Anne took a deep breath. She was surprised that she was feeling butterflies in her stomach. It was not like they were enemies. But they had never been friends either. Thinking back to their last conversation, Anne wondered how things could have turned out differently if they had pooled their resources and investigated their overlapping cases together sooner.

Anne knocked on the open door.

‘Hello?’ Surreptitiously, Anne stuck her head into the room.

‘Hi.’ Came a male sounding reply. She stuck her head around the door and recognised Asmodeus’s body as her colleague, George Swine. He was busy trying to prop himself up in his bed.

‘Hello George. It’s Anne. Detective Davies. May I come in?’ Anne asked smiling.

‘Um, yes of course.’ Asmodeus replied. He sounded apprehensive to her. And his accent had changed. No longer Georgian but sounding British. Anne put it out of her mind for the moment. She was here for Pyriel.

Anne entered the room cautiously but froze in mid stride. She gasped as she saw Pyriel. Feeling her stomach churn, she fought the instinct to turn and run as the familiar smell of disinfectant filled her nostrils. Old, supressed emotions bubbled to the surface as she recalled visiting her mother in hospital as a young girl. She had come daily accompanied by her father and four brothers. The final weeks had been the worst, watching her mother’s slow and tortured decay as the malignant cancer ravished her body.

Now standing here, in the middle of the room, that horrid emotion of complete helplessness returned as she gazed at Pyriel’s tormented body connected to numerous machines and the breathing tube.

Feeling her heart thump in her throat, she walked over to Pyriel’s bedside and took her hand. It was cold. Lifeless. Pyriel’s face contorted but manged a light hand squeeze as she looked up at Anne with an expression of hope.

Anne felt her eyes well up as she spoke in a subdued tone. ‘I’m so sorry this happened to you.’ She paused, stroking Pyriel’s hand. ‘I— we, need you back. There’s is still so much work to do.’ Her eyes flashed between the machines and Pyriel’s neck. She managed a vague smile.

‘I don’t think I ever told you about when I was shot. It was only a flesh wound but man, I thought I was dying the way it burned. I’m not ashamed to say that I lay there screaming like a stuffed pig. That pain was enough to put me off childbirth forever.’

Pyriel winced. Clearly trying not to laugh. A single tear ran down her cheek

‘I’m sorry. I better go.’ Anne replaced Pyriel’s hand onto the bed. She swallowed hard and wiped her eyes. Sniffing loudly, she turned toward Asmodeus who was giving her curious glances. Waving back at Pyriel, she approached Asmodeus’s bed side. Feeling indifferent, Anne realised that she knew very little about her colleague. She didn’t like or dislike him. Partially because she didn’t know him well enough to form an opinion. They interacted seldom professionally and never socially. Pyriel had complained several times about Asmodeus as a partner being lazy, with a tendency of deflecting blame onto others. Since this was a one-sided opinion, she decided to keep an open mind. At least for the moment. Neither Asmodeus nor Pyriel had been at the ’57 long. Both had transferred in separately from different cities. Several month ago. She had gotten along well with Pyriel in the past. Including recently when they had collaborated after Pyriel discovered some unusual overlaps in their cases.

Anne gave Asmodeus a pitying look. With his bandages, cast and pale complexion, he seemed different. Not only physically. But also emotionally. She knew that many officers changed radically after near death experiences or life changing situations. Only time will tell how the shooting will affect him, Anne thought.

‘George, I’m so sorry about what happened to you guys. How are you. How’re you feeling? How is Abigail? Are you two going to be OK? What are the doctors saying?’ Anne spoke with nervous energy.

***

Asmodeus felt several waves to panic wash over him as Anne approached. She was tall. Asmodeus guessed close to six foot in those two-inch heeled, brown Cowboy boots. She had a slender build. Wearing a checkered, black and burgundy coloured shirt over a tight-fitting pair of blue jeans, which extenuated her shapely long legs. A large copper, oval belt buckle glistened as she walked. Her wavy, chocolate brown hair flowed loosely over her shoulders and Asmodeus noted that she had sharp, stern features and high cheek bones with hazel-coloured eyes that darted nervously from side to side. She was clutching a chestnut-coloured handbag in both hands.

She brushed aside a lock of fringe that had dropped in front of her eye before staring at him with a quizzing expression. Asmodeus’s mind went into overdrive.

