Conduct Unbecoming

by Sinclair, Georgia

  Chapter 13

  Harley hung her arm out the car window, drummed her fingers on the door. She squinted into the sun, lifted her hand to block the glare. Turned to Dante, frowned. “This is crazy. What,” she snorted sarcastically, “we’re just gonna... hang around until the guy shows up?”

  They were four doors down from Dewey’s, the bar Mickey had told them about, close enough to see anybody coming or going. At least out the front. If he went out the back they were screwed.

  “You got a better idea?” Dante asked softly, his eyes glued to the entrance.

  “Well no, but...” Harley frowned, leaned forward, pointed. “Shit,” she whispered. “Is that him?”

  “Looks like it. Why don’t you wait here.”

  Seriously? She didn’t bother to answer him, just opened the door and climbed out of the car. When Dante started after the guy, Harley was right on his heels. Had to be him, the tattoo was a dead giveaway.

  Mickey had said dragon, but Jesus, this was a dragon. Bloody fangs and talons, flames shooting out of its mouth, the whole nine yards. Definitely quality work, and definitely one of a kind.

  Dante moved quickly, quietly. He was almost on him - five, six feet away at the most - when the guy made him. When the son-of-a-bitch took off down the sidewalk like a bat out of Hell, pushing and shoving his way past anyone in his path. “Hey,” Dante shouted. “Stop right there.”

  In a perfect world he would have. He would have stopped right there on the sidewalk, and the two of them would have engaged in a calm, rational conversation. At the very least they would have been civil with each other. But of course the world was far from perfect, so Dante had to chase after him for another three blocks. He even had a hold of his T-shirt at one point, but the little shit pulled loose and ducked down a narrow alley, crashing into one wall, bouncing off another.

  And then somehow - somehow - Dante had him. He took an elbow to the mouth and his lip was bleeding, but he had him. Dante shoved him up against the wall, pressed his face into the bricks. “What part of stop right there didn’t you get, asshole?”

  “I didn’t do nothin, man,” the guy whined.

  “Yeah? Then why’d you run?” Still breathing hard, Dante gave the guy another push.

  “Cause you was chasin’ me.”

  Dante held him by the back of the neck with one hand, patted him down with the other. Under his arms, at his waist, between his legs. He collected a plastic bag of assorted pills, a roll of cash, his license. Hector Morales. “So, looks like business is good, Hector.”

  “Why?” he snarled. “You gonna rip me off, too, cop?”

  Dante spun Hector around until his back was up against the wall, his hand around his throat. “I’m not a cop, Hector.”

  “Then what’s to stop me from kicking your ass, guero?”

  Harley ran up behind them before Dante could answer, huffing and puffing. “Dante.” She pressed her hand to her chest, leaned forward for a moment to try to catch her breath. “Are you okay?”

  “Stay back, Harley,” he ordered, his eyes still on Hector.

  “You're bleeding.” She moved closer, her voice wobbling.

  “God damn it, Harley,” he snarled. “I said stay back.” He was looking over his shoulder at her now, and his eyes flashed with anger. His expression was so dark, so vehement that she stopped, took a step back.

  When Hector twisted around to try to look behind Dante, Dante snarled, his hand tightening around Hector’s throat. “Uh uh. You don’t even fucking look at her.”

  “‘Aight, ‘aight.” Hector tried to swallow, lifted his hands in surrender. “I get it. No looking.”

  Dante loosened his grip a little, just enough that Hector could breathe. “Tell me about St. Michael’s.”

  Hector glared, eyes narrowed. “Don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

  “Last week.” Dante lifted his chin in Hector’s direction. “You and the choirboy on the basketball court at St. Michael’s. I wanna know what the fight was about.”

  Dante watched him shake his head and play dumb, but before Hector could lie Dante leaned in closer, hissed in his ear. “Don’t bullshit me, Hector. I’m not looking to jam you up, but if I have to drag your ass downtown I will.”

  “Thought you said you wasn’t a cop.”

  Dante smiled, slapped Hector with his open palm, hard enough to sting. “Think of me as a good samaritan, Hector. One who’s uncomfortable with you wandering around Chicago with this bag of party favors.” Dante held the bag of pills up in the air between them.

