothing like firing a real gun."

            I believed him. I'd only held a gun once in my life—last night when I'd stole one from my cousin's car. Even without ever having shot it, I could tell the plastic in my hand was just a shadow of the real thing. Maybe I should learn to use it. It's a useful skill to have, right?

            It occurred to me then that I was standing next to someone who would know guns fairly well.

            "Could you teach me how they work?" I said.

            "What, guns?" He looked at me in the way he does when he's trying to figure out my angle.

            I cocked my head to the side and looked at him from under my lashes. "I just find everything about you so interesting. I've never dated a cop before."

            The smile he gave me was so full of warmth and sincerity that I felt awful."What do you want to know?"

            "Oh, I don't know," I said. "How do you shoot one?"

            He laughed. "Depends on the gun. Depends on if it's a handgun or shotgun or rifle. Then there's how you stand, how you hold it—for a beginner two hands is a must. Could depend on the make and model too."

            "Okay that sounds a bit more complicated than I thought."

            "Yeah, but when you're in a pinch the only thing most people remember is to point and shoot. It's effective, though, dangerous."

            "Makes sense, I guess."

            "Maybe one day I'll take you down to the range and we can fire off a few rounds."

            "That sounds like fun." To my surprise I meant it. I'd never had much thought about guns before but something about grand theft firearm makes you think about it.

            A man shot me one last time in the face before the screen paused to tell me it was Game Over, and to ask if I wanted to try again. I put the blue gun back in its holster and we moved over toward the pool hall.

            "Do you like being a cop?" I asked when we found an empty table.

            "Yeah," he said as he racked up the balls. "It's fulfilling work—when I'm not doing paperwork. Break."

            There were three pool cues at the rack. I picked each of them up to gauge their weights. I chose the lightest one. While leaning over the table, stick balanced in hands, I took a moment to aim.

            "Not Bad." Manny said with apparent delight.

            "I haven't shot yet."

            "I was talking about the view."

            When I laughed the ball sailed, without force or purpose. I missed. "Mulligan!"

            "I don't do mulligans. I don't do do-over's. I play by the rules."

            Of course he does. "Fine." It didn't matter; it would give me a chance to check out his game...and his ass.

            "Balls or bullets you have lousy aim," he said as went to take his turn.

            My first instinct was to make an off collar testicle joke, but I thought it would be more advantageous to explore the cop angle. Maybe see if I could feel him out. "So any interesting cases?" I said as I watched him. His view wasn't so bad either.

            Something about his demeanor changed as he took aim over the table. He grew more relaxed; more open. It was easy to see he loved his job, and even easier to see that he liked that I liked that about him. It made my stomach knot.

            "It's just the standard this week. Dead lovers, dead homeless, dead stripper." He hit the ball and it soared clean and powerful enough that the balls broke. He sunk the seven-ball but only by luck. "Solid."

            "A dead stripper? Didn't I see that on the news?"

            "No. They didn't consider it newsworthy," There was attitude in his voice when he said that. "What you probably saw was about Kodie Nash. That's all the news stations want to talk about."

            "The Mayor's daughter? I'd heard about that. The one who OD'd on cocaine. How is she?"

            "Still in a comma. And the mayor's been riding all our asses trying to figure out who gave her the drugs."

            "Do you know?"

            "She's not dead yet so it's out of my jurisdiction. Her case is being handling by this idiot in Narcotics. Patrick Graham."

            His mind was starting to wander so I tried to steer the conversation back. "Was she killed in a strip club? The stripper, I mean. I always knew those places were dangerous but not that dangerous."

            "No, she was killed in a hotel room. It was probably her lover that did it." He missed his next shot.

            "Why?" Somewhere in his love for his job he forgot to guard his words and started to muse aloud.

            "I don't know yet, but he's the only one with opportunity so far."

            "So you think he did it?"

            "Mostly."

            I was leaned over the table lining up a shot to sink the eleven-ball and maybe even tap the fifteen toward the corner pocket. "Why mostly? Why not definitely?"

            "Can't place the motive. Can't figure out what he got out of it or why he would come back to the scene and call us or why he left the roses or the money."

            I was so surprised I scratched the table and sunk one of his balls by mistake. "He left money?" I didn't mean to sound so awkward but the insistence was so sharp he noticed straight away.

            "Yes," the way he said it was careful and resolute. "Eight Hundred and fifty dollars."

            I tried to hide it but my mind started turning so fast the rest of me froze in thoughtful concentration. Harley hadn't mentioned any money or roses. Why? Did he not want me to know? Was he embarrassed? Did he simply forget? Either way I'll have to ask later. It was then that I realized Manny was staring at me, his own concentration deep and probing.

            I tried to play it off. "You have such an interesting job. It's like Law and Order or something."

            "...I guess," he wasn't pacified.

            I adjusted my manner, widening my smile as well as my eyes. I tilted my head to the side and said in a voice lower than normal, "You know, I always thought cops were kind of hot."

            "Oh really?" That snapped him right out of police mode.

            When I took my next shot I leaned into it a little more than necessary. "Really." I sunk the fifteen-ball and moved to take my next shot.

            Just as I was about to lean over for my next shot, Manny came up behind me and wrapped his arms around me. I'd always wondered what it would feel like to have those strong muscular arms around me. I wasn't disappointed.

            "You know what I think is hot," he said, his voice low and heavy, his lips almost pressed against my ear.

            "No." I said with a flirty laugh.

            "You." He lay a soft kiss at my temple; teasing me without being overly aggressive. The thrill it gave me made me shudder. In response, he gave me more kisses, each one sweeter and more appealing than the last.

