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It figured that I'd get stuck in a position like this. You have to be careful of the pretty ones, and even more careful when they're drop dead gorgeous. Easy to get blinded by the body and miss the mind. So when she showed up on my doorstep looking for help, I should have questioned more than why she was wearing nothing but a tattered raincoat.

Me? Name's Nicole, but most folks call me Nicky. Nicky September, private eye. Nicky September, the gray tabby in the trench-coat. And boy oh boy do I make some bad decisions.

So she shows up at my door Wednesday evening. My secretary, Brad, had already left for the night, and I was finishing up a report for a jealous husband. Steamy photos in there, and I was half tempted to edit things out, spare him the details, but I don't often get paid for happy lies. This one, this was likely to end up in divorce court, and I'd be unhappy to have to testify, so best to make my copies, file them, and send him the mess, and my final bill. Neither one of those two was a saint, and I was surprised that the wife hadn't hired me to spy on him, too.

Not happy work, and I'd had a round of bourbon to wash the taste out of my mouth after I locked up the file-box. Then a knock at my door, followed by a boom of thunder as the storm that had been building all day finally decided to bust loose.

"We're closed!" I flicked off my office lights, and headed for the front door. Knocking again, another boom of thunder, and then the power died. An inconvenience for me, but us cats see well in the dark. Doesn't take a lot of ambient light to let us keep going.

My unexpected guest wasn't quite so fortunately endowed, and I supposed in less damp condition she'd have been a supremely fluffy squirrel. We both were short furred but where I was ash with charcoal stripes, she was cream and rust; where I was dressed, she was mostly not. The raincoat fit her poorly, it probably wasn't hers, but the look of desperation was too real to ignore. I pulled her inside, glanced at the corners of the hall outside my office, then closed and locked the door.

"Before you start," I said, "I keep a couple towels in the washroom, and a change of clothes. It might not fit you well, but you're welcome to what you want." Generosity can get you a long way, especially to strangers. Never know when the bum you toss a buck to might have a reversal of fortunes, and remember the cat that was kind to him. Never know if the beat up junkyard dog is a professional boxer, either, and my chin was glad I'd been polite. The guy with me hadn't been, and he was probably still drinking his meals.

While she dried off and tidied up, I went around the office again making sure everything was locked up proper, from doors to drawers. One drawer left open, on my desk.

I was pretty sure I was going to need at least one more bourbon.

Something was itching at the back of my mind, and I couldn't quite get a hand on it to scratch. Did she seem familiar? Even wet and bedraggled she was easy on the eyes, maybe that was it. Sure, if I'd seen someone that shapely on the street, it would have left an impression.

While I was dredging my memory to try and place her, she came out of the washroom. No pants, but my slacks were not going to fit over her hips. Wasn't gonna complain, wearing nothing but one of my shirts was a really, really good look. On anyone, I'd say, but she wore it even better than average.

She seemed a bit more composed than the panicked and soaked lady who'd been on my doorstep fifteen minutes ago.

"So what's the story, miss..." I left it hanging, an invitation to introduce herself.

"Belka. Sacha to my friends." The Russian accent would have been enough, even without her name.

That answered where I'd seen her before. A funeral, one of the last places I'd gone while I still had a badge. The late Mr. Belka had been of some interest to organized crime in the same way that a tornado is of some interest to local real estate. His family were quiet about how he'd passed, but it was a closed casket funeral, and the rumors were messy.

"You might understand why I don't offer you a drink, lady. Ain't one of my favorite families."

"We are not expecting a Christmas card from you, then?" Her response was absent minded, perfunctory. Practiced. The follow up wasn't. "I am no longer a friend to the Family either. Since neither are you, and far too many of your former comrades are, you can understand my reluctance to trust the police with my safety. You, on the other hand, have proven you are honorable, in your own way. Sometimes a bit too honorable for your own good, no?"

She pointed at my chest, where a badge would have been five years ago. I knew what she was talking about, the mess that had left me jobless and under suspicion. The only reason I hadn't gone to jail was a really, really good alibi, and even being dining in public with the local bishop wasn't enough to keep me free of suspicion when it was my ID that had been used to get into the evidence locker. So I'd been out, and had started this little agency shortly after. I knew there were dirty cops, everyone knew it, but there wasn't much of anything I could do about it, and dragging it into the open would likely have gotten me shot, if I was lucky.

