"I wanted a perfect ending. Now I've learned, the hard way, that some poems don't rhyme..." - Gilda Radner

He stared over the railing, down at the cars' headlights ten floors below. The breeze, so high above the heat of the city, sent goosebumps over his bare arms.

He heard the glass doors slide open and close again. Heard the snap of the lighter, smelled the cigar.

And still he stared down at the lights below. Heard the deep sigh. "Don't worry about it, Hannibal. Lizzie's still out there, somewhere. I can pretty much guess what happened, anyway."

"We could try your aunt again."

He hung his head, smiling to himself. "Way ahead of you, Hannibal. A.J. wasn't the only one in the family who made a habit of quick getaways."

"We found her once. We can do it again. Then you can talk to her, find out what your mom was like."

Yes, they could do that. And his aunt could probably give him all kinds of little details, things no one else could.

"You still want to run this fool's errand?"

Hannibal chuckled, moving back into the apartment. "No fool like an old one, kid."

Face stared back over the railing, again watching the headlights below, thinking of the things his aunt could tell him.

And remembered his mother, tying his shoe...