Bad Company
From the Casefiles of Detective ‘Mal’ Malone
Jen Schoenbein
Bad Company
From the Casefiles of Detective ‘Mal’ Malone
Copyright © 2019 by Jen Schoenbein
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form on by an electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
First Edition: February 2019
This edition was first published in 2019
Cover design by: Propergraphicbd
Proofreading by: Jana Hill, Sarah Dollar
ISBN: 978-1-7969-7882-7 (paperback)
Printed in the United States of America
Published by: Serenity Endeavor Press
https://jenschoenbeinwrites.home.blog/
To all those who came before me: The storytellers who wove rich tales and caused me to dream. The artists who inspired me. This beautiful world and its lesson to persevere.
Chapter 1
The stapler sailed through the air to hit the wood door across the room with a loud, satisfying crash. “Argh!” I growled. I rarely resorted to throwing things, but I had been working on the Mennon case for a full week, with absolutely, positively no successful lead. It was the most frustrating seven days I’d ever had. I was so sure this last lead would go somewhere.
I collapsed in my chair and shoved hard away from my desk, and further office supply destruction. I sat defeated, slouching deep in my chair as it rolled to the wall behind me, reddish brown hair floating around my face.
After a full week, I had found only two people that had seen Suzanne Mennon the afternoon after she walked out on lunch break. The gas station clerk and a contact the clerk said she spoke with. When I had finally gotten a hold of the contact, Jeremy Jones, he gave me no further leads to follow.
All he shared was that he bumped into her in the gas station near her work. After further cajoling, followed by light harassing, he added that he was picking up his Mickey's on his way home from a late night at the betting parlor. I pressed him for more information, but he said he didn’t remember what she was buying. No memory of anything strange about her mood or appearance. He hadn’t given me anything to go on. He said he only remembered Suzy because she had a big rack…cue the eyeroll.
I had canvassed the neighborhood around Suzy’s house and work over the past week, trying to find anyone that might have seen her or give me a lead to go on. I felt like I was circling the drain.
Trying to focus my thoughts, I took several deep breaths and then shoved myself up out of the chair. I most certainly wasn’t going to get anywhere sitting in the chair sulking, no matter how appealing it seemed. I had to figure out my next move. Reaching into my drawer for my keys and grabbing my leather jacket, I headed for a walk outside. I hoped that would clear my head.
I stepped out of the old, brick building, where my P.I. office was located and into the warm spring morning. It was a beautiful day and the sun was out. My boots crunched on the leftover road salt from winter and the typical Chicago wind tossed my shoulder length, auburn hair around my head. I couldn’t keep my hair straight to save my life, with the constant wind adding to the natural wave in my hair. I had long since stopped trying and tucked a particularly pervasive chunk behind an ear. Crossing the street, I turned into Grounds, my favorite coffee shop. It was my favorite because it was ten steps from my office and I really liked Maurice, the 50’s something shop owner.
Maurice looked up from the counter when I walked in and waved hi. “Good morning, Mal!”
“Morning, Mo” I answered sliding to the counter. The fresh air, correction: the coffee-scented air, improved my mood considerably.
“Working on a case?” Maurice asked thoughtfully. I noticed that the slight gray on his temples was getting more pronounced.
I often talked out issues with Maurice for input. I left out details to protect confidentiality. Talking it out helped me put perspective on things. He was a good listener. Besides, I’d spent enough late nights at cafe, notes in front of me, espresso in hand.
“Yeah, but no good leads right now,” I blew a hair from my face. “No leads at all, in fact. My last one just fizzled up.”
“That sucks, Mal. But, I know you’ll work it out,” Maurice said with a wink as he slid my cappuccino across the counter.
I grabbed the cinnamon shaker from the counter and tapped the bottom to add a light dusting to my cappuccino. “I guess,” I murmured, taking a sip of the coffee. “I just need to get a different angle on this. I’m missing something.”
I wasn’t much of a girly girl, but I did like fancy coffee when I could get it. Caffeine being a main staple in my diet and I believed variety was good.
Paying Maurice, I pushed away from the counter and headed back into the sun. I stretched my long legs and turned down the street in a nice stroll. I breathed in and took a long sip of my coffee. It was still early and there were a lot of people wandering in and out of the shops in downtown Roscoe Village.
I loved my little suburb of Chicago. It wasn’t as crazy as downtown Chi-Town and it had more charm, too. It was located in North Center and was just the right mix of cheap enough for me to afford, yet relatively safe enough to walk through the streets at dusk. I let the atmosphere roll over me, watching people shop and smelling the local pizza place across the street. I let the facts of the case marinate in my head with the surrounding disruptions.
Sam Mennon had come into my office a week ago, eyes drawn, brown hair on-end and clothes crumpled. It was obvious that he hadn’t had much sleep. He had told me about his wife, Suzy, who had gone missing from work 3 days prior.
