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MJ 6A: Case of the Curse Pt 1

By: madam_noe



This is Marly Jackson PI's 6th case, "Case Of The Curse" part 1 of 2.

In order her stories are contained in:

Case Of the Missing Millionaire

The Violin Case

A Bad Case of Blackmail

Case of the Purple Rose

The Nightlife Case

_______________________

Everyone has a cross to bear. Some people had a special-needs child, some people had herpes, I had Michael Finnegan. Of all crosses for a woman in her mid thirties to bear she could do worse than a long-legged, loose-hipped blue-eyed brick shithouse of a man. Unless he was Michael "Finn" Finegan, an albatross of bad luck, death, and misfortune.

I wasn't sure why he was in love with me; he was rich, legitimately now. He ran a porn company, Gold 'n' Rod, dated a bevy of beautiful, bouncing, brainless women, was over six feet with black hair, blue eyes, a damn near perfect face, and a body built for sin. Oh, I knew why I was in love with him.

I myself on a good day resembled Lena Olin. Irish-Hungarian I was tall, medium built, had decent tits, but a lot of scars and wounds, a propensity to drink like a sailor on leave, coke-bottle glasses when I didn't feel like contacts, and my personality was often compared to that of a viper.

For some reason I couldn't shake him. I'm a Private Investigator, a mediocre one. At one point I'd taken million dollar cases but most of my career was hopeless missing persons, recovering stolen black-market items, and typically blackmailing cheating spouses. 

Finn and I had been cops on the Chicago Police force once. Our past was checkered and centered around fucking each other's brains out and screwing each other over. It had gone south when someone killed my boyfriend and his girlfriend, both technically exes at the time, and pinned the murders on us. Our only clue was a pimp named Alabaster who had disappeared back to his homeland of France, and in the wake Finn had disappeared leaving me holding the bag.

I'd had one trial ending in a hung jury, and it didn't do much for my reputation. Finn had resurfaced in Los Angeles with his porn empire in tact, and through some maneuvering he'd done a very nice thing for me.

My last "case" had been a personal errand trying to recover some old money. In the course of it I'd landed in the crosshairs of a drug kingpin named Javier. My choices at the time had been letting myself get killed by him or returning home to Chicago where I'd been working as a slave for Montgomery, head of the Irish mob and the man who'd paid my legal bills. Finn had canceled my debts and given me my freedom back.

Summer had melted into a hot fall and October was surprisingly warm. I didn't keep an apartment, couldn't afford to, and slept in my office, and the morning of October 1st I sat there smoking a Camel, chugging el cheapo 5 O'Clock coffee, and reading my Tribune.

Splashed on the front page was the news that Michael Finnegan had sold Gold 'n' Rod to a consortium and was moving back to Chicago a retired philanthropist. I snorted at that; the man was built for sin in every sense, and this did not bode well.

For most of my PI career the pattern had been simple; steady cases and subsistence living, then when Finn entered it went FUBAR. I had a feeling FUBAR was on the menu.

Stubbed out my cigarette and pressed play on the answering machine hooked up to the canny retro phone that matched my high-class 1920's décor. Sam Spade I was not, but I could pretend.

"Marly," a deep basso sensual cooed. "I'm back in town...let's have dinner. Call me."

Fuck, Finn calling already. I punched erase and tried to ignore the tightening in my loins.

"Miss Jackson I would like to inquire about employing you on a discreet matter. Please call me, this is Jonathon Bain." He read off the number and I was floored.

Jonathon Bain was a high-class jeweler. Legit all the way, not from my usual circles. He lived in Highland Park, a chi-chi suburb on the far north shore, and ran the family shop on the Magnificent Mile near Water Tower Place. It had been in the family probably since the days some crazy French guy said "Onion fields? I'll settle there!"

I called and got a personal secretary who set an appointment for two. This gave me enough time to shower, dry my hair and tame the flyaways, put on some scant makeup, my contacts, and a good suit. Age and time had taught me the value of dressing well so I eschewed pantyhose and went for the old stockings and garters. I wasn't barking made and my shoes were Naturalizers; passably dressy but comfortable enough.

I favored the front holster, wild west style these days and put my .38 in it, loaded and ready for trouble. These days I was driving the Oldsmobile my godfather had left me. It wasn't too old, he'd kept it in good condition, and I wouldn't be lynched by the border guards of the North Shore.

I took 94 up and when it became either an old highway or a toll road, I took the old highway and became familiar with stoplights. Eventually the houses were further back from the road, the tree lines turned into actual copses, and people started driving like old people fucked.

I followed the directions I'd been given and turned east towards the lake. Big money paid well to live by a body of water that seemed to smell like dead adelweiss year round. Up here it didn't smell like small dead fish; it smelled like expensive lawn fertilizer and burning leaves. The smells of fall.

I turned onto a rounded street with no sidewalks and wide lawns- an unusual site for a city rat like myself. I drove closer and closer to the lake, closer to Sheridan road and the big mansion, closer to the dark ravines I had always felt should have ghost stories attached but didn't.

Finally I found the address. A big Victorian house a little out of place next to the more modern mansions. It was set back behind a gate and I pulled in and had to get out to buzz.

"Yes?" Came the clipped reply of a bored employee.

"Marly Jackson, I have an appointment to see Mr. Bain."

There was no verbal reply but a buzz and the gate creaked open. Familiar with the system from the old days when had regular high paying clients I got in my car and gunned it. the gate opened quickly and shut a mere two seconds after my boat sailed through.

I pulled up to the newer turnaround drive and a young man came out to the car, an older man in a decent suit stood by the door in a military pose one hand covering the opposite wrist and his back rigid. "Miss Jackson?" the young man said.

"Yes?" I got out and left it running.

"I'll park your car and Mr. Dawkins will see you to Mr. Bain."

I turned over the car and straightened my suit, carefully juggling my briefcase. I climbed the wide porch and knew better than to try to hake the butler's hand.

"Miss Jackson?" His voice was deep and smooth and he had the short, square body, close-cropped hair, and stunted neck that said former Marine.

"Yes?"

"Right this way."

He ushered me inside into a home decorated in the appropriate darkness of a true Victorian. The family jewelry line was known for being dark and Gothic, favored as designs for movie villainesses and actresses that wanted to get away from the good-girl image as well as heiresses looking to rebel with daddy's money.

The house did not disappoint. The walls had dark wainscoting and the wallpaper was black with faded green vines and twisting roses faded from blood red to pink. The sharp thorns were still clearly defined.

The artwork was what made me raise my eyebrow. Long ago in 1986 I'd gotten my bachelors in art history. In the fourteen years since I had kept up on the art world. The paintings were the quality of an old master, the subject matter dark. It was along the lines of Albright whose paintings always caught my fancy at the museum downtown.

They were mostly black and depicted jars half open, stone monuments broken, doors opening with ghostly hands. Macabre was the perfect word.

I was show into what would have been in true Victorian times the back parlor, the ancestor of the modern family room. This had been converted into a den. A fire was well-stoked to ward off the slight lake effect chill of a fall day and the furniture was black lacquer and sparse. A massive desk, two book cases framing the window a small couch with patterned cushions that matched the maroon-backed vined wallpaper and two chairs.

"Please have a seat, Miss. Tea or coffee?"

"Coffee, please."

He nodded and left closing the pocket doors behind him. On one wall there was another door, a traditional one, and all around the scrollwork looked like it had caused death via nervous exhaustion of a team of carpenters. I was half expecting the door to creak open revealing a coffin from which Dracula would rise when it swung open and what I assumed was Jonathon Bain stepped through.

He was tall, 6'3" I'd guess, whipcord thin, and his long black hair was pulled back into a smooth ponytail, so dark it was hard to tell if the lack of grey was natural or enhanced. He seemed younger than the 54 I knew to expect and his large dark eyes were serious, his face a harsh set of lines that was strangely alluring rather than handsome.

I stood and extended my hand. "Mr. Bain I'm Marly Jackson."

He had a good handshake and now that were close he smelled like brass cleanser and good tobacco. "Thank you for coming on such short notice. I'll wait for Dawkins to serve us before getting to business. In the meantime, do you mind if I smoke?"

