Quintic (64 page)

“
I have
spent a hell of a day,” Christopher said, locking eyes with her as
if they were the only two on the room.

She was the
shy one while he, well, he didn’t have a single timid atom in his
body. It never made any difference to him who was around to watch
them fight.

“
W
e did not find the fat guy,” he
announced with a smirk. “The ID he gave turned out to be
fake.”

That
statement did not come as a surprise; the creep was
sneaky.

“
No
one
remembers a scar.”

No
surprise there either, the devious jerk was
partial to high collars. Christopher paused. She waited for
more.

Chris
studied her in silence.
None of his
declarations had shocked the damn woman. He had run in fucking
circles all day, trying to get a hold on the whole thing. They were
missing something.
He
was missing something, something major. Knot
hadn’t eased up since Charles’s call about the fight.

“
OK,
Princess.” She twitched at the pet name; public endearments made
his angel bashful. “Let’s recap the last days for everyone’s
benefit. You and Charles went around visiting titty bars.” His
slang elicited another shudder on her part.
I’ll get you so worked up, Angel, that by the
end of our little talk, you’ll confess your feelings for me just to
shut me up
.

“
F
our days of hooters and cunts,
twenty-some clubs in search of a sonofabitch your ex fought in a
shitty parking lot. That’s what you were doing, right, Pussycat?
Hunting a guy with a scar on his neck as described by some skank.
Still with me, Dollface?” He purposely laced his speech with
nicknames, each provoking either a blink, a grimace or a
jolt.

“
Yesterday,
in yet another shithole, you pushed Charles, accidentally my ass,”
he quickly added when she meant to talk. “Effectively starting a
fight since the rookie rammed into some jerk who fought back. When
the two assholes that happened to be sitting next to you got up,
you knocked out one of them and kicked him, while he was on the
floor
unconscious
. You kicked and
kicked and kicked. The police showed up. That about right, Steve?
Did I forget anything?” He asked without taking his eyes off of
her.

She bit down on her bottom lip,
but no matter how titillating he found her nervous tick, he wasn’t
about to let it sidetrack him.

“
He made his
statement to the cops, got an ambulance ride to the hospital and, a
couple of stitches later, the hospital released him. Now, we can’t
find him!” He slammed his palms down flat on the conference table
and towered closer to her. “You said the guy had a scar on his
face, but nobody saw it but you.” He lowered his voice. “I believe
you, Angel, but I need more.”

Of course,
he needed more! She nodded. She had known all along it would come
to this. Had known all day that, at some point, she would have to
tell all.

“
And before
you say anything, Darling of mine,” Christopher continued before
she could say anything. “You should know your new pal Steve here,
who oversaw yours and Charles’s arrest, mentioned taking you to
that same fucking club not so long ago.”

Damn
. She had not seen that one
coming. In her book, a man should never admit to another that he
took the other man’s girlfriend to a stripper club. Such an
admission did not make for good male bonding, especially a guy like
Christopher.

“
And Steve
mentioned you felt sick that time. Strange coincidence, isn’t
it?”

She groaned
under her breath.
Christopher didn’t
believe in coincidences. She was beginning to think he might be
right. In fact, had known it wasn’t a twist of fate the minute she
had laid eyes on the creep at the club, but, crazy her, had deluded
herself that it was. In a repeat of Lemieux’s car denial, she
had
willed
herself to forget.

But before she spilled her
secret, she fully intended to take care of her friend. “What about
Charles?”

Chris shook
his head at her in disbelief.
“I want to
know about you, and you’re fucking asking about
Charles?!”

Chris
hadn’t told the team about Charles either. Ham
didn’t make a comment nor a single sly quip. Le didn’t offer a
joke. Everyone sat frozen.

“
Fuck,
Patricia,” Chris cursed under his breath. “Remember how I gave the
rookie a specific order of
not
to take you anywhere without
my direct authorisation? The jerk chose to ignore−”

“
Christopher,
you know it’s not
his fault−”

“
I don’t
care whose stupid idea it was. I gave him the directive; he had to
follow it. He didn’t.”

“
But you
said that−”

Again he
didn’t let her finish.
“You found the
fight guy, not Charles.” He rubbed his hands in his hair in a
frustrated telltale. “I suspended Charles for two weeks. When he
returns, I will team him up with everyone, a week each, and then
I’ll see. And, Angel? My decision will be final.”

He
saw
his words sank in.
Her
Charles was safe. For now. He smiled a little, “Patricia
Angel, you can be sure that from now on, Charles will tell me every
single idea you so much as breathe out.”

Christopher
was right; she wouldn’t be able to get Charles to do anything, at
least not right away. Fine by her, she was all out of plans anyway.
She nodded. “OK, Big guy. I get it.”

“Good. Now tell me about the
guy in the club. Are you absolutely sure he had a scar?”

She frowned
before taking a sharp breath, suddenly looking for air.
Here we go
. She took her time answering. Delaying. Praying for a
miracle. Nope, not today. Okeydokey then.

She finally
reluctantly uttered, without looking at him, without looking at
anyone, “Yes. Yes, I’m sure.”

“
Patricia,
look at me.” Christopher’s voice was so soft. She glanced up.
“Witnesses and cops say the jerk had pulled his collar up to his
jaw. Maybe it’s a stain you saw. Blood, beer, whatever.”

“
I didn’t in
truth
see the scar.” She gulped a
steadying breath. “But I know it was there.”

“
Witnesses
didn’t recognise
him from the
sketch.”

“
I don’t
know who made that sketch, but the proportions are off. He’s
Lemieux’s attacker. No happenstances, remember?”

By
now
, people who weren’t acquainted with
her would be rolling their eyes impatiently. But, except for Steve,
everyone in the team
knew
her and knew her well.
Hence, they stayed put and waited expectantly, foreseeing something
big was coming.

