Big Chicago

Big Chicago (Part 28)…by Samayel


Congressman Lucius Malfoy closed the doors of his office, having only just shooed away the last of his assistants and campaign personnel. No matter how important his campaign might be, some matters required the utmost of privacy. This call was one of them.

In the world of politics, there were three kinds of people. There were those who did not matter, and they were the largest category. The vast majority of people had no value of any kind, and no significant input save for their single vote. That vote was easy to acquire through the standard party lines and a little well groomed charisma, and once those little votes were given, the relationship between voter and elected promptly ended until the next election cycle. It wasn’t the substance that mattered with these people, it was the image, the quotes, and the ’perception’…not the reality.

The second group was made of those people who did matter, and there was a surprising number of them. Sometimes a real estate executive, other times a union representative. A respected artist or actor, or a little known lobbyist with good connections. The chairman of a charitable foundation or the chief of the local police. In their own small way, these people had clout. They had a small measure of influence, and that made them valuable. Useful. Worth the effort of dealing with from day to day and week to week.

The third group was different. It was much, much smaller. The third group was made up of those who TRULY mattered. It was a tiny club, occupied by a handful of people that had no boundaries, and to whom words like ’state’ or ’country’ meant absolutely nothing except abstract differences of location on a map. With these people, the rules were simple and clear no matter where they were, and no matter who they were dealing with. They had connections far beyond the norm, and wealth that made all things possible. These were the people you always made time for.

People like Mr. Riddle.

At precisely 2:15 pm, Lucius Malfoy sat at his desk and opened a small bottle of Johnny Walker Blue Label scotch. He sipped it neat, no ice, and savored the warm feeling that came of knowing that his future was about to be made into a concrete certainty. To date, he had enjoyed two discreet conversations with that repulsive little lawyer that worked for the Enigma Corp., Pettigrew, but given that his ability to get things done in Chicago depended on his level of interest, he hadn’t devoted the whole of his time and effort to getting the Downtown Revitalization Project back on its feet. The personal involvement of Mr. Riddle made certain rewards possible, and allowed the opportunity to make a good impression on one of the people who truly mattered. That was worth putting the whole of his influence behind the project! TV soundbites were one thing…but with the right motivation, Lucius knew he had enough influence to make a very serious difference.

That was the secret of American politics, and in many ways, politics the world over. It was a game of treading the fine line between people’s interests. A fine example was immigration. The people who didn’t matter hated it, and wanted it severely restricted, and would vote for anyone who would promise relief from the perceived tidal wave of economic competition that came from arriving immigrants.

Then there were the people who did matter, and these were split down the middle, some benefiting from low cost, migrant labor, and others opposed to it for various principles. Generally, they just wanted to make their constituents happy, one way or the other. For some it was patriotism or the rule of law, for others, obvious bigotry, but it didn’t really matter what motivated them.

And last came the few who truly mattered, and their word was law. Immigrants and migrant labor reduced average wages and costs, without the sticky attachments of pensions or medical care. Economics dictated that a niche would always exist for foreign workers, and economics always won. Instead of the obvious border being the source of cheap labor, people were being shipped in from impoverished countries around the world, working in hotels, restaurants, casinos and other establishments. All with proper visas, all completely legal, all paid less than an American would expect or charged for room and board, which cut their wages down to a pittance. The obvious targets for politicians and pundits were people with a different skin color, who couldn’t speak English fluently. Less obvious were the people who looked just like the sons or daughters of your neighbors. It was the image…never the substance.

The game of politics was brinksmanship at its finest, finding ways to move legislation that would never become law, but appeared to please the masses, so that you could claim honestly to have ’tried’ on their behalf. You could create impotent, un-funded restrictions and ridiculously mild penalties that satisfied one camp, while doing next to nothing to change the actual situation. All it took was a little time to draw attention away from any given hot-button issue, and a new bone to throw in front of the media dogs, and yesterday’s news was dead and forgotten.

