Oasis of Night by J.S. Cook

certain, but I think he was smiling. “Norma calls me Phonse.”
    â€œWould it be all right if I called you Phonse?”
    â€œI suppose—only not when I’m on duty.”
    I nodded, grateful he couldn’t see my smile. “Of course. Constable Picco all the way.”
    â€œOctavian is Greek. The boys that Johnny Mahoney and Bull Parsons tangled with were Greek. I’ve seen Octavian down around the waterfront more than once—hanging out on the harbor apron, looking at the boats. I’ve seen him going on boats and coming off them.”
    I understood what he was driving at. “So you think the Greek that knifed Johnny Mahoney is one of Octavian’s pals?”
    â€œYeah, that’s what I’m saying. Wouldn’t be hard for Octavian to get aboard one of them ships, now, would it?”
    â€œBut what about the money? The five hundred dollars? The only reason to plant that money in your house was to make it seem like you were involved in Parsons’s escape, and you weren’t. So somebody—Octavian, if your hunches are correct—had a reason to make you seem like a dirty cop.”
    â€œJack.” He reached out and laid his fingers against my mouth. “I’m awful tired.”
    I held him in my arms, and maybe we both slept, I don’t know. The next thing I knew, someone was standing over me, shining a light in my face, and I was wide awake. “Over here, boys!” The voice belonged to Billy Ricketts. If he thought it strange that Picco and I were lying in each other’s embrace, he didn’t say anything, and within half an hour, I was safe at home in the Heartache Cafe.
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    I T WAS late by the time I finished filling Chris in on what had happened, and business was pretty slow, so I closed up early and told him to go on home. I had a hot shower and made some coffee and went to sit in my office, the back door open to let some air flow through. After what I’d just endured, I wasn’t sure I could stand being corked up in an enclosed space. Alphonsus Picco would never know how his presence and the quiet comfort of his body had kept me from going crazy in that cave. Maybe someday I’d get around to telling him.
    There was a warm breeze tonight, and through the darkened windows of the Heartache, I could see a thin rind of silvery moon rising over the harbor. There was a pressure in my head and my temples were pounding, but the coffee tasted good, and after a while I rested my head in my hands and tried to relax. Maybe I’d sleep with the windows open tonight, and the bedroom door, and let the sounds of the city lull me to rest.
    I sensed his presence before he touched me, his warm hands kneading the tension out of my shoulders, caressing the back of my neck. “I wonder if I might be of some small assistance at this time?” His breath ghosted against my cheek as he leaned down to speak to me, and he smelled of incense and patchouli and salt sea air.
    It was all I could do not to turn and wrap my arms around him. “Hello, Sam.”
    â€œYour head hurts?”
    â€œYeah. I spent a few hours in a cave. I guess you could say it’s an occupational hazard.”
    His laughter was deep and rich, and it warmed me. “Wherever there is trouble, you are surely to be found?”
    â€œMmm, something like that.” Perhaps if I kept him talking, he would stay. If he stayed, he might keep touching me. That was what I wanted. “What brings you to the Heartache at this hour?”
    â€œI wanted to talk to you about Jonah Octavian.”
    I turned and showed him an exaggerated sad face. “You wound me, Sam. Here I thought this was a social call.”
    He patted my shoulders, then came around to face me, moving to lean against my desk. He looked worried, but it didn’t detract one iota from his essential attractiveness. He was wearing casual trousers and a dark blue, short-sleeved shirt, open at