Conduct Unbecoming (4 page)

 
                 “Over there, tearing into that nurse.”  Murray jerked his chin in the other direction. 

 
                 Harley twisted around to look, lifted her eyebrows.  Oh. My.  God.  The brother, maybe?  He had the tough, rangy build of a boxer, or a brawler. Six-two, maybe six-three, with broad shoulders and narrow hips.

He wore a plain white T-shirt, one that had probably been slept in.  That, despite
it’s wrinkles, hinted at a truly spectacular chest.  Jeans that fit the way Harley liked to think God intended jeans to fit, low on the hips and just snug enough to make things interesting.

 
                 His dark hair was shaggy, gypsy-black eyes, heavy-lidded and bloodshot.  He looked exhausted and, if she wasn't mistaken, pissed. 
Really
pissed.  Between the eyes, the heavily stubbled jaw and the scar that bisected his right eyebrow he looked downright dangerous.

             
When he turned around and she got a look at his ass, she nearly swallowed her tongue.

 
                 Murray smiled when Harley finished her pop, tossed the can in the recycling bin.  “So do you wanna... grab a drink or something?  I’m about finished here.” 

 
                 “Hmm?”  Harley blinked, then shook her head.  “Oh.  No, I don't think so.  There’s someplace else I have to be.”

Chapter
4

Dante sat where he’d been told to, in an extremely uncomfortable chair as far out of the way as possible.
  The ICU was crawling with Chicago PD, and while he didn't recognize any of them - more importantly, they didn't recognize
him
- someone was bound to make the connection eventually.  Inevitable or not, it wasn't something he looked forward to.

 
                 He leaned his head back against the wall, closed his eyes.  He didn't sleep, couldn't.  Even with his back to the wall he felt exposed, vulnerable.  Some sort of... muscle memory, he suspected.  Something about being back in Chicago triggering responses ingrained from his time on the job.  Never turn your back on the enemy, and everybody's an enemy.

 
                 Despite his closed eyes, he managed to pick a familiar voice out of the conversation buzzing around him.  He looked up, frowned.  He hadn't seen Leo Rinaldi in six years, but Jesus, the man had aged at least fifteen. 

 
                 His hair was thinner, grayer, worn combed over his liver-spotted scalp in a failed attempt to hide his receding hairline.  Making matters worse, the hair he'd lost appeared to have migrated to his eyebrows and - yikes - his ears.  He couldn't decide which bothered him more, the gray tufts in the ears, or the single, caterpillar-like eyebrow.  Looked like he'd missed a spot shaving, too, leaving a dingy-looking patch of gray on his jaw.

 
                 He'd lost at least twenty pounds, maybe more, and the blue Chicago PD uniform he'd always been so damn proud of seemed to hang on him.  There were deep creases in his pants and a stain - mustard maybe? - on his tie.  Even his shirt collar looked frayed, grubby.  Dante knew nothing short of a crisis would convince Leo's wife, Rose, to let him out of the house like this.

 
                 He supposed this qualified.

 
                “Leo.”

 
                 “Dante.”  Leo blinked twice, his face ashen.  “How the- what are you doing here?”     

 
                 “Jesus, Leo.”  Dante looked at him like he was crazy, shook his head.  “What do you think I’m doing here?”

 
                 “Right, no, I mean of course I know what you're doing here.”  Leo lifted his hands, palms out.  “I just meant… how’d you get here so fast?  I was gonna call you as soon as we knew something.”

 
                 “Somebody from the precinct called.  Enzo must have my number listed as emergency contact.  How is he?”

 
                 “He took one in the shoulder, one in the stomach, and one...” Leo swallowed, his voice wobbling, “one to the head.”

 
                 “How bad?”

 
               
“Bad enough.”  Leo shook his head, looked away.  “The shoulder was a through and through, and they got the one in his gut, but he's lost a lot of blood.  They won't even try to get the last one, the one in his head, until he’s stabilized.”

 
                 Dante scrubbed his hands over his face, huffed out a breath and stood up tall.  He had to keep it together, for Enzo’s sake.  “What the Hell happened, Leo?”

 
                 “Nobody knows.”  When Leo jerked his head towards a quiet corner, Dante followed him, lowered his voice.  “An anonymous 911 call came in at 4:20 this afternoon.  Caller said...” Leo let out a shaky breath.  “The caller reported a body on Sherwood.”

 
                 “Sherwood?”

 
                 “In Xavier Heights.”

 
                 “I know where it is,” Dante snapped.  Knew
what
it was, too.  A fucking cesspool.  “What I
don't
know is what a rookie was doing out there without backup.  Where the Hell was his partner?”

 
                 “He... he wasn’t on duty.”  Leo hesitated, not meeting Dante’s eyes.  “As far as I know he’s never worked Xavier Heights.”

 
                 “But if he wasn't working...”  Dante let the words trail away, his eyes narrowing.  “What is it?  What aren’t you telling me?”

 
                 “Dante, when the paramedics brought him in…”  Leo swallowed hard.  He looked like he might throw up, or cry.  “They said he was carrying some cash.  A lot of cash.”

 
                 “What's a lot?” Dante heard himself ask, knowing, somehow, that he wasn't going to like answer.

