Disclaimers: See Chapter One If you have good or bad things to say feel free to email me at henleyac@yahoo.com.
Chapter Eight
Day Five
Vivian spent the better part of the previous day watching Logan Square . She had plenty of time to think on how she was going to deal with Quinlan McKee as she familiarized herself with the area.
The blonde shoved her hands deeper into her borrowed coat pockets for some reflective warmth. Michael had been kind enough to loan her the light blue down coat. Vivian smiled at her reflection in a store window. Quin's older brother reluctantly gave her the complete story with a little help from Di, then she decided that Quinlan McKee was going to get a big piece of her mind when she caught up to her. She was not going to call the brunette anymore. She was not going to call Sally Usher anymore. She was going to locate Jacob O'Malley and Quin McKee. Then she was going home. She loved Quin but she was not going to play games with the woman. The PI needed to realize that she wasn't some fragile, innocent flower that couldn't take the reality of the world. There needed to be an end to Quin's overly dramatic protective streak. Her smile faded as she caught site of a Hispanic man conversing at a car window.
Vivian knew that Quin kept street contacts for information., and she knew she would need a contact to get information for herself. While awaiting the man to complete his business, Vivian looked down at the boots she had also borrowed from Michael. It took an extra pair of socks for the fit to be snug, but at least her feet were mostly warm and very dry. She looked back up at the reflection in the store window. The man was just stepping away from the curb as the car drove away. She waited a moment more for the man to nestle back into his cozy alcove between the two door ways.
Vivian turned and crossed the street, dodging as many icy puddles as possible. She had almost made it across when a van drove past and drenched her jeans legs with partially frozen sludge, she cursed as she reached the safety of the sidewalk and shook each leg alternately to rid herself of most of the moisture. So much for a graceful approach, She thought, catching the amused look on her target's face. Vivian sighed as she walked past the man, turning just enough to smile softly and wink at him. She continued down the sidewalk just a bit further and paused. She looked back to see if he was watching her. She smiled at him again and entered a small café. The warmth inside was sheer heaven. A smiling man next to a cash register pointed to a booth for her. Vivian said a soft thank you and gladly took the seat. She had barely picked up a menu when the bell above the door heralded another patron arriving.
Marco looked left and right down the rows of booths. The blonde had given him an invitation, he was sure of it. Ahhh, there she is. He shrugged out of his jacket and waved to the café's owner as he made his way to the booth. He slid in without asking and waited to be noticed by the curvaceous creature across from him.
Vivian lowered the menu a bit and smiled. Men are so easy. "May I help you?" She asked sweetly. She watched his reaction. His smile shifted to a little frown.
"You winked at me." He stated as to convince himself that the event truly did occur.
"Was that you?" Vivian cocked her head to the side.
Marco smiled and sat up a bit straighter, "Yes. In the doorway down the street."
Vivian smiled and nodded. "Selling." She stated.
Marco's smile faded.
"Relax big boy." Vivian soothed, "I'm not a cop." Wow, how odd to admit that. "I just need some information."
Marco sat back and snarled, "What makes you think I'll tell you anything."
Vivian kept her smile in place, "If you don't cooperate and tell me what I want to know you'll be very sorry." Her smile faded to be replaced by a cold hard stare.
Marco swallowed. At heart he was a lover, he did what he did for money only. He never messed with the product and he never left his neighborhood. He also never gave free samples and to his knowledge had never 'hooked' anyone on his product. He was a salesman. Plain and simple; Demand and supply.
He tried to glare back at the woman across from him. She didn't even flinch. Damn. "Information about what?"
The ex-cop leaned forward and asked evenly, "Jacob O'Malley or a blue Jaguar."
Marco stood and jerked on his jacket. He turned and walked away from the blonde.
Vivian was hot on his heels. "Hold up," she called as she rushed out the café's door, racing after the man who disappeared around a corner. She pursued him without thinking and found herself slammed against a brick wall.
"Who the fuck are you lady?" Marco sneered.
Vivian reacted as she was trained. She grabbed onto the man's wrist and pulled with her entire weight, effectively breaking his hold on her and reversing their positions. She kicked his feet wide to throw his balance off then leaned into the middle of his back pulling his wrist up until the man moaned in pain. "Now. What's your name?"
"Marco."
"Pleased to meet you Marco. You can call me Ms. Walsh. Why did you walk out on me?" When no answer was forthcoming she jerked up on the arm in her grasp.
Marco grimaced, "Okay, okay. Ease up lady." He sighed in relief as his arm was eased down a bit to a more comfortable position. "Someone asked me about a blue Jag a couple of days ago."
"McKee." Vivian said between clenched teeth. "You're an informant for her aren't you?" How lucky for me.
"I help her out sometimes."
