Bad Company

by Jen Schoenbein

  “You mean you don’t need that,” I accused, eyes narrowing. I knew that he couldn’t realistically keep a tail on Dessi without compelling evidence, but I wanted to give him shit.

  “Geez, Mal,” he ran his hand through his thick black hair, eyes pleading. “Give me a break.”

  I rolled my eyes and turned to leave.

  “I did call and check in with the Mennon’s earlier this morning, though,” he offered. “Suzy seems to be doing fine. Sure did hold up well for being underground so long.”

  “Suzy’s a tough one,” I agreed, turning slightly back, hand on the doorway.

  “Nice couple, although the husband’s a little nerdy,” Alex grinned.

  “Sam’s great and never gave up on her,” I leaned, eyes narrowed, to make the point. “He helped me find her.”

  “Yeah, for sure. I’m just saying he’s a funny guy. Very smart, though,” he tried to make up for the comment.

  I rolled my eyes again. They were getting quite the workout today.

  “It was nice to see you last night at Hungry’s. I know the guys were happy to see you there.” He shifted on his feet a bit, hands out on his desk.

  I paused, not sure how to respond.

  “Thanks. It was nice seeing everyone,” I admitted, crossing my arms.

  “I didn’t say hi, didn’t want to ruin your mood,” he said offhandedly, shrugging.

  I had a bubble of emotion raise up, but squashed it pretty quickly. I wasn’t going to feel sorry for him. He screwed up our relationship, not me.

  “Thanks for that,” I raised my head a notch. I had lost some of my anger, though.

  “It would be nice if we could be social with one another without biting each other’s heads off,” he said, watching me closely. He actually looked a little regretful.

  “Maybe someday,” I agreed, held tilted. “But not today.”

  I turned and left this time without waiting for his response. I still wasn’t ready to let go completely. I wasn’t sure I ever would. I didn’t let my guard down easily and when I had, he had crapped on it. Part of my anger was at myself for trusting him. Great, I was angry at myself because of him.

  I left the station and found the Jeep, seeing her dark green hood by the side of the road. I didn’t have time to make it to Uptown before lunch, so I headed Northwest instead.

  When I pulled into the lot, I was luckily still a bit early. I popped the back of the Jeep and rooted around in the duffle bag I kept back there. I found a nice button up shirt and a long necklace I was able to put on over my V-neck t-shirt. The navy blouse was flowy and loose enough not to see the shirt underneath.

  I found a large statement ring to slip on my first finger and ran my fingers through my wavy red hair. I tried to tame down the curls as best I could, to give me more of a sleek look instead of the running-through-a-wind-tunnel look that it currently had. I guess I shouldn’t have had driven with the windows down, but it had warmed to a nice sunny Spring day.

  When I had done the best I could do, I grabbed a tote that I kept in my back, threw my keys inside instead of clipping them to my belt and tossed my wallet inside. I settled the tote in the crook of my arm, slipped my sunglasses back on and adopted a slower pace as I strode into Shallots Bistro to meet Dr. McSleazy.

  I scanned the place, slipping my sunglasses on top my head. I didn’t see my lunch date in the dimly lit room, but did see a bar, so I walked over and slid onto a stool.

  The bartender raised his eyebrows and smiled, “Can I get you something?”

  I smiled sweetly, cover already in place. “That’d be great, sugar! I’ll take a Chardonnay.”

  The bartender nodded and pulled out a glass. I looked over the place a bit while he filled my glass. It was a nice restaurant, a little fancier than I typically went for.

  He slipped the glass in front of me. “Would you like a menu?”

  “No, thank you.” I smiled, taking a sip. “I’m meeting someone. He hasn’t arrived.”

  The bartender nodded and went back to cleaning glasses.

  I sipped slowly at the glass for a minute or so until I saw the doctor’s sandy blonde hair come in the building. He had fine hair and wore it a little long, so that it feathered where he had it parted and brushed across his forehead to hide the receding hairline. I could see him searching the interior for me, and a smile crossed his overly tanned face when he found me at the bar, glass in hand.

