‘Flannigan,’ he said. ‘Hey, Ash Man,’ a feminine voice said, ‘How are you doing?’ Martin laughed. ‘About as well as some hick sheriff’... department gumshoe, why?’ he replied to his daughter. Once, ages ago, he’d come home from a fire scene covered with ashes. His wife Marie commented that he looked like the ash man. The kids had picked up the nickname and continued to use it. ‘You ready for some good news?’ his daughter asked. ‘What?’ he asked, ‘You’ve decided to bag being a cop and get a real. Ian had changed as well; traded in his work uniform for a black beader and a matching pair of Dickies pants that he let sag a bit below his boxer's waistband. They were, surprisingly, white. Ian in all black was a sight my eyes couldn't look away from. Ian is skinny, but with a rock-hard eight pack and muscular forarms, which the beader hugged to give me a vague view of their outline. He was tall, towering over me at five foot ten—I was five foot five and a half. I envied Lexi for being able to. More

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