by G. K. Parks
Opening the freezer, I found the bottle behind the ice cream and frozen mixed berries. “C’mon, confess, you were hiding the good stuff.”
An amused smirk lit up his face. “That’s what I did last night.” His eyes twinkled with mischievous glee.
“You and those damn glow-in-the-dark condoms.” I shook my head and busied myself with finding a shaker to hide the blush on my face. “Pervert.”
“I prefer the term creative genius.”
“And I prefer non-glowing latex.”
“Fine, but that means we’ll have to leave the lights on until we finish the box.”
“I like keeping the lights on.”
“Now who’s the pervert?” He kissed my cheek as he went by. “For the record, I like keeping the lights on too, unless it’s the middle of the night and there’s the possibility we might actually sleep at some point. Then again, if the last few weeks are any indication, our chances of ever getting a good night’s sleep are probably slim to none.”
“Tell me why getting sloshed right now and going to bed is a bad idea.” I poured a shot and drank it straight before measuring out the contents for my martini. “Do you want one?”
“So I can get sloshed too?”
“Sure. Why the hell not?”
He capped the bottle and stuck it back in the freezer, answering my question. “You’re not drinking your dinner.” He pressed his lips together, watching as I took a sip. “Alexis, what’s wrong?”
“I just told you.” I tapped the rim of the glass. “Is this thing on?” He didn’t laugh at my joke.
“You have to talk to me. The last time you didn’t tell me what was going on, you ended up moving in. Next time, we’ll have to get engaged or something. At this rate, you’ll run out of grand gestures and escape routes pretty fast.”
“It’s nothing. I’m just frustrated, confused, and annoyed, and I hate being those things.” My phone rang, and I swore again. Checking the ID, it was O’Connell. “Don’t wait on dinner. This might take a while. I promised a client that I’d look into something for him.”
“A client?” Martin raised an eyebrow. It was obvious he found this tidbit of news pleasing. “Are you planning on returning to the private sector?”
“No. It’s a favor for an acquaintance, and it somehow relates back to the OIO case. Therefore, I can’t discuss it.”
“Fine. I’ll be upstairs in my office, analyzing MT’s new marketing objectives. Come find me when you’re done, and we’ll eat then.”
“We don’t have to eat together,” I said while simultaneously answering the call.
Martin shrugged, turned off the oven, and went up the stairs.
“What do you mean we don’t have to eat together?” Nick asked. “The only reason I called is so I don’t have to eat alone since Jenny’s still at work.”
“Ha ha. Why don’t you come over and eat with Martin? That way the two of you can leave me the hell alone.”
“Someone’s bitchy.” He cleared his throat. “Am I supposed to apologize for snapping at you earlier today?”
“No.”
“Good. I really didn’t want to.”
“Is there a point to this call?”
“Yeah, you might want to grab a pen and sit down.”
Fletcher delivered an envelope of cash to the locker at precisely five o’clock. He wasn’t stopped by anyone inside the gym, and that feat was made easier since Tim Coker had to run an errand and was conveniently out of the gym for a few minutes. The other fighters didn’t pay the attorney any attention, and Jack was in and out within three minutes. However, it was now after eight p.m., and no one had made a move to collect the envelope of cash from the locker. The police were still monitoring the area. They had even planted a tiny recording device inside the envelope, so if the locker was opened or the light pattern changed, a signal would be sent to the officers keeping watch. Frankly, it looked like the operation was tanking, which explained why O’Connell was calling.
“Do you think the surveillance teams have been made?” I asked.
“I don’t know. If they were, no one noticed it happening.”
“Please tell me a bunch of overzealous officers weren’t speaking cryptically into their sleeves.”
“We do train our people better than that. It’s not like we have those earpieces with the curlicue wires running down the side of our necks and into the back of our collars.”
“That’s the secret service, not the FBI.” I rolled my eyes. Our fight was moot. This conversation was moot. Hell, the entire case was fucking moot. “Has Fletcher received any other communications?”
