by A. J. Downey
At least that was something.
3
Yale…
She was crying again, waving papers in front of her and practically begging her boss for something when I walked through the door that morning. I paused and looked around but it was still early, and I was the only customer.
“What seems to be the problem?” I asked, and let my gaze bore into hers.
“I’d rather not say…” she murmured, but I held my hand out for the papers. Reluctantly, she handed them over. Her boss wasn’t unsympathetic, in fact, her blue eyes said that her heart went out to the girl, but there was nothing she could do.
I raked my eyes over the pages for an assisted-living facility and frowned. I looked back up to Ally and asked, “Who are these for?”
She swallowed hard, “My grandmother.”
“I was telling Ally, I can’t afford a raise, but that I could give her as many hours as I could…” I let my eyes go back and forth between the two before I made a snap decision.
“Do you clean?” I asked Ally, and she blinked.
“I… I can,” she said cautiously.
“I’ll be right back.” I turned abruptly and returned to my office.
“What happened to the coffee?” Chrissy asked when she saw me return empty-handed. I didn’t want her in my business, and though I valued honesty, I lied.
“Forgot my wallet.”
I went to my desk and found the papers I needed, and returned quickly to the coffee shop. I handed them to Ally.
“Fill these out; I’ll be back for them this afternoon.”
She stared at me with wide, clear eyes and looked down at the background-check papers in her hands.
“Okay,” she said faintly.
I caught her eyes with mine and gave her a curt nod. She straightened up a little and gave me one back, and I got the drinks and left.
She was in the back of my mind for the rest of the day. I wondered if she would fill them out, but more importantly, I wondered if I had lost my mind. I could afford a housekeeper; in fact, I already paid a service to clean my condominium once a week. Depending on what the background revealed, though, I would be canceling that service and, likely, would be paying Ally a little bit more besides.
I kept thinking to myself, she’s beautiful, but not a stray, and you’re a sick son of a bitch. You shouldn’t be doing this. You shouldn’t even be entertaining the idea. So much could go wrong. I kept all of this to myself and after court was adjourned for the day, made my way back to Mildred’s Café to see if Ally had followed my instructions.
Millie, the café’s owner, looked up from behind the register when I came in. She smiled kindly and said, “You just missed her, but she asked me to give these to you.” She pulled a plain manila file folder from beside the register and handed it over to me. I smiled, tapped the edge against my fingers and finally nodded, turning to go.
“She’s a good kid, Mr. Parnell. I’ll give you any reference to that fact that you require, written or otherwise.”
I turned, nodded briefly, and went back outside. My fingers itched to flip through the papers and rifle through the information they contained. I was curious about her ‒ wanted to know more, but I didn’t trust myself to ask. I didn’t want to encourage her, or any woman, into thinking that I had time for a relationship. I didn’t.
I went back to my office and closed the door behind me, wanting a bit of privacy for this. I sat down and flipped open the file.
Blaylock, Allison Kay, born November 22nd, 1994. She was twenty-two, would be twenty-three in a few months. I’d known she was young, but I didn’t think that young. She was petite, which could be deceptive, I knew. Ally was shorter than me, her body still holding the alluring curves of a woman despite how tiny she was. I was not what could be considered a large man, at five-foot-five; it had proven to be a slight challenge in both my personal and professional life.
As an unfortunate result of my genetically given physical stature, I was required to cultivate a presence that relied on things other than my size. For instance, I kept a neat, trim beard; without one, I looked twelve. Add to that, I dressed extremely well and had my clothing tailored so that it fit properly. When you were a man my size, people tended to dismiss you out of hand. Wearing what looked like your father’s suit did nothing to dispel that notion, so I made sure I didn’t give them the option to judge me on that front.
I made up for my lack of height and bulk with speed, agility, and knowing where to strike, as opposed to relying on brute strength for anything. I also kept extremely fit to maximize what strength I did have and to keep my endurance unparalleled.
I cleared my throat, and read further down the page. She had only had one job since high school, the one she had now, and lived in the Point Side projects with her grandmother. I noticed writing on the other side of the sheet from where the afternoon light came through the blinds over my single office window and frowned. I turned the sheet over, and in delicate cursive Ally had written.
Dear Mr. Parnell,
I have written down everything this sheet has asked, however, I will not be living at my current address much longer. I don’t know where I will be, yet. So Millie said that if anything needed to be mailed to me, I could have it sent to the café. I hope that is all right with you.
Sincerely,
Ally
Dammit. It wasn’t bad enough that her grandmother had been placed in a too-expensive assisted-living home, it had ensured Ally would lose hers. I didn’t know what I was playing at here, but I couldn’t let that stand. I let out a frustrated sigh and returned to her particulars, glancing over everything and hitting a key to wake up my computer’s screen.
I typed in her name, date of birth, and social security and ran her information. An even sadder story emerged on my screen.
