Big Chicago

Big Chicago Part 34...by Samayel


I suppose I’ve had better days. Being hooted at, whistled to and generally applauded by my coworkers based on the quality of my performance with Harry…viewed live on camera for at least a minute by at least three people who were waiting for the cameras to come back online. Ron hasn’t spoken to me in two days, and still vaguely glowers every so often, so I’d say it’s a safe guess that he saw more than he ever wanted to.

But really, can you blame me for not saying no to Harry? I mean, seriously…the man is unbearably hot.

That aside, it isn’t unbearable. Even if I’m the cause of some knowing smirks, and even if I’m up to my elbows in a pile of files to be scanned for keywords and potentially worthwhile information, AND even if it’s only a few days until I visit my father’s offices downtown…life is sweet, and when I go home from this I play piano to my heart’s content, or paint until my wrist hurts, or read what I please and dine on food fit for a king. And I earn it. It doesn’t come without sacrifice, and that makes it all the sweeter.

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“Dora…I just don’t know. I mean…Remus is a decent enough guy and all…and you know I trust him and you, but my gut tells me this is a wrong move…like my wife’s pot roast.”

Kingsley scratched his jaw, grimacing slightly. It had been the better part of a week of pointless interviews, including another trip to squeeze that worthless douche bag Flint in the prison hospital ward. It was a glory-free zone, no thrilling busts, no leading large teams, no sudden leaps forward…and while no one was upset about the sudden drop in violence citywide, the mayor and Rufus Scrimgeour were congratulating each other on concentrated arrests aimed at street level gangsters who had played, at best, a minor role. Not that this wasn’t a good thing, but even Kingsley had to admit that it wasn’t even close to answering the stacks of questions that remained.

And Dora had gotten restless. The trip to question Flint wasn’t really necessary per se, but she’d formed some opinions that didn’t jibe well with management’s view of the case, and even if she’d been discreet enough to keep her thoughts between herself, Remus and Kingsley, there was no way to turn this information in without creating a firestorm of internal wrangling that might anger a few important people.

“I know it seems thin, Kingsley…but…you and I both know that they’re kidding themselves if they think they’ve solved this. Street gangsters didn’t hack the city power grid. Street gangsters don’t leave money and weapons and drugs untouched. Street gangsters don’t work without leaving any trail of any kind. You can’t be suggesting quitting this case or just turning in a total collection of lies just to make them happy…can you? Besides…I have some plausible connections here!”

Dora’s tone was uncharacteristically curt and snappish while she sipped her latte. Quitting had never been a part of her vocabulary. Not that she hadn’t known setbacks in life, and not every case had been solved, but every case with leads to follow had been followed to the best of her ability, and ignoring a plausible answer was almost against her religion. Being stumped this long, only to be shuffled off the case’s leadership and relegated to the role of common detective, and then to have a few tantalizing clues dangled before her…well…it was more than she could stand!

“Hey, love…easy there, killer. We see eye to eye on the facts…I’m only playin’ devil’s advocate here. Where we gonna go with this? You know and I know…plausible isn’t necessarily trial worthy…and we don’t even have a suspect…we have a name and a picture…that’s all. I admit it’s odd that you can’t find anything on this guy Black, but put yourself in the bosses shoes for a minute. Would you take a handful of leads that make sense but haven’t been formally connected, and hand them to an FBI agent with your stamp of approval? He’d look like a clown…and he won’t do that. That’s all I’m saying, okay? I’m looking’ out for the both of us here.”

Dora sighed and opened another folder of cold case files she’d requested from records. Remus had given her new inspiration, even if it was just a small measure of hope, but Kingsley’s practicality and caution wasn’t misplaced. The man was right. They needed a stronger connection…badly. Any connection. And that was what brought her to the cold case files, many of which had been faxed from out of state. She’d taken the unusual measure of requesting a broad search of cases from the last three years from twenty major metropolitan areas with high organized crime rates. Sometimes the problem was that the connection wasn’t local…and that meant research. Lots of research.

