Maelstrom

"What about him?"

I felt like I had just ripped the band-aid off an old wound. I decided to be up front with her, a first for good old Max.

"He's shaking down one of my good friends and high school classmate. She's running the family's diner because her dad has terminal liver cancer."

Her superficial charm evaporated.

"OK. So you want to know why I dropped the prosecution of his case." Her body language said that I was on thin ice.

"Yes," I confirmed. Her instincts were impeccable.

"Let me say this to you only once. The answer is no, I won't answer your question," she said coldly.

"DaVanna..."

She stood up and held out her hand.

"It was good meeting you Officer Pemberton. Would you mind letting yourself out?"

I did. I left City Hall wondering exactly what I had gotten myself involved in.

* * *

One thing about me that's good and bad is that I can't let go. I wanted to help Nicky, and now DaVanna was making me want it even more. I went back to the station more determined than ever to find out DaVanna's secret. It must have been a good one, and a political career ender if whatever her story was got out.

I went back to the file room. The Trong Lai file was still in the active area and readily accessible, as the matter was only closed in the past year. The file clerk checked the box out to me. It was sealed with tape that said "Sealed under Order of the Court." I ignored the warning and cut the tape. I closed the door to my small office and started rifling through the contents. A package of 8x10 pictures in a sealed manila envelope caught my eye. It was labeled "R. Nguyen -- d. 8-22-20." I tore it open and spread the pictures across my desk.

Fuck.

The pictures were of whatever was left of R. Nguyen after whoever it was hacked him to death with a large sharp object, likely a machete. There was blood everywhere in the photograph.

Apparently a small piece of the machete's wooden handle chipped off during the carnage and the assailant didn't notice the piece was missing. It was recovered in one of Nguyen's skull fragments, and contained a partial print that was a 70% match to match to one Trong Lai. There was also a trace amount of DNA on the fragment, though there wasn't a DNA sample from Trong since he'd never been arrested.

I pulled out a file folder labeled "Executive Summary." This was probably the summary used to brief the District Attorney's office. I'd prepared a few of those memos to document busts our department made. The evidence appeared to be compelling. The story the investigators pieced together was that Trong was involved in smuggling in refugees from Southeast Asia. Many were held involuntarily in work houses, to be farmed out for menial work until their exorbitant passage fee was paid. Oftentimes it could be five years of enforced servitude. Trong was accused of hacking one of the escaped refugees as an example to the others. With the motive and the print (and potentially the DNA evidence), not to mention the grisly nature of the murder, it seemed ripe for prosecution.

But the case was buried. And easily so, as no one in Cincinnati gave a shit about R. Nguyen because no one knew him. I'm sure no one grieved at his burial in some common grave. His family was probably back in Vietnam, and would never know what happened to him. What better case to deep six than this one? There was no one to advocate for R. Nguyen.

Now I got part of the story. Trong had to get rid this case and had to offer something to DaVanna that she couldn't refuse. But what?

I went on the internet to research DaVanna. Wealthy family, part of the old guard of Cincy. She was notoriously single, the oldest of two children. There wasn't much on her baby sister Alessandra, except for a few photos of her posing with DaVanna at a homeless shelter. Alessandra inherited the same good looks as DaVanna. There was surprisingly little on her, given the massive exposure of her older sister, even on DaVanna's political website. I decided to research our files on juvenile offenders, and voil� , I found that Alessandra had two charges for theft and assault as a minor, both of which were purged from the public record.

I had a friend who worked in juvie, a fellow cadet at the police academy when I was there. The juvenile detention center was only a few miles from our station, so I made the five minute drive to her office after my shift was over. It was late afternoon, and Shenelle was covering the 12 to 8 shift in the front office. She was an African-American woman, about the same age as me, early 30's, petite, but with generously sized breasts and a big fucking booty. Her hair was braided in corn rows. Her personality was bubbly and upbeat. Her office was door was open and I could hear her humming a popular tune to herself. She got up and hugged me.

"Max! It's been forever. Heard you transferred to Vice." She let go of me and sashayed her way back to her desk chair.

"Still enjoying it here?" I asked her. I plopped down into her well-loved guest chair. The walls of the office were decorated with colorful drawings made for her by her younger clients.

