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MJ 3: Case of the Purple Rose

By: madam_noe



Author's Note: This case appeared in 1-2 chapter installments in '09. It has not been edited but has been re-uploaded as a single piece due to some continuity errors on my part uploading it piecemeal the first time. 

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September in Chicago was my favorite time of year. Summer still reigned, but the leaves held that promise of a beautiful turn. This year, however, everything was dry and dead. In a last ditch effort to exert her hold, a heat wave gripped the city.

As a PI I heavily favored suits, but it was damn near impossible to wear them comfortably. So I'd switched to cropped cargo pants and tank tops, a look my ex-boyfriend had hated, but a look the man in my office was smiling at.

"You have five seconds to get out of my office, Finn, or I'll call Montgomery."

Michael Finnegan had been my partner back on the CPD. We'd both been fairly crooked cops, and when we'd left I'd become a crooked PI, he a high-class fence who'd transitioned into pornography.

We'd had a stormy relationship until in April when I'd discovered he'd cheated on me and set me up on a case all to get a woman killed. The woman had been an old enemy, but the daughter of Montgomery, head of the Cicero Gang, the Irish Mob on the city's west side.

Finn was well over six feet, built like a long distance runner or a swimmer, had dark hair, blue Irish eyes, and oozed sex from every pore. However, he wasn't just bad news; he was a death notice.

"Marly, wait. I need to hire you. You're the only one I trust."

I sat back and pulled my cigarettes from the drawer. I lit one and refused him when he nodded towards it. "Considering I hate you, that's an awful gamble."

"My back is against the wall. There's no one I can trust. I'm going down for murder, and every goddamn cop on the force thinks I did it."

I had a feeling he'd show up. After our break-up in April, I'd begun dating Eddie Harwood. Eddie was a shrewd man who ran a club on Pulaski. Harwood's was a private club for bigwigs where privacy was assured. It was a place to drink, dance, see, or be seen, but only by the fellow bigwigs. The Purple Rose was known as a place where things that mattered happened.

And the night before, it had been where Finn had murdered his girlfriend, adult actress Stormy Michaels.

"Fuck Finn, even I think you did it."

"I didn't do it. I've killed people, yes, but do you think I'm stupid enough to kill her in public?"

Finn was many things, but stupid was not one of them. "It's a good strategy. The 'that's too obvious' defense should bring headlines, get Gold 'n' Rod some business."

"Damn it, she was my biggest star. She won three AVNs, and she had her own product line of sex stuff coming out. She was a cash cow!"

I winced. He'd been dating her since about ten seconds after he'd said he loved me and I'd dumped his lying ass. Yet nowhere in his protestations was there any hint of sentiment for this woman.

"I'm guessing the fact that I'm such good buddies with the club's owner would help." I wanted him gone. I had a killer headache. Since we'd broken up I'd been hitting the bottle a bit too hard, and the night before was a blur, the morning one long ache. 

I remembered going out to a bar down the street, and then waking up on my office couch. Not such a big shock since I was too lazy to get an apartment, and lived in my office. 

Still, the missing time worried me. It had been happening too often since I'd realized I was in love with Finn. And realized ultimately he'd be my downfall.

"It would help, Marly. I wouldn't normally ask but I'm screwed. The cops are following me, I can't go anywhere, I'm fucked. They're convening a grand jury next week, and if I don't have the real killer by then, I'm well and truly fucked."

"Give me one reason to help you." I sat back and blew smoke rings, showing how much I didn't care. But damn if I didn't.

"I'll give you one million. If," he emphasized, "you find proof of who did it, hand it over to the police, and they get convicted."

"Convicted? That would take time, it's a tall order."

"I'll settle for indicted then."

I took my feet off the corner of the desk and stubbed the cigarette out. "One million, cold hard cash, or at least wired as such to my offshore account?" He nodded. "Why so much?"

"I have the policy Gold 'n' Rod had on her. Standard for our lead contracts actors is half a million, but Stormy was the biggest star."

Figured. Finn said he loved me, but it was dollar signs that made his Earth move. I tried not to sulk, but it was hard. "I'll look into it, and if I see a reason to believe you, I'll take the case. Tell me everything that happened."

"Fair enough. Look, can I please have a cigarette?"

I knew for a fact he only smoked around me, he'd officially "quit" four years ago. I slid him the soft pack of Camels with three cigarettes and began to pack a new one on my palm.

"Thank you. Stormy and I went to the club. It was her favorite place, she never got hassled. I took her there because I was breaking up with her." I raised an eyebrow at this but said nothing, letting him continue. 

"She was upset, at first she thought I was breaking her contract. When I reassured her I wasn't, she thought it was something else. She started yelling, so did I. Harwood called my assistant Carlos to come get me, and he came and took my gun as a precaution. I waited for Carlos in the VIP room, and I left her there. I forgot my gun, however, and it was used to kill her later that night."

"Don't tell me what would be in the police report, just what you know for a fact."

He puffed out a large ring to beat mine, and for a moment I forgot that I hated him and almost cracked a smile. Almost. 

"I know that Stormy was drunk, probably had coke in her system. She was upset, pissed off, and I'm sure trolling for someone to make me jealous. Carlos came and got me, talked me out of confronting her again.

"We went to the Redhead Piano Bar, he got a new place real close to it. I remember sitting down, ordering a martini, and commiserating with my gay assistant about how women were evil. The next thing I knew, it was four this morning, I was on his couch, and the cops arrested me. I bonded out as soon as possible, and came straight here."

I thought on it for a few puffs. Yes, I hated Finn, but beneath it all, I truly loved him. Oh, I hadn't come to terms with it, but I didn't want to just leave him alone to suffer through this. 

I knew the cops and I knew the other PIs in the city. I was the only one who'd give him a fair shake.

"Fifty now, the rest later."

"Marly, it'll take time to move that kind of cash."

"So go home and move it while I go and talk to Harwood."

"Still seeing him?"

I refused to answer, instead strapping my gun holster to my belt. I had a conceal and carry permit, but that would mean wearing a jacket, and it was triple digit temperatures outside. Fuck it, I thought, let the citizens be scared.

"I'll call you when I know anything."

He stood and pocketed the soft pack. "Marly, I'm really in trouble."

I walked him to the door and looked up into his worried blue eyes, buried in dark circles. "No shit, Sherlock."

***

The club had no name, only a discreet neon sign. A Purple Rose above the door. It was an old warehouse, an ice house from back in the day, set back behind an Arabic grocer, back and front entrances on alleys. Inside it was tastefully done like a high-end Vegas joint, and on the top floor were the offices, and Eddie Harwood's loft.

There was little love lost between Eddie and I. I liked bad boys, and Harwood fit the bill, but when he'd grown too bad even for me, I'd broken it off.

It had been nice though, three and a half months of dating. No lonely Saturday nights, no Friday nights crying in my beer. It had been slightly glamorous, it had been fun, but it had all been a facade. Eddie Harwood had a dark side.

I still had a key and climbed the back stairs to his private door. It was early for him, but he did answer the door when people came, and his shiny Hummer was parked below.

I knocked off and on for five minutes with no answer. Finally, I unlocked the holster of my gun, and used the key.

The apartment was neat, but I smelled it. Blood has a tang to it that softens with time. I didn't have to see a body to know Harwood was dead, and had been dead since early morning.

I went back out and did the stupidest thing I could.

I called the police.

***

"Hey Marly."

"Hey Jackie."

Jackie "Don't Call Me Jack" Daniels was a bondsman. I got arrested time to time, a hazard of the PI business, and he was the guy I called to bail me out.

Murder for hire with me as the hit man, well that was a steep bond. Jackie informed me he had contacted Finn who'd put up his condo as collateral. Now we had a secondary money trail between Finn and I.

He may as well have signed my death warrant.

"Thanks for the bail out. I know the drill. No leaving the state, you have my guns, and I show up for every court appearance."

"Sign here."

I debated. Out in the parking lot of the precinct station Finn waited in his Mustang to take me home. And further out in the parking lot, I knew, a dented Caprice held two or three detectives who'd trail us.

"How do I get myself into these situations, Jackie?"

He smiled up at me, a short, round man with a ferret face and straight-forward ways. "Just lucky, I guess. Here's your paperwork. Don't disappoint me, girl. You want a ride?"

"Finn's here, and it'd cause a scene if I refused." I hadn't ever worked in this precinct, but the uniforms and suits were staring, hard.

"All right, take care."

"Thanks Jackie."

I left the ice-cold precinct and stepped into the humid oven of the late day. Summer was a bitch.

Finn honked and I nodded, walking slowly to his car. No press, that was good. Word hadn't gotten out yet, I wondered how long that would last.

I got in and resisted fondling the leather. I loved his car, a real, true love Finn would never understand. "Where to?" He asked and put it in gear. I watched the expected Caprice roar to life and pull out behind us.

"Let's go to a restaurant. Some place public."

He drove to the Blue Angel. It was twenty-four hours, Greek owned, and had a smoking section. My kinda place.

We got cokes, burgers, and fries. I sent three iced teas to the cops who sat down at the closest open table, still too far away to hear anything.

They frowned, but took them, and peeled out of their jackets, relaxing into the air conditioning.

"So they think I hired you to kill Stormy, and that you killed Harwood to cover it up?"

I nodded and pulled an ice cube from my water to munch. "Pretty convenient in their eyes, that both of our exes are dead? Anyways, my motive for killing Harwood is iron-clad, even I can't deny it."

"And just what is it?"

I sat back. "He told the cops I was there last night. I was drunk, had a blackout. Hell, I could have been, I don't know."

"What!?"

"Shhh," I gestured with it to have him keep his voice down. "It happens, but I'd know if I killed someone. I wouldn't have used your gun, I'd've use my own, and I wouldn't want Stormy dead."

He sat back, sensual lips flattened. "Are you sure?"

I snorted, but my reply was cut off by the arrival of our food. We passed the ketchup and mustard, and ate a few bites before I spoke again.

"Look, let's go back to our days in homicide. Opportunity, we both had. Motive, well, the police have that. Both of us were stinking drunk, and that's the worst fucking alibi, especially when your assistant and my normal drinking buddies were also stinking drunk. So let's take the attention away from us, and look at Stormy."

"Why not Harwood?"

"Someone killed Stormy first, Harwood was clean-up. So the motive most likely centers on her. I need to know everything about her. And I mean everything."

Finn chewed his bite slowly. Then he set the burger down with a sigh, and pulled out the soft pack, lighting a cigarette. "I met Stormy two years ago, when Gold 'n' Rod was getting off the ground.

"Recruiting was rough in those days. She was a stripper at the Admiral, and she turned tricks after hours. I saw her at the club a few times, she was very popular. So I paid for sex, but I wanted to talk.

"She wanted out, wanted to do something else. I made her a star. She was a small town girl, a sweetheart on the outside, but a shrewd, calculating bitch. 