Orphaned at age six, her mother had been a junkie in and out of the system from just after she was born until her death. No known identity for her father. Ally had been placed with her maternal grandparents at the age of two after children’s services found her living in squalor. It was a clear case of neglect, and I wondered briefly if, at that age, she remembered any of it.
Her grandfather, her grandmother’s husband and father to Ally’s mother, died of a heart attack when Ally was eight years old. It had been her and her grandmother ever since, until units responded to their apartment, close to three weeks ago. Sylvia Blaylock had fallen and broken her hip while her granddaughter had been working at the café. She’d been declared medically unfit to return home, and it had been recommended she go to a residential care facility.
I sighed and leaned back in my seat. Everything I was seeing would tug on one of my brother’s heart strings, and it did mine, too, but not in the way you would think. I wanted to help Ally, but there was a dark part of me who wanted to do it for all of the wrong reasons. She was easily something, someone, I could control, and that appealed to me, called to that visceral part of me that wanted to claim her… and that simply would not do.
What are you doing, Parnell? I asked myself. I flopped the papers back in their file folder and propped my elbows on the desk. I breathed out and scrubbed my face with my hands, at total war between what I should and should not do here. It was a bad idea, letting her into my life, into my home, even if it was just to clean. A slippery slope, but one that was manageable with careful navigation. A double knock fell at the door, and before I could answer, it opened. Chrissy froze halfway through and dragged her keen eyes over my face.
“Rough case?” she asked, spying the folder on my desk. I flipped it closed before she could come near enough to see what was in it.
“Not exactly, what can I do for you?”
“Everything all right?” she asked, and I gave her a look. She raised her hand and the file folders she had in the other in surrender. Changing the subject completely she said, “There may be a problem with the Bardem search, the defense has filed a motion.” I closed my eyes and pinched the bridge of my no
se as she laid out the scenario, and for the time being, Allison Blaylock’s problems were chased from my mind while I switched gears to deal with this.
It wasn’t until I was packing up my briefcase at the end of the day that I stumbled across her report again. I stared at my computer screen where her sad background glowed, and sighed. I hit print and waited for the high-capacity laser printer by the window to spit out the pages while I finished putting things into my Swiss backpack.
When it was done, I thrust the pages in the manila file folder, along with her handwritten background check, and shoved it into the backpack along with the legal folders I had to take with me.
I went down to the street, night rising from between the buildings and falling from the sky to meet somewhere in the middle. I was tired of compromising today. I needed something to eat, something to drink, and I wanted it in short order, so there was only one place for me to be. I hailed a cab and directed it to 1013 Muller St. in Old Town.
The 10-13 was busy, and I asked the hostess to direct me to one of the back booths for some privacy. Not only so I could go through some of the papers I’d brought with me, but also as a signal to any of the other Knights that I just wasn’t in the mood tonight. Which, I had about a fifty-fifty shot of them actually paying attention to.
Skids came by and dropped an Old Fashioned on a bar napkin within my reach. I looked up at him from where I had been rooting in my backpack between files, looking for Ally’s. I raised my eyebrows, asking without asking.
“You show up in a cab; I know you’re drinkin’. Rough day, Prosecutor?”
“After a fashion,” I responded, and waved a hand, inviting him to take a seat. He slid into the booth across from me, blue eyes sharp.
“Had an adventure of our own around these parts this morning,” he said, with a smile and a hitched laugh.
“Oh yeah?” I eyed him, inviting him to tell his tale; usually, they were pretty good.
“Had a break-in,” he said.
I scowled, “What, here? What’d they take?”
“That’s just it, nothing! They were running from someone, came up through the basement hatch. You know Old Town, riddled with basement and subterranean tunnels.”
“Dating back to Prohibition, right. I didn’t think this place sat on top of one.”
“Heh, shit yeah. Even your building has them.”
He had a point. My building actually took advantage of one such old basement tunnel in that it opened up to an underground garage next door, behind my building. I had actually known that it was a Prohibition-era doorway into what had once been the basement of the building behind mine. It had been one of the interesting historical talking points when I’d bought the condo for myself.
“So, what happened?” I asked, and Skids shrugged.
“I let ‘em through and called the real cops in.”
I frowned, “How magnanimous of you.” I meant it, too. Skids didn’t just let people go like that. He raised his eyebrows and changed the subject.
“So, what about you? It ain’t shop, I see.” He nudged the plain manila file folder I set in front of me. Typically the files I laid out on the table were more of a maroon color, stamped on their label in bold red letters, ‘Property of Indigo City’s District Attorney’s Office.’
“What’s the deal?” he asked when I didn’t immediately launch into my day. I tilted my head and let it go. Whatever reason he had to give the people breaking in here passage was his own.
“I’m looking at hiring someone to clean my condo,” I said.
“Eh?” He looked me up and down and nodded, asking, “Is she pretty?”
I scowled, “It’s not like that. I won’t even be home…”
“Ah huh… background check?” he asked and I slid the folder over to him without being asked. He looked through it, nodding to himself, scanning through the data there.
“Seems legit. I thought you had some kind of a service, though.”