The little people went their way, convinced that they’d won a great victory, or frustrated but at least grateful to their champion. The ones who mattered would either be ecstatic or outraged, and some needed a little finesse to keep them from turning completely against you. The real players, the Tom Riddles of the world, got precisely what they wanted, and the Lucius Malfoys savored the thrill of the game, and enjoyed the rewards it brought. Money was only a scorecard, but the game was the oldest game in the world…power. It wasn’t Riddle’s wealth that really mattered…it was his influence. A few favorable phone calls, and half of Washington would be lining up to back Lucius’ candidacy. Now that was worth some extra effort!

‘Senator Malfoy. God, but I love the ring of that! The last springboard. City alderman, congressman, senator…and there’s only one last pinnacle to climb after that. It’s been a good, long while since a proper Midwesterner took the country’s helm. Here’s a toast to lofty goals!’

The last of the whiskey slid down his throat, sweet, smoky fire that took the edge off of long office days and endless handshakes and phone calls. Then the phone rang. Once…twice…and a heart beat before the third, Lucius raised the phone to his ear and leaned back in his seat with a smile.

“Good afternoon, sir. So very good to speak to you in person at last. Yes…I understand your concern. I think we all want what’s best for Chicago, and I can certainly take steps to move things forward…assuming, of course, that this is something you’d like?

“Very good, sir. Yes. Yes. As it happens, I’ll be dining with the mayor and the police commissioner tonight. Ahhh…and Mr. Scrimgeour will be there? I see. Well, you can rest assured that, with the city’s finest working toward a common goal, we can find ways to bring this project back online.

“Ah…hah….so you have heard of my candidacy? Well…the support of someone of your stature would be very, very welcome, sir. Really? Well…with that kind of support on the line, I can promise you that the whole of my attention will be on getting things in line here.

“As you wish. Good afternoon to you, sir. We’ll look forward to hearing from again. Good bye.”

Lucius put the receiver down with a soft click, then smiled like a Cheshire cat. He’d already prepared a list of calls he’d have to make. Now that he had the promised support of one of the world’s most influential men, he could put all of his pieces into play. Alternative contractors to replace the ones who had pulled out of the deal. Pressure he could level against people who wanted to become uninvolved but could still be persuaded. Rewards that could be offered to lure the hesitant back into the fold. Lucius Malfoy had fully entered the game…and Lucius always got what he wanted.

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“This is complete bullshit, Fletcher! You’re telling me you’ve got nothing? Not one damn thing? Remember…you owe me, and I can drop a dime and see your ass fired in a heartbeat!”

Remus was putting the pressure on his favorite inside man, a droopy faced little weasel that had been busted filching money and other valuables from the evidence storage rooms. Fletcher had been suspended, investigated, and eventually demoted and pushed off to the records department despite being past his prime and notably ungifted. The man’s only real knack was for disappearing when trouble was afoot, and that had made him a survivor during past staff cuts. He was almost retirement age. The threat of being fired now was one that really hit home.

Fletcher leaned across the table of the greasy spoon diner they were eating lunch in and grabbed Remus’ sleeve, eyes bulging with desperation.

“C’mon! Please! I’m telling ya’…I tried. I know I owe you…and you know I wouldn’t hold out…not on you! I looked everywhere I could. All I could get was this. The same stuff you already got. DMV records for a bunch of Potters. Social Security on the same ones. Credit checks. Court records for all the local ones. Nothin’ new. I wanna help ya’, but I did what I could…not my fault there’s nothing new to tell, is it? Don’t do this to me, huh, Remmy?”

Fletcher was a liar, a thief, and worst of all…still a cop…even after all the mistakes he’d made. He only had his job because whenever they could afford to, cops looked out for their brothers and sisters in blue. If you wore the uniform, you knew the rulebook, and you knew which rules were rules, and which rules left a little room for imagination. He’d been a good beat cop, and even decent junior detective, before he’d gone dirty. Remus and others that had known him had all made statements that had protected Fletcher from being fired or even charged with theft or larceny. Remus couldn’t say he trusted the man…but he believed him. Fletcher wanted to ride out his last few years peacefully, then retire with a pension. He was almost certainly telling the truth.