"I was breaking it off because she had worn me down. The romance I felt turned out just to be pity. And she just wanted control of Gold 'n' Rod."

"Why'd you start shouting? And pull a gun, which you forgot to mention."

"I didn't pull it. She wanted me to turn it in to Harwood and come back. He came with his goons just as I pulled it out. And we were shouting because she crossed a line she knew not to cross, and got too personal."

"What did she say?"

He frowned. "It doesn't matter."

"Telling me could be the difference between freedom, and a needle in the arm."

For a moment we just stared at one another, waiting for the other to budge. With a snort, I picked up my burger and he took a victory lap. 

"No one would want to kill Stormy. No one. What about Harwood? You mean to tell me a night club owner is clean?"

I took a long pull of Coke and set out the glass for a refill. When the waitress set it down, I sat back. "Yeah, Eddie Harwood owned a nightclub. Yeah, like all cash business it had many backroom operations. Plenty of people wanted him dead, and it could be just a bad coincidence, but I doubt it."

Tit for tat, I thought. I'd have my secrets, he'd have his.

"Jesus," Finn said, understanding me. "Suppose someone killed Stormy as a warning to him, he didn't heed it, and they came back."

"Nice and neat to us, but the cops'll see that theory has enough holes to drive a truck through. If anyone wanted to warn Harwood, why frame you? And typically a guy gets some time to heed a warning before they cash his check."

"So maybe they're unrelated and we're just fucked."

I shook my head and polished off the burger. "They're related, they have to be."

"How?"

I chewed a fry. "You're not gonna like my theory then."

"Try me."

I ignored the husky flirtation I heard in his voice. "Harwood killed Stormy, God only knows why. You figured it out, and killed him in revenge, artfully in that hour between your release and your arrival at my office two miles from the station."

His jaw muscle ticked, and I knew I'd scored a hit. 

***

Dark blue eyes glittering, Finn gave a sigh. "Okay, so I didn't come straight to you."

Sitting back in the plush booth I hit a jet from the AC and patience rolled over me. I merely raised an eyebrow, an old cop trick I knew he knew too, but it seemed to work nonetheless. 

"I took care of some financial matters first. And damn it, I can prove that."

"I was testing you," I said with a grin. "Harwood had to have been dead before six, and you were in court then."

"Shit."

"Honesty never was your strong point, was it, Finn?"

He glared at me over his drink. "I think you have something there. Harwood set me up. But why?"

I laughed so loud more people than just the cops looked. When I came down from it, I wiped tears from my eyes. "My theory was bullshit. You were a customer, a VIP to him. Other than that, he didn't know you from Adam." 

"He knew I had been your lover."

My smile turned to a frown. "Not from me."

"Oh, he knew. Harwood and I did not like each other. He was fucking you, and knowing that almost killed me."

"Open up that can of worms and I'll kill you myself, right here, and gleefully surrender to table eight."

His stare turned thunderous. "Harwood set me up. He took my gun, hustled me out the door before I remembered it, and Stormy was alone in the VIP room. Only he could have gotten in there, and my gun was in his office. Only he had access."

Finn had a point. "Let's say I buy this. A grudge, and opportunity. It still doesn't sound right. Harwood wasn't like that." If Harwood had cared enough about me to be jealous, it was more his style to leave Finn's corpse in his car next to a compactor.

"Then what was he like?"

"He ran a club where the A list, and apparently B," I looked him up and down, amending my impression of the Purple Rose, "could do drugs, gamble, do all the dirty, nasty things people do, without any fear. You don't get to that position by being a hot-headed idiot."

"Passion is a strange thing, and you certainly ignite it, Marly."

I rolled my eyes. "Try thinking with your upper head, dingbat. Harwood thought I was grungy, dangerous. I thought he was glamorous, sophisticated. But I was the one who ended up in the papers once a month, and he was the one breaking kneecaps and burying bodies. Turns out we were both wrong. That man wouldn't have lifted a finger over me."

"Well, fuck." His expression was confused, easy to read. Happy I hadn't loved Harwood, pissed no tangible theory existed to pursue.

I had a feeling we could talk all day and not learn one damn thing from each other. So I signaled for a box and sat back. "Tell you what. Let's get out of here, take me to my office. Jackie had my car brought home so I need a ride anyways. I'll look up Harwood's skeletons, you gather Stormy's. Call me when you're finished."

He paid the bill in full despite my protests we go Dutch, and the cops followed us to my office.

Finn parked in the small lot in back, where the cops declined to follow, and for the first time I noticed how perfect it was for an ambush. If I would be the one setting it up, great, if I was the one being lured...shit, I'd have to find my front door key. Though Finn shut the purring engine off, he put a hand on my shoulder when I went to open the door. "Let me walk you up."

I looked over at my Olds, none the worse for wear. "Why?"

"I want to make sure no one is in there, waiting for you."

"I have a .45 in my car the cops didn't find. I'm armed, you're not. Gonna take a bullet for me?"

"Okay, look, maybe I don't want to be alone just yet. Maybe I'm scared shitless, and you're the only person on this planet who I feel safe with."

I knew he was so demented he might have actually believed that. "Fine," I said at last and he beamed at me.

I cursed under my breath as we alighted, and he waited for me to grab my illegal gun. I continued as we walked into the lobby, and took the stairs up to my office. I wasn't sure if he'd meant what he'd said about an ambush, but I checked the storage room and bathroom, even behind the shower curtain.

"All clear?" He grinned and flopped on the couch.

"Clear."

"You don't have a TV?"

"I don't watch TV. I'm always working."

He shook his head as he placed his hands beneath it. His muscles flexed, visible through his t-shirt, and I felt things low in my body tighten. "You're no fun."

I sat down at my desk and looked around. The cops had been through with a warrant, and my computer was gone, so were my schedule books. 

Books lay tossed on the ground, obviously shaken as if I had hidden a note inside somewhere. I knew they'd been hoping to find a mad confession. Idiots, if I had been a uniform tossing the joint, I wouldn't have spent a second on the damn bookshelves. They'd been watching too many old movies.

Damn it, it would take days to get it back to normal and organized, and I was a woman who was anal about organization. "Look at this, Finn. Look at this."

"Standard procedure. Talk to Smith tomorrow and you'll get your computer back."

I pushed the top to a missing file box off the desk and lit a cigarette nervously, blowing out a long puff of smoke before speaking. "Finn, this is just the beginning. Don't you see? The press will come soon, and fry us alive. Our lives...nothing will be the same."


MJ 3: Case of the Purple Rose



He uncurled from the couch like a cat, and walked behind my chair. I was stiff as his hands slid over my shoulders and began to massage. "Marly, why don't you get AC?"

I looked around the office. The building dated from 1922, and my uncle, who'd also been a PI, had kept it original condition. I'd made some upgrades, but AC had slipped my mind. Many things had, I was not known for my attention span.

I moaned as his firm touch relaxed my muscles, his strokes moving with the knowledge of a man well-trained. Hell, he was probably an ace fluffer for his female stars, I thought with the bitter twinge of jealousy. 

Closing my eyes, my mind was troubled, but my body was jumping in joy. I was hung over, tired, facing a murder charge, and the man still lit me up like a runway at takeoff.

"No!" I jumped up out of the chair and stepped around the desk.

"Marly," Finn began, all bedroom eyes.

"No, Finn! Look, not this time! This isn't some stupid case, this is our lives on the line here! Get the blood back north of the equator. Last I checked we still live in a state with the death penalty."

He grabbed my chair and began squeezing it with white knuckles. "Marly, it was just a massage. I know what's going on here. Damn it, this is still a case. If Harwood killed Stormy and someone killed him, he had a partner all along, trying to frame us both. I am paying you an ungodly amount of money to find out who the fuck that is!"

"Then no fucking!" I shrieked. There was a lot between Finn and me, too much for me to succumb so easily. 

He threw my chair down and stalked over, and though I went for my gun the maniac was faster. I found myself shoved into the bookcase so hard the wind was nearly knocked from me, and then his lips were on mine, my hands pinned at my sides.

I bit his tongue and he kicked me in the shin, hard. I gasped and tasted blood in the kiss. His erection ground into me, and I knew this game. I knew he liked the fight, liked my own muscles, my resistance, and so I went lax, limp as a dummy.

The hot kiss ended with his snarl. "Fuck you, Marly."

"In your dreams pal. Now get the fuck home, find a goddamn good lawyer, and get me every detail on Stormy Michaels."

Standing in the late afternoon sunlight, he looked very much like an angry, avenging angel. I hated his beauty then, more then ever.

Finn was a man who liked the last word, but left without it. I had no idea what that indicated, but I sure as hell knew it meant something.

***

I was dreaming, I realized at the last second. I walked into the Purple Rose. The red velvet was gray, the black leather ashen. Everyone was strange to me, their voices tinny.

Eddie stood by the bar, leaning on it like it was an old lover. A man of 48, he looked younger. He had his British father's height and eyes, his Italian mother's coloring and temperament. He worked out, tanned regularly, and walked with the confidence of a man who knew too many secrets.

He looked at me in surprise, opened his mouth to speak, and blood came pouring out.

I shot up from the couch to hear my cell phone ringing.

"Go," I said with my customary curtness. Everyone knew I was a night creature, so clients often called me in the dead of night.

"Marly, I need your help."

It was Finn. His voice was breathy, nearly seductive, which meant it was unintended. I tamped down on my body's excitement and sighed, pushing my hair from my face where sweat had it sticking. "What is it, Finn?"

"Someone tried to kill me."

"Where are you?"

"I'm at the studio now, safest place I know."

"I'll be there in ten."

I hung up and grabbed a very quick shower. It was still damn hot even in the dark of night, so I dressed in a tank top and shorts, opting for Teva sandals. I'd never be a fashion-plate, but I'd always be comfortable, damn it.

I strapped my gun on and hid it with a windbreaker, pushing the sleeves up past my elbows. I tugged my damp hair into a ponytail as I strode around, looking out every window.

Down below in the street there was a cop car. Stupid idiots bought only three models, and they were never in the best of repair. The dented Caprice was white with rust spots, all windows open, and inside two of the three detectives were smoking.

I flipped open my cell phone and double checked the time. Just before four, Buzz was still at the bar, waiting to close it down. Like me he'd once been a cop, but he'd retired as honestly as possible, settling into a life centering around alcohol.

"Marly?" He asked, his voice curbed by alcohol, ready to slur.

"I need a pickup, Buzz, meet me by Jack's."

"When?"

"Bars close in ten, let's say fifteen."

"See ya."

I was smart enough to know the phones were tapped, now I could only hope my driking buddy Buzz remembered the code. I went back to the front window and saw the flurry of activity begin. The Caprice pulled away to find a good vantage point near Jack's Tavern on Rush.

