Fish on a Bicycle

by Amy Lane

  “Maybe? We’re trying to figure out who, but Cormier wanted our client framed for it. We’ve run into two of his goons so far, trying to pin shit on our guy.”

  “You, uh, may want to check your local morgue to see if those guys got an emergency relocation shiv through their guts. I’m just saying.”

  Jackson growled. “Oh Jesus—can’t you keep these assholes in a cage?”

  “I’m doing my best here!” But Burton was laughing as he said it, and yes, Jackson felt marginally better.

  “Well, we do appreciate your service. Like, personally. We appreciate all your help.”

  “Ugh. No sincerity, Rivers. Ernie just made me my favorite donut, and I’m about to enjoy the shit out of it before I plan me a little day trip.”

  “Sounds amazing—”

  “Tell him to fucking eat something,” Ernie said, and Jackson grimaced. Psychics. Wonderful people. Irritating as friends.

  “I had a pastry,” Jackson said with dignity. “And now it’s time for me to sign off before my client starts getting antsy.”

  “Let him wait,” Burton told him through a full mouth. “I mean, what? The victim’s going to get more dead?”

  “Tell him I’ll send him donuts!” Ernie said again. “You can bring him a dozen, right?”

  Burton groaned. “Baby, there’s transpo and—”

  “And I’ll wrap them super good. Please, Cruller?”

  Jackson smiled fondly. Ernie was not, in fact, a feckless child, as his conversation might imply. He was mostly an open nerve, and the people he cared about played about his psyche like a wind chime. For some reason, he’d decided Jackson was one of those people, and he delighted in doing things for him.

  The last time Ellery’s mother had stayed for a while, a pastry box had appeared at their door, with the words Don’t throw it away, I’ll know written on top.

  The box had contained apple fritters—Ellery’s mother’s favorite.

  “Sure, baby. The things I do for you.”

  “After you eat your donut, Cruller,” Ernie replied smugly, and Jackson figured it was time to get off the phone.

  “Thanks, guys,” he said, meaning it. “I’ll keep the investigation away from Cormier, and, uh, keep an eye out for a pink pastry box.”

  “We won’t let you down!” Ernie practically sang.

  “I may or may not warn you when I’m in town,” Burton told him gruffly. “Try not to get dead.”

  He hung up, and Jackson and Ellery both gave a big sigh.

  “You okay with that?” Jackson asked him quietly.

  Ellery shrugged. “If it means we have a better chance of surviving this case with our skin intact? Sure. I’m great.”

  Jackson scowled. “Ellery….”

  Ellery gave him a shaky smile. “Look, I know you’re torturing yourself over what happened down south, but I’ll be honest. It all feels… like fantasy to me. I don’t feel like what’s probably going to happen is going to happen. I feel like I want to see what kind of donuts Ernie makes for us this time. Everything else makes my head explode. Literally, the call to Burton is your call, and I stand by that decision. Is that okay?”

  Jackson thought about the last guy they’d tracked down that Lacey had trained, and shuddered.

  “It’s good to have help,” he said softly. “You know?”

  Ellery nodded. “I’ll hold you to that. Go meet up with Henry. By the way, why do you need to know who cleans Sampson’s house?”

  Jackson gave a wolfish grin. “Because nobody knows you like the people who clean your house, Ellery. Don’t you think?”

  Their last cleaning service had planted a bug in their bedroom. Both of them shuddered, and Ellery waved him off. “You know what? I don’t want to know.”

  “You will if it gets us evidence,” Jackson told him. And then, because Ellery was right there, because they were still standing close because of the phone call, and because he felt like they’d cleared a tremendous hurdle together and come down true on the other side, Jackson kissed him.

  Ellery responded immediately, open mouth, hands grabbing Jackson’s backside, body lined up, groin to groin and chest to chest.

  Jackson moaned a little and squeezed Ellery’s ass back before he pulled away.

  “You are such a tease,” he muttered, and Ellery laughed.

  “Go have fun and play nice with the other kids,” he said, but Jackson caught the hint of worry behind the smile.

  “Ellery, you know that you’re worth coming home to, right?”

