Conduct Unbecoming

by Sinclair, Georgia

  “I get it.” Dante's head snapped up, an ugly jumble of anger and guilt burning in his gut. “They’re gonna wonder why Patrick’s dead and I’m still walking around.” Of course they were going to wonder, Christ, he wondered.

  Leo put a hand on Dante’s shoulder. “Kid, no matter what anybody else says, you are not responsible for Patrick’s choices. You gotta let it go.”

  Dante shook the old man’s hand off and turned to walk away. Said, “Make it happen, Leo,” back over his shoulder on his way out the door.

  * * * *

  Dante waited in the back booth at Clancy’s, a little mom-and-pop diner around the corner from the 115th. He leaned back, legs stretched out in front of him, flipping the Roxi’s matchbook back and forth between his fingers while he watched the door.

  He was on his second cup of coffee when a guy he assumed was Bobby Vega walked in; a young, clean-cut guy dressed in Chicago PD blue, his dark eyebrows pulled down in a surly-looking V as he scanned the room.

  When Dante raised a hand, Bobby rolled his shoulders and headed over. He was still frowning, but the V thing with the eyebrows wasn’t quite as pronounced when he slid into the booth across from Dante. “Hey. You’re Enzo’s brother?”

  Dante nodded, introduced himself. “Dante Giancana. Thanks for coming.”

  “I’ve only got a few minutes,” Bobby cautioned before he asked almost grudgingly. “How’s he doing?”

  “He’s... hanging in there.” Dante set the matchbook aside, picked up his coffee.

  “Good.” Bobby nodded. “That’s good. For what it’s worth, we’re all pulling for him.”

  “Thanks, appreciate that.” Dante scrubbed a hand over his jaw. “I was hoping you might be able to give me some idea about what he’s been up to.”

  “Up to?”

  “How he spends his time.” Dante shrugged. “Who he spends it with.”

  Bobby was shaking his head before the words were even out of Dante’s mouth. “No. No, not really.”

  “Any... new friends? Hobbies maybe?”

  “No.” More head shaking. “Well, not that I know of anyway,” Bobby stammered. “I mean, not that he ever said. We pretty much talked about work, you know?”

  Eight hours was a long time to spend in a car without sharing at least some personal information, but Dante didn’t call him on it. “So you don’t know what he was doing in Xavier Heights?”

  “I have no idea. And believe me, I have been racking my brain trying to come up with a good reason for him to be there. I mean I know money’s tight, but...” Bobby lifted his shoulders, let the words trail away.

  “Enzo said he had money problems?” Dante leaned forward, eyes narrowed.

  “Just that it was hard to make ends meet, ya know? Tough to get rich with the Chicago PD.”

  “But not impossible,” Dante murmured absently, picked the matchbook up again, flipped it open. “He ever mention Roxi’s? You guys maybe... stop in for a beer after your shift?” Enzo didn’t even smoke, all these Roxi’s matchbooks had to mean something.

  “Roxi’s?”

  “It’s a strip club.” Dante prodded a little at Bobby’s blank expression. “On North Halsted?”

  “Oh.” Bobby shook his head, scratched his jaw. Looked up and to the left. Classic tell for lying. Interesting. “No way. My wife? She’d flat out kill me if she caught me in one of those places.”

  When Dante grunted his agreement Bobby said, “Well, my shift’s gonna start soon. I gotta... take off.” He hooked his thumb back over his shoulder towards the door, climbed out of the booth. “So are you gonna be sticking around for a while?”

  “Oh yeah.” Dante narrowed his eyes, the muscle jumping in his jaw. “I’m not going anywhere until Enzo’s back home where he belongs.”

  “Well good.” Bobby nodded, smiled faintly. “That’s... good. I’m sure it’ll mean a lot to him to have you here. You know, if he... I mean, when he...”

  “Wakes up,” Dante amended sharply. “When he wakes up. And trust me, he will wake up.”

  Chapter 9

  Bobby Vega was halfway down the block before he dug his cell phone out of his pocket, flipped it open and started dialing. “It’s done,” he said quietly, picking up the pace, listening while he walked. “It went just like you said. He wanted to know if Enzo had any new friends, new hobbies. If he had money problems.”