I smiled and waited for them to turn the corner before going down the back. If Buzz remembered, he'd pick me up at the Jackrabbit, and I'd find out just what the hell had happened to Finn.

***

Finn's studio had once been a warehouse for car parts. Later, after he'd taken it over, he'd been a fence and everything stealable and sellable under the sun had lined rows of shelves inside. 

Now there were sets. Fake walls would go up, pretend rooms created for scenes in his porn movies. The walls were lined with props, a wardrobe department, which I always found ironic for movies that were two solid hours of naked people fucking.

There were two doors to get through, the first required a buzz and a pass by camera and voice. The second was guarded twenty-four hours a day by three shifts of men with assault rifles.

Tonight it was Champ, a small time boxer who'd taken one too many hits to the head to be useful in the ring. He'd long ago learned not to bother searching me, he merely nodded and opened the door.

"Thanks," I muttered, and stepped inside the porn palace.

I'd never been here at this time of night, and it was eerily empty. A set was staged of an office, and on the floor were clothes. The shot must have gone late to be left unclean, and the smell of sex still hung in the air.

The only bright light came from Finn's office and he frantically waved me over. I liked his office, it was richly appointed. The couches were leather and buttery soft, the carpet was like a pillow, and the art on the walls was real. The bastard had taste, I could admit that.

"What's going on?" I asked before she shut the door behind me.

His white t-shirt was ripped at the hem on one side and the shoulder above had a smear of dried blood. His jeans were covered in dirt and more blood, and his hair was disheveled.

"Marly," he growled and hugged me.

The hug was a shock. We yelled, we fought, we fucked, but neither of us were hugging people. Awkwardly I tried to hug back, and despite the late hour, despite all the dark past we shared, I was only aware of his broad frame, the heat of his body, the musky scent that was pure Finnegan.

"Finn, what happened?" I asked, muffled by his shoulder.

"Marly." He set me back and looked down into my eyes. Pure, Irish blue, I saw sadness, fear, and some dark emotion I couldn't identify, yet sparked a feeling of commiseration deep in my own heart. "Marly."

He kissed me. I hadn't been expecting that. He kissed me slowly, but forcefully, the force would always be there with Finn, but the slow was new. Finn was a hit and run kind of guy, and that was how I liked it. 

I'd been a cop before being a PI and had been around enough death to know that close calls sometimes made people want to affirm life. Sex was the quickest route in most brains, and it seemed Finn was wired that way.

Before my brain fully caught up the bastard had the windbreaker off and was undoing the holster. He got stuck, needed help, and I broke off, panting and staring at him. It was my chance to walk away, to slap him and get back to business, or give into what he needed and I wanted so badly.

When I pulled the gun off triumph flared for a moment in his gaze, making my jaw tick. I loved him, I knew that, but I'd be damned if I let anything go that way. This was about sex, reaffirming life, nothing more.

So I grabbed his shirt and yanked it over his head. Damn, he had a nice chest. More hair than I usually liked but on him it was perfect. I went after the pants next and quickly realized he was commando, and happy to see me.

I stripped with brutal efficiency and kept my socks on, and was glad to see his jaw tick. I started to ask a very blunt question, but stopped myself in time. No need to be brutal, I thought, but he was making no moves. I was used to Finn making all the moves.

I was lost for only a moment before resorting to a trick guaranteed to get him moving. I sank to my knees and grabbed his cock. Above me I heard him moan and from the shifting of muscles accompanying his widening of stance, I knew his head was back.

I loved his cock. That I could always be open and honest with my feelings for. Not exceptionally long he was fairly wide, curved slightly up, infinitely fun to ride. For the moment I made do sliding as much as I could into my mouth. 

Wrapping my fist around the base I felt him shiver, so I rewarded him with a firm lick around the base of the tip. His hands came to rest in my hair, moving about for a moment before he jerked the ponytail holder loose. It caught, pulled on my scalp so I scraped my teeth on the head, making Finn hiss.

When my hair was loose and he moaned happily, I began to suck, stroking up and down. I loved this, truly I did. He was under my control, at my command. In my mouth his cock swelled as his sac tightened, and I began to hope he'd cum, allow himself to lose control.

No such luck. Suddenly the Finn I knew slid into place and he jerked me away, dragged me up, and kissed me like a wild animal trying to maul my face.

He backed me to the couch and fell with me. It was awkward and uncomfortable, and somehow he shifted it so he was still pressed against me, but my legs wrapped around his.

"Marly," he said somehow with his tongue halfway down my throat, and then he slammed in.

No condom. Shit. Then I was full and the sensation was searing. The danger of it was exciting and though I knew I was being stupid, I didn't care.

"Finn, this isn't working, you can't move," I tried to say though with my bottom lip firmly between his teeth I barely understood myself.

He responded by jerking my hips up, bending me nearly double so that his long legs were on the couch, he kneeled between mine. He laughed and finally began to move.

I could only gasp. In this position he felt huge, and I felt helpless as he began to thrust harder and harder like jackhammer. God, it turned me on. I tried to clutch at any patch of skin near but I was surrounded by Finn. I tried to pump my hips back but I couldn't move.

"Finn," I groaned as his sweaty body moved more into a slide.

In this position his cock slid heavily against my g-spot, beginning a tight thrumming low in my body. "Finn!" I cried when one hand pinched one of my nipples roughly.

He caught my mouth again and his kiss was soft, very soft. So very different from Finn, so very different from the tense muscles and hard thrusting of his body strangely it was this that drove me to a screaming orgasm.

Finn moved through it, taking my clawing nails against his skin, rocking against me hard, our sweaty bodies sliding frantically. Then his head tipped back and he came with a roar. I felt him cum inside me, deeply, and the fierce beauty of him pushed me to another orgasm, shockingly close to the first.

I screamed again, mindless, my body throbbing and pulsating, his own so hard inside me, all around me.

It seemed to last eternity, our bodies so close, my eyes closed, listening to our panting breaths. When I opened them he was looking at me deeply. "Marly I-"

"Finn, we forgot to use a condom."

"Shit."

Whatever romantic nonsense he'd been planning to say slipped as he pulled away brutally fast. "Shit," he repeated, standing there naked, swiping a hand through his shaggy black hair. "What if-"

"I can't get pregnant and I'm clean. Well, it hasn't been a full six months since the last AIDS test, but Harwood and I always used condoms. I'm safe. You?"

"I've only been with you and Stormy in recent memory, and I make all the actors get tested constantly. I did too, when I was fucking one. We were both clean."

"Then lets forget this ever happened. Hand me my clothes and an ashtray, and tell me what happened."

He handed me the clothes and I dug my cigarettes out, lighting one as he searched his drawers for an ashtray. Pulling one from the desk he handed it to me and flopped beside me on the couch.

"I didn't see him, but he was big. I was walking, over on Ashland, just south of Addison. I was at Mikey's, a little tipsy, and I was jumped. I fought, but he was huge. Hired muscle is my guess. He never spoke a word, just beat me."

I saw a few bruises on his body, but none that had stopped the rough sex. "I take it the blood is his?"

He nodded. "Can I bum one?"

I passed him a cigarette and the lighter. Somehow he made a very dirty habit look sexy as he lit it and sucked in smoke deeply. "I had my butterfly knife on me, cut him a few times when he grabbed it. He was going to stab me but two drunk kids stopped in the alley to piss. He ran off. All I saw was a tall man, built like a brick shithouse, long trench."

I froze for a moment. Sounded like Rocco, one of Hardwood's crew. But since I was the current favorite for Eddie's killer, it made little sense for Rocco to go after Finn instead of me.

"What is it?"

"We need to get you into hiding. Could have been one of Harwood's, and if so, you're not safe."

He sat back and ashed with grace I'd never master. "Marly, I worked vice. I know his men, I know their games. I'm safe."

"It's been more than a few years since you worked in vice, there's new players on the scene, new tricks. You're not safe. I appreciate you're a tough guy and a big fish and all, but you ain't safe."

"Then what am I supposed to do?"

"Carlos can run Gold 'n' Rod for a couple of weeks. Take a vacation."

"I'm being investigated for murder. My million dollar plus company has just lost its biggest star, whom I'm accused of murdering. Running is the worst thing I could do."

"You want to live?"

I gave him the hard stare that had withered criminals and judges, even made a mobster creep like Harwood back off. Finn had seen this stare only a handful of times in the decade-plus length of our association.

"I can't leave the state."

"You don't have to."

"Where will I go?"

"Get dressed." I stubbed out my cigarette and stood up sorting out my own clothes. "You must have a change around here. You can call Carlos on the way. And on the drive, you're going to tell me everything you know about Stormy Michaels."

"I don't have my car, and you're being tailed."

I pulled my bra on and smiled. "That's why we're going to steal one."

He froze for a moment, cigarette dangling from his lips. "Holy shit, you're serious."

"You remember how, and if not, I'll teach you. Now come on, we've got a long drive ahead of us."

He shook his head and stubbed out his own smoke. "You're going to get me killed, Marly."

Or die trying, I thought grimly.

***

It made the most sense, I thought, that it was an enemy of Harwood's. Eddie had lots of those, he was one bad boy, and it was plausible that Stormy was merely a mistake, a casualty. 

If someone had tried to kill Eddie with Finn's gun, that could mean only one thing: the killer was an enemy of Harwood and Finn. They were both criminal masterminds, but Finn's days were behind him now that he was a pornographer. Oh, it was a short time ago he'd engineered the death of two women, but they weren't exactly girl scouts. Eddie's list was as long as my arm and filled with much more malicious men.

At first we didn't speak on the drive. Finn remembered how to hotwire a car just fine, you couldn't grow up on the south side and ever forget. He chose a Toyota Camry, smart boy, and the car blended in with dozens of others the same year and color as we headed out of the city.

After a few cigarettes, I pumped him for names. Finn had many, and I compared them with my own mental list of Harwood's. I had one hit, and I played my best poker face so Finn wouldn't pick up on it.

Luckily we'd arrived at the one spot where I knew he'd be safe.

"A casino boat?"

I grinned openly as we stepped out of the car. The heat had stayed through the night, and the canal holding the boat only made it humid and sticky. Everyone was out for air conditioning, and the boat was packed.

"C'mon, I'll introduce you to an old friend."

I thought I heard him mutter something about someone else to kill, and my eye ticked. Not so much over worrying about his guilt, rather because he'd been carrying around this torch thing for too long.

"Marly, couldn't you have friends that worked in strip clubs? A legal brothel? Anything but this place."

I glanced at him sideways and saw a furrow between those impossibly blue eyes. "I thought you liked gambling."

"Office pools on baseball or football, sure, but this is...obscene."

Something in the texture of that last word on his lips made me shudder. There was a story there, every instinct I had told me that, but we were pressed for time. I had one more stop to make before I opened up shop.

