He's been dead for over a month now. I could give the exact time, right down to the day and hour, and I know Ruby has been keeping track. There's not much else for her to do now. She just feels numb.

I'm surprised she's stayed with us. She said that Baby Face told her that she could leave if she wanted to, and she acted like she would, but after we buried him, she didn't go after all. None of us have ever asked her why. Vince and Harry probably feel too uncomfortable, and I don't think it's any of my business. She knows she's welcome here for as long as she wants to stay. We know she won't ever try to rat us out, even with Baby Face gone.

It's more hard on her than on anyone else, when she loved him so much. Vince lost someone he's looked up to for years, so I know it was a blow to him, too. Harry . . . well, I don't know what he thinks about it, actually. He's almost always been quiet, and I've gotten the impression that he only joined the gang because Vince wanted to, and I guess because Baby Face was the only one who would take them in after they got kicked out of the previous gang they were in. I've wondered sometimes if Harry has ever actually liked Baby Face at all, or if he was just a convenient ticket out of their mess.

I don't know how to really describe what my relationship with Baby Face was. He's the only one who ever knew the full truth of what happened to me in Detroit. He said that we were the same, that we'd had a lot of the same experiences and that people oppressed us both. Sometimes I like the idea that we're similar, as it means that I know someone understands me. But sometimes it's disconcerting. I don't want to be like him. I don't want to ever get so angry that I completely snap, the way he always did. In any case, I can't deny that it seems wrong for him to be dead.

I didn't believe it at first, when I found Ruby on the docks, clutching his body and crying. I thought he was just unconscious from his wounds and that he could be saved. But when she moved aside to let me kneel down and examine him, I found that he was gone.

Sometimes I still can't believe it. On dark nights, usually when it's storming and I'm half-asleep, I'll think I hear him wandering around in the kitchen, cursing to himself and getting drunk. But when I go there to look around, of course he's not there. No one is. It's just my imagination, and I feel foolish for even indulging it.

Tonight I'm sitting in the living room of our hideout, unable to sleep again, when I hear a knock at the door followed by Ruby's desperate plea: "Is anyone still up? I want to come in for a while. . . ." She sounds despondent, the way she has since he was killed. I get up to let her in.

She's wearing a simple white blouse and a black skirt, and in one hand she's holding an umbrella. I'm surprised to see that in her other hand she's carrying a suitcase, which she sets down once she's inside. Then she looks at me, and it haunts me to see how empty and hopeless her eyes are. I wonder if that's how I looked after Alice died.

"Tony," she says finally, her voice shaking as she closes the umbrella, "I want to stay here, at least for a few days. It . . . it's just too quiet at my place. I keep thinking I see him, or hear him, but I know he's not there and I can't stand it!" Her whole body is trembling, and I can see tears running down her face. "It's just me, all alone in the dark with all these memories. . . . And . . . I don't know, I didn't realize how lonely memories can be sometimes!"

I sigh, shutting the door behind her. "You might have the same problem here," I tell her truthfully. "Sometimes I think I hear him too." It was the same way after Alice was killed. I used to think that I could still hear her calling to me, or telling me things, but it was just my mind fabricating all of it because of my loneliness. And that's what's happening to Ruby now.

I won't deny that I've been feeling lonely again myself. It seems strange, after the experience Baby Face and I went through where we were trying to kill each other, but I think I've ended up deciding that he was some sort of a friend. I keep remembering those times when we'd sit around and talk in the middle of the night. Baby Face would have a bottle of whiskey, and I might drink a shot or two with him, but then I wouldn't want to bother with any more and he'd claim the rest for himself as we'd continue to talk. He knew and understood what I like and dislike, what makes me angry, and how my mind works. Likewise, I found out similar things about him. Sometimes I think that the only person who ever knew me better than he did was Alice.

"Tony?"

I look over at Ruby again, and from her expression I can tell that she must have said something that I didn't reply to. "What is it?" I ask.

She hesitates before speaking again, and when she does, it's in a whisper. "Tony, do you think that . . . that maybe he really is still around?" She looks like she wants to believe it, and at the same time, she doesn't. I don't know what to tell her.

"I'm not the best person to ask, Ruby," I answer now. "There's probably a lot of things we'll never know the answers to, at least not until we die ourselves." And maybe not even then. It depends on whether there really is some kind of afterlife.

