Rose

It was hot in the bar. Thirty degrees Celsius had been taking its toll on Andy Locke for half an hour. But what wouldn't you do for a woman? She was sitting in front of him. The turquoise of her eyes contrasted so perfectly with her lush black curls that, admiring her oriental beauty, he felt like he was watching a Greek goddess. He loved watching her. He loved it when she smiled. If there were a course in smiles, she would surely have graduated with a diploma. Small, graceful teeth delicately bit her tongue. Her eyes completed the picture. Big, blue, incredible. Rose Cave.

He'd met her two weeks ago. They'd both witnessed a car accident. When the audition ended, Andy offered to walk her home. She accepted. She had no one else, and he was lonely. They tried it. Simply put. As if they'd known each other for a long time. When he returned home after their third date and first kiss, he stopped as he passed a mirror. He looked into it. A tall, blond man in his thirties was silhouetted against the smooth surface of the glass. He wasn't particularly handsome. Just an ordinary bank employee, moonlighting, with a university degree and aspirations for the big time.

"What does she see in me?!" he found himself saying to himself. He'd been doing it more and more often lately. "What's on an old man's mind," he'd often replied.

But that didn't matter. Nothing mattered. Except that she was there. Every night, every minute without her seemed to last forever. He felt he'd never experienced such a wonderful feeling before. All those ridiculous love affairs in high school and college. It was all nothing. He wanted to commit, maybe even start a family. He wanted her presence.

His thoughts were interrupted by a tap on his shoulder. He jumped instinctively. He turned, keeping his guard up, watching his head. The startled waitress dropped the remaining drinks.

"I'm sorry... I," she whispered, frightened like a maid in a Brazilian soap opera who'd just done something wrong and was waiting for a beating. "It's my first week on the job. I... I'm having trouble keeping it all together. I'm so sorry, sir. Take off your jacket, I'll clean it."

He calmed down. He smiled. For some reason, he felt threatened. He felt like he'd have to fight for his woman like a rhinoceros. Until she bleeds, at all costs.

"Nothing's wrong, really," he replied in a tone that was friendly enough for the situation. He turned to face Rose. "Honey, we'll stop by the laundry on our way back, okay? Don't worry, I'll manage."

The waitress apologized for another ten minutes, then she and Rose left the pub and slowly walked home, embracing. Forgetting his wet jacket. When they entered Andy's apartment, he realized he hadn't made his bed. He never did. He was a perfectionist, or as the sarcastic people called him, a pedant. This love had changed his life. But that wasn't important. What mattered was that he felt happy. He went to the window, closed it, and lowered the blinds. In the darkness, he found the light switch and turned on the light. White shafts, breaking on Rose's hair, like sunlight breaking on the broken waves of a mountain stream. She was beautiful in that light. She had always been beautiful. As he approached, he glanced at her shoulders. Two small strings cinched them, but they didn't hide anything. He couldn't see her bra straps. He kissed the back of her hand. Then he lowered his mouth to her neck. He kissed her slowly, inhaling the scent of her perfume. He didn't suspect he'd ever be able to memorize his woman's scent the way one memorizes a face. Lips, sticky with sweet wine, clung to the brunette's skin. He calmly began to slide down the straps, slowly working his way down to the entire dress. She lay before him. Naked, aflame, just as he'd always dreamed. The bronze of her skin aroused his senses. His hands, sweaty with excitement, ran over her full, cherry-topped breasts. She shivered. They made love for half an hour, then, exhausted, they went to bed.

Andy woke first. It was still dark when he got out of bed and went to the window. He wanted to stay a few more moments, at least until Rose woke up, but he had a few more things to do. He had to meet Cheat one last time, the man who had been arranging his supplies. He imported two kilograms of pure amphetamine from Argentina especially for him. Here in Los Angeles, the meth went down like beer. There was nowhere else in the world where he could have made a bigger profit from his drug dealing business. Hollywood's biggest stars bought from him. But now he wanted to end it. For her. For the black-haired Rose Cave sprawled on his bed. He promised himself he'd leave, finish his business, and when he returned, he'd explain everything to her and tell her he was done. He got dressed and went into town. Cheat had taken the news of Locke's departure surprisingly easily and promised not to cause any more trouble. As Andy returned to his apartment, he felt an incredible sense of relief. He'd never really liked his "profession," but the paycheck made up for it perfectly. When he entered the apartment, no one was there. The trip out had taken him about an hour, and it was already six o'clock, so Rose had probably left for work. He made himself a cup of coffee, sat down in the black leather armchair, and turned on the thirty-two-inch television. He smiled to himself, remembering the night before. After ten minutes of watching MTV, he fell asleep. A few minutes later, a dull crash woke him. Through half-closed eyelids he saw the front door falling to the floor.

"LAPD! Get on the ground, now!" a woman in an LAPD uniform shouted.

"What the..." Andy lay back on the floor, spreading his arms. "

Special Agent Rose Cave, you have the right to remain silent. Anything you say from now on can be used against you. You have the right..." the officer finished her sentence, looking into Andy Locke's eyes. Full of pain and questions.