“Okay…okay! I’m just a little frustrated at the moment. I get a big payoff on this job if I can just find this guy. Problem is, he’s slicker than puppy snot on a rubber doormat! No one has anything on this guy. No pictures. No computer records. No credit record. All I’ve got is what I’ve started with. One blurry, black and white picture of a young man with short, dark hair and a scar on his head. Harry Potter, age 24 or 25 now, white male, black hair, green eyes, maybe 5’10 or 5’11, 170 to 180 pounds. Out of all the Potters in the credit and phone records, and off the state and national records, none of them match the one I need. I’ll tell ya’ what, Fletch. If you come up with more, or catch a little useful office scuttlebutt by keeping your ears open, there’s a bonus in it for you. A good one. Okay?”

Fletcher sighed and let go of the sleeve he’d been holding, then dived back into his soup and sandwich.

“Okay then! Mmm. Good soup. I can do that. Hey…I ain’t got any paperwork on this…but when you said office rumors…it got me thinking. They were looking for a guy named Harry Black. Black hair, green eyes. Had something to do with that prison riot last month. Right before every punk hood in the fuckin’ city started shooting at their neighbors. I could keep my ear to ground, see if they’re connected.”

Remus paused a moment. He’d read about the prison riots in the paper…along with the endless articles and news coverage of the recent mob killings. He hadn’t heard the name Harry Black brought up once. It had to be one of those pieces of inside information that didn’t get shared with the press. That meant it was probably a very, very shaky lead at best, the kind that needed more work before it could even be mentioned on the news. Still…black hair…green eyes. It was something to think about.

And that raised questions as well. If it was the same guy...why would some weasely British lawyer want the location of a man wanted for questioning about a prison riot? Something in the puzzle was missing…like most of the fucking pieces, but Remus could just feel it. Sometimes, detective work was all intuition…and other times it was strict science. Today it was intuition.

“Okay. Get me what you can on Harry Black. Good enough. I’ll drop the usual payment off at your house. The bonus is still on if this turns out to have any connection to what I’m working on. You know I’m good for it.”

Fletcher nodded his head, then tucked back into soup with gusto. “Okay, Remmy. You got it.”

The TV behind the diner’s service counter was blaring. An Asian teenager with a tattoo had been mistaken for a gang member in a neighborhood that had experienced a recent killing, and was hospitalized in critical condition after being assaulted by local gangers with baseball bats. In another neighborhood, police in riot gear and a SWAT response team had been called in after two rival gangs had entered into a full time turf war, resulting a two hour shootout with five deaths, three hospitalizations, and seven arrests. It was the same every day. It got worse and worse, and the summer heat just kept sizzling. Remus had taken to carrying his coat instead of wearing it for the last week, and there was no end in sight.

Something had to crack soon. Hopefully…it would just be this case. Still, at least the soup was good.

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Seamus Finnigan smirked while he worked. He couldn’t help it. He was basically a happy person, especially since he loved his job. The Royal Navy had been good to him, and he’d been good to it. Some people imagined a life of ships and travel in the navy, others still joked that the British navy was still ’run, sodomy, and the lash’, but in truth, it was a far more modern place than the historic picture often painted of it. Especially if you were an intelligence officer and an expert in computer espionage.

Admittedly, he’d joined up with the notion of traveling around the world, but his natural gifts for computer science and programming and his high test scores had put him on the fast track for an intelligence job, and when he’d realized the difference a career like that could make in his pay…well, that was just one more reason to smile. Still…it would have been nice to travel around the world…mostly because other countries all had women, and women were always interesting, here or anywhere else.

After all, he was twenty five years old, a top specialist in his field, a commissioned officer, and as fit and well trained as the Queen’s finest could ever be. With all that going for him, why wouldn’t he want to crown the experience with a more active dating life? Sadly, he spent much of his time in front a computer, decrypting or debugging this or that. It was a challenge every day, and Seamus liked a challenge, so that was alright enough by him.

Today it was a series of heavily coded messages from Japan. Yesterday it was a new virus that was launched from Tanzania. The day before it had been Eastern European communiqués being scanned for ’code words’. Always different, always exciting in its own way. Even if it meant lots of office time and occasional weird shifts depending on the priority of the situation.

