It was almost night, clouds casting a dark shade over the city. John was sitting at a desk in his mostly bare apartment, looking through the day’s paper, marking the streets it mentioned on a map. It was a ritual for him at this point. He glanced at himself in the window’s reflection, still the same face, no sign of the forty-some years that had passed. He’d have thought he’d be used to it by now but here he was.

Turning his attention back to the paper, he finally found what he was looking for; a mugging gone bad three blocks away, close enough that it wouldn’t be too much trouble.

John reached into the desk drawer, grabbing his revolver. Then he threw on a jacket and headed out the door.

John was nearly on the street when he heard someone call out to him.

“Mr. Lionhart?”

He looked back to find a woman, one of his neighbors, staring up at him, a girl in her early teens beside her. A mother and daughter? John hadn’t said two words to the pair, but he’d seen them around the apartment often enough.

“You’re Mr. Lionhart, from 3A?” the woman asked. “I’m May, May Song. This is my daughter, Cassandra. We live next door. I saw you moved in a week ago, thought it only polite that we should welcome you to the neighborhood.”

She looked up at John with a slight smile. He figured she was trying to force a conversation.

John wasn’t in the mood.

“I’m in a rush.”

The woman’s smile faded, and the young girl tugged at her mother’s shirt, clearly worried. John realized he was scowling. He mentally kicked himself, forcing a smile.

“Sorry. Like I said, maybe another time. Excuse me.”

The girl, Cassandra, watched as John blew past her. She grabbed her mother’s hand, holding it tight.

“Don’t worry, he’s got a good heart.” Her mother reached down, mussing her hair. Cassandra pulled back, annoyed.

“Didn’t look like it.”

“Trust me, the bad ones start you off with a smile. Men like him just like to hide it.”

“Why?”

“I don’t really know. Seems silly, doesn’t it?” Her mother grinned down at her. “Now, come on.”

Cassandra thought about that, watching as her mother headed off. They’d be going to the city today, as usual Cassandra would loiter in the bookstore as her mother did her business.

They’d only gotten a few steps when man suddenly stumbled from one of the side alleys. Both stepped back as he moved towards them. Her mother grabbed Cassandra by the shoulder, bringing her in close. But as the man walked, it became more obvious that he was sick, his skin deathly pale, with a limp to his step.

Her mother hesitated, then took a tentative step towards the man.

“Are you oka-?”

She was interrupted as the man reached towards her. Cassandra watched as her mother went stiff, the strange man holding her arm in a vice grip.

Cassandra saw a flash of something black snake up the sickly man’s hand, and to her surprise, he collapsed onto the ground, dead.

She stood there for a long moment, staring at the corpse before it even registered. Only when Cassandra’s mother gently pushed her aside did she come back to herself.

“He’s sick,” her mother looked down at the man, completely impassive. “It’s okay, wait here and I’ll get help.”

“What. . ?”

Her mother didn’t seem to notice her say anything. She didn’t even glance back at Cassandra as she headed into the alley. Cassandra just stood there, shocked, as her mother walked into the darkness.

It was a few hours later when John was making his way back home. As he approached the street, he saw the telltale lights of a patrol car. He slowed, just a bit paranoid. It was a short-lived fear. If the police were after him, they’d more than likely be searching the area by now.

A white top patrol car blew past, screeching to a hault just outside the apartment complexes’ front door. Two detectives stepped out, nodding to a couple of beat cops that moved to greet them.

Now, more curious than wary, John turned the corner to find a small group of lookyloos gathered around the alley. The young girl he’d seen earlier seemed to be at the center of it. From what little he could overhear, the kid, Cassandra apparently, had been around when the corpse next her had dropped. That was rough, but he was more worried that her mother wasn’t anywhere nearby.

Then someone gripped John’s shoulder.

“How about you, you see anything?”

John turned to find one of the detectives standing behind him. His badge said “O’Malley”. He watched John with an appraising gaze.

“No, what happened?” John asked.

“That ain’t your business.”

John frowned.

“I live here, I’d say it is.”

O’Malley regarded John a moment, staring him down. John just stared back, deadpan.

“If you ain’t a witness, keep moving.” O’Malley waved him off, turning his attention back to the scene.