"Well today you're going to help me out."
Marco groaned.
Vivian used her unoccupied hand to empty Marco's pockets several small bags of drugs, a large roll of money, and a switchblade knife hit the ground at their feet. She then turned him around and stared him square in the eyes. "I don't like drug dealers. If you refuse me I will turn you in and testify against you. I'm a great witness and will make sure you go away for a long time. And don't think you'll call up Quinlan McKee and have her make me go away. Let's just say I have my own arrangement with Ms. McKee." When Marco offered no resistance she let his wrist go. As soon as she did he took a wild right swing at her that she ducked. She used her forearm and elbow to catch him across his nose, which broke with a small snap. "Damn it." Vivian mumbled she stooped down, gathering the money and knife and shoving them in her coat pocket. The drugs she held onto.
Marco slid down the brick alley wall, the blood flowing freely from his nose. It had been a long time since someone had been able to lay a hand on him. His size and demeanor were usually enough to deter others from messing with him. He watched as the blonde opened each bag of his product, emptying them onto the alley floor.
Vivian used the toe of her boot to distribute the drugs into the dirty iced sludge effectively destroying the substance for sale and use. "Fucking bastard." She rubbed her elbow that had slammed Marco. "I'm going to have a bruise." She reached down and took Marco by the hair and dragged him upward. "Want to try this again asshole?"
Marco held his hands over his bleeding nose. He shook his head up and down, eyes closed from the pain the movement caused in his head. His hair was released and he was guided to the street by a firm grip on his arm.
Vivian pulled the Marco along to the Wagoneer that was parked halfway down the block. She kicked at the snow bank blocking the passenger door until she had room to open it and firmly placed Marco in the passenger seat and closed the door. Vivian worked her elbow back and forth as she rounded the car. She slid easily behind the wheel and looked over at her new friend. Remembering a box of tissues in the back seat, she reached for them offering them to Marco who grabbed a stack from the box and pressed them to his nose.
"Do you think you need a doctor?" Vivian asked hoping the man wouldn't bleed all over the interior of the Jeep.
"I'll be fine as long as you don't hit me again." Marco answered from behind the tissue.
"Don't be an ass and I won't need to." Vivian turned the ignition. "Where do I go?"
Marco lowered the tissue and looked at the blonde woman. "Ms. Walsh I really don't think you want to get involved in this."
"Too late Marco. I'm on a mission now."
"Are you insane?"
"No. In love."
Quin walked into a posh Chicago restaurant dressed in ripped faded black jeans, and a long sleeve t-shirt that had the words 'Porn Star' in huge red letters across her chest. She had a red and black plaid wind breaker tied around her waist and her feet sported a brand new shiny pair of red Docs.
The maitre d' hurried to stop her from getting very far but was stopped by a large caliber hand gun in his face.
Quin smirked and cocked her head to one side. "It's been at least two weeks since I've shot someone; I may be due."
The man raised his hands. "You must leave or I'll call the police."
"Fine with me, bring them on back to the little room behind the kitchen where your boss is illegally making book," Quin offered sweetly with a smile. She lowered her gun as the man backed away. She smiled at the shocked faces of afternoon diners while stowing her gun. Out of the corner of her eye she recognized someone she knew and angled toward their table. The man seemed to try to hide behind his napkin as he sank back into the thick padding of the leather booth. "Lieutenant Schmek! I'm pretty impressed you can afford to eat here." Quin settled into the booth and gave a toothy smile to the too skinny woman who accompanied the slightly balding and out of shape detective. "I heard Crane offers discounts to those who are willing to forget their oath of office." She added as she reached out and plucked a slender piece of roast something off the man's plate. Eww, veal. She thought as she swallowed hard. "Want to share your secret of wealth with me?" She asked as she took a hearty swig of red wine from his glass.
Randall Schmek pursed his lips. If there was one person in all of Chicago you didn't want in your business it was McKee. She was in good with the top brass of the city and had nearly every respectable thug on the street under some kind of control. "I received a gift certificate." He replied.
"Convenient." The brunette quipped. She smiled again at the woman and asked, "Escort or private?"
"Well I never." The woman exclaimed.
"I bet you have." Quin said with a devilish smile. "I'll be calling you Schmek." She said and stood, winking at the woman as she headed in her intended direction through the restaurant. She pushed through the kitchen doors, dodging the bustling wait staff and cooks. She liberated an éclair from the dessert counter on her way through, and opened the next door entering without knocking. All activity on the other side of the door ceased she smiled and waved her hands, "Please don't stop on account of me." The stunned silence continued until a long moan erupted from a closed door off to the right side of the room, Quin blinked and looked at the assembled men and women asking a silent question. When the moan came again followed by some begging of the blatant sexual kind she couldn't help herself moving toward the closed door. A huge wall of a man moved into her path. The noise returned to the room as the bookies went back to work. Quin chewed her cheek, she was in no shape to get into a physical altercation with anyone, especially not with someone who out weighed her by two hundred pounds. She looked up at the man and surprisingly found some intelligence reflected in the soft brown eyes. "Do you know who I am?"