  “I hope I didn’t keep you waiting” he said walking up to me.

  “Oh, not at all,” I smiled. “I only just got here.”

  “Shall we get a table?” he asked.

  “Definitely,” I nodded, laying cash on the counter for my drink.

  Dr. Millwood gave the hostess his name and she led us to a white linen covered table. Millwood held my chair for me as I sat down. I rolled my eyes to myself as he scooted it in for me, then plastered on a smile as he came around to join me.

  It was a nice place with stone walls giving the place an upscale feel. I scanned the lunch menu while sipping on my wine.

  “Get anything you’d like,” Dr McSleazy crooned, waving a hand. “It’s on me.”

  “Oh, aren’t you generous,” I purred, leaning forward while inwardly vomiting a little.

  They had decent food options and I settled on a grilled steak wrap and side salad, while the good, uh bad doctor got the schnitzel sandwich. I leaned back and toyed with my wine glass stem.

  “It’s so good to see you, Doctor!” I drawled.

  “Oh, my dear. Please call me Edward!”

  “Edward,” I said, smiling, like it didn’t curdle my stomach. “I’ve been just so excited about us working together. I can’t wait to get started!”

  “Me too!” Edward smiled, looking too smug in his black turtleneck and mushroom blazer.

  I glazed over a bit while he went on and on about the weather, the traffic and his intense knowledge of wine. I just kept smiling and nodding my head. This went on through the lunch itself until we were nearly finished. I knew business was generally conducted after the meal, but it was a stupid tradition.

  “That’s fascinating, Edward! It’s obvious you are an accomplished man. I’m so glad to have found you. I would love to hear more about your incredible veterinary care” I nodded, eyes wide in appreciation.

  “Well, Moll, it’s not just veterinary care. It’s personalized medical science based on the equine’s specific DNA and blood type,” McSleazy corrected me. I think I had hit a nerve with the vet comment.

  “I can come up with the perfect mix of supplements to enhance a racehorse’s performance! Completely natural and legal, of course,” he added offhandedly.

  “Of course,” I murmured in agreement. My ass.

  “I even can guarantee the horses improvement” he nodded emphatically.

  “That’s incredible,” I put a hand to my chest.

  “Have you and your husband decided on a horse, yet” he asked?

  “Well, not quite,” I hedged. Then brightly said, “would you happen to know of any horses for sale that would be good candidates?”

  “Like I said, I can improve ANY horse,” he boasted. “But I think I can come up with some good options for you, if you’d like. And remember, my dear, anything’s for sale if you want it enough!”

  I squealed with excitement and rolled my eyes inside. He was playing right into the persona I was laying down. And it was disgusting. I couldn’t believe people really talked like this.

  “Can I ask who you’ve worked with in the past?”

  “I do hold my client’s confidentiality very seriously, but...let’s just say that I’ve worked with some of the big families in Chicago that have interest in the grand tradition of horse racing,” he all but patted himself on the back with his statement.

  It sounded like he was referencing Dessi and I was relieved to find the tie.

  “Yes, of course. So, once we decide on a horse, we hire you to get his supplements and training set up?”

&
nbsp; “That’s right, I have a standard contract, of course, but don’t you worry about that,” he grinned at me.

  “Sounds wonderful,” I smiled. “And we’ll have the best hands taking care of the newest member of our family!”

  Dr. McSleazy gave a slight frown, “Yes, well, I do have a team that helps support me. One of them is an outstanding young man, Ty, who is my physician's assistant. I’ve been grooming him, you understand.”

  “But I want your specialized care, Edward,” I shook my eyes and looked sad.

  “Oh, please understand that you will be receiving only the best care and that I will be personally involved every step of the way.” he oozed. “I have a very hands on approach.”

  Ugh, shoot me now.

