Bad Company

by Jen Schoenbein

  “What?” Peter exclaimed. “We have a budget for expendables, and I’ve been trying to keep mine down because you’ve been flying through it at the beginning of the month! You have groceries, a closet full of clothes and a car to drive. Why do you need so much?”

  “You really are insane, Peter! I need to keep up a certain respectability. Do you know who my brother happens to be? I’m expected to set a standard.” Shelly patted her blonde sprayed-hard helmet of hair. “You practically forced me to find another source of money.”

  “If you’re so desperate for money, why don’t you get a job?” Peter asked.

  “I do have a job!” Shelly cried.

  “What exactly do you do there?” Peter asked. “I really want to know.”

  “Well, I never,” Shelly pouted. “I make sure the cooks aren’t overusing ingredients and that the wait staff is, well, waiting on the customers!”

  “We don’t want the cooks to skimp on the food. We’ll lose our customers!” Peter stalked back over to her. “If you needed more money, you should have talked to me. We can come to some arrangement, but if you want to have a new wardrobe each season, I suggest you get a job. We don’t need a second manager at Mantovani’s. I only agreed to it because I thought you were really interested in the company. You can’t just steal from it!”

  “I don’t care about pizza! I don’t care about Mantovani’s. I end up smelling like oregano when I’m there. I just want to shop!” Shelly screamed. “Maybe we should call my brother and ask him what he thinks!”

  “Okay, Shelly,” Peter slowed. He picked up his cell phone. “Let’s call your brother. We can tell him that you’ve been skimming money from the registers at Mantovani’s. We can also tell him that you told me to look into Marco as the thief.”

  “Wait, wait, wait. On the other hand,” Shelly said reaching for his phone. “Dom’s a busy guy.”

  Shelly and Peter stood in their living room, staring down each other.

  “Fine,” Shelly sighed dramatically, waving her toxic green tipped fingers in the air. “I’ll quit taking money from the registers. I’ll try to keep to the measly budget and my miniscule pay check.”

  “Well…Mantovani’s isn’t doing too bad. I can increase your allowance each month. It’ll be yours to manage, no more expendable budget. I’ll manage the rest of the household expenses, including your car, insurance and gas. But you have to leave Mantovani’s alone. No more co-manager; no more stealing.” Pete leveled with her. “If you decide that’s not enough money, you’re going to have to find a job.”

  Shelly flopped down into a chair and rolled her eyes exasperatedly. “Okay, okay! I don’t know how I’ll make it work, but I’ll find a way.” Shelly slid her eyes to Peter. “On one condition.”

  “What?” Peter eyed her suspiciously.

  “You don’t tell Dom about all of this.”

  “You want me to keep Dom out of it? Well, I have a condition as well,” Peter added, leaning in.

  “What is it?” Shelly asked, looking nervous.

  “You have to apologize to the crew at Mantovani’s.”

  “What for?” Shelly gasped.

  “For treating them badly, yelling at them all the time and accusing them of theft!” Peter supplied.

  “As if!”

  The next morning, I pulled into Arlington Park and scanned the lot. There were no horse races on a Monday and the parking lot was fairly empty, but for a few cars near a side building. So, I parked near them and slid out of the car, coffee cup in hand and sunglasses on to block out the glare of the sun. I smoothed out my cream-colored slacks and straightened the red blouse I wore to look like I had money.

  I had swiped on some red lipstick and pearl studs, but the nude heels were what bugged me the most. I really hated wearing heels. Typically, I stuck to flats whenever possible, but I thought the occasion warranted it. At least I had found a pair with a slightly lower heel.

  I slowed my pace as I got re-accustomed to the heeled shoe. It wouldn’t do to look like I didn’t know how to walk in them. It would blow the whole facade.

  Although, I knew only workers and support staff would be on the grounds on Monday, but I hoped that there was enough varying business with different owners and vets that I would be able to be inconspicuous.

