"Women seem wicked, when you're unwanted"
-- The Doors, People Are Strange

I'd been ready to hit Becks, but that seemed unwise now. I wasn't sure if this was a good turn of the wheel or not. It wasn't the way I had wanted to find her, and this was going to be very hard to explain. She stared at me. I don't think recognition had fully set in.

"Quinn?" She said.

Somewhere in the asking, it turned from a question to a statement. Then she shut her jaw hard and reached out either to punch or shove me. I blocked her without thought. My left wrist met hers and pushed it down and away from me.

"What the hell are you doing here?" She demanded.

"I came looking for you," I said. I tried to continue, but she interrupted.

"I...what the fuck is going on here?" She said.

It appeared as though Becks wasn't happy at our reunion -- I couldn't say that I was thrilled with the way it had played out either. I looked around. So far we didn't seem to have attracted any real attention.

"Look," I said, keeping my voice low. I hoped she would follow my lead. "Is there some other place we can talk? I'm not sure it would be a good idea if Vance came upon us like this. "

My mention of Vance's name seemed to startle her.

"I'd rather not explain myself to him as well as you," I explained.

This was all going wrong and I wasn't handling it well. I was off balance and struggling to get centered again. She tilted her head, and stared at me. It seemed like forever, standing there in that alley. I felt sure Vance was going to turn up at any moment. I had no idea what I'd do then.

"There's a place I found," she said.

I followed Becks back into the alley. She led me past the back of the garage, and through the other side. Across the street there was a bar -- the Alibi. Neither of us said a word as we walked. I started to open the door, but Becks pushed past me.

The bar catered to the local workmen -- and to the serious drinker. It was dark and smokey even though that wasn't supposed to be allowed anymore. The pool table had seen better days. The jukebox was playing Johnny Cash's I Walk the Line. Becks ordered a beer. It wasn't a single-malt kind of place. There were a couple of beers on tap, and an anemic selection of bottles behind the bar. I should have ordered a soda and kept my wits about me, but I ordered a shot of whatever they decided to call Scotch. It was drinkable, and that's all that can be said on the matter.

"Vance doesn't like this place," Becks said as she sat.

I expected her to elaborate, but she just sat there staring at me. Here she was, the one I had been looking for, the reason I came back. I had been dreading this moment, fearing I would mess it up. I had not been wrong.

"Becks," I started again, "I don't know where to begin. I came down here to look for you, but I didn't expect you to find me like that."

"Yeah," she stopped me, "let's start there. What the hell were you doing up there?"

"Looking for you," I said

"On the fire escape?" she asked.

"I hadn't made it to the fire escape yet." I corrected.

"Whatever," she said.

"This wasn't what I had in mind," I said. "I was trying to get the lay of the land."

"Why?" She exclaimed, "What were you expecting to find?"

"I..." I started and then stopped.

That put an end to what I was about to say. It was a good question. What had I been expecting to find? How could I explain to her that I had spent the last three years seeing the worst side of the world? That if there was a bad option, then that was where the safe money lay.

"I came back to town," I said, "to Portland. I came looking for you, and the trail led me here."

"I don't get it," she said.

She shook her head, short and curt. It was what she did when she was too upset to talk. I'd seen her this angry before, but only a handful of times.

"Never mind," she said. "Maybe I don't wanna to know. What the hell happened?" It was halfway between a question and an order.

I should have had an answer ready. Especially considering all the time and effort I had spent getting myself out of the job and back into the country, and everything else that led up to that moment. I should have had it all worked out in my head -- exactly what I would say, how she would respond, all of it -- but I hadn't. I'd avoided those thoughts as much as I could whenever they bubbled up. The jukebox changed to People are Strange -- the original version by The Doors. I prefer the cover by Echo and the Bunnymen, but most people seem to prefer the original. I guess I wasn't the only one in a dark mood tonight.