  Ellery kissed him briefly, then stepped back. “Glad to hear it. Go. Believe it or not, I’ve got an appointment for another case at two o’clock.”

  “Oh wow! Hustle, hustle, hustle!”

  Ellery shook his head. “A referral from Pf—”

  “Pfinger, Hamster, Whatwhazit, and Clopper?”

  Ellery snorted, then waved his hand. “Go!”

  “Seriously,” Jackson said, moving toward the door. “Be wary of anything they throw you, Ellery. You know they had that policy of only taking cases they could win.”

  Ellery nodded grimly. “Yeah. Yeah, I know. It’s a prelim. I’ll brief you tonight.”

  Jackson winked. “I’ll be there. And, uh, the place looks great, Ellery. You, uh, should be proud to greet people here.”

  Ellery didn’t smile back. “I had a great decorator.”

  “Yeah, your mother!”

  “Hey, Jackson—”

  But Jackson was out the door.

  Fish of Darkness

  ELLERY WONDERED whether or not he should smile at the man sitting in the overstuffed chair across from him, and decided against it.

  Charlie Cabot was wearing a gold-colored wool suit, with a plum waistcoat and matching fedora, with the brightest, shiniest wingtips Ellery had ever seen. His dark blond hair was oiled back, and his face—a mostly white complexion with green eyes, a decisive nose, high cheekbones, and full lips—was as expressionless as Ellery had ever seen in the courtroom.

  Only Charlie’s eyes gave him away.

  He was terrified, but not for himself.

  “Please, Mr. Cramer, the other place wouldn’t do this for me. I need your help.”

  Ellery gnawed his lip and wished Jackson was here. “This is a highly unusual request, Mr. Cabot,” he said delicately. “You say you didn’t do the crime?”

  “My nephew, Andre, see, he’s sort of… well, innocent. A real sweetheart of a kid. And, uh, well, gay. Which is why I picked you, after the other place recommended you, because, well, word is you’re gay, and you’d understand. Andre, he’s… he’s picked on a lot. And this kid—punk asshole of a kid—gave him a brick of meth to carry. ‘Just carry it, Andre. I got a buddy who’ll get it from you!’ But the buddy was a cop, and the punk asshole knew it, and this was a way for him not to get caught. So Andre, who just turned eighteen and graduated from high school and is going to college and who’s got no idea that his Uncle Charlie’s a gangster, right? He’s suddenly up the creek while the DA tries to shake him down for who gave him the fuckin’ drugs. But I know the punk asshole who gave them to him, and he works for Candy Cormier, and if Andre squeals on him, he’s….”

  Ellery nodded. Well, he and Jackson had been out of the game for a few months—they would have heard of Cormier before now, apparently, if they’d been involved.

  “I’ve heard of him,” Ellery said, his throat dry. What was he going to do? Advise his client to hold on to his wad and hope the wheels of justice turned more slowly than the government assassin who was just waiting for donuts? “But why pin it on you? Why not let me try to get him off?”

  “’Cause any jail time is too much for him,” Charlie said, voice cracking. “We sprung him on bail, and his face was bruised, and… and he wasn’t walking right, and his mom had to take him to the hospital. He wasn’t raped—not this time—but you know it’s coming if he goes back. He’s not cut out for the joint, and I don’t want him to be. Now me? I already got five years under my be
lt, but it was my first strike. Possession with intent to distribute. If you could talk that down to five years, I’d serve it with a fuckin’ smile, as long as we could keep that kid out of jail for one more goddamned day, okay?”

  Ellery nodded. “I’ll take the case,” he said thoughtfully. “But give me a couple of days. I’m going to stall the arraignment for a week while I dig up some dirt on Cormier—”

  “He’s a butcher,” Cabot said grimly. “Now me, I got my little setup, I got my street corners, and I ain’t got no excuse and no apologies. But this guy—I’ve seen his people when he gets through with them. I… I’m not a good man. But this kid, he’s the one good thing in my family. If you can keep him out of jail, I’ll keep him off the fuckin’ street, you understand?”

