Disclaimers: See Chapter One If you have good or bad things to say feel free to email me at henleyac@yahoo.com.
Chapter Nine
Vivian Walsh did not have a lot of experience breaking into cars. She didn't have a lot of experience breaking into anything. Marco had assured her she didn't need to know how since he did. Cookie was distracting the attendant while Marco showed Vivian the finer points of getting into a locked car with an alarm. She was literally holding her breath as Marco lifted the door handle and not even a beep erupted from under the hood.
Marco smirked as he slid into the driver's seat. "Piece of cake."
Vivian rolled her eyes, "Just open the damn trunk." She rubbed her hands together, her feet and legs were in constant motion. It was cold in the concrete parking structure. The only consolation was the wind wasn't blowing at thirty miles an hour inside as opposed to outside.
"Hold on." Marco implored as he fumbled under the dash a bit. The car rumbled to life suddenly. "Get in!"
Vivian threw her hands up, "We can't steal it!"
"Why the hell not! The brat stole it first!" Marco shut his door and gunned the engine.
"Shit, shit, shit!" Vivian ran back around the car to the passenger side. Marco had pushed the door open for her from the inside. She pulled the door shut as Marco backed out of the parking space. Leaning over and hooking her seat belt, she hissed "The brat had keys and the permission of the owner! Asshole!"
Marco shrugged, "Schematics."
Vivian growled. "Why didn't you just pop the damn trunk?"
"Cause this model doesn't have one of those nifty buttons in the glove box. I'm going to need more time than Cookie could buy us to work my magic on the trunk." Marco checked his mirrors, adjusting them before he exited the parking garage. He honked the horn twice at Cookie who conveniently raised the fiberglass arm at the exit just in time for the Jag to slip through smoothly. The angry attendant chased after them for a few yards knowing full well he had little chance of catching the car.
Marco didn't drive far. The heater in the car didn't even have time to warm up before they were pulling into another parking garage. Only this one had an automatic door that slid up on Marco's press of a button on a small remote hanging around his neck. Vivian raised an eyebrow in the man's direction. "Hide-out?"
"Something like that." Marco commented, pulling into the dark space. As they moved further inside, the car's headlights revealed glimpses of the interior.Llight abruptly flooded the garage, causing Vivian to squint a bit. As her eyes widened, she gasped. "Oh wow."
The heart of the garage was completely furnished. See through walls separated rooms. There were carpets on the floor and art hanging in mid air from wires suspended above. It looked like a large maze of rooms that reached three levels high. If Vivian thought she had the energy she would have liked to explore the whole place. As it was though, all she really wanted was to snuggle into the warming leather of the car and sleep.
Marco smiled to himself. "This won't take long."
Vivian placed her hand on his arm before he could exit the car. "Is there a warm place to sleep?"
"Two bedrooms; The Box has central heat and air."
Vivian thought for a moment. She was one up on Quin; She had the car. Literally. Even though she felt like she was possibly using Marco beyond her initial purposes, she couldn't help but demand some down time to recharge. "I want to sleep."
Marco looked out the car's window at his home. His broad shoulders moved up and down in his signature shrug. "Sure, follow me. Some artsy guy built this place, but got in over his head to me so I took it in trade. Makes a nice hideout as you said."
Vivian nodded as she followed. Who ever the artsy guy was he sure had a knack for design. The place would probably have sold for more than he owed the drug dealer, but drugs tended to make one stupid.
Twenty minutes later Vivian was snuggling into a warm soft bed. She was clean and her clothes were being washed. Marco had loaned her a set of pajamas and some clean warm socks. Her eyes drifted shut as Marco promised to wake her in a few hours.
Brandon Crane was in fear that his life would soon be over. He had tried to answer all the woman's questions but she just wasn't satisfied. His wrists and ankles were raw from straining against his bonds and his bruises had bruises. Only one thing was clear at the moment; Quin McKee wasn't finished yet.
Quin stared at herself in the mirror of the small bathroom that was connected to where Crane laid.
She was slipping. She could feel it. Everything was beginning to churn inside. The information Crane had supplied was surreal. It was as if the suffering she had endured the last three years of her life was orchestrated by this mystery woman.