  There were several buildings on the grounds and I walked through to the stables. I saw few people, but they seemed to be busy and on their own agenda, carrying supplies or feed. I walked into the nearest barn and pushed my sunglasses back onto my head to see in the shady barn. I scanned the name plaques on the wall; Johnny B Great, Attila the Killa, Wakeful Tranquility.

  A short guy stepped out of one of the stalls with an empty bucket and a lead rope over his shoulder. He locked the stall and nodded to me. I nodded back and walked on. I walked out and into another barn to hear a couple arguing near a stall, Black Magic Fever. The woman lowered her voice and leaned in to deliver acidic remarks.

  I couldn’t make out what she said, but she was definitely upset with the man. She gave him one last glare and strode out of the barn. The man looked over at me sheepishly, obviously embarrassed with the display. I gave him a half smile and slight nod as I walked past, trying to read the name plaques without being obvious.

  There was a young-looking girl brushing a horse down and a couple of people filling water or feeding horses. Finally, I spotted Stand Up and Dance scripted on a plaque near the end of the barn. A man in with the horse. He had a bag outside the stall door and was checking the horse over with a stethoscope. I stepped to the stall next to him, Feed Me Seymour, and stopped to take a pretend phone call.

  “Yes, darling, I know. I won’t be buying any horses without your explicit approval. Why, you know that! I hardly know anything about horses.” I laid it on thick and examined the horse in front of me while glancing at the vet in my peripheral vision. He was eyeing me. “That was a one-time thing, sugarplum. I’m just meeting the guy. Oh, we’re going to need a vet, too, won’t we?” I smiled at the vet and wagged my fingers at him. “I mean, of course if we decide to buy the horse. Oh, gotta go, I see him now. TTYL!”

  I pressed a button on the phone to pretend ending the call and slid it in my pocket. “Hiya, sugar!” I fake drawled, sashaying over to the vet and fluffed my hair. I was laying it on thick.

  He smiled at me and held out his hand, “Hi.” He looked a bit over 50, lightly graying and thinning hair, was well manicured, but had a car salesman smile. “I’m Dr. Edward Millwood. Did I hear you’re looking for a vet?”

  “Yes! Isn’t this convenient!” I clapped my hands and smoothed my wavy hair down. I leaned in, “My husband and I went to a horse race last weekend and I just decided I had to have one! It’s going to be so exciting,” I exclaimed.

  Dr. Millwood’s eyes lit up with dollar signs, “Well, which horse are you looking at?”

  “I’m not really sure, to be honest,” I opened my eyes wide and played dumb. “I’m supposed to be meeting someone here, but I’m not really sure where I’m supposed to be. I just remember the name sounded funny.”

  The vet laughed a bit and said, “Well, I’m happy to keep you company while you wait. If you need some help looking the horse over, I’d be happy to help out. I specialize in racehorses, you see,” he had a smarmy smile on his face and leaned in. “And if you happen to need a vet once you find the right horse, I am happy to offer my services. I have had a certain amount of luck getting them in the best condition to race.”

  He definitely had bought the act and was ready to empty my bank account. He was the type to rob you blind and say “You’re welcome” in the process.

  I took his arm gazed up at his eyes, still pasting on the glassy stare of overcome awe, “Oh, pumpkin, that just sounds wonderful! The minute I saw you, I thought to myself, now there’s a man that knows what he’s doing! The way you take care of that horse, running your hands over him and checking for injuries.” I shook my head, “I can tell you’re a gifted vet. So, how do you get a
horse in condition?”

  “Well, I have access to the highest quality vitamins. I assess the horse and create a very special mix based on their unique chemistry,” he explained haughtily. Then glanced at me and frowned slightly. “Of course, it all depends on how dedicated you are to the horse’s best performance. The best quality vitamins and supplements can be expensive. It really depends on if you’re looking to race for fun, or if you’re really serious about winning.”

  I could tell I was getting fed a load of shit and I pasted a look on my face that said it tasted fantastic, “Oh, I am completely committed to winning!” My eyes got huge in my head and I nodded enthusiastically. I played with the strand of pearls I wore. “I happen to be extremely competitive. I’m willing to invest deeply on this.” I leaned in and toyed with his stethoscope. “However, I need to be off now and find that man! You have a card for me, Sug?”