Ruby goes past me, stopping to stare blankly at the wall. "I guess I kinda wonder what would be worse . . . to be in a place like they always say that Hell is, or to still be wandering around on earth and not be able to talk to anyone," she says softly. "Maybe . . . maybe that's what Hell is really like."

"I wouldn't be surprised." I watch her, crossing my arms. Hell actually seems like a lot of things. Being the one left behind is Hell, too, but while it makes sense for me to go through this as punishment for my crimes, Ruby should never have to. It's true that she's been mixed up with all of us and that she sometimes lies to the police and helps us make our getaways, but she's actually a lot better of a person than some of those are who claim to be walking on the straight and narrow. She tried to keep Baby Face's temper in check and to make sure he didn't hurt people, and she's always been very non-judgemental and kind to everyone.

She turns back to me, smiling weakly. "I guess you probably wonder why I'm still hanging around instead of trying to get out of the gang for good and going my own way," she remarks now, and I can see the wistfulness in her eyes. She had always wanted to get out before, when Baby Face was alive. She wanted to fade into obscurity with him, living an honest life. But now that he's dead, something has obviously changed. I nod slowly, not wanting to interrupt her train of thought by speaking, and she continues. "I just don't know where else to go," she admits quietly. "I don't really have anyone else. Jade's married, and I don't want to bother her and her husband. . . . Jan's married too. . . . But well . . . you guys don't have anyone, really. Maybe I kinda thought that . . . that we could be lonely together."

I nod slowly. "You know you're welcome here." Baby Face would want it that way. And Vince and Harry and I like her. I think Alice would have liked her, too. Sometimes I wonder how she got mixed up in this. By the time she met Baby Face, she was already deeply involved with the criminal underworld. He was not her first mobster boyfriend, but I can say that he was the only one she loved with all her heart.

She's silent again. "I know you really miss him too," she says finally. "He and you were best friends."

I grunt, not really answering other than that. It's not how I'd describe my relationship with him, especially not openly, and I know that if Baby Face was here, he would loudly scorn the idea. In fact, out of the corner of my eye I'm almost sure I see him leaning against the wall, crossing his arms and rolling his eyes.

"Give me a break!" he snaps. "I'm nobody's best friend! And Tony and I only work together. There's nothing more to it than that. Don't try to put some kinda mushy spin on it!"

I turn to look at him, but there's no one there. It's just another figment of my imagination. Maybe I'm just nuts. And if I'm not, I probably will be soon.

Ruby looks haunted when I glance back at her. "I know I saw him this time," she whispers, sinking onto the couch. "I'm not just chasing memories and I'm not crazy! You saw him too, didn't you, Tony?!" she exclaims now, pleading for me to confirm it.

I nod slowly. "I did," I admit. I've never believed easily in anything that I couldn't back up with proof. The dead living on is a nice thought, something comforting to the ones left behind, but I've never been able to acknowledge that it's true. I don't want to give in to any kind of false hopes and then be let down later. I don't want to be played for a fool. But I can't deny that Ruby and I both saw something this time. If it was just me, I would dismiss it again, but as it stands I have to wonder.

Ruby slumps back into the couch. "I still have nightmares about it," she says softly. "I see myself finding him there on the docks, and I run to him. . . . Sometimes the things we say aren't what really happened, but it always ends the same way . . . he dies in my arms, and I'm left there all alone. . . ." She's still crying, but she doesn't try to stop it. I can see and recognize all of the feelings going through her eyes---horror, confusion, sadness, loneliness. . . .

"Sometimes I hear him screaming in agony," she goes on, "as if I'm watching him get shot again and again . . . or like . . . like he's burning in Hell . . ." She trails off and looks down, a strangled sob tearing free from her lips.

I come over and sit down beside her, not really knowing why I'm doing it. There's nothing I can do or say that can take her sorrow away. I can't bring him back. And I can't say words that seem hollow and useless. That's never been in my nature. I can't say something I don't believe just to try to make someone else feel better. So I just keep sitting here, silently watching her.