That aside…meeting some cute girls would be nice. Just the thought was enough to make him smirk. That, and the I-pod he had tucked into his left ear was playing a little number by Shane MacGowan and The Popes. Seamus whispered along while his fingers rattled the keyboard furiously.

“Cohoya! Ya’ fucks! Come hell or high water…I mighta fucked yer missus, but I never fucked yer daughter…Fa-diddly-aaah…Fa-diddly-aaah…”

‘God bless ya’, Shane. The ugliest man in Christendom, and still a fuckin’ poet right down to his socks. Also…probably gets more girls than me. Lucky devil.’

And then it was time for the next file, and then the next, but Seamus was still smirking. The same as always.

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“You can’t be serious! Sir! We’ve done everything we could do. You’ve read the reports we’ve turned in, and the conclusions are the best we could offer. I’d go as far as to say that there isn’t a person here that could have done more than we have. Don’t take us off of this. Not now!”

Kingsley tugged gently at the sleeve of Dora’s coat, and the reminder of his presence grounded her. She’d put too many hours in, and was tired right down to her bones, and frankly more than a little emotional about the implication that they’d failed. The meeting room was quiet for a moment while their superior nodded calmly.

“Dora, no one…and I mean no one, is saying that you haven’t done all you could. This entire situation is a tangled mess, and I’m not saying that anyone could do better. Sometimes a fresh mind puts things together a different way. You’ve been at this since it started, and you’ve both been troopers, but we need some changes, and we need some breaks. You’re not being dropped out of the loop on this. You’ll be doing field work just like before, and Agent Dawlish will be coordinating all of this from now on. I figured you’d be happy to get home before ten o’clock at night for once, and frankly, you both need the break. Have looked at yourselves? You both look like hell. The only thing you’ve done is your best…and I’m not forgetting it. Alright?”

The slim federal agent across from their department head nodded, then gave an oily smirk. Dawlish stood up and opened a file folder, one of dozens that had compiled their findings regarding potential links between killings.

“You’ve done very well, and I’m sure I’ll be very satisfied with the results of your investigations into more specific cases. There have been fifteen arrests since this started, and while we have managed to thin the ranks of local crime syndicates, when they’re not thinning their own ranks, we haven’t yet gotten one solid scrap about how this started. Just some nebulous connections between a man who appears to not exist and a prison riot. It’s our opinion that this case needs a new direction, and I think I can provide that. Your chief and I need to have a little meeting now, and we have a lot of ground to cover. I hope you’ll be professional enough to let this rest without further histrionics?”

Dora simmered in her own rage for a second, hating the snide implication of un-professionalism. As if this asshole had any idea how things worked here? Or what her working relationship was like with her boss. Kingsley broke the tension with a broad smile and a nudge at her shoulder, addressing them calmly.

“Thank you, Agent Dawlish. I’ve been looking forward to seeing my wife for more than a few minutes before bed and after waking. We’ll be at your disposal, and we know this case like no one else, so you can hand us any part of this investigation you see fit, and what you’ll get is field work on the same par as always. Boss…we’ll see you tomorrow. Agent Dawlish…have a nice day.”

They were out the door and walking down the hall before Dora heard Kingsley whisper what he’d really wanted to say.

“You pompous little air-headed, ass-kissing, glory stealing, no-good miserable cock-sucking son of a bitch. There. I feel better already. How’s Starbucks sound? You look like you need a break. We’re out of here at five-thirty for the first time this month, and you need to relax. It ain’t like you didn’t give ’em your best, Dora. We got nothing to be ashamed of…’cause that smarmy little asshat won’t make any more progress than we did.”

Dora Tonks took a series of deep breaths as they entered the elevator.

“Okay. I’m fine. Just…god dammit! What could anyone have done? All we’ve run into are dead ends and red herrings. It’s like shoveling smoke with a pitchfork in the wind! Something is going on here, and I can just ‘feel’ it. There are connections between events that we just can’t see, and there’s nothing to prove it, but I’d swear this whole mess has been orchestrated somehow. I just can’t prove it. I really wanted this one, Kingsley. I’ve never dropped the ball before. Not on the job. No matter how you paint it, this still feels like failure. I’m just not used to it.”