“I was about to ask you the same thing. As far as I know, our blackmailer has gone radio silent. However, our digging into this matter has turned up some interesting facts that you might find enlightening. Do you recall Fletcher saying that his friend placed a winning bet that night?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Well, it turns out we’re dealing with the exact same amount. The blackmail demand was precisely what his pal won. Odd coincidence, isn’t it?”
“So it’s possible Fletcher was just an innocent bystander, and the blackmail was intended for his co-worker.”
“Could be, or it could have just been a random amount that happened to coincide with his friend’s winnings,” O’Connell said. “However, if it’s not a coincidence, that means either the house or a bookie is our blackmailer. Do you happen to know anyone good with numbers who also has access to the locker room?”
“I might know a guy.” I bit my lip, deep in thought. Dennison was an accounting major. Was he at the fight? Would Fletcher recognize him?
“Does this guy have a name?” O’Connell asked.
“Yes, but I can’t hand him over to you. I need to check with Fletcher first and reevaluate the fight videos. I gotta go. Thanks, Nick.”
“You’re just gonna leave me hanging?”
“Murder trumps blackmail, but in the event I’m wrong, you might want to start your own investigation into identifying the blackmailer.”
“Without a pick-up, I don’t know that we have enough evidence. Fletcher received anonymous communications. We can’t just pin it on someone. The LT said I have a day to put this together. You could have at least bought me dinner before screwing me.”
He hung up, and I went into my makeshift office and turned on my laptop, already dialing Fletcher. When he answered, I said, “I’m e-mailing you a photo. Tell me if you recognize this man.”
“What happened with the drop? Is someone in custody?” Fletcher asked.
“No. The cash hasn’t been picked up yet, but this could be the break we’ve been waiting for. Detective O’Connell might have connected the blackmail to the OIO investigation. Just look at the photo.” I hit send and waited for Fletcher to speak.
“That’s the man that took our bets,” Fletcher said, “but he was much more discreet. He wore a ball cap and windbreaker. At the other events, he had sunglasses, but that night, he took off the glasses because the lights were low.”
“You’re sure it’s him?”
“I’m positive.” Fletcher sighed unhappily. “This means I’ll have to testify, and this won’t be brushed under the rug.” He swore a few times. “I’ll turn my resignation in tomorrow morning.”
“Don’t do that yet. This isn’t a fire sale. Everything doesn’t have to go.”
“It’ll look better if I resign instead of being asked or forced to leave.”
“Look, I have enough of my own problems, Mr. Fletcher, but you should wait this out until we have someone in custody. Who knows what charges or what evidence might come to light.”
“Is that your legal opinion?”
“No, I don’t have a legal opinion, but I do have knowledge of pending federal charges that are unrelated to gambling.”
“Okay.” He took a deep breath. “Will you give me a call when this turns into a fire sale?”
“You have my word.”
I called M
ark to relay my findings. After speaking to O’Connell, I spent the next four hours rewatching the fight footage, making certain that Philip Dennison was present at the fights. Since Fletcher said Dennison was at the other bouts taking bets, I watched those videos too, marking down timestamps for the techs.
“I know this might sound crazy, but Philip Dennison is the blackmailer,” I said.
“Do the police have him in custody?”
“No, the cash hasn’t been picked up. There’s no proof, but circumstances dictate that he’s our guy.”
“Okay, I’ll bite,” Mark said. “Is he also our shooter? What reason would he have to kill William Briscoe?”
“I don’t know the answer to either of those questions. What did Lucca find after I left? Did he discover anything related to Dennison that might point to a smoking gun?”
“Nothing conclusive.” An awkward pause filled the air between us. “Parker, I’m worried about you.”
“You always worry about me. That’s nothing new.”
“But you throwing in the towel is new. What the hell was today’s conversation about? You don’t give up. So what’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I’m being realistic.”
