Conduct Unbecoming (9 page)

Harley frowned, watched her strut and gyrate and bend her near-naked body in ways that defied logic, let alone gravity.  The fact that she was able to do it in those heels?  Mind boggling.

Harley wasn’t surprised when the blonde tugged off her top - hello, strip club
-  but her mouth nearly dropped open when the other woman sent it sailing through the air and into Dante’s lap.  “You have got to be kidding me,” Harley sputtered. 

“
Problem?”  Dante lifted his eyebrows, his fingers tightening around a handful of silver fabric.  

Harley muttered something ugly under her breath, folded her arms over her chest.  God, she wished she had a drink, just so she could toss it in his stupid, condescending face.

She took a deep, calming breath, allowed herself a moment to enjoy the visual.  His stunned expression, the alcohol - tequila, maybe? - dripping off his nose, his eyelashes.  It worked, too.  At least it seemed to until the stripper, the blonde whose top was clutched so tightly in Dante’s hand, walked up and leaned down to kiss him on the mouth.

Typical.
  Harley rolled her eyes.  The woman couldn’t have been off the runway for more than a couple of minutes, but she’d found the time to touch up her hair, her make-up.  Getting dressed in something other than a short, silky robe and those ridiculous heels was too much trouble, but God forbid her mouth not be painted with a fresh coat of fire engine red.

“
Mmm mmm mmm,” the blonde hummed under her breath.  Stood in front of him, gently thumbed away the lipstick smudge she’d left on his mouth.  “Dante Giancana.”

“
Chablis.”  He reached out, trailed his fingers along the sash tied at her waist.  “I heard you were working here.”

“
Since they reopened.  Good money, close to home.  Who could ask for more?”   She pulled out a chair, sat down next to Dante.  “So, who’s your friend?”

“
Sorry.  Chablis, this is Harley…”  Dante looked at Harley, frowned.

“
Greer.”  Harley flashed a quick, condescending smile.  “Harley Greer.”

Chablis looked Harley up and down, eyebrows lifted, then back at Dante. 
“Seriously?”

“
Don’t ask.”  Dante rolled his eyes, shook his head.

“
I heard about Enzo,” she said quietly, ignoring Harley to lean closer to Dante.  “He’s gonna be okay?”

“
Too early to tell.”

“
He’s a tough kid.”  Chablis reached out, pressed her palm to his face for a second.  “He’ll get through this.”  She smiled.  “Remember when you and Tommy Matto climbed the fire escape outside Savannah Costa’s building in the twelfth grade?  And Enzo was so mad you wouldn’t let him come with that he followed you?”

“
Yeah.”  Dante snorted, shook his head.  “And then he fell off half way up and broke his arm.”

“
Savannah said he didn’t even cry.”

“
Too stubborn to.  He had a huge crush on her, even though she was... what? like four years older than him?  No way was he gonna cry in front of her.”

“
Like I said, tough.”

“
Yeah.”  Dante took a deep breath, closed his eyes for a second or two before he opened them again.  “Tough.”  He scrubbed a hand over his mouth before he continued, his jaw.  “Does he come in much?”

“
Here?  I don’t know.”  Chablis lifted her shoulders.  “Couple times a week, I guess.”

“
With anyone in particular?”

“
No.”  She frowned, shook her head.  “Not that I can think of, anyway.”

“
A woman, maybe?”  He leaned closer.

“
Seriously?”  Chablis narrowed her eyes, shot Harley a sideways look.  “All evidence to the contrary, we don’t get a lot of women in here.”

“
Somebody who works here then.”

“
Not likely.”  Chablis smiled wearily.  “Richie’s got a rule against dating the clientele.”

“
Richie Fedor?  He’s in charge?”

“
Uh huh.  Never lets you forget it, either.”

“
And you mean to tell me nobody breaks that rule?”  Dante cocked his head, the corner of his mouth lifting in a skeptical grin.

“
Well if they did, I imagine they’d be smart enough to keep their mouth shut about it.”

“
Could you maybe just... ask around, Chablis?  Please?”

Chablis sighed, rolled her eyes. 
“Fine.  I’ll ask around.”

             
“Thanks.”  Dante nodded, gratitude written all over his face.  He stood up, pressed a kiss to Chablis’ forehead before finally -
finally
- looking Harley’s way again.

She rolled her eyes, but followed him towards the exit. 
“Old friends?” she asked him snidely.

“
Why?  Jealous?”

“
Puh-lease.”  Harley snorted.  “Of someone who’d make up a name like Chablis?”

“
Right.  As opposed to someone who’d make up a name like Harley.”

She felt her face get red, was powerless to stop it. 
“For your information, my name really is Harley.”

“
Yeah.”  He shook his head, kept walking.  “And I’m the Pope.”

Chapter
11

Juggling her bag and a vat-sized cup of steaming coffee, Chablis bumped the car door shut with her hip, locking it before she stuffed her keys into her jeans pocket.  Carmen’s car was here, and
Lacey’s, but other than that the lot was empty.

She hurried through the parking lot, flip flops slapping against the softened asphalt, hummed a little Bon Jovi under her breath.  Carmen and Lacey were working
Roxi’s lunch crowd, but she wasn’t scheduled to work until tonight.  A quick stop to pick up her check, and she was out of here.