"We're able to turn some of these kids around, and I guess that's what keeps me coming back to work. I gather this isn't a social visit. What can I do for you?"

"Alessandra Caruso... do you know her?"

She smiled. "Of course I do. DaVanna's younger sister."

"She's passed through these doors?"

"More than once."

"Trouble?"

"Plenty. DaVanna's been here more times than I can count to bail out her little sister. She's gotten to know the staff, including me, on a first name basis."

"She's killer on remembering names and what was discussed," I noted with admiration in my voice.

"Scary..." she said under her breath.

"Yeah," I acknowledged. Scary.

"So what was she in for?"

"Alessandra? One time it was theft. She broke into an office building and made off with a number of laptops from a law firm. They caught her with a couple of them, but most of them were never recovered."

"Her family has money."

"You're right. I was told she fenced the missing laptops to pay for drugs. Personally, I never believed the story. There are easier ways to get money than breaking into a law office."

"And somehow the charges were dropped?"

"Uh huh. Don't know how, but the law firm decided not to press charges."

"And the second time?"

"Not more than a week later. Felony assault. I was told she beat the crap out of somebody. It didn't make any sense either. I didn't see her as a violent person."

"Charges dropped as well?"

"Yep. Like magic. And her record was purged. Sometimes it's nice to have a sister who's in the D.A.'s office."

"Sounds like one of the unfortunates you won't be able to save."

"Not that one. She's a pistol. A real looker, but wild as they come."

"Thanks Shenelle."

"You be careful Max. She has friends in high places."

Chapter Four

Alessandra

As usual, I woke up at 4:30 a.m., even though it was my day off. The drunk from the previous night still hadn't worn off, but I couldn't go back to sleep. I ended up watching reruns of Seinfeld and eating a half-eaten slice of pizza out of the box from last night's dinner. I found a vodka bottle under my bed. The cap was off and lying on its side but it still had a good shot or two left in it. I said what the fuck and drank it. It burned all the way down my throat.

I drew back the curtains and looked down at the tired asphalt parking lot. I could see someone out on the sidewalk shooting up in under the glow of a streetlight. I cursed my life. I was living in the Royal Palms motel, only one step above living in a cardboard box. Maybe, just maybe, I'd get my shit together in my personal life.

My head finally started to clear. I remembered I needed to connect with Alessandra. It was her misbehavior (really her criminal activity) that seemed to be the core of all of these troubles. She acted out as a teenager and never stopped. It wasn't one of those things where she was a product of her environment, she had the same upbringing as DaVanna and had all the advantages of wealth. I wondered if she was a bad egg or if there was something more to her story.

I thought I'd try to catch her in the morning. She was living in a sketchy neighborhood where I'd made a few arrests. I drove out there and parked in front of her house. Faded white paint was flaking off the sideboards and the old concrete sidewalk leading to the house had heaved and cracked. The front door was blocked shut with an old refrigerator. I walked along the side of the house, following the driveway to the one car garage in the backyard. Good smells were emanating from the screened-in porch that sported numerous patches. Through the screen I could see that the door to the kitchen was open and that a tall, willowy brunette in skimpy pajamas was making breakfast. I couldn't make out if it was Alessandra. Since it was almost eleven, I assumed this person was a late riser.

She had her back to me when I knocked on the screen door.

"Max Pemberton... is that you?" she asked, while her back was still facing me.

Her question startled me. Did she have eyes in the back of her head? And how did she know it was me?

"Yes," I answered through the screen.

She looked over her shoulder while she was using a metal spatula to move around some sizzling bacon.

"Come on in. You hungry?"

I was now wondering if she was omniscient. How did she know I was hungry as well? All I had that morning was the dregs of a vodka bottle and a half slice of cold pizza. I entered the kitchen as she flipped the bacon over, with grease droplets splattering over the edge of the black cast iron pan.

"Give me a second. Take a seat over there." She pointed with the spatula to the seat on the far side of the kitchen table. I could feel a gust of the cool late morning breeze blow through the kitchen, sending the odor of crisp bacon everywhere.