  “Ty is my protege, you see. He’s just so very much like me at that age. I’ve taken it upon myself to help him succeed in this business,” Edward said preening himself to the point of petting. “So, I help guide him and he gets the official sign off. Just for establishing his own records, you understand.”

  “How very kind of you,” I answered.

  I was getting very tired of the charade, but since we were getting somewhere, I stuck it out a bit longer.

  McSleazy talked more about his process, testing and diet, but in the end, I hadn’t found out anything else on the matter. He promised to call me the following day with a few names of horses and contacts to investigate. I thanked him profusely, fussed over him and made my way to the parking lot to word vomit all the nasty things I wanted to say to him in person.

  As I headed back to town I made a short list of things to do. I needed to investigate Ty and find out why he’s signing off on everything. Was Dr. McSleazy just the marketing guy, getting new business with Ty being the brain behind the science? Or maybe there was something wrong with Edward’s license to practice medicine?

  My gut told me it was a third option, that the bad doctor was doing bad things and getting young Ty to put his name on it. I shook my head. I hated it when innocent people get bulldozed like that.

  I could investigate the first two a bit, but I was betting pretty hard on the third. I intended to go back to the office to look into this Ty guy, but ended up swinging into the parking lot at Inside-Online instead. It was the Jeep’s fault, she was curious as hell. I patted her hood as I rounded the corner to walk up the steps of the office.

  Chapter 15

  I pulled my glasses off when I walked in from the bright sun to find a busy little office. The middle-aged receptionist greeted me and I introduced myself and asked to talk to Paul Whitfield, the author that had written the articles about the fires.

  She had a strained look on her face, but was polite when she directed me to the waiting area, to the side of her desk.

  Picking up her phone, she spoke low and carefully into the receiver. Her brow furrowed, and she lowered her voice even more, speaking more forcefully. I couldn’t quite get what she was saying, but she ended it with a snap of the wrist as she plunked the receiver back on its cradle.

  She lifted her head to me and said, “He’ll be right out, Ms. Malone.”

  Sure enough, not 2 minutes later, a soft 40-something man with sandy hair came around the corner, looking frazzled and tense.

  “Uh, Miss Malone?” he asked, as if he was hoping I was someone else.

  “Yes. Hi, Mr. Whitfield,” I stood and held out my hand to shake his. “I just have a few questions if you have a moment.”

  He glanced at the receptionist, who just glanced up at him over her glasses.

  “Sure, yes,” he replied, casting his eyes down to his feet. “I have a few minutes. We can go to my office.”

  I nodded, confused at the exchange. I followed him into a brightly lit room with papers and clippings scattered over the desk. I took a seat in front of his desk and watched him nervously shove his hand through his hair and pace a bit before he sat down.

  “Mr. Whitfield,” I began, but was cut off before I could finish.

  “I know what you’re going to say, but it’s my job!” he exclaimed, spreading his hands on his desk. “I’m report the news. It’s what I do!”

  “Okay” I nodded slowly, not sure what to say.

  “Can you please tell your boss to stop sending people? I’ve been avoiding you guys because I can’t do anything for you! The article has gone out, it’s done!”

  “Mr. Whitfield,” I tried again, holding up a hand to stop him. “I believe you have me mistaken for someone else. I was not sent here by anyone.”

  He stopped and frowned at me.

  “Then, what do you want?”

  “Look, Paul. Can I call you Paul?” I asked, trying to get him to relax. “I just wanted to ask you about the articles that you wrote about the fires.”

  The pained look crossed his face again and he rolled his eyes.

  “I told you! I it’s my job!”

  “I realize that, Paul,” I said frowning. “That’s why I’m here. I want to know why you’re the only paper reporting on it. Why they’re not in the Tribune.”

  I watched him carefully as he frowned again, staring intently at me.

  “You’re not trying to talk me out of writing the articles?” He said finally.

  “No, I’m not. I’m glad you did.” I reassured him. “Who’s trying to talk you out of it?”

  Paul slumped in his chair and ran his hands over his face.

