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[Rebus]

A Knight In Less Than Shining Armour
by Paul Taggart

"I'm afraid the son of a bitch is going to kill me."
Her voice was hard and cold, as completely devoid of emotion as a telephone operator's. She took another long drag on her cigarette and closed her eyes as she exhaled. I took another sip of coffee and shifted slightly on my side of the booth to avoid getting the smoke in my face. I don't smoke myself, but I try not to be a jerk about it.
Diane Smallforest and I had dated for a few months back in high school, Christ, fifteen years ago. She hadn't changed much; her brown hair was cut shorter but she hadn't put on any weight that I could see. She was still pretty, thin, and petite in build. There were a few wrinkles around her deep brown eyes, and there was a general hardness about her features that hadn't been there before, but then, life has a way of beating the softness out of everyone, and none of us could stay seventeen forever no matter how much mud or creams they rub into their faces.
My name's James Kasper but people always called me Jim or asshole depending on whether they like me or not. I'm not sure I've ever been soft, it seems I've been a bitter, cynical bastard for as long as I can remember. Of course, my occupation doesn't help much. As a private investigator who spends most of my time sniffing out insurance fraud, tracing bail jumpers, trailing cheating spouses and repossessing cars from deadbeats, I don't often get to see people at their best. Especially when we're talking about Los Angeles.
Diane and I were sharing a booth at the Denny's in Portland. It was a little after two in the morning and I'd just finished a three-buck Grand Slam breakfast and was working my way through my third cup of coffee. Diane had stuck to coffee... and nicotine.
She'd found me at Gino's, a small bar down near the waterfront. I'd been sitting in with my pal Tony's band, Blondes With Baggage, playing bass guitar through two sets of three-chord rock and electric blues. Their regular bass player was out of town, so I'd dusted off my guitar and filled in, demonstrating once and for all that whatever meager musical talent I might have once possessed had further atrophied from disuse. We hadn't been very good, but then, the audience hadn't been very demanding. Aside from a couple of drunks at the bar, the "crowd" had consisted of Diane and Tony's current girlfriend, Kate.
I was up in Portland basking in childhood memories after a heavy job in Los Angeles had left me both with a large bank account and too many people looking for me. I had planned the trip for a while but when Gambino family heavies start knocking on doors looking for you you should not show any hesitation in packing a case and hitting the road for a very long drive with no intention to return in short notice.
Between sets Diane had come up to me at the bar and reintroduced herself. I hadn't seen her since graduation, and it'd been a hell of a surprise. After the second set, I'd suggested we meet at the restaurant and catch up on old times. It hadn't taken long. As it turned out, she knew most of my story already. She'd been keeping tabs on me from a distance, it seems, and she'd come to Gino's that night to talk to me.
."Who's going to kill you exactly?"
."Larry. My ex."
."Husband?"
."No. Gerry is my ex-husband. He married some blonde and moved to Colorado. Larry and I just lived together for a while." She snubbed out her cigarette in the ashtray and signaled the waitress for a refill. "Larry's got... problems."
."What kind of problems?"
."He drinks...more than a lot and he's been in jail a few times, too."
."Does he have a history of violence?"
.She lit another cigarette. "You could say that. When he's on the wagon, he's a great guy. Thoughtful, responsible...even kind of sweet. But when falls off... well, he tends to express himself with his fists."
."Has he beat you?"
.Hesitation, then: "When we were together, sometimes, yeah."
The waitress showed up and refilled our mugs. I gave her a smile, and she walked away without acknowledging it. "When did you two break up?"
"We didn't. I kicked his sorry ass out. He'd been drinking again, and was getting rough with Jennifer, so I threw his clothes into the street and had the landlord change the locks. That was two weeks ago."
"Jennifer's your daughter?"
"Yeah. She's nine," she said with the first trace of emotion. "I love her so much. She's the only good thing my husband ever gave me."
."Has Larry made any threats?"
"A few nasty phone calls. He called again today... I mean yesterday," she took another deep drag off her cigarette and looked at me. Her eyes were full of all the emotion absent in her voice. She was scared. Scared to death.
"Do you really think he's capable of murder?"
"Isn't everyone?"
I couldn't argue with that. Under the right circumstances, any man can take a life. And it can take less than you'd think to push someone who's already prone to violence that little extra distance into the killing zone. "What do you want from me?"
"I need help, Jim."
I wasn't sure what I could do. I said as much.
"Maybe you could talk to him? Scare him away?"
"If he's as unstable as you say, I'm not sure that'd do much good... but if you really want me to, I'll try. Do you know where he's living?"
"No."
"Well, that makes it harder." I looked at my watch. It was almost three. "Look, Diane, I'm beat. It's been a long day, and I'm not used to being out this late anymore. Can I call you tomorrow?"
She shifted in her seat uncomfortably, and gazed out the window at the parking lot. She finished her cigarette and crushed the butt out. When she turned back to me, I was startled. All the hardness in her face had disappeared. She had her eyes fixed on the table, avoiding mine. "Actually..." she began.
"What?"
"I was hoping you might come home with me."
Oh, hell. "Diane..."
"Jim, I'm really scared. I don't want to be alone tonight," she looked up, and our eyes met. "Jennifer's staying with my parents...."
"Diane."
"I've thought about you sometimes, Jim." A faint pink blush spread across her cheeks. "You were my first, you know."
She'd been mine, too. One bright, cool Spring afternoon in the early Eighties, young lust had blossomed in the woods behind the small, private school we'd both attended in Vassalboro. I remembered the moment clearly -- Diane lying on my denim jacket with her blouse open, white bra exposed. Both of us nervous but eager; clumsy but determined. She'd been my third. Or was it fifth? I think third worth remembering.
Yeah, I'd thought about her a few times in the last fifteen years, too.
"I don't know..."
She reached across the table and took my hand. "Look, Jim, I'm not trying to seduce you. It's just that it took a lot of courage for me to look you up, never mind ask for your help. It's taken a lot out of me. I don't think I have any left.
"Please, stay with me tonight. You can sleep on the couch if you want. It'll make me feel... safe."
I thought about it. I wasn't sure it was a good idea. The prospect of spending the remainder of the night with Diane -- my first real love -- well, it was undeniably appealing. She was a damned good-looking woman, and I was still attracted to her. Despite her denial, I'm pretty sure that seduction wasn't entirely out of the question, either. But that annoying little voice in the back of my head kept insisting that it wouldn't be right to take advantage of her obvious vulnerability. And spending the night with Diane in her current emotional state was, I felt, a prospect fraught with peril.
Finally, the pleading in her eyes won me over. If she needed me to be her knight in shining armor -- or in my case, slightly tarnished armor; it could hardly still be shining after all I've done -- and protect her from this quick-fisted ogre of an ex-boyfriend, I figured I could do that much for her.
I'd just have to keep my sword sheathed.
"Okay," I said.