“Me either! But we’re still on the case. No black marks on our record. Just a little bruise to the ego. I can live with that. Besides, if I get home before seven, Deirdre’s gonna dance for joy. Try to keep an eye on the bright side of things, right? You miss Luna, don’t you?”

They were back in the halls and headed for the front entrance before Dora slowed her pace enough to speak calmly again. It was a good thing Kingsley had long legs and endless patience.

“Yeah. It…it hasn’t been all that good at home lately. You know how its been. The phone calls, the histrionics and tears. I get home and it’s silence mostly, because we can’t even talk without having a fight. We just keep it to ourselves because Diana doesn’t need to hear any of that. Maybe…maybe we can patch some of this up with a little more time off. I hope. It’s not like I haven’t missed my life.”

“Don’t I know it, Tonksy! I haven’t heard you wax poetic about the virtues of a girlfriend with a pierced tongue in almost a month! You gotta give a straight man his vicarious thrills, ya’ know?”

Dora chuckled for what felt like the first time in weeks while they strolled out into the summer heat. Trust Kingsley to break up the tension just when it was most needed. An iced mocha was suddenly sounding really, really good.

“Yeah, yeah. You guys and your lesbian fantasies. Let’s go. Maybe we won’t be the ones who break this wide open, but it won’t be because we didn’t try.”

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“YOU…YOU INSIPID LITTLE SHIT!”

Peter Pettigrew cringed as the paperweight Mr. Riddle had flung crashed into his arm. The old man was almost apoplectic with fury, wisps of white hair fluttering on a nearly bald head, eyes bulged with rage and mouth pinched into a tight line when not opening for shouted insults.

“Do NOT tell me you have nothing! I am paying a fortune for information, and I am getting excuses! I did not pay for excuses! I paid for information! I could train a monkey to replace you for all the good you’re doing! And don’t you think you’re irreplaceable! I’m sick of your sniveling! Get out! Get out of my sight or I’ll dispose of you myself! GO!”

Peter fled the room in a hurry, passing MacNair in the hall outside. It was like this more and more lately. Fits of temper that showed how the old man was slipping. Especially since New York. No gratitude! No gratitude at all! After the New York debacle, who had made every arrangement? Who had secured a new location? Who had managed every whispered request and made every pertinent phone call? He had…that’s who!

A lifetime ago, he’d met a man who simmered with power and confidence, the whole world at his fingertips and dancing to his tune. It had seemed like the key to a life of luxury. Now he slaved away for a bitter, hateful, old wreck of a human being, threatened with death almost weekly, and sometimes daily. And the old man was just crazy enough to do it!

Had it all been worth it? Turning his back on the Phoenix Corporation, slipping information to Riddle until he’d been forced to flee, signing a deal with this living devil just to secure a living for himself where his former employers could never find him?

He had to find Potter! Everything else had become window dressing. Only Potter’s death would put him back in good graces with Tom Riddle. Back to manipulating the transfers of funds and making discreet contact with Mr. Riddle’s endless connections around the globe. Back to meetings in the finest board rooms and executive flights and five star hotels.

He had to find Potter. Unfortunately…Potter didn’t want to be found.

Peter wrung his hands nervously as he headed for his office and his secure line. It was time to up the ante. He could raise the promised bonus to fifty thousand for the investigator that brought him what he needed. That ought to make some ears prick up, and it certainly ought to make some of them use ’unorthodox’ methods for acquiring information. Greed was a great motivator, and he knew that to be a fact. The only one stronger was fear, and Peter had plenty of that, too. More than enough to keep him working thru dinner. Enough to keep him talking ‘til his throat was hoarse, and enough to keep the phone up until his shoulders ached while he passed the receiver from hand to hand.

Harry Potter would be found. Somehow…somewhere. One way or another. And then Harry Potter would die, no matter what it took to make it happen.

TBC!!!