AUTHOR'S NOTE:  

At the end of Part Two, Lou was a person of interest in a murder investigation, and her hopes of becoming a fine art photograph were in the crapper.  

Things are looking up today as we begin Part Three of Lou's Tattoos. 

Thanks for reading, voting, and commenting.  Your comments are always the high point of my day.  

~o~~o~~o~

    PART THREE

Chapter 12: MIDNIGHT MADNESS

Lou O'Malley slept peacefully that evening, having no idea that she had become a Person Of Interest in Officer Falconi's murder investigation. Her bed was strewn with the nine PhotoWorld magazines she had been perusing before turning out the lights.

She had fallen asleep in despair. Her pictures would never be published in a prestigious photography magazine or exhibited in an art gallery. It would be best for her to stop worrying, accept the obvious, and simply go to bed. Maybe in her sleep she would conceive a new dream for her life.

A sliver of light streaked across the room. Gradually, the long narrow streak became a long narrow triangle that widened slowly as someone eased open the door to the slumbering girl's room.

A shadow glided across the floor, across the bed, across Lou's face. A husky whisper blew into Lou's ear: "Lou!"

Lou jerked away, shrieking. Magazines crashed to the floor.

The shadow lunged. A hand covered Lou's mouth.

The bedside lamp snapped on.

Lou sighed and slumped back onto her pillow in relief. The visitor was Debbie. And she was wearing a ridiculously feathery, neon pink, gauzy peignoir. Lou shaded her eyes from the vision of a five-foot tower of cotton candy.

"Sheesh, Deb," she said, "how many flamingoes had to die so you could wear that hideous thing?"

"Hey, never look a gift bird in the mouth, Grumpy. This came all the way from Hollywood, and I'm sure it was expensive."

"Who do you know in California?"

"Hollywood, Florida, silly," Debbie said, and plopped her rump solidly on the bed.

"Whatever," said Lou. "You scared me to death! Go away."

"No can do, girlfriend. I'm here to tell you to chill out. We got it covered. I've figured it all out."

Lou moaned and burrowed into her pillow. "You're talking crazy, even for you. Go away."

"No," said Debbie. "No, look, you can get the pictures you need for that gallery exhibit they offered you. We got a three-day weekend coming up. So, Friday, you get on an airplane. Saturday and Sunday you take pictures like your life depends on it—which it sorta does, according to you—and Monday you get on another airplane, come home, and Tuesday you're back at work."

Lou opened her eyes. "Friday is tomorrow." She looked at the clock on the bedside table. "No, today. Today is Friday. It's after midnight already. And I have to go to work on Fridays; I can't just 'get on an airplane.'"

Debbie looked exasperated. "You call in sick, Dork-o. You feel rotten, don't you? You even look rotten, so it wouldn't be lying."

"Gee, thanks."

"You're welcome. You call in sick and you fly away to...." She trailed off, unable to think of the best destination. She grabbed one of the magazines off the floor and read the cover aloud. "You fly away to 'Utah — Land of Incomparable Images.' Galen the Great, your hero, recommends it."

"Debbie," Lou explained patiently, "you need tickets to fly away to the 'Land of Incomparable Images.' If I buy plane tickets, we're talking the Land of Incomparable Overdrafts, followed shortly by the Land of Incomparable Prison Food."

Undeterred, Debbie leapt off the bed and produced papers from within the voluminous gauzy folds of her feathered lingerie. She held the papers before Lou with a flourish.

"Captain Jerry Flanders!" Debbie crowed.

Lou merely looked blank.

Debbie shook the papers. "I was out with him last night — or the night before last, I don't know since it's after midnight now — anyway, Captain Jerry Flanders. Big blue eyes and generous to a fault." She shook the papers again. "This is a certificate for a free round-trip ticket to anywhere in the continental United States. Wait, is Utah in the continental United States?"

"Yeah," said Lou. "After I check out your Bible, I want to see if your atlas is missing some pages. Utah is right next to Nevada. You know? Nevada? Las Vegas?"

"Aw-right!" Debbie let out a squeal of which any piglet would be proud. "Get up, get up, get up! You gotta pack!"

Lou actually sat up and swung her feet off the bed. She nearly even stood up as if to start packing, then a thought stopped her.

"Deb! Deb-deb-deb-deb-deb!"

It was difficult to get the girl's attention while she performed the Bouncy Dance Of Joy around the room. Lou tried again. "Deborah!" That did it. The dancing stopped.

"I can't go to Utah," Lou explained glumly. "This is October. It's cold in Utah now... I think. Yeah, I'm pretty sure it's cold there. And I'm from Miami. I don't have clothes for the cold."

Debbie grinned and began enumerating on her fingers. "Lance Firestone: boots. Irving Sandelstein: virgin wool sweater — what a joker that Irving. Harold Johnson: fur jacket. I got everything you need. Come with me."

Debbie turned toward the door, but Lou did not move. She sat on the bed, shaking her head. "Deb, I can't wear a fur jacket to crawl around in the wilderness!"

"Sure you can. The original owner did. Besides, I think it's fake fur. Harold's an animal rights activist. C'mon, babe." She grabbed Lou's hand and pulled her from the room.

~o~~o~~o~