The Irishman at the End of the Bar

The door closes, the blinds shut, and her lips are pressed to mine before I even turn the locking mechanism. She starts undoing my belt as I reach under her pencil skirt and tug her panties to her knees. By the time my pants and underwear hit the ground, I am already hard enough to start. She steps one foot out of her panties, licks her fingers to moistens herself before sitting on the edge of the table. She pulls me between her legs, and I slip into her slick pussy with ease.

When I stay late at the office, do not feel too sorry for me. This is far from our first time. After the days we have, we both need a good release to help us sleep at night. Her day is usually worse than mine. I deal with dead people while she has to work with survivors.

I grip with my fingertips on the waist of her skirt, and I can feel her rocking forward to maximize the impact of my thrusts. I lean down and kiss her again, her returning it with tongue, then pushing me back so I can truly focus.

After roughly five minutes I announce my orgasm, and start spurting inside of her, the pulsation of my dick making her orgasm as well. We breathe deep for a minute before composing ourselves and resume being detectives. These little quickies are keeping us sane.

"You mentioned a tattoo?" She asks after taking a Kleenex and wiping myself out of her. We exit the conference room, her disposing the tissue before sitting at her desk in front of her computer.

"Yeah, a crow, or a raven," I say, and she thinks for a second.

"On a prostitute?" She asks.

"Allegedly."

"That's the Irish. They are pretty prolific at 'branding' their girls," Abigail says, using finger quotes around the word 'branding'. "We think we know which family does which tattoo."

"We had a source say she was the...I think...the McCoy's," I say, having to really think about what Chase told me.

"That family I know. The point of the brand," Finger quotes, "Is to remind the Johns that hurting them is not a good idea. I've handled a few possible felony assaults likely because someone didn't heed the warning. Didn't give us a name of course, claimed they fell down the stairs or something."

"Naturally, otherwise they're admitting to a different felony," I say, and she begins clicking through a few folders with some pictures of tattoos on prostitutes. They must have begun to keep a database once they realize several prostitutes had the same one.

"This it?" She asks, and shows me a tattoo I recognize as the one on Willow.

"That's it. How many of these have you seen?" I ask.

"We have identified two different tattoos, both bird themed. The Raven," she says, pointing at the one currently on the screen. "And a canary." This girl had a yellow canary tattooed on her neck at the same location.

"Canary?"

"Lafferty's, another Irish family. One of the big four," Abigail explains.

"Why only two?"

"Only two of the families operate in prostitution, that we know of. The Donnelly's and the Flannery's don't. Flannery's keep it old school with basic racketeering and union thuggery, and the Donnelly's are the drug dealers. Moving back to the bird theme, their drugs are stamped with a white Swan." She shows a picture with several bags of confiscated cocaine where the package is stamped with the white swan.

"Flannery's use birds too?" I ask.

"They certainly do," and she shows me pictures of businesses across the south side where an ornament of some kind shaped like an owl is hanging outside the door. "Owls. These places pay money to the Flannery's for protection, the ornaments let would be robbers know who they are really stealing from. Not only that..." She says, and pulls up a newspaper article about the city's Truckers Union. The president of the union is at a podium of a benefit dinner of some kind for scholarships. "Notice something?"

I look really hard for nearly a full minute but cannot see what she wants me to. She then zooms in a little, and points to his shirt lapel. On the collar of his jacket is an owl pin.

"Holy shit," I say.

"Holy shit indeed."

"How the fuck is this not a federal investigation? The DOJ should salivate at the most clear-cut RICO I've ever seen," I say.

"Agreed, but they don't. Too small time maybe. They don't extend their influence outside the city. Who knows, but the FBI doesn't care, and we've asked them. I can't even get state prosecutors to help. DAs office and the chief are tracking though, but we're keeping it as decentralized as possible."

"Why?" I ask. This in theory should be a department priority.

"Because shit within the precinct vanishes the moment we start building a case. We barely have anything in the gang database on them because someone removes it, and cyber forensics can't smoke them out. They got a cop somewhere."

"Fuck," I say, and she nods. A dirty cop could be screwing with this investigation. Chase is going to be thrilled.

"I'll forward you what we have on the McCoy prostitutes for a start, maybe a former girl knew her."