  Hector made a grab for it, spewing a stream of expletives that had Harley wincing. “You want these?” Dante lifted the bag, his eyebrows. “Then I suggest you start talking, esse. I don’t have all day.”

  “I’m not your fucking esse,” Hector snarled.

  “Tick tock, Hector. Tick tock.”

  “Cracker took my money. Him and his fucking pig buddies.” Dante’s shoulders sank, and when his grip loosened on the bag, Hector grabbed it, stuffed it in his pocket. “Told the little shit I wanted it back.”

  * * * *

  “I need to see my brother.” Dante took a right at the light - the yellow light, which only made the situation dicier - wheels squealing.

  Determined to stay upright, Harley shot out a hand, pressed her palm to the dash. She lifted her eyebrows, turned slightly to face him. “Okay, seriously? First it’s a total disregard for the speed limit, not to mention traffic lights, and now you’re,” she waved her other hand in the air, “I need to see my brother? That’s the way you choose to deal with the issue?”

  “There is no issue,” Dante snapped, his eyes glued to the road. The muscle in his jaw twitched and jumped, his fingers biting into the steering wheel, knuckles white.

  “Right.” Harley choked out a startled laugh, shook her head. “Except that.... that hoodlum just said your brother and his partner stole his money. Money earned through the illegal sale of drugs, I might add,” she amended, her voice was thick with sarcasm.

  Harley watched Dante turn the radio on, crank the volume. Real mature. She rolled her eyes, reached out and shut it off. “I know you don’t want to believe-”

  “He didn’t do it.”

  Harley sighed, rubbed idly at the headache brewing between her eyebrows. “But Hector-”

  “Is not exactly a reliable witness.” Dante scrubbed a hand over his face. “Hector says Enzo and Bobby, and a couple guys from Vice executed a warrant at his place three weeks ago. Confiscated drugs and cash, AK47s, TEC-9s. Between the drugs and the guns and his prior convictions, he could have easily been looking at life.”

  “Maybe.” She sighed, conceding. “Probably.”

  “So when nobody shows up at his door with an arrest warrant, Hector decides to be proactive. He takes his copy of the search warrant to his lawyer, who figures out pretty quickly that it’s bogus.”

  “Pretty gutsy, if you ask me.”

  “And Hector’s got absolutely no recourse. He’s totally fucked.” Dante lifted his shoulders. “What the Hell is he gonna do? Turn them in?”

  “But then he runs into Enzo.” Harley shook her head, muttered. “I mean, what are the odd of that? 2.7 million people, and he runs into the cop that screwed him over playing basketball.”

  “Allegedly screwed him over.”

  “Allegedly,” Harley conceded, rolled her eyes.

  Dante pulled into the hospital parking lot, shut the car off. Turned to face her. “What if Enzo wasn’t one of the cops who screwed him over? What if he was just... a cop? A cop doing his job, or at least believing he was doing his job.” He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “If Hector was fooled by the bogus search warrant, maybe Enzo was, too.”

  “I suppose it’s possible,” Harley said, though she didn’t look convinced.

  “Until I hear otherwise from Enzo, I’m giving him the benefit of the doubt.” Dante got out of the car, waited for Harley to join him.

  Harley glanced
up at the hospital. “And what if he can’t say otherwise,” she asked gently. “What if he doesn’t wake up?”

  “If he can’t defend himself?” His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Then I guess you’ve got yourself a Hell of a story, Princess.”

  Chapter 16

  The elevator doors pinged at the seventh floor, then slowly slid open. Dante followed Harley out, pointed. “It’s this way.”

  Instead of admitting that she knew exactly where his brother’s room was, she followed him towards the nurse’s station. It was one thing for him to know she’d been asking questions, another for him to know she’d been doing it here. They were halfway there when a staticky Code Blue ICU alert sliced through the quiet corridor.

  Dante instinctively ran toward his brother’s room. His heart nearly stopping at the flock of doctors and nurses congregated inside. “What’s wrong?” Dante tried to push his way in, too, but a man in pale blue scrubs blocked the door. “What happened?” He made a frantic grab for the guy’s arm. “That’s my brother. Is he okay?”