She had an omelet topped with chopped tomato and cilantro and hash browns sitting on one plate. She reached above the stove and picked up a warm plate. She used the spatula to divide the omelet and hash browns between the two plates. She gave us each two pieces of bacon and toast that was being kept warm in the oven.

I was sitting at the table when she handed me a plate, silverware and a napkin. It looked and smelled delicious.

"Thanks for the breakfast," I said with sincerity. Just from the smell alone, this food would give Nicky's a run for her money.

"So how'd you know it was me?" I asked her.

"I looked you up on the internet. DaVanna told me about you when you visited her, and being the curious person I am, I found a newspaper article about a bust you made. That was umm... an unflattering picture of you in the Enquirer. Anyway, I saw your reflection in the tea kettle and recognized you from your picture in the paper."

"There was blood smeared on your face..." she continued, as if I'd somehow forgotten that article.

"For the record, it was the perp's blood, not mine."

"That's what the article said."

"But I guess what the article didn't say was that he came at me with a metal pipe. I took it away from him, and in the struggle it hit him on the forehead. Scalp wounds bleed a lot. He's fine now, and in prison."

"Yeah, DaVanna told me that after I read it."

"She did?"

"Max, she knows the dirt on everyone. How do you think she got where she is? By playing nice?"

I took a bite of the omelet. Perfection. The blend of the heirloom tomatoes and the cilantro with the fluffy, buttery scrambled eggs was as good an omelet as I've ever had. She had a gift when it came to cooking.

"That's a good omelet," I said, interrupting the story I wanted to hear.

"I've been practicing this one."

"Practicing?"

"I'm going to the culinary academy. This week we're working on omelets."

"So is this breakfast, or an early lunch?"

She snickered at me as if I'd told her a joke. "I had a ham and cheese omelet last night for dinner and already had a mushroom omelet for breakfast. I wanted to practice this one. I wasn't going to finish it anyway." She took another bite with a satisfied look on her face. I did likewise.

I got a chance to study her face. She had a hard look to her, the sharp edges not yet eroded by the passage of time. Her beauty was natural. Her hair was a chestnut brown with reddish highlights, cut short. She had the same light cocoa colored skin as her sister. I could make out a crude tattoo on her forearm, something that suggested she was part of a gang. She was wearing a pair of torn jeans, not the ones that Courtney bought from a designer boutique, but one that came by their rips and tears honestly, and a black tee shirt promoting some local rap artist.

I took another bite of the omelet, savoring the taste and texture. She sipped her coffee and put her mug down.

"But you're not here to talk about me. You want to talk about DaVanna."

She said it with the certainty of having said it many times before. DaVanna was the star of the family. She was the black sheep.

"Yes... I do have a few things I wanted to chat about," I admitted. "But tell me, why the interest in cooking? You're quite good."

She chuckled again. "It wasn't something I was interested in... at least not at first. The first time I went to juvie I was assigned to help in the kitchen. I found out I liked working in a kitchen. You know, our family had a lot of money. I wasn't allowed in the kitchen and never learned to cook."

"You're talented," I told her.

She gave me a modest grin. "I appreciate that Max."

She took another sip of coffee and changed the subject. "So you've met DaVanna."

"Oh yes," I said with the inflection that she was a piece of work.

"She tell you that I got into a lot of trouble?"

"No, actually she didn't."

"Then..." She stopped mid-sentence as if she had an epiphany.

"You're a cop. You saw my file."

"Yes."

"And you want to know what kind of connection I have with my big sister."

"You should be the prosecutor, not your sister" I told her.

She gave me her disarming smile. God she was beautiful.

"High praise coming from you."

"But no interest in the law?"

"Only in breaking it." She laughed, then got up. She scraped the remainder of her omelet into the dog dish. A smallish terrier appeared from the adjoining room, gave me a perfunctory sniff, and then went to retrieve her treat.

"That's what I was wondering..."

"Whether I broke the law for her?"

I decided to put my cards face up on the table.

"I've looked into Trong Lai."

She winced when she heard the name. "So you have done some digging. What kind of cop are you?"

"Detective."

"You must have left your beat in the West End. The article I read said the West End, wasn't it?"

"You have a good memory."

"I only have to read it once. Somehow it sticks."

