Conduct Unbecoming

by Sinclair, Georgia

  “I heard about Enzo,” she said quietly, ignoring Harley to lean closer to Dante. “He’s gonna be okay?”

  “Too early to tell.”

  “He’s a tough kid.” Chablis reached out, pressed her palm to his face for a second. “He’ll get through this.” She smiled. “Remember when you and Tommy Matto climbed the fire escape outside Savannah Costa’s building in the twelfth grade? And Enzo was so mad you wouldn’t let him come with that he followed you?”

  “Yeah.” Dante snorted, shook his head. “And then he fell off half way up and broke his arm.”

  “Savannah said he didn’t even cry.”

  “Too stubborn to. He had a huge crush on her, even though she was... what? like four years older than him? No way was he gonna cry in front of her.”

  “Like I said, tough.”

  “Yeah.” Dante took a deep breath, closed his eyes for a second or two before he opened them again. “Tough.” He scrubbed a hand over his mouth before he continued, his jaw. “Does he come in much?”

  “Here? I don’t know.” Chablis lifted her shoulders. “Couple times a week, I guess.”

  “With anyone in particular?”

  “No.” She frowned, shook her head. “Not that I can think of, anyway.”

  “A woman, maybe?” He leaned closer.

  “Seriously?” Chablis narrowed her eyes, shot Harley a sideways look. “All evidence to the contrary, we don’t get a lot of women in here.”

  “Somebody who works here then.”

  “Not likely.” Chablis smiled wearily. “Richie’s got a rule against dating the clientele.”

  “Richie Fedor? He’s in charge?”

  “Uh huh. Never lets you forget it, either.”

  “And you mean to tell me nobody breaks that rule?” Dante cocked his head, the corner of his mouth lifting in a skeptical grin.

  “Well if they did, I imagine they’d be smart enough to keep their mouth shut about it.”

  “Could you maybe just... ask around, Chablis? Please?”

  Chablis sighed, rolled her eyes. “Fine. I’ll ask around.”

  “Thanks.” Dante nodded, gratitude written all over his face. He stood up, pressed a kiss to Chablis’ forehead before finally - finally - looking Harley’s way again.

  She rolled her eyes, but followed him towards the exit. “Old friends?” she asked him snidely.

  “Why? Jealous?”

  “Puh-lease.” Harley snorted. “Of someone who’d make up a name like Chablis?”

  “Right. As opposed to someone who’d make up a name like Harley.”

  She felt her face get red, was powerless to stop it. “For your information, my name really is Harley.”

  “Yeah.” He shook his head, kept walking. “And I’m the Pope.”

  Chapter 11

  Juggling her bag and a vat-sized cup of steaming coffee, Chablis bumped the car door shut with her hip, locking it before she stuffed her keys into her jeans pocket. Carmen’s car was here, and Lacey’s, but other than that the lot was empty.

  She hurried through the parking lot, flip flops slapping against the softened asphalt, hummed a little Bon Jovi under her breath. Carmen and Lacey were working Roxi’s lunch crowd, but she wasn’t scheduled to work until tonight. A quick stop to pick up her check, and she was out of here.

  Before she could get into the dressing room, though, Carmen was there, raining on her parade. “Richie’s looking for you.”

  “Did he say why?” Chablis frowned as what little that was left of her good mood evaporated.

  “Huh uh.” Carmen shook her head.

  “Okay.” Chablis grabbed her check out of her locker, stuffed it into her bag. “Might as well get it over with.”

  She waved to Danny behind the bar, then leaned into Richie’s office, cleared her throat. “Carmen said you were looking for me.”

  Richie looked up from his keyboard for a second, gestured toward the empty chair across from his desk before he looked down again. “Sit.”

  Because it came from Richie, and Richie didn’t make suggestions, Chablis did as she was ordered. Perched at the edge of her seat, waited.

  “Are you happy here, Chablis?” He asked idly, casually, without bothering to look up. His fingers moving at a steady, even pace over the keyboard, as if he weren’t paying attention to her at all. “At Roxi’s?”

  “Yes.” The words felt more like an interrogation than casual conversation, and a lot like a threat. Her voice wobbled a little. “Of course.”

