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.