We flashed our IDs, both of them fakes, and stepped inside to another world. Too much black and gold, trying to look ritzy, and yet the people that filled it leaned towards socks in sandals, fanny packs, and visors. Indoors. At night.

I flashed a twenty at a waitress and she stopped, eyeing only the money and Finn. "Heya," she said with a snap of gum and an impressively subtle eye movement.

"Oh, I like her."

I did not want to slap him, I did not want to slap him. Repeating the mantra in my head wasn't working, so I elbowed him.

"Listen doll, can you get Johnny?"

She took the twenty but looked again at Finn. "Sure thing, and you stay right there."

I watched her and her impressive ass walk off. Finn started to subconsciously follow and I held a hand up to his chest. "Not smart."

He smiled down at me, eyes glittering through the deep shadows around them. "Marly," Finn drawled, "are you jealous?"

I snorted. "Hardly, but the last woman you slept with got iced with your fingerprints all over it. Watch it, or history may repeat itself."

He leaned down and nuzzled through my frizzing hair to my ear and spoke in a low, seductive tone. "Then you're the one we have to worry about."

I was reaching for my gun when Johnny Lake showed up with the gum chewer in tow. "Thanks Sam, you can go now," he smartly ordered her. Johnny was an old informant of mine from my homicide days on the force. Bodies got dumped by the boat all the time. 

He was still a large man in height, breadth, width, and depth. With his wavy dark hair artfully plastered and permanent grin, he could have been the gregarious owner of a big and tall store.

"What are you doing here?" He growled through a smile at Finn.

I cocked a brow and glanced at my...whatever the hell Finn was to me, I was tired of secrets. 

"She brought me," he jerked a thumb at my face.

I rolled my eyes. "Down boys. Johnny, can you keep Finn for a couple of nights in a room and in the blind spots here?"

He looked at me with that smile, and I'd known him long enough to trust his doe brown eyes more. "I owe you, Marly, and that's the only reason why I'll say yes. But you," he stared hard at Finn, "have to promise to behave. I mean it."




MJ 3: Case of the Purple Rose



"Yeah, sure," Finn said, sounding as convincing as a cheating spouse.

"Fair enough," I said softly and eased between them. There was history there, but there was not enough time for me to really care.

Johnny pulled up a cell phone and through two-way called someone named Damon to the front of the floor. Seconds later a slim young man with mocha skin showed up. "Yes sir?"

"Check Mr..."

"Alberts," Finn supplied.

"Check Mr. Alberts into the red royal suite. Start a tab, house. I'll be with you in a moment, Mr. Alberts. For now please follow Damon."

Finn gave me a look I couldn't interpret and trailed off. We watched him go before Johnny turned back to me. "Why am I harboring a fugitive?"

"You think he's guilty?" I asked, genuinely interested in the opinion of one murderer on another.

"Of this? I don't know. Of about a thousand other things? Oh, yeah."

I sighed, understanding the cryptic response all too well. Whatever Finn and Johnny had between them implicated them both. "It's a long story, and I'll tell you sometime. For the moment, why don't you tell me where I can find Roger Ioanitis?"

He raised a brow. "What do you want with a north side bookie?"

"All part of the same story, and it's not bedtime yet, Johnny."

His eyes softened slightly. "You can find him in the back room at the Red Head Piano Bar." Another tingle. The only man who was enemy to both Finn and Harwood, and he worked in the bar that was Finn's alibi. I'd give the chances of that being coincidence somewhere behind Bigfoot moving into the city and hosting the nightly news.

"Not the best spot for a bookie," was all I said, trying hard to muster a poker face for a man who made his living spotting liars and cheats.

"Exactly," Johnny said and left me with a warning look.

I had a bad feeling, which told me I was on the right track. "Fuck," I swore under my breath a little too loudly walking past a row of slot jockies who didn't even bother to look up at me.

***

The Red Head Piano Bar was long closed by the time I got there, but just like at the Purple Rose, there was a light on in the back.

I knocked, and unlike the movies there was no secret code, just a demand for cash. It took five waggled Franklins before the door opened all the way.

I'd met Roger once before, as a cop, but that wasn't how he recognized me; no, he'd kept tabs on Eddie Harwood just as Eddie had on him. And, creepily, he probably kept tabs on Finn too.

A man of medium build due to fat layering over muscle, he seemed out of place in the city. He favored long black dusters and cowboy hats, real cowboy hats, not those newer ten gallon styles country singers favored. He had long curly hair, dark but giving in to salt and pepper, and a presence that said he was a gambler of old.

"Jackson."

"Ioanitis."

"Are you here to kill me too?"

I narrowed my eyes. "Too? I haven't even started. Yet."

"I'm shaking. So how do I get rid of you?"

"I want information."

"And I want some dickhead teenage band to play at my daughter's birthday party. Think you can hook me up?"

I rolled my eyes and looked around the office. Dingy, appropriately dark, sparse save the desk, two chairs, the requisite door goon, and a bunch of file cabinets. It rather resembled my accountant's. "No can do."

"Tit for tat, I trade in cash and opportunities only."

The way he said it made me shiver. "What do you want?"

"A marker."

I knew what he did, and the best summary to his M.O. was that he paved his way with bodies. "I am not a hit man."

He laughed. "That's not what I heard, but that's not always what I need."

"Then what is it you need?"

"A favor. I call it, you agree to it, you do it, no questions asked."

"No one innocent gets hurt," I said stupidly. These guys knew ways to weasel around anything, my intellect was no threat.

He nodded. "Some day."

"And only if your information pans out."

He grinned. "Always does. Have a seat."

I glanced at the goon and sized him up. I was hot, sweaty, ragged, and suspicious as hell. I was also dehydrated, itchy, and had a headache coming on from the feeling of chasing my tail. "I'll stand. Talk."

He reached behind him and pulled out a bottle and a glass, pouring himself two fingers of whiskey. I licked my lips and he just smiled evilly and put the bottle back. "Strange thing about Michael Finnegan and Stormy Michaels. She liked to hang out on the rough side. He never liked the Purple Rose, nothing like it since he went legit. She liked it rough. 

"Heard from a man I did business with she used to turn tricks. Hope your boyfriend got tested."

I felt my eye tick and growled. That wiped the smile from his face.

"Anyway, she dressed up a few times with Finnegan, apparently, she looked like you." He smiled again as shock wiped any expression from my face. "That's not all. I heard she was seeing Harwood on the side."

I opened my mouth to ask a question but he held up three fingers along with his glass. "Yeah, while you were still seeing him. Boy you people are fucked up."

"What about debts? Old grudges?" I was going to do my best to ignore this for I hadn't really had a solid feeling of Eddie cheating on me. Maybe I'd thought about it, but I kind of expected it. Just not with my ex lover's girlfriend.

He shook his head. "Nothing of the sort. She had a dark past, she liked it loose and rough, and she seemed to like sleeping with the same men you do. My money is on you for her murder, cupcake."

"It's a good thing I have an alibi," I sneered. Even if it was an alcoholic blackout with my old drinking buddy, I silently added. "So if there's nothing else, I'll go get some sleep. But Ioannitis, if none of this leads to anything, there's no mark."

"I wouldn't dream of asking," he said to me, much in the way I always imagined the Cheshire Cat spoke to Alice, right before things got even more fucked up.

***

It was too late, or too early, depending on how long one had been awake to do anything, so I went back to my office and snuck in the back, expecting an ambush all the way. It didn't come in the back, or the lobby where a small Mexican family sat on the bench crying, outside the office for my downstairs neighbor, the immigration lawyer.

I was dead dog tired, sticky with sweat, and after back-alley deals and dumping a stolen car resulting in the worst of all ordeals: taking the bus. I wanted a shower, a nap, then some coffee and a donut and I needed to buy a new carton of smokes.

In my pocket was a name I'd been slipped just as I was leaving the bar, chased down in the lot. It meant nothing to me now, just a henchman who worked for the new boss who was sliding into Eddie Harwood's place, but it was a new lead, and one that would wait.

My door was not locked. Either the cops had been back and wanted to intimidate me, or I had a visitor. He, she, or they wanted to talk, and the broken lock was my invitation.

I opened the door to see a tall wall of a man with a shaved head, sweating bullets inside a torn leather trench, sitting at my desk. He had a cut cheek and a black eye, a bruise on the cheek the right size for Finn's fist.

"Marly."

"Rocco," I sighed. "Did you really have to break the damn lock?"

"Wasn't me. Some pipsqueak was here, said he had a message for you. Said you'd understand it, and I made him take a hike."

I slumped down into a client chair and pulled out a cigarette, lighting it slowly, counting to ten and trying to forget about the gun under my windbreaker. "And the message was?"

"Uh, Mr. Alberts needs to leave before tonight." 

Shit, I wondered just what Finn had done to piss off Johnny. If Johnny had sent an errand boy, it must be pretty bad, but fuck it. If I had to ice Rocco here, I'd let the body rot while I napped, I was so exhausted.

"Thanks, you'd make an excellent secretary. Now what do you want? You jumped Finn, you want to do me too?"

His face clouded up dark and I knew I'd hit a nerve. Something about Rocco pissed me off, always had, though he was one of the few of Harwood's men who kept to the old no women, no children rule. "You know I don't do that. He killed Eddie, and now I'm out a job. I got a wife, three kids, and now the Cosimo's are moving in, taking over. Carlos don't like me."

"Beating up Finn was stupid, he woulda hired you, you know." I blew out smoke and sighed. "Is this confession time?"

"No. I came to warn you. Somebody approached Eddie last week, right after you two broke up. Said his name was Smith, but he smelled like cop. I heard a little of their talk before I left the office. It was about you. Harwood got angry, had me throw the guy out. I warned him it was a cop, but he didn't listen."

Bells rang in my ear. "Fuck, Rocco, you think a cop killed Eddie? Maybe Stormy was a warning. And if you do think this, why did you jump Finn?"

"I didn't jump him, okay?! I was angry, I thought maybe you and he both got mad at that woman and Eddie and you two being ex—cops had set it up. Finnegan schooled me good on that."

Interesting. Finn had lied to me, said there was nothing said. I shouldn't be surprised, the man did nothing but lie. And all for what? So I'd fall into his arms? I stubbed out my smoke and ground my teeth. "Thanks for coming, he neglected to tell me that when he told me some stranger had jumped him. As soon as he mentioned the coat I figured on you. I was going to drop by this evening."

Rocco stood at last, at least 7'1" he was a giant. That he had more marks than Finn did was testament to my semi-lover's innate toughness. "Marly, I don't like you, I won't lie to you, I thought you did this, but I know it ain't your style. I wouldn't have said anything, but this guy Smith, he came to see Cosimo last night. That's all I know, but it gave me the heebie-jeebies."

"For whatever it's worth, I don't like you, but I respect you Rocco. If I hear about any work that would fit you, I know how to reach you." 