"I guess I should start with 'I'm sorry,'" I said. "I am. I'm so sorry. You didn't deserve any of it. I should have at least told you goodbye."

"Why?" She still kept her voice cold, but there was a pleading tone to it. I could understand. I probably knew more about what happened that night than she did. Then I was gone, along with the answers.

"Where did you go?" She asked. I started to answer, but she cut me off. "No, not that one yet. Why did you have to leave?"

"You know why," I said simply.

I really didn't want to talk about that part. I wanted to pay my fine, and get my life back. I didn't want to have to relive it. I wished I didn't have to recuse myself.

"After that night," I pressed on, "I couldn't face you. I should have. I should have done something."

"You just figuring that out now?" She asked.

"No," I said.

"Where?" she demanded.

"Where what?" I asked.

"Where the hell did you go?" She asked. "You've got to have gone somewhere. Where was it, what did you do? Were you a hermit?"

"Not exactly," I said.

"Then what? Did you wander from town to town like something from some god dammed 70's TV show? Tell me! I want to know. I really want to know. No one just disappears for..."

She stopped talking, and her eyes looked off. I had once been taught to watch a person's eyes. Becks' eyes went to the left, which meant she was searching for a memory or fact.

"Three years," I said softly.

"What?" she asked.

"I was gone for almost three years," I said. "You were trying to figure out how long I had been gone. It has been almost three years."

Let it never be said that I am some kind of acute judge of people. It was a mistake to have interrupted her, and I knew it as soon as I said it.

"Right." She said. "For those three years you had to be doing something. So what was it? What the hell were you doing?"

"I can't tell you," I said.

I expected her to break in with something like 'can't or won't?' but she didn't. She just sat there leaning forward staring at me, not letting me forget the question on the table.

"I...I want to tell you," I said. "I owe you that -- you more than anyone else -- but I can't. There isn't enough sorry in the world for what I did, and you've got all I've got."

I spread my hands open, empty.

"I really can't tell you where I went," I continued, "or what I did. Coming back came with a price. It came with obligations."

"Was it worth it?" she asked. There was no vitriol to it. It was just a question.

"If I get to try and make things right, then yes," I said.

The set of her jaw didn't change, and she gave another little shake of her head, but she leaned back. I tried to come at it from another direction:

"I got into Portland a couple of days ago," I said. "The first thing I did was look for you."

I suppose that wasn't exactly true, the first thing I did was have breakfast and see a movie, but that wouldn't win me any points.

"I couldn't find you. You seemed to have disappeared."

"Frustrating, isn't it?" She said.

The comparison wasn't lost on me. She had looked for me. I wondered for how long.

"I tried looking you up," I said, "but you weren't at your old place any more. You hadn't forwarded your phone. I didn't know how to reach you."

"Really?" She gave a chuckle. "The Mighty Quinn couldn't find something. That's new."

I hated that nickname, and she could twist it like a knife. The people you care about can hurt you in ways so much more painful than strangers ever can.

"I'm sitting here aren't I?" I replied.

There was no way she could deny that point. She gave another shake of her head.

"No one knew where you were." I said. "Wilson was worried."

"Wilson talked to you?" She was surprised.

"It was a hard choice for him." I admitted.

I couldn't hear her reply. It was too soft. I didn't pursue it.

"I doubt he would've given me the time of day, if he weren't worried about you. He didn't know where you were. He hadn't heard from you in some time -- he was worried something was wrong. What did he have to lose by putting a dog on your trail? You hadn't been to any of your regular haunts. Even Ray was worried. He wouldn't say it that way, but he was."

"Whoa." She stopped me. "Ray talked to you? You just roll into town and set up camp? You just picked up where you left off, didn't you? Hanging out with the old gang and all that?"

"It wasn't like that, you know, " I said.

"Then what was it like?" Becks asked.

"It had nothing to do with me." I said. "Ray was never my friend; he'd have brushed me off a long time ago if it weren't for you."

