Diamond White: A Red Riley Adventure #2 (Red Riley Adventures)

by Stephanie Andrews

  “You’ve been dead twelve weeks, and with the short hair you look pretty different from the Officer Riley photos that were circulating on the news back then. Plus your nose seems different. I think it’s probably safe to ditch the wig and make-up.”

  “That’s a relief,” I sighed. “I’ll miss Georgette, though; she was so much smarter than I am.”

  “That makes no sense, whatsoever.”

  “Maybe not,” I shrugged. “You’d have to be someone else for a while to understand what I mean.”

  I walked into the nearby bathroom and looked at my face in the mirror. He was right, my nose was permanently crooked, the result of being caught in an explosion that also split my head open. I also had a huge scar on my scalp, though it was completely covered by my hair, thank God.

  “I’ll be right out,” I called over my shoulder. “Can I use your toothbrush?”

  “Absolutely not!”

  “You’ll never know,” I said, and closed the door.

  Thirty minutes later, we were in the workshop on the top floor of the Shelby Furniture building. It was a fantastic place, filled with antique furniture and rugs, old roll-top desks, computers, photo equipment, lights, and clothing—racks and racks of clothing.

  I found some gray dress slacks and a dark blue blouse that hid my black bra. I was trying on jaunty fedoras when a basket full of leather gloves caught my eye. I picked up a nice black pair. Hmm. On a workbench, I found some cotton batting for stuffing recliners, and used some of it to fill the ring and pinky finger of the left-hand glove.

  “What are you doing?” asked Nick, coming up behind me and making me jump.

  I pulled on the gloves, and help up my hands to him, as if in surrender.

  “See?” I said. “Ten fingers!”

  He frowned. “I understand you’re sensitive about your hand—”

  “No,” I stopped him. “That’s not it. I mean, yeah, but also, eight fingers are pretty conspicuous. My success often depends on fitting in—being unremarkable. Missing fingers get noticed, believe me.”

  He took both my hands in his, and squeezed them.

  “You are remarkable,” he said with a melting smile, then looked down at my hands. “Hey, that’s not bad,” he added, pinching the fake fingers. “A little soft. Let’s try adding sand, in two little connected beanbags, so it can bend at the joint.”

  “Perfectionist!”

  “Good morning!” cried a scratchy voice from the other side of the loft.

  Uncle Elgort was making his way across the intervening space, one hand on the arm of Nick’s older brother, Don. Elgort was in his mid-eighties, but had the gleaming eyes and strong voice of someone a decade younger. At one time, he had run a good part of the criminal activity in Chicago, but these days the Shelby family dealt mostly in finances and fake documents. And furniture, of course.

  Don was ten years older than Nick. They looked remarkably alike, apart from the grey hair streaking along the sides of Don’s head, and the crow’s feet around his eyes. Unlike Nick, he was clean shaven and as I noticed when I gave him a brief hug, he smelled of cologne.

  “I’m happy to see you alive and in one piece, my dear,” said Elgort, giving me a hug.

  “The same to you,” I said, with my best smile.

  He leaned back and looked me up and down.

  “You’re wearing some of our clothes…”

  You know that thing they say about redheads blushing all the time? It’s true.

  “Umm…”

  “No matter,” he said quickly, to save me more embarrassment, “but why the gloves? Are you planning to rob a bank?”

  “That’s up to you,” I replied with a grin.

  He chuckled, and motioned to the round table that stood in the middle of the floor. We all took seats around it, just as the door opened and Margaret came in with a tray of coffee, which she set in the middle of the table.

  “Anything else, Uncle?” she asked, turning to the old man.

  “No, thank you. That’s lovely,” he said in a warm voice.

  Margaret departed the way she had come. She was in her late sixties, if I had to guess. A cousin, or cousin-in-law, of Elgort. Family of some kind. A bit plump, with greying hair. Her matronly look was deceiving, as I knew she had her finger on the pulse of everything that went on in the building. She probably had tapes of Nicky and I testing out the mattresses on the third floor last night.

  “Kay?”

  “Huh?” I had been daydreaming about last night.

  “Cream?”

  “No, thank you, Don.”

  He replaced the cream on the silver tray, and then drew a notepad closer to himself, took out and put on a pair of reading glasses, and cleared his throat.

  “Jared Dexter,” he began. “Do you know who that is?”

  “I’m sorry,” I admitted. “I don’t.”