"Thanks, Marly. Hope this helps. You don't deserve a murder rap if you didn't do it."

It was stupid, but when he left I was smiling. If an enemy believed I was innocent, then I had hope for a jury of my peers, and court was scheduled for six months away.

***

I woke, did my chores, and had to decide. Pick up Finn, or go see Carlos Cosimo. I chose Cosimo.

He'd set up shop in the Purple Rose, no surprise there, and it was open for business very illegally and temporarily. It didn't take a genius to know a raid was coming, and Cosimo smartly only had the front half open.. I had to dress up, so gritted my teeth, put on a slinky black dress Eddie had bought for me, smoothed the frizz in my hair, and managed not to poke my eyes out with mascara. I put on cute shoes with kitten heels, and put my gun in a purse.

The doorman was one of Harwood's, Julian, and he let me in and told me to wait at the bar. I downed to dry martinis before a new henchman, a tall man with a blond buzz cut, collected me and brought me to the VIP room.

It was decorated in black marble walls, gilt edging, with a mahogany bar with bras railings, and lined by raised booths in black leather and more dark wood. The only VIP there tonight was Carlos Cosimo, a man of average height, advanced years, sharp hawk-like black eyes above a hooked nose and a crooked smile that was easy. A true Goodfella, all I knew was he was a medium-time fish now in a big pond, and had a rap sheet that rivaled Whitey Bulger's. 

The room was cooly air conditioned, but that wasn't why I shivered. That came at the both that was missing, impounded as evidence, marking the spot where my apparent rival Stormy Michaels had died.

"Marly Jackson, come, come. I've heard so much about you."

I did the polite kiss-kiss while goons patted me down and took my gun. Gotta make nice when drinking with the boss. "Cosimo," I said simply.

"Have a seat. John, two Jameson's," he called to the man at the bar then turned back to me. "That's your poison, right?"

I jerked a nod and sat across from him. I'd been in this room when it was filled with people and for some reason, now mostly empty, I thought of Scarface and Al waiting alone while the man dressed like a pig danced.

"I need to ask," I said bluntly as our whiskies were set down, "if you killed Harwood and framed me, I won't take the fall, but I won't put it back on you, and for that, I want some insurance."

He smiled and raised his glass, waiting for me to do the same. "Cheers to a lady who speaks like a man. It's a relief, isn't it, boys?"

Jody, a strange name for a large black man, was one who'd worked for Eddie and knew me. "She ain't no lady."

"Get out," Cosimo said simply. "Now," he underscored when Jody just stared. "We don't treat women that way in my organization, Jody. Doesn't matter how many guns they carry, a lady is a lady."

I watched him go and turned back, nonplussed. "You didn't respond to me."

"I know you didn't kill Eddie, or at least, I'm pretty sure. His murder showed creativity I am sure you possess, but a patience and a sadistic need for pain I don't believe you do. Stormy I am not so sure. I have no hand in police investigations, much to my frustration, so I have no insurance to give you."

Something in the tone of his deep voice told me he was lying, so I took out the piece of paper and slid the name over. "Captain Harold Smith. Name mean anything to you?"

Cosimo didn't blink, just turned into a cold-blooded predator in an instant. John, the bartended, coughed, a tell I latched onto. "He saw Eddie, discussed me, Eddie threw him out. You practically gave him a blowjob."

"Get out," Cosimo said cooly, and before I could argue or finish my whiskey, two goons grabbed me and escorted me out the back door, without my gun. 

"Motherfuckers!" I yelled after them and one gave me the finger, the other blew a kiss.

I stalked to the front, at least I had my purse, and shoved two more hundreds at Julian. "Anybody here the night Stormy died, or the next night, that didn't fit?"

Julian took the money and smiled. Most of Eddie's men hadn't liked me, not girly enough for them, I guessed, but Julian had always had a roving eye for any female form. "You remember Alabaster?"

I had to think for a moment, and suddenly the man's image came to mind. French, whipcord thin, my height, so just under six feet, pale black skin and a ponytail. His face was cat-like, his voice silky smooth and seductive, but they called him Alabaster because he moved heroin. Pure, white heroin.

"What was he doing around here? Harwood cut ties with him two months ago."

Julian shrugged. "Everybody else was a regular and you asked about unusual. He was here the night Stormy was killed, not the next night. Next night we were closed, it was only staff and Eddie, and he sent us home before midnight."

"What about the backdoor?" I asked shrewdly.

"I don't work the back door...but I'm off at two if you're game."

I feigned a smile but inwardly cringed. "No thanks, it's complicated." I left then before he got in trouble for talking to me.

I had a cop not listed anywhere in Chicago, Eddie's replacement was pissed off, and a heroin dealer Eddie double crossed had been here the night Finn and Stormy had fought, and she had died.

This had to add up, but I had no idea how. Didn't matter, I thought with a sigh. I had to steal a car and pick up Finn. And damn it, I had to do it in heels.

***

I found Finn on lockdown, where the casino put counters and cheats. At least he was in the room with cameras, if he was in one without he'd be a bloody mess.

"What'd he do?" I asked Johnny, peering over his shoulder at the grainy black and white image of Finn glaring up at the camera, arms folded, hair messed almost to a curl.

"I caught him trying to sneak out. See he once ran a giant tab here, we're talking almost a cool million he was into me for. He paid, but there were other circumstances and we agreed he'd never come back. I took him for you, but I wouldn't put up with his shit. That's all I'll say."

I gave Johnny my withering look and sighed. "I stared down the new head of the goddamn mob in Chicago tonight, took on two of his goons, almost had to take down one of Harwood's old heavy hitters. Johnny, I think I can handle you."

He got my point: I was tired and pissed off. Johnny smoother his eerily thick black hair and stood up straight. "Carla, can we have a moment?"

The security guard watching the monitors got up and left, closing the door behind her.

"Marly, it wasn't him that owed the money. That woman of his, the one they say he killed, she checked in a month ago. Ruined her room, terrorized my staff, ran up a tab and reached a million. I called Finn in on her marker.

"It was the weirdest thing. He showed up and paid, then she came down, and I swear to god, Marly, she looked just like you. Had on a wig, glasses, wore similar clothes, it was fucking eerie. She was a little paler and had bigger, fake tits, but it was eerie.

"In the middle of my floor, on thirty fucking cameras, Finn back hands her when he sees this. He starts yelling something about games, we hauled him off. Stormy refused to press charges and Finn gave me another million to erase the tapes. 

"I got some cop named Smith calling me asking for all tapes from that night. I erased everything, no one could now Stormy or Finn was here. I told Finn on a call yesterday, he hung up on me and said he'd call back, then you show up. You know anything about this?"

I knew this. Finn was a damned liar, games were afoot, and this man Smith was no cop, but everyone who was involved, even in the slightest way, had been visited by him. I had a feeling Finn knew all about him and wasn't talking.

"Johnny, I have a request. Would you have your guard go in, handcuff him to the chair, and then would you let me in and turn the camera off? Trust me, you don't want to see what will happen."

He rubbed his hair, mussing it for the first time I'd ever seen. After a long pregnant pause, he nodded. "Sally!" He yelled and the guard came back in.

"Yes sir?"

"Handcuff Mr., um, Alberts to the chair, then come back. Let him know I authorized it, no cops are coming in, but it's just for the moment."

"Yes sir." Sally scuttled off, and Johnny and I watched as the petite woman entered the room with a baton out. Pointing it at Finn he put his hands out, let her cuff one, then she wrenched them both behind his back and cuffed the other, the chain running around a vertical rung on his metal chair.

She left the room and seconds later popped in, just as Johnny pressed the switch for the feed, removed the tape, and shut off the monitor.

"Happy?" he asked.

I nodded and prepared myself. I was beyond pissed at Michael Finnegan, and it was time to play some games of my own.

***

Finn glared at me as I entered. "What the fuck is going on?"

I still wore the dress and heels, and though I was sweaty from the night and my hair had frizzed up, his look softened as he scanned me up and down. 

"Finn," I purred, and the sound almost choked in my throat. I loved him, oh yes, I did, I wanted him, but God I hated him. Because of him I was in the middle of two murder investigations, a suspect, and my life was spinning out of control.

If I could walk away and be done with it, I would, but I was too deep, and I needed answers. I took out the scissors I'd grabbed from Sally the guard and set them on the table. Finn's bright blue eyes flickered over to then on the metal table, the orange of the handles standing out in the dim, green-painted room.

"Umm..." he hedged as I sat one hip on the table, trying for femme fatale.

"Finn, tell me about Stormy. No cameras are on now, no microphones, we have some time, we're safe in here. Tell me about Stormy."

He just stared. I grabbed the scissors and started playing with them. Finn gulped, his face to my hands, his eyes flicking up to me. "What is this?"




MJ 3: Case of the Purple Rose



"Johnny had a fun little story for me. I know what happened. Tell me, Finn."

His eyes darkened and his breathing sped up, but only a little. "What's going on?"

"You're going to be honest with me, Finn. For once, you lying bastard, you're going to be honest. Tell me all about Stormy, and who would want her dead."

When he just stared at me I took the scissors, hopped from the table, and knelt. I grabbed a leg and when he jerked it away, I tsked. "Careful or I'll slip and stab you." I began to cut up the inside seam of his jeans.

"What the fuck are you doing?!"

"Start talking." I knew the distraction of the moment would work, and sure enough, he began.

"Stormy was a dancer at the Admiral. It cost me only fifty bucks to get her to agree to a blowjob. I knew right then she'd been a whore, was still one. I'd seen her a few times, nice body, pretty, but she was a good actor in the way she imitated people well. Couldn't follow a script or fake emotions to save her life, but in real life she was good."

He paused as I went up the other leg, my hand smoothing ahead of the scissors until I hit the hard outline of his erection.

"Um, ah, I took her in for a screen test. She aced it, we did her first movie, and then one night she came in the office after hitting on me the whole time. That night...she looked like you. I missed you so damn much, I gave in."

I dug my nails into his denim-covered erection and he winced, closing his eyes as the scissors passed over. I cut up to his waist and opened them. He was naked beneath and I stroked the tips of my fingernails up his erection.

"Marly-"

"Keep talking," I cooed softly and slipped the closed scissors up his thick shaft. 

He yelped but started again. "Her dad was her p-pimp," he stuttered as my fist closed over him and pumped once before leaving. "He got her into coke, and I couldn't get her off. She liked to gamble, too, she was fucking expensive, but our biggest star, and damn she was good at impersonating you."

I cut up his shirt slowly now, free hand toying with his nipples beneath the white cotton. 

"He tried to blackmail her. I set a guy on him, just to scare him, and he stopped."

"Father's name?"

"Kevin Meyers, her real name was Rachel Meyers. Lives in Boca Raton."

I'd check it out. I ripped the collar and left the shrt hanging on his arms, pinned back. All he wore were his shoes and socks so I knelt down to untie the sneakers, and let my breath fall on his erection.