“Bullshit. I’m not asking this question as your boss. I’m asking as your friend.”
“Things have to be different this time, or I have to be different this time. So I’m prioritizing my efforts.”
“Did Marty say something about you working too much? Because he’s one to talk.”
“Martin has nothing to do with this.” I paused, wondering why there was such animosity on both sides. “What’s going on with the two of you? You’re supposed to be friends. Did I miss something?”
“You should ask him.” Mark cleared his throat. “Look, since you’re prioritizing, whatever that means, we’ll work on a solution tomorrow. Maybe Dennison will grab the cash in the morning, and the PD will nab him. Then we’ll just hit him with a phonebook until he confesses.”
“That wouldn’t be admissible in court,” I deadpanned.
“It was a joke, Parker. Get some sleep. I want to see the optimistic version of you in the morning.”
“I’m pretty sure there’s never been an optimistic version of me.”
“Well, consider throwing the realist out the window so we can get back to the status quo. I miss the pain in the ass that refuses to give up.”
Sometimes, I did too.
Thirty-one
“Why the hell would anyone ask for thousands of dollars and just leave it in an unsecured location?” Lucca asked.
The three of us were positioned around the conference table, sipping coffee and attempting to remain in an upright position. At least, that’s what I was doing. Jablonsky looked like he had an idea, and from the dark rings underneath Lucca’s eyes, I couldn’t be positive that I wasn’t staring into a mirror.
“Lucca, I want you to pull Dennison’s class schedule and wait for him at the university. Let’s give the tree a nice shake and see what happens. I’m guessing that he’ll make a grab for the cash if we scare him.”
“What should I question him about?” Lucca asked, sitting up straighter.
“Ask about Facini. They’re roommates, and that way, Dennison won’t necessarily think we’re on to him. Throw in a question or two about Bellows and ask if he knows Will Briscoe Jr. Don’t let on what we know or what we’re investigating. Keep it brief. Scattershot.”
“Aye, sir.” Lucca’s eyes darted to the conference room door.
“You don’t have to wait to be dismissed,” I whispered loud enough that Mark heard. “Jablonsky said that yesterday. Weren’t you paying attention?”
“Parker,” Mark’s full attention was on me, but I caught the amused look that he was doing his best to hide, “it seems you’ve changed your tune since yesterday. Any particular reason for it?”
I waited for Lucca to leave before I said, “I threw rationality out the window this morning. You wanted crazy, reckless Alexis Parker, so you got her.”
“That’s not what I meant.” He flipped through the file again. “If the bait doesn’t work, we’ll have to run a Hail Mary play. Facini knows us, so you can’t go near the apartment.”
“I’m guessing I’ll be stopping by the gym again tonight.” I snorted. “Damn, I shouldn’t have left my boxing gloves at home.”
I worked from my desk the rest of the day. Lucca’s attempt to spook Dennison didn’t yield the results we wanted, so he was hanging out with the surveillance team to see if anything exciting happened at the apartment. At four, O’Connell called to say that the PD was pulling units off the gym in another two hours. Our day was up, and if no one came to collect the blackmail money, then they probably wouldn’t. After voicing this update to Jablonsky, he phoned Lt. Moretti and asked for another few hours. It was possible the pick-up might be made during class change when the men were clearing out. Unfortunately, the PD was only willing to wait around until eight, and then they were washing their hands of this mess.
“Parker,” Mark hollered, and I stepped into his office, “get down there and see if you can accidentally bump into Brad.”
“Why don’t I just call him and make a date?”
“All right. See if you can get him on the hook, just make sure you don’t run into Facini. And be careful, he has a temper.”
“So do I.”
“Yes, but you didn’t kill two men because you were pissed about a boxing match.”
“Dammit, we don’t even know our shooter’s motive. What have we been doing for the last two weeks?” Mark ignored my question, and I returned to my desk to attempt to make a date.
“Hello?” Brad answered on the second ring.