"Thanks. You gonna head home?" I ask.

"I probably should, Helena is probably pissed," Abigail says, Helena being her thirteen-year-old daughter. Both of us having girls was the basis of our first conversation that later led to our after-hour sex routine.

"She gets it more than she doesn't," I say to give Helena some credit.

"She does, but holiday season is when I shot her dad and sent him to prison," Abigail says with a sigh.

Two years ago, Abigail was in a horribly abusive marriage. Her ex-husband would beat and rape her, and she was reluctant to get help. Mostly because her husband was a cop as well. The neighbors called the police several times, but her husband smooth talked the responding patrol officers, or was drinking buddies with them. What finally snapped her to action was when his attention shifted to their daughter, and she saw all the clear signs of grooming she was trained to identify. The day after Christmas she shot him when he attempted to rape their eleven-year-old daughter.

There was some retaliation from officers in the precinct who thought she lied and shot him for other reasons. Even though the evidence was overwhelming. The person who shut that down was Captain, now Chief of Police Whitaker. He personally ripped the badges off three officers who harassed her afterwards so efficiently even the Police Union wouldn't go to bat for them. The aggressive support she received from the Chief of Police is the only reason she didn't resign.

Helena does not know the whole story, and we believe some of the grooming is still there. All she knows is dad yelled a lot and mom shot him for a reason she isn't ready to know yet. How do you tell your daughter her mother shot her father to stop him from raping you? As soon as we figure that out, I guess.

"I have information to look over now. I was planning stuff with Ursula, but someone needed to be a dick and shoot someone," I say, and she touches my shoulder in understanding. I walk her to the elevator and get off at my floor, kissing her before she continues down to the first floor.

--

Saturday -- December 13, 2025

-Chase Kramner-

I get into the building at eight in the morning, sipping coffee from my tumbler as I wait for the doors of the elevator to close. Just before the doors touch, a hand from outside swipes through the middle, making the doors open again. I step aside to let a woman in and watch her hit every button below my floor. What the hell? Now it really sucks that Homicide moved from the second to the fifth floor a few months ago.

"Morning?" I ask, a little confused at the behavior. The woman is a full head shorter than me, Japanese if I had to guess, with long black hair she wore in a ponytail over her back. Her clothing is more casual than my suit, a simple blouse tucked into her jeans with a belt. She has running shoes instead of heels.

"Morning Chase," she says, and now I am slightly concerned.

"I'm sorry, but who are you?" I ask.

"Lieutenant Jennifer Ito, Internal Affairs," she says, offering me a handshake and a business card. It is way too early for this. I shake her hand and take the card, still confused. "Can I ask you a few questions?"

"About?" I ask. What could IA possibly want from me?

"Sergeant Texada from Narcotics," she says.

"What about her?" I ask. How do they know I was working with her yesterday?

"Did she do or say anything that may have concerned you? Borderline illegal even?" Jennifer asks, and I am silent as the elevator door opens and closes on the second floor. "Not crossing her T's or dotting her I's?"

"Have you seen narcotic's office?" I ask, regarding how immaculate it was. That hardly seemed to be a space occupied by people with no concern for detail.

"It is very orderly to her credit. Just do me a favor and keep your eyes and ears open if you talk to her again," Jennifer says, and the elevator opens on the third floor.

"What is IA's interest with Sergeant Texada?" I ask, the doors closing.

"That is IA's business, but let's just say she has always played fast and loose with the rules. Not the first time her name has been through our office," Jennifer says, and I look at the elevator numbers.

"Here is what happened yesterday. She helped me cross off a murder suspect and that guy also happened to be a person she had wanted to arrest for a good minute. Everyone wins."

"I heard she hit the dude with a car."

"You heard wrong," I say, the elevator opening on the fourth floor, one floor below mine, and I step off the elevator.

"Isn't homicide on the fifth floor?" Jennifer asks.

"I just decided I would like the exercise. Nice talking to you," I shoot back, and watch her as the doors close. There was something unnerving about her cheeky grin, and kind of sexy. The unwavering bravado letting me know she is a shark that can smell blood in the water. I look at her card for a moment, tempted to toss it to the ground, but I place it in my wallet.