  “Good.” He looked up, narrowed his eyes, leaned back in his chair. “So what did Dante Giancana want?”

  Confused by the question, she frowned. “I don’t know what you-”

  “Dante Giancana was here last night. You spoke to him. What. Did. He want?” There was nothing casual about him now. This was the real Richie, and the real Richie scared the shit out of her.

  “I don’t- I don’t know,” she stammered. “We grew up together, I guess he just wanted to catch up.”

  Richie folded his hands behind his head. To Chablis’ credit, she didn’t squirm, though the urge was certainly there. “He asked if I’d seen his brother, Enzo,” she added. “If he came into Roxi’s.” His silence was unnerving, and she couldn’t seem to stop herself from trying to fill it.

  “And what did you tell him?”

  She laughed, a nervous little burst of air. “I told him there wasn’t a man within a twenty block radius who didn’t come in to Roxi’s.”

  He narrowed his eyes at her. “What else?”

  “Well, he- he asked me if I knew if Enzo was seeing anybody,” she stammered. “Like maybe somebody from here.” She held her breath for a second or two - and this time she did squirm - but she managed to not look away.

  “Is he?”

  “No.” Chablis shook her head adamantly. “Absolutely not, Richie. We all know the rule. No dating the clients.”

  “Good.” He dragged his hand over his mouth, his jaw. “That’s good. Nevertheless, I don't want him back in here.”

  “But he-”

  “Get rid of him, Chablis. I don't care how you do it, but get rid of him.”

  “Sure,” she said, wiping her damp palms on her jeans. “Whatever you say, Richie.”

  * * * *

  Bobby Vega made a half-hearted grab at one of the waitresses, then snagged a beer at the bar before he headed back to Richie’s office. The door was closed, but he didn’t knock, shoving it open like he owned the place instead.

  “What the fuck?” Richie Fedor snarled, glaring up at him over the top of a pair of half-moon glasses.

  “Hello Richie.”

  Richie did a double take, blinked. “What the Hell are you doing here?”

  “Damage control, Richie.” Bobby took a pull from his beer.

  Richie pulled his glasses off, tossed them onto the desk. “Did he send you?”

  “What do you think?”

  “I think he worries too much. I think you both worry too much.” Richie back-pedaled when Bobby lifted his eyebrows. “I mean yeah, obviously, we had a problem, but with the kid gone it’s a non-issue.”

  “Assuming the kid stays gone.”

  “Trust me.” Richie nodded. “He’s gonna stay gone.”

  “And what about his brother?”

  “What about his brother?” Richie made a noise that almost sounded like laughter. “Dante Giancana is persona non grata with the Chicago PD. The boss made sure of that a long time ago.”

  “Yeah, but,” Bobby shook his head, unconvinced, “he’s in town less than 48 hours and he’s here snooping around? You don’t think that’s a concern?”

  “No, I don’t. I checked with Chablis. He wasn’t snooping around, he was just getting his rocks off.” Richie leaned forward, elbows on his desk. “We’re making too much money here to quit over some... what if.”

  “Better hope you’re right, man.” Bobby finished the last of his beer, tossed his empty trash. “Because if you’re not? We’re all fucke
d.”

  Chapter 12

  Harley managed to make it all the way through the apartment with her eyes shut, then somehow tripped over the cat at the front door. “Shit,” she hissed, still more asleep than awake. “What the...”

  The pounding finally - Jesus, finally - stopped when she jerked the door open, but the relief was short-lived. She exhaled a burst of dismissive laughter, shook her head. “What do you want?”

  “Good morning to you, too, Princess.” He edged around her, walked into her apartment like he belonged there.

  “Do you have any idea what time it is?” She shut the door behind him with a satisfying thud, lifted her eyebrows. Perfect. The man obviously rolls out of bed looking like sex on a stick, and she could pass for roadkill.

  “Nope.” Dante slowly shook his head, heat flashing in his dark eyes. She could feel his gaze trail down her body, like fingers on her skin, the shiver that rippled down her spine.