The big man nodded slowly answering, "McKee."
Quin smiled and nodded. "Do you know how much damage a .45 will do to you at this range?" She poked the solid chest in front of her for emphasis.
The man paled and seemed to think about it for a moment.
Quin reached into her rear pocket and came back with a small business card that she held out to the man, "Come by tomorrow, I'll match the pay and you get to be an honest citizen."
The man looked around the room then back to the small card being held out to him. He snatched it from Quin's fingers and exited the room with as much grace as a brick wall could. Quin stepped up to the closed door and listened for a moment with her ear pressed flat against the obviously less than solid object. Blushing a bit at what she heard, she stood back, took a deep breath and then opened the door entering the room silently. She had a mental image of what was happening on the other side of the door, but the reality was way beyond her imagination. The two men in the room were so preoccupied that Quin was able to walk right up to them, taking a seat on the edge of the queen size bed.
"Who would have ever guessed that Brandon Crane was a leather slut?" She questioned aloud causing both men to cease their activity. Quin shook her head in dismay as Crane bellowed for his bodyguard while he struggled from his bound position on the bed. "Boris got a better offer." Quin stated taking in the whole picture before her.
"Who the fuck are you?" Crane's sex partner questioned. He removed himself from Crane, who whimpered as he struggled on his stomach, straining against the knots that held him fast in place.
"Quin McKee. And you?"
The man obviously had an inkling of who she was as he started to get dressed "Leaving." He stated, pulling his black t-shirt over his head and grabbing his boots and jacket as he exited the room without glancing back.
"Well, well, well, quite the predicament we have here Crane." Quin said as she tested the leather bonds holding her adversary in place. "I wish I had a camera."
"Untie me now!"
"Why? This is just too precious." Quin ran her finger across Crane's welted backside causing the man to squirm. "Does the little wife know about this…" She couldn't help herself as she smacked the reddened flesh with her open palm, "…side of you?"
"I'll kill you for this McKee." Crane threatened from his prone position.
"It's not nice to threaten people Brandon. Besides it could be a long time before someone unties you. If you're nice and answer my questions I might be inclined to help you out."
Brandon Crane wasn't a stupid man. He knew when he was beat. The sandy brown head turned away from the notorious PI as he considered his options. He made his decision with a deep sigh. "What?"
Quin smiled. "Jacob O'Malley."
"What about him?"
"Where is he?"
Crane turned back to look at the brunette, "What's it to you?"
Quin leaned down and spoke softly into Crane's ear. "He is my nephew."
The words were spoken so evenly and with such passion that Crane paled at all the implied punishments that came to his mind if he didn't answer the woman truthfully. "He's gone to Detroit, he'll be back in two days."
"What does Jacob do for you?"
Crane laughed. "Hell McKee. I work for him!"
Quin was having a moment. One of those moments where things just seem to crash down all of a sudden and there's nothing to do but deal. She looked at the bound man in front of her. She reached out and wrapped her fingers in his hair and yanked his head back hard. She looked into his hazel eyes and spoke evenly. "Explain. And be careful." She warned. "If I think you're lying there will be pain, and I guarantee it will not be the kind you enjoy." She jerked his head hard for emphasis.
"The kid came to me in L.A. about three months ago."
"How did that begin? How did he first contact you?"
"An email. The email implied we had a common friend and he wanted to help me with my cash flow problem." Crane sighed in relief as his hair was released.
"Who is your common friend?" Quin sat back on the side of the bed.
"I have a silent partner here in Chicago . I've never met her, but we've had a very profitable relationship. So when I wanted to branch out to California she financed me. But L.A. isn't Chicago and I was in trouble after just a few weeks." Crane shifted on the bed, "Could you untie me?"
"No." Quin replied and stood. She paced a few feet away then came back to the bedside. "Jacob emailed you and offered to bail you out," she stated. "Why?"
Crane sighed. "He's an odd kid. I get the feeling someone else is pulling his strings. I couldn't say no to the help. My police contact had his own troubles I guess…"
"Who was your man on the force?" Quin paced away again.
"Richard Franklin." Crane's breath rushed from his body as McKee landed across his back straddling him and pressing a gun to his cheek.
Quin had a sinking feeling in her gut. Her breathing was uneven and she was very close to splattering Brandon Crane's brains across the room. "I want you to tell me about Franklin ."
"For God's sake McKee please!" Crane pleaded.
