Rough Hard Fierce, Chicago Underground 1-3 (Rough Hard Fierce)

by Skye Warren

  In a side drawer I found a leather binder so thick my hand could barely grasp it. The smell of ink wafted up from the pages when I opened the flap. It was a ledger of some sort. Thin green lines demarcated entries that provided a long space for description, an amount, a few columns for balance adjustments from different accounts. The descriptions varied from initials to long scrawls, followed by symbols and letters. This wasn’t what I needed. I returned it to the drawer.

  Atop the desk, underneath the scattered papers, I hit the jackpot. It was one of those desk calendars, the kind a secretary might use to schedule meetings. In thick black lettering, an address and time were written into two days from now. There were a few other notes made, but that one was the most conspicuous. It had to be what the cop was looking for. I scribbled it onto a blank scrap of paper I found. I stared at it for a second, then tucked it into my bra. Time to go.

  I paused on a whim. What might be in that ledger? Something about Rick, maybe. I could find out whether there’d been any truth to his words before confronting Colin, but that was greedy. I really needed to get back. I flipped off the lamp, slipped back out the door, and locked it. I shoved the key down next to the slip of paper. The paper was itchy, the key cold against my skin.

  I glanced both ways as if crossing the street. Which way?

  I went down the hallway. Hmm.

  This was ridiculous. The house wasn’t that big.

  Okay. It was.

  I saw the tall archway that had led into the large room from earlier. Thank God. I rushed in and froze. This was not the right room.

  Rose and Laramie sprang apart. Laramie cleared his throat. Rose looked down and smoothed her dress out.

  “I was wondering,” I said, “which way led back to the group.”

  A red-faced Rose gestured through the room to another large archway. “In there.”

  I started to walk through, averting my eyes, when Laramie cleared his throat again. “Allie, I—”

  “I never saw a thing,” I said without turning.

  “Thank you,” he said behind me.

  I sailed through the archway and stumbled into the room, this time from the other side, so that I was right next to the bar.

  “Ah, there you are,” Philip said. “I feared we’d lost you.”

  “Sorry,” I said. “I just…got a bit lost.” Fuck, that sounded ridiculous, but it was true.

  Shelly coughed and did this little shimmy that dragged his attention away from me. Really, thank God for boobs. I stood next to Colin, who’d been speaking in low tones with Philip. When I got to his side, though, he stopped talking and pulled me close. Rose entered a few minutes later, looking no worse for wear. A few minutes after that, Laramie came in and joined Philip.

  A woman in a white shirt and black slacks entered and announced dinner was ready. En masse we stood and migrated over. As I walked by the woman, she looked right past me as if I were invisible. I thought that if things had happened differently, if I’d happened to hear about her job, I could be her coworker. I could be the one calling the fancy people in to a fancy dinner, but it was her and I was the outsider now.

  The table was set with white dishes with gold-plated trim. That couldn’t be real gold, could it? Bowls were set upon plates, which sat upon chargers, making me wonder exactly how much food would be served. Little placards assigned the seats, but the high chair made it obvious where Bailey was to sit.

  “Oh, thank you,” I said. “I was thinking I’d just hold her, but this is better.”

  “It’s no problem,” Rose assured me.

  “Do you have a baby?” I asked and then cringed at myself.

  “No.” Rose laughed. “We rented that. The caterer had them.”

  Oh, a caterer. Well, now I knew why Colin had laughed when I’d told him I’d bring dessert.

  I cringed again at the thought of my rustic cobbler dish. I should have made something better. Something more upscale. Fancy desserts raced through my head. The chocolate tart, sure, but other things too. Things with French names that I could barely pronounce but I could make. Too late. Damn.

  I set Bailey up in the high chair and sat down at the seat labeled “Allie.”

  Soup was brought out, and servers ladled it into our bowls. No one spoke, the only sound the rush of edible liquid. Everyone, even Shelly, watched their bowls, like it was some sort of prayer ritual. That thought surprised me. Maybe it was. Like a moment of silence. Wasn’t that a thing? No, that was for observing dead people. Shit, I didn’t belong here.

