by ML Gardner
“Let me guess…in return for his loyalty.”
She smiled. “Now you’re getting it.”
“Why’s he hiding? What’d he do?”
A dark shadow crossed her face as her smile fell. “He killed his wife and her parents.”
“How can Mickey think it’s safe to have him here?”
“Mickey uses ‘im for those particularly heinous jobs that everyone else is too soft to do. Kinsey knows that Mickey will off ‘im in a second if he threatens anyone here. Still, I always got the feeling that he ain’t right in the head. I’d keep my distance if I were you, John.”
“And the little guy in the corner?”
“That’s Digby. He’s one of those lost souls Mickey gathered up. He’s an orphan, came here at fourteen. Mickey’s taken care of ‘im. He’s probably the most loyal of everyone and the only one allowed in the room where Mickey keeps the inventory.”
“Even you aren’t allowed in there?”
“Of course I am,” she said with a sly smile. “I meant everyone else.”
“How about him?” I nodded to the bartender who kept one eye on us but stood just out of earshot.
“He’s a nobody. Abandoned his family, can’t hold down a job. He had a gambling habit and got into some trouble. That’s how he came to work for Mickey. It’s here or dead in the gutter for ‘im.
“So everyone here is repaying a debt of some kind?”
“Yes.”
I accepted another dram and turned to her. “What’s your debt?”
“I told you, Mickey took me in, cleaned me up.”
“That’s all?”
“Yes.” I noticed how she dropped her eyes and turned away when she spoke.
“Why did he take you in?”
“I was lost.” She spoke with a curt tone, clearly not liking being on the questioning end of things.
“Like me?”
“No, not quite like you, John.” She managed a weak smile and while I stared at my glass, I could tell she was watching me.
“Almost time,” she said, touching my hand. My eyes flickered up and held hers. “I can’t tell you how good you’re doing.” She leaned far over letting her blouse plunge open, so close I could smell her perfume.
“You can show me,” I said. I think my insinuation surprised us both. If her eyes hadn’t matched the swirling whiskey in my glass, if she hadn’t let the buttons of her blouse pop, if I hadn’t felt like dying from overwhelming need, I’d never have said it. But the line was blurred now. The line between her and the bottle.
Her lips twitched, fighting an entertained smile.
“What is the game, Gina?”
“Let’s head back, shall we?”
I gripped her wrist. The bartender’s eyes darted over with one hand on a bat. “You said you wanted to play a game. But you wouldn’t tell me the object or the rules. What’s the game?” I insisted.
“Why don’t I show you?” she whispered.
I let her wrist slide out of my hand and followed her back into the labyrinth of dark corridors, my eyes pinned to the back of her head.
***
She closed the door and pulled out the bottle.
“I’d say you earned this.” She dangled it out in front of her. Her smug grin excited and infuriated me.
“You’ll tell me about the game after?”
Her eyebrows rose. “You’re a smart one, John, you can figure this out.”
I held my hand out but she didn’t move. I scoffed and put my hands on my hips. “Let me guess. I have to earn it.”
“Now you’re starting to get it,” she cooed.
She read the desperation on my face and held the bottle out a few inches while taking a step back, looking over my agony with a smile.
“I’m just curious, I’ve been teasing you for weeks…which do you want more?”
I glanced from her to the bottle that would take all the pain away.
“Both,” I demanded, walking towards her.
She held it high up over her head as I backed her up to the wall.
“But if you had to choose?” she whispered as I closed in on her. One hand went to her waist, my fingers digging into her flesh. The other slid up her arm, pinning her wrist to the wall.
“Both,” I growled again and kissed her as my hand wrestled the bottle out of hers. I broke the kiss, took a long desperate drink and then stood still for a moment with my eyes closed, inches from her face. She watched relief wash over me.
Slowly the pain in my head subsided and the ache in my joints melted away. I let out a long hard breath of relief as my head fell forward onto her shoulder. My breathing relaxed and my fingers pressure on her waist eased.
“What if I told you that you can't have both, John. What if I told you that you had just made your choice?”
I pulled back to look at her. Her voice had been serious but something in her eyes teased. I dropped the empty bottle on the floor and kissed her hard. My hands pulled at her skirt and I lifted her up.
“Both,” I growled as I pressed her against the wall. She laughed, giddy and excited.
“It has to be a secret, John. Just like the medicine. Our little secret.”
“So you fell in love with this woman, Gina?”
Aryl scrunched his face in disdain and shook his head. “No. I thought I did. But that wasn’t love.”
“Well, that’s good, because France told me you sold her out in exchange for your ticket to freedom.”
“I did,” he said quietly.
“To get back at her for getting you hooked? Or because you were unwittingly unfaithful to your wife?”
He raised his head. “Because if she had gotten there first, she would have done it to me.”
Sloan moved over to the table and checked the bottle of whiskey. “Did we really finish this off last night?”
“We did.”
“No wonder my head is pounding. I’ll get more later. You hungry?”
Aryl shook his head.