She shook her head, not believing me.

"It's you." I said. "Don't you get it? You think you lead some kind of disconnected life, but you leave a impression all around you. You disappear and there's a big Becks shaped hole in people's lives.

"So yeah," I said, "even Ray talked to me. It wasn't because of me or who I was. It's because of you. I suggested he check in on you. It's not like I knew where you lived anymore. He called me when he found your door kicked in."

"Oh, god!" She covered her mouth with her hand, and blushed. There had to be quite a story behind that.

"Does Wilson know about that?" She asked.

"No," I said. "I wouldn't. Not until I knew more. Ray might have talked to him, but I doubt it."

"Good, keep it that way," she told me.

"OK," I said.

I didn't like the thought of hiding this from Wilson, but I owed Becks more than him. It wasn't like Becks to deliberately keep secrets from her brother. Did she and Wilson have a falling out? How much had changed while I was gone?

"Anyway," I went on. "I saw your door. I saw the apartment. It looked like you'd been taken. Everything pointed to that. Then Ray told me about Vance, and I came down to look for you.

"That's the nickel version." I said.

I don't think either of us was satisfied with my account. It just hung there between us. I sounded manipulative and obsessed. I was both, but that doesn't mean I liked the sound of it. One of us was going to have to break the silence, and it looked like it was going to have to be me.

"Look," I said finally. "I mean, I felt it would be best if I came down here, I feared the worst..."

"No you didn't." Becks cut me off.

"What?" I asked.

"No, no you didn't." She was getting angrier again. "You were hoping for it. You weren't afraid something bad had happened to me, you were hoping for it. You were, weren't you?"

I didn't know what I expected Becks to say, but it wasn't that. I didn't know where she was going with this. She could hate me, or be mad, or anything else; but did she really think that of me? All I could do was shake my head.

"Oh, no you don't, Quinn," she said. "You hoped I'd be in over my head in something. Yeah, that's it. Then you could swoop in and save me from the big-bad-rockabilly-thug." Her head bounced side to side as she said it, over pronouncing each word.

"Did you think it was gonna be like something outta Streets of Fire?" She asked.

It was a movie Becks and I had been fond of. A soldier returns to town to save his old love from a motorcycle gang. It took place in some kind of alternate version of the 50's. As a film it's more about style than substance. It was made at a time in the 80's when the songs in the movie sometimes got higher billing than the stars. It wasn't a particularly good film, but the characters and the over-stylized look were fun. It had its own charm.

"Yeah, she said with contempt, "that's what you wanted. Then I would just be oh-so-grateful. I'd just have to take you back, wouldn't I? Let you in without a second thought, no matter what crap you pulled."

"It wasn't like that..." I started to say.

"It doesn't work like that, Quinn," she said. "Your teenage fantasies don't apply, right? This is real life."

That was an echo of something I had once told her about Ray. I should've known better than to piss off a quick-witted woman.

"These last few years..." I said.

I had been about to tell Becks some of what I had seen and done, even though I wasn't allowed to. I wanted her to know it had been my job to think and plan for the worst. Becks had saved me from that indiscretion, when she cut me off.

"Oh yeah? The ones you can't tell me about? You're full of apologies and mystery, but I don't fucking need all that. I never did. I need answers, you got any of those?"

"Some," I said.

"But not all?" she asked.

"No." I said. "There are some things I can't tell you." I paused. "It wasn't like that, you know. I didn't think I was your white knight. I don't want to be your savior, Becks. It's just..."

"What?" She said.

"It was easier to think that," I said, "than to think about what I would say to you, and with everything I learned about Vance..."

"NO!" She slapped the table.

I wasn't going to make the mistake of interrupting her again. I pressed my tongue into my teeth and concentrated on the feeling until Becks was ready to speak again.

"You don't got the right anymore," she said. "You don't get to stick your nose into my life. You might have once, but not now. Not like this. Before... there were a few things I could count on in my life, and you were one of them. No matter what was going on, no matter who I chose to date, or mess with or whatever, there was you.