Grace.
Quin's heart raced at the mere thought of her name. It seemed she and Grace weren't finished yet. Grace was purposely murdered by Franklin . This was a fact. She'd thought she had the reason why two weeks ago. She was wrong.
Grace was purposely murdered.
Not because she was onto Franklin 's operation. Not because she was in the wrong place at the wrong time. No. Grace was murdered because it would cause Quin pain. This realization nearly undid the brunette. It nearly killed Crane.
Quin studied her own face. She looked as deranged as she felt. "What to do with Crane?" Was the question she now asked her reflection. Crane was her connection to the mystery woman. She needed him alive. She also needed his cooperation. Crane would have to go with her.
Jacob was a whole different task now. Jacob was her second connection to the mystery woman. Jacob was dirty and hooked on what he was selling. Jacob was a liability.
Michael and Di were going to be crushed. Quin decided she could take care of the IRS for her brother, it wasn't an insurmountable amount of money. In doing so she would clear his name. There was something more going on with this entire drama; Quin just couldn't put her finger on it.
Vivian. Quin's head dropped to her chest and her eyes closed as she conjured up the image of the blonde in her mind. She wondered what Vivian was up to.
Day Nine
Vivian swatted at the persistent hand pushing on her shoulder. "Go away." The resulting giggle made her crack an eye.
"Marco has the trunk open. He says you need to come and take a look." Cookie said through a friendly smile.
Vivian rolled onto her back and stretched, then sat up on the edge of the bed. "Why didn't he come up here and get me?"
Cookie giggled again, "He's afraid you'll hit him."
Vivian rolled her eyes and stood. "Okay." She slipped on her borrowed house shoes and followed the brunette from the room. Out in the hall, Vivian could look through the glass wall to the warehouse floor below and see Marco staring into the car's trunk. His hands alternated between the top of his head and his hips. Descending the stairs, She walked out the entrance of the 'box' and came to a stop next to him. "What is it?" She asked, nudging aside the drug dealer.
"Heroin. And lots of it." Marco stated. "I'd say a few hundred million in street sales if it were cut properly." He reached out and ran his fingers over a brick. "I've never seen so much in one place before." He looked over at the blonde, "And I've seen my share."
Vivian reached up and slammed the trunk closed. "FUCK!" She paced away from the car then back again. "I have a fucking stolen car with a fuck load of smack in the trunk! And a missing nineteen year old kid who is in serious fucking trouble when I get a hold of him!" She pointed a finger at Marco. "Don't get any smart fucked up ideas, asshole." She warned. Marco held up his hands and backed away from the car.
Cookie softly spoke up from behind the duo. "What now?"
Vivian pulled at her hair with both hands comma thinking. "I need to find Quin." She said as she began to pace. "I need to calm the fuck down." She stopped in her tracks, looking at Marco. "You." She pointed again at the drug dealer who looked like he was ready to bolt. "You know where to find her." She stated factually, willing it to be true.
Marco shook his head, "I don't have a clue, she finds me. That's the way it has always worked."
The blonde's pointing finger dissolved into a fist. "Damn it all to HELL!"
Marco watched the blonde closely as she paced the polished concrete floor. He could feel the energy roll off the woman and was a bit concerned that if she blew he might be the target of her anger. He glanced at Cookie, who also was watching the blonde, and let out a little 'psst' to gain the brunette's attention. Cookie looked at the drug dealer and simply shook her head. It seemed they were both at a loss as to what to do next.
Vivian stopped her pacing and stared at the car for a long moment. The car needed to stay put. She glanced over at Marco. Since their alley confrontation he had been very cooperative. But a car stuffed full of heroin might be enough to end their odd partnership. She opened the driver's side door, leaned in and pulled the hood release. Vivian eased up the hood and scanned the engine. A grim smile crossed her lips as she reached in and yanked back the distributor cap. Another yank and she had the sparkplug wires too.
"Why the fuck did you do that?" Marco fumed as he rushed up to the car.