  She was suddenly, painfully aware of the amount of skin her ratty old boxers and way-too-scooped-neck wife-beater tee left exposed. That her hair hair must look like she’d been through a tornado, and that she probably had bags the size and color of plums under her eyes.

  Honestly, she would kill for a do-over. Just... five minutes to run a brush through her hair, to throw on a fricking robe. Unfortunately, the best she could do was grab the top of her tee and give it a quick, upward tug when his back was turned as he made a beeline for the sofa.

  Harley rolled her eyes, her voice thick with sarcasm. “Make yourself at home, why don’t you?”

  “Don’t mind if I do.” Dante sat down, stretched his legs out in front of him. “So what’s on the agenda today, Princess?”

  “Oh my God, would you just stop with the Princess thing?”

  “Have we touched a nerve?” he murmured, rolling his lips together to hide a smile.

  Harley sighed, rubbed idly at her just-starting-to-throb temple. Wandered into the kitchen, flicked on the coffee pot. “I just... can’t think until i’ve had my shower.”

  “Go ahead.” Dante leaned back, stretched his arms out along the back of the sofa. “I’ll wait.”

  “I’m not going to-” she stammered, “I mean you-”

  “Come on, Princess.” Dante rolled his wrist, gesturing for her to hurry up. “Let’s get a move on.”

  Harley opened her mouth, then snapped it shut again. At least a shower would give her a chance to put some clothes on.

  * * * *

  By the time Harley came out of the bathroom - dressed in yoga pants and a tee-shirt, hair slicked back in a ponytail - he’d managed to make himself at home on her couch. A steaming mug of coffee in one hand and her day planner in the other, her cat - the traitor - curled up and purring in his lap. “Hey.” She glared at the cat, made a grab for her book. “Give me that.”

  “What, this?” Dante lifted his eyebrows, holding the book just out of her reach.

  “You know what? You go right ahead.” She made a face, left him there to go get herself a cup of coffee. “It’s not like you’re going to understand it anyway.”

  “Gonna hurt my feelings there.” He didn’t call her princess again, but she could tell he was thinking it.

  “Good.” She brought her coffee over to the sofa and sat down. Folded her legs up under her, sipped. “What are you doing here anyway?”

  Dante smoothed a hand over Tolstoy’s head, along his back. “You said you wanted to talk about my brother.”

  Harley bit back a bitter half-laugh. “Yeah, and I believe you said I should get lost. Why the sudden change of heart?”

  “Maybe I could use some help.” And maybe he’d lost his fucking mind. Why else would he even consider working with this woman. A card-carrying member of the same goddamn bunch who’d nearly eviscerated him six years ago.

  He told himself he’d be better off knowing what was coming. God knew the knife you didn’t see coming was the one that cut the deepest.

  Christ.

  As if she could read his mind, she turned slightly to face him, eyebrows up, clearly skeptical. “Help. From me.”

  “Yeah well, at this point you’re the only one offering.”

  “Careful.” Harley rolled her eyes. “Wouldn’t want all this praise to go to my head.”

  “Look,” Dante said with weary patience. “Do you want to work together, or not? It’s a simple question.”

  “Fine. You wanna work together, we’ll work together.”

  “Great.” Dante nodded, rubbed his palms together. “So let’s start with the basics. Who told you about the drugs?”

  Harley snorted. “Well if I told you that, you wouldn’t need me, now would you? Besides, reporters don’t reveal confidential sources.”

  “Reporters? Seriously?” Dante said, his temper giving his voice an ugly edge. “I did a little digging. Your last story was about pets who look like their owners.”

  “It was your idea to work together, pal,” Harley said sharply, trying to pretend his words didn’t sting. “Believe me, I am fully prepared to do this on my own.”

  “At this point, we’re not even sure there is a story.”

  “Right.” Harley nodded, not bothering to keep the sarcasm out of her voice. “Because it makes perfect sense for your whiter-than-white choirboy brother to end up gunned down in the absolute worst part of Chicago with bags of heroin and rolls of cash.”

  Dante leaned toward her. “We have no idea what-”

  “Come on,” she said, almost wearily, “we know what. Whether you like it or not, the what is painfully obvious.” She shrugged. “But maybe there’s something in the why that will help us understand it.”