"He left her alone, he's alive, I bought him off. She had no other enemies I know of, and it's true. I was dumping her that night."

"The cops say you pulled the gun on her for cheating. Cheating with Harwood, and I think they're right," I said, pulling the first shoe off.

"I didn't pull the gun on her. I didn't even take it out to put it away like I told you. I was yelling at her, she defended it by saying she impersonated you for Harwood too, and then he showed up. I pulled the gun on Eddie Harwood, all right. If I wanted to kill anyone that night, it was him. I didn't kill her, and I didn't kill him, I swear! I'm being set up!"

I took that, and now that he was bare, I closed my mouth around his cock and sucked. His back arched and he cried out, the cuffs rattling an echo in the small room.

I pulled and massaged his balls until he cried out, sliding my mouth up and down until his toes curled.

"Cop named Smith, Harold Smith. Who is he?"

"Never heard of him."

I stood up and pushed his chair back, straddling him. Finn was so erect he was pulsing with his heartbeat. I lowered myself almost onto him and stopped. "Try again."

"Fuck, he's from Boca. He's on the case with Stormy's dad, that's all I know, I've been avoiding him."

Likely not the truth, but who knew? I sank down and he slid in. God damn, it felt good, it always felt good with Finn. There was no denying it; the man was a fantastic fuck. The fuck was not a fantastic man by any means.

It helped, slightly, the feeling of almost disgust. I was a bad girl, I'd always been a bad girl, and it felt good feeling him strain against the cuffs, his body jerking and trying to move with me, but I was in total control and using him. Jesus fucking Christ, it felt good.

His head bowed, searching for my nipples but he was too tall, and I leaned back as I moved, letting my breasts bounce and tease him.

"Marly," he pled on a broken voice.

"Shut the fuck up," I replied, breathless. I ground against him now, seeking only my own pleasure, not caring for his at all. He was sticky with sweat, so was I, the summer heat was strong even in the night with no sign of relief.

I grabbed his shoulders, my fingers sliding along corded muscle until my nails bit in, scratching him, drawing a hiss. That sound and the sudden spurt of anger that thickened his cock made my body quicken, and I came with a throaty rumble of triumph.

I felt Finn try to move, try to seek his own climax, even as I still shivered in the grips of pleasure. My head whipped forward from being flung back and I sank my teeth into him as I came down.

It was enough; I was done and slipped off him. I jerked my panties back into place, straightened my skirt, and looked at him there, sweaty, strained, bleeding, and almost ridiculously aroused. I felt empty as his dark blue eyes stared into me as if aiming a missile.

"Marly, come back here."

I grabbed my purse and pulled out a compact, wiping away at some loose eyeliner. "I'm done with you Finn. You've lied to me, used me, hidden things from me, and now you have me involved in not one but two murder investigations. I have a court date, I'm iut on bail because of you, you fuck-head."

"Marly, I love you."

That frosted my veins right then and there. Somewhere deep inside me I loved him too, but I was tired of all his bullshit. "Don't even try that crap! I will get to the bottom of this, but not for you, not for your money. For me, so I can be free of you!"

He looked stunned, even more stunned than I felt. I walked out, past Johnny, out of security, onto the main floor, and right out the boat. 

I wasn't sure what had done it. Rocco, the mysterious Officer Smith, I couldn't say. All I knew was my life was quiet. I tailed, caught, and blackmailed cheating spouses for a living. Every time a big case landed on my lap and I ended up either killing or nearly being killed, Finn was at the center.

I would never be a raise-the-kids-and-bake-cookies kind of gal, but I wanted something healthy. I had just sexually tortured an ex—boyfriend in a casino after being threatened by a mob boss, all while avoiding the cops. This was many things, but healthy was not it.

My next lead was this mysterious cop named Smith. On paper the story was now that Finn had threatened Stormy's dad, and Smith had come all the way from Florida to Chicago to investigate. Charming bullshit. The man was tied to Stormy, hanging around the new mob boss, and had argued with the old one that I was accused of murdering.

It was time to bait a cop. Just what I'd do with him as a finale to my performance with Finn, I had no idea.

***

Smith did not exist. 

I'd been a cop once, so had Finn. I had contacts there still, and enough to know Smith was a cover name. Who he really was I couldn't say.

I'd worked the beat fresh out of college. Hell, it surprised people, but I had a degree in art history. I had dreamed of working in a museum in the city, but my family was a cop family, so I'd gone into the force when museum jobs were tough to get.

Finn had been my second partner. I'd met him when I was 23 and he was 27. Back then he'd been even rangier, his hair a bit shorter, and he'd been devastating. He'd never said he was single, but he'd worn no ring, never talked about a girl, and always joined me and my god father Buzz, a captain then and now my retired drinking buddy, for a beer after work.

We'd started sleeping together after 8 months. I had fancied myself in love with him. I dreamed of no picket fences, but had thought about putting in for a transfer to vice already, following in my late father's footsteps, and asking him to move in with me.

Then one day I'd been at the front desk shooting the shit when this tiny little Irish goddess with red hair had walked up, called me a cunt, and said she was his wife. That day I'd officially put in for vice and got it.

I wasn't as frumpy back then, I'd read girly magazines, owned high heeled shoes, and had gotten my hair done every week. They put me on solicitation and I spent my nights on corners entrapping Johns.

After Finn had broken my heart I'd let myself go, happily. Comfort was what I wanted, and I'd made enough busts and was good enough I made detective at 28. Finn had made vice, organized crime, and put in for a transfer for me.

It took me two weeks of his hitting on me before I punched him and got written up. The rest of the guys thought I just hated him, but when he came in waving his divorce decree in my face a year later they'd gotten the idea. Finn left the force when I turned him down and used his connections to become a high class fence.

I'd used him as a contact and more than a few times that extended to bumping uglies. When it had become regular, routine enough he started calling me not with information on a case but for a date, I'd quit. I joined my Uncle Carl at his P.I. business, took to wearing uglier suits, chain smoking, and had settled into a routine.

Carl was long since dead, I had the business, and it had been stable. Sure, with Finn's cases I tended to make ten times as much as my usual fee, but I'd been used, abused, and almost killed one too many times.

Finn and I had a history, and now that I was further away I wondered if I could just walk away from it. Too many times since I'd become a P.I. had he wormed his way between my legs and sadly into my heart.

In part he was the only man I'd ever really been with. Oh, not sexually, I wasn't even going to try and count that, but I meant as in out on a date. Fuck, he'd even met my uncle, the only family I'd had outside of Buzz, an honorary uncle.

Fuck, maybe it was time I stopped just using men for sex and tried dating one. But who'd have me? I had scars from knives, gunshots, even had 2 bullets in me. They don't remove them in real life like they do in the movies. I cursed like a sailor, drank like a fish, smoked like a chimney, and fucked like a frat boy.

The drinking was, at least, going to come in handy.

I stepped into the Jackrabbit and let my eyes transition from the blazing evening sun into the dim darkness of a cave of barflies. I'd been spending my nights here, in the little neighborhood of Forest Park. Surrounded by houses the bar was grey with a cute rabbit painted on the side holding a tray of drinks. 

The regulars were all there: the bartender Teddy who looked like an old prize fighter, the waitress Lucille, his wife, who looked just as stout. There was Jimmy the young man being driven to alcoholism by a crazy wife, Harold who was a retired Elvis impersonator, but he still wore the outfits.

At the end of the bar sat Buzz. Buzz had coached my t-ball team, had taken me to confirmation, had snapped the picture of me in my prom dress. On the force he'd paired me with Finn, knowing Finn's old man from his days on the force, believing Finn would be like the big brother I never had. Buzz had been the biggest supporter when I'd gone into the private world, and now, retired, he was my drinking buddy.

"Buzz."

He turned, an old man in faded jeans and a blue denim shirt, sunglasses despite the dim, had pulled down over his chrome dome. Buzz's smile was lopsided; he was deep in the cups already.

"Marly, back so soon?"

I slid onto the stool next to him and signaled for a Jameson. They knew me there, a raised finger on the left hand was all it took. The drink was set down, my credit card not even asked for as they would run a tab and let me pay cash. "What do you mean? It's been several days."

"Well I know what's been going on, and I know ol' Finn had disappeared. I was hoping you were off snogging with him."

I downed a heavy sip, bothered both by the odd word he'd used and the images it conveyed. "I left him in the last place anyone would look for him." And it was true. With what Johnny told me had gone down, no one would seek out Finn at the casino.

Buzz signaled for another beer and tried to rest his cheek on his hand but missed. Shit, was this what I looked like? I'd been drinking heavily lately, and suddenly the smooth blended whiskey turned sour on my tongue and I set my glass down.

"Well, surprised you're not in hiding."

"Why would I be in hiding? I didn't do anything."

"You remember the Bowers case?"

My head swam. These days I didn't remember much, I'd been drinking for too long. This was a total blank until my brain went back to my days on the force, or rather the years after I'd left.

Arthur Bowers had been a cop, like me. Unlike me, he'd been an honest one. He'd been set up and as his life crumbled around him, he turned to me for help. I arranged for him to get a cut on a job, it went south, and he got framed for murder. Well, I'd thought he'd been framed at the time, and so I helped him pull a better job to get money for his defense. Bastard took the whole take and ran, leaving me to explain things. I'd only narrowly escaped criminal charges.

"Shit, that was years ago. What are you saying? You think Finn is setting me up?"

"Finn wouldn't set you up for anything other than a roll in the hay or a dozen. No, funny thing is, this cop named Smith came looking for you. When I saw him, I could have sworn he looked just like Bowers."

I rubbed my temples. "Bowers should be in Rio right now, living high on the hog or planning his next job. Last I heard he turned thief, and a good one at that. He didn't even know Finn, we were friends from my days in vice. He has no reason to look for me.

"And listen, it's just a coincidence. Finn says this Smith is a cop from Florida, and he's looking at Finn for assaulting Stormy Michaels' father. Smells like bullshit, do you have a number for this Smith?"

"Nah," Buzz took a pull of his beer. "Didn't leave a card. I'm telling you, could be Bowers' own brother."

Now that was a coincidence that had me signaling for a beer. Pinky on the right hand, and Teddy nodded and poured me a Smithwick's.

"Can't escape the past," I said under my breath. Bowers was a separate matter, but I owed him one. A slug in the base of his skull, that was.

"You can say that again. In fact you did, you said it that night."

"What night?" I leaned in towards Buzz and studied his eyes. Drunk, but functioning well enough.

"Janie came in here, you know the waitress Harwood fired? She said Finn and that little slut got into it again. Your name came up. You said you were going there, that you can't escape the past. Good thing you never made it, right?"

