MJ 3: Case of the Purple Rose

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pin the murder on Finn.

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"How about I let you live?"

"How about you work some magic for me?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Why would you try?"

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

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

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

"Can you prove any of this?"

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

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

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

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

"How much?"

"Two million."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

"Shut up," he growled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Rocco as in beat you up Rocco?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Your foreplay has slipped, Finn."

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