by KJ Kalis
The words hung in the air, the silence of the building washing over their conversation. The only noise Emily could hear was Marlowe. It sounded like she was hyperventilating, or just about to. “Listen, you need to take some deep breaths.”
“You don’t understand,” Marlowe said, bracing her hands on her knees. “You don’t understand,” she repeated, “that means all of it, every single penny, is on me.”
“I do understand that. That’s why I’m here.”
Marlowe straightened up, staring at Emily, “You’ll help me?”
“I’m going to try. No promises. This isn’t my usual kind of case.” For a moment Emily was afraid that Marlowe would hug her.
Marlowe let out a long sigh, her head dipping down to the ground, “Thank you.”
The drive back to the house took nearly as long as it took to get downtown in the first place. Emily rubbed her thumb and forefinger together in little circles about a million times on the drive home. There was a lot to think about. The state of the building was unbelievable. Hanging wires, no walls, thousands of square feet open to the elements with no windows. Emily didn’t know a lot about construction, but she didn’t know that every day that building stood open, especially during the winter weather, the more damage would be done. If there was any hope in saving the project, she would need to act fast.
That was the moment she knew she’d taken the case. Though she’d already told Marlowe she would help, there was always one moment where she knew she was committed. This was it. It was as if she could feel a clock ticking in the back of her head, the stop-work order and dangling electrical wires urging her on.
By the time she got home, it was nearly lunchtime. Walking in the back door, she slipped out of her work boots and pulled her pistol off of her hip, setting it on the counter, still in its holster. Miner trotted over and sniffed her hand, giving it a lick. “Thanks for the kiss, buddy,” she said, bending over and scratching behind his ears. A moment later, he walked away, laying down on his bed with a grunt.
Mike was at the kitchen table, tapping away at his keyboard, “How’d it go?”
“Well,” Emily said, shrugging out of her jacket. “She didn’t seem to know Vince is no longer on the partnership or loan agreements.”
“What? How is that possible? She signed the papers herself.”
Emily shook her head, “I have no idea. All I can tell you is that unless she is a tremendously good liar, she was telling the truth. Almost hyperventilated on me when I told her.”
“Well, that’s not the only thing to hyperventilate about. I’ve been doing more digging while you were downtown. I don’t think we have the full picture on this one yet.”
Emily walked over to the coffee pot, pulling the carafe out and turning toward the sink. She looked back over her shoulder, “What you mean? What else is there to know other than Vince got himself out of the company and off the loan and probably took all the money?”
“Lincoln Park Construction isn’t the only company Marlowe and Vince are partners in.”
At the moment he said it, Emily was filling the carafe with water. She shut it off and spun around. “What?”
He nodded, “I’ve got access to legal documents if you want to see them.”
Emily couldn’t tell if Mike was smug or sad about the situation. In a way, it didn’t matter. “How many others?”
“Two, North Shore Construction and Bayshore Development. That’s in addition to Lincoln Park.”
Emily turned back to the carafe that was sitting at the bottom of the sink, lifting the handle of the faucet and continuing to fill the pot. What had she gotten herself into? There were lies around every single corner. It was one thing for her to expose herself, was something completely different to be lied to in the process of trying to help. It was inexcusable. The case might be ending before it ever started. Marlowe was a liar.
13
After lunch, Mike hunkered down with his computer, promising to do more research on Marlowe’s business. The entire situation was confusing to Emily, to say the least. The fact that Emily’s sister believed a word that came out of Marlowe’s mouth was something Emily could barely fathom. It seemed like every single corner they turned, there were more questions about who Marlowe was and if what she was saying was true.
The rest of the day passed fairly quickly, Emily doing a few chores around the house and spending some time on her own, trying to figure out what was going on with Vince and Marlowe. There wasn’t much progress to be made. Other than the basic news reports Emily had already found, Mike was the only one who had access to the information she needed through his cache of underground databases and hackers.
The fact that Emily couldn’t make sense of the case at all was eating at her. It felt like something inside of her had taken up residence, something that she hadn’t invited. It was the same feeling she got if she heard a mouse traveling through the walls of her house in the wintertime. You knew the mouse was there, but you couldn’t get to it. It was as if the truth about Marlowe was able to squeeze through small spaces just like the mouse, but Emily couldn’t see it. Emily closed the top of her laptop, swinging her legs down off of the couch where she’d been sitting. Miner had jumped up on the other end of the couch, laying on top of her feet. She shook her head slightly, hunched over. Although she told Marlowe she would take the case, uncertainty still filled her. Nothing was adding up. That made the situation dangerous for Emily. Maybe it was time to pull the plug on the case, she thought. Angelica would be disappointed, but she would get over it. Marlowe would likely have another one of her shrieking fits, if Emily even told her, but that didn’t matter. Emily stood up, going into the kitchen to grab the burner phone, but just as she did, Mike came into the family room, holding his laptop.
“I found something interesting,” he said, plopping down on the chair that was positioned next to the couch.
Emily sat back down again, “What’s that?”