I froze. Why didn't I remember this? Fuck, fuck, fuck, my mind chanted. I remembered starting the night with an argument on the phone with Harwood. A question of money and some vacation planned and never taken. I'd come to the jackrabbit for a drink and then...scene missing.

My heart began to race. I'd blacked out a few times, was treading awfully fucking close to the alcoholism that plagued my family. There were drives home not remembered, lovers discovered the morning after, even missing bullets.

Missing bullets.

"What time did I leave that night?"

Buzz scratched his head and looked to Teddy. "When did she leave that night of the ruckus over at Harwood's place?"

Teddy shrugged but Lucille came and placed a meaty hip on the bar, slapping a towel over her shoulder. "Musta been just before one. You left right before some tourists came in, from Wisconsin, drunk as skunks. Left me an eighty dollar tip."

Where had I gone between 1a.m. and when I woke up to Finn's knock? I had more than enough time to get there and back. What had Harwood's man said to me? It was all swimming on a pool of one thought:

I had most likely killed Stormy myself.

****

I could have done a million things a more normal, average person would have done. I could have given into guilt and panic; I could have denied and buried the truth; I could have laughed it off and taken time to think it over.

Instead I grabbed Buzz and we headed out to the Purple Rose.

He was unsteady in the seat, we reeked of alcohol, and even with the windows down it barely helped. The night was windy, a storm was teasing Chicago, and the heat was oppressive but flowing in a dance that taunted us with the promise of relief.

We pulled up into the back and parked in shadows. I opened the glove and pulled out a .38 for Buzz, passing it over. Drunk as a skunk he still knew what to do and weighted it, checked his sight on it.

"Call me on the cell if anyone comes. Anyone, Buzz. I mean it; girl scouts, those anarchist kids with that stupid fucking band, anyone. Got it?"

He nodded and I stepped out, two guns on me under the windbreaker and a knife in my high socks. The night air was still warm and sweat trickled down my back, tickling me and distracting.

The club itself was sealed off with police tape but no guard. It's be stripped clean but I wasn't there to search.

I'd come to remember.

I broke in through a bathroom window and thanked my irregular diet for keeping me pretty slim. As it was I barely fit, and cut myself. I had to pick out the glass, break it, and spray it down with ammonia I found under the sink. 

After several long minutes I made my way through silent darkness to the bar. There were no windows here so I flipped the switch and 2 rows of "get-the-fuck-out it's closing time" lights came on.

I'd been in here a hundred and one times before. There were two levels; where customers entered it was raised and filled with rounded booths in a semicircle around the room. A step down brought one to tables with candles on them, 2-4 chairs each. Against the back wall was the long bar with 3 50 foot shelves of liquor, mostly missing. The cops were excellent at cleaning, I saw.

I tried to remember the last night I was there. The image that swam to mind was sitting at the corner of the mahogany bar with Eddie. Slick Eddie, eyes roaming over the crowd, ears trained to me, and somehow he did both with calculated ease.

"I'm done, Eddie. It's been fun but I'm done."

He'd turned those dark, impenetrable eyes on me and frowned. "It's Finnegan, isn't it? He and Stormy have been having problems, they say. You want to go back, be his Plan B?"

I'd taken a sip of my drink, a dirty martini, and leveled my best "fuck you" cop-stare on him. "I'm just sick of my Plan B."

He'd gone to grab me but recovered, swiping his hand through his hair. "Come into the VIP room."

I'd followed him in and now I walked there, through more tape, tearing it down carelessly. Inside the booths were higher backed, still good brown leather with gold trim, the wood rich, the walls done like a Victorian parlor in dark wainscoting and gilt-tinged mustard yellow wallpaper. It hid the smoke stains well.

I saw mists of memory play out before me like a movie, living it, experiencing it, and seeing it. In the corner booth we'd sat alone, aloof, anger building.

I'd been past anything with Eddie. I was drinking too much, working too hard, and I was burnt out. The feelings for Finnegan hadn't faded with time and, disgusted with myself, I'd wanted to be alone. Eddie was pissed.

"It is Finnegan!" He'd yelled fianlly; the room was sound-proofed and he'd locked us in, alone.

I sipped my drink and tried to hold my temper. "It is not Finnegan. It's you; it's all the disappearances, the stench of death around you, all the favors. It's the way you get jealous every time I'm in the paper. It's the way we're always talking about fucking Finnegan!" By the end I'd shouted and he gave me a chilly smile.




MJ 3: Case of the Purple Rose



"I fucked Stormy. She wore a wig, she looked like you. But she was better. Younger, tighter, hotter. You hear that? You're dried-up, washed-out, used-up and old!"

Gentle women slapped. I'd sucker punched him. Eddie was pretty, very pretty, but he knew how to take a punch which was surprising. He came back with a left hook and it clipped my cheek.

I walked now to a mirror still bearing clumps of fingerprint dust and touched my cheek. That was where the dull smudge of bruise had come from. This had been the night before Stormy died; two days before Eddie died, and my memory ended there.

It puffed into smoke like a sepia-toned film that burned up on the reel. What had Eddie done? Goddamnit, I couldn't remember. I'd been hit; more importantly, it occurred to me, what had I done?

We'd been alone in that room but we had both walked away. Me enough to work and drink, Eddie to work smoothly at his club.

Goddamnit, we were people of action, not words, but obviously a discussion had happened. What had it been? Who had I seen on the way out? My fingers itched to call and check in on Finn but honesty was never something I could count on him for.

I sat on a booth and cupped my hand as if reaching for a drink. It brought back no memories. Blackout, scene missing: my cop instincts told me that meant only one thing: I had killed Stormy. And my PI-sometimes-criminal instincts told me I had only one way out:

Pin the murder on Finn.

***

Buzz was too far gone to ask more than once why I was so quiet. I was pretty sure I had been Stormy's trigger man, but I just didn't know why. Sure, I could get jealous, but I tried to bury it. Finn liked women, he liked us a lot, and he thought monogamy was a kind of wood. I felt the same way, so jealousy was limited to verbal threats, taunts at other lovers, and rough sex between us.

The phantom cop smith hadn't panned out and that left me with one last lead. Alabaster, pimp-come-dealer. Alabaster who had double crossed Eddie and sold him out, holding some information over his head that made Eddie spare his life.

I had a history with Alabaster. We were the same age, had grown up in the same area, and when I was in college he was in jail; we both got our educations. I became a beat cop with Finn and Alabaster had a few women.

He had a reputation of selling his friends down the river to keep out of jail, but once he moved into drugs his information was worthless and riddled with lies. His money was good, and that worked to keep him a free man.

I dropped Buzz off and checked my phone. Three calls from Johnny and 2 from Finn. Shit; I'd forgotten to collect him, but I had better things to do. I needed to get all the information I could on that night, tighten up all the loose ends, and frame Finn.

Ignoring the strange wince in my heart was going to be the hard part.

***

I found Alabaster in the Loop at a club. It was like he was following the script from a hip-hop biopic: a club without a discernible name, underground literally, filled with atrocious music and gyrating bodies. Alabaster was at the back surrounded by a modern-day harem of expensive looking women I had no urge to fuck with.

He looked good, damn good, polished to the nth degree. He was not an overly handsome man but he would easily slide onto a movie screen or red carpet. Hard to imagine him beating his mules in a thousand dollar suit.

"Marly!" To my shock he got up and hugged me. Old neighborhood style, it was hard to explain, but the press of shoulders and hips was carefully arranged the way we did it as kids in Pilsen.

"Alabaster. I'm not here on a happy errand. I need info, real info, not for cops, but for me. Personally."

He pulled back, a slim, tall man, and tipped his fedora back to look down at me. "Stormy Michaels," he said in a voice that was high yet rich, like lace-trimmed velvet.

I nodded. "You got someplace we can talk?"

He raised a brow and jerked a cheek towards the bathrooms. "Sure do, follow me."

He tried to take my hand but I jerked it away. I wore cargo shorts off the men's rack, Doc Marten boots, and a windbreaker over my gun holster over my tank top. I looked like a tourist, anybody's meat, and the hyenas eyed me as we wove through the pack. When the roving eyes noted Alabaster, they moved along.

In the back the bass thumped impossibly louder, and he lead me to a small door around the corner from the bathrooms. It lead us up stairs to a small hallway and we went in the first office. 

Poorly soundproofed the music still thrummed around us and it was Spartan. A desk with a chair, a lamp, and two client chairs. He didn't turn on the lamp just let the lights from the club filter through the blinds.

Alabaster sat behind the desk and I leaned my hip on it, wanting higher ground. "You were there that night."

Alabaster nodded, leaning forward to steeple his fingers, elbow on the desk "Before I say anything, sweet little Marly-girl, whatcha gonna give me?"

The way he looked at me made me roll my eyes. "I know I'm as frumpy as they come right now and I have no interest in fucking you, Al."

"Alabaster," he purred and sat back. "You gotta give me somethin', sweetheart."

"How about I let you live?"

"How about you work some magic for me?"

I folded my arms. "What do you want?"

"There's this cop, Smith, he's been askin' about me. I can't find anything on him, but I want him off my back."

I inwardly cringed, hoping Alabaster could tell me something about the seemingly imaginary cop Smith. The man did not exist and yet he was at the heart of this.

"I'll take care of it," I lied smoothly. "He's on the trail as a favor to Stormy's father. I'll get him sent packing."

Alabaster nodded, believing me it seemed. I pulled out a cigarette and raised a brow. Alabaster nodded and pulled out a cigarillo and we lit them and drew in smoke, preparing for the next round.

"What happened the night Stormy died? Finnegan and Stormy were lone in the VIP room. Finn claims he left and she died later. The police say he did it and ran. The only person who could lock the room was Eddie Harwood, and I know now he was fucking Stormy. And me. I could have gotten the keys off him."

Alabaster laughed. And laughed, and laughed some more. I found myself reaching for my gun when he waved me off. "You think you killed Stormy Michaels? Look, there ain't no love lost between me and Mr. Michael Finnegan, but I can't even pin this shit on him."

"Why would you try?"

He raised an eerily arched brow. "That's a story for another time, and I know he's yo man, but girl, he is slime, pure and simple."

"Tell me something I don't know. Get to the point. Who killed Stormy?"

"I'll go you one better. I know who killed her, and I know who pinned it on Finn, and I know why."

"Can you prove any of this?"

He nodded. "I can, but if I go that far you'll owe me big time."

"So let's start with this: who killed Stormy?"

He smiled. "It makes more sense to work backwards. It begins and ends with this man Smith. Smith comes to town and starts looking for some information on your man Harwood. I told him at the Purple Rose the heavy shit goes down in VIP.

"So he meets with Harwood after he sends me in. Harwood and I had other business to discuss but I told Harwood Smith was sniffing around. Harwood hatched a plot. We wanted to part but he offered me money. Bow if you want me to tell this to the cops, I'll be needing that money."

"How much?"

"Two million."

