took a large gulp of his whiskey.
Remy glanced over at his friend. "Did you get it?"
"Naw." He shook his head. "I guess the Almighty figured I needed some new school uniforms more than a bike."
"The Almighty is very much into school uniforms," Remy said, confirming his friend's beliefs.
They both laughed then, mellowing out from the effects of their drinks.
"So nobody's really listening then," Mulvehill said, fishing another cigarette from the pack lying on the table.
Remy thought for a moment, not sure how to respond.
"No, not really," he finally said, turning his attention to his friend. "It's just sort of a hit-or-miss thing as to when someone's listening . . . and whether they decide to do anything about what they hear."
"Sounds complicated." Mulvehill finished what remained in his glass and reached across the table for more.
"Yeah," Remy agreed, his thoughts drifting in the direction of ancient times, when he'd first left Paradise to make the world of man his home. "It always was."
Mulvehill helped himself to some more ice, and yet another splash of whiskey. "More?" He held the bottle out to Remy.
"You know I prayed you'd ask me that," Remy said, sliding his glass within reach.
Mulvehill obliged him with ice and booze.
"And I decided to answer."
The homicide cop slid the glass back to the angel.
"So, Frank Downes," Mulvehill began, settling back in his chair.
"Very dead," Remy added.
"He certainly was," Mulvehill agreed. "And what exactly did you have to do with his untimely demise?"
"Absolutely nothing," Remy explained. "I asked him some questions about a missing person's case I'm working on, and when he wasn't forthcoming with the info, I followed him to see if he'd lead me to a clue."
"Okay." Mulvehill nodded. "So how did he end up murdered?"
"We finally ended up at his building and I was going to call it quits for the night, but then four guys decided they needed something from Frank too, only they forced themselves into his apartment."
"And you decided to check this situation out, instead of calling law enforcement," Mulvehill suggested, waving his lit cigarette around.
"I wasn't sure what was going down, so I decided to go it alone," Remy agreed. "I probably should have given the PD a call."
"Yeah, you probably should have." Mulvehill had some more whiskey. "You didn't happen to use that UPS trick to get into the building, did you?"
"I most certainly did," Remy said.
"Thought so." His friend nodded. "Lady on the second floor said she thought she was getting a delivery but saw an unfamiliar guy heading up the stairs."
"That would have been me," Remy said.
"No shit."
Remy chuckled. "Anything on the guy who dropped his wallet? What was his name . . . Bohadock?"
"Derrick Bohadock. Reported missing last month by his wife of sixteen years. Supposedly disappeared on his way home from a business trip to the Philippines."
"Really?" Remy took a sip from his drink. "Kind of odd that he would show up as part of a kill squad in Boston, don't you think?"
"It is kinda funny."
"He had a strange mark on the back of his hand," Remy said, rubbing the back of his own. "Lip marks . . . as if left by a kiss."
"Like a tattoo?" Mulvehill questioned.
"I only got a quick glimpse of it, but it seemed more like a burn . . . a brand maybe. And that doctor who supposedly sent these guys after Frank had one on his neck." Remy pointed to an area below his ear.
"The one who took a swan dive off the roof of Franciscan Hospital for Children?" Mulvehill asked. "I suppose you were questioning him about this missing persons case too?"
"Yeah, I was," Remy acknowledged.
"You realize I should probably arrest you right now on suspicion of murder," Mulvehill said, setting down his empty glass.
"There isn't a jail around that could hold me, copper," Remy said in a pathetic attempt at an Edward G. Robinson imitation.
"Hey, that's pretty good," Mulvehill said. "I didn't know you could do Katharine Hepburn."
"Go screw
Remy glanced over at his friend. "Did you get it?"
"Naw." He shook his head. "I guess the Almighty figured I needed some new school uniforms more than a bike."
"The Almighty is very much into school uniforms," Remy said, confirming his friend's beliefs.
They both laughed then, mellowing out from the effects of their drinks.
"So nobody's really listening then," Mulvehill said, fishing another cigarette from the pack lying on the table.
Remy thought for a moment, not sure how to respond.
"No, not really," he finally said, turning his attention to his friend. "It's just sort of a hit-or-miss thing as to when someone's listening . . . and whether they decide to do anything about what they hear."
"Sounds complicated." Mulvehill finished what remained in his glass and reached across the table for more.
"Yeah," Remy agreed, his thoughts drifting in the direction of ancient times, when he'd first left Paradise to make the world of man his home. "It always was."
Mulvehill helped himself to some more ice, and yet another splash of whiskey. "More?" He held the bottle out to Remy.
"You know I prayed you'd ask me that," Remy said, sliding his glass within reach.
Mulvehill obliged him with ice and booze.
"And I decided to answer."
The homicide cop slid the glass back to the angel.
"So, Frank Downes," Mulvehill began, settling back in his chair.
"Very dead," Remy added.
"He certainly was," Mulvehill agreed. "And what exactly did you have to do with his untimely demise?"
"Absolutely nothing," Remy explained. "I asked him some questions about a missing person's case I'm working on, and when he wasn't forthcoming with the info, I followed him to see if he'd lead me to a clue."
"Okay." Mulvehill nodded. "So how did he end up murdered?"
"We finally ended up at his building and I was going to call it quits for the night, but then four guys decided they needed something from Frank too, only they forced themselves into his apartment."
"And you decided to check this situation out, instead of calling law enforcement," Mulvehill suggested, waving his lit cigarette around.
"I wasn't sure what was going down, so I decided to go it alone," Remy agreed. "I probably should have given the PD a call."
"Yeah, you probably should have." Mulvehill had some more whiskey. "You didn't happen to use that UPS trick to get into the building, did you?"
"I most certainly did," Remy said.
"Thought so." His friend nodded. "Lady on the second floor said she thought she was getting a delivery but saw an unfamiliar guy heading up the stairs."
"That would have been me," Remy said.
"No shit."
Remy chuckled. "Anything on the guy who dropped his wallet? What was his name . . . Bohadock?"
"Derrick Bohadock. Reported missing last month by his wife of sixteen years. Supposedly disappeared on his way home from a business trip to the Philippines."
"Really?" Remy took a sip from his drink. "Kind of odd that he would show up as part of a kill squad in Boston, don't you think?"
"It is kinda funny."
"He had a strange mark on the back of his hand," Remy said, rubbing the back of his own. "Lip marks . . . as if left by a kiss."
"Like a tattoo?" Mulvehill questioned.
"I only got a quick glimpse of it, but it seemed more like a burn . . . a brand maybe. And that doctor who supposedly sent these guys after Frank had one on his neck." Remy pointed to an area below his ear.
"The one who took a swan dive off the roof of Franciscan Hospital for Children?" Mulvehill asked. "I suppose you were questioning him about this missing persons case too?"
"Yeah, I was," Remy acknowledged.
"You realize I should probably arrest you right now on suspicion of murder," Mulvehill said, setting down his empty glass.
"There isn't a jail around that could hold me, copper," Remy said in a pathetic attempt at an Edward G. Robinson imitation.
"Hey, that's pretty good," Mulvehill said. "I didn't know you could do Katharine Hepburn."
"Go screw
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