"Not at all provided I may do so as well."

He smiled and sat in the huge chair behind the desk. From a draw he pulled a canny copper ashtray that looked like two women writhing in either pain or ecstasy and set it down along with a silver matchstick case. I expect a humidor with requisite cigars but instead he pulled a small cardboard packed set of Nat Black and Golds and offered me one.

"Thanks," I took it and leaned across as he lit a match for me and then used it to light his own.

We had time for one puff when the pocket doors opened again and Dawkins rolled in a tray. A silver coffeepot with two cups sat next to a crystal dish of sugar cubes and a silver cream pitcher. Next to this was a plate of home-baked cookies, chocolate chip from the looks but the chocolate chips were red.

Dawkins served us as we directed and then left discreetly.

I set my saucer and cup on the desk and pulled my tape recorder and note pad from my briefcase.

Bain frowned. "No recording."

"All right," I put it back in the case but neglected to turn it off. It was good and would catch at least my half of the conversation locked away, and hopefully his half as well.

"Now, Mr. Bain, why is it you asked me here today?"

"You came recommended. Viktor Petrov said you were quite good at finding things no one else could."

I raised my eyebrow at that. Viktor Petrov was one of the lucky few to own a rare Stradivarius and I had found it for him. He played in the symphony in town but was alas an oil heir, and Russian mob. He moved in circles different than Bain, or so I thought.

"When he married for the fourth time last year he commissioned me for the wedding jewelry," Bain said without my prompting showing he was quite good at reading people. "I need you to find someone who does not want to be found."

I asked my first question I always asked on missing persons. :Has this been reported to the police?"

"No, no police. She's mixed up in some things that not only would embarrass the family to get out, but would result in her arrest. Drugs," he said with surprising honesty.

"All right, it's a she; who? Your wife?"

He shook his head and took a long drag before relying. "No, my wife died five years ago. It's my daughter Eleanor. Ellie, as I call her, is Eleanor Rabinsky Bain, my sole heir and my apprentice. I've been teaching her the business but she is young. She dropped out of Lake Forest last year and would have graduated this year. She's been rebelling and I have long suspected she has been using drugs, perhaps even dealing them.

"She has no need for the money, I give her everything she could possibly need, but I suspect it's the glamour. She has had many...young men in her life, no one stable, and she has worked hard to keep her friends a secret from me. In short I have no one to call, nowhere to go, and I am afraid if I report this to the police they will find her in some modern day opium den out of her right mind."

"How long has she been gone?"

"Since last week. There is something else; right before she disappeared my store was robbed. The security was disabled not by code but by a master and my cash safe was untouched. Instead from the vault what was taken were private jewels; a collection of rubies passed down in by the women in my family."

"Anything else?"

He shook his head and took a sip of coffee. "Millions of dollars in set stones and orders in the work were ignored. Ellie took this; I know it. The rubies were old, older than we know or can estimate. My great grandfather set them and they have been passed to the women in my family. It is written into the will that the daughter may inherit only when she is married and has had a child who has survived to age eighteen.

"Ellie was impatient, always so headstrong. I think she stole this and I am quite worried about what happened after."

I was noting all this and raised an eyebrow, pausing my flying pencil. "Perhaps she hocked them and went gallivanting to Mexico."

He shook his head. "There is another reason why I can have no police, Miss Jackson. The jewels are cursed; when my great grandfather set them he knew that these jewels had brought my family great luck, fame, and fortune. But they carried a legend that if ever cut they would bring a curse. Since then every woman who has possessed them dies."

I didn't believe in curses but decided if he did I would play along. You never knew what info would come in handy in an investigation. "Perhaps Ellie thought by taking them now she could change the curse."

Again he shook his head, and Bain pulled out another cigarette. I declined, my first having smoked itself out while I listened and wrote. "Quite simply when the woman takes possession she dies."

"Why do they keep taking it then?"

"Because the curse says if we do not pass it along the family shall fail and all shall die."

I wanted to react and show my disgust at a man who thought he'd willingly sacrifice his wife and daughter to save himself, but I needed the fee and kept my yap shut on that.

"If I were her and thought the curse was real, I'd hire someone to steal it and take it where I couldn't find it, hoping the curse would transfer."

He considered this, huge dark eyes narrowing. "That is quite possible. I need you to look at every angle and find her. I will pay double your fee- two million dollars, Miss Jackson, if you recover her and the jewels in tact."

I raised a brow finally. "And what if I find your daughter and she has found a way to break the curse? Still want the jewels?"

"Yes!" He showed emotion finally, slamming an open palm on the desk. "Find her, find my Ellie first, she is all that I have left, but without the power of the jewels we have nothing, we Bains are nothing. Find her, I need her!"

I left an hour later, perturbed. He'd acted like a man who'd lost a lover, not a child. He clearly believed in cursed jewels that would kill the women of the family but allow the line to continue and flourish- he was appropriately crazy for old money. In the end he had good money and it was a straight up missing persons case. If this Ellie were halfway normal she'd hocked the jewels and was already in another country tearing through gentlemen friends."

I cringed at that. She'd need a high class fence and the only person in Chicago who had the connections to move it was Michael Finnegan. Long retired from being my partner on the CPD he'd kept busy as a high class fence before transitioning into porn. Every time he came into a case it went FUBAR and my life took a ninety-degree turn I wasn't expecting.

The last time I'd seen him he'd done a nice thing, fucked my wisdom teeth loose, and disappeared. The time before he'd skipped town and abandoned me to two murder charges which I still had to face. The time before that he had killed two women, one of which he'd been cheating on me with. Mix that up with a lot of male posturing, incredible sex, and a constant stream of secrets and lies, and you had our relationship nailed down.

Still this was a case, a good one, and I'd had to borrow money for my last trial which ended in a hung jury. If I had two trials in my future I needed this two million dollar fee, and if Finnegan was my key to it, I'd turn him and hope whatever else was behind the door was minimal.

"Best laid plans," I muttered and headed back to the city.

***

Finn had kept his apartment on LSD though he could afforded to buy out Bain after he'd sold Gold 'n' Rod. He wasn't the retiring type and I had to wonder if he was bored and golfing, womanizing and drinking, or back into crime. Knowing Finn, all three.

I parked on a side street about twelve blocks from his place and walked, steeling myself with a cigarette. I was older and wiser than the rookie who'd given into his smooth lines a and knocked boots in the backseat of the patrol car. I thought I'd given him up when I discovered he had a wife and I'd transferred with a promotion to homicide. He'd gone into vice and then I'd left the force in disgrace.

My new partner, Arthur Bowers, had been framed, or so he claimed, for murder. I'd helped him steal some money to use mounting a defense but then he'd split. Years later Arthur had tried to kill me and he was still out there, the money had been returned to the drug kingpin we'd stolen it from, and after quitting the force under suspicion I'd become a PI.

I'd met Finn on a case when he was starting to leave fencing for porn and four years later I still couldn't get him out of my mind. Or my heart, I grudgingly admitted. 

That was the hardest thing to face; I loved Finn and he loved me but we could never be together. Now even if we wanted to it was impossible when several laser-like eyes were trained on me for murdering both of our exes.

I knew in the next week I estimated I'd be on the case I'd probably fuck Finn twice, I'd say I hated him three times, and he'd betray me once. Par for the course.

I stubbed out my cigarette when I reached his building and steeled myself. What the hell; I was dressed with nice underwear, I'd shaved everything, had some makeup on and my contacts in, and I had a condom or two in my purse. If we had a quota of twice, best to get the fucking out of the way before the fucking over.

I rang his buzzer.

***

"No."

I blinked. I was not a great seductress, but I was passably attractive. I was told I resembled Lena Olin if she ran track and drank like a fish. I was spiffed up. God knew why, but Michael Finnegan had spent the between part of almost fifteen years trying to get between my legs. Now, for the first time since we'd been green rookies I was inviting him, and he had the nerve to say "No?"

He moved behind his kitchen counter and pulled a shaker from a cabinet. Moving the liquor bottles he pulled ice from a ready bucket and smiled enigmatically.