  Ugh. And this was probably why Carlyle Langdon had turned him down. Because Charlie Cabot was a drug dealer, pure and simple, and there was no way to make that better.

  “I’ll do it for half the fee,” Ellery said, because who needed to work in the black, right? “On one condition.”

  Cabot raised his eyebrows. “Anything.”

  “If I keep you and your nephew out of jail, you have to spend one day a week volunteering at the local rehab clinic—”

  “How long I gotta do that?”

  “Six months.”

  “I’d rather do it for the full goddamned fee! What, do I look like Mother Teresa?”

  Ellery narrowed his eyes. “No, you look like a guy who said you’d do anything to keep his nephew out of jail. This is anything, Mr. Cabot. Take it or leave it.”

  The internal struggle was epic and painful to watch. Ellery took a sip of his iced tea as he waited. Finally, Cabot grunted.

  “Can you guarantee you’ll keep the kid out of jail?”

  “Can you guarantee he won’t end up on the streets knowing what his uncle does for a living?”

  Cabot grunted again. “Hunh.”

  Ellery hated that fucking word—but usually only when Jackson was using it. “And?”

  “Deal.”

  “I’ll have my paralegal draw up some papers—”

  “Hey, speaking of her. Is she single?”

  Ellery widened his eyes. “No, and she’s out of your league.”

  “Yeah, I know, but a guy can ask.” Cabot looked crestfallen, but Ellery had no pity.

  “She’s my boyfriend’s sister. I suggest you don’t.”

  He swore. “Dammit. So where do I sign?”

  AN HOUR later—after Jade had amended their usual payment agreement to Ellery’s specifications—Cabot was gone and Jade was sitting in the comfortable chair.

  “So that was new,” she said, sounding skeptical.

  “Well, he offered to go to prison for his nephew. I know he’s a scumbag, but I thought this would be a good compromise.” Ellery was still not sure he’d done the right thing. Being the boss was harder than he’d thought.

  “Well, I thought it was pretty damned clever,” Jade said, with a sip of her own iced tea. “And not a bad way to start the business.”

  “I thought Henry was the start of the business.”

  She snorted. “No. Henry was the start of Jackson having a partner. That’s what Henry was the start of. Not that I object. I think he’s been knocking around on his own for way too long, but I don’t care what we’re making on Henry’s case—”

  “Enough to pay our first two month’s rent, plus a retainer for any Johnnies’ criminal cases in the future,” Ellery said dryly.

  “Oh. Well. In that case, I do care what we’re making on Henry’s case because money is good and rent is also good and I’m kind of partial to food. But I’m saying Jackson was supposed to be partnered up on the force, and we both know how well that turned out.”

  “I thought I was his partner,” Ellery said, absurdly hurt.

  Jade gave him a fond look. “Oh, baby, you and Jackson are going to be solving cases together for the rest of your lives. But you’re needed on the paper end of things, because what you just did with that Cabot guy was pretty cool, and Jackson would be the first to tell you that drawing up all that paperwork would make him stupid with boredom. What Jackson’s doing, getting all dressed up like medical personnel to try to save Henry’s stupid ass and fix the world, isn’t for you. You would just get the two of you shot, and you know that.”

  Ellery let out a sigh. “Last time I had a gun in my hand, it didn’t end well,” he admitted.

  Jade grimaced. “It’s not like Jackson carries one much anyway. But you understand what I’m saying.”

  “He’s like a cop,” Ellery said, getting it, all hurt aside.

  “Yes. And now he’s not alone and you’re not worried.”

  Ellery poked that idea with a careful finger, surprised when it didn’t ache like he thought it would. “We don’t have enough money to pay Henry, you know.”

  “Well, to get his license, he needs to get an AA in criminal justice anyway. And yeah, we need to pay AJ first. But at this point, I think Henry’s along for the ride. He’ll probably help Jackson out on the exciting stuff just for the experience. Once you pick up another partner—”

  “What do you mean another partner?” Ellery frowned at her, and she rolled her eyes.

  “Oh, honey, do you really not see where this is going?”

  Ellery stared back, and Jade snorted. “Let me know when it hits you. I’m going to go get you some cookies, because obviously you’re low on blood sugar.”