After a while she looks up at me again. "He wasn't really a bad person!" she chokes out, as if she's not really talking to me and is trying to defend him against someone else. "He never set out to kill people . . . not unless he was trying to protect himself and the gang! He . . . he just had a really bad temper. . . . He didn't mean to kill a lot of the people he did! He wasn't malicious. . . . Not really. . . ."

She and I both know that he has killed out of hate sometimes, or tried to, like when he went after Micky Dolenz. But it's also true that he never was a psychopathic serial killer. A lot of times the deaths really were just accidental, a result of him lashing out in anger and fury and taking it too far without even thinking. I don't think he ever deserved the title of "Most Vicious Killer in America." There are so many out there much worse than him.

"He was just trying to survive," Ruby blurts out now. "He never had the chance to be anything except what he was! His family hated him! He had to wander the streets all the time and go home to nothing but hatred and cruelty, and when someone finally took him in and started being kind to him, that's when he started learning all about organized crime. . . . Then the man was killed, and he hated the ones who did it. . . . He never wanted to open his heart after that. . . ." She keeps looking at me, desperate, and I know that in her mind she's still addressing someone else. Who, I don't know. The police, maybe. The judge . . . even God. It could be anyone. "Of course he ended up like he did!" she's wailing. "He never knew anything else!"

I grip her shoulders firmly but gently. "I know, Ruby. I know," I tell her calmly.

She starts somewhat, coming back to the present, and seems to notice I'm here for the first time. "I'm sorry," she says, sobered, and falls back against the couch again. "It just . . . it upsets me so much . . . not knowing what's become of him, and knowing how everyone hates him. . . . I just wish they could understand. . . ."

"They'll never understand, Ruby. You know that." I lean back as well, still watching her. "And he probably wouldn't even want them to. You know how he always wanted to make sure that he kept up his tough image." He didn't even want word to get out that he'd finally died. He made Ruby promise that we would keep up the illusion that he's still around, lurking in the shadows. We've done that, but there's always those who are suspicious. They can't prove he's dead, but they can't prove he's not, either.

Ruby sighs sadly. "Yeah . . . I sure know."

"There's nothin' wrong with that, either." This statement is followed by several curses that I prefer not to repeat, and I'm certain that Baby Face is leaning on the other side of the couch, his arms crossed on the top of it. Of course I can't see him, but it seems likely that he's there. I know I heard him just now.

Ruby looks up, her eyes filled with a wistful longing. "Baby Face . . . you're here, aren't you?" she says softly. There's no reply, but by now we're both pretty well convinced that he's with us. Maybe we're both crazy tonight, or maybe it's the storm outside, but in any case right now I'm willing to say that he hasn't died . . . not really. And if that's true, then maybe there actually is hope for Alice. In the morning I'll probably wonder why I let myself get deceived, but tonight I don't want to let logic get in the way.

"He's probably always going to haunt us," I remark.

Ruby continues to look around the room, vainly hoping to find him. "I don't care," she answers. "If I could just talk to him again. . . ." Tears are filling her eyes, but they don't fall yet. She sighs sadly. "I'll never get to hold him again . . . or brush his hair back . . . or kiss him. . . . but if I could talk to him . . . and know that he's still here . . . then . . . then that'd at least be something that would still have meaning in my life."

"It's dangerous, when one person is your everything in that way," I respond flatly. Alice was that for me. I was completely broken when she was killed, and I couldn't even see straight to figure out how to clear my name from all the trumped-up murder charges that I'd been saddled with. It left a wound in my heart that never has healed. And when I think about it, even though I always tried to say I wasn't close to Baby Face, there's been another open wound since his death.

"I love him so completely, so fully . . . and nothing can change that." Ruby's voice is still quiet, but fervent and sincere. "I was setting myself up for this when I first fell in love with him. . . . I knew he'd probably die young. . . . He always thought it himself. Sometimes I'd tell myself how stupid I was to ever get involved with him, but I knew that there wasn't anything I could do about it. I'll always love him . . . and I don't think I'll ever be able to love anyone else like that."

I nod slowly. That's how I feel too. I can't imagine myself being with anyone other than Alice. My heart can never belong to anyone else. And while Alice might want me to marry again, I know she'd understand that I don't feel like I ever can.