“
I didn’t
see the scar;
I didn’t need to. I know it
was there.” She stopped and licked her suddenly dry lips. Let out
another dejected sigh. How she wished she had stayed under her
covers! This conversation was tougher than she had anticipated. “I
saw him when I went with Steve and his partner.”

“
And you
remembered seeing the mark
then? Why
didn’t you tell me about it? Even if you were out of Lemieux’s
case, you sh−”

Her turn to
interrupt him. “No, no, I didn’t see any cicatrices then. He had
his collar up.”

“
You saw the
scar b
efore that?” Chris dreaded where
this was going. “Patricia, please don’t−”

“
I knew
about the scar.
” She took the longest of
pause, so long he thought she was done talking. “I knew about it
because I, ah, hum.” She swallowed hard, biting her bruised lower
lip. “I knew about the scar because I, hum. Well, you see, I, ah.
OK. Here’s the thing.” One last exhale before she muttered in a
rush, “I kind of put it there back then, when I was with Joshua.
And Lemieux. The guy’s a police officer, or at least, he was back
then; I haven’t kept up with his employment. I have no interest in
the jerk.”

Stunned
silence. Nobody moved. Hell, nobody breathed. Shit. Shit.
SHIT!
“Everybody out. Now,” he hissed as he walked over and
wrapped his hand around her arm. Nobody moved. His hand rested
heavily on her biceps. “Get. The. Fuck. Out”
Except you, Angel of mine. You, I may never let
out of my sight again
.

Nobody
left the room.

“
Fuck.” He
seized her wrist and hauled her away.

The Break-in,
Part II

N
either she nor J
heard the door. They were in the back, on the mezzanine. By the
time they noticed their uninvited guest, the man was already
standing by the office door. And he had brought a partner. Those
two were quite the pair. The fat and the ugly.

She couldn’t
tell who
was who, though, since both were portly, and both were foul. Each
had a hand on the holster at his hip; each was smiling. The overall
effect was menacing. She turned to J; he looked as surprised to see
them as she was.

“
This is not a job I’m doing for you guys.” His tone implied
it wasn’t a job he was willing to share.

Nevertheless, he would have to pay them a small fee for
their silence. Like always. Cops were the worst. Especially this
type. Mean. Dirty.

She barely knew the pair. She had seen
J talk to them a few times; the conversations were always very
brief. Even with their plain outfits, she could tell they were
police officers.

“
We’re just businessmen doing
business,” they said.

Extortion she called it. But what could
J do? Cops taking money from the hacker thief could swiftly turn
into cops gathering evidence. The whole sordid affair had started
before she had met J and his pack, and since J didn’t seem to have
a problem with the dirty jerks, she left it alone.

The fat (or was it the ugly?) had
offered her money once. “For a girly job,” he had suggested.

She understood the offer for what it
was: a barely disguised offer to
do
the fat or the ugly, both probably as they were joined at the
hip. She laughed it off. No way was she going near any of the
two.

“
No one needs money that bad,
asshole.”

She had not told J. He probably would
have shrugged it off as she had. The shabby showing up here was
worrisome, though. Why hadn’t the king warned them?

The conversation started smoothly
enough but went downhill fast. Oh surprise, they wanted a cut! But
it was not all the fat, from here on out to be referred to as the
creep, wanted. The creep also wanted her.

“
I’ve seen your puss around, J my
man,” the fat said. She winced at his words. “I like the looks of
her. I want my share.”

J didn’t try to offer them money for he
caught the crazy gleam in the fat guy’s beady eyes. He jumped at
the jerk before the man had time to unclip his gun.

Surprisingly, considering his trade,
J was a fighter, but he had not honed his skills lately. Kept in
shape, yes, with her mostly, or rather, kept
her
in shape. J liked night practices with her. And
mornings. And mid-afternoons.

Unfortunately, the policemen had
anticipated his reaction. As he pounced on the fat creep, his ugly
buddy knocked him out fast. Two fat, ugly bastards against an
unprepared, untrained, too much blood in his pants, not enough in
his head troubled hacker. Two blows to the head, one from the fat,
one from the ugly, and J was out.

She should have escaped then, but she
didn’t. She couldn’t just leave J unconscious on the floor.

The creep smiled at her. Tried to grab
her. She wasn’t much of a fighter, but she knew men’s most delicate
parts. She kicked and pushed and punched and kicked some more. The
guy was fat. He laughed and fisted her hair, throwing her against a
desk. Her nose started to bleed. His fingers bruised her arms when
he plastered her to him.

“
Such a pretty face! I don’t want to
hit you again. Let’s do this amicably. I can be a friendly guy if
you’re a nice girl. You’re a nice girl, ain’t you, pussy?”

A steadying hand around her neck, he
thrust her into the mezzanine’s front office.
President
, the lettering on the door read.

“
See here, this place is nice. Real
swanky for a classy cunt like yourself.”

Excerpt
from
The J-man
, by Trica C. Line

Nothing Left
Unsaid

H
e bypassed his office without
missing a beat. The interior window was useful for checking on the
guys, but, even with the blinds pulled down, it didn’t offer much
privacy, not enough for a shouting match at least. He dragged her
to the toilets; the place was her refuge, her safe heaven. Whenever
she freaked, wanted to get a hold of herself or thought she might
throw up, or all of the above, she ran to the men’s
room.

The
building
housing the South District
precinct was old bricks and weathered wood. On the Homicide and
Vice floor, the toilets were men-only, but with Bridget, and then
Reid, and now Patricia, the joint had become a his and hers
facility. The team gave Bridget some privacy whenever she visited.
They weren’t that polite with the other two women.