“Well, apparently Vince, Marlowe’s business partner, likes to hang out at a bar.” Mike chewed his lip for a second and then pushed his hair out of his eyes, “I went through his financials and nearly every night there is some sort of charge on his debit card from a bar just outside of downtown.”
The idea that Vince was so predictable surprised Emily a little. “Are you sure about the timing? He seriously goes there nearly every night?” Anyone who frequented a bar that much likely had a whole host of ugly habits they repeated day after day, month after month. Those were the types of things that Emily could quickly exploit if there was a case to be made for getting Marlowe justice. She wasn’t sure there was, but at least it was a step in the right direction.
Mike nodded, “It’s called The Fainting Cow. I just sent the address to your phone. I was also able to hack their video.”
Emily raised her eyebrows, “You were able to hack their video? Aren’t those usually on a closed system?”
Mike shrugged, “Most video surveillance used to be. Now, lots of businesses are using cloud storage. Makes them vulnerable to people hacking it and taking a look. They think it gives them better access. It does, but it also exposes them. Gotta take what you can get.”
Emily raised her eyebrows. Mike hacked sites as frequently as she did laundry. “What did you see on the video?”
“I’ll show you.”
Mike switched screens on his computer and moved over, sitting right next to Emily. He balanced the laptop on his knee and tapped play. Emily squinted at the screen, “Is that him right there?”
“Based on the pictures we have of him, yes,” Mike said.
Emily leaned forward as Mike rolled the video ahead. The man Mike identified as Vince was wearing what looked to be a relatively expensive suit, the knot of his red tie, loosened around his neck, the top button of his pressed shirt undone. It was the uniform of an important man at the end of an important day. Vince was sitting at the bar, his right hand wrapped around a short glass of amber liquid. What he was drinking, Emily h
ad no idea. That wasn’t important. She saw the bartender, a bald man with bulging eyes wearing a Fainting Cow T-shirt approach Vince and ask him a question. Vince nodded. A minute or so later, a new drink appeared on the bar counter in front of him, the bartender putting down a fresh napkin before setting the shiny glass on top of it.
As the video moved forward, Emily noticed Vince kept looking over his shoulder. “How long does he sit at the bar like this?”
Mike answered without looking at her, “For another eight minutes or so. After that, he joins a table of some other guys.”
“So, he’s hanging out near the entrance of the bar, waiting for his buddies.”
“Sounds like a good working theory,” Mike said. “Let me fast-forward through this section. All he does is sit at the bar and stare at the door.”
Emily leaned back for a second as Mike readjusted the video feed. She leaned forward again as he hit play. Vince got up from the barstool he was sitting on and left the frame of the video for just a moment. “This jumps over to another camera angle. Hold on for a sec,” Mike said tapping away at his keyboard.
As the video began to roll again, Emily could see Vince continue out of view and then reappear. This view was pointed towards the door on the interior side. Emily guessed there were likely two or three more cameras — one on the exterior of the bar at both the front and rear doors and another that covered the back office area. At least, if she was placing the cameras that’s where she would want them.
She saw Vince saunter over to the front door, two other guys walking in, a heavyset guy in a rumpled suit and another man with jet black hair that looked like he hadn’t eaten in at least a week. Skeletal. Vince did some glad-handing, shaking hands with both of the guys, a big grin spread over his face. As she continued to watch, she saw them take up a table in the corner.
“Pause the video for just a second, please,” she said to Mike, who stopped it.
“What do you see?”
“I’m not sure,” she said. Emily squinted at the screen again, realizing she probably needed to get in for an eye exam sooner than later. It looked as though the table they were sitting at was the farthest from the door in the front corner of the bar. The view from the surveillance camera showed the men sitting near the windows. The wall behind them was brick, as though The Fainting Cow had taken up residence in an older building in Chicago. Repurposing space was pretty common for businesses in the city. The three of them had sat down at a high-top table, the heavy-set guy squeezing his way into the back corner. It was both an offensive and a defensive position. Whoever the heavy-set guy was liked to know who was coming in and out of the bar. He had a view of the street and the front door from where he sat. Emily noticed Vince didn’t do the same but did take up a position with his back to the brick wall. He and the big guy sat nearly shoulder to shoulder, surveying the crowd. Were they there to just drink? Pick up girls? It was hard to tell. Emily would have to see them in person to know that.
“You said you sent me the address for this place?”
“I did. It’s a thirty-two-minute drive from the house.”
Emily glanced at Mike, a smile spreading across her face. If nothing else, Mike was prepared. That was one of the things that made it worth it to her to pay him to be available to help her with these kinds of problems. She shot up off the couch, striding away from Mike.
“Hey, where’re you going? I have more video to show you.”