“Me, either,” Sloan said, making himself more comfortable in the chair. “Did it ever occur to you that you don’t have to tell your wife every single thing that happened?” He settled into a chair across from Aryl.
“I can’t lie.”
“No. I mean leave key things out. Does it really matter in the long run? Your wife will have you back. That’s all that will matter.”
“No, I hadn’t thought of that.”
“Well, think about it.”
“I don’t know if I can, you know…not tell her everything. I don’t want to say a word. Because if I say anything, I think it will just all come out in a flood. And the things I’m telling you now, I don’t ever want to repeat.”
“So, don’t,” Sloan said. “But you know what’s ironic?”
“What’s that?” Aryl asked.
“You aren’t going to tell your wife you were with another woman when you really were, and I had to tell my wife I was…when I really wasn’t.”
“Why would you tell your wife that?”
Sloan laughed and sat back in the chair. “It was that or face murder charges.”
Chapter Nine
Irony
Technically, I was still on medical leave. I was supposed to be resting. I talked Maggie into letting me go back to work early, failing to tell her that it wasn’t official.
I spent the first day in the park feeding the birds. Fred met me for lunch and we picked up where we left off, planning my trip to New York to follow leads on Daniel Bellamy and find out how he was connected to Aryl Sullivan. Only he didn’t really need to cover for me.
Everyone at the precinct thought I was still at home resting for a few days. Maggie thought I had to follow a lead on Kimberly. It was the perfect time to take a little trip.
I stepped off the train in New York with a cigarette hanging from my lips, shivered against the autumn chill and took a good look around. Grand Central Terminal was buzzing. I always thought Boston was a big city but it paled in com
parison to the nonstop bustling of this place. I looked at all the faces, as I’ve said, it’s a habit of mine, and didn’t see any that jarred any gut twinges. A few men eyed me and moved on quickly. I swear, criminals could smell cops.
I asked for directions to the police station from a down on his luck guy holding down a bench. He didn’t speak English. Lucky for me I caught a glimpse of a beat cop and pushed past the heavy doors leading to the sidewalk.
At least it didn’t stink too much worse than Boston.
I reminded myself that I wasn’t here for fun or vacation and hailed the cop. With his thumbs hooked in his belt he lumbered over. I had a feeling this one was here for show. If anyone broke the law, all he need do was start walking fast and he’d be home free.
A duck could have waddled faster than this guy.
I smiled and asked if he could point me in the direction of the police station.
He looked suspicious. “You got a problem?”
“No. Only that I need to go to the police station and in order to do that, I need directions.”
“You new in town?”
I was tempted to make some wise ass crack about having lived here all my life but recently suffered amnesia, when common sense told me not to push my luck.
“I’m from Boston.”
“Usually, people that go to the cops got a problem.” He shifted his weight, a lot of it, to one side and continued to squint at me.
Oh, sweet self restraint. I could have flashed my badge, got directions and been on my way with a cordial ‘quack quack’, but where would the fun in that be?
“I’m here to see a detective.”
“Regarding what?”
“Regarding a personal matter, say, what’s it to you?”
“Look, buddy, I ask you a question, you answer it, hear me?”
“Why don’t you just give me directions to the station, okay?” I tossed my cigarette on the ground and stubbed it out with my toe.
He pulled his thumb from his belt and reached for his baton. I watched him do it and half considered taking a crack for the guys back home. Oh, how it would piss off Boston P.D. to have one of their own clubbed by an overzealous, nosy beat cop with an attitude problem. A small crowd had started to gather.
“Why don’t you step over here, buddy,” he said, one hand on the club, the other pointing to the brick wall.
“Now, why on earth would I do that? All I asked for is directions.”
“Yeah, and you ain’t answering my questions. Why do you need to see a detective at the station? Why’d you come here all the way from Boston to do it?”
“And I told you, that’s personal.”
I waited patiently for him to waddle over, grab the back of my coat and turn me around. I made it easy for him; he was already out of breath. A bigger crowd was growing and I suppressed my smirk. He was huffing and puffing in an attempt to search me. I lifted this arm and that, helping him out. He pulled out my wallet and I didn’t hear it flip open, but I did hear his wheezy gasp. I turned around slowly.
“Why didn’t you say you was one of us!” he said, glancing nervously at the growing crowd.
“Oh, I’m not one of you. Of that I’m certain.”
I put out my hand, he closed my wallet and handed it back.
“Sorry for the misunderstanding,” he said grudgingly.
“Yeah. So how about those directions?” I asked.
He turned and yelled for everyone to clear out, nothing to see here, and then pointed down the road telling me to turn left two blocks up.
“You know,” I interrupted. “I’m terrible with directions. How about you walk me there.” I wasn’t asking.
“That’s ten blocks!” he said, horrified.
“Consider it a professional courtesy.” With an insistent smile I put my hand on his back, turning him around, wondering what in the hell had just gotten into me.
I took pity on the waddling cop and didn’t make him walk me inside. The stone steps to the door might have done him in. Red faced with his neck wringed with sweat, he gave a wave and limped away.