“Sorry…just…stressed. Flint gave us a possible positive ID on that picture, and I got excited, but here we are and that’s all we’ve gotten since. It just isn’t enough. I’m not dropping this until I’ve done everything I can do. We haven’t got a motive, but at least we finally have a suspect…sort of. We had a string of killings in just a few weeks, of which several involved a variety of 9mm pistols, probably silenced. We have sophisticated interference with the electric grid for the city on less than a quarter of those cases, but each of those cases involved locations where street cameras, gas stations or ATM’s nearby might have logged an image we could use. The other locations had no cameras.

We know, almost beyond doubt, that the people who did this must be top level hired guns. If not one man, then one primary man and a small team to back him up, and I’m betting that this Harry Black is the man we’re looking for. We also know that almost all of the victims were low to middle level members of organized crime groups inside the city, while none of the biggest players were hit at all. The decision makers were left untouched…but the errand boys and lieutenants were getting killed left and right. That’s not open warfare. If you want a snake dead…cut off the head…not the tail. It’s very possible that these killings weren’t randomly chosen, but selective and intended to make a point. If we can’t find the man…maybe we can at least figure out the point that was being made. That could lead us the rest of the way.

If I can just find some similar patterns in other cities, I might have a way to push this theory to the boss without looking like an idiot in the process. Which one have you got?”

Kingsley nodded and smiled. You had to love her determination. Dogged Dora never quit…it was what got her this job, and he couldn’t have held that against her even if he tried.

“I got Miami, then Houston and Los Angeles…is that New Orleans you got?”

“Yeah…then Detroit, then Philly, then New York.”

“Did I ever tell you about the time I played the third quarter of a game for Duke with torn triceps?”

“Yeah…why?”

“That was so much more fun than this.”

“I love you too, Kingsley.”

At least some people made a bad day at the job a little more tolerable, and Dora thanked her lucky stars for a good partner one last time before diving back into the folder in front of her.

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The picnic blanket was spread across the grass, and a few ants had already made exploratory attempts to make their way toward the pastry box before being flicked back into the wilderness of the park. Ron and Hermione nibbled at the edges of their treats while sipping coffee and chatting, the nervous energy between them oddly muted for once. It was hot and muggy out, without enough wind to really enjoy the lakeside properly, but there was no silence hanging between them, and they enjoyed each word that fell from tongue to ear.

“We never really talked about our families before, did we?”

“Well…it’s not like we could have…we were at work most of the time and busy…and we’ve never really been out together where we were free to talk safely.”

Hermione had been pleasantly surprised so far, finding Ron to be surprisingly sensitive when he tried. He wasn’t a poet or a scholar, but there was a poetry about the way he struck to the heart of things, wearing his thoughts on his face for all to see, without pretense or preening. In college, most boys had been enamored of cheerleaders and sorority girls with the familiar measurements of models or porn stars…and not particularly attentive to overly bright girls who spent most of their free time with books or prepping research papers. Maybe she couldn’t discuss cryptography techniques and programming lore with him, but he had an openness about him that was irresistible…almost puppyish.

“Well…I’ll start if you like? I mean…you’ve got white noise generator on, right?”

“Sure.” Hermione nodded, patting her purse. It was a calculated gamble, here in the park, assuming that no one would call them for at least a half hour, but it was necessary to speak freely…and while the little machine blocked any interception of communication and ruined any attempts to eavesdrop electronically…it also made it impossible to receive calls until it was safely off again. Still, the others at the office knew what to do, and knew where they’d gone from first step to last, and at random intervals she would shut the machine off and check for messages.

“Well…my family is from West Virginia…coal country. Dad did workplace inspections for the state…which is mostly rubber stamping ‘yes’ on things. They really don’t like it when people rock the boat and slow up work there. He never could get used to just staying silent and doing what he was told…so he never really got promotions like other people in his office. Got six bothers and a sister…an’ I’m the youngest of the boys. I can always remember the big house being crowded, even when I was little. The first thing I got when I moved out was a place of my own that was as big as I could afford.