Suzanne, 35, goes by Suzy, sweet face, long straight brown hair, worked as a teller at Heward Bank. She was seen on camera leaving the bank around lunch time and then again by the clerk at the gas station down the street. The gas station remembered Suzy checking out at the same time as a regular, Jeremy Jones. The same Jeremy Jones that had just told me he didn’t remember anything pertinent about Suzy. The cops had the case, but with no leads and other cases to solve, it was no longer being actively worked.
Suzy’s missing person case could have been a simple case of an unhappy wife leaving her husband. It happened all the time. There hadn’t been any sign of foul play, so the cops moved on to bigger fish.
Sam was entirely distraught, however. I honestly couldn’t see how a man so completely lost without his wife wouldn’t have known if his wife was having an affair. I mean, it was always a possibility; people could be clueless. But I was leaning toward kidnapping or murder.
Besides, Sam was the client and he didn’t believe Suzy had left him. He wanted me to find her, not necessarily to spend my time pursuing a route that involved her voluntarily leaving him. Something happened to Suzy, and I planned on finding out.
I really hoped it wasn’t murder, though. Murder cases sucked.
I took a sip of my coffee, enjoying the warmth before I noticed unusual movement down the street. It was then that I smelled the smoke in the air.
A couple of blocks down, two people came running out of a building, smoke on their heels. I saw flames leaping out the upper story windows; the building was on fire!
I ran forward to help a blonde woman who was stumbling out. When I got to her, I eased her down to the curb to catch her breath. Grabbing my phone out of my pocket, I dialed 911 to report the fire.
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br /> “Are you okay?” I asked her.
The blonde coughed and nodded frantically. “Yes! I’m fine, but my co-workers are still inside.”
I nodded and told the dispatcher there were still people in the office and put her on speaker phone, gesturing to the woman.
“There’s a fire in the kitchen. I don’t know what happened. We tried to grab the fire extinguisher, but the fire spread too fast!”
The dispatcher said she’d call it in and to keep an eye on the woman.
I watched the building, but only a few more people came out, so I suspected there were still others upstairs. I got up to move toward the doorway of the building and peer inside. All I could see was smoke pouring out in great big rolling plumes. I had to move back to clean air. I bit my lip in indecision. I hated leaving anyone in there, but I didn’t think I could make it inside. I wasn’t trained for that sort of thing.
I spun around to the sounds of the fire truck only moments later. It wheeled to the curb, men jumping off and grabbing axes before heading inside the building. Another two trucks and an official looking SUV came around the corner immediately following. One hooked up to the hydrant across the street and the crew headed into the building as well.
I went back to check on the willowy blonde. Her coughing had died down, but she was shaking from the adrenaline rush. I helped her up and walked her over to the paramedics that pulled up.
The woman smiled at me. “I’ll be alright,” she said. “Thanks for your help.”
The paramedics got busy checking over everyone that had escaped the building. There was almost a choreographed pattern to their work. I was impressed by how quickly and efficiently everyone responded. The firefighter in charge stood outside with his radio, shouting orders and keeping a keen eye on everything.
I couldn’t believe the sheer amount of black smoke coming from the building. I always figured that a fire would be bright and yellow, but this building was dark and black smoke billowed out of the doorway and windows. I was surprised at how difficult it was to see.
Suddenly, a loud explosion followed by a crash erupted from the building. The smoke flared out the windows, then died back a bit to where it was before. The firemen and police officers ushered the people, including myself, further away. A few more men headed in and there were several tense minutes until the men finally came back out again.
Two firefighters had someone slung over their shoulders, a woman and a man. One firefighter looked to be hurt and was leaning very heavily on another as they made their way out of the building. The one in charge of the scene yelled into his radio, but it seemed like the tension had abated somewhat.
The fireman that had been supporting the other came to the side of the truck near me. He stripped off his air pack and helmet to help his buddy do the same. He checked the other fireman’s eyes, laughing jovially and slapping the other guy on the back. The back of his bunker coat read “RHODES.”
He was a big, well-built man with broad shoulders, average height, and a commanding presence. He was obviously a leader of one of the crews and had an incredibly intense gaze. There looked to be a lot going on behind his gaze as he took in every detail. The firefighter wasn’t just a good-looking man, there was more to him than what was on the surface.
Rhodes seemed to be satisfied the other fireman was alright, because it sounded like he was teasing him for getting under falling debris in the fire. He sent him over to the paramedics anyway to get checked out. Still, I could see a little worry crease his eyebrows as he ran a hand over his shaved head.
I took a deep breath and scanned the scene again. The air was filled with smoke and while it was spreading, it seemed like everything was under control. Not that there was much I could do to help.
Turning around to go, I noticed someone skirting around the back of the onlookers. It looked like a kid, maybe 16 years old, wearing a gray hoodie. He was edging towards the paramedic’s vehicle. The skin under his eyes was dark and he looked sick. I couldn’t tell what he was up to, but I got a bad feeling about him. Deciding to follow, I edged toward the paramedics.