He was tall, very tall, and rangy with muscle. He'd joined the armed forces out of school and got a job on the force through his father, all the while staying in prime shape. He had a few tattoos from his time in the Marine Corps, but they were hidden. He wore nice black slacks, expensive wingtip shoes, and a blue button up shirt that cost more than I'd made all year. It was rolled up revealing slightly furred forearms that worked as he mixed up gin and simple syrup.

His black hair was long, pulled into a ponytail and curling, and as he moved under pinprick halogen lights I noticed the beginnings of silver at his temples. His blue eyes, set in an impossibly handsome face, seemed to laugh at me.


MJ 6A: Case of the Curse Pt 1



"Yes I will help you with this case. I'm retired and I have never been so bored in my life! I won't ask for a cut, and I won't sleep with you because the moment I do is the moment you turn tail and run."

"I do not," I ground out and to underscore my point I slammed my purse on the counter and sat on a bar stool, trying not to claw the expensive ivory marble that offset the dark walls.

"Yes, you do." He added crushed into and poured two Gin Rickies.

I snatched one and drank it down like I'd come in from the Gobi after three days of walking. "Why are you being difficult? I'm horny, I have a few hours to kill, we're both single- are we both single?"

He laughed. "Marly, in two years there hasn't been any woman but you. That you don't get that is the reason I won't sleep with you. I'm sick of being a piece of meat you use when it's convenient."

I snorted. "I use you? What the hell did you snort for breakfast? Remember the last time? You swooped in on my case, jacked it to hell, fucked my brains loose expecting me to trot home to Chicago and you'd stay in L.A."

He took a deep swig, his eyes on me all the while, evaluating and measuring. "I saved you from becoming a memory, and then if you'll recall, I helped you get free of Montgomery."

"And just who got me indebted to him?"

"An assassin named Smith?"

I was seeing stars and my .357 on my hip was starting to itch. He set the glass down and flashed perfectly even, white teeth. Caps, I knew; he was Southside Irish and Southside Irish never had perfect teeth.

"Give me one reason why I shouldn't kill you?"

"Because I know the only person in town who could fence those rubies."

"Person?" He never used the word.

"Dana Carter. Let's go, I'll drive."

"My car'll get towed."

"Let it, it's a piece of crap. Besides, I look dead sexy in the Mustang."

I watched him come around and grab for a leather jacket. The man looked dead sexy in anything, he'd look dead sexy dissecting a cat.

That snapped me back to reality, but watching his ass swagger down the stairs to the garage pushed me back from reason.

***

"Fuck."

Finn grinned at me. We were standing at Clark and Fullerton by Weiner's Circle. Inside yuppie tourists were being screamed at for asking for a straw and had no idea that it was a gimmick.

He looked like a early punk's wet dream. He'd let his hair loose and though I'd never felt strongly one way or the about long hair, it was hot. He hadn't shaved and it looked like he'd rubbed himself with burnt cork. He wore a black Misfits t-shirt, the leather jacket, and above Harley boots well-scruffed with use he wore leather pants that looked painted on.

He must have stopped by his old studio and had someone do makeup. He wore black eyeliner and managed to not look feminine at all, it just made his eyes look huge and luminescent. A clip-on earring dangled from one ear, a long saber that could probably cut.

I looked down at my simple black jeans and t-shirt and sighed. I looked like I always did; like an off-duty cop.

"Like it?"

"Nice makeup," I grumbled.

"Cheer up, not everyone there is Goth." He referred to Neo, the Goth club we were headed into, our only lead.

The night before we'd met Dana Carter, the woman least likely to ever be suspected of being a fence. She was in her late twenties, barely five feet tall, girl-next-door gorgeous with a brown paige boy and subtle curves. She'd seemed to know Finn intimately and smiled at him but was tooth-grindingly polite to me.

She hadn't seen the rubies pass through and could safely say no one had tried to hock them, though she knew of Eleanor Bain. Apparently Ellie had taken dribs and drabs of daddy's jewels over the years and had hocked them for drug money.

Dana even pointed us towards Neo, a spot not know for selling drugs, but the Goth scene hot spot of the city where apparently Ellie dwelled and was known.

I'd spent the day looking over her credit card records her father had given me and coming up with nothing, agreed to go to Neo.

At first I'd tried to hide it from Finn but then he'd showed up before dinner time in my office with an offer; let him tag along and if the case dropped, petered off, or got FUBAR, he would cover my fee. I wanted the money bad, and he'd known this, giving me an alligator smile before leaving without even trying to feel me up.

I felt like a heel walking with him to the club. It was down an alley and we showed our IDs to the doorman who looked like he and Finn could go further up Clark to Spin for dancing. Spin was a gay club where drugs flowed much more freely in the women's bathroom.

Once in the door I fell on nervous habit and lit a cigarette. Some band I didn't know was playing over the speakers and on the dance floor it looked like escapees from Halloween were having slow-motion spasms. I had nothing against Goths, it just wasn't my scene. 

I wasn't alone, I saw with relief. However at the bar. The heart of any club, the people seemed to be old punks and young Goths, people who fit. At the back end were tables on carpeted risers. Around those crowded tourists like me, slurping fashionable drinks by candlelight.

"Who first?"

"Dana said to ask for Scoobs, aka Stephen Meyer. Let's get a drink."

I followed him up the step to the bar and took the beer list he handed me. Mmmm, Unibroue Maudite, a canny little Canadian beer I'd come to love. They had bottles and Finn bought me one and got himself something domestic and bland. He liked good beer but he never liked to drink as much as I did.

When our beer was set down there was a break in the head-throbbing music and Finn slipped a twenty to the bartender and whispered in his ear. An exchange was made and he came back with my beer.

"So?"

"He's in the bathroom."

"Let's go." I turned and started to head towards the back but he grabbed my arm.

"Men's room, sweetheart. Be a good girl and wait for daddy."

"You're only one year older than me and you're a sick freak."

He just grinned then swaggered off like a leather fetishists wet dream. I slugged my beer and leaned against the railing overlooking the dance floor.

After a long moment a young man easily ten years my junior sidled up to me. His head was shaved clean, his goatee was an homage to LeVay, his eyes were khol-lined, and he wore old-school motorcycle goggles as a necklace.

"Hey."

I slugged my beer. And looked him up and down. Skinny enough that he likely didn't eat meat; his clothes were expensive, and he smelled like Old Spice and whiskey.

"So, visiting Chicago?" he tried again against my tough-guy silence.

Now that irked me. I was in the damn papers often and this dickhead didn't recognize me.

"You know Eddie Harwood?" I finally said and goggles shook his head. "Stormy Michaels?"

"Oh, excellent porn star! I heard she got capped by her boss's old lady."

"That's what they say, but I disagree." I lowered my beer and hoped he'd recognize me.

Instead Finn clapped him on the shoulder. "She's got a thirty eight on her somewhere, you might wanna leave, kid."

"who you calling kid?" Goggles said and then turned around and looked up at Finn.

Finally he skittered off and Finn was smiling. "Scoobs will meet us outside, by the cat shelter across the street in five. Finish your beer."

I raised a brow. "Thought you'd talk to him in the john."

Again the Devil's smile. "If did you'd never believe anything I reported back."

I chugged, the absolutely worst thing to do with a great beer, and followed Finn out. Outside in the alley he stopped and pulled me close. My heart started to pound and all I could think was how dare he wait until he wore eye makeup and leather pants before he'd do me.

A large hand skimmed over my ass and I felt myself go soft, but then the ass just pulled my Camels from my back pocket.

I grabbed for them but he twisted away. "Come on, I've been jonseing for a few days."

He pulled one out and I snatched the pack back pulling one out for myself. I reached into my bra for my lighter and his hand was there. "Let me help you."

Irked I smacked his hand away and lit my own. "No games, Finn, it pisses me off."

He grinned and snatched the lighter from me before leading the way out. 

It was nearly one a.m. and across the street the shelter where you could adopt cats was closed. In front lounged a man who resembled every drug sealer I'd ever met in that he looked nothing like they did in movies. This one was white, wore glasses, was medium height, medium build, had brown short hair and was as memorable as Milla Jovovich's singing career.