"Tell me about Franklin ." Quin twisted the barrel of the gun into the prone man's cheek.
"She set me up with him. He even picked me up at the airport.! Please don't kill me!"
Quin leaned down and whispered menacingly into Crane's ear. "We're going to have a very long talk so I hope you're comfortable."
Day Seven
Vivian was cold and tired. She glanced at the man on the phone in the corner of a bustling south side bar. Marco's broken nose had blossomed into a full face of bruises that resembled a raccoon's mask. He was proving invaluable, Quin was to be commended. She certainly knew how to cultivate informants. After a whole lot of searching and good old detective work, Vivian had found the Jag. Logic would dictate that Jacob wouldn't be far. Logic wasn't always easy though.
Marco had stuck with Vivian even after being released from service by the blonde. He insisted that he could get further information. Vivian scrubbed her face with her hands trying to revive herself, it had been nearly forty-eight hours since she slept. She was ready to crash hard.
"She'll be here in just a sec." Marco sat down beside the blonde at the bar.
Vivian peeked through her fingers at her reluctant partner. "She who?"
"Me."
Vivian snapped her head to the stool beside her that was now occupied by what she could only classify as a hooker. Vivian was sensitive enough not to blurt out her observation and simply raised an eyebrow at the slender brunette.
Marco cleared his throat, "Ms. Walsh this is Cookie. She owns this corner." He threw his head toward the street.
Vivian nodded her understanding. "Nice to meet you Cookie. Is that your real name?" She grimaced as soon as the words left her mouth.
The woman simply smiled and nodded, "Well sure it is. I have a brother named Biscuit and a younger sister named Cupcake. My mom liked to bake." Cookie smiled bigger.
"I didn't mean any offense." Vivian said earnestly.
"None taken Ms. Walsh. Marco says you're looking for the owner of the classic Jag in the parking garage across the street."
"Do you know him?"
"Naaa, but I've seen him. Just a kid really, I bet he isn't even twenty-one."
Vivian produced a small photo that DI had given her. "This him?"
Cookie nodded, "Yeah, that's him. Good looking kid. He dropped off the car about a week ago, gave the manager a bunch of money to take extra good care of it. He was picked up by a big black car."
"Did you recognize the big black car?" Vivian asked impressed so far.
"Oh sure, it was one of Crane's cars."
Vivian nodded as Cookie confirmed what Marco had told her about who Jacob was meeting with in his neighborhood. "Does Crane frequent this area?"
Cookie laughed, "Crane frequents everywhere."
Marco nodded his agreement of the statement.
Vivian thought for a moment. Then put a question up for debate. "Why would I stash a classic Jag that belongs to my mother in a city parking lot and pay the attendant extra to do a job he should do anyway?"
"Cause you don't want mom to be pissed at you if it gets stolen?" Marco threw out.
"Maybe. But I don't think this kid cares about that. He took the car weeks ago and not even a phone call to mom to say he and the car are okay. Why did he need the car? He's stolen enough cash from his dad to buy a dozen Jags with money left over."
Cookie tilted her head. "His mom clean?"
Vivian blinked, "She's not in any trouble I know of."
"Has she pissed the kid off someway and he's planning some revenge?" Marco asked.
"Possible. But again I don't think so, she would have mentioned that I think." Vivian ran her fingers through her hair, "I know the grandmother doesn't much like the kid's mom."
"This kid is into something bad if he's hooked up with Crane." Marco said then looked at the two women next to him. "Maybe he needed a clean car. Maybe he needed a car that if someone checks doesn't come back to him, doesn't come up dirty, and won't be reported stolen because mom wouldn't do that to her son."
"Okay all that sounds good. But why ?" Vivian questioned.
The three sat silent at the bar until Cookie gasped, causing her conversation mates to turn tired eyes toward her.
"Maybe he has something stashed in the car. The extra money to the attendant guarantees that he doesn't go snooping and insures nothing happens to the car!"
Marco shrugged. "I can get into that car if you like and see if something is stashed there." He offered with a little gleam in his eye.
"Oh can I help?" Cookie asked.
"I don't think so you guys."
"Aw, come on Ms. Walsh, it would be fun. Don't you want to know? We've been watching that car all fucking day. Let's go see what the kid is hiding." Marco pushed.
Vivian sat silent for a moment considering her options. Information was power. If the car did have something stashed inside, it was better to know. Was it prudent to let a drug dealing thug and a hooker help her? Maybe not, but that was what she had at the moment. If life had taught her anything it was that you had to work with what was given to you. She sighed and slipped off her barstool. "Okay." Marco and Cookie whooped like children headed for recess. Vivian held up her finger, "But we do it my way. No arguing." Her comrades nodded their understanding. "Fine, lets see what the kid is hiding."
End part eight