  “Sir, you need to wait out here.” The man - nurse? doctor, maybe? - untangled himself from Dante’s grip, joined the others inside. Gave the curtain in the doorway a quick tug behind him, pulling it shut to block Dante’s view.

  “Come on.” Harley’s hands were shaking, but she took Dante’s arm and lead him toward a nearby chair. “You need to sit down.”

  Terrified, Dante dropped down into the chair. He leaned forward for a moment to try to catch his breath, head in his hands, elbows on his knees. When he looked up again, Leo was there, too.

  “Leo? What are you doing here?” Dante asked. Leo glanced from Dante to Harley, back again. “Sorry.” Dante dragged a hand over his face, shook his head. “Leo, Harley.” He gestured back and forth between them. “Harley, Leo.”

  The two nodded to each other, then Leo looked back toward Enzo’s room. “I was in with Lorenzo. Just sitting with him, and the... the monitor went off,” Leo mumbled, his face gray and waxy-looking. “Everybody came running in. Doctors, nurses.” He shook his head, seemed to sway a little on his feet. “It all happened so fast.”

  “Here.” Dante stood up. “You look like you need this worse than I do.”

  Before Leo could sit down, though, the curtain in Enzo’s room was tugged open and a woman - this one in green scrubs, with a clipboard under her arm - approached them. “How’s my brother?” Dante asked, the words coming out of his mouth in a panicked rush.

  The doctor pulled a pair of reading glasses from her pocket, slid them on before she referred to the clipboard. “Your brother has suffered a Myocardial Infarction.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “In layman’s terms, your brother-” she stopped to check the chart for his name, “Lorenzo, has had a heart attack.”

  “Jesus,” Dante breathed. “But he’s gonna be okay, right?”

  “Mr. Giancana, your brother’s condition is precarious, at best.” She sounded resigned, but not unsympathetic. “Between the gunshot wounds and today’s episode...” She lifted her shoulders, letting the words trail away - in an effort to soften the blow, no doubt - but her meaning was clear.

  “No.” Dante shook his head. “I get what you’re saying, but no.” He managed a faint, hollow laugh. “You might not be able to tell by looking, but Lorenzo is too damn stubborn to quit.”

  “I hope you’re right, Mr. Giancana. Believe me, nothing would make me happier.”

  “Can I see him?”

  “Not for at least twenty-four hours.” Dante opened his mouth to argue, and her hand shot up to stop him. “He needs rest, Mr. Giancana. I imagine you do, too. Leave your number at the nurse’s station and they’ll call you if there are any changes.” She pulled her glasses off and tucked them back in her pocket, turned to walk away.

  “Could I at least-”

  “Twenty-four hours, Mr. Giancana,” she called back over her shoulder, one hand lifted in a backwards wave. “Not a minute sooner.”

  When she disappeared around the corner Harley reached out, put her hand on his arm. “Dante, I am so sorry.”

  “He’s gonna be okay,” he murmured to no one in particular. “He has to be okay.”

  “Come on.” She gave Dante’s arm a squeeze. “You look exhausted. Let’s go find you something to eat.”

  “I’m not gonna be good company.”

  “Yeah, well,” she managed a tenuous smiled, “I’m getting used to that.”

  He laughed hard, and the deep, raucous explosion of sound surprised him nearly as much as it did her. For a second or two he was able to put aside the fear, the heart-stopping panic. Jesus, it felt good. “Careful, Princess. You’ll hurt my feelings.”

  “You two go ahead.” Leo scrubbed a hand over his face, his eyes glued to Enzo’s door. “I’m just... gonna stick around for a while.”

  “You heard the doc, Leo.” Dante nudged him with his shoulder. “No visitors for twenty-four hours.”

  “But-”

  “No buts, Leo.” Dante shook his head. “Come on, you can ride down with us.” Leo hesitated, but when Dante led the way to the elevator, he had no choice but to follow.

  * * * *

  Harley shut the apartment door behind her. “Coffee okay?” She dropped her bag in a nearby chair, headed toward the kitchen.

  “Yeah.” Dante nodded, tucked his hands in his pockets. “Coffee sounds good.” Good? Hell, good might be the understatement of the year. A caffeine IV drip might be in order today.