"I did that because I don't want this car going anywhere without me knowing it. And don't think you can just take the crap from the trunk. I will find you and when I do, it won't be pretty." She studied the bruised face in front of her and sighed. "Sorry about your nose."
Marco's eyes widened. "Ya' wanna know what I think Ms. Walsh? I think you've lost it!" He threw up his hands and stalked into the Box.
Vivian watched him go, the distributor cap dangling from her hand.
Cookie shook her head. "There's a lot of bad Karma here. I need to meditate." She too entered the Box.
Vivian sat down cross legged on the cold concrete floor looking at the car. If this was what Quin's life was like on a regular basis she wondered how her lover stayed sane. How the hell was she going to find Quinlan McKee? How does one find someone who doesn't want to be found and is damn good at it?
Quin dragged Crane up the steps of her Lakeview home. The man had been given the rules and warned if he broke any of them the consequences would be dire. She left him standing in the entry way while she bolted the door and set the alarm. If Crane tried to leave she would know. "You have the run of the house. The guest bedroom and bath are at the top of the stairs to the left. Clean up. I need you to contact your partner. We're going to have a little meeting." She instructed as she disappeared down the hall.
Crane looked up the stairs and sighed. He was in a world of deep, deep shit. He had little doubt that McKee would kill him. The woman was obviously walking a fine edge, and he didn't want to be the one to push her over. He took the steps slowly, his entire body aching. He wondered how someone so small could inflict so much pain. Crane decided he would do as he was told. There had to be a small chance he would come out of this alive if he could just keep McKee happy.
Quin settled at the kitchen counter and retrieved the cordless phone from its caddy. She had favors to call in; There was a huge score to settle and she needed the wrong kind of help to do it. By the time this was over she probably wouldn't be able to step foot in Chicago again. Just as well, she thought, I don't even want to be here anymore. She thumbed through her address book.
The PI had been planning a break from Chicago for several weeks. She had intended this trip to be final. Quin had asked and her Grams had agreed to come to Los Angeles with her to live. She had also prepared a resignation from Sentinel, leaving her shares evenly distributed among her fellow owners. She didn't even consider asking for a pay out. Quin had plenty of money. Her investments paid well and there was no need to be greedy. There was the untouched inheritance from her Grandfather to deal with. She had decided the money would be evenly divided among her brothers, sister and father. Respecting her Grandfather's wishes, Clara would get nothing.
She wondered about her father. He was nearly invisible over the last few years, spending most of his time in Brazil working on his import company. She and her siblings wondered if their father had had enough of Clara and was seeking to separate from her. Quin's relationship with her father was only marginally better than her relationship with her mother. Perhaps things could be better between them if her mother was not controlling her father.
She ran her finger down the names listed in her book. She stopped on one and picked up the phone.
Vivian was dressed once again and ready to go. She decided she would take Marco and have him show her some of the places he would meet with McKee when they conducted business. It was her only plan at the moment. She searched the Box for the drug dealer but came up empty handed. She found Cookie having a smoke beside the partially opened warehouse door. The afternoon sun was painting the city in purple and orange shadows. A wedge of red-gold light cut across the polished floor. Vivian cleared her throat as she approached the woman. "Have you seen Marco?"
Cookie turned her head a bit to look at the blonde, "He got a call and left about an hour ago while you were in the shower."
Vivian's lips thinned. "Any idea from who?"
"McKee."
Vivian's shoulders dropped. She fell silent.
Cookie smirked. "They're meeting at a club in mid-town. I know the place."
Vivian's eyes went wide as a smile broke on her lips. She grabbed the brunette by the shoulders and planted a wet kiss on her lips. "Marry me?"
Cookie blushed and slapped the tall blonde's arm. "Who are you kidding. I know what's up Ms. Walsh. If you want to find your girl I'll help you. I had my fingers crossed when Marco swore me to secrecy." She confessed.
Vivian planted another kiss on the woman's lips. "You're brilliant."
Quin woke up Crane a little after eleven pm. They had a little meeting to get to. While Crane had been sleeping the PI had been busy orchestrating the takeover of a lifetime. She had no problems finding willing and even eager participants. It seemed that Brandon Crane and his silent partner had stepped on more than just a few toes on their way to the top. Including Crane in the takedown of his own organization was the cherry on top.