John watched as the detective and his partner, the guy’s name seemed to be Jones, headed to the young girl. He looked at O’Malley, then at the white top they’d just parked. It was a good distance away, the chatter of the police radio inside only barely audible.

John made his way back to the car, leaning in to get a better look at the dash. It was a newer model, and they’d left the window down so they could keep an ear out for emergencies. John craned his head back to the alley, it was out of sight, and it looked like the beat cops were preoccupied with the crowd. John hesitated, then he reached inside and, with inhuman strength, tore the radio free from the dash.

Cassandra stood there, trying to ignore the men handling the stranger’s corpse as the police kept asking questions.

“. . . So, your mother just walked away? Just like that? Why?” O’Malley eyed her skeptically. That was the third time he’d asked, and Cassandra was starting to dislike the man.

“I don’t know. . .” Cassandra repeated.

And she didn’t. She had no idea why her mother would have left without her, or why she wasn’t back yet. All she knew is that something was wrong.

“You live in this building, right?” Jones asked.

“. . . Third floor.” Cassandra’s eyes were drawn to the corpse just a few feet away. Jones noticed her attention, moving to block her view. He kneeled down to her level.

“Where’s your dad?”

“. . . I don’t have one.”

“Okay. . .” Jones paused. “Do you have friends or neighbors you can stay with until your mom gets back?”

Cassandra shook her head, “no.”

O’Malley sighed.

“Then just wait for her in your apartment. If she shows up and we aren’t here, have her contact the station for a statement.”

Cassandra nodded. She just wanted to leave. The two waved her off. She could just overhear Jones speaking low as she left.

“Why the hell would a mom walk away after her kid’s been traumatized like that?”

“Don’t know, don’t care,” O’Malley replied. “I’ve got my own kids to worry about.”

John was in his kitchen, trying to wire the stolen police radio up to the electrical outlet. There was a lot of muttered cursing, and a small fire involved, but eventually the radio sparked to life. The apartment began to fill with the dispatcher’s monotone voice. Satisfied, he let out a breath, looking over his handiwork.

Then, a muffled sob came from the room next door. A girl’s cry. John closed his eyes and tried to refocus on the radio. The crying had been going on for a while now, and John knew there was nothing he could do about it. He turned the radio up and another sob cut through the noise just as easily.

John sighed. Then he got up and headed out the door.

Cassandra sat on the bed, trying to stifle her crying. She was being careful, last time she’d been too loud the landlord had yelled at her mother and tried to kick them out. The thought of it just made things worse.

She hugged her legs. Even the nights her mother didn’t come home she’d had at least said something beforehand. Or sent someone.

Then she heard a knock at the door. Cassandra practically bolted to it, wiping her face clean as she swung the door open. What she found wasn’t her mother. She took an involuntary step back as an angry John stared down at her.

John stared at an obviously terrified Cassandra. She looked ready to bolt.

He was scowling again. John took a step back and held his hands up in a placating gesture.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you. I could hear you from my place, just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

That seemed to make her relax, she watched John for a long moment.

“My mom’s gone.”

“I know, I saw the cops talking to you. Can you tell me what happened?”

The girl considered that, still suspicious. He hadn’t gotten a good look at the girl earlier, but she was different than her mother. Her mother looked Chinese, and while Cassandra had some Asian features, her skin was darker, and her eyes a striking green.

“She was going to get help,” Cassandra offered, “-but she never came back. . .”

John let out a breath. As he’d expected, that wasn’t something he could help with, not really. Given how poor they looked, it could even be the mother didn’t want to be found.

“I’m sure she’s got a good reason for being gone this long,” John lied. “You should keep the door locked in the meantime, and don’t be opening it to strangers.”

Cassandra nodded a little too quickly. Then paused, considering.

“. . .What if she doesn’t come back?”

“She’ll come back.” John gestured to his apartment door. “My name’s John. I’m just across the way, if there’s any trouble, shout.”

With that, John left the girl as he headed back to his apartment.

John worked on the radio the next few hours. A storm had kicked up since then. So, it was spotty, and he was sure he’d fry it by the end of the week, but it was doing its job well enough. Dividing his attention between tuning it and watching the detectives rage over their stolen radio in the middle of a rainstorm had taken most the night. He’d have felt bad, but frankly, this city wasn’t doing well for him, and he needed the radio more than they did.