"Then one night, something happened, and I still don't know what it was. But you'd been though a lot -- Judy and all of that. It wore you down, day by day. I could have forgiven you, that's how tight we were. BUT YOU DIDN'T GIVE ME THAT CHANCE!"

"You just fell off the planet," she said as she pushed herself from her chair. "So you lost all rights."

All this discord was disturbing the reverie of even the most self-involved drinker, and too many were turning their attention to us. I concentrated on being nondescript. Becks gave that shake of her head and sat down. She took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes. She used to prefer contacts, but like so many things about her, that was apparently subject to change.

"It's my life," she said. "Who gives a damn what he's like? If I want to play with some bad-boy for a little while, it's my business. Maybe I wanted to let loose on my vacation, and want a little rough trade. So what if I take the game too far? Who gives a damn? It's my door. It's my place. It's my life. Maybe just for once, I wanna play with a boy and be the one to dump him for a change. It's my business. Not Wilson's, not Ray's, and for god's sake it's not yours!

"I've only got a couple more days, and then I got to be heading back home. I got a job, and a new show to get ready for. I got a life, you know? I just wanted a bit of fun; something for me.

"So now you know, and I guess you can go. I wanted something wild, with no mindgames or obligations. I -- me -- not you. Do you get that?"

I wanted to tell her about Betty's warning, but that would make as much sense as poking a bear. Even if Vance were the devil himself, she wouldn't want to hear it from me.

"You're right," I said.

"About what?" She asked.

"All of it," I said. "I've done so much wrong that it isn't even funny, but that doesn't mean I wasn't worried about you."

"Well I'm fine," she said.

She took a long pull of her beer. I'd hardly touched the whiskey. I wet my mouth with it, harsh flavor and all. It felt like we were done, but neither of us got up to leave. If she walked out, I wasn't sure if I would see her again. There wasn't one part of this that wasn't my own damn fault.

I still had the pouch strapped to my left arm -- I wondered if anyone noticed, or cared. I pulled out a black plastic pen. I had taken sandpaper to it to remove any shine or labels. Pens are useful tools, good for more than just writing. They are great for moving things without leaving any fingerprints. In a pinch they make a fair weapon as well. I grabbed a napkin and wrote down my number and the name of my hotel. I pushed it over towards her. She stared at it. Not in a mean way -- she just didn't know what to do with it.

I was so close to breaking down and not being able to go on. I tried not to let that show. I tried to keep breathing, keep my hands from shaking, and keep my voice steady. If you can keep your wits about you, while others are losing theirs. I can't say how well I did.

"That's how to reach me." I said. "Call if you want to. Day or night, it doesn't matter."

She looked back at me. I couldn't read her face. She was just staring back at me.

"Look," I said, "I'm so scared that I'll never see you again. So if you want to hear what answers I can give, or if you just want to yell at me, you know how to get me. Call."

"I gotta go," she said. "I gotta go meet him."

I reached out and touched her hand. She jerked it away as though she had been shocked, but I had her attention.

"Becks," I said. "If I've got to choose between an option where you're in my life, and one where you aren't, then I know which one I'd choose. Even tonight is better."

Becks sat there and stared at me. Finally she got up. She looked down at me and asked, "What are you going to do now?"

I shrugged. "Now that I'm here, I expect I'll stay for a couple of days."

"So you can keep tabs on me?" She asked.

"You say you're fine, and I won't argue," I said. "I'll stick around for a couple, go see the sites. I hear they have a good amusement park."

"Then disappear to some exotic location?" She asked.

"No. Then back to Portland." I told her. "I'm back."

"Goodbye Quinn," she said, "Good luck with that."

She walked past me and left. I didn't turn, but watched her leave through a Pacifico mirror on the wall. The mirror had the logo and a palm tree. It did nothing to brighten up the place.