Jack Daniels and Associates: Snake Wine

by Bernard Schaffer

  "Hello?" a pleasant-sounding woman's voice said.

  "Hi, Bernice. It's Jack."

  "Hi, Jack. How are you? How's the trial going?"

  "Good. Just taking a long time. There's a lot of charges. Is Herb around?"

  "No," Bernice said. "I figured he was still busy with you. What did you guys have last night?"

  "Last night?" I said.

  "I figure it had to be bad for him not to call. He must have come home after I fell asleep and been out before I woke up because I never heard him come in. He normally wakes me up with his snoring. Anyhow, I've been checking the news but didn't see anything. Was it a murder?"

  I watched an empty potato chip bag skirt across the parking lot, carried by the wind. In the alleyway behind the courthouse, the red gleaming eyes of an animal looked out at the bag, caught in the glare of my car's headlights. "Yeah," I said softly. "Something like that. Pretty bad."

  "Unreal what the people of this city do to each other," Bernice ended in a sigh. "With all that you have going on already, I'm sure another big crime is the last thing you need."

  "Listen, when he gets in, have him call me right away, okay?"

  "Okay, dear. Have a good night."

  "You too." I hung up the phone and threw the car into drive.

  I checked the burger joints and donut shops frequented by Herb. I checked the parking lots of fleabag motels looking for his car. I checked the strip clubs. Nothing. I called his phone and left four voicemails that ranged from anger to outright panic, ending with, "So help me God you better call me back or else you better be dead!"

  I picked up the phone again and steadied myself, knowing the next one would have to be tactfully placed. The man on the other end of the line answered and I said, "Hey, Joel. It's Jack. You got a minute?"

  "Yeah, sure," Roth said.

  I could hear the hesitation in his voice. He thought I was calling to tear him a new one for putting me on the stand earlier as a victim. As much fun as throwing him down a fire escape into a pile of broken glass and rubbing alcohol sounded, I still had to put on my nice girl act and play this one cool. "What's the game plan for tomorrow?" I asked.

  "I guess we just wait for the defense to put on their dog and pony show. They're going to bring in a few heavy hitters for the homicide charges. There's a ballistics expert…" his voice droned on for several minutes talking about challenges to the calibration certifications for the laser measuring machines we used to diagram the crime scene. As he talked I kept driving. And looking for Herb.

  "Sounds good, Joel," I said, cutting him off. "Do you think you'll need Herb tomorrow?"

  "Probably not," he said. "I don't want to use him until after the defense rests. He's my ace in the hole with that big, boisterous personality that will overshadow all this dry expert testimony. If he's the last person the jury hears before they go into deliberation, we're golden."

  "Okay. Where did you have him holed up today?"

  "What do you mean?" he said.

  "Where did you have him today while he was sequestered? I didn't see him all day."

  "I guess he was in the witness room at the court house," Roth said. "Probably reading magazines and watching soap operas with all the little old ladies from domestic relations. They all bring in cookies and cupcakes. I'm sure he was in heaven."

  "Right," I said softly.

  "So, I'm trying to get ready for tomorrow before I hit the sack. Is there anything else, Lieutenant?"

  "No, that's it," I said. "Have a good night."

  There was a pause and he said, "Are you sure?"

  "Yes," I said quickly. "Of course, I'm sure. Why wouldn't I be sure? Why do you ask?"

  "I don't know. I just thought, well. Maybe after the case is finished, you might want to grab a drink or something. After work."

  I closed my eyes and tried not to laugh. Joel Roth looked like a little kid to me. Ah well, I thought. I could hear my mother saying, "I still got it!" I stifled a laugh and said, "We'll see, Joel. Right now I'm just focused on the case."

  "Oh, sure. Me too," he said quickly. "Super focused. Listen, I'll see you tomorrow."

  I tossed the phone into my passenger seat and racked my brain, trying to think. My brain hurt. From not sleeping, from sitting in a dreary courtroom all day, from being so close to that scumbag Keenan Marvin without killing him, and now, from not knowing where my partner was.