John noted the street of another burglary when he heard a knock. He frowned, reaching into the drawer for his revolver as he approached the door, angling the barrel about chest height as he cracked it open.

It was the girl. Cassandra stood there, looking up at him. John opened the door fully, stashing the gun in his waistband.

“. . .What?”

“My mom still ain’t home.” Cassandra craned her head, looking inside. John noticed her look pointedly at the radio.

“Okay. . . Then maybe you should call the cops again.”

“Don’t have a phone. Do you?”

“No.”

Cassandra glanced towards his kitchen.

“Is that a police radio?”

John glanced back, tense.

“. . .It was. It’s broken. I’m . . .fixing it.”

Thunder cracked in the distance; John noticed Cassandra jump just slightly. She fidgeted, trying to cover.

“Uh, is your heater working? Ours ain’t.”

John considered her for a moment before stepping to the side.

“You can wait for your mom in here, but don’t touch anything.”

Cassandra nodded, ducking under John’s arm, and heading in.

“Thanks.”

As she took in the room, looking more than a little disappointed, John noticed the book under her arm. It looked worn.

“You read?” John gestured to the book. “Looks kind of heavy for someone your age.”

“Oh, no. I mean, yeah but this ain’t a book, it’s my journal. It’s for stuff that’s important to me.” She hugged it a little tighter.

“Huh.” John noticed the girl lingering at the center of the room.

Looking around, he realized there was nowhere for her to sit. He shoved a pile of newspapers off the couch and onto the floor, clearing a space. While she was getting settled, he noticed the girl’s eyes go wide. His shirt had hiked up enough to show the the handle of his revolver.

He really needed to pay more attention to what he was doing.

“. . .I was a cop. It’s all right.”

“Really?” Cassandra looked at him skeptically. “Because mom says you’re a bookie. All you do is go out for the paper and smoke.”

“I’m not a bookie.” John took out his badge, handing it to the girl to inspect while he put the gun back in his desk. “You want coffee?”

“I’m fourteen I don’t drink coffee.” Cassandra rolled the badge over in her hands, looking at it intently. “You have cocoa?”

“Do I look like the kind of guy that would have cocoa?” John asked.

She gave him a once over, as if she was seriously considering the question, then shook her head.

John nearly smiled at that.

“Go get it from your place.”

“We ain’t got none either.” She pointed to the bottom of the badge. “This ain’t the same as the cops from earlier. Which city are you from?”

“Are you always this nosey?”

“Sorry. Mom says-” thunder cracked, making Cassandra flinch.

John’s expression softened.

“Tell you what, I’ll go down to the store and get some cocoa. But don’t touch nothing while I’m gone, okay?”

“. . .You’re just dodging my questions, aren’t you?”

“If I was would it matter?”

“No.” Cassandra admitted.

John really did smile then, closing the door behind him.

“Six pack, carton of lucky strikes, and cocoa.” The cashier called the items off as she marked them. She eyed the cocoa, grinning up at John. “You got milk, mister?”

“. . .For what?” John asked.

“For the cocoa, silly.”

John regarded the younger woman, then grabbed a nearby milk bottle from a shelf.

“You’re new to the neighborhood, right? What’s your name?” The cashier beamed at him.

John didn’t return it.

“. . .Why?”

The woman’s demeanor changed, looking more than a little annoyed.

“Just trying to be friendly.”

John flashed the wedding ring on his left hand.

“Sorry, the wife doesn’t like me being friendly.” He put a few bills on the counter and gathered up his things. “Keep the change.”

John was dripping wet by the time he got back to the apartment. As he looked over, he saw Cassandra asleep on the couch, her head rested in a nest of papers she’d piled up as a pillow. He set the cocoa down nearby, retrieving his badge, forgotten on the table. He noticed Cassandra’s journal then, a photo of her mother poking out. He examined it a moment before the radio pulled him from his thoughts.

There was a robbery on third, just a few streets away. And it looked like they’d found a body. He thought it over, then made sure Cassandra was still asleep one last time before he turned off the radio and headed out.