Exactly.

"Scoobs this is Marly."

"Cool," Scoobs said and gave a sniffle that said he;d been sampling his own goods. Well, that meant early retirement.

"So what can you tell me about Ellie Bain?"

"Haven't seen her in a couple of weeks. She buys for parties, mostly E and lithium when she was short."

"Lithium?" I asked glancing at Finn. That was an odd street drug.

"I take some things in trade, school kids give me their Lithium for a little dank. Ellie was a little wacko, you know, super happy then super sad. She was on a scrip for lithium but I think she'd trade some away with somebody else cause she'd only come to me when she was strung out. Last time I saw her she asked me for Heroin."

"You sell her any?" Finn asked evenly, no judgment, the perfect voice for a vice cop.

"Hell no, I deal in party drugs and what kids trade. I'm a good time guy. I just do this to pay for college."

"Don't let your tuition go up your nose. So that was it? She asked for heroin and you said no. You tell her where to find any?"

He shook his head. "I honestly don't know. She said something about JuJu, check with her."

"JuJu?"

"Vampire chick, lives in Andersenville by the Hop Leaf. Her real name is Julie something or other. She's bi, but she's crazy."

"She do heroin?"

"Nah but she used to hang with this guy Azreal, he did it."

"Azreal? Why can't any of you be named something normal?"

Scoobs shrugged. "I gotta get back to my post, customers are waiting."

"Julie in Andersenville who use to boff Azreal the heroin addict. These are the people that might be housing a missing millionaire?"

Finn blew out a puff of smoke. "If she's hooked money makes little difference. Hell, probably gave away the damned stones for some dope."

I shook my head. "It feels like there's more here. She had access to uncut diamonds waiting to be finished and set. You know as well as I do that's as good as gold on the street. Instead she took some very old rubies her family believes is cursed. It has to mean something."

"You don't believe in curses?"

I shook my head. "I believe in bad people, stupid people, and innocent people. I don't believe in curses or vampires."

"Only one thing to do now, Jackson. Let's find this JuJu chick and ask."

"It's almost one, Finn."

"Vampires don't sleep at night. Don't you know anything?"

***

We found her in a slow, painful, roundabout way; old fashioned detecting. By almost four we discovered her name was actually Juliette McManus and she lived over the Hop leaf, a great little bar sadly overcrowded by yuppies and it closed at 2a.m. Useless in my world.

We'd found her by tracking Azreal, real name David Hernandez, currently incarcerated as of six months earlier for possession with intent to distribute. The apartment was his place but JuJu the wonder sucker lived there. She apparently worked for cash doing God knew what as his name was on everything. 

We didn't bother buzzing, instead Finn jimmied the lock even faster than I could. We headed upstairs hearing an apartment playing something with a soft beat, muted treble, and sexual bass.

It was JuJu's place. Feeling lucky I tried the knob and it opened.

Inside it was like Spirit Halloween's clearance section exploded into a yuppie one bedroom. The walls were black plastic, the tchotchkies were all plastic and seemed themed around skulls, bats, and wizards from lampshade to radio. 

The furniture was pushed aside and on the floor a woman rode a man like a bloodied horse. He was build well, athletic and straining, and across his chest paper-thin cuts oozed. The chick riding him lapped the blood like a dog after spilled beer and her long dark red hair was getting blood on it. She was pale, thin, and covered in tattoos over track marks.

Seated on a couch smashed against the wall with the door were two blonde women right out of Buffy central casting. I drew my gun and jerked my head. They scrambled up on expensive shoes carrying little purses worth more than Finn's car. One smiled at me and I was shocked to see fangs, real vampire fangs.

After they left the man playing the role of Thunder the Wonderhorse finally blinked awake to see me and Finn in the doorway, backlit, my gun exposed.

"Heya, finished yet?" I asked.

Finally vampire girl, I assumed this was JuJu, rolled her head towards me slowly and her eyes followed. "Not yet," she said and then she vomited up a surprising amount of blood.

***

JuJu's lover was hugely incensed. Not by the anonymous crazy sex, the cutting, or the blood drinking, but the vomiting was what got him. While I tossed JuJu in the shower and made sure she didn't drown, I heard Finn arguing with and ultimately paying off the guy. I also heard him ask how JuJu had found him; turned out he was an escort.

Finally the sun was coming up and she was wet, wrapped in a black fluffy bathrobe with ironic pink bunny slippers, clutching a Garfield mug of coffee, and shrinking away from the rays.

"You're not really a vampire, you know that, right?"

"I'm not?" She flashed me the fang but while she'd showered I'd found the case and adhesive for the things.

"Real vampires don't drink...coffee."

She pouted, her eyes barely focused. "Who are you again?"

I glanced at Finn who stood in the doorway, arms folded and legs crossed at the ankle. With the coming sun he'd added aviator sunglasses. I snorted. "You look like George Michaels." I turned back to her. "We're friends of Ellie's, and we're looking for her. We thought she might be here."

"She missed the meeting tonight. And what happened to Shari and Tina?"

Finn raised an eyebrow. "Tina Feldman? Bob Feldman's daughter?"

Bob Feldman owned more auto malls than anyone else in the state and his daughter regularly made the paper for her exploits. Seeing her in a cramped apartment above a bar watching sadomasochistic sex was a little jarring. Then again, we were on the trail of a precious jewels heiress. 

JuJu sniffled. "Yeah, good girls, like to party, they have money. But those bitches are uptight. Ellie was fun. Ellie understood about the needs, and she liked the blood. She liked it more then the men."

Finn snorted behind me and I flipped him off. "When is the last time you saw Ellie?"

"She missed last time too. Every Saturday. She's the one who made it weekly. She didn't show last week or this week and I needed my junk. That's why we got Robert, he has the good stuff."

I wanted to investigate further but truthfully I was tired, Finn was too, and if she'd shot up we had maybe ten minutes before her mind retreated to an amphibian state and made her think her pants had exploded with happiness.

"What is it you're doing here?"

She blinked watery eyes. "We're vampires, we were feeding."

Behind me Finn laughed and I ignored him. "Vampires? What about the other girls?"

"I'm sanguinarian, they're psychic. They feed on the energy. I used to be like them but then I met Ellie."

"So Ellie likes very kinky sex."

"Down boy," I replied to Finn's observation an turned back to her. "So Ellie liked it kinky? She come to you for heroin ever?"

"She did it every now and then, like me. Mostly hash, some E, party stuff. She was using heroin more and more."

"Do you know where she is?"

"Probably looking for more for our House."

"House?"

"The girls...a vampire coven. She wanted more, then we could get more guys."

"Where would she get more member for your house?" I asked.

She sighed and sipped her coffee. "Here, there, I dunno. She found the Bobsey Twins and they're useless. Look, she calls me, not the other way around. She asks me to get things arranged and then shows up for our meetings."

"What things?"

"I get the drugs, the men, then she shows up. She invites the others, not me. I don't know where she is...she's missed twice and I'm paying these guys out of my own pocket. They're not as good as hers, but I do what I can."

"Where do you find these guys?"

"Escorts, Boystown, they're usually bi, or bi for the right price."

I felt slightly repulsed, and I showed it.

"Where did she find her men?" Finn asked softly. He'd snuck up to my chair, an amazing feat in motorcycle boots.

"I dunno. They were high class, nice, well-spoken. When they came the Bobsey twins wore masks. They negotiated where we could and couldn't cut them."

I glanced at Finn. Dirty sex for hire was his department, not mine. "Got any names?" He asked.

"Nick something or other. He was a favorite. Tall dark and yummy, like Peter Murphy with a personal trainer. Ellie seemed real chummy with him, they talked about being in high school together."

The last was said in a whisper and I could see we were losing her. Finn and I saw ourselves out into the morning light with a sigh.

"Why are the men so important?"

"If you were going to take off away from a family curse, wouldn't you feel better leaving with me at your side?"

"Between certain death and a life with you?"

He gave me a dirty look. My mind was working and I hit on something, but I needed to d this alone, without him tagging along.