 
                 “Twenty-five thousand,” Leo whispered, then lowered his voice even more.  “And about half a pound of Heroin.”

 
                 “No.”  Adamant, Dante shook his head.  “Uh uh.  No way.  You know him, Leo.  He won’t even take an aspirin, there’s no
way
he’s involved with Heroin.  There’s gotta be some other explanation.”

 
                 “Look, kid, you two haven't talked in awhile.”  Leo lifted his shoulders while Dante paced back and forth in front of him.  “Maybe he-”

“
Maybe he what, Leo?”  Dante snapped.  “Maybe he changed?  Yeah, I’m sure that’s it.”  His voice was thick with sarcasm.  “Maybe he woke up one morning and just decided to...” Dante waved his hand around, “be an entirely different person.”

 
                 “Sorry.”  Leo winced.

“
Forget it.”  Dante shoved his hands back through his hair, linked his fingers behind his neck.  “It’s not your fault.  Is Internal Affairs involved yet?”

 
                 “Probably on their way now.”  Leo lifted his narrow, dandruff-flecked shoulders.

“
Of course they are.”  Dante shook his head.  “Because everything’s not fucked up enough already.”                  

* * * *

              Harley smiled back over her shoulder at Murray, but she'd forgotten all about him by the time she turned around again.  She walked past the nurse's station, past a rack stuffed with flyers about osteoporosis and deep vein thrombosis, a muted television that no one seemed to be watching.

 
                 She couldn't quite get close enough to distinguish the words the shabby, older cop and the hottie were saying, not without drawing undue attention to herself, but she could hear the steady, solemn buzz of their voices.  More importantly, she could see them.  Could see their weary faces, their fear, the desperation in their eyes.  While she watched, the hottie paced back and forth - please be Dante Giancana, please be Dante Giancana - and the old guy shook his head and wrung his hands.

 
                 They knew each other, obviously, knew each other well.  She reached into her bag for a pen and paper, scrawled a little note to remind herself to see if the two might be related.  She considered sneaking a few pictures, even had her hand on her cellphone, but couldn't bring herself to risk it.

 
                 A tiny, silver-haired woman in scrubs brushed past her - a doctor, maybe? - stopped in the center of the room.  “Giancana?” she called out, her voice surprisingly loud for such a little thing, her eyes scanning the crowd for a flash of recognition.  “Family of Lorenzo Giancana?”

 
                When the hottie slowly stood up - thank you, thank you - the doctor walked over in a brisk, no-nonsense manner, shook his hand.  Harley watched the three of them talk, the woman gesturing with her hands, waving her slender arms in the process.  Dante and the old guy nodded solemnly at whatever she was saying.

 
                 Then the doctor left, and the old guy leaned in, gave the hottie one of those one armed hugs that men seemed to be so fond of.  When Dante scooped up the duffel bag at his feet and turned in her direction, she slid down in her chair.  Shit, there was no way he could get to the elevator without walking right past her.

 
                 She made a desperate grab for a magazine from a nearby table, flipped it open, held it up in front of her face.  Stayed that way, hidden behind an outdated golf magazine and holding her breath until she heard him pass.

 
                 Harley quickly tossed the magazine aside, gathered up her bag, followed him.  Both elevators opened at the same time, and he stepped into the one on the left.  Since riding down with him didn't seem like the best way to stay out of sight, she quickly got on the other.

 
                 Alone in her elevator, she shifted her weight from one foot to the other, cursed her shoes.  No doubt about it, reconnaissance would be a lot easier without heels.  When the elevator door slid open again, she walked out.  Slowly, casually, like her heart didn’t feel like it was about to jump out of her chest.

 
                 She caught a glimpse of him going out the front door, followed him.  The sidewalks were well lit, making it easy to stay thirty, thirty-five feet behind him and still see.  One block, then two.  She was just starting to think about slipping off her sandals and going barefoot when he ducked into a bar on the corner.

 
                 Harley hung around outside for a few minutes, then followed him inside.    

Chapter 5

Arturo’s was nearly empty when Dante walked through the front door, just a handful of the staunchest regulars lined up at the bar.  Old guys, for the most part.  Grizzled, gray faces bent over their beers, heads down in companionable silence.  

                  He’d grown up here, in this neighborhood, this bar.  His mother used to send him to the market next door for milk or cigarettes.  Sent him here, too, for that matter.  Usually to drag his dad home when the old man had tipped back one to many after his shift.  So yes, he remembered a few of these faces, if not their names.

He nodded to the pleasant ones, ignored the not-so-pleasant.
  Grabbed a stool at the end of the bar, fully intending to avoid conversation with either.

 
                 “Dante Giancana.”  From behind the bar, a tough-looking guy with enormous biceps reached out a heavily tattooed arm to shake Dante’s hand, a slow smile spreading over his face.  “Been too damn long, man.  How you doing?”. 

 
                 “Hanging in there, Manny.  You?”

“
I’m good.”  Manny flashed a grin, nodded.  “Real good.  Me and Sonja made it legal.”

“
So you finally wore her down.”

“
Dripping water hollows out stone, not through force but through persistence.”  When Dante lifted his eyebrows Manny laughed.  “Dude, what can I say, my woman’s into poetry.  Big Ovid fan.”