I whistled and chained another cigarette. "That's a lot, but keep the current info coming."

"Harwood got wind Stormy was leaving Finnegan. He diddled her mostly out of curiosity, boredom, and machismo. But fucker got himself in a bind; Stormy was pregnant and she claimed it was his."

A chill ran up my spine. A pregnant star would be enough for Finn to kill, and a pregnant rival could almost drive me...I shook it off. "So?"

"So, don't you see? Harwood set up this Smith to see it and he did, oh he did, but you won't find it on any police reports. See Smith was supposed to see Finn leaving after a shot, but Smith was there, in the room. Smith saw Finn leave early thanks to his assistant, and he saw who really killed Stormy.

"Smith knew I helped set this up and he blackmailed Harwood who agreed to pin it on Finnegan. Don't know what this Smith has on him, but he wants Finnegan taken down. Anyway, he saw what happened, worked out a deal with Harwood, don't know any details, then he told me to keep my mouth shut or he'd take me down.

"Motherfucker had scary eyes and I believe 'im, ya dig?"

"So who pulled the trigger?" I was growing increasingly nervous that it was me, despite his derisive laugh. It was just like Harwood to draw me into some stupid plot, another layer of protection for him. And if I'd known that I could have gone back and killed him too, and I was in deep shit.

"It was- shit!" Alabaster leapt up in a surprisingly fast fighting stance as the door opened behind me.

I turned and almost fell off the desk. It was Finn, and he looked killing mad. He was dressed as before but had a full beard brewing after one day without a razor, the black of that and his wild hair making his blue eyes almost burn in the neon light.

"Harwood did it. Your boyfriend killed my star!" Finn roared at me and drew a gun faster than I could reach mine.

***

"Hands up, both of you!" Finn's voice was always deep and sometimes gruff, but this time it held the tang of a cop ordering a suspect. 

Amazingly I heard Alabaster move quickly behind me, complying. With a sigh I raised my hands, sadly used to being on this end of Finn's gun. I resisted the urge to slide my glasses up and settled for tossing my hair, lifting the damp strands from my sweaty neck.

"So Harwood did this. I didn't know, Finn. I just found o-"

"Shut up," he growled.

"Look, I was just tellin' your lady here the four-one-one. I saw it all go down. Harwood, he popped your old ol' lady, and he wanted to frame you for it."

The gun moved in his arms as if it weighed a thousand pounds, but at last it swung to Alabaster. "That doesn't make any sense. I had every reason to hate Harwood but he didn't give a shit about me. Why would he frame me? If he wanted Stormy gone he could have done it real quiet-like; this was a deliberate frame-up."

"It has to do with that cop Smith. I don't know who he is or what his deal is, but he has the hots for you." I finally turned and looked at Alabaster as he pronounced this, and he looked at me, finishing, "worse than you got the hots for this lady right here."

Finn shifted his hand like a movie hero going to click the hammer back, but his Taurus was a semi and the safety was already off. The motion was not lost on Alabaster who paled damn close to his name. "Where is this Smith? What's his real name?"

"I don't know. Ask your lady here. In exchange for this information she promised to get Smith off my back."

"I lied," I threw back and Alabaster went for his gun. Finn fired and the noise was deafening, a loud pop follow by Alabaster's shout as he went down.

I reacted with years of training and was on him in seconds, pulling two guns from him before inspecting the damage. A bullet to the shoulder; he'd live, but his left draw might be slowed for life.

Shouts rang out and the music stopped. I glanced at Finn. "Run," I ordered him and turned back to Alabaster. "We'll finish this."

Finn was on me then, grabbing me by my windbreaker and hauling me up. "Come with me willingly or I'll fucking punch your lights out and carry you out."

I kneed him in the nuts and shook off his hold as he doubled over. "Try and keep up," I grumbled and ran out, Alabaster's gun naked in my hand.

Two security guards came up. Not bouncers armed only with muscles, but large men with earpieces and naked guns. I shot and they retreated into a doorway, cowering as I fired two more and hit the stairs.

I didn't look behind me but heard Finn's thumping feet and the sound of his larger caliber rounds popping off assured me he was feet behind me.

I hit the club floor and fired into the ceiling, getting the desired effect. People screamed but nobody ducked; they panicked like sheep in a fire and began to mill about.

I kicked, bit, punched, and pistol-whipped my way to the door and broke out with a wave of bodies onto the street. I ran for my car and when I reached it Finn was there.

I didn't ask questions, not when sirens were coming closer. I just got in and turned the engine over, jamming it into gear and pulling out, careful not to burn rubber and leave it behind.

Finn was only half in and the door banged him as he finally hopped in as my speedometer reached 15 mph. "Fuck!"

"What the fuck did you think you were doing?"

"You left me alone in that casino! It took me hours to make enough calls to get someone to talk to me. And it was fucking Rocco!"

"Rocco as in beat you up Rocco?"

He glared at me. "I left him looking worse than me. He led you to Alabaster, with that I went to Julian, Harwood's old doorman, and figured it out. Harwood let slip one night he'd knocked Stormy up, I had no idea. When I figured it out I came for you."

"Me? Why the fuck would you come for me?" I jerked onto Western and started heading for my office. It likely wasn't that safe, but I had whiskey in it and all I wanted at that moment was to drink myself to oblivion.

"Because if Harwood killed Stormy to frame me, just who killed him?"

I dared to sneak a sideways glance. "MY money would be on you."

"That's right. And how do I know you weren't about to cut a deal? Prove to the cops Harwood killed Stormy, and then feed me to them for killing Harwood? I won't let you sell me down the river to save your own skin."

"Oh, get over it drama queen," I said with extra venom. I had been fully prepared to frame him for Stormy's death when I thought I had done it, and now I was feeling guilty.

But if Finn hadn't killed Harwood, that left just one person: a cop named Smith who didn't exist.

Multiple shots fired in the Loop had pulled lots of cops, and blessedly there were none lurking as I pulled in. We stalked out and inside, thumping up the stairs.

My door was still broken, and I moved the water cooler in front of it to close it up. I turned on the ceiling fan and the low desk lamp and closed the blinds.

We didn't speak as we took turns cleaning up and using the bathroom, and when Finn finished I had found some stale donuts and poured 2 cups of water.

"Are you sure you didn't kill Harwood?" I finally asked, perched on my desk while he sat in a client chair.

Finn raised an imperious brow. "Sure you didn't?"

"Touché." I had no reply and so I downed my water then dug into my desk and pulled out the whiskey. I poured him two fingers and slugged straight from the bottle.

"I'm out of leads. I can't prove this Smith is real and he's got to be the triggerman. Which means, if he was working with Harwood to frame you, then killed Harwood, he was working for someone else. I was just someone who could conveniently take the fall for Harwood's murder."

"How do you figure?" Finn asked quietly, holding out his cup for more whiskey.

I passed him the bottle. "Harwood wanted Stormy dead for god only knows what reason. Abortion, adoption, this could have been handled quietly, but he wanted her dead. For pulling the trigger he had as much to conceal as this Smith, and as Smith orchestrated it in all likelihood, Harwood had almost as much on him as Smith had on Harwood. Smith could have blackmailed Harwood, but instead killed him, simple, clean. So killing Harwood means Smith was likely acting for someone else. Who hates you that much?"

"You know, if we can prove Harwood killed Stormy I'm off the chopping block. All that's left now is you being charged with Harwood's murder. Perhaps Harwood wanted me to take the fall for Stormy, but perhaps this Smith planned you to take the fall for Harwood. Perhaps it's someone who hates us."

I thought back to the cases we'd worked together in the last year and a half. "Petrov?" I asked, referring to the Russian mobster whose stolen violin we had found, and whose son we had threatened to kill.

Finn shook his head. "He'd kill our family, or friends, and then us, not our enemies. What about Montgomery?"

Montgomery was Irish mob and we'd had bad dealings with his daughters. In the end Finn had killed both girls, after seducing one, but the more time that had passed the more I'd wondered if Montgomery had manipulated him into it.

"Montgomery might have done in Stormy to frame you, particularly if he knew she was pregnant and thought it was yours, but Harwood was mafia. He was almost made, Montgomery wouldn't touch that."

"Well this whole thing is targeting us! Who else could it be?"

I was suddenly scared. Very scared. Terrified, in fact, that we wouldn't figure this out and we'd both die in twenty years with needles in our arms and piss down our legs.

I saw his blue eyes and a flicker there mirrored my thoughts and I knew Finn was afraid too. I tried to slowly, calmly, pull off my windbreaker, peel my guns off, and slip off my glasses. I meant it to be non-threatening, but his expression told me it registered as sexy.

"Fuck it," I said and leaned down to kiss him.

For once Finn left me in the driver's seat. In all the years I'd known him he'd never just let me take the reigns, and for a moment my head spun. Did I want it fast, hard? Did I want it slow and soft? Did I want him begging and broken, or quiet and distracted?

I stood and pulled him to his feet. He topped me by almost six inches so I made him bend down and I did my best to chew his lips off until he opened up and let me slide my tongue against his.

I wanted to lose myself in the sensation but my mind was a feverish snake winding around my baser instincts. In a way I had always emotionally dominated Finn, and the sad truth was now he was doing it to me. I was ready, ready to give up my life and good name and go on the run with him, if he asked. Through all the horror, pain, violence, and greed of the last few years this solid feeling that came over me with Michael Finnegan was the only anchor.

I growled and yanked his shirt up, loathe to break the kiss to completely bare his flesh, but I did and was rewarded. His beautiful chest and stomach were peppered with bruises, places that would be tender to touch.

I sank down towards my knees slowly, kissing every purpling patch of yellow-red bruise. He sucked air in through his teeth, riding the edge of slight pain with the promise of what was to come.

When I began to unbutton has pants his hands smoothed my hair back, collecting it and pulling it from my face. I nipped at the taut skin exposed by his unbuttoned fly and felt him shiver. I reveled in the heady sensation but mist have waited too long.

Finn hauled me up and kissed me like he wanted to taste my soul. There was desperation there at last, pure, raw vulnerability, and that was better than anything else.

We stumbled around pulling off shoes, my shirt, our pants, ripping my underwear just as we landed on my couch. It pulled out now into an uncomfortable bed with a bar in your back but it was long and folded up it was damn comfy.

I landed on the bottom and there wasn't any preemption. He slid inside me before I was ready and it felt hot and tight, and curiously pleasurable. I threw my head back and smothered my own cry.

"Your foreplay has slipped, Finn."

I opened my eyes to see his had darkened to indigo, and he smiled a Cheshire grin. One hand moved up to palm a breast and he flexed his hips in more of a grinding motion than thrust and I gasped. He pinched the nipple and slyly moved his other hand up to cup my neck. Not pressing it was a subtle threat and a deeply erotic promise. His weight pressed me down now and breathing was labored but this increased the pleasure for me.