  He listened, still moving. “Jesus, I’m not an idiot,” he snapped. “I said what you told me too; no, no, and doesn’t everybody. Did the whole, no good reason to be there thing, too.” Paused.

  “Yeah well, he asked about Roxi’s.” He stopped at the corner, waited for the light to change before he crossed the street. “It felt like he was just fishing, but...” Bobby lifted his shoulders. “He had one of their matchbooks with something written on it. Phone number, maybe.” He exhaled a burst of air that nobody would mistake for laughter. “Well what the fuck was I supposed to do,” he hissed, “stop and write it down?”

  “Whatever.” He stood on the precinct steps and rolled his eyes. “You need to take care of this, man. Because if you don’t? I will.”

  * * * *

  Dante left a half-empty cup of coffee and a five on the table, nodded to the waitress on his way out the door. The sidewalk was crowded, but he caught a glimpse of the back of Bobby Vega’s uniform heading South. Towards the 115th, he assumed.

  He followed him. Not because Bobby had lied, though he was curious about that, but because he still hadn’t gotten into his brother’s locker. Leo had agreed - in principle, at least - but had balked at him doing it during shift change.

  Dante was so caught up in thinking about it that he nearly collided with the tall, leggy blonde at the newsstand on the corner.

  Her face was hidden behind a pair of big, dark sunglasses and a glossy magazine, but he’d know those legs anywhere. The blonde from last night. Harley something-or-other.

  “Hey.” Dante waited a second or two for Harley to lower the magazine, narrowed his eyes. “Harley, right?”

  When she didn’t answer right away he shifted his weight from one leg to the other, added, “I’m Dante Giancana.”

  “Right.” She nodded. “From last night.”

  “So...” Dante paused, scratched his jaw, “first Arturo’s, now Clancy’s. Hell of a coincidence.”

  “Actually, it’s not a coincidence at all.” Harley pulled her shoulders back like she was bracing for battle. “I was looking for you.”

  Dante shoved his hands into his pockets, tilted his head to the side. “Come again?”

  “I wanted to talk to you about your brother.”

  “My brother?” He frowned, the thought that she might belong to the silky, pink nightie from his brother’s apartment coming at him from out of nowhere. It didn’t sit well.

  “I understand he’s at St. Ignatius right now with a... let’s just say a questionable gunshot wound.” Her voice was a little shaky, her hands even more so.

  “Who the hell told you that?” Dante hissed, eyes narrowed.

  “Sorry,” she informed him coolly. “I’m not at liberty to say.”

  “Fuck me, you’re a reporter.” Dante shook his head, dragged a hand over his clenched jaw. Christ, now it all made sense. The whole come-hither, seduction thing at Arturo’s. She wanted a fucking story.

  “I’m with the Voice.”

  “The Voice?” Painfully familiar with the paper, Dante snorted in disgust, muttered, “You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

  “Hey.” Harley scowled, her mouth twisting into a sullen pout. “You don’t have to be ugly about it.”

  “Right,” Dante said quietly, his voice thick with sarcasm. “God forbid I hurt the fucking reporter’s feelings.” He rolled his eyes, then continued, louder. “Look, I hate to disappoint you here, but there is no story. My brother is just... a cop. A cop in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  “Huh.” Harley played dumb, idly tapping her chin with her finger. “Well that
would make perfect sense if it weren’t for the money. And of course the drugs. The drugs complicate things a bit, too.”

  Dante grabbed Harley by the arm, pulled her off to the edge of the sidewalk. “I wanna know who told you that,” he hissed.

  “Reporter, remember?” Harley huffed, jerked her arm free. “We don’t reveal our sources.”

  Dante was thinking about that pink nightie again, only now he was imagining choking her with it. “Just so we’re clear.” He leaned in close, intentionally invading Harley’s personal space. He jabbed a finger in her direction, almost - almost - touching her face. “If you write one word about my brother I will make you wish you’d never been born.”

  Dante turned to walk away, but Harley obviously wasn’t done with him. “So I guess that’s no comment then,” she yelled at the back of his head, the flash of temper giving her voice an edge. Whispered, “Jackass,” under her breath as he disappeared into the crowd.