Before she could get into the dressing room, though, Carmen was there, raining on her parade. 
“Richie’s looking for you.”

“
Did he say why?”  Chablis frowned as what little that was left of her good mood evaporated.  

“
Huh uh.”  Carmen shook her head. 

“
Okay.”  Chablis grabbed her check out of her locker, stuffed it into her bag.  “Might as well get it over with.”

She waved to Danny behind the bar, then leaned into Richie’s office, cleared her throat. 
“Carmen said you were looking for me.”

Richie looked up from his keyboard for a second, gestured toward the empty chair across from his desk before he looked down again. 
“Sit.”

Because it came from Richie, and Richie didn’t make suggestions, Chablis did as she was ordered. 
Perched at the edge of her seat, waited.

“
Are you happy here, Chablis?”  He asked idly, casually, without bothering to look up.  His fingers moving at a steady, even pace over the keyboard, as if he weren’t paying attention to her at all.  “At Roxi’s?”

“
Yes.”  The words felt more like an interrogation than casual conversation, and a lot like a threat.  Her voice wobbled a little.  “Of course.”

“
Good.”  He looked up, narrowed his eyes, leaned back in his chair.  “So what did Dante Giancana want?”

Confused by the question, she frowned. 
“I don’t know what you-” 

“
Dante Giancana was here last night.  You spoke to him.  What.  Did.  He want?”  There was nothing casual about him now.  This was the real Richie, and the real Richie scared the shit out of her.  

“
I don’t- I don’t know,” she stammered.  “We grew up together, I guess he just wanted to catch up.”

             
Richie folded his hands behind his head.  To Chablis’ credit, she didn’t squirm, though the urge was certainly there.  “He asked if I’d seen his brother, Enzo,” she added.  “If he came into Roxi’s.”  His silence was unnerving, and she couldn’t seem to stop herself from trying to fill it.

“
And what did you tell him?”

She laughed, a nervous little burst of air. 
“I told him there wasn’t a man within a twenty block radius who didn’t come in to Roxi’s.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. 
“What else?”

“
Well, he- he asked me if I knew if Enzo was seeing anybody,” she stammered.  “Like maybe somebody from here.”  She held her breath for a second or two - and this time she did squirm - but she managed to not look away.

“
Is he?”

“
No.”  Chablis shook her head adamantly.  “Absolutely not, Richie.  We all know the rule.  No dating the clients.”

“
Good.”  He dragged his hand over his mouth, his jaw.  “That’s good.  Nevertheless, I don't want him back in here.”

“
But he-”

“
Get rid of him, Chablis.  I don't care how you do it, but get rid of him.” 

“
Sure,” she said, wiping her damp palms on her jeans.  “Whatever you say, Richie.”   

* * * *

Bobby Vega made a half-hearted grab at one of the waitresses, then snagged a beer at the bar before he headed back to Richie’s office.  The door was closed, but he didn’t knock, shoving it open like he owned the place instead.

“
What the fuck?”  Richie Fedor snarled, glaring up at him over the top of a pair of half-moon glasses.

“
Hello Richie.”

Richie did a double take, blinked. 
“What the Hell are you doing here?”

“
Damage control, Richie.”  Bobby took a pull from his beer.

Richie pulled his glasses off, tossed them onto the desk. 
“Did he send you?”

“
What do
you
think?”

“
I think he worries too much.  I think you
both
worry too much.”  Richie back-pedaled when Bobby lifted his eyebrows.  “I mean yeah, obviously, we had a problem, but with the kid gone it’s a non-issue.”

“
Assuming the kid
stays
gone.”

“
Trust me.”  Richie nodded.  “He’s gonna stay gone.”

“
And what about his brother?”

“
What
about
his brother?”  Richie made a noise that almost sounded like laughter.  “Dante Giancana is persona non grata with the Chicago PD.  The boss made sure of that a long time ago.”

“
Yeah, but,” Bobby shook his head, unconvinced, “he’s in town less than 48 hours and he’s here snooping around?  You don’t think that’s a concern?”

“
No, I don’t.  I checked with Chablis.  He wasn’t snooping around, he was just getting his rocks off.”  Richie leaned forward, elbows on his desk.  “We’re making too much money here to quit over some...
what if
.”

“
Better hope you’re right, man.”  Bobby finished the last of his beer, tossed his empty trash.  “Because if you’re not?  We’re all fucked.” 

Chapter 12

Harley managed to make it all the way through the apartment with her eyes shut, then somehow tripped over the cat at the front door. 
“Shit,” she hissed, still more asleep than awake.  “What the...”

The pounding finally - Jesus,
finally
- stopped when she jerked the door open, but the relief was short-lived.  She exhaled a burst of dismissive laughter, shook her head.  “What do you want?”

“
Good morning to you, too, Princess.”  He edged around her, walked into her apartment like he belonged there.

“
Do you have any idea what time it is?”  She shut the door behind him with a satisfying thud, lifted her eyebrows.  Perfect.  The man obviously rolls out of bed looking like sex on a stick, and
she
could pass for roadkill.