Triads, Tongs, Yakuza, Sicilians, Russians, Armenians, Irish, every fucking organized crime group in the world had a presence here. And all of them had at least one cop in their pocket. Sometimes half of a department was on one team, and half on the other. I knew that the third precinct had two sergeants under Russia, a couple detectives on Yakuza payroll, and their captain was taking money from both the Irish and the Armenians. He was likely to find himself dead if either of them found out about the other.

Which brought me back to Sacha. "Fine, so I'm the one honest cop in the city and I ain't a cop anymore. Don't think I'm going to thank you for that compliment. Doesn't explain why you were bare-assed on my doorstep."

"Isn't it obvious? I need help, and I cannot go to either the Family or the police. So I must come to you, and I am sorry for what I am dragging you into."

"No one's said that I'll be dragged into anything, least of all me."

"Oh, Nicky, you say that like you ever had a choice."

I knew trouble alright, and I could hear it coming up the stairs at the end of the hall. The power was out, the lights were off. And I hoped maybe they'd keep going and not look for her behind a locked door. But then I heard the doorknob rattle, and knew hope wasn't going to get us anywhere that lead wouldn't go faster.

Remember that one unlocked drawer? I keep two things in it. Cheap scotch and a couple of glasses, and the other thing that's probably going to get me killed sooner than later. They didn't exactly let me keep my service revolver when I left the force, but it found its way back to me like a hungry dog. Now I needed it to bark, or at least growl menacingly.

I tucked a box of rounds into my pocket, checked that she was still full up, then gently slid the cylinder back in place. No extra noise, there was still a faint chance that whoever was out there might go away if they heard nothing.

"September, open this damn door before I break it open!" A familiar but unwelcome voice, Boston accent so thick you could serve it by the pound. "Your car's still outside and we all know you ain't gonna leave it anywhere you ain't." He wasn't wrong, but it pained me to hear that I was so predictable. First Sacha, now O'Malley. Everyone had my number tonight.

I pushed Sacha under my desk, slid Betsy into the holster under my arm, and opened the door. "What the hell do you want, O'Malley, and do you have a warrant to get it?"

He was way too fat of a bear for a beat cop, even one who sat in his cruiser all the way through his shift. A particularly naive child might wonder how someone that fat stayed on the force, but I knew that it wasn't just his burgers that were greasy.

He stayed in the hallway for the moment. Just him, no partner, which meant this probably wasn't official business. "It ain't like that, September. Look, I ain't here to get nothing, to search nowhere. I need some unofficial help. Off the books."

"So who's paying me? Precinct Three? Mama Chan?"

"Me, September. I got outta that mess a while back. Look, just keep an eye out for Sacha Belka and call me if you find her."

My poker face was pretty good, and I hoped it was good enough. "You got a recent picture? And why the hell would I want to look out for Vladimir's widow?"

"Here, picture from last week's paper. It ain't anything serious, I just found something of hers and want the chance to return it in person. Politeness pays, September, hadn't you heard?"

I took the picture, not that I needed it. Definitely the same squirrel I had stashed under my desk. "Fine, I'll call you if I see her. Going to cost you, though. Two grand in advance, two more when the job's done." He had the cash on him. Didn't even try to bargain me down. That sounded like desperation to me, and I wished I'd asked for more.

With O'Malley gone, I closed the door, bolted it again, and let out a breath I didn't remember holding. Sacha climbed out from under my desk. "That would have been an easy payday for you, but you didn't take it. Liking me already?"

"I can't imagine O'Malley having anything of yours you'd want returned, and he's been working for Chan since before he transferred to Chicago. He can say he's clean, but a liar says he tells the truth, and either way it's worth being cautious. As much as I'd love to be rid of you, handing you over to Chan? I like to be able to sleep at night."

She nodded. We both knew what the Triads would do if they got their hands on her, and it would make what they did to her late husband look nice. Sure, the official story was "causes unknown". The truth had circulated well enough since then. My departure from the force had been all about someone burying the evidence and using me as a scapegoat. I'd hold grudges if I knew who to hold them against. It wasn't Sacha, at least.

