by Amy Lane
“I only worry because I love you,” he said, not sure if Jackson got that.
Jackson winked. “It’s why I can deal,” he said. His expression sobered, and he placed one last kiss on Ellery’s forehead before moving himself toward the door and slipping out. “I’ll text you when we’re done,” he said, and then he was gone.
Ellery permitted himself a lean back and the count of ten to pull himself back together before he walked down the hallway to finish talking with Galen and Jade.
GALEN WAS still studying the two files when Ellery reentered the conference room, but his smirk was unmistakable. “All those last-minute instructions delivered?” he asked, his eyebrows raised.
“Mostly to come home in one piece,” Ellery replied, not sure if he had it in him to play coy.
To his surprise, Galen’s smirk disappeared, and the look he returned was all compassion. “I understand he has a problem with that. Well, if it’s reassuring at all, my boyfriend used to forget sunscreen fairly constantly, and he’s practically self-combusting. I finally told him that I’d love him even if they had to cut off his nose from skin cancer, but he might feel a bit self-conscious.”
Ellery couldn’t help it; he covered his mouth to stop a snicker. He’d met Galen’s boyfriend, a rather manic, skinny ginger porn-mogul who liked to film guys having sex, and also tried hard to make sure they were grown-ups when they weren’t in the bedroom. Ellery came from a family strong in liberal politics but academic and professional. It hadn’t been until Ellery had actually met John Carey that he’d realized that sex work didn’t have to be sleazy, and that the more professional it was allowed to be, the more protected the workers. He’d met some of John Carey’s employees. They were sweet young men, and John himself was exactly the kind of “idea guy” who would run off and cook his fragile freckled skin until it peeled off his face.
“Poor John,” he said. “I bet he swims in zinc oxide all summer.”
Galen huffed out a breath. “He has the most obnoxious hats.”
Ellery couldn’t help his smile. “The only way I could get Jackson to wear new clothes was if I made sure his new T-shirts were as obnoxious as the old ones.”
Galen met his smile and nodded. “So, let me tell you what’s bothering me about these two files,” he said, his expression flattening out to his shrewd-lawyer look. “Ms. Cameron, if you move in a little closer, you can take down my notes, and we can all share the same brain.”
Jade did so, and Ellery noted that her own smile gentled as she leaned in. Galen’s bone-deep Southern courtesy had that effect on her.
“So,” Galen said thoughtfully, “when a corporation is planning a takeover, a number of things have to be in place. One company’s stock has to be cheap enough to buy, the other company has to have enough liquid cash to purchase it, and all the trustees on both boards have to be in a place where this looks like the smartest option. You both understand?”
Ellery met Jade’s eyes, and they both nodded.
“Good. There’s a lot of moving parts. But a lot of movies—many of them heist movies—have been made about tweaking each of those moving parts to make sure the outcome is orchestrated rather than random, right?”
“Right,” Ellery said. “Distract the president of one company while the other company is buying stock. Cause a disaster in one company so the stock sales plummet. Trade information before it’s due out to do the same thing. Acquisitions and mergers are pretty cutthroat, from what I understand.”
Galen nodded. “Exactly. Now, I can’t tell you what the corporations are here. Maybe drugs, but drugs are commonplace, and….” He grimaced as though looking for the right words.
“Most drug dealers aren’t that smart,” Ellery said, thinking about the ones they’d dealt with at the beginning of the summer. “And if they are that smart, they’re trying to commit fewer crimes instead of more of them, to keep attention off their activities.”
“Exactly,” Galen agreed. “So I can’t tell you who is taking over what. But think about this. This Ziggy Ivanov had to set up Mr. Townsend and get the attention of the world’s dumbest policemen to come arrest him. There had to be a reason for that. What were they distracting the policemen from? Then the next night, they framed the Dobrevk kid for the murder of a witness to the original crime. Ziggy is the guy moving from crime scene to crime scene, but he’s motivated by something. He doesn’t strike me as a mastermind. The guy who went after the files in the public defender’s office is probably higher up the food chain. He failed, so Ziggy is called in as a Hail Mary. Ziggy is a low-level corporate fixer, but one who wants to move up. That’s why he’s so very busy. He’s ambitious. Is the guy who tried to get the file at the PD’s office under guard?”