The kid glanced at the paramedics, saw they were busy with the fire victims and slipped into the back of the van. I moved over and nudged the female police officer nearby and nodded slightly toward the van.
The officer turned, taking in the situation immediately and moved into action. She caught up with the kid and moved to get him out of the van. In the scuffle, the kid tripped and shoved the officer into the crowd. She fell to the ground.
I jumped forward to grab the kid just the same time as a large body came up behind me. I looked up, surprised to see it was Rhodes. The two of us grabbed the kid, one on each side.
My eyes met his over the kid’s head: his intense, mine quizzical. I was surprised to see he had been paying attention to the crowd as well as the fire. I twisted the kid’s arm to secure him as the officer made her way over to them, dusting off her uniform slacks.
“Thanks,” she said, nodding to Rhodes and I.
I knew quite a few of the officers in the local precinct, but she didn’t look familiar. Her name tag said Mathews and I nodded back as the officer took the boy from me.
“Drugs,” said Officer Mathews, pulling out a couple of vials from the boy’s pockets. “Buses are stocked with drugs for emergencies.”
“Buses?” I asked.
“The ambulance” Rhodes answered, still watching me intently.
“I’ll take this one in,” Officer Mathews said walking the kid to her cruiser.
I looked back at the fireman. “What kind of drugs?”
“Morphine, typically. It’s is worth quite a bit on the street” Rhodes said crossing his arms and stared, apparently assessing me.
“You have pretty fast reflexes,” he added finally.
I turned back to him, a half smile on my lips, “So do you.” I hadn’t even seen him come up behind me.
Rhodes stood eye level with me and I stepped back to put some distance between us. There was certainly chemistry there, but I had an afternoon meeting with a new client and had to get back to the office. Turning to head back the way I came, I noticed the fireman made a move as to say something. But he looked back at his crew and turned instead to join them.
I got halfway back to my office before I remembered my coffee on the sidewalk by the blonde. “Crap!” I sighed. “Probably cold by now anyway,” I muttered to myself as I unlocked the door and let myself in.
Chapter 2
My 3 o’clock was late.
I was just about to give up on him and revisit Heward Bank to look for another lead when Peter Mantovani walked in at 3:45pm. Mr. Mantovani was visibly stressed and looked like he regretted stepping into my doorway the moment he saw me.
“You’re a woman!” He said, obviously distressed.
“Just since last week,” I replied without missing a beat. “Those surgeons really are impressive!”
It was pretty common for people to come into my office to talk to Detective Malone, then get one look at me, realizing I was a woman and take off. I got a lot of grief for being a woman, but honestly, I was a great detective and tenacious as hell. I supposed I could go by my first name, so it wasn’t such a surprise, but then I’d get even fewer people coming to my office.
Also, I didn’t go by my first name, ever.
Mr. Mantovani just stared at me like I was insane. How would he know? The therapist was never able to prove anything.
“Mr. Mantovani, yes, I am a woman. I also happen to be a damn good detective. If you have a problem with that, please feel free to leave now.” I leveled with him as I came around the desk to stare him down, arms crossed. I was tall for a woman, and had about 5 inches on Petite Pete...man I’m going to have to remember that one. I had to fight a grin.
Peter stood there frowning, shifting from one foot to another and finally said, “Honestly, I’m not really sure what I’m doing here.” He sighed and ran a hand through his brown hair.
“What do you mean?” I asked, relaxing my pose.
“I wouldn’t even know what I’d do about it!”
“Mr. Mantovani, if you’d just start at the beginning.” I prompted him, guiding him to my office. My space included a small lobby with a private office in the back. Since I didn’t have a receptionist, I left my office door open and waited in the outer office if I was expecting someone.
It also gave me a little more privacy if I had multiple people present. I had dreams someday that I would have enough work to hire that receptionist. But for now, it was just me.
Another sigh escaped Peter. “Alright. It’s just that I think my nephew is embezzling from me. I own Mantovani's Pizza, down on 8th.”
“Okay,” I started. “That happens. I can look into it. I should be able to find out if he’s really stealing from you.”
“That’s not the problem,” Peter said, frustrated. “I’m pretty sure it’s him. I mean, someone is stealing from me. Money has been missing from the tip jar and we’ve been bringing in less revenue than normal, with the same customer activity. The sales are normal, but money is missing between the cash register and the deposits. Sometimes the cash register closes out short at the end of the night and sometimes it’s fine, but then money is disappearing from the safe.”
Peter placed his hands on his lap, shook his head and continued. “He’s the newest and has the most opportunity. He works as a fill in between the kitchen and tables. I’ve been catching him sneaking around, acting guilty.”
“Okay,” I replied. “If you’re so sure it’s him, why don’t you approach him?”
“Because that’s not the problem,” he replied. “The problem is that my nephew’s father, my brother-in-law, is Domenico Poggiali.”
Hmmm..that did complicate things, I thought, my eyes widening. Domenico Poggiali was suspected to have mob relations, he may even be one of the head guys. He was a scary dude.
Bad Company Page 1