Taking the last floor through the stairs, I walk down the hall and turn into homicide where I see The Kaiser has put the whiteboard to use.

Willow's picture is on it, as well as Garfield's, with a note ruling him out as a suspect. A zoomed in picture of her tattoo along with a few others are present, so I will assume he made some headway on that lead last night. The window of her time of death is now significantly narrowed. The earliest we see her enter the condo on the surveillance video is Wednesday, meaning she did not leave her condo for over a full day. Kaiser is running off the theory the murder happened during a camera blackout of twenty-three minutes.

"What I miss?" I ask, The Kaiser turning over his shoulder to look at me. "Anything with the phones yet?"

"The iPhone transcripts for text and internet browser history are on your desk. I already poked through them, nothing of value, but feel free, maybe something will jump out to you."

"What does a coked-out prostitute Google between hand jobs?" I ask, putting my coat on the back of my chair.

"Mostly lyrics to Irish folk songs," The Kaiser replies, and I see that as I scroll through. Lyrics for 'Come to the Bower', 'Jug O' Punch', 'Black is the Color', and 'Willow Tree' are amongst her most recent searches. "Looks like she never stopped singing."

"The flip phone is still being processed. They're having some issue with it," The Kaiser explains as Leo leans out from his office and looks at us.

"Look sharp, Captain is coming for a progress briefing," Leo says, and I gesture to The Kaiser if he wants to take it, considering he has been up with it more than I have at this point. He is the logical leadoff hitter to fill in Captain Queen.

The Kaiser spends about ten minutes going over some notes before Captain Queen arrives, looking disheveled as always. No matter what he does, his beard just makes him look homeless. Do not let him fool you though, he is still a veteran detective, even if he looks like a hobo in a suit.

"Willow Goldberg, where are we?" Captain Queen asks, sitting in a chair while Leo leans out from his office door. The uniformed officers sit as well, pulling out their notebooks.

"Sir, since discovery of the body, we have narrowed down the time of death from a window of a little over twenty-four hours, to just twenty-three minutes..." The Kaiser begins, before Captain Queen interrupts.

"Important part first. Suspects?" Captain Queen asks.

"Not a specific one," The Kaiser says, "But we do know she was connected to the McCoy Irish crime family through a tattoo on her neck. It's a form of branding for their girls."

"Any known associates of the McCoy's have prior charges?" Captain Queen asks.

"That's part of the problem, our database for these families is limited. Very limited, we didn't even know all of the families that make up The Bar until last night."

"The Bar?"

"An unofficial name for four Irish crime families who work jointly."

"Motive?" Captain Queen asks, seeing how our suspect list is thin.

"Possibly drug or prostitution related, but nothing concrete. To make that worse, she was kind of a bitch. Aside from her parents, not a single person we spoke to about her, held her in a high regard. Hated so much she gets murdered though, I kind of doubt it."

"Any other clues still in development?"

"We found an old cellphone hidden under her sink," The Kaiser says.

"Old how?"

"Flip phone, no touch screen."

"Let me know what that reveals. You were saying about time of death?" Captain Queen asks.

"The last time we see her enter her condo, is around one thirty in the afternoon on Wednesday. However, on Thursday night, the camera system rebooted, causing a twenty-three-minute black out," The Kaiser explains, and Captain Queen is curious.

"Is this reboot normal procedure for the building?"

"It is, but if the killer knew about this, and used it, that shows a familiarity with the building and the victim who had no defensive wounds."

"It also shows premeditation, so murder one is a guarantee," Captain Queen says, satisfied that a murder one charge is possible. "Focus on known members of the McCoy family and take a deeper look into property holdings in the condo. She was found on the roof of her own home, so lean more on the drug side than the prostitution side of this."

"Yes sir," The Kaiser says, and I say it after he does.

"Before we all get back to work, I have two announcements. Sergeant Sweeney has been filling in as acting Lieutenant for a few months now. We got the official word this morning, so give me that Shield, you've outgrown it," Captain Queen says, and Leo pulls his Shield from his belt and hands it to Captain Queen, who then hands him a Lieutenant shield.

"And just like that, a Sergeant position is available," Captain Queen says, and tosses me the Sergeant Shield. "Sergeant Kramner." Holy shit. "Paperwork is already in, this isn't acting Sergeant, this is Sergeant."