Ellery nodded. “Sean’s partner is there—at a different hospital from Sean.”
Galen nodded. “That is fortuitous,” he said. “I wouldn’t be surprised to find that more than one attempt is made on our coma patient’s life.”
Ellery nodded. “Loose ends. The Dobrevk file is about tying up loose ends.”
“Exactly,” Galen said. He gave a brief smile. “Corporations and criminals. People are forever surprised at how similar they can be.”
“Not you, though,” Ellery noted.
Galen’s smile went feline. “Indeed.”
“I’ll go text Sean’s partner, Christie,” Ellery said. “I think Arizona and I need to have a conversation anyway.”
“Your friend at the DA’s office?”
God, the man was sharp. “Everyone’s got one,” Ellery said, and Galen’s laughter warmed him as he turned to leave.
He paused at the doorway. “So I think if we take you to the jail, then Henry can—”
Galen waved a bored hand. “John’s coming to pick me up in an hour.” He smiled charmingly at Jade. “If you like, my dear, we can give you a ride too. It’s not the kind of day one wants to be mucking about in traffic.”
Jade looked at him with naked gratitude. “Ellery, can we keep him?”
Ellery laughed. Galen had shown up on his doorstep looking for some help for Henry, who was the brother of a friend. He’d taken one look at the office—which had still been under construction at the time—and decided he’d like to practice there.
“I can’t imagine making him leave,” Ellery said. “He’s very useful.”
Galen inclined his head modestly, and Ellery headed for his office. He’d thought he and Jackson were going to have a nice easy day today, but it seemed every time Jackson stepped onto the scene, the world had saved its hardest cases for him.
Big Fish, Little Fish
JACKSON WASN’T bad as a passenger. Fact was, Galen’s Town Car was pretty luxe, and Jackson got to spend time staring out the window and churning the world over in his head.
For about fifteen seconds before Henry started talking.
“You know,” he said conversationally, heading for Richards Boulevard, “seven weeks, and there was no drama—”
“You lie,” Jackson said, rolling his eyes. “I seem to remember your boyfriend stuck in a closet while you took down an armed drug dealer.”
“She was a middle-aged nurse in over her head. It was nothing.”
“Yes, but I wasn’t there. That was all you—you can’t say there was no drama,” he goaded.
“Man, all I’m saying is after you almost died, I was pretty much spending my days running license plates and juvie records and increasing my Google-Fu. Now we’re heading for the police station when the one cop who doesn’t seem to hate your guts is….” His teasing note dropped. “Well, he’s not there to help us.”
“Yeah,” Jackson said, wishing Henry had left this alone for another hundred years. His pocket buzzed, and he pulled out his phone.
Your boy’s going into surgery—give him an hour or two. No cops in the waiting room.
Jackson looked at “Nurse Dave’s” text and swore softly.
“Well, he picked our side, so we’re on his,” he said and tex
ted back. We’re trying to find who did it. We’ll be there this evening. Tell him we’re coming if he wakes up.
Knew you wouldn’t let him down, Dave texted back. Alex would like to request chicken wings and pizza if you can grab some on your way.
Jackson smiled, thinking fondly of the two nurses who had kept him sane when he’d been incarcerated, erm, stuck in the hospital ten years ago. Depends on when Sean wakes up. But if we don’t get them before, we’ll get them after. Deal?
You’re a good man, Rivers. We’ll take care of your boy.
Thanks. Tell him we’re on it.
Jackson tucked his phone in his pocket again and pounded his head back against the headrest.
“He’s okay?” Henry said with a worried frown.
“Yes, sorry. Didn’t mean to panic you.” Jackson had forgotten that Sean Kryzynski had been one of the first people besides Jackson and Ellery who Henry had met when they’d been defending him against a murder charge. Henry had been pretty new to town then, and he only had so many friends. He’d be as worried as Jackson. “He’s going into surgery. They probably have to reinflate his lung at the least. He should be out and stable by the time we get there this evening.”