“I need to see it in person. Real life is way better than the movies,” Emily said, heading upstairs, the treads creaking slightly as she took them two at a time. In her bedroom, Emily rifled through her closet, pulling out a red tank top and a black motorcycle jacket. She swapped those out for the T-shirt and sweatshirt she was wearing. Though it would have been more comfortable to just wear her jeans and a sweatshirt to the bar, she’d stick out like a sore thumb. She flipped on the light in the bathroom, realizing she needed to adjust the way the tank top sat on her. She tugged at it and fixed the collar of the jacket. Opening a drawer, she pulled out a hairbrush, running it through her dark hair and then quickly pulling it up into a fluffy ponytail on the top of her head. Most of the time the ponytails she wore were for working out, low on her head so it didn’t get caught in the headgear she wore when she was boxing, but tonight was different. Tonight, she needed the flirty ponytail of someone who was going to a bar for a drink all by herself. For a moment, she considered bringing Mike with her, but she knew that wasn’t a good idea. It would look like a cougar taking a young guy out on a date. That would attract the wrong kind of attention. Besides the fact, if she needed to act, having Mike there would split her attention. That could be dangerous for both of them. Not that she thought anything would happen tonight. Heading to The Fainting Cow was simply a surveillance mission, or at least, that was the goal.
Leaning close to the mirror, Emily dabbed some red lip gloss on her lips and added some dark eyeliner. She hated scrubbing the makeup off, but at times dressing the part made you more inconspicuous than if she had put on camo. It was the same shade she’d worn on her first undercover operation.
Memories floated up in Emily’s mind of her first undercover case. The woman who was mentoring her, a short Latina named Detective Aldo, called Emily into her office one night, late in the day. “I need information on a suspect. You are going to get it.” Three hours later, Emily was dressed up like a prostitute, walking the sidewalks with a bunch of other women who had initially been irate at the fact that she had shown up on their corner. Luckily, Detective Aldo had driven Emily and leaned out the window, waving one of the girls over. “Ginger, this is Emily. She’s going to hang out with you guys for a couple of hours. I’ll be right around the corner. She’s not interested in any of your John’s. She’s just here to get information. Are we clear?”
Ginger, an aptly named redhead wearing a tank top and a tiny pair of shorts paired with stiletto heels nodded, “That’s fine,” she stammered. “I’ll keep an eye on her.”
Detective Aldo rolled up the car window before Emily got out so Ginger wouldn’t hear what they were talking about. “Ginger runs this corner. I’ve picked her up a bunch of times and then cut her loose to get her cooperation for nights like this.” Detective Aldo nodded towards the other girls on the corner, “Ginger will let them know that you’re no threat, but that doesn’t mean you don’t need to keep your eyes open. I’ll park over in that empty lot.” Detective Aldo pointed across the street to an abandoned building just catty-corner from where Emily would be stationed for the next few hours. “If you need anything, tap on your chest a couple of times. I’ll come and get you.”
Emily leaned away from the mirror, tugging the motorcycle jacket down her back. It was short enough to look cool but long enough to cover her pistol once she added it to her belt. There were lots of places in Chicago that you weren’t supposed to carry a weapon, but Emily had realized early in her off-book career it was better to ask forgiveness than permission. Unauthorized carry in Chicago was a misdemeanor. Getting killed by someone who is after you was a much bigger problem than a ticket and a two hundred dollar fine.
Satisfied by her transformation, Emily went over to the closet and pulled out a pair of black high-heeled boots. Wearing her work boots to be a dead giveaway that she didn’t belong at the bar. She didn’t need that. She needed Vince and his cronies to think she was just a single woman out getting a drink after a long day of work. That was it.
Back down in the kitchen, Emily hooked the holster clip across her belt, making sure that her pistol was loaded and secure. Mike looked up from the computer long enough to stare for just a second. He didn’t see Emily dress up all that often. “You look nice,” he said, smiling. “Got a hot date?”
“You could say that, if you call trailing a scumbag a hot date.” Emily walked over to the drawers on the side of the kitchen, pulling them open. It was where Mike kept the gizmos she used. “Hey, I thought I would take a GPS tracker with me. Do we have one of those la
ying around?”
“But of course!” Mike said, in his best French accent.
Emily stepped aside for a second as Mike reached into the back of one of the drawers, pulling out a small black box, not much bigger than the size of a half-dollar, “For his car?”
Emily nodded.
“This one will work. It’s magnetic.” Mike pressed the top of the tracker, the light turning green and then dimming again, “It’s on. Don’t be fooled by the lack of a green light. The light goes off once it’s connected so it’s harder to find. Nice, right?”
Emily nodded again, “Stick it in the rear tire well?”
“Yep. Send me a text when it’s placed, and I will start the track.”
Emily shoved the GPS tracking unit in her pocket, grabbed the keys off of the counter, her cell phone, and a small black purse that had her wallet in it. “See you in a bit,” she said, heading for the back door.
Outside, what had been a warm afternoon had turned into a cold evening. As she slid into the truck and turned the heat on, Emily instantly wished he was still wearing her sweatshirt. Wearing a low-cut top might be appropriate for the bar, but it was probably better for a bar in California or Hawaii, not Chicago in the late fall. Pulling to the end of her driveway, she stopped for a second, programming the address of The Fainting Cow into her onboard system. Thirty-two minutes, that’s what Mike had said. Her truck's GPS agreed.