  When the servers left the room, we all reached for our spoons. The soft clangs of those spoons against the table or against the bowl filled the air, and then quiet slurps of soup.

  I took a sip of my own. It was some sort of seafood dish. It tasted kind of like this chowder they served down the street from my old apartment. Damn, that had been some good gumbo. This one was smooth, like one of Bailey’s baby food purees, and had sprigs of green, but it was basically the same. I tried to entice Bailey with the fruit I’d brought her, but she squirmed for the soup. I brought the spoon to her lips.

  She took a sip. Then another. Then—pffft—she spit it out.

  “Yucky,” she said.

  My face burned. I turned to face Rose, an apology on my lips, but she was biting her lips against a smile.

  “Don’t worry about it,” she said. “Honestly.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said anyway. “I really like it.”

  I looked around and noticed Colin looking down and Shelly covering her mouth. Okay, amusement would be had at my expense tonight. I chanced a glance at Philip, but even his expression seemed to have softened under Bailey’s spell.

  Until he spoke. “Allie,” he said. “I heard you’re working in Colin’s restaurant.”

  I glanced at Colin. I could tell from the way his eyes had clouded over that he’d caught the edge to Philip’s tone, but I wasn’t sure what he thought about it. Colin didn’t meet my eyes.

  “Not working there, exactly,” I said. “Just sending over a couple of cakes or pies every few days.”

  “I see.” Philip’s tone said he found that doubtful, though I didn’t see why.

  “I like to bake, so it’s just a little extra. And you know, or maybe you don’t, but I did that before.” I caught Shelly’s eye as she sipped from her spoon, and that bolstered me some. I took a deep breath.

  Philip took a drink and over the rim said, “Mmm-hmm.” He set the glass down with a thud. “I imagine you’re very busy”—he nodded toward Bailey—“taking care of your daughter.”

  “Oh, sure,” I said. “We stay busy. I mean, not too busy, but we get along fine, between that, and…the baking.”

  Jesus, why couldn’t I shut up? It was like watching a train wreck, but I was on the train.

  Philip looked at me expectantly. Hadn’t I answered the question? What was the fucking question?

  Maybe this was about Colin taking time off. Did Philip think he’d had to do that to watch Bailey for me? “I mean, I take care of her, if that’s what you mean. Colin doesn’t have to—”

  “That’s enough,” Colin said sharply.

  I looked down at my soup, feeling ridiculous but relieved. Philip said nothing.

  A few minutes later our soup bowls were taken away and replaced with a plate of…what? I poked it with my fork. Round fish pieces. Ah, scallops. And even a corn mixture. I picked out the greens and fed them to Bailey.

  Rose broke the silence. “The company’s going to New York next month.”

  “Oh,” said Colin. “For how long?”

  “Just a week,” she said.

  Nothing, then Shelly said, “How exciting. Have you been?”

  “Oh, yeah,” Rose said. “I love it there.”

  She paused. We all did.

  “The nightlife,” she added, “the shopping…” Then she trailed off.

  Belatedly Shelly said, “Ah.”

  We all ate.

  I’d expected as much from myself
, but Shelly and even Rose were good conversationalists. It shouldn’t be this awkward.

  I scowled into my plate. The cloud of Philip’s derision had dampened any real gaiety. Even the white lily centerpieces seemed to wilt under his wrath.

  The paper in my bra started to itch. I wriggled to surreptitiously fix it, but that only succeeded in getting Colin’s attention. The heat in his eyes would be fantastic later tonight. But for now I could hardly reach in my bra and remove a slip of paper with his eyes boring into me.

  “So,” Shelly broke in. “You guys were raised in Chicago?”

  I’d thought this was a nice neutral topic until I saw the glances exchanged between the three siblings.

  “Yes,” Rose finally said. “We were raised in Chicago.”

  Hmm, that wasn’t really a mystery. Why the sudden tension?

  “Ah,” said Shelly. “Did you—”

  “Next course,” Philip said flatly. Shelly’s eyes flared in surprise at the unsubtle change of subject, but she let it go.