"Let's both get home, get some sleep, and tomorrow we'll start fresh."

Finn pulled me close and chucked my chin up at him. I hated this; I hated to give into that girly feeling of "ooh, he's bigger and stronger, yum!" but it was hard to fight evolution.

"You know my bed is big-"

"will you fuck me?"

"Soft-"

"Will you fuck me, Finn?"

"And your bed sucks. Marly, this is not about sex, it's about holding y6ou close and-"

I stalked off, too pissed to let him finish. Oh, sure, now he'd be all cool and calm and aloof, Mr. Chastity himself, but come tomorrow...

Tomorrow I had to interview a man Finn would be jealous of, and the last time he'd come with me to interview a man who took money for sex it ended in the most emotionally-wrenching, physically-satisfying threesome of my life. It had been fun, but I was gonna try really, really hard to keep my sex life compartmentalized.

Perhaps Finn was right; maybe I did turn tail and run when we got close. And maybe that meant getting close was a bad idea.

***

Nikolas Meyers was something to behold. At 6'5", pale, with hair he looked like a Viking naturally, but with his affected clothes, eyeliner, and dental-augmentation, he was like the king of the Goths.

His hair was just brown enough to not be pale, saving him from looking like a zombie. It hung long, thick and wavy down his back, hair I'd kill for. Mine was thick and difficult to work with at best. His made me want to kill him.

I'd made the connection simply searching the Internet for Eleanor Bain. They had been listed together twice in the society pages, a record for her.

He sang in a band that did gigs around town maybe 4 or 5 times a year in small under 100 capacity clubs. Luckily for him he'd never had to work in any of his 29 years; daddy built skyscrapers and mommy was a charity hostess at their castle in Kenilworth, a tiny, tiny northern suburb with better per capita earnings than Dubai. 

He looked slightly thin but healthy, or he would if he were not wearing a puffy black shirt Pete Burns would die for, and he had less necklaces on.

"So what can I do for you?" He asked I strolled around his Printer's Row loft, the must-have overpriced artistic lofts of the young and spoiled.




MJ 6A: Case of the Curse Pt 1



The paintings were real, I could see a near-priceless prime example of Fauvism that made me almost forget my purpose. Unframed and on stands covered with aging paint they were charmingly displayed at random intervals. I'd majored in art history in college and early Matisse and other Fauvists had always caught my fancy, though more mid-20th century artists like Tooker were my favorite.

Other than that the space was Spartan. A futon, milk crates, a drum kit that looked overly-complicated, three guitars on stands with complimentary amps, and a microphone, all leading to a mixing board and computer on a cracked folding table. Near the kitchen wall was a small scarred wood table and 2 chairs. The view was excellent.

"Nice artwork."

"Thanks. Coffee?" 

It was three in the afternoon but I sensed he was a fellow night owl and like me, this was his morning.

"Please, black. Mr. Meyers-"

"Nick, please."

"Nick, I'm here about Ellie."

His paused, coffee pot in one hand and mug in the other. Recovering quickly, he poured but still gave me his broad back, hiding his face. "What happened now?"

I sat on the futon. "Now? Has she been in trouble before?"

He made a show of searching his own cabinets which seemed to me to be perfectly ordered, almost obsessively, still hiding. "Drugs," he said so softly I almost didn't hear.

"Drugs? What kind of drugs?" I knew the answer but wanted to hear his.

"She did lots of things, so did I. Light stuff, but lately she got deeper and deeper into heroin. I tried to get her to stop, but she wouldn't listen."

He finally turned and brought the coffee over passing me a mug before moving rock and roll magazines off the milk crates.

"And just what was Ellie to you?"

He bent over, face close to mine, and looked up sharply, his green eyes piercing. "My lover."

Despite my best efforts I felt something low turn over and warm and my chest constricted. He was quite good looking and I was a healthy woman with a sizeable sex drive.

However, he had also fucked someone who did heroin, and liked cutting. I suspected she took it via needle. On that thought my body cooled and from his slight frown, so did my gaze.

"When did you last see her?"

He straightened and took a sip of coffee. "About a month ago. We had a disagreement and she never called me again."

"You ever meet any of her friends?"

He sat next to me. "Society types, she changed friends as often as-"

"She changed men?"

His eye ticked, and guessed he'd had feelings for her. Too bad she sounded like a girl without any feelings to share.

He nodded. "she was into some kinky stuff, even for...a vampire." He glanced out the corner of his eye, waiting for my reaction. I'd noted the expensive dental implants earlier and just shrugged.

"She liked gangbangs, only not your usual ones?"

He shook his head. "They all would drink, but everyone took a turn, only one of them would fuck. I was Ellie's regular."

"Pardon me, but with the fangs I'd assume you'd be the biter and not the bitee."

He smiled. "One in the same in my world."

He had a good voice; probably sang baritone, and it made it sound like he came from some dark, secret place instead of a ritzy North Shore suburb. "So you shagged often, did some kink, and she stopped calling after a fight. What did you fight about?"

He sat back and sighed. "Heroin. I didn't want her doing it but she got hooked. This other guy she brought into the...meet-ups, and he got her hooked."

"What is his name?"

"Albert. Albert Cray, calls himself Albert Kraven with a K. Works the door at Exit some weekends. He doesn't deal per se, but he buys and uses a lot. He got her hooked and she bought from him or his dealer, I never did figure it out."

My spidey sense was tingling, but I sensed I had to play this one cool. I'd get more information out of him being an enigma myself. It would take time, but I'd get what I needed.

"Thanks for your time, here's my card." I passed him one and stood, smoothing the jacket of my tailored pantsuit. He stood as well, looming over me despite my heels making me a cool 6'1".

I turned and headed for the door without another word when he stopped me. "Who hired you?"

I turned with a Mona Lisa smile. "A friend of hers."

I left quietly and ran down the stairs, emerging into downtown Chicago traffic as rush hour began. Orgies, blood, and heroin. I'd prefer believing in a curse.

***

I couldn't work just one case at a time, no matter how good the pay, so I retired to my office to use the computer and order Indian.

Sitting at my desk I took off my jacket and slung it over the chair when the food arrived, rolled my sleeves up, and put my hair back in a ponytail.

I had done some searches for one of my cheating spouse cases, and had enough evidence to go the straight route. Normally I double—dipped; followed the suspected spouse, videotaped them cheating, blackmailed them with it, then gave the tape to their cuckolded spouse anyway. These days with MySpace and LinkedIn I no longer had to tail them to find out their rendezvous. This time I'd just forward the information to his wife and collect the fee.

I turned now to "Kraven" though I held out little hope. The curtain of night fell and my office building emptied of tenants as I searched every credit database, DMV record, and Internet search available. Nothing. Not all that unusual for a drug dealer; men like Albert Cray tended to be cash-only businesses who kept their property under other people's names.

I searched for his legal name and nickname with Goth; no luck. I searched Neo, Exit, nothing. Then I searched with vampire and to my shock and horror an old Gold 'n' Rod production from three years prior came up.

Kraven had been a porn actor in Finn's company. This didn't surprise me. The man treated male actors like Kleenex and ran through them accordingly. Now that he was out of the game the actors had contracts as long as the actresses; but they were all out in La-La Land on the west coast.

I checked my watch as I polished off the last of my matar paneer. Just after ten; by the time I changed and made it to Exit they'd be open, and Kraven would hopefully be working the door.

I changed into a pair of leather pants I'd bought one day just to seem busy tailing someone for a case in a biker shop. Over that I put on a satin blouse and made sure to do my makeup dark, defined, and anything but natural stopping just short of garish.

I put on my Harley boots, grabbed a matching worn jacket, and locked up.

Exit was a shithole on North Avenue. One of the only few metal bars in town it was two stories, all too often populated by Psychobillies on the first floor, and the uopstairs had the smallest dance floor imaginable. Every Thursday they hosted a bondage night and 4 Dominaterixes would tie up and dominate patrons for 15 minutes, only $20.

Tonight, this early, it was dead. I parked on Throop, a little side street, and locked up tight. In another hour there's be security posted around the corner her to watch cars but for now it was empty, the mechanics on the corner closed.