  The only thing I could think was that Herb knew tonight was my pool night at Joe's. Maybe he was waiting for me there. To tell me he was going through some kind of mid-life crisis and was leaving Bernice to go live in a one-bedroom apartment above a Mexican bodega with some waitress he'd met. The first thing I'd do was hug him for being all right. Then I'd punch him right in his flabby chin. Chins.

  God, I needed a drink.

  Phineas Trout was hunched over our pool table in the farthest corner of Joe's Place, looking up the moment I walked in, then lowered his eyes and made an excellent bank shot off the side to sink the eight-ball. If only he'd meant to hit that one. "Well, at least there's plenty of other balls left on the table for you to hit," I said. "And look, they're all sorts of pretty colors and some have stripes even."

  Phin smirked as he bent to start scooping balls out of the catch and I grabbed the wooden triangle and dropped it in front of him. "It's late," he said. "I figured you were a no-show."

  "Who, me?" I said. I grabbed a stick off the wall and started to chalk it, taking the time to look around the bar. Herb wasn't there. I watched Phin rack the balls and said, "Hey, you know the guy I work with?"

  "Stay Puft with a 'stache?" he asked.

  I rolled my eyes and said, "Yes. Have you seen him? And not everybody can be lucky enough to have cancer keep all their weight off, jerkwad. "

  "Nice," he snickered. "No, I haven't seen him. There was another guy in here, earlier, looking for you."

  I froze, immediately thinking of Keenan Marvin and his goons. What if they hadn't given up? What if they'd gone to my mother's house? I felt the shakes coming back on, when Phin said, "Some white guy. He looked like a cop."

  "Did he say he was a cop?" I said.

  "No. But that's what he was. He was asking Joe about you."

  "What about?"

  "Me acquiring this information from across a crowded bar isn't good enough? I perform a miraculous feat of clandestine intelligence gathering and you're giving me grief for not getting more? Women. See, this is why I'm single. You give them something, right away it's onto the next."

  "Phin?"

  "Yes?"

  "You done?"

  "You getting the first round since you're late?"

  "Yes."

  "Then I'm done."

  "How did you know the guy was a cop?" I said.

  "He had that I'm-better-than-you, judgey look about him. Plus, he smelled like bacon."

  "You ever seen him before?"

  "Nope. He had a slight limp, too."

  A limp? I thought. Interesting. I walked over to the bar and leaned against it, laying my hands flat on the lacquered surface. Joe threw a towel over his shoulder and said, "Just the woman everybody's looking for."

  "I heard," I said. "What did that guy want?"

  "Just to know when you normally came in."

  "How the hell did he know I came here in the first place?" I said.

  "I dunno. I didn't ask. Is he bugging you? I'll bust him in the head if he comes back in, you want me to. We'll take him out back."

  "No, it's all right. I think it's someone from my work."

  "A good someone or the other kind?" he said, knowingly. The police department hadn't released the attempted kidnapping to the papers, but the court documents were public record and had to get processed through the system by all sorts of people. I'm sure the first clerk who read those charges and my affidavit rang an alarm in the courthouse that brought her entire floor running. Then, through the magic of modern technology, every person with a cellphone, email, and smoke signal would be spreading
the story about how the poor, weak female cop almost got tied up and blowtorched by two bastard gangbangers. It was enough to make me sick. It had made me sick.

  "The good kind, in his own way, I guess," I said. There was something in Frank O'Ryan's face as he'd come out of the interview room with Marvin and his attorney. I'd heard him yelling so loudly that his voice echoed through the walls, telling Marvin he'd put a bullet in him. I imagined the guy must've been some sort of badass back in Philly. Real police. But the reality was, he'd come all the way out here to testify on behalf of a man who'd built an empire murdering people and dealing drugs and had taken out a contract on me. Some things were unforgivable.

  I put a few bills on the bar, and Joe brought over two large mugs with ice frosted on the glass. Before I could leave, Joe put a shot glass on the bar and filled it to the top with whiskey. He pushed it toward me and said, "You look like you need this."