OK, this could get awkward real fast. Who is she to us? She knows us, that’s obvious. She said she’s a detective. Do we work with her? Oh crap. This isn’t going to end well. And I can’t compel her. Surely, we can’t both have amnesia. Or could we? His mind continued to race. Asmodeus began to panic as he felt his face getting hot and his palms become clammy. What’s happening to me? he screamed in his head. Feeling more hopeless by the second, he donned his most awkward smile before replying.

‘We’re alive, I suppose that’s the most important. The doctors keep doing tests, but they haven’t told us much. I guess they don’t want to raise our hopes.’ He paused, checking about to see if anybody was within earshot before gingerly leaning forward and lowering his voice to just above a whisper. ‘Look, this is rather embarrassing—’ he held up both hands defensively, ‘I hope it’s only temporary, but—’ he looked around again, ‘I seem to have very limited memories. No. Strike that. I have no memory whatsoever.’ He paused nervously and looked directly at Anne. ‘—but haven’t told anybody yet. I’m afraid they’ll lock me in the psych ward and throw away the key.’ Noticing Anne’s incredulous expression, Asmodeus leaned back a little. He looked down at his hands he continued, ‘I’m so embarrassed, but I honestly don’t remember you. Or your name.’ He turned his head and looked up at her. He was surprised to see and hear Anne sigh as if with relief. Smiling she pointed at the chair beside the bed.

‘Do you mind if I sit?’ Feeling as if the weight of the word had just been lifted off his shoulders, and relieved that Anne did not run away screaming, Asmodeus smiled as he said.

‘Of course. Please.’ Anne sat down, crossed her legs, and folded her hands in her lap. After briefly gazing at the floor, she looked up at Asmodeus with an expression of mixed curiosity and compassion.

‘You two have really been through the wringer.’ Anne said. ‘I had a partner some years ago who had the same problem after being shot. They say it has something to do with the brain blocking out stressful or traumatic memories to protect itself. They called it dissociative amnesia. It took him weeks before some his memories returned. Most did eventually. Except the shooting. That was gone for good.’ Anne glanced over to Pyriel with a faint smile before brushing her hair behind her ear. She turned back to Asmodeus, adjusting herself in the chair. ‘OK, I don’t know how much you do remember, but I will start at the beginning. One thing before I start. I thought you were from Georgia. You had a Georgian accent. Now you sound British. Any Ideas? ‘

Asmodeus shrugged. English all sounded the same to him. Accents were lost on him completely. Yes, they had spent a long time in England, but he had never thought of himself as sounding British. Maybe it’s this new body, he thought. ‘Umm, Anne, I honestly don’t know what to say. Any chance we could shelve it for now under mystery number forty-seven? Along with everything else I don’t remember.’ Anne’s laugh, hearty and loud, echoed in the room.

‘Yes, of course. OK, then. Let me catch you up. You are George Swine’, Anne paused. An embarrassed smirk crossed her lips. Then her expression turned serious again. ‘They call you The Trashman and Pyriel they call The Ball Buster.’ She threw her hands up, waving defensively in response to Asmodeus’s shocked expression.

‘Hey, I didn’t give you those names. They seemed to have followed you guys from wherever you came from. You’ll have to wait for your memory to return to find out the truth. I’m innocent.’

That’s what they all say. Asmodeus chuckled internally. He managed a smirk and shook his head. As he shrugged a stabbing pain jolted through his chest. Wincing, his face contorted.

‘Are you OK?’ Anne asked. Her face was flushed with concern. ‘I can come back another day if things are too much,’ she added hastily. She got up.

‘No. Please. No. I’m OK. Please continue.’ Asmodeus groaned as he motioned Anne to sit back down. Anne, her expression undecided, sat back down slowly. She watched as Asmodeus re-posited himself clumsily on the bed.

‘OK, then. As I said, you are George, and she is Abigail. You’ve been partners in the organised crime unit at the ‘57th Precinct for a little under a year now. You recently had a bust go bad.’ Anne’s eyes widened as she leaned forward. ‘I mean REALLY bad. Even the mayor got involved. I don’t know all the details, but I know you two were benched which gave Pyriel lots of time to go through all the files again. And guess what?’

Asmodeus replied sheepishly: ‘Umm, she found something?’.

‘Yes, she did. She found some very unusual anomalies. Like overlaps in our cases.’

‘Overlaps?’