Not that it was bad, but there wasn’t much work back home…just mining mostly…and there’s no real money in it unless you own the mine. It’s a long way to town from where we live…and when I say town…it’s not like here. Just a couple churches, a gas station and repair shop, the post office and the sheriff share the same building, a bank and a general store where you can get most of what you really need to get by. My brother Charlie is the town veterinarian…great horse doctor too. Bill works at the bank…an’ sells insurance on the side. Percy works for the same company as dad…but he spends all his time kissing up to management. I think he imagines that they’re actually impressed by that, but I can’t figure it. I’d only be disgusted. Fred and George…they’re twins…an’ they have a mail order gag gift business they run. You can’t even imagine what it was like growing up with them. Mostly…they used me as a test dummy until I was old enough to fight them off. My little sister does day care and mostly helps my mom when she can, but I know she wants to leave there too. I don’t think any of us were really that cut out for small town life. Then there’s me…I just loved cars. Dad loved to tinker with stuff in the garage for hours. Old cars, vacuum cleaners, radios and TV’s…anything electronic or mechanical. I guess I picked it up from him, just watching him take things apart and put them together for hours, then helping when I could fetch tools.

Don’t think they liked me racing much, because Mom always worried that I’d crash. I did…but it’s not like it was anything worse than a broken collarbone once. Well…and a broken nose from a steering wheel. My face hit the inside of my helmet so hard that I cracked a tooth and broke my nose…after that I bought a better helmet.

They don’t really know what I do now. They were so happy when they heard I wasn’t working the racetracks anymore. They think I’m a chauffeur and vehicle maintenance chief for a millionaire…and it’s mostly true, but it still feels like lying when you leave out the rest. I can’t send money home or anything…because I can’t do anything traceable…and what would they think if I dropped a bundle of hundred dollar bills in their laps? Mom would start asking questions, Dad would get all stiff necked and refuse to take it. I haven’t seen them in two years. Just phone calls every week when I can use secure lines. What about you? I always wondered where geniuses come from?”

Hermione blushed, liking the fact that she was actually able to. The question had a hint of levity in it, just a little sign that while he was impressed by her, he didn’t take it so seriously that it put her on some impossible pedestal.

“Nowhere all that special. Upstate New York. My father is a dentist…my mom was the dental hygienist at his first practice out of college. I grew up in the suburbs, but I didn’t have any brothers or sisters…only child. My parents love what they do, but it wasn’t everything to them, they love books, magazines, travel, science…you name it. I just picked up everything around the house and read it at one point or another. I don’t know…maybe it was the realization that there were so many things out there that I didn’t know yet…but they were out there waiting to be found. I’m still like that and I know it. I wasn’t really interested in social things, and I know my parents would have been thrilled if I’d shown more interest in sports or extracurricular activities, but it wasn’t really what I wanted.

I could have graduated from high school at fourteen, but they insisted on my staying in school at the regular pace, and I wound up taking college courses while still in high school just to stay busy. I had my first Associate degree in computer science a month after I graduated as Valedictorian, and then I was off to college. It wasn’t like I didn’t know people…I did…but mostly I studied and took extra classes. I was involved in a little bit of activism on campus…which I suspect is how I got recruited by the our employer. I wrote a Poli-Sci analysis that didn’t sit well with a few of my instructors, but the whole thing blew over…probably after a phone call from Mr. White, and a month later I was being interviewed for this job.

I couldn’t have said no…this is probably the most worthwhile thing I could be doing with my life. Most people lobby for social change by entering into a system rigged for paralysis and failure, and once they’re engaged they become part of the same machine for inaction that IS the problem. I have a job where changes are MADE to happen, where we can do something now to make the world just a little bit better of a place. I wouldn’t trade this for any other career anywhere.”

Ron raised an eyebrow and smirked.

“So you’re pretty indifferent about it…no strong opinions on the subject at all?”

Hermione almost fell for it, bristling as if he hadn’t listened at all, when the smirk plastered on his face shifted to a grin. Ron Weasley wasn’t by half as slow as he pretended to be…and in a way that excited her more than she liked to admit…

…but she still wanted to smear a pastry across that smug grin.