I lit a cigarette and went for my leggy tough-girl walk. I'd been told it looked good, but I felt like a drunk platypus when I tried to walk any intentional way other than normal.

At the front the door was open and seated on a barstool next to it was Salty Pete. He had an eye patch, and endless source of dead baby jokes, and the survivor attitude of a weightlifting cockroach. Sadly back on the force I'd arrested him a few times and he had a memory like an elephant.

"Pete."

"You." He spat on the ground and that one blue eyes glared. 

"Kraven working the door tonight?"

"Maybe, maybe not."

I reached into my coat for money and his hand snaked out. "No guns, bitch."

Ah, Pete. "Guns in an ankle holster. I like to live dangerously. I was going for a Benjamin, you idiot."

Suddenly a punk with ten pounds of metal in his face stepped outside, cell phone glued to his ear. "Hey, Kraven You're looking for Kraven?"

I jerked my wrist from Pete and stepped over to the punk. He nodded at my cigarette and I pulled my pack, offering him one and lighting it. "Sure am."

"Got the bill?"

I pulled a crisp hundred from my inside jacket pocket and held it up. "I get paid to find people. If this doesn't pan out, I'll find you. With green hair and piercings like that it won't be hard."

He nodded and finally closed the phone. "Kraven quit a couple of days ago. Said he was going out of town, some big score. And I know you'll ask but he didn't say where he was going, or what he was getting, but he did say something about a train ride."

That was all I was going to get out of him, his eyes said, so I gave him the hundred and stubbed out my cigarette butt on the ground.

A train ride to a dealer could mean the L or the Metra to the suburbs, or Amtrak. And he'd've paid cash so the only one I could search was Amtrak and it would be slow and painful. Slow as in days and painful as in staring at tapes of dozens of faces streaming past trying to pick out one.

I could re-question Nikolas, I could go back to JuJu who'd still be blitzed out of her mind, or...Finn. I padded back to my Oldsmobile and opened the trunk. Lock pick kit, rope, old black book of important numbers...good. With all this I wouldn't even have to see him face to face. And was all in black, most of it leather. Perfect for a night of breaking and entering.

***

It took ten minutes plus the drive over to find someone in Finn's security company who was a friend-of-a-friend. I downed another cigarette waiting for him to reset the system.

Finn lived in a brownstone that cost more money than most small airports. Inside it was all navy, cream, white, and black, perfect masculinity, outside it overlooked LSD with an unobscured view of Lake Michigan.

I'd go up the back, simple scaling, and pop the bedroom window. I'd called Finn's home phone and he had not answered. The lights were off and the security company confirmed he'd set the code then closed the door.

Finn was suspiciously anal about keeping records for a master criminal and former cop who should know better. Anyone who ever worked for him he tracked with an obsession. Never knew when one cum-shot cameo might become a senator and thus a potential blackmail victim.

His computer would be a treasure trove and I knew him well enough to know the password was likely my name, my birthday, or my measurements.

I scrabbled up the back porch post, grateful for the Gingerbread Gothic effect that meant stones perfect for scaling. Still, I broke a nail on the first floor and another on the second. Rubbing the rough edges against my zipper I filed them smooth and found his back door locked with two deadbolts as expected. The window would be easier.

I pressed my ear and fingertips to it. No noise, no vibrations. Good.

The man was smart and the window was locked. My pick kit wouldn't work well as the lock was inside, but I had a small tool that would work. The security system should be disabled, so I pulled the slim steel rod with the precision diamond tip out and zipped the kit back up.

I painstakingly cut a circles,, using my spit to keep it as quiet as possible but the sounds of the city slowly pulsing at night helped cover the screech. When done I took my jacket off and pressed it against the hole, made a fist, and punched it out.

Inside it crashed and I pulled back and pushed myself flush to the outer wall. After a 90 second count, no Finn or floozie had come running, no alarm had started, no un-done locks clicked into place. I reached in and unlocked the window then slid it slowly up.

Swinging one leg over I ducked and squeezed in. Suddenly, large hands grabbed me, yanked me through, and tossed me on the carpet.

I went for my gun and a body was on top of me, slapping my hands away and pinning my wrists to the carpet. When long legs settled between mine and a distinctive erection pressed against me, I growled.

"Finn."

"In the flesh," he bent down and tried to kiss me, so I bit him.

"You know I like it on top these days." I'd been training for situations like this; these days only Finn got the drop on me.

Twisting my hips I slipped one foot behind his ankle and bent my arms. Thanks to the power of 300 sit-ups per day I flexed my core and rolled him.

He still gripped my wrists but I landed on top and quickly moved my other leg to knee him in the balls. The bastard knew it was coming and hooked his foot behind my free ankle and straightened his legs, the same inseam as mine. I landed flush on him with a flop and felt that erection had grown larger.

"Marly, if I knew you wanted to play bandit girl I would have left my cuffs out."

I snorted. "Even if we played games like that I was always a better cop than you."

He smiled I the dim moonlight, a flash of perfect, white teeth in a shadowed face. "I was the better detective."

I snorted again, not giving a crap about being ladylike even if that slowly undulating hard piece of flesh was making my insides go liquid. "Which is why I still do this for a living."

"Exactly. I graduated."

This time he leaned up to kiss me and for some damn, lonely, horny, frustrated reason, I kissed him back. The man was good. You'd think he'd be a selfish bastard with no talent but he kissed the way women pretended men did in books, like it was the main event itself.

At some point while out lips had slanted against each other and our tongues had dueled he'd let go of my wrists. We started scrabbling at clothes and got my jacket off and our shoes kicked free, but we both had holsters and pieces. So we settled for unbuttoning his shirt and pulling mine up, my bra down, and then he sat up with abs that put mine to shame and captured one nipple with his teeth.

I groaned and clutched at his head, pulling his hair free of the ponytail holder. It felt cool against my breast and his mouth was so hot, sucking, licking, pulling. Electric waves radiated through my body and I wanted him inside me more than anything else at that moment.

Instead all he did was slide that devil's tongue to my other breast, so I tried to reach between us and undo his jeans. He responded by jamming his pelvis closer to mine, teasing me with promise and nothing more. I settled for clawing at his chest, raking my nails across his lightly furred skin. When I reached his nipples I pinched with nails and he pulled back gasping.

Quickly Finn bit my throat, drawing blood, and I could never explain why but this got me maddeningly wet. I rocked back and pulled him with me, reaching between us for our pants.

He bit the side of my neck and I got my zipped, fumbling with his. He had to help and we slid his pants halfway down his thighs, mine until they hanged from one ankle, and then he shoved into me.

He wasn't overly long but very thick, and no matter how wet I was it always felt like an invasion. He knew to rest for a moment and let me adjust and I wrapped my legs around his hips. He licked the blood and kissed me so I tasted my own coppery essence. When I groaned he began to move, slowly, deeply.

"Faster, Finn."

"No," he grunted out. "I know you. We won't do this again for...a...while." Grunt. "So fuck what you want."

I bit him and he jammed himself so deep he touched my womb and the tinge of pain made me cry out and stiffen. He changed the angle then so his wiry hair rubbed my mons and parted the lips. Slickly my wetness spread and he slid back and forth across my clit and he surged ever so slowly in and out. He bent to capture a nipple and pull with his teeth, flick with his tongue, and the slowly building orgasm claimed me.

I raked my hands down his back under his shirt, screaming his name into the night. For a long, blissful, pulsing moment I didn't care who we were, I only cared that he fit so well, felt so good, and drove my body into ecstasy like the familiar old lover that he was.

Coming down my heart pounded and after shocks made me twinge as he still moved, and a moment of clarity caught me. I hated loving him, hated that I couldn't resist him, hated that I couldn't escape this need.

Then he began to grind his hips in a figure eight and instinctually my legs raised. Taking advantage he reached under me, collapsed his body back onto mind, and screwed a thumb into my ass with my own wetness.

We clutched at each other and ground faster and faster. My body felt so damn hot and our sweat made us slick. Every nerve ending tingled and his rough skin and body hair scraped me deliciously. My nipples were abraded by his chest hair and his mouth fused to mine. My brain went to that place of pure driving need and climbed the cliffs with lightning speed.