            I wanted to kiss him. I wanted to turn around and wrap my arms around him. I wanted to get so lost in his kiss I'd forget about Abbey Collins and the cocaine I found in her apartment.

            I wanted to forget about Harley and the case, Jackson at the strip club, or the gun I'd stolen from him and hidden in my dresser like a dumbass. I even wanted to forget balancing budgets, managing employees, ordering supplies or that such a thing as real life existed at all.

            I wanted to, but I didn't. I tried but the knot in my stomach grew tighter with each earnest kiss.

            So instead I stepped out of his arms and took my shot in the slightly awkward silence that followed. I sunk the twelve-ball, then the thirteen-ball, and sunk the eleven-ball in the ricochet.

            "Damn girl!" he said with delight when he realized he was five balls behind. "Where'd you learn to play pool?"

            "Papa Cho—uh, Henry's dad." I sunk the nine-ball. "He loves games. All kinds. When we were kids he'd always want to play some board game or card game or something."

            "And he's good?"

            "Oh yeah." I turned to look at him. "One time me, Henry, Han and him were playing Goldfish and that old man scammed me out of my milk money for a whole week!"

            "He took money from a child?" he looked more amused than surprised.

            "Yeah, but Mama Cho made him give it back. From the conversation I've heard he had a bit of a gambling problem when they first moved here. After that Mama Cho banned him from poker, blackjack, roulette—the whole shebang! He's not allowed to gamble anymore but he'll kick your ass in chess, Monopoly, Battleship—shit, even Old Maid!"

            "You talk about him like he's your dad."

            "He practically is. Or the closest thing I had anyway. Shit." I missed and the ricochet set him up for the perfect shot. "I never knew my dad. Don't know a damn thing about him. Don't even have his last name."

            "See, I'm the opposite. I knew my dad a little too well. He worked sun up to sun down trying to put food on the table for the six of us—Mom included. It was a job he hated, not much pay, no respect, but he did it for us and I loved him for that. But at the end..." He sighed. "The drinking... He became a real mean son of a bitch; spiteful."

            He took the easy shot I lined up and missed. I don't know how a man who emanates so much power could be such a lousy pool player but it's cute as a button.

            "Damn," he said. "Anyway it got a bit easier after he died. Less stressful."

            "Do you miss him?"

            "I miss who he was. I miss the dad I used to look up to. But I could only pity him at the end. The world fucked him over, and we all had to reap the consequences. It's why I wanted to be a cop. Put some justice back into an unfair world, you know? It's also why I don't drink so much."

            "I don't drink so much either." Okay, that is a lie and a half. But what he don't know...

            "Do you miss your dad?" he said.

            I thought about that. "I didn't really know him. Mama says he left in the middle of the night when I was two. Can't even remember his face. I didn't even realize what I was missing until I met the Chos."

            "They sound like nice people."

            "They are." When I said it I thought about Harley and how good their family had always been to me. I thought about what a horrible blow it would be to all of them if he had to go to prison.

            As I looked up at him, desperation clenched down on my nerves. I wanted so badly to believe that Manny wouldn't let that happen. I wanted to lay my worries to rest and let him take care of it. I really did. But I couldn't help the anxiety I felt. Manny was a good guy, a guy I know would never even dream of pursuing charges against someone unless he was one hundred percent sure, but still, things fall through the cracks. Innocent people suffer.

            "You okay," he asked.

            "Yeah. Why?"

            "You look funny. Kind of worried," he was staring at me with that intensity again.

            I adjusted myself at once. "No! I'm good. Great, even. I'm having a great time."

            "Are you surprised?"

            "It's not that, it's just...you're pretty cool."

            "For a cop."

            "No, for anyone."

            "You're pretty cool yourself," he said with a smile. "About the coolest person I've met in a long time."

            I was on the verge of reciprocating that thought when his cell phone rang. After looking at the screen he cursed, hard and frustrated, then excused himself.

            "Juarez."

            Uh oh.

            "Mmm hmm. And this can't wait another hour or tw—" His face changed. He went from annoyed to intrigued. I knew the date was over then. "Alright, I'll be there in a half hour."

            When he hung up the apology was already in his eyes. "Baby, I'm sorry. It's been a hectic few weeks."

            He wasn't the only one. "It's okay I know the feeling," I said. "And at least we got more time. And it was really fun."

            "So what do we call this one? A full date?"

            I began cleaning up the table. "No, I haven't even kicked your ass in pool yet. I'd call it a three-quarter date."

            "Alright, we're improving. Maybe next time we can get through the whole thing."

            "So there's going to be a next time then?"

            He smiled at that. "Evie, I'm not kidding when I say I like you. I do—very much. And you like me too, right?"

            When he asked this I knew he was thinking of earlier and wondering about my...resistance. I wonder if he thinks I just want to be friends. But how do I tell him that it's not that I don't like him, in fact I like him very much, but that my association to Harley is complicating my feelings?

            Instead I reassure him. "Of course I like you!" And despite the knot in my stomach this is the unquestionable truth. I do like him, but I want to help Harley too. That's not wrong, right?

            "Good." The relief that washed over his face was both plain and gut-wrenching. It made me feel unclean; unworthy. Corrupt, even.

            I made a promise right there. From now on, I'll never ever treat him this way ever again.

            Sadly, even as I thought it, I knew it probably wasn't true.

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

A/N: I apologize for being gone so long; I've actually been busy recovering from abdominal surgery. But for the first time in a while I've been able to get up and move around and as such am able to update. Yay for updates! And I know not much happened aside from character development but hopefully as I continue to recover I'll be able to update quicker. I'm not at 100% yet, but I'm getting there.