  “Have a seat.” Harley motioned toward the sofa, but Dante found himself following her into the kitchen instead. She measured water and scooped coffee, flipped the brewer on. Then opened the refrigerator and leaned inside. “Let’s see.” She frowned, drummed her fingers on the door. “I can do tuna salad or grilled cheese.” She held up a jar of peanut butter, some grape jelly. “Or maybe PB & J?”

  Dante leaned back against the counter. “Jesus, I can’t remember the last time I had a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.”

  “PB & J it is then.” Harley smiled, dug out a loaf of bread, a knife. She made two sandwiches for him, one for herself. Carried them over to the little round table that doubled as her desk before she went back and poured two big mugs of coffee. “Cream or sugar?” she asked.

  “Just black.” Dante sat down at the table, took a big swallow of steaming coffee. “Mmm.” He closed his eyes for a second, sighed. “Jesus, that’s good.”

  She lowered her chin, smiled. “Just one of my many talents.”

  The cat hopped up on the table, landed with a resounding thud. Purred loudly as he nudged against Dante’s hand. “Sorry.” Harley tried to scoop him up, but he nipped at her hand. “Off Tolstoy,” she chided.

  “He’s alright.” Dante smoothed a hand over the cat’s big silvery head. “Yeah, you’re okay,” Dante crooned quietly, “aren’t you cat?”

  Harley narrowed her eyes, muttered, “The traitor’s name is Tolstoy,” under her breath.

  “Tolstoy?” Dante lifted an eyebrow.

  “Russian author, wrote Anna Karenina.”

  “And War and Peace, among other things.” He smiled tolerantly. “I know who Tolstoy is, Princess. Just seems like kind of a shitty thing to name a cat.”

  “Guess that’s a matter of opinion.” It surprised her, somehow, that he was familiar with Tolstoy, but she was determined not to think about it. She quietly gathered their empty plates, put them in the sink. Poured herself another mug of coffee. “You want more?”

  “Sure, if you’re offering.”

  She poured him a second cup, joined him at the table again. Settled back in her chair. “So what’s next?”

  “Jesus,” he rubbed his forehead wearily, “I have no idea.”

  “I don’t mean to pry, but you and your brother don’t seem particularly... close.”

  “You don’t mean to pry?” Dante lifted an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

  She ignored the dig, shrugged. “You don’t even look
alike.”

  “Yeah, well, people say I take after our dad. Enzo looks like Mom.” Dante took another swallow of coffee. “And before you ask, they’re both gone. It’s just me and Enzo.”

  “I’m sorry.” She reached out, touched his arm.

  Danted scrubbed a hand over his face. “It was a long time ago.”

  “I’m still sorry.”

  “Pop used to say Enzo was born wearing rose colored glasses.” Dante shook his head, remembering. “Always happy, smiling. Definitely a glass-half-full kind of kid. Still is.” He finished his coffee, pushed the empty mug aside.

  “What about you,” she asked quietly. “What kind of kid were you?”

  “I was a hard ass. Always pushing, fighting. And I always, always had to have the last word.”

  “Ah, so you’re saying nothing’s changed.” She nodded, enjoying herself a little more than she’d anticipated. “I mean, from where I sit you still seem pretty determined to have the last word...”

  “There you go again, Princess, hurting my feelings.” Dante grinned, tipped his chair back on two legs. “Lorenzo was... everything I wasn’t. He was brilliant, and I barely made it through high school. He was recruited by colleges all over the midwest. Played baseball,” Dante shook his head, “hell of a pitcher. I knocked around for a couple of years after high school, joined the department because I couldn’t think of anything better to do.” He held his breath, waited. Watched for her reaction.

  Nothing. Either she was the consummate liar, or she really didn’t recognize him.

  “The department? So you’re a cop, too?” Harley finished her coffee, took both their cups to the sink, rinsed them.

  “I was a cop.” Still nothing. He let his chair drop back on all four legs. “Now I’m a bartender.”

  “Kind of an interesting career path, isn’t it?” Her casual smile didn’t throw up any red flags. Mild curiosity, at best.

  “Honey, you have no idea.” Dante shook his head. “How about you? Hard to believe being a” - he rolled his eyes - “reporter at the Voice could be somebody’s dream job.”