  Harley watched him sink back into the sofa, watched him struggle to get himself back in control. Whether it made sense or not, she actually felt sorry for him. Humoring him, she said, “At the very least, somebody left that heroin and money with Enzo. Maybe if we figure out who, we’ll figure out why.”

  Dante scrubbed a hand over his face, nodded.

  “So what now?” she asked.

  “How do you feel about basketball?”

  * * * *

  “Oh my God. Is that blood?” Harley narrowed her eyes at the mammoth, Rorschach-ish red stain on the tall guy’s T-shirt. Hooked her fingers through the chain-link fence, leaned in for a better look.

  “Looks like it,” Dante said absently, watching the basketball court for a break in the game. “From the looks of his face, I’d say... broken nose.”

  “I thought this was supposed to be a friendly game.”

  “Nothing friendly about basketball, Princess.” Dante lifted his chin, hollered, “Yo Mickey, nice hands.”

  The guy with the blood on his shirt turned and looked in Dante’s direction, then flashed a slow, toothy grin. “Take ten, guys,” he told the other players, tossing them the ball before he jogged towards Dante and Harley. “Giancana. Long time no see.” He came around the fence, grabbed the bottom of his bloody T-shirt, wiped the sweat off his face. “Heard about Enzo, man. How’s he doing?”

  “Kid’s tough.” Dante thought about the whole Savannah/broken arm thing, smiled. “He’s... hanging in.”

  “Good.” Mickey nodded. “That’s good. So you sticking around for a while?”

  “At least until he’s up and around again.”

  “Stop by sometime. We can always use another player.” Mickey didn’t say to replace Enzo, and Dante tried not to think it. “So who’s your friend?”

  “Hmm?” Dante looked from Mickey to Harley, then back again. “Sorry.” He shook his head. “My bad. This is Harley.” He put his arm around her waist, pulled her in close for a squeeze. “Harley, say hi to Mickey.”

  Harley gritted her teeth, squirmed a little. Not enough that Mickey noticed, certainly not enough to get away from Dante. She made herself smile, said, “Hi, Mickey.”

  “So does Enzo still play ball down here?” Dante asked Mickey.

  “Yeah.” Mickey nodded. “Maybe not as much as
he used to, but a couple times a week.”

  “And he seemed okay to you.” A statement, not a question.

  “He seemed good.” Mickey rolled a shoulder. “Was good. I think he’d even started seeing somebody.”

  “He tell you that?”

  “Not out right.” He chuckled. “But the signs were all there. The whispered phone calls and the shit-eating grins, the fancy new cologne.” Mickey glanced at Harley, then back at Dante. “You know how it is.”

  Dante let his hand slide lower on Harley’s waist, landing on her ass. He felt her stiffen, grinned down at her. “Don’t we all. He ever mention a name?”

  “Uh uh. I asked him, but he wasn’t talking.”

  Dante had to laugh. “Kid always did like his secrets.”

  Mickey’s answering smile faded a little. “You know, it was probably nothing, but there was an.... incident.” He scratched his jaw, let the words trail away.

  “What kind of incident?”

  Mickey sighed, rolled his eyes. “Last week Enzo got into a big shoving match on the court. Totally out of character, you know?”

  “With who?”

  Mickey muttered, “What the Hell was that guy’s name?” under his breath. He closed his eyes for a second or two, then opened them again, shook his head. “Sorry man, can’t think of it. He works at Dewey’s, over on 8th. Skinny guy. Hispanic. Dragon tattoo around his neck, down his arm.”

  “What were they fighting about?”

  “No idea, but the kid was really shook up. Not hurt, you know. Just... shook up.”

  “Thanks. I’ll check it out.”

  “No problem.” Mickey started walking backwards towards the court. “And seriously, man, we could always use another player.” He grinned, nodded. “Good to meet you, Harley.”

  Harley smiled back, said, “You too, Mickey.” She waited until he’d turned away again to shrug Dante’s hand off her ass. “Was that really necessary?” she hissed, eyes narrowed.

  “Oh yeah.” Dante laughed, enjoying himself immensely. “Totally.”