Free Street Rules by Baxter Clare

She drove faster, making the Honda shimmy, relieved to finally see the warm glow of the Alibi’s front window, iron grate and all.
    Inside, Frank returned a nod from a couple Vice detectives out of Parker. It was almost closing time and she took a seat at the empty bar, surprised to see Nancy.
    “What are you doing here?” she asked.
    The waitress slipped onto a stool next to Frank and purred, “Filling in for Dee. Now, what are you doing here?”
    “Working.”
    Nancy wagged her head, “It’s Saturday.”
    “I’ll make sure to tell the bad guys that.”
    “Have you had dinner?”
    “Nope. Kitchen still open?”
    “He’s closing down, but I can get you something. What do you want?”
    “How about a ham and Swiss on rye? That shouldn’t be much trouble.”
    “You got it.” Slipping off the stool, Nancy asked, “Stout?”
    “No. Scotch. Double.”
    Frank watched Nancy squeeze back behind the bar and pour her drink. Frank kept her eyes on the waitress as she talked to the cook. Nance had put on some pounds but she still filled a skirt nicely. Nancy reclaimed her stool and while she tallied receipts, Frank asked how her son was doing. Nancy and the liquor loosened the evening’s death grip on Frank. She kept drinking, paying attention to Nancy as she scarfed the sandwich the cook brought out.
    “When are you gonna get someone to take care of you?” Nancy clucked.
    Frank was grateful for the familiar banter, answering, “You mean a secretary?”
    “You know what I mean,” Nancy chided, then in a lower voice she added, “I mean a real live woman.”
    Been there, done that, Frank thought.
    She said around a mouthful, “You applying for the job?”
    “Shit,” Nancy retorted, “I’ve had my application in for years. I’m still waiting to hear about it.”
    “Takes a long time to get to these things,” Frank assured her.
    “Well, I guess some things are just worth waiting for.”
    “Things okay with you and Kennedy?”
    Nancy sighed and said, “Yeah. You were right, though. She’s not real long-term, is she?”
    Kennedy had alluded to Nancy that there was nothing serious between her and Frank, and Nancy had believed it, had needed to. She’d even checked with Frank, who by then agreed that, no, there was nothing between her and Kennedy. But Frank had warned Nancy to be careful. She glanced at Nancy, who said, “I know, I know, you told me. But still, even if it doesn’t work out…”
    “It won’t.”
    “How can you be so sure?” Nancy pouted.
    “She’s a player, Nance. It’s in her blood. She’s not going to change just ‘cause you get hooked on her.”
    “I’m not hooked,” the waitress defended.
    “Good. Don’t get that way. She’s fun, and that’s all.”
    “I know,” she groaned.
    Nancy changed the subject, chatting while Frank savaged her dinner and worked on another double. The cook said goodnight, and Frank thought she should go home and let Nance close up. Thing was, she didn’t want to go yet. Frank appraised the handsome woman beside her, wondering as she often had, what it would be like to take her up on her offer. The welcome mat had been out for a long time, but as tempting as it was, Frank liked Nancy too much to use her like that.
    Frank drained her scotch and left a hefty tip. It had been a while since she’d spent the night on the couch in her office, but that was where she reluctantly headed. Crashing on the chrome and vinyl relic, she hoped that sleep would take her instantly. No such luck. The old faces came, as she’d feared they would, swirling around her like a windy fog. She bent an arm across her eyes as if that would fend them off.
    She and Claudia and Placa had traveled a far stretch of time together, their histories sometimes subtly, sometimes overtly linked. They’d grown up and grown older together. Made right choices and wrong ones. Lost people they’d loved. One was an ex-junkie, one a notorious banger, and another a commanding peace