Finn managed to hold off and when screamed into his mouth he shouted back into mine, and we pulsed together, riding waves of pure immense pleasure.

For an eternity we were entangled, riding the storm out together. At long, long last we collapsed into a heap of sweat, breathlessness, and liquid muscles.

My gun was pressing into me, so was his, and though the carpet was soft the floor beneath was cold and hard. I still hadn't forgotten why I'd come, and a plan began to formulate.

"I need to pee."

He laughed and rolled off. "You know where the bathroom is, be my guest."

I pulled my pants up loosely and grabbed my jacket and shoes, heading for the bathroom and ignoring him. That was my usual way with Finn, the only protection I had against the urge to curl into the crook of his shoulder and stroke that magnificent body until we passed out.

In the bathroom I cleaned myself and lit a cigarette. Shit, we hadn't used a condom. I stared at myself in the mirror. My eyeliner had run and my red lipstick was smeared. My hair clearly said "just been fucked" and I looked like a cheap whore.

I turned away and fixed my clothes, pulling on my boots. I used his brush to painfully fix my light brown hair and wet tissues to clean up my makeup, avoiding eye contact with the slut in the mirror.

When I felt suited up I emerged from the master bath and the bedroom was empty, but still bore the musky scent of sex. A cork popped from the kitchen so I followed the sound to see Finn pouring two bottles of red wine on the high bar counter of his small kitchenette. Perfect.

In my coat I had a surprise for him.

"Why did you come here? And why did you break in?"

"How did you know?"

"My old assistant Carlos was in town, we were having a late dinner when my security company called to say my system had been turned off remotely. I pay them well to keep me informed." He passed me a glass and I sniffed, sipped, swirled.

"I tried calling you and got no answer. Thought I would come look around."

He paused and stared with dark blue eyes looking navy in his expert low lighting. "Kraven." 

"You held out on me. We got that name and you never even blinked. Why didn't you tell me my missing girl's heroin dealer is one of your former employees?"

"It slipped my mind."

I snorted. 

"Seriously, Marly. Male actors usually last one, maybe two pictures. In the years I ran Gold 'n' Rod I must have gone through hundreds."

"Yeah, how many were self-proclaimed vampires?"

His eyes slipped to my neck were two bites had stopped bleeding, but were quite raw. At his hooded smile I set my glass down and sidled up pressing into him and walking him back to the oven.

"There's no such thing as vampires, just bad boys who like to bite."

He smiled down at me. "And naughty girls too."

I kissed him and his hands came up to my face. I pushed them down, behind his back. It was hard to distract him without distracting myself, but I did it.

I pressed against him when the cuffs jingled against the oven handle. I moaned loudly to cover the sound of one locking around the handle. When he felt the cold metal on his wrist he fought me. We struggled, our mouths broke apart, but I won and sprung back.




MJ 6A: Case of the Curse Pt 1



He was cuffed to his own oven.

"Marly!" He lurched forward and the oven door opened slightly and stopped, jerking him back.

"So, where is Kraven?"

"I don't know."

"Finn, if you did, would you tell me?"

He growled.

"Fine, stay there." I walked to the den knowing his phone was out of reach and his own cuff keys which might work were far enough away. On the desk sat the computer, on, but password protected, waiting for me.

It took my three tries but I figured it out. The password was my name and the date we first met. I ignored the twinge in my chest and took the next 30 minutes to ignore Finn's growls and threats from the kitchen and search his files.

Finally, well hidden through 16 folders and 12 more passwords moronically listed in a text file on a separate drive, I found the records for his actors. He had scans of IDs, 2 forms per performer, all compliant with the law that performers must be at least eighteen.

I found "Kraven" and the address listed on his passport and driver's license sent chills down my spine. High fallutin' for a porn actor, for even a drug dealer, he lived in the heart of Printer's Row.

At the very same address as Nikolas Meyers.

I pulled my gun and left the file pulled up. Back in the kitchen Finn had grabbed a craving knife and was idiotically trying to use it on the hinge of one cuff. At least he was smart enough not to try and pry the lock.

He was cursing me under his breath now, no longer yelling.

"You knew. You already knew."

He feigned innocence for all of a second then brandished the knife. "Open and shut case babe. Kraven skipped town. This Bain chick O.D.'ed on his junk and split. All that's left is to find a body for Bain."

I leaned on the counter and grabbed my glass of wine taking a large sip. "And let me guess...you didn't tell me this because there is still the matter of very rare, very large, very expensive jewels only two people in Chicago have the connections to fence...and you're one of them."

He gave me an enigmatic grin. I pulled out the keys to the handcuffs and dangled them. Finn lunged and I snatched them back, marched to the bathroom, and flushed them down the toilet. I found his cell phone in the bedroom and brought it back.

Carlos was on speed dial and answered on the third ring. "Carlos, it's Marly, remember me?"

"...Yeah, er, yeah! How are you, Marly?"

"Fine. Finn needs your help. He's handcuffed to the oven in his...stop laughing, Carlos."

"Kinkier than his usual. Where are the keys?"

"In the Cal Sag Canal by now."

He guffawed again. "I'll be right over."

I snapped it closed and left it out of his reach. "Fuck you," was all I said and I left out the back door, walked down to my car, and was sitting behind the wheel by the time tears started.

This was the problem. Every time I felt that blossom of love I felt for Finn turn towards the sun, he came along like a mutt and shat all over it. From past experience I could only assume he'd attached himself to this case to simply get at those jewels.

Sure Finn loved me, but he loved me in a way that damn near destroyed me every time.

***

I'd gone back to my office/home and crashed that night. I spent the day doing business and screening my calls; nothing from Finn. I took care of two open cases and put in calls to friends at Amtrak trying to track down Kraven. I offered $500 to any ticket agent who gave me solid info and waited for a call back. 

When none came I picked up the phone in the later afternoon to dial Meyers when it rang. Meyers was calling me.

"Hello?"

"Miss Jackson? It's Nikolas Meyers."

"It's Marly, and can I help you?"

"I wasn't honest with you before. I know where Kraven went, but..."

"You were protecting Ellie?" I finished for him.

There was a pregnant pause. "There's something I want to show you. Kraven said he was going west but I think he was really going to see Ellie, or at least see her before she left, maybe even take her with."

"So what do you want to show me?"

"It's where Ellie likes to hide out sometimes."

I got the address from him and it was in a far northern suburb, Riverwoods. There was truly just a river and woods there with a few overpriced houses belonging mostly to Greek mobsters, then a whole passel of anonymous office buildings and Big Pharma.

Rush hour was there so I told him to give me two hours. I touched up my makeup to sophisticated feminine but still business like, put my hair in a knot, and made sure my tailored grey suit was smooth. It actually made my skin seem more pale olive and my hazel eyes almost grey, it was a neat effect.

The drive up was hell. October had a strong wind but a warm enough tinge to the air I knew a thunderstorm was coming. I broke off onto the tollway north of the city and took the exit, driving past the offices and onto a lonely stretch of road through thick forest.

I almost missed my turnoff and barely made, skidding the corner onto a dirt road. I followed it until it ended at a log cabin with a Kawasaki bike parked outside.

By the door was Nikolas. His hair was loose, dangling down onto his long black trench coat. He wore spiked boots and what seemed to be leather pants. 

I got out and he smiled, fake fangs hanging over his stained red lips. When I drew nearer I saw his eyes were black rimmed. Unlike most men it didn't look gaudy with the rough stubbled skin of his face, it made him look exactly what he wanted to be; a vampire on the prowl.

"Hello," he drawled with serpentine confidence.

"Hello there. So what makes you think Kraven hasn't left town?"

"Come inside and you'll see why." He turned and pulled keys out, searching through them. "Ellie and I came here time to time to get away. Outside of the rituals with her friends, just the two of us. She said it was a special place, full of magic."

"Magic? Curses? Vampires? What is all this?"

He found the key he wanted and looked at me, actually more at the bite marks on my neck. He smiled. "Armature."