‘Yes. I’ve been investigating several homicides, which are linked to a massive wave of home invasions. They started about six months ago. At first it was one or two a week, but they escalated quickly. Now there are around half a dozen, or more, per week. The strange thing is that its gang members. The same as you two had been investigating. It makes no sense. They all work for the Russian mob. We couldn’t understand why the Russians would be interested in simple home invasions. It’s not an affluent neighbourhood. Lots of retired and middle-class families. We were planning a get-together after work to discuss and compare notes before the— umm,’ Anne paused, looking about as if searching for the right words.

‘You mean before we got shot and I lost my memory?’ Asmodeus asked smiling. He liked the way Anne appeared embarrassed. She smiled, giving Asmodeus a thankful nod.

Grateful for Anne’s visit, Asmodeus decided to get as much information out of her as possible. ‘Do you know where and how we were shot?’

Anne’s jaw set and her eyes welled up. Asmodeus, uncertain how to react, lacking tact and compassion, bowed his head as he whispered. ‘Sorry I asked.’

Anne sniffed noisily and wiped her eyes. ‘No, please, I’m the one who’s sorry. I heard you were ambushed. Left for dead in some ally on the south side. Real bad neighbourhood. Pyriel had mentioned something about meeting with your CI. She was pissed cause the bust that went bad was from his intel.’

Asmodeus had no idea what a CI was but decided not to interrupt.

‘Next thing I hear you two had been shot and the rat squad is taking over the investigation.’

‘Rat squad?’ Asmodeus asked with raised eyebrows.

‘Internal Affairs,’ explained Anne. ‘I don’t know what you call them where you’re from, but we call them rat squad here in Chicago.’

Asmodeus nodded. Still none the wiser. He made a mental note to follow up.

‘You see, about eighteen months ago a Russian crime syndicate came to Chicago. They first setup shop in West Englewoods. That was already a shit hole. All gang turf. Drugs, prostitution, back-street gambling, the whole none-yards. The Russians wanted in on the action. The gang bosses refused. That’s when things got bloody. Gangs have their own principles. You know, you kill one of ours we kill one of yours. Mostly it’s about turf disputes. The Russians work differently. They don’t do cowardly drive-by’s. They get up close and personal. They don’t just take out the gang leader. They take out him, his crew and all their families. They’re animals. For weeks West Englewoods was a war zone. We lost about a dozen officers before the mayor declared martial law in that neighbourhood. “Let them kill each other if that’s what they want”, he said. Personally, I agree.’

Listening to Anne, Asmodeus could not help but smirk internally. All his predictions about demons being redundant had come true. He also remembered how hasty and surprisingly large the new meat box had been built. Around the same time, they had been spoilt for choice in the meat suit department without ever knowing why. Now it made sense.

‘Oh, by the way’, Anne said, looking a little sad as she continued. ‘You may not remember him yet, but you had a CI. Street name Meatball. His body was found in the river a few days ago. I only know what Abigail told me. You two busted him shortly after starting at the ’57 on some petty drug possession. Abigail told me that Meatball had just started working for the Russians. You flipped him, and he became your CI. Abigail told me that Meatball had worked his way up in the Russian mob, but when the bust went bad, he disappeared. You and Abigail were looking for him. The report said he had been tortured, killed and his body dumped in the river.’ Anne’s upper body shook. ‘Man, that’s a horrible way to go. Do you remember anything about your investigation or Meatball?’ Anne gave the blank-eyed Asmodeus a questioningly look.

I’ve heard of Meatballs before but never in human form. Why would anybody have a name like Meatball? I want to try meatballs but not in human form. Smiling internally Asmodeus replied in a phlegmatic tone.

‘No, nothing. Sorry. It’s all blank up here, but please, continue. This is all really, really helpful.’

***

Asmodeus’s mind was spinning. Anne continued with dates, names, places, theories, and gossip. He forgot about his pain, Pyriel, the fact that he was now human and even Whiskey as he continued to siphon information from Anne.

‘So, finally the street war calmed down and things were quiet for a while. Then another crime wave began. A completely different one.’

‘Huh? What you mean, different?’ Asmodeus had been trying to ask as few questions as possible. Some things needed further explanations.

Anne paused, looking down at the floor. Asmodeus could tell that her emotions were running high by the way she was wringing her hands and sitting with her legs uncrossed and leaning forward slightly. Some human body language had been part of his demon training.