I try to speak for nearly ten full seconds before I finally just say thank you. I pull my Shield from my belt and toss it to him. Captain Queen puts us back to work, and I look over at The Kaiser who inhales deeply and sighs, before sitting at his desk. He is trying not to show it, but he is pissed. When it becomes too much, he leaves the office, turns down the hall, and I hear the door to the stairs open and shut.

I look over at Leo to see what he will do, and he looks at me, wondering what I am going to do about it.

"What do you do, Sergeant?" Leo asks with a smile, then returns to his office. Fucking asshole.

This is the third time The Kaiser has been passed up for a promotion. It makes no sense. His case closure is high, his fitness and marksmanship are good, he is decorated, and puts in the hours. Why does this keep happening to him? I remember what Chief Whitaker said to me when he offered me this promotion during the summer. That The Kaiser was a sexual harassment lawsuit waiting to happen.

That confused me, because I looked for it after he said that. He has jokes like anyone else, but no behavior that stands out. He is cordial to female officers. This does not make any sense.

After a moment of hesitation, I follow The Kaiser to the stairwell, where he is pacing on the landing next to the door.

"Congrats, really. I just...yeah," The Kaiser says, extremely frustrated, and not wanting to take it out on me. "No matter what, that incident just hangs over my fucking career like a fucking storm cloud."

"What incident?" I ask. The Kaiser takes a deep breath to calm himself, then exhales it loudly.

"So about seven years ago now, when I was still with patrol, I pull this chick over. Routine traffic stop. She tries every trick a woman does. Bats eyelashes, cry, you name it, she fucking tried it. Her hail marry, was offering to blow me."

"Did you?" I ask.

"I was married at that time, so no, I didn't, and even if I wasn't married, I wouldn't have. I arrested her for propositioning a bribe to a police officer. Judge gives her like, fifty-hours community service. She turns around, and files a criminal sexual assault charge against me. I am immediately suspended pending investigation.

"Crazy thing, my body-cam was on, so her case was torpedoed. The department doesn't lift my suspension, because Chief Zorn throws me under the fucking bus when the local news takes hold of it. We're talking twenty-eighteen, peak hashtag me too bullshit. He only lifts the suspension when the Union damn near riots and they leak the body-cam footage to the press. The DA doesn't charge her for filing a false report, so I spend my own money to fuck her up in civil court, and I win. She never paid the restitution, and the legal fees caused more strain with Becky and I until she finally divorces me."

"If it was so obviously bullshit, why is this stopping you from getting promoted?" I ask.

"Because the way our records are kept. When you go through my file, you see I had a sexual complaint against me, but not the resolution. You have to dig for that. But if you're the Chief of Police and you're looking through a hundred files to promote ten people, how deep do you actually go?" The Kaiser asks, and now I get it. "I file a letter for statement of reasons every promotion cycle, doesn't matter."

"That sucks man," I say, unsure of what else I could possibly say.

"It does. You deserve to be a Sergeant, just know that. I know you're hesitant, but don't be. Let's just get this case moving again," he says and leaves the stairwell, but I stay on the landing as the door shuts.

--

Saturday -- December 13, 2025

-Derek Whitaker-

I come into my office much later in the morning than I normally would. My routine is usually stepping off the elevator and walking past my receptionist Jared's desk by six in the morning. Jared himself arrives and briefs me on my schedule by seven thirty. After that briefing I sit down and approve or disapprove outgoing press reports. On Tuesday and Thursday, I meet with the Mayor Oliver Maxwell to talk budget and pending high profile cases. When I get back from that meeting, I debrief my deputies on our priorities.

Saturday's are normally pretty quiet, and I am home by four in the afternoon. Part of the reason I am in so late is because Jill was out later than her usual. It was her first chance to get out since our twins were born, and she has certainly earned a night with no crying babies. I needed the extra sleep, so I come in at about nine in the morning. When I step off the elevator, I see Jared at his desk, and Detective Kramner sitting on one of the several chairs against the wall my appointments sit in. I am in late because of his birthday party, and I find it a little ironic he is my first appointment.

"Morning Detective," I say, and he stands up at attention quickly. "Or should I say Sergeant Detective. Link let you know right?"