He hoped so. He knew there were complications, chances for the body to give out. That knife could have nicked an artery, punctured an intestine, hit things in the body that no knife should be around. Just because the front of Jackson’s body looked like a patchwork quilt didn’t mean that Sean Kryzynski had the same sort of luck.
“You don’t sound too sure,” Henry said, and Jackson hated himself.
“I’m worried,” he burst out. “Guy went down, held my hand, trusted me when I said I’d get in touch with his boyfriend. There aren’t any cops there. Why aren’t there any cops there? God, that pisses me off. I know his partner is doing guard duty, but this is… this is boys in blue. Someone should be relieving him so he can come have Kryzynski’s back. Kryzynski’s CO should be there, making sure he knows people care. Our office should have been swarming with cops. Swarming. It is driving me batshit, and that kid is all by himself in the hospital. It’s not fair.”
“No,” Henry said softly. “It’s not. But don’t worry. I texted Lance while you were changing. You’ve got your guys, I’ve got mine. Kryzynski’ll know we’re worried about him, and he’ll know we’re on his case.”
Jackson grunted. “I forget you have someone there too. Lance freaking out yet?” As Jackson remembered it, Henry’s doctor boyfriend hadn’t been too thrilled by Henry’s new and dangerous vocation, and Jackson couldn’t blame him. But Henry had been career military before he’d been forced out by a vindictive ex, and he didn’t mind a little danger.
He was also bright, and interested in seeing the world in a different way than his father had seen it, and that kind of perspective was really useful when it came to dealing with law enforcement.
“Not on text,” Henry confirmed. “He saves the real freak-out until I’m home.”
Jackson spared a moment for envy. “That’s only because he doesn’t see you at work.”
“Hey,” Henry said grimly. “From what I can see, Ellery’s nagging is the only reason you’re still breathing, so don’t knock it.”
“Wasn’t planning to,” Jackson returned, voice mild. “Where are all the fucking cops, though? I mean, maybe the two yahoos were right. They could just be stretched thin. But maybe they didn’t call in the right code either.”
“Who are we looking for when we get to the station?” Henry asked, negotiating Richards Boulevard with ease. They both noticed the homeless encampments getting thicker as Henry approached the squat white building, and Jackson sighed. It was so hard to stay safe when you had no home and the local shelter that served meals was fairly close. Maybe being near to the police station helped them feel less vulnerable, but it didn’t make the place any more approachable.
“Park around the back,” Jackson told him. “And we’re looking for Adele Fetzer and Jimmy Hardison. They’re the officers on the Dobrevk case. Their paperwork was signed off by Lieutenant Christine Chambers, Homicide, so that’s the second floor.”
“When was the last time you were here?” Henry asked, finding a parking spot with surprising ease.
“Last year. I doubt they’ve forgiven us for that, either. Be prepared to take flack.”
“Always.”
Jackson grinned at him, pleased by Henry’s general willingness to stir up some shit. Good quality in a partner, and he and Henry had worked pretty well together when they were clearing Henry’s name.
His phone buzzed as he was getting out of the car.
“Ellery?” Henry asked as Jackson checked it. The heat hit him like a wave, and he actually had to catch his breath before he answered.
“Wants us to look for larger patterns.” Jackson frowned. “I feel like I need a good run around the block to figure that one out.”
“Yeah, that’s above my pay grade,” Henry muttered. “But sure. We’ll look for larger patterns.”
Together they ventured through the public entrance to a clean and relatively new and efficient lobby. The smell of too many sweaty people was still strong—there definitely weren’t enough windows to go around—but body odor and burned coffee aside, Jackson felt himself respecting the purpose of the place.
Sure, he’d seen his share of corruption—and dammit, something was wrong here again, and why did he have to fix this shit?—but most of the employees were here because they believed they could do something useful, something important with their time. He’d read the Dobrevk file, seen indications that Fetzer and Hardison had been trying to keep Tage Dobrevk out of prison and that they doubted he’d been involved in the first place. If he could keep his attitude in check, maybe he could help that kid who’d already had a two-day pass to hell, and maybe he could get some people down to see Kryzynski, because it sure would be nice for him to know his department had his back.