Since I had that unholy fetish thanks to Finn, the husky promise flashed through me and made my body tighten.

Then he opened the door and the smell of death floated out. Without thinking I'd unbuttoned my coat, unsnapped the holster, and my gun was naked in my hand.

Nikolas opened the door and pulled a flashlight from his pocket. He turned it on and shined it inside. I felt shocked to the core.

Inside it was painted black, the windows were covered with black curtains. The wood floor had been painted black an a pentagram had been drawn in chalk with some other symbols I didn't recognize.

Opposite the door was an altar draped with black cloth that looked wet, flanked on either side by candelabras straight out a Vincent price movie topped with burned down red candles. On the wall behind the altar was a taxidermied goat's head with fake human eyes. That wasn't what chilled me.

What got to me was the naked bloodied, bloated and dead mean chained to the altar. It was his blood that stained the cloth and from the smell and bloat he'd been dead at least 24 hours.

"That's Kraven."

"How did you find him?"

"He called me, said Ellie was leaving and needed a score. He said he was meeting her here. I told him not to come-"

"You knew this would happen? You two come up here for this?" I swung the gun on him and he put his hands up.

"No, it's not like that. Ellie is...disturbed. She came up here once in a while, after she'd spent lots of time with her family. This place belongs to her father."

"We should call the police."

"But we're not going to," he said confidently.

"And why not?"

"Because of this." He stepped inside and I followed, wrinkling my nose against the stench. Against the wall by the door was a small table and on it was a hand-written note. He passed it to me and turned the flashlight on it.

"Dear Nik, I am leaving. I think you know why. I am sorry I couldn't tell you. I called Kraven here to help me sell something. You know what. He tried to take it and I stopped him. I did what my father would have done. Goodbye," I read and looked up at him. "What her father would have done?"

"We should go, I'll explain everything. You go first and I'll cover our tracks."

"I used to be a cop, I'll do it."

He frowned but nodded. "I'll meet you at the Denny's on Milwaukee, Prospect Heights."

I hadn't lowered my gun. "One hour. If you're not there...I don't have to explain."

He nodded and left me to clean up a crime scene. I'd grabbed the flashlight and followed him back out to my car to grab gloves and supplies. 

I loved my life.

***

The Denny's was 24 hours but at 9 when I pulled in it was dead. The bike was there, I saw with relief and Nikolas was waiting for me on the bench inside.

He stood and nodded when I entered, sweaty and tired, my hair starting to come loose from the perfect knot.

"Thanks, I owe you, and I promise to deliver."

"You better."

We seated ourselves in the smoking section and I lit up a cigarette and opened the menu. He pulled out some Nat Shermans and lit one.

Neither of us spoke as we ordered coffee, burgers and fries, and I had to wonder how he was going to eat his with those fangs. Did they come out?

The waitress took our menus and returned shortly with the coffee and poured. When she was gone I pulled out the creamers and leveled my cop gaze on Meyers.

"What the hell is going on?"

"Look, that...place is owned my Ellie's father. She said he took her there as a child. She said he's into that Satanic shit."

I thought about the elder Bain and found this strangely believable. The man believed in curses, why not in black magic?

"She never said but I think he abused her. Her mom died and he never dated anyone else, even now he has an unhealthy obsession with her. And when she spent time with him she was fucked up. She would bring me there and we'd...have sex. She called it 'cleansing the darkness.' I was always creeped put by it, but I thought I was helping a friend, maybe I could make it better."

"Tell me about Kraven, where does he fit in?"

"He's an old friend of mine, started selling heroin. When she got into it I pointed her his way, I thought I could trust him. We went to school together. He didn't sell her much, but then she started selling things from her dad's store. Eventually Kraven and she teamed up on something big, neither would tell me."

I bit my tongue about the supposedly cursed family jewels.

"Something happened a week ago and Ellie said she was done with her family. She said she was going to do something to hurt her father and disappear. Last I heard Kraven told me he was leaving too, but he was going to visit her for one last sale and to conclude their business."

"She mentioned she was selling something, and said you'd know what. What was it?"

"Jewels. Her dad filled her head with this nonsense that these old family heirlooms were cursed. He said they had to stay in the family or they would lose everything, but as long as they did every Bain woman died after giving birth to a child."

That damn curse again. All this lead back to the father. Jeweler to the stars, incestuous abuser, Satan worshipper, father of a vampire coven leader? This seemed surreal at best, like a mash-up of Nathaniel Hawthorne and Wes Craven.

"So if she was meeting Kraven to sell it why kill him?"

"Like the note said; I wouldn't put it past him to try something. Ellie is beautiful but fucked in the head. Most people would think they could pull a fast one, but she's like a coral snake; beautiful and small, but deadly."

Our food arrived and for long moments we merely munched. He'd lied to me before but I had to wonder if he was lying now. Most of my cases were simple and straightforward but it seemed like the 2% Finn got involved in blew up in my face.

It was possible he, Kraven, and Eleanor Bain had all conspired to steal and sell the jewels and Ellie had skipped out on him and killed Kraven. It made no sense, however, Nikolas Meyers was the sole heir to a huge fortune, and was living on a trust fund from grandpa that I could only imagine. His bank balance read like the GDP of France.

"Level with me. So her old man is a Satanist and an abuser, and his daughter grows up fucked in the head. She joins the vampire community, talks you into weird orgies, and when she gets into needles you point her to an old friend with big aims and small means. She tells you the same bull story her dad told me about cursed jewels damn near impossible to fence, and you mean to tell me she didn't tell you she had them and was leaving? She calls up your dippy friend, takes him to Satan's Playhouse, and when he tries to pull something she kills him Hollywood black magic style and leaves you a note?"

"I know this is difficult to believe. Look, I thought she was lying about the jewels, but she was serious about hurting her dad. How better than to steal something from him he believes is the sole key to his lifestyle?"

My head was spinning. Luckily I had years of training to fall back on; push aside the bullshit and focus on the hard facts and what was traceable. 

"Look if she fenced the jewels here...I've already talked to the 2 people who could have done it."

"She would have done it today, when did you talk to them?"

He had me there. "Not that recently. But she could still have them. Where would she go? Where would she feel safe?"

"Nowhere. Look she had no real friends. I'd like to call myself a friend but she was just using me. She was part of the vampire community but she's been ostracized. She went too far, got too dark."

"Too dark for vampires?"

"Do you know Michelle Belle Angel?"

I shook my head and he sighed. "Well, Marly, Michelle is a big mover and shaker in the community. She came here to talk about opening up a House, a true vampire refuge. There was lots of infighting and Ellie was the cause. She showed up to meetings drunk and abusive, was always pushing sex and dark rituals. Most of us are not into that. Well, sex, yes, but Satanism? That's for teenagers."

I nodded.

"She was whacked out of her mind usually. When Michelle came there was a house being established, and we were well on our way. Michelle was like our unofficial fairy godmother; she wasn't going to be a permanent leader, but she was the one getting us organized. Ellie came in, disrespected her, tried to get her thrown out. It got worse from there and ended with Michelle leaving in disgust and Chicago's vampire community has suffered in the larger community ever since."

"Great so in other words, you have no idea where she would be?"

"My guess is somewhere there is another community that must hate Michelle Belle Angel. She'd head there, but she's always been afraid of those jewels. She'd want to unload them."

"You said she was crazy. Maybe she threw them in the river, or buried them by the cabin, or fuck, stuffed them in Kraven's intestines."

He shook his head. "She'd want the money. And she'd never leave them on family land, or she'd think the curse still existed. And she'd never just throw them somewhere where her father might someday find them."

"Why are you telling me this now?"

He looked down at his barely touched food. "I'm worried about her."

"You think she'd hurt herself?" he didn't answer me. "You think the curse is real?"

Nikolas looked up finally. "You haven't heard the family stories. That curse is real, Marly. It's very real, and..."

I waited but he looked nervous. I set down my mug and sighed. "And?"

"She's pregnant."

Crazy heroin chick pregnant and thinking a curse meant she'd give birth and die. Great. "Yours?"

He shrank back in horror. "No. I think it's her father's."