  She left, and Ellery tried to figure out what she meant and couldn’t. Restlessly, because he was used to balancing thirty cases a week, he picked up his phone and texted Jackson.

  Are you dead or in prison yet?

  Nope. Want me to be?

  Nope. Just curious. What are you doing?

  Hiding in a broom closet. May need to bail soon.

  Ellery stared. You’re kidding, right?

  Jackson sent him a picture of a dark and cluttered space that looked very much like a broom closet.

  Where’s Henry?

  Employee bathroom. Don’t get your panties in a knot, Counselor—no bad guys with guns, just listening.

  To what?

  Robert Sampson assfucking Summer Frasier against the adjoining wall.

  Ellery sat completely up in his seat and gave his phone a double take. No, seriously.

  Seriously.

  How do you know it’s assfucking? Because women had another orifice for that sort of thing.

  Because she was in the middle of “Oh baby,” when she suddenly went, “Lube, Robbie—please?”

  What an asshole! Because seriously!

  I haven’t seen hers, but I’m thinking he’s a walking sphincter myself.

  Did you learn anything other than he’s cheating on his wife?

  There was a pause, and Ellery got up and started to pace restlessly. He should be putting the final signatures on his commercial paperwork for running a business or setting up computer ads to run in the local law journals, but he could do that stuff when Jackson was no longer in a broom closet.

  Suddenly his phone blew up with pictures.

  There was the picture he’d sent before—the screenshot from the medical tablet with the medication that should have gone to the patient but had ended up in Summer’s pocket. There was a picture of cases of medical prescription forms with different numbers on the corner than the medical tablet, and there was a picture taken inside the broom closet of boxes upon boxes of brown bottles, unmarked, with what looked like a variety of pills inside.

  We THINK that they’re going at it from both ends. She’s stealing from the patients, and he’s writing prescriptions from his partner’s script pads, then they’re putting them in bottles and distributing. Martin was one point of distribution, but Robert has others. Still don’t know who offed Martin, but we have enough evidence to have Daddy arrested on drugs.

  Ellery caught his breath as he saw the evidence, and then realized why Jackson was still in the broom closet.

  Bu
t that won’t get Henry off.

  Nope. Won’t even get him hard.

  Ellery rolled his eyes. I don’t want to know what gets him hard, do you?

  Already know. A med student with a gym-bred chest—it’s revolting. I like my meat stringier and meaner. Wanna bite me tonight?

  Dear Lord. Always, but you need to get out of the broom closet.

  “Oh baby. Oh baby. Harder. Harder. Harder, you prick, I’m getting dry! Jesus, can you fucking come already? Yes! Yes! Yes! Thank you, do you have a wipe?”

  Ellery snickered, feeling about fourteen years old. She’s not really saying that, is she?

  No, but if she’s happy about what they’re doing, I’m not feeling it.

  If she’s not happy about it, why are they doing it?

  For a moment, his phone was still except for the little bubbles indicating texting.

  I get the feeling she was manipulated into it. She’s not conventionally attractive—she had the keys to the drug cabinet and the means to fuck with the orders. He played on that.

  Ellery grimaced. Well, Jackson had told him Dave and Alex thought she hated men. Maybe there was a reason for that.

  Nice. But why? Ellery frowned. His reported income seems decent. Nothing he’s doing seems to be outside of that. He’s got the nice house in uptown, and he only had the one kid who didn’t seem like too much of a drain. What’s his problem?

  Not sure. Waiting for Crystal’s deep dive.

  Do you have any idea who else is in distribution? Ellery was curious. One did not build a drug empire around one guy on the streets.

  I’m wondering. It’s not the porn kids—they all have to pee in a cup before they fuck. It’s not the nurses, for the same reason. Does our doctor have any hobbies that put him in touch with people who might want to distribute? Does he check out pill bottles to “patients” and take a cut? These are things I’d very much like to know.

  Ellery was going to speculate some more, when his phone flashed again.

  GTG

  Gotta go. Apparently the break in the closet was over and Jackson’s work was back on track again. Ellery was ever so curious as to what he might find.