Anne’s voice took on a more sombre tone as she continued. ‘They are different crimes. Burglaries. Muggings. Horrible, violent home invasions. All non-drug related and concentrated in one area. Upper Morning Side. It’s always been a good, working class neighbourhood. Lots of the residents are retired. They’ve never had gang or drug related problems. Sure, the odd burglary, kid’s bikes stolen from their front yard, shit like that but we’re talking maybe three or four minor incidents per month. Now we have more than twenty per day. Worse is that they’re escalating. Especially murder. Mostly during the home invasions.’ Anne, who had been speaking with increasing vexation in her voice slumped back in the chair. Her demeanour changed as her eyes filled with tears. She was looking tired, drained. Unsure how to react, Asmodeus leaned over and placed his hand gently onto Anne’s. He’d never been big on sympathy, but it was clear to him that Anne was a good person. A soldier. Fighting a war she had little or no hope of winning. Anne gave a hopeful smile as her eyes met Asmodeus’s. A single tear ran down her cheek. Seeming embarrassed by her emotional display she sat upright and wiped her tear away. She leaned in closer. Her tone dropped. A cold shiver ran down Asmodeus’s spine as Anne continued. Each word razor sharp, with icy undertones.

‘You know what gets to me the most?’ Anne’s cheeks flushed with increased anger. ‘The unnecessary violence during the invasions.’ Anne threw her arms into the air. Her head back. Eyes searching as if to demand answers which Asmodeus knew would never come. Her head spun back. Her eyes narrowed as her jaw set. Her jaw muscles clenched. Anger and frustration raged in her gaze as she leaned in. Her face mere inches from his. She hissed each word through exposed teeth. ‘You tell me why they need to beat old, helpless pensioners to death for a bit of jewellery and some pocket change.’

Anne slumped back in her seat. The anger drained from her face, replaced by a grimace of pain. ‘Do you have any idea how many death notifications I’ve had to do in the past months? It’s bad enough having to deliver devastating news like that to the son or daughter of the victims. But then I still have to ask them to come down to the morgue to identify their parent who had their head smashed in with a baseball bat.’ Feeling uncharacteristically emotional, Asmodeus understood the despair in Anne’s eyes. ’Why, I ask you, why?’ Even Asmodeus, a demon with very little compassion, had to question their motives. Thoughtful he recalled many of the mutilated bodies he had seen in the morgue recently. How many had been victims of a home invasion gone too far?

For the first time ever, Asmodeus considered the fact that the meats suit had lives before he came along. A past. Maybe a family. Children? People who had loved and cared for them. He had never questioned the circumstances surrounding their death. Nor their past. They were dead. His to do with as he pleased. Without remorse, respect, or consideration. Until now.

‘What I can’t fathom out is why only that area? Anne said. Every time I request more police presence, I get told we don’t have the budget for extra patrols. The community is outraged. But the city is doing nothing. Lack of resources they say. I say bullshit. It’s getting worse. Daily. People are moving. Abandoning their houses because nobody wants to buy in that area. Even worse, a lot of the vacant houses are now turning into crack houses. A suburb which never had any drug related problems is now riddled with junkies, dealers, and gangs. They bring more crime. It’s like pissing into the wind.’ Although the analogy was lost on Asmodeus, he was struck by how strongly Anne felt. Not only was she a strong and confident woman, in his opinion. But she also had the compassion of an Angel. A rare breed in his experience.

Anne continued to purge. Passionately she continued to offload onto Asmodeus like a dormant volcano erupting. Spewing centuries of pent-up magma and rock miles into the air. Asmodeus could see the restraint Anne had to place onto herself. Her body shaking at times out pure frustration of helplessness and the fact that a system, she embraced and loved, was letting such atrocities happen in our modern world. Asmodeus was extremely happy to lie there and listen until the sound of squeaking shoes announced more visitors. A doctor, with a gloomy expression, holding a clipboard, followed by a nurse strolled in.

***

‘Hello, Detective. I’m just doing my rounds. It’s good to see you up and already entertaining visitors.’ The doctor shot Anne a questioning glance. She understood. Doctor patient privilege.

‘I’ve to get going anyway,’ Anne said. She got up to leave. She turned to Asmodeus who had grabbed her wrist and was staring at her wide eyed and with pursed lips. ‘It’s OK, I’ll come back in a day or two. There’s still lots to talk about,’ she said to Asmodeus, who nodded. He let go of Anne, who waved goodbye and left.