  Chapter 10

  Harley watched the traffic up ahead slow to a crawl, the ruddy glow of brake lights illuminate the night. She frowned impatiently, leaned forward. “You can just let me out here.”

  “You sure about that?” The silver-haired cabbie glanced at Harley in the rearview mirror, lifted his thick, wiry eyebrows. “This ain’t exactly the Magnificent Mile, ya know.”

  Harley looked around, taking it in. A couple of deserted, vacant buildings with boarded up doors and windows and a smattering of truly offensive graffiti. A handful of storefronts - tattoo parlor and bodega, a pawn shop - most locked up tight, their windows dark and shrouded in security grilles or gates. Not the Magnificent Mile, but more desolate than dangerous.

  Harley said, “I’ll be fine,” slipped him a couple of bills before she climbed out of the back of the cab. Even smiled when he muttered, “Suit yourself,” under his breath.

  She set off down the unfamiliar sidewalk, shifted her bag from one shoulder to the other, instinctively tightening her grip when she neared the bodega. It was obviously closed, but there were a couple of teenage boys - just kids, really - hanging around out front.

  She rolled her eyes at the jeers and whistles, but picked up her pace a little when the crotch-grabbing and lip-smacking started. Walk with purpose? Check. Keep your head up and your shoulders back? Check. Pay attention to your surroundings? And... check.

  Harley was so caught up in her checklist that she nearly wet her pants when a hand shot out of nowhere and grabbed her.

  “What the fuck are you doing here?” Dante snarled, his fingers digging into her flesh. “You got some kind of itch ain’t getting scratched at home?”

  “What?” Harley blinked, did a double take. The look she shot him, pure not you again. She jerked her arm free, color warming her neck, her cheeks. “No. Of course not.”

  “Then why is it that every fucking time I turn around you’re there?”

  “Puh-lease.” Harley rolled her eyes, snorted. “Don’t flatter yourself.” She rubbed at the marks he’d left on her skin. “I’m on my way to Roxi’s.”

  “Why?” Dante narrowed his eyes. Well hell, that wasn’t good news. “One of your usual hangouts?”

  “I don’t- it’s none of your business where I hang out,” she stammered.

  “In case you didn’t notice, princess, this is a dangerous neighborhood. Might want to think about that before you wander too far out of your comfort zone.”

  Fuming, Harley’s eyes slitted at the princess crack. “Don’t worry about me.” She clutched her bag to her chest, patted it smugly. “I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

  “Yeah? Why don’t we just see about that.” He snatched the bag out of her hands.

  “Hey.” Harley made a frantic grab at it, missed. “Give me that.”

  Dante held the bag out of reach, stuck his hand in and dug out a can of pepper spray. “Seriously?” He held it up, waved it back and forth. “This is how you take care of yourself?”

  “I live in Chicago, you jerk.” She grabbed her bag, the can. “I know all about self-defense.”

  When Dante shook his head and sneered in Harley’s face, she just... snapped. It was like she was having some sort of out-of-body experience. One minute she’s a sane, rational individual and the next she’s kicking him.

  In the leg.

  On the sidewalk. Jesus.

  Dante grabbed his leg, snarled. “Gonna need to aim a little higher there, princess.”

  Again with the princess thing. “Enough.” Harley lifted a hand, cutting him off. “Just... enough.” She stuffed the pepper spray back in her bag, zipped it shut. “I am a reporter. If you’ve got something to say about your brother, then by all means, go ahead and say it. If not, I’ve got things to do.”

  “You go right ahead.” Dante shook his head, laughed his disgust. “But here’s a little free advice for you, Princess. Why don’t you do us all a favor and try not to stand out too much.”

  “Like this?” Clearly skeptical, Harley started walking backwards towards Roxi’s. Lifted her hands, palms up. Denim skirt, plain v-neck tee, her hair hanging loose and curly around her shoulders, no makeup to speak of. “I’m sure I’ll fit in just fine.”

  “Yeah,” he said, teeth tightly clenched, his voice thick with sarcasm. “Because you blend.”

  * * * *

  Dante followed Harley through Roxi’s. Around tables and chairs, through a sea of loud, obnoxious drunks and a handful of scantily-clad waitresses. Close enough that he could count the freckles sprinkled across her nose - seven - every time she glared back over her shoulder at him.