  “I’m not sure exactly,” he replied. “I’ve had several visitors highly encouraging me to stop writing articles about the fire.”

  “Really? Any idea why?”

  “Well, I haven’t quite figured that out, but they’re very motivated about it.” he looked at me with a wary expression. “Are you sure you aren’t here to talk me out of writing anymore articles?”

  “I’m sure,” I grinned. “I’m trying to figure out why everyone else isn’t reporting on them as well.”

  “Well, for starters, probably the same reason that they’re trying to talk me out of it,” he said nodding. “It seems, Miss Malone, that we’ve stumbled upon something big.”

  “I would have to agree with you. I’m trying to figure out what that is. And who is causing these fires,” I leveled with him. “They need to be stopped.”

  “That’s right!” he leaned forward in his chair and placed his hands on the desk. “If we don’t report on the news, no one will know what’s happening. That’s what’s really going on here. And I won’t be a part of it!”

  I grinned again at him. It was nice meeting another person so passionate about their work and standing up for what they believe in.

  “What did they say to you about it,” I asked. “The people that tried to talk you out of it.”

  “Well, I took some notes on it, to figure it out,” he replied pulling out a notepad similar to mine. “But I can’t quite connect the dots. I was approached after the first article came out on the fire. A young businessman in a suit. He told me his boss sent him to talk about the article. He wanted me to retract the article. He said the article was impeding the arson investigation.”

  “Was he a cop?” I asked.

  “I don’t think so. He made to imply he was working with them, though.”

  “Fire?”

  “Not sure. He didn’t give me any personal information, not even a name. He mentioned that the articles were giving publicity to the arsonist, which is what he, the arsonist, I mean, wants.”

  I leaned back in my chair as I was listening.

  “It makes some sense, but freedom of speech and all that!” he replied, throwing his hands up. “I told him I’d be more conscious of what details I published next time and sent him away.”

  “After the next fire, I received a phone call asking if I was going to write another article. I told the guy on the phone that I had to report the truth. It’s my job. They offered to make it worth my while. I refused them again and was told I would regret the decision. After that, a few other people showed up at the office asking to see me. I rejected t
hem at first, but they caused quite a scene and Judy, the receptionist told me to deal with my own mess. But I snuck out the back door and went home early.”

  Paul put his head in his hands. “Judy was so pissed when I came in the next day. I thought she was going to throttle me.”

  “Why didn’t you tell security?”

  “We’re a small newspaper. We don’t have security.”

  “In Chicago?” I asked incredulously.

  “We have had to cut a lot of staff,” he replied. “More and more people every year are subscribing to the Mighty Tribune.”

  I told Paul that I was looking into the fires and went over the list of fires that I knew of to make sure I wasn’t missing any. He had reported on all of them that he knew of, so I figured my list was fairly complete.

  “Have you talked to the other newspapers?” I asked.

  “Yes, and they were very tight lipped about it. Said they didn’t know what I was talking about,” he said disappointedly. “I’m guessing they took the bribe. I only know of one article that was published by another paper, but then nothing.”

  “Do you know of other fires?” I asked.

  “I heard there were others, but I don’t know where or when,” he shook his head.

  I sighed, trying to think of anything else helpful to ask.

  “Are you going to write an article about this? Exposing the Tribune for covering up stories and being bribed?” I gestured to him.

  “Well,” he squirmed in his chair. “I’m not sure. It’s one thing to write about something that people know is happening, but I’m afraid if I do that, I’ll really be in trouble. I don’t know what they’ll do. I don’t have kids or anything, but my parents would be crushed if anything happened to me.”

  He looked at me with a face of regret and fear. I wanted to judge him for not pushing more, but I got it. My path wasn’t the same as everyone else’s. I expected more from a journalist, someone wanting to report the truth. But I guess it takes all kinds.

  I thanked him for his help and left my card for him to call if he needed anything. I wrote Jen’s number on it, too in case he wanted to report the threat. I encouraged him to to do so.