  Dr. McSleazy practically oozed all over the card he handed me, and I nearly twitched with the urge to wipe my hands on my pants after dropping the card in my bag. I jotted my number and name “Moll” on his notebook and sauntered off, giving him a finger wave. Not the finger I wanted to give him, though.

  As I was heading out, I spotted Dessi coming into the other side of the barn. I slipped out carefully, hoping he didn’t see me. I wasn’t dressed as normal, but my red hair is kinda hard to hide.

  I was planning on seeing what I could find out about Dr. Millwood when I got back to my office, but I really needed to swing by for a coffee first. You know, just to wipe the taste of sleaze out of my mouth.

  After a wasted hour of research on Dr. Millwood, I gave up. All I had found on Dr. McSleazy was an old directory listing him at a downtown Chicago office. The office had long since closed and I couldn’t find any reference to where he was now or what had happened to the business.

  I pulled out his card again to look at it, but it was nondescript. It had a logo with a DNA chain and Dr. Edward A Millwood printed in block letters. No address, just a phone number.

  I sighed, there was nothing I could glean from it. I flipped it between my fingers while I considered what else I could track down.

  I googled the Chicago Tribune to find out what others were thinking about all of these fires. After another 30 wasted minutes I frowned at my computer screen. There wasn’t a single story about any of the fires in the Tribune.

  Pushing back from my computer, I crossed my arms and swivelled in my chair thinking. I picked up and set my pencil down as I considered possibilities.

  Then, I had a thought, so I looked up www.insideonline.com again and found the original articles on the fires I had read before. Huh, I knew we were small suburbs in Chicago, but this many fires should be big news.

  I decided to stop by and talk to Sully for more information, but needed a bite to eat first. I hadn’t eaten all day, getting caught up in research for much longer than I had planned. I headed to Mariano’s for a cobb salad.

  Meanwhile, in an Italian pizza joint, dripping with tension,

  “Good afternoon everyone,” Peter Mantovani said in the server area where he had called the staff meeting. He shifted on his feet, just a bit nervous. “Shelly just had a few things to say before the dinner rush.”

  He gestured to Shelly who stood there, equal parts angry and uncomfortable as well. She had her right hand at her hip, which was jutted out in a defiant attitude, fluorescent pink nails curving into her skinny jeans.

  “I just wanted to tell you all that this will be my last night here,” She shifted to the other hip, lips pursed. “I have to wrap up a few things in the office. You know, paperwork, but then I’m packing up. I’m just way too busy to have time to come in all the time. I just have too much on my plate right now.”

  Shelly looked over at Peter, who cleared his throat.

  “I know that sometimes I’ve been a little demanding, but that’s really just because I wanted the business to succeed,” Shelly started.

  Peter pulled out his cell phone and tipped it so Shelly could see the contact list was scrolled to Dom’s contact information. He raised an eyebrow.

  Shelly jerked straight and blurted out, “I just wanted to say I’m sorry!”

  Peter stifled a smile and looked at the crew. They all looked around at each other with wide eyes, a little in shock. Phil rolled his eyes to Marion and Marco tilted his head in curiosity. Sally just stood there taking it all in, face blank.

  “I mean, like I said, I want the business to do well,” Shelly clarified. “And I was just trying to do my job!”

  “Okay, I think we’re done here,” Peter rolled his eyes and gestured the crew back out to the floor. He glanced back at Shelly and frowned as she huffed and charged out, teetering on her bright purple heeled mules.

  “The only other news I have to share is that Mal has taken another position, so she won’t be filling in anymore,” Peter explained. “It’s a normal Monday night, business as usual. I’ll probably be looking for another person to fill in now and then, so if you know of anyone looking for a few hours a few nights a week, have them come fill out an application.”

  “Will do, Boss,” replied Sally, straight hair swinging as she headed out to the bar and began cleaning glasses from the afternoon crowd.