  Close enough that he managed to snag the last empty table seconds before her, slipping into a chair with a smug sigh. It was a choice location. Next to the runway, a stone’s throw away from the poles themselves. The fact that she looked like she was about to blow a gasket because he’d gotten there first made it even more so.

  He leaned back in his chair, let her stand there for a second or two. Made a big production out of glancing around, frowned. “Crowded tonight.” He scratched his jaw, dragging out the torture. “Extra chair here, if you want to join me.”

  He could see just how badly she wanted to say no - it was written all over her face - but she reeled her temper in and plopped down next to him. Leaned back to cross one leg over the other, her foot bobbing up and down impatiently.

  A waitress was at Dante’s side before he could settle into his own chair, leaning forward to bring her obviously enhanced cleavage to his eye-level. “What can I get you, Hon?”

  “Whiskey, rocks.” Dante flashed her a crooked grin, his gaze lingering on her chest for a second or two. “Chablis here tonight?”

  “Uh huh. Should be up next.” The waitress walked away, hips swinging, ignoring Harley completely. Harley frowned, glanced around. There were a handful of women in the audience, all being ignored by waitresses. Whatever. “Nothing for me, thanks.” Harley rolled her eyes at the other woman’s back.

  When the music kicked on a scantily-clad redhead wrapped herself around one of the poles, and Dante leaned back a little in his chair to watch. “So what now?” she asked impatiently.

  “Now we sit back and enjoy the show.”

  The waitress returned with Dante’s drink, set it down on the table in front of him. He sipped, his eyes still on the redhead. “Just out of curiousity, who told you about Roxi’s anyway?” he asked her.

  “Sorry.” She mimicked zipping her mouth, throwing away the key. No way was she telling him the truth; that she’d overheard it from one of the bartenders at Arturo’s.

  Another stripper - a blonde, this time - took her place at the pole, her hips swinging back and forth like a pendulum in time to an 80’s hair band song whose name Harley couldn’t quite remember. Like the redhead, the blonde wore a thong and a teeny, tiny bikini top, along with a pair of glittery platform pumps.

  Harley frowned, watched her strut and gyrate and bend her near-naked body in ways that defied logic, let alone gravity. The fact t
hat she was able to do it in those heels? Mind boggling.

  Harley wasn’t surprised when the blonde tugged off her top - hello, strip club - but her mouth nearly dropped open when the other woman sent it sailing through the air and into Dante’s lap. “You have got to be kidding me,” Harley sputtered.

  “Problem?” Dante lifted his eyebrows, his fingers tightening around a handful of silver fabric.

  Harley muttered something ugly under her breath, folded her arms over her chest. God, she wished she had a drink, just so she could toss it in his stupid, condescending face.

  She took a deep, calming breath, allowed herself a moment to enjoy the visual. His stunned expression, the alcohol - tequila, maybe? - dripping off his nose, his eyelashes. It worked, too. At least it seemed to until the stripper, the blonde whose top was clutched so tightly in Dante’s hand, walked up and leaned down to kiss him on the mouth.

  Typical. Harley rolled her eyes. The woman couldn’t have been off the runway for more than a couple of minutes, but she’d found the time to touch up her hair, her make-up. Getting dressed in something other than a short, silky robe and those ridiculous heels was too much trouble, but God forbid her mouth not be painted with a fresh coat of fire engine red.

  “Mmm mmm mmm,” the blonde hummed under her breath. Stood in front of him, gently thumbed away the lipstick smudge she’d left on his mouth. “Dante Giancana.”

  “Chablis.” He reached out, trailed his fingers along the sash tied at her waist. “I heard you were working here.”

  “Since they reopened. Good money, close to home. Who could ask for more?” She pulled out a chair, sat down next to Dante. “So, who’s your friend?”

  “Sorry. Chablis, this is Harley…” Dante looked at Harley, frowned.

  “Greer.” Harley flashed a quick, condescending smile. “Harley Greer.”

  Chablis looked Harley up and down, eyebrows lifted, then back at Dante. “Seriously?”

  “Don’t ask.” Dante rolled his eyes, shook his head.