I'm lost in these thoughts for a while, and I'm only drawn out again when I feel a weight on my shoulder. Surprised, I look over to see that Ruby is wearily falling asleep and slumping against me. I feel uncomfortable by this, as I know she would if she was at all aware of things, so I stand up and move her so that she can lay on the couch with the old decorative pillow. She looks comfortable enough, but I doubt her mind is, even in sleep.

"She's hardly got any sleep for the last few days. Naw . . . she hasn't slept well for the whole past month."

I grunt in reply, not feeling as startled by his voice as I might have been several days ago. "And whose fault is that?" I say flatly.

He curses. "You think I wanted to die?!" he snaps.

"I know you didn't." I find an old throw and drape that over Ruby too. When I look up, I can see him standing across from me, at the other end of the couch. He's transparent, but otherwise he looks the same as he always did---the blue suit, the gray fedora tipped slightly on his head, the carefully combed brown hair, and the annoyed hazel eyes.

I never have understood why some people are so disturbed at the thought of any ghosts that they entirely lose control if they see one (or think they see one), even if it's someone whom they know and even trust. Do they think that the person changes just because they've died? That's idiocy. They're still the same as they always were in life. And if they wouldn't hurt you in life, they won't in death.

He glares at me gruffly. "Take care of her," he orders. "I can't anymore, and you're the only one I really trust to do a decent job." And I can see in his eyes that he's furious about it. He hates for anyone to do what he feels he should do himself. It takes a lot of strength for him to even say this to me.

"You know I'll do my best." I glance down at Ruby, then back up at him. "She wants to talk to you," I say now. "Why haven't you tried talking to her?"

He curses again. "I have," he replies, "and to you, too. It just doesn't work most of the time. I dunno why it's working now." He starts to pace around the room liked a caged tiger. "I don't even know why I'm still kickin' around---if it's 'cause this is the afterlife, or if it's 'cause I've got some kinda unfinished business that I'm supposed to take care of first . . . or maybe a mixture of both. I dunno what I'd be supposed to take care of, though."

I shrug. "Maybe you're just here because of a fluke," I suggest.

Baby Face snorts. "Ruby'd probably say that I'm here because it's where I wanna be," he retorts. He stops pacing and looks down at Ruby, and I'm almost sure that I can see a longing in his eyes. He half-reaches out with his hand, as if to caress her cheek, but he stops. I don't know whether it's because he knows his hand would pass through, or because he doesn't want to show affection, but he has an expression almost of defeat. I don't like seeing that from him. It doesn't seem right.

Then again, none of this seems right. He shouldn't be dead. We shouldn't be having the conversation in the first place.

"What's wrong?" I ask him.

He looks at me, annoyed. "What isn't wrong?!" he retorts furiously, and turns away, clenching a fist. "There's a lot of things I'll never get to do now," he says quietly. I can hear the underlying anger in his voice.

"That's life," I answer bitterly.

"Yeah," he growls, "and death, too. I guess if your existence is messed up while you're alive, that's not gonna change when you croak. It just gets worse then." He still sounds defeated, and I realize that there's probably not a way to change that now. His time is over, whether he likes it or not, and he's been left with only a shell of his former life.

He throws back the quilt, relieved that he can touch it, and eases himself off the couch, grabbing at the wall for support. Cursing to himself, he moves forward slowly, not wanting to further upset his still-healing injuries. He is not sure exactly why it is, but he feels compelled to check on her and see how she is doing.

And so he makes his way out of the living room and down the hall to where her bedroom is. She always leaves the door unlocked, even when he is staying with her. She does not fear him, and she knows that he will always respect her and never try to do anything inappropriate. He never would say so, but it means a lot to him, to be trusted so much.

Quietly and carefully he turns the knob and steps inside. The moonlight from the window is shining into the room, lighting upon her sweet face as she lays asleep in her bed, the quilt falling half onto the floor. He watches her for a moment, lost in his thoughts.

It was only recently when he had moved to the couch. Before that, he had been too injured and so she had insisted that he stay in the bed while she had the couch. But he is confident now that he is healing more, and so despite her protests, they have switched places again. The couch is soft enough for him anyway. He does not mind.

He moves forward, limping slightly, and comes to stand closer to her, still watching. After a moment he reaches out and pulls the covers up over her shoulder, then nods approvingly. "I ain't dead yet," he mutters low, a faint smirk gracing his features as he turns to leave.

Get Back, Jojo!