“Can I help you?” the desk sergeant asked as they approached. Thirtyish, Latinx, very pretty—and very pregnant, Jackson noted with a smile.
“Please tell me they let you put your feet up behind that desk,” Jackson said, sympathy in full force. That pregnant in August. There oughtta be a law.
Desk Sergeant C. Kensington allowed a dimple to pop on her pretty, round face. “Oh my God, that’s why I took this job when it came up. I knew shit was going to get real!”
“Right? And better here than somewhere in the heat.”
She nodded, her tight double french braid not even shifting by a shiny raven-wing hair. “Ugh. Once we hit May, I wasn’t playing around. It was like an inferno!”
“Well, I’ll tell you what,” Jackson said. “How about my friend and I go get you some ice water? Crackers?”
She gave him a wide-set pair of soulful brown eyes. “Ice cream?” she begged pitifully. “I thought it was a thing you only saw in movies but… ice cream?”
“On it!” Henry said crisply. “Any flavor?”
“Yes,” she said, nodding enthusiastically. “Any. Flavor.”
Henry laughed gently. “I saw a minimart about a block away—is that the closest place?”
“Yeah.” She sighed. “Never mind. By the time you got it back, it’ll be melted.” All vitality seeped out of her, and Jackson and Henry met eyes.
“You leave that to me,” Henry said staunchly. “If you can help my friend there get in to see the people he needs to talk to, I will hook you right up.”
Her lips parted ever so slightly, and her eyes grew terrifyingly bright. “Really?” she whispered, and Henry and Jackson nodded.
“I’ll get you in to see God himself,” she said, and her fervor was undeniable.
Jackson and Henry did a low five below the eye level of the Formica desk—but it wouldn’t have mattered if she’d seen them.
Jackson was in.
Fortunately, so were Fetzer and Hardison, both of them sitting in the almost vacant briefing room, working on their tablets a
cross the table from each other as they completed their paperwork for the day. The room itself was set up like a classroom, with tables lined up by columns, all of them facing the front podium where the chief briefed them every morning in preparation for their day.
Adele Fetzer, fiftyish, African American, with a smile of both cynicism and hope, noticed him first. She nodded to Jimmy, who was about the same age and had graying blond hair and a ruddy complexion. He looked up from his paperwork, and his eyes widened.
“Rivers?” he asked tentatively. “That’s your name, right?”
“Yessir,” Jackson said, and let some respect color his voice. He hadn’t been tight with Fetzer or Hardison, but neither of them had given him reason to believe they were crooked, or even mean. They’d worked different shifts than he had, and as far as he knew, they held no grudges.
“What can we do for you, Mr. Rivers?” Adele asked, head tilted. “Who used to be a cop.”
“I work for a defense attorney now,” he said, snagging a plastic chair from another table and swinging it around so he could straddle it and prop his arms on the back. “Cramer and Henderson. Don’t worry, you haven’t heard of us. But you will.”
“Dirty/pretty killer,” Hardison said without missing a beat.
“And the Sampson drug ring,” Fetzer added, both of them regarding him with no humor—but no enmity either. “You’ve been busy.”
Jackson nodded. “It’s been an eventful year,” he said. “And we were at the public defender’s office this morning”—he watched their eyes widen, so he knew he had them—“picking up a file for a young man named Tage Dobrevk.”
Ooh, he’d hit a nerve. Both of them leaned in, glancing at each other furtively.
“Was that what the shooting was all about?” Fetzer asked, voice hushed. “Because nobody is telling us dick!”
“They don’t know,” Jackson said. “We were there to pick up the file when we heard the guy shout the name of the lawyer who had it. We got there in time to hide her in the copy room while my colleague barricaded the guy in the stairwell. They took him down with Tasers, but he’s out cold. But they tried again. Did you guys hear about that?”