I held out my mug. She retrieved the coffee pot and gave me a refill. The coffee was solid as well.

"So it's true."

"What's that?" she asked, wanting me to say it and not her.

"That she made a deal with Trong to get you out of trouble."

"I didn't say that," she said, pretty much admitting the truth of what I said.

"He's a bad dude."

"Everybody I ran with before was."

"You ran with the wrong crowd."

"Really." She said it with a tone of impatience.

"And the assault? What was that all about?"

"It was a corrections officer. Let's just say that his hands were somewhere where they didn't belong." She put her hand over her crotch. "Of course he denied it. So who are they going to believe?"

"I don't think I need to guess," I told her, not a stranger to groping from my peers.

I think that was as far as I was going to press it. I finished the omelet that she gave me and went back to the half-eaten toast on the corner of my plate. She stretched as if I wasn't there. Her breasts pressed against the fabric of her sheer tee shirt and I could see the defined muscles in her long, lean arms. She got up and cleared off the plates. I would have eaten more if there was more to be had.

Then I said something to start the conversation again even though I vowed to myself that I wouldn't.

"I don't get the electronics theft."

"What of it?"

"What was that about?"

"Nothing. The guy decided not to press charges." She was being tight lipped about this.

I wondered what her motivation was to break into a law office. It smelled strongly of DaVanna. After getting Nicky out of her jam I wanted to find out. I couldn't help but put my nose where it didn't belong.

"So DaVanna..." I started to ask.

Alessandra cut me off before I could finish my question. "Leave fucking DaVanna out of it."

She must have realized she had already talked too much. She had some serious dirt on her sister.

"OK," I said, rolling over. She wasn't going to say anything more.

The coffee was clearing last night's haze out of my mind. I had to be clearheaded to talk to her. She was a sharp cookie. Curiosity got the best of me, and I was never shy about asking the next question. "So tell me, what do you think she has on me?"

"You like girls."

Her observation took me aback. It was true, and I didn't hide it. But how did she know?

"Is that right?"

"I can see the way that you're looking at me."

I must have been staring. She was beautiful, and as you know beautiful women were one of my many weaknesses.

"OK," I said, admitting what she said was true.

"Look... I spent the better part of three years in juvie on a number of minor offenses. You learn a lot about a lot of things there. Sex was one of them. It was only girls in my lock-up."

"I see."

Of course. She was a piece of fresh meat. She was lucky she never went to the women's prison. DaVanna did her a big favor there keeping her out of the adult population. For what Alessandra did, she should have been sentenced to an adult prison, for at least a couple years.

"I don't think that's it," I told her. "Pretty much everyone on the force knows I'm a lesbian. Try again."

"You're an alcoholic."

That hit much closer to home. It hurt me when she said it. I'm sure she could read it on my face.

"I'm sorry... " she said, losing the swagger and becoming contrite.

"I do have a bit of a problem..."

"Max... I could smell vodka on your breath when you came in. It's not even noon."

She pointed to her nose.

"Juvie..."

"Right... next to fucking, the two other things in juvie were getting high and getting drunk. I learned how to make raison jack. It's probably better than the vodka you were drinking this morning. The smell of alcohol is unmistakable."

Like I said, she was a smart cookie.

My plate was clean. Alessandra took my place and silverware. They clattered when she put them in the crowded sink. There was no dishwasher in sight.

"So Max... sorry to have wasted your morning. You know I can't talk about DaVanna... or Trong."

"I kind of figured, but I thought I'd try." She did give me some valuable intel. I thought I'd tell her I left empty handed. I got up from the table and pointed to her omelet pan. "At least I got a good breakfast."

Another radiant smile. "You take care Max." She opened the squeaky screen door for me.

I had to take one more look before I left.

"You're a beautiful woman Alessandra." I was stating the obvious, but I felt compelled to tell her. My comment did earn me another smile.

"Max, I can't figure you out. Are you squeezing me for information or are you hitting on me?"

I wasn't meaning to hit on her, but...

"You have my number?" she asked.

There was a pregnant pause... then she continued.

"In case you have any more questions."

"Right... right... in case I have any questions," I repeated back. Maybe she was attracted to me.