She hustled a mostly cooperative Crane to her truck. "One rule for you. Do as I say."
Crane nodded and fastened his seat belt. The trip to the club was short. It had started to snow again and most sane people were home. Warm in their houses with their families, Quin thought as she pulled the truck into a back lot to park. Vivian. Quin hadn't a clue what to say to the woman when she next saw her. She knew one thing for sure, There were going to be consequences for her actions. She just hoped for the best.
Crane followed obediently as Quin flashed her membership card to the doorman. She led him through the crowded club to a table just off the stage. Already seated at the table were Marco, sporting two huge shiners and a swollen nose, a tall slender black man named Horatio Macks, and a blonde woman called simply Ms. Smith. Quin pushed Crane into a chair and took a seat for herself.
"Brandon Crane, meet your demise." Quin waved to the group. Crane tried to stand and bolt but was quickly put back in his chair by the small brunette. "What happened to you?" Quin asked Marco as she took a pair of handcuffs from her jacket pocket and connected one end to the table leg and the other to Crane's wrist.
"Ms. Walsh happened to me." Marco replied as he retook his seat. "And she's coming for you next."
Quin frowned. "Vivian Walsh beat you up?" It seemed so unfathomable.
"Oh yeah." Marco drawled, "In an alley on my own damn street. She has a way of making a point."
As she thought about the trouble she was in, Quin patted Crane's head. "Don't go anywhere." Crane jerked his wrist and growled. "Good boy." Quin complimented. "Now, to the business at hand. You all know our objective, any suggestions?" She smiled and looked around the table. Horatio was the first to speak. It was going to be a long night.
Cookie tilted her head up at the brawny man who was refusing them entrance into the members only club. Vivian wished she had a gun, the undeniable membership card for clubs like this. Cookie tugged on her sleeve and guided her around the corner from the front door of the establishment.
"We can get in the dancer's entrance. But the only way to get into the main room from there is the stage."
Vivian threw her hands up. "So what do I have to do? Strip?"
Cookie rocked back and forth on her heels and smiled.
"No fucking way. I made a promise to myself a long time ago that I would never do anything degrading." Again. Vivian shook her head and crossed her arms.
Cookie lost her smile. "You don't have that many choices. Its cold out, and waiting could get long. If it were me, I'd suck it up and dance. It'll certainly get her attention."
Vivian huffed. snow was falling steadily and she was once again chilled to the bone. "We're sure she's in there?" She asked hoping for an alternative.
"I'm sure. McKee is punctual if anything."
Vivian's blond head slumped to her chest. "Okay. Lead the way. I can't fucking believe I'm going to do this."
Brandon Crane fumed in his chair. The table's four occupants were well on their way to planning his downfall. The one called Marco and the black man were on their cell phones organizing God only knew what, while McKee and Ms. Smith had their heads together discussing a proper location for a meeting. Brandon closed his eyes and shook his head. He was so screwed. He cursed the day Jacob O'Malley entered his life.
Quin listened to the blonde Ms. Smith as she described the layout of an abandoned river front warehouse. It fit the needs of the operation;. Secluded and only one way in or out. Marco and Horatio were busy making trouble for Crane via the nameless rabble of thugs in their employ. By dawn it would be obvious something was terribly wrong with the Chicago crime machine. Quin smiled to her self herself. She was finally going to get her revenge for Grace's murder. A familiar saxophone ripped through the smoky air of the club. Focused on the task at hand, Quin hadn't given the stage a second look all night, but it was hard to ignore Etta James. She had to squint a bit to filter out some of the stage lighting but was stunned to see a familiar form revealing far too much flesh. Quin was on the move as the dancer bent over giving a good view of her soft curvy rear comma and reached her just before sixty plus perverts got a good look at Vivian Walsh's exquisite breasts. Quin covered Vivian with her coat and rushed the blonde off the stage and into the narrow hall behind the platform.
Pressing Vivian against the wall backstage, Quin growled "What the hell do you think you're doing?"
End part eight