  The rest of the crew filtered out to their areas and slowly got busy with work. They kept glancing back and forth between themselves, waiting for Peter to leave before discussing the news.

  Chapter 12

  I wandered into the front door of Fire Central, the administrative offices for North Side’s fire department. The secretary raised her eyebrows and smiled.

  “Hi, I was hoping to see Assistant Chief Sullivan,” I said. “Is he around?”

  “I can check,” The secretary replied and tilted her head. “Can I tell him who’s asking?”

  “Sure, I’m Detective Malone,” I replied reaching out to shake her hand. “I just had some questions I wanted to ask him.”

  “Nice to meet you, Detective. Are you on the force?”

  “No, I’m a private investigator.”

  The secretary nodded and picked up the phone, “If you’d please take a seat, I’ll see if he’s available.”

  I walked over to a row of chairs on the far wall but stood instead. I really hated sitting around.

  “You’re in luck, Detective,” the secretary replied. “Sully’s on his way down.”

  “Thanks.”

  I looked over at the firefighter photos lining the walls. It looked like yearbook photos, headshots of all the crew, but only captured every 5 years or so. I wandered until I found a picture of Marlon Rhodes, only the smile I was getting used to seeing wasn’t on his face. I looked around and none of the guys were smiling. Men are weird, I thought.

  The door to my right opened up and a tall man in his early 50’s with graying temples came out. “Detective Malone?” he asked.

  “Yes sir,” I stepped forward and took his offered hand. “Thanks so much for meeting with me. I just had a few questions I wanted to ask you.”

  He nodded, “No problem. We can go to my office.” He turned and held the door open for me as he gestured down the hallway. Fire Central was a working fire station, so there was a lot of noise from the radio. Calls from other districts echoed overhead.

  The Assistant Chief’s office was a small, bright room with a window overlooking the street. I sat in one of the two slightly worn chairs in front of large, similarly worn desk.

  “Chief Sullivan,” I started.

  “Oh, please,” he interrupted me with a shake of his head. “Please call me Sully.”

  “Sully it is,” I smiled. “I just wanted to talk to you a bit about the fires that have been all over town. I was in Roscoe Village a couple of weeks ago when the fire happened there. It’s my neighborhood, so I was concerned. I did a little research and found there’s been fires all over, in different neighborhoods.”

  “Oh, yes. It’s a real shame,” Sully ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “I had
high hopes for that place. It was a non-profit that provided housing for those struggling to pay rent. I helped get that place off the ground. It was a good program, because part of the program was working with facilitators to learn skills from interviewing to computer classes and personal budgeting. They even had to provide general maintenance on their temporary residence. With help and guidance, of course, wherever was needed.”

  “That is a great program,” I nodded, appreciatively. “I heard a little about it when it kicked off, but nothing since. Will they be able to continue at a different location?”

  “I’m not sure yet, they did lose a lot of equipment, but with insurance they may be okay. We should know more after the next City meeting.”

  “I’ve heard that you helped get the preschool in Ravenswood get off the ground as well,” I asked. “Were all the fires associated with City-funded programs? Doesn’t that seem suspicious?”

  “Well,” Sully started awkwardly, rubbing his face. “They had some funding from the city, but we also had fundraisers and donations from the neighborhoods in particular to put money into their own burg’s. I’m not sure about suspicious, but it is a significant loss to the city.”

  “And you were backing all of these foundations, as well, right?”

  “Well, yes. I am very involved in improving the Chicago suburbs. I donate a lot of my time socializing these programs and get donors to fund them. I spent too many years working fire suppression and seeing the problems in the neighborhoods. Anything I can do to tip the scale, I will.” Sully looked pointedly at me. “Now, what are you getting at? Are you working a case in regard to the fires?”

  “Uh, no,” It was my turn to answer awkwardly. “This is actually mostly just general curiosity.” I shrugged. “I didn’t get to be a detective because I could leave a trail cold.”

  “I get that, but the police have been looking into these fires.”

  “So, they were arson?” I went ahead and asked. The worst he could do was not answer.