  The servers exchanged our empty plates for large plates of thinly sliced smoked beef and a small chopped salad of carrots and potatoes and green herbs. It was pot roast done fancy. It smelled divine.

  But then another smell wafted to me, this one putrid. What the hell…oh no. I’d been caught in my own lie. Bailey had pooped, for real this time. And it would look weird that she’d gone twice so soon. Assuming they knew about babies, which they probably didn’t.

  My palms itched. I glanced over and saw Shelly’s eyes widen as the smell hit her.

  One by one they all turned to me. I tried for a smile.

  “Sorry, guys,” I said in a small voice. “Turns out she’s got the runs.”

  Shelly coughed into her napkin, but I was pretty sure it was only hiding a laugh. The bitch. This is serious, I should tell her. But, well, damn me, at least someone could enjoy this night. There was a reason we never saw spies with toddlers, I thought, and it started with what went in and ended with what came out.

  I grabbed the diaper bag and one seriously stinky child and headed toward the bathroom. I hadn’t been entirely lying about the runs, turned out. Rich food didn’t agree with her tummy.

  We worked our way through a bag of wipes to a clean, shiny bum, and were ready to head out. In the hallway I paused again. I glanced longingly at the study door. I really wanted to see that file.

  Chapter Eighteen

  It seemed like a detour like this was only asking for trouble, but then I’d never really found all that much luck on the straight and narrow either.

  That decided it.

  I used the key again to get into the room and set Bailey down on the rug by the chairs. I’d probably go to hell for using her in this farce, but she’d act as a distraction if anyone came in here. If we were caught, having her might actually be a great excuse—I could say I needed to give her a break from the high chair and that’s why I was in here. That wouldn’t really explain how we’d unlocked the door, especially without triggering his alarm.

  Bailey pulled herself up using the leather armrest and gnawed on the corner. I turned on the lamp and went straight for the ledger. I flipped through the pages dating back before I’d moved in with Colin. Farther and farther back I went. They’d started to blur together, but suddenly some pages caught my eye because they all looked alike.

  They all started with R. Sanders—Rick’s name. There were five different entries, for amounts ranging from $3,000 to $13,000. Holy shit. Rick had been playing around with a lot of money. And for some reason Colin had bought up these debts…and traded them in for me. I snorted. He’d got the bad end of that deal.

  It didn’t mean that for sure. There could be other reasons Rick’s name was in this book. Maybe he’d come to Philip and gotten five different loans on the same day. I huffed a breath. Not likely.

  I figured Colin had done it after our date at the restaurant. We’d gotten to know each other, at least. Maybe I’d demonstrated some sort of datable qualities that night. Or maybe someone had roofied his drink or he’d hit his head or…well, something. Because guys did not pay to be with me, not for sex, not for anything.

  But no, the date of these entries was before that. I thought for one scary moment that they were from before I’d even met Colin, which would have been truly confusing, but they weren’t. They were a week after the night I’d picked him up at the club, and we’d had anonymous motel sex. What had made him decide to seek out my boss and try to manipulate me—so early?

  Colin had asked me out that night, I remembered, and given me a way to contact him. But that was a far cry from taking on thousands of dollars in a bad debt that could never be paid.

  I flipped through the next few pages. I didn’t have a suspicion, not really, but something drew me on. And only a week after the Rick entries, I found this one: A. Winters TY. It had to be me. What could TY mean? Thank you? Hah! The amount was for one thousand dollars. I certainly hadn’t received a thousand bucks, as a thank-you or otherwise. I checked a few pages forward and found nothing else I recognized.

  Bailey crawled around the desk and stood up at my knee. I sat her in the chair and twirled her gently around. She giggled softly, and I glanced at the door. I should go, but something anchored me here. As I turned the chair with one hand, I slid open the file cabinet. Names mostly, a few other code names I recognized from the ledger.

  Colin had a file. Interesting.

  A birth certificate. Colin was twenty-eight, born in Chicago proper to Philip Murphy Sr. and Louisa James Murphy. More paperwork. Hmm, custody something or other. I’d known he had a rough childhood, mostly from his refusal to discuss it, but I hadn’t known he’d been in the system.