  I tipped the shot back, downing it with precision and felt the alcohol's warmth splashing down my insides. The beer was cold and good and I had already finished half of it by the time I walked back to the pool table. Now, things were beginning to settle. The wild horses of my imagination were slowed to manageable trot. Still there, still pressing forward, but at a steady pace instead of running me over.

  I handed Phin his beer and he said, "Keep drinking. I play better when you drink."

  "I'll break," I said.

  Phin lifted the rack off the balls and looked at me as I leaned over the table to line up my shot. "New bra?" he said.

  I looked down and realized the collar was hanging a little lower than I thought, but I had such a good line on the cue ball, I couldn't risk moving. I popped the stick with one sharp, crisp movement and the balls broke in every direction. Two solids rolled into the right corner pocket and I was already set up for the third and fourth shot. I started to chalk my cue and said, "Maybe it's my lucky bra."

  Phin cocked an eyebrow as I walked past him and said, "Or maybe it's my lucky bra. You never know. I get frisky when I lose at pool."

  "Then you must be frisky all the time because I can't think of the last time you won."

  "It's not my fault," he said. "You employ unfair distraction techniques against me when we play."

  "I wore a turtleneck last time we played."

  "Yeah, but it was a very suggestive one."

  I dropped another solid in the side pocket and looked at him. "You must be getting desperate, Phin."

  "Times is hard on the boulevard, Jack."

  I pulled the stick back as I lined up the shot and purred, "Exactly how hard, big boy?"

  His wicked smile turned sideways as I winked at him and sank the next shot. I moved around the table to line up my next shot and was about to make another smart-assed comment when I realized the look on Phin's face hadn't changed, and that he was no longer looking at me . There was a man coming through the bar toward us. A man with a limp.

  Phin walked around the pool table, still holding his cue, and leaned back, putting himself firmly between me and the newcomer. Joe reached under the bar and put his hands on the Louisville Slugger he kept there, ready to make good on his offer. A few of the regulars turned around on their stools, putting their drinks down and waiting for the first chance to start cracking skulls.

  Frank O'Ryan stopped in the middle of the bar and looked around, making eye contact with every single person who was staring at him. He held his hands wide and said, "Does somebody wanna pat me down, or what?"

  "State your business," Phin said, sounding all too serious.

  "State my what?" Frank said, laughing sharply. "People talk like that around here? Okay, I came to speak to Lieutenant Jacqueline Daniels."

  "About what?"

  Frank looked at me and said, "Does this mutt screen your calls too, L-T?"

  Phin's pool cue dropped to the ground with a clatter and he stepped forward, throwing his arm's wide in front of Frank, saying, "When she wants to talk to you, I'm the guy that lets you know. Who you calling a mutt, mutt?"

  O'Ryan stared at Phin evenly, saying, "I worked narcotics long enough to recognize a mutt when I see one, friend. Now get out of my face before things get out of hand."

  "Enough!" I said. I grabbed Phin by the arm and pulled him back to the table, saying, "You've got enough to worry about with this game." Then I pointed at O'Ryan and said, "You go sit at the bar and I'll get to you when I get to you."

  "Fine," Frank said, eyeing Phin.

  "Fine," Phin muttered, eyeing him right back.

  Boys.

  I tapped Phin on the shoulder and said, "It's your shot."

  "I don't like that dude," Phin said as he bent down to line up his shot.

  Over my shoulder I saw Frank take a spot at the bar's farthest corner, keeping his back to the wall, positioning himself where he could see the front door. Some habits die hard, I thought. Joe walked over to him and slapped his towel over his shoulder and grumbled something to him.

  Frank dropped a twenty on the bar and eyed the taps, telling Joe which one he wanted.

  "You don't even know him," I said to Phin.

  "I don't have to. It's instinctive. It's what keeps wild animals alive in the jungle. Dogs don't like cats, lions don't like hyenas and I don't like that dude."

  I pulled my phone out of my pocket and looked at it. No missed calls. No missed texts. Nothing about Herb. I sighed and said, "All right, let's get this massacre over with. I have court tomorrow."