I glanced at the wad of bills on my desk, then at the window. Easy money that O'Malley and whoever he had come around with were still waiting outside somewhere for me. It would be too convenient to walk out with Sacha and hand her over, but I doubted they'd pay me the other two grand. Probably pay me two bullets.

So what did that leave me? Out the window and down a fire escape that had seen better decades? Chancy, especially with the storm getting worse. How to get her out of here alive was the first hurdle, and it sure wasn't going to be the last.

"Hold on, Sacha. I've got an idea." I laid out the sequence of events for her. She looked doubtful, but there weren't any good options, so we were stuck with creatively bad ones.

There's a service entrance for the old three story walk up where my office is. It's boarded up, or at least looks like it is, and no one uses it. Well, almost no one. I walked her down the stairs, pausing every few steps to listen for trouble. But if O'Malley was still in the area, he wasn't in the building.

Once I had her at the service door, and I'd shown her how to open it just enough to get out, I headed for the front door. I keep my car out in front. A proud thing, just about the only thing I own that I wouldn't give up, a vintage GT 500 Cobra. It had cost me the better part of two years when I was on the force still, and I had held on to it through the aftermath. Only two seats, but enough power to out race anything.

But damn, the roads were wet, and that wasn't great for fast getaways.

I took a once over around the car. Habit, check the tires, make sure no one's keyed it while it was parked, no tickets. Given the night I was having, it couldn't hurt to be cautious.

I didn't see anything amiss, and she roared to life when I turned the key. Always rev the engine when you start things up, helps see if anything's not running right. Eleanor purred like always, and I took off. Slick streets, a rooster tail of water before she caught her grip. No surprise at the lights pulling out behind me, that would be O'Malley. He'd tail me of course. That was what I was counting on. I took a right, then a left, and hammered on the gas. Powerslide through another left, drop quiet, turn off my lights, and left again. O'Malley would be looking for me down another alley or another side street, and I was doubling back already.

Sacha was at the service entrance when I pulled up, and the rain only needed the few seconds to the car to make my shirt mostly transparent. Her husband had been a lucky man, and a couple of years of being too busy to look for romance were making themselves heard in my head. I had to focus on the road, not on the sweet curves and bare bottom sitting in Eleanor's other seat.

"We can't go back to your place," I said, "and O'Malley knows where I live. When he realizes he lost me, that's where he'll go. Probably there already. Got any preferences on shitty motels with night desks that take cash and don't ask questions?"

"Not downtown, most of those belong to us, and while they will not ask questions, they will make phone calls. Trackside?"

"I wasn't going to hand you to Chan at my office, why would I do it at a hotel?"

"I think we might have a little time then. I think that Riverwood might have what we need." Riverwood was about twenty minutes down the highway, so I merged into traffic and found my way there.

---

Riverwood was what was left of a mining town. The mines had dried up or closed down decades ago, and things had just slowly slid downhill from there. Most of the remaining residents were retired folks, the school had closed for lack of students, and it felt like a town on life support, with no interest in keeping the plug in.

But it had a gas station, it had a motel, and it was too shitty and poor to be of interest to most of the mobs and gangs. I took the precaution of filling Eleanor up and grabbing a couple of snacks from the gas station, and left Sacha in the car while I checked us in.

Ground floor room, dreary but clean. Only one bed, and part of me was very adamant about sharing it. "Okay, we should be off the radar for a little while. Sorry about the clothes, you've got a lot more figure than I do."

"I cannot complain, you certainly make me aware you're looking at it."

My ears burned a little bit, but I couldn't exactly deny that I'd been sneaking glances when I could. Hot twist in my belly.

She continued. "There is only one bed, you know. I doubt that you intended things that way. You will probably insist on sleeping in the chair. Do not be silly." She touched my shoulder. "Nothing needs to happen. We should get the sleep that we are certainly going to need. It is going to be an interesting time."

In hindsight, I probably should have taken her advice. But she was far too nice a shape, and a little damp on that shirt had made her shape even more appealing, and visible. And she was as good to touch as to see. As good to taste as to touch. I didn't understand a word of Russian, but they all mean the same thing in that voice. And she talked, talked until we both fell asleep.