  I had a file: Winters, Allison. And it was thick. I thumbed through the contents. The information about Andrew was in here, as well as the papers that Laramie had filed for custody.

  I slowed when I found the pictures. They were of my apartment. My mind immediately ran to reasons why Philip would have these. Laramie may have wanted them to show where I was living as part of a custody assignment. No, that wasn’t right. I’d already lived with Colin by then. I glanced at them again. Both Shelly’s and my car were in some of the pictures, meaning we both still lived there, so this wasn’t some after-the-fact thing.

  Actually, from that angle…it looked like they were taken from the street. The same place we’d seen the car sitting and watching. We’d assumed they had been watching Shelly. She was the one in the dangerous profession, but it looked like they’d been watching me. If Philip had these prints, then he must have been the one spying on me. Just because Colin liked me? But I knew. Philip didn’t act like an overprotective brother, more like a dog with a bone. He didn’t act like he loved Colin as much as owned him.

  I flipped through them, even catching one of me loading Bailey into the car. Only after seeing these photos, how we’d looked through the eyes of an outsider, a man, did I realize just how vulnerable we’d been. Shelly and I had always known that, to some extent, and that our anonymity was our greatest protection. So long as we stayed under the radar, no one would want to hurt us. That was the goal, but it looked like someone had known after all.

  Agitated, I moved Bailey back to the floor and opened the last drawer. Wozney, Wride, Wu. Yates, Tony. Those letters could have meant anything, but that was the only TY name here. I pulled out the file and opened it. A violent shiver racked my body. Someone stepping over my grave, Shelly would say. No, this was worse.

  I sat down. Right there on the Persian rug next to the dark oak filing cabinets, I sat. Bailey crawled over, and I had enough presence of mind to lift the papers up out of her reach.

  The arrest records of Tony Yates had two pictures on it, one facing the camera, one profile. I recognized that man. That was the man who’d fucked me, who’d hurt me, that night I’d gone to the club. The one Colin had stopped, the one Colin had known. The receipt dated before I’d even met the guy.

  What did it mean? My m
ind couldn’t make sense of it, or maybe it just refused to, knowing it wouldn’t be good.

  I slipped the contents of Tony Yates’ folder back into the cabinet and shut it. I tucked the other scrap of paper from my bra deep inside the diaper bag.

  Time to go.

  In the dining room the plates were being cleared.

  “There you are,” Rose said warmly. “I was just going to get your cobbler.”

  Jesus, the fucking cobbler. The fucking ridiculous cobbler with its fucking ridiculous hope of making a good impression.

  “I’m sorry, I—” My breath stuttered.

  Colin stood. “What’s wrong?”

  I blinked rapidly. Don’t cry, you fucking idiot.

  “Bailey wasn’t doing so well,” I heard Shelly say. “Allie mentioned they might have to leave early because of it.”

  I couldn’t say a word. I needed to get out of this house, or I was liable to do something really ridiculous, like sob or scream or tell the fucking truth.

  Colin was talking, then Rose. False words, all of them. Yes, of course we can go. Oh, I hope you feel better. Let’s pretend we care while we pay people to hurt you.

  I was bundled into the car. Shelly tried whispering to me, asking me what had happened as I slipped her back the key, but I couldn’t tell her. I barely knew myself.

  The drive home was quiet, thank God. I was the chatty one between us, and I was struck mute. Colin didn’t seem to know what to do with that. I couldn’t help him.

  I tried to think rationally, as if I’d ever been any good at it. The guy had approached me, out of nowhere, but that wasn’t unusual for the club. I’d gone with him, hadn’t I? Or had he forced me? It had felt forced, but then at the time I’d wanted it that way. I’d said no, I knew that for sure. He hadn’t listened or cared, but that wasn’t all that strange at the club either. Wasn’t it supposed to be, though? Guys were supposed to stop when I said no. I didn’t know where I’d learned that from, but it seemed like it should be true. They should listen. But they didn’t, they didn’t. A sob escaped me.