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You’d think I’d be better prepared than this. You’d think after all I’ve absorbed and adapted to in the past months that I’d be able to handle this with ease. You’d think I’d have the good sense to back out before things reached critical mass. You’d be thinking wrong, and that brings me to here, and now, sitting in the gracious lobby outside my father’s office, dressed like an upscale young lady of quality, tarted and dolled up to garner his vocal support for a new charity. It all sounded so easy at first, but my stomach is ashes and bile, and I can barely stand the sound of my heart pounding in my ears.

He gets visits like these all the time. It’s just part of what Congress-people do, and Hermione created the pat little cover story for the secretary, then coached me until I knew it by heart…the fake names and aspirations, the false identification for the security people…and the decision to dress this way was my choice, a final cheap shot to my father, who will probably have me thrown out of here a heartbeat after he realizes it’s me. This outfit eliminates the chance of being recognized until I’m close...and by then I’ll have just enough access to drop the listening device into place, so tiny that nothing short of a vacuum could pick it up. It’s a perfect plan.

Except that I want to run away and puke. Family is a funny thing. You can’t really get away from them, even if you’ve never met them, or never see them. Everything you are comes down to two people, and the people who made them. I could have left this to others, but I wanted to see him. I brought this on because I need that closure too…not so different from the way I dealt with Blaise. I need this closure. I probably won’t see him again in this lifetime, and I want him to know I’m still here. Harry came into my life and made these things possible…and maybe it is all grand coincidence…but if it is fate…if it was a chance given to me to cut the ties to the past and take my life back…how could I waste it?

Of course, in the end, it means being alone in a room with a man who threw me away when I was sixteen, and made sure I stayed away for good. The last time I saw him, one of my eyes was blurry from being punched in the face and crying pathetically, with a crumpled hundred in one hand as I crawled into a taxi. Time heals all wounds…but it doesn’t really erase anything. Not the important things…not moments like that.

“Congressman Malfoy will see you now. I’m afraid he has an impromptu teleconference in fifteen minutes, so please be as succinct as possible, alright?”

“Yes…thank you.”

And I’m on unsteady legs, trying to walk slow and cool like I haven’t a care in the world. My purse has been checked, but the bug is under my nail. I actually have three…just in case one gets lost or if I have the opportunity to plant more than one, and my fingernails were a perfect place to secure them so that they could be chipped free and dropped easily. The world feels like a slow motion film, everything taking far too long to happen, and I’m just hanging in the balance, unsure of what’s to come.

An opened door, a heartbeats worth of surveillance while he’s flipping through a pile of papers, and on the way in I drop a bug into the potted plant just to the right of the entrance with no more than a careless flick. The door is closed behind me and I’m walking forward, and he looks older, but a few years haven’t really taken anything from him. Still powerful, contained…God! He’s like Harry that way! What a horrible fucking thought to have! You don’t think about things like that…especially at times like this! I was too young to consider at the time, but isn’t this the kind of person I always find? One way or another, a sense of confidence and competence makes me feel safe, and this is the root of that habit!

I can read him better than some, and as he stands to shake my hand and utters the usual pleasantries I can see the machinery working behind his eyes. The assessment of me being made. Who am I? What is my value? Will he take my words seriously or not? Will dealing with me increase his opportunities or be a waste of time and effort? These are the player’s questions. Even with a steady smile and a calm manner, I can tell I’m swimming in a shark’s cage. I don’t shake his hand…I wait…and his first look of faint confusion and annoyance is interrupted when my hand pulls the sunglasses from my eyes, giving him the first unobstructed view of my face since I walked in.

It takes only a second for him to grasp it. I can see it all flash in his eyes. Surprise, disgust, rage…and then it vanishes in a skillful flicker of control, never once showing on his face as anything more than a faint tightening of his jaw.

“Hi…”

Yeah…I know…I am such a poet when things are tense, but walk in my heels for a minute and see if you can manage eloquence under duress!

He slumps back into the enormous leather office chair and steeples his hands, as cool as ice, letting his detachment be his weapon. Every part of him seems to emanate the words ‘You don’t matter’ to me, and I don’t know what to say. Then he fills the silence with a few words.

“I suppose it was only a matter of time. I’m assuming you need money?”