  “No reason you should, I suppose,” interjected Nick. “He tends to work behind the scenes.”

  “Exactly,” continued Don. “Jared Dexter is one of the most powerful political operatives in Chicago. Probably in the whole country. His methods are not always above board, but he has managed to keep his hands clean—never any evidence of wrongdoing, even as we’ve seen multiple officials, even governors, go to jail.”

  “Is he working for the mayor?” I asked.

  “As a consultant,” Don continued. “We don’t think the mayor has any idea what Dexter is up to. Dexter’s working, we believe, with a Mexican drug and arms cartel.”

  “My God, that sounds a lot more serious than political malfeasance, which, frankly, I’ve come to expect in Illinois. How do you know this?”

  Don sighed. “Frankly, we aren’t even sure, not one hundred percent. He came to our attention last year when we found his firm’s name on documents lobbying against the funding of BUILD and other violence-mitigation programs in the city. Meanwhile, another one of his interests is pushing for harder police tactics, more paramilitary gear, more weaponry.”

  I sat up straighter. “How does he do this and work for the mayor?”

  “He’s very subtle,” said Nick. “In fact,” he added with a chuckle, “you’d pretty much have to be Eldon to figure it out.”

  “Well,” said Don, “my skills are prodigious, but in this case, what he’s doing isn’t that different than what half the legislature is demanding. The rise in violence over the last few years, I believe, coincides with a glut of cheap, available guns on the street, and the simultaneous over-militarization of the police.”

  “And Dexter sells to both sides?”

  “Oh no. Nothing that obvious. I’m not even sure what he gets out of it. Political pressure, perhaps for a party change in the mayor’s office and in the statehouse. Money, surely, but I haven’t figured out how yet. He doesn’t handle any of the arms deals directly.”

  Uncle Elgort had been sitting quietly during this briefing, but now he slammed his palm on the table.

  “I want him stopped! And that’s what we are going to do.”

  “Umm, I don’t want to sell myself short, but disrupting an international drug cartel seems a little bit out of my league. Last week you had me trailing a notary public.” I hid behind my coffee cup.

  Elgort looked at me with a pronounced seriousness.

  “I don’t expect you to stop him, Miss Riley. I will stop him. But I need more information, and I think you and your friends can do a job for me.”

  While Don poured more coffee, Nick got up and walked to one of the workbenches. He returned with a statue, about fifteen inches high, made of a dark brown metal. It was a woman, or young girl. The sculpture began at her head, and cut off at her waist. He set it on the table.

  “This,” Don began, “is a—”

  “Degas!” I interjected.

  He raised his eyebrows at me.

  “What?” I retorted defensively. “I go to the Institute. Sometimes.”

  He tilted his head.

  “Oh, you mean the interrupting. Sor
ry.”

  I locked my lips with an imaginary key.

  “This,” he began again, “is a copy of a statue. Made by me.”

  I whistled in appreciation.

  “Thank you,” he nodded at me. “We all have our skills. It’s based on one of many studies that Degas did in preparation for creating the Little Dancer, Aged Fourteen sculpture that stands in the Art Institute. The same room currently holds several of these studies.”

  I looked at him, wide-eyed and attentive. I had no idea where he was going with this, but I loved watching him talk about his craft. It was sexy as hell.

  “A similar sculpture sits in Jared Dexter’s office. It can be seen quite clearly during a TV interview he gave last month about the upcoming mayor’s race.”

  Uncle Elgort leaned forward again.

  “I want you, Miss Riley, to break into Dexter’s office, and replace his sculpture with this one, into which we have placed a listening device. He must not, of course, know that you have been there.”

  This sounded good!

  “It’s a bit harder than it sounds,” cautioned Nick, who could see the excitement on my face. “The office is on the top floor of a downtown skyscraper, which is only a big deal because the first three floors house the Chicago office of the Department of Homeland Security.”

  My smile drooped a bit.

  “It’s not that bad, you’ll just want to be a little more careful than your usually very careful self,” he hastened to add when he saw my reaction. “Dexter’s office has electronic keypad security, an opportunity for you to test out Mr. Martynek’s abilities. Other than that, you’ll have to do your own recon and build a plan. Don’s got a set of building plans you can take with you.”

  I finished my coffee and looked around the table, my gaze resting on Elgort.

  “That all sounds good, I guess, but what does this have to do with the Shelby family?”

  Uncