Deadly Pawn: Abrams wakes Dawson …

Dawson lay where he had fallen, half-dressed across his bed. He’d finally reached it sometime after five in the morning, beating the milkman, but only by a couple of minutes. The incessant sound of the door buzzer finally woke him. Sleepily he reached for the phone. Saying hello he listened for a few seconds before tossing the receiver over the edge of the bed. He put his head back down and ignored the buzzer figuring that he was only dreaming. A minute later Abrams stood over his bed. Picking up his arm he put his fingers on his pulse.
“Nope,” he chuckled, “you’re still alive.”
Dawson grumbled something in his half sleep.
“Yeah, yeah, just get up,” he added giving him a shove.
Lifting his head finally he squinted and looked at his torturer.
“That’s it sleepy head time to get up.”
“Go away, I’m dreaming.”
“Too bad,” he returned grabbing his arm and rolling him on his side.
“So you’re a dream hater now.” He was a bit groggy and his voice was rough, but he was waking up.
“You always leave your door unlocked,” he asked when he was sure he had as much of his attention as possible for the moment.
Rubbing his head between his hands he rolled the rest of the way over. Keeping a hand on each side of his head he stared up at the ceiling.
“Was I supposed to meet you somewhere,” he asked finally.
“Nope, I just needed to see your smiling hangover and I had a question for you as well.”
“Then you better let me get a drink first.”
Crawling off his bed he ever so slowly shuffled out of his bedroom. Abrams chuckled and followed him into the living room. Grabbing a bottle of Irish whisky he held it to his head for a few seconds feeling the cool glass. Pouring the drink he turned back to his friend.
“Alright, do your worse,” he groaned before falling into a large overstuffed chair.
“You sure you didn’t leave anything out last night when you told me what happened?”
He snapped back the jigger of whiskey and poured another one before answering.
“What are you trying to get at?”
“I’m asking if you saw anyone else last night at the time of the shooting.”
Thinking for a second he downed the drink and looked at his friend. It wasn’t so much that he wanted to protect Sally. It was more that he was sure that she had nothing to do with Pop getting shot that he hesitated.
“You think I’m not shooting straight with you or what?”
“You know me Dawson just trying to cover the bases.”
“You’re right I know you and you don’t ask a question like that without reason. That means you have another witness and they saw someone else, that about right.”
“Never could pull that one on you,” he returned half laughing. “It was worth the try, being as you’re hung over the way you are.”
Dawson knew that he was fishing but who he was fishing for was the question of the day.
“Well,” he started; throwing him a bone to see where he buried it. “I did see someone before the shooting they may have seen the car but I am sure they didn’t have anything to do with it.”
“What makes you sure?”
“First of all they weren’t carrying a Chicago typewriter. Second of all they weren’t around at the time of the shooting.”
“How’s that?”
“They walked past before the shooting. By the time the car came round the corner they were walking up a flight of stairs on the opposite side of the street if you must know.”
“And you don’t know who it was?”
“How would I know that; I don’t live in that neighborhood.”
“You’d know Sally Masters if you saw her wouldn’t you?”
“Name doesn’t ring a bell,” he knew he shouldn’t lie to his friend any more than he had to, but there was something in the way he asked that bothered him. “Who was it that saw her?”
“Riley says that one of the neighbors saw her in front of the pawnshop when the car went by.”
“Really,” he replied holding back a chuckle. “Do you think that if she was in front of that pawnshop when the car went by she wouldn’t have still been there in a pool of blood after they went around the other corner?”
“I had thought of that, but you know me, I had to ask just the same.”
“How about we get some breakfast and you can fill me in on anything I don’t know about since I was there.”
“Breakfast,” Abrams laughed. “It’s way past breakfast time my friend.”
Dawson took a quick shower and was dressed with in fifteen minutes. Remembering to lock his door, they left his apartment and went to the delicatessen a couple of blocks away.
“How’s the wife anyway,” Dawson asked as they sat down.
“How do you suppose,” he returned, “she’s a cop’s wife.”
“Miserable on the inside but puts up a good front, yeah I know how they are.”
With the help of his trusty flask full of Irish whisky that he was pouring liberally into his coffee Dawson was quickly getting past his hangover. As they ate as the two talked about little things that pertained to nothing as only friends can.
“Did Jane get anything of those newlyweds to rub off on you last night,” he asked knowing that the woman would try almost anything to land him at the altar.
“If she had,” Dawson smiled smugly, “do you think I would have been alone in that bed you found me in?”
“If I remember correctly…” Abrams began.
“Never mind finishing that remembrance Chester.”

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