  Phin sank the next ball, then scratched. I finished him off in four more shots, each one zeroed in on the pocket like a laser. As the eight ball spun into the corner pocket, I looked at Phin and said, "I guess I didn't drink enough for you to play well?"

  "Whatever," he said, putting his cue back in the wall. It was obvious his attention was elsewhere. He cocked his head toward Frank and said, "What are we doing with him?"

  He was still sitting at the bar, quietly sipping his beer. He watched everything but looked at nothing, blending in with the ease of a man who'd spent some time doing undercover work. I sighed and said, "We're doing nothing. I'm going to go talk to him. You are going to mind your business."

  "Like hell," he said.

  "Then go hang out with the guys for a bit. I'll be fine."

  Frank sipped his beer as I came around the corner of the bar and sat down next to him. Joe went to pour me a new glass, but I held up my hand and said, "Just water for me. I'm driving."

  "All right, Jack," Joe said.

  Frank looked sideways at me as he set his beer down and said, "They call you Jack? That's funny. You have unusually cruel parents or was it a marital mishap?"

  "Marital mishap," I said.

  "Happens to the best of us."

  I nodded as he spoke, waiting a respectable amount of time before I said, "So is this a social call or do you have something you want to talk about, Detective O'Ryan?"

  "It's Frank," he said.

  "Not yet, it's not," I said.

  "All right. Fair enough. Mainly I came to check on you. I don't know what you heard when I was talking to Keenan Marvin, but it wasn't good."

  "It didn't sound like talking," I said. "It sounded like some of the old-school interrogations we used to do back before we became a kinder, gentler police department."

  He grunted and said, "I guess I fall back on old ways sometimes."

  "You can tell me whatever you want, but it doesn't mean I'll believe it," I said. "People lie to me for a living and I don't get excitable."

  "I understand," Frank said softly.

  "You do, huh? How long have you been out?"

  "Since last year."

  "Because of your leg?"

  He shrugged and said, "Kind of. The shooting happened several years ago. I put up with the pain because I was doing important work, and I thought at the time that maybe it was worth it. Then, things changed, and I knew for certain that it wasn't. So I looked for an exit."

  His eyes were steady on me as he spoke and I said, "Tell
me about the shooting."

  "It was a prowler call. Lady reported an unknown male came into her bedroom while she was sleeping. We were checking the area and my sergeant saw this kid coming up the street. I say kid, but he was as tall as me. Anyway, Heck was telling the kid to show us his hands, but the kid was refusing. Heck grabbed him and I heard a pop. Next thing I knew, the kid turned his gun on me and my knee blew into pieces."

  "What did you do?" I said.

  "I fired back."

  "And the kid?"

  O'Ryan shook his head quietly and finished the last of his beer.

  "And your partner? How long did he last?"

  "You ever had to put a deer down on duty?" O'Ryan said.

  "No. We don't get many deer running through the streets of Chicago."

  "We do back home," O'Ryan said. "Cars hit them all the time, and when you get there, the deer will be off in the woods somewhere, trying to get up and flee, even when its guts are hanging out of its side. It's just panicking, making all kinds of noises, confused why its body isn't working right anymore." His voice grew very quiet as he said, "In the movies, when a person gets shot, they don't scream. In real life, it's a lot uglier. And then they just die."

  I looked at him and said, "All right, it can be Frank now. So what did you come to tell me?"

  He swiveled on the stool, getting close and keeping his voice low, "You need to watch your back. He seemed real, real confident that he's never going to see prison."

  "You think he's going to try and escape?"

  "I think it's something else. He sent his people after you once already, right?"

  "Yeah," I whispered.

  "Well what's to stop him from doing it again? He's got to have plenty of soldiers out there. Maybe they figure if they whack you, the prosecutor can't put you back on the stand to refute any testimony…" Frank's voice trailed off as he saw the blood drin from my face. "What is it?" he said quickly. "Did something happen already?"

  "I'm not the one getting called back to the stand," I whispered. "My partner Herb is."

  "Okay," Frank said. "Where's he at?"