“We both know this will never work!� Number 5 scolded me, as she spun her back to me. A cool blue light washed over each gentle curve of her dress the way I wished my fingers were. “I must warn you,� she began before lighting up a filterless cigarette, “My-Ex, Johnny the Soul Sucker, is now out of jail.�

My face remained motionless, but my stomach growled. Not from hunger, but a sudden wave of fear. Johnny was my first big arrest, the guy whose demise jumpstarted my career. Thanks to a technicality, he was able to apply for parole after 12 years. I didn’t know if I was more shocked that he was being released from jail today or that my partner had now been dead for 12 years....

I sided with the released-from-jail fear (in spite of what my finger tips were telling me), and hightailed it back into the streetlight of night, because if there was one man meaner than my late son-of-a-gun partner it was the guy who could get to my partner no gun required. This fourth 'because' was a downer compared to the last one, but i'd get back to that business later if only I could make the right next step. To the track, I guessed. (Hey, I could even place a little trifecta bet while I was there. I had been itching to see if I could finally nail the right threesome with Favorite Trick, Bold 'n Determined, and Longfellow. Or, would that illusive Bed o' Roses be my undoing again? Man, I'll never understand how these fillies work.) Surely, the tale the little doll had started in on before my pants took over had some sort of clue in it. She mentioned something about a boy named Sue, a lead pipe, and vertigo. What could these things possibly have in common?

The crowd at Upson Downs was as restless as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs. It was the kind of motley crew that made Vince Neil look like Tommy Lee. The real best of the worst. Flyball pitchers in a groundball world.

The dame peddling drinks was like a parachute salesman at a freefall convention. She must have made more money than the U.S. Treasury at the height of a Republican administration. I figured my mark would be easy to spot in a crowd of drunks like this. He was as out-of-place at a horsetrack as a runway model at the Roy Rogers fixins bar. Guy like that hadn't seen the inside of the other side since the flipside of the downside. Or so I thought...

The bar was steamy from pumping fists and shouting mouths that turned flat and sour again and again. To cool my own recently disappointed jets, I called over the loaded little waitress and ordered a nice sharp greyhound. Her know-it-all smirk flung back the insult I had just offered the room, and I realized I had just offended my best source of information in the joint. I was quick on my toes, and acted as if I were only pulling her leg. I switched my order to a Flying Horse, and we were back on track. I asked her if she happened to know a certain Sue. She shot back in one mouthful: "A boy named Sue?" I gave her a nod mixed with a dash of nonchalance and just the right twist of earnest interest. She looked at me sloely, gingerly almost, and then blew my mind by responding: "This is he."

Next thing I knew, Sue had me by the hand and was dragging me through a door marked "Employees Only". I was never one to be ruled by door signs, so that was the least of my concerns. "I'm looking for a lead pipe," I began, but was quickly hushed by a soft, yet surprisingly large index finger on my lips.

"We mussent talk here," she whispered while motioning me to follow her up the stairs. When we got to the roof, she was ready to spill her guts. She wanted to talk, but the quickly approaching shadow had another idea, which coicidentally involved a more literal interpretation of "spilling her guts".

I was in the process of backing away from this increasingly awkward little scene, when I found myself up against the edge of nowhere...the roof's end, the city scape's beginning. Now, I had a pretty good and wretched view of how a boy named Sue, a lead pipe, and vertigo fit together, and I wasn't too happy about being smack in the middle of that story. In fact, I was suddenly thinking that there's something suspicious and true about the need to be outside of the city a ways to find its skyline attractive, appealing. I was ready to get out of here, never come back if need be. Perhaps the shadow would take my word for it. I'd find out soon enough: The pipe seemed to have finished its little chat with Sue, and from out of the shadow I saw a first foot appear. It was strikingly elegant...a pink furry little healed number. I couldn't believe what came next...

It was a girl named Sue, who happened to look a lot like my former partner Sam. "Sam?"

"It's Sue now! I faked my death and used the insurance money to buy this operation," (s)he said between drags on a Light and Slim. "You do realize this bird was about to blast your brains out."

I was about to blame Sam for my 12 years of alcoholism, when shots rang out below us. Someone was heading for the roof and probably wasn't very interested in our sentimental story hour.