That shakes me out my reverie in a flash, and I can’t be as cool as he is.

“NO! I…you don‘t…I’m fine. I don’t need anything.”

That raises an eyebrow. He plucks a bottle of bourbon from his desk drawer and a small glass, pouring himself a small shot while he answers. I can feel the disdain drip from him, the disappointment and naked repulsion are more than just audible…they almost crowd the room.

“Really? Hmph. I can only guess how you’ve managed that. I actually expected you sooner than this. I heard you were released early…but not by much. How much will it take to get you out of town? For good. Some of us have things we’d like to accomplish besides looking like a glorified tart, and I don’t need any interruptions…or embarrassments.”

“I don’t want money. I just…I came to show that I was still alive, but I guess you still keep track of everything that might make itself a nuisance, don’t you?”

“Well…good for you. You’re still alive. Congratulations. You’ve managed what most of the world does daily. Here’s your trophy. So…are you going to be a problem or aren’t you? It figures you’d pop back up during an election cycle…you’re timing was always shit poor. Must be nice to be consistent and dedicated at something besides cock-sucking.”

Ever had your own worst fears about yourself echoed to you by someone who really knows you…or at least used to? It stings…badly.

“I’m not here to make trouble for you either. I just thought I should see you before I get on with the rest of my life. I don’t want money and I won’t bother you again…if that’s what you want.”

“Still a sentimental, are you? As moody as your mother ever was. Well understand this…I’ll be opening a campaign soon, and the last thing I need is you plastered on every tabloid across the country when some hotshot reporter notices that no one has seen anything about my son in nine years. You caused a few rumors back then, too, and I put time and effort into erasing them. What I want-”

And I finally lose it, face burning hot and ears ringing.

“No…”

“What? You-”

“NO! I’ll go out of my way to make sure no one knows who I am or what I’m up to…fine…but I’ve been gone for nine fucking years! You could have taken just one phone call from me! My entire life could have been different after you made your fucking point! I paid for my mistakes…and I mean REALLY paid! And all you can do is get on your high horse and act like I came here just to fuck up your wet dream? Was I that terrible of a son to you? That you can’t even say ‘good luck’ or ‘have a good life’? What the hell is wrong with you?”

I don’t know where the confidence came from…maybe that Harry and Ron are around the block in a fake taxi waiting for me, or maybe from the anger that comes when you realize that someone who ought to have some connection to really doesn’t care in the slightest, but it came, and the look of surprise on his face lasted just long enough to get the words out.

“Yes. You were. I don’t think anyone has ever disappointed me so thoroughly in my entire life. Have a good life…but have it out of my sight, Drake. Walk out of here on your own two feet…before security has to carry you out. Now.”

Eyes like ice water…like mine. There isn’t anything more to say. I dropped a bug in the crack of the seat as I sat up, just by brushing it out from under a painted nail, and that’s that. My work is done here and all that’s left is to walk out.

“Fine…there is nothing I need from you…that you ever would have given anyway. So long.”

And my shades are back on my face to cover moisture I should have known would come…and he doesn’t say anything while I walk out. Not because he’s lost…but because he genuinely doesn’t care as long nothing inconveniences him personally. In that respect, he wins…and he’ll always win…because I can’t be like that anymore. If I’m the weaker…I’m still willing to bet that I’m the happier…so damn him and his successes, and damn his ego and his scheming and his little power-trips that come of making deals between monsters.

His kind pay for their crimes too…not with jail terms or sudden epiphanies, but with the terrifying knowledge that comes with their last breath as they die…all that they craved and accumulated in a lifetime…wasted for want of a single person that would miss anything other than their money once they’re gone, and the game will go on with other players, ad infinitum, until the end of time.

Harry and Ron swing by in the cab, answering my wave, and we’re gone in the swelter and crush of the city before a minute has passed, as anonymous as can be. No regrets. Not even if it stung to hear his voice as cold as ever, because the one next to me now is warm and close and breathes concern into my ear, and warmth back into my heart. If I breathe that last terrified breath someday…and I will…just like everyone else…I will have had this to take as a memory of my time. Anything but wasted.


TBC!!!