---

Morning was quiet enough to feel like something was wrong. Riverwood was the kind of place that didn't ever really wake up so much as roll over, demand coffee, and pass back out, so I wasn't surprised to hear a whole lot of nothing coming from outside. My squirrely companion wasn't in sight, but I heard the shower running, then heard the dryer whir to life. A godsend, those things. Fast moving hot air feels pretty damn good after getting soaking wet.

Well, in the shower, anyway. I had very vivid memories of another kind of soaking wet, and cleaning up from that had been, well...

I licked my whiskers clean, then stretched and put my slacks back on, got dressed enough to function again. I'd have liked a shower, but the fur on the back of my neck was still standing up from whatever had yanked me out of sleep. It wasn't Sacha, that was pretty sure. Something outside, maybe?

Sacha came out of the bathroom, rubbing here and there with a towel. The dryers were good, but not perfect, and there were good things to be said for hands-on work with getting the last bits of damp out. I'd have liked to help her, but something was still itching on my brain a little.

"Nicky. You wake up quickly. Already dressed. I thought for sure you would not find your clothes so readily, given how enthusiastically we removed them last night."

I grinned and shrugged. "Something's bugging me. Can't put a finger on it, exactly, but something ain't right."

She nodded. "Are we in danger again?"

"We stopped being in danger?"

"I had hoped so, but your response makes me doubt."

"Lady, we're not safe until-" I don't know what I heard or felt, but I didn't finish the thought, just dove, shoved her behind the bed, and followed just in time for the explosion to spray glass against the wall over our heads.

"Yeah, I'm not sure safe is a thing we get to be." I rubbed my ears, still ringing from the blast, and waited a few seconds for the smoke to start clearing.

"You think that did it?"

O'Malley. The rat bastard. Who was he talking to? The answer was in Chinese, and I couldn't understand a word. Sacha was shaking her head, and there was blood on her muzzle. Might have smacked into the wall when I pushed her to safety. I'd deal with that later.

My revolver was across the room, with my coat on the chair closer to the door, and I had a feeling I was going to need it soon. The smoke was thick enough to mask my scramble, and I took the revolver, waited patiently to hear the voices again. O'Malley was a shitty shot, but his partner might not be. Better to wait and not miss.

They were backlit in the morning sun, and I saw three silhouettes in the smoke. Big one was O'Malley, the other two were more slender and one of them had a longarm of some sort. Him first. I didn't exactly have room to miss, and they were probably wearing body armor. Narrow shots. Him first, so I waited for the smoke to clear just a little bit more. I'd be hard to spot, there wasn't any lighting left in the room to give me a silhouette. Good enough for me. It took me five shots total. The first one dropped like a stone when I put a round in his throat. The second Triad went down just as easy, but O'Malley, that fat fuck of a bear took three before he stopped trying to pull his sidearm.

I reloaded, then stepped out into the parking lot. Eleanor was a smoking heap, that must have been where the bomb was, and I spared a prayer for the departed before stripping weapons and ammo from the trash I'd taken out. We'd likely need them, and there was no sense leaving them for the cops to find, or their friends, more likely.

By the time I'd finished pocketing the last shotgun shell, Sacha had cleared up and joined me. O'Malley's pants. I'd hit him high all three times, and his pants seemed to be in alright shape. She needed the extra hip room, even if they were longer than would fit.

"Ah. And wouldn't you know, his keys are still in them. How about it, September. Should we fight our way through the city, or set our sights on places we are not well known?"

Short version, I left a message for Brad and we left town. Only took the bear's car a little further on, to Sandersville, where we traded it to a chop shop for a pair of wheels that wasn't being hunted for. Not sure exactly where we were headed at the time, and maybe it wasn't best to think about. Old lives gone, we were both running toward something different.

"How do you feel about Canada, Nicky? I have friends on my side of the family there. Perhaps a new start would do you some good."

"Well, I'm not a fan of the snow, but I think I can get used to it, with some warm company."

"Warm company, I think I can provide. Drive north, Nicky. New beginnings await."