“Expendable.” I dismissed the notion out of hand and took a sip of the drink.
He looked up and said, “Well, sounds like you’ve made up your mind.”
I bobbed my head. “Looks like I have,” I agreed, and stopped myself just short of thanking him. I mean, he didn’t know he’d helped me decide by pointing out that I already had.
“Doesn’t look much like she’s got anyone aside from her grandma.”
“She has a boss who cares.”
“Friends?”
“That I don’t know.”
“So how is one little girl gonna move a whole apartment full of furniture?”
“Hadn’t thought that far ahead, Skids.”
“Bullshit, Yale. You think of everything.”
Actually, I hadn’t thought of that, but if I knew Skids, the problem would already be solved. That’s the kind of community outreach the Indigo Knights was known for. I took a larger swig of my drink, savored it and swallowed without making a comment.
“Mm, you know what you’ll have?” he asked, the subject tabled for now.
“Yeah.”
I placed my order, and he went to put it in, leaving me in peace. Once a cop, always a cop. Skids didn’t make it a habit of serving me personally when I came in like this. I must have been wearing a permanent frown. I passed a hand over my face and met my own dark eyes in the night-darkened glass of the window beside my booth.
With a sigh, I pulled out my personal phone and entered Ally’s number from her background check application. I shot off a text.
You’re hired. We will discuss the particulars tomorrow.
A few moments later, my phone buzzed, the screen lighting up with her number and a return message.
Thank you, Mr. Parnell… I really appreciate it.
I scowled at the message, not upset that she’d been polite, but not happy that she’d been desperate enough to accept the position without knowing any of the particulars. That wasn’t safe.
You’re one of the city’s best ADA’s; she knows that. ADA’s are supposed to be the good guys.
Which was true, but then again, so were cops. Cops were supposed to be the good guys too, but the DA’s office was well aware there were some really bad apples in among the ICPD.
I sighed as the waitress dropped my food off at my table, setting it down gently in front of me. I looked up and thanked her, and she smiled coyly, and it made me think of Ally again. When she smiled at me, it was shy, with no ulterior motives. While the light blush that I’d caught on her cheeks told me that she found me attractive, she seemed honest about it. Not likely to pursue it, though, and that appealed to me for a whole host of other reasons.
Shit. This may have been a bad idea. I took a deep breath and let it out slow, and resolved to see it through. I mean, I had already offered her the job. It wouldn’t do to take it back, now.
I finished my meal and a second drink and caught a cab back to my apartment. I collapsed on my bed, intending to only lay there a moment before getting up and grabbing a shower before bed, but apparently, my exhausted mind had other plans. When I woke again, it was to the screeching of the alarm. I hadn’t moved an inch.
4
Ally…
Mr. Parnell was hidden behind a much taller, much larger customer named Butch. Butch was in construction and had been here faithfully for the last two months while his work crew renovated a building a-block-and-a-half down from the café.
The look in Mr. Parnell’s dark eyes made my heart both plummet and soar at the same time. Soar because I would be finding out more about the job, but it plummeted at the dark and tempestuous look in those very same eyes I could have stared into all day. They were just so beautiful.
He handed an envelope to me after placing his order and I tucked it into my apron pocket, then set to work making his drink. When I went to hand him his coffee, he paused and said, “Be at that address at six pm. If you can’t make that time for whatever reason, please message me. You have my number.”
“Yes, sir,
” I said quietly, and he froze for half a second, his eyes drifting shut. He swallowed hard, and I frowned.
“Is everything all right?” I asked.
“Yes. Just continue calling me Mr. Parnell,” he said and I nodded.
“Of course. Thank you again for the opportunity, Mr. Parnell.”
He smiled and inclined his head, and I started in on the next order, smiling at the next customer in line. It was the morning rush, and I spent the next hour too busy to read the card which was burning a hole in my pocket. When I finally did get a moment, it was only long enough for me to read it and thrust it right back into my apron pocket.
Ms. Blaylock,
Meet me in front of the Calvert building.
2246 Newsman Street
We will discuss the rate of payment and expectations upon your arrival.
-Damien Parnell
I nearly sagged with relief when the rush was over and immediately put in my headphones and called Dawnie, my best friend. She answered on the first ring.
“Well?”
“I have to meet him at six.”
“Oh, so you still don’t know anything yet?” she asked.
“Not yet,” I picked up a bus-tub and went around the tables, picking up as we talked. “I told you, as soon as I know, you will know everything, I promise!”
“Girl, you better not hold out on me. I live vicariously through you.” She gave a long-suffering sigh, and I felt for her. Dawnie had gone blind in a car accident when we were fourteen. Her dad had been drunk-driving and had nearly killed her. Her mom had never let him see Dawnie again. It’d been a brutal adjustment for her. She lived with her mom and stepdad and they were a happy family, but it was a hard-won happy.
Me? I had stuck by my friend, had never given up, even when she pushed me away. We were sisters, had been sisters since the first grade. You didn’t give up on things like that, no matter how bad it got.