***
I walked into the main lobby and asked for Detective Goodwin. He was busy with someone else and I sat down to wait.
I’d transferred some information from Daniel’s file to my notebook, jotting down simple details. Nothing that would give away what I was chasing if it were lost or stolen.
Detective Goodwin had that tired overworked look about him. He welcomed me into his office and I thanked him for seeing me.
He got right down to business.
“My old friend Harris phoned me. Said you’d be here to pull some information about one of your missings, Kimberly Wiess, I think her name was.”
“Yes, right. When I asked around about who would be a good person to talk to here, he recommended you.”
Let’s go with that.
“Harris said you guys are having a hell of a time nailing this cop killer.”
“It’s proving difficult,” I said. “But Harris is a hell of a detective. I’m sure he’ll catch him soon,” I said with some obligatory gratitude.
“What can I do to help you today?” he asked, opening his hands.
“I don’t suppose the name Daniel Bellamy rings a bell?”
His eyebrows pulled together, his lips pursed in thought.
“No, can’t say it does off hand.” He rose and walked over to his file cabinet, yanking it open with a metal squeal. After thumbing through cases for a moment, he turned, shrugging his shoulders. “Sorry. I don’t have anything on him.”
“I know he has a sister in the area. First name, Arianna,” I said.
“Arianna Bellamy,” he said slowly, repeating it a few times. “The only Arianna I’m familiar with was a friend of Jonathan Garrett. I doubt she’s the one you’re looking for.”
“Is he an officer?”
“Oh, no. He was a big player on Wall Street before it all went to hell. Donated a lot when we’d have a charity event and all that. He wasn’t the kind of rich that was too good to rub elbows with us common folk. Mostly I knew him from picking up Arianna after she’d get into a bit of trouble.”
“What kind of trouble?” I asked with peaked interest. These things were known to run in the family.
“Public drunkenness, cat fights, caught her in a couple speakeasies, you know, rich girl trouble,” he said with a grin. “Nothing serious. Jon and her husband…what was his name…damn if I can remember. Anyway, they’d always follow her here and take her home. Except that one time.”
“What one time?” I asked, leaning forward with a smile. Goodwin was grinning from ear to ear and it was contagious. He looked close to a belly laugh.
“Well, they got real sick of her always getting into trouble, ruining their good time. This one night she gets picked up and she expects them to be right over like always. Bragging about it, even. She’d never spent more than a few hours in a jail cell.
“So, Jon decides to teach her a lesson and leave her here for awhile. Just long enough to make her think they weren’t coming. Well, her husband, whatever his name was, won’t leave. But Jon won’t let him get her out. So we set up a table out in the lobby and played cards for a few hours. Laughin’ our ass off while she screamed from the back room the whole time.
“Finally about three a.m. the guys in the back are beggin’ us to take her already. So, they pay up and sign and out she comes, madder than a wet cat. Must’ve taught her though, because it was a few months before we picked her up again.”
“She sounds like real card.”
“Oh, she is. Or was.”
“Was?”
“They lost everything last fall. Hung around here for awhile, but last I heard they left town.”
“You wouldn’t happen to know where, would you?”
“Not sure. I can grab her file—see if there’s anything in there that might help you out,” he offered.
“Please.”
He disappeared for a few minutes
and I made some notes, stuffing them in my pocket as he walked back in.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t offer you any coffee.”
“I’d love some, thanks. Black.”
He ducked out again and left me sitting there with my wheels turning.
***
Sometime later, I wasn’t sure how long I’d stayed in my thoughts, he came back in with a thick file.
I grinned. “You did know her well. Tell me she was at least a looker for all your trouble.”
He stopped mid-sit and shot me a serious look. “Oh, she was a looker, alright.”
“Well, at least there’s that,” I said.
“So, let’s see what we can see.” He flipped open the file and licked his thumb between pages. “Arianna Jenkins, home state…Georgia…I’ll be damned. Maiden name, Bellamy. Looks like she bailed her brother out of jail a time or two as well.”
“When was the last time?”
He scanned a few more pages. “Over two years ago.”
“Damn.” I said, sitting back. “And you don’t know where she is now?”
More scanning, more flipping. “No, sorry.”
“When was the last time Mrs. Jenkins was arrested?”
“Looks like…summer of ‘29. Right before the crash. Nothing after that.”
“Does she have any family in the area? Anyone who would know where she is? It’s really important that I speak with her.”
“No, sorry.”
“So, she was rich, flamboyant and always in trouble, yet no one in this town would know where she is?”
“You know how this goes, Sloan. People lose all their money, their friends go with it. I could give you the names of some people who knew her, but I can’t guarantee they’ll know where she is.”
“Enemies?”
“Beyond jealous catty women? No.”
“Can I have the names of her friends, then? I might can pick a lead from there.”
“Sure,” he said with a hopeless sigh. “Her husbands name…here it is. Damn if I could remember it. Caleb Jenkins. They ran with Jonathan Garrett and his wife Ava and Aryl Sullivan and his wife—”
“What did you just say?” I asked, my face frozen in disbelief.