“Hey, Brad. It’s Alex, the troublemaker from the gym.”
“Hey, yourself. What’s up?”
“I’ve had a long day at work, and since I can’t exactly blow off steam at the gym anymore, I wondered if I could interest you in meeting for drinks. Maybe afterward we could work on some close quarters maneuvers.”
“I don’t know.” Despite his words, he sounded interested.
“Oh, right, you’ll probably be worn out from working out. I guess I’ll just have to call someone else. Another time, then?”
“No, I can make tonight work. How does seven sound?”
It sounds like you’re desperate. “Great. Shall we hit that tavern near your place?”
“Sure. I’ll see you there.”
Returning to Mark’s office, I relayed the news. Since the PD was pulling their surveillance teams at eight, hopefully our seven p.m. rendezvous would encourage someone at Brad’s apartment to pick up the money before our date. If not, there was a fine line between coercion, entrapment, and having someone willingly commit a crime right in front of my face, but I was willing to make it work. It’s not like anything else had, and Jablonsky said it was time for a Hail Mary. Too bad I left my rosary beads at home with my boxing gloves.
After endless hours of research that failed to result in anything substantially incriminating, I went into the women’s locker room to prepare for my date. Shellacking on the makeup and clipping my hair into a loose bun, I gave my reflection a final glance and hoped for the best. Then I slipped my nine millimeter into my purse with my credentials, removed my shoulder holster, and traded out the government-issued vehicle for my car. I fired off a text to Lucca to tell him and our surveillance unit that I’d be in the neighborhood and not to blow my cover. His reply wasn’t exactly professional, but they had my back.
I arrived at the destination thirty minutes early and circled the neighborhood, looking for a decent parking space and checking to see if I could spot the police surveillance vehicles. A nondescript white van was parked near the gym, and a few men in cheap suits sat stiffly at the window of a coffeehouse. They very well could be the reason Dennison hadn’t picked up the money. Our own surveillance team was still keeping watch on the apartment, but they were in an SUV parked a block away. It wasn’t exac
tly clandestine, but it was better than the PD’s version. Damn, when did I buy into the us versus them mentality?
Stepping out of my car, I locked the doors and gave my reflection another look, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear and opening another button on my blouse. The white dress shirt I wore with black slacks was fundamental to most business professions, so hopefully, Brad wouldn’t think too hard about it. Then again, if I kept opening buttons, he wouldn’t be thinking about much of anything. Snorting at the sudden conceitedness that seemed slightly out of character, I sauntered into the tavern and selected a table in the middle of the room.
A waitress appeared, and I ordered a glass of white wine to sell my cover and waited for Brad. When she stopped by again to ask if I needed anything else, I asked for a bowl of pretzels. By the time I had made a slight dent, Brad appeared, freshly showered and dressed in a t-shirt and jeans. He waved before joining me at the table.
“Hey,” he leaned in close, “did I keep you waiting?”
“It’s not your fault. I was early.”
“Sucky day?”
“Yeah. I have a lot of those.”
“Me too.” He motioned to the waitress for a beer. “I was surprised you called.”
“Why? You gave me your number for a reason, didn’t you?” I smiled like I had a secret. “Or was that only to be used to arrange going to a fight together?”
“You can use it any time you want.” He returned the smile, his eyes never leaving mine, even as the waitress placed his beer on the table.
“How was the gym?” I asked, breaking eye contact and taking a sip of my wine. “Did Coker bitch about chicks being a pain in the ass?”
He laughed. “No. Apparently, there was only one that was a pain, but she’s gone now. The rest of the crew was pretty docile. Damn, what a firebrand, stirring up trouble.” He drank a third of his beer and grinned.
“I wish I had kept my mouth shut. I get so annoyed at work that the only thing I want to do is haul off and hit something.”
“Have you ever considered anger management?”
“Why would I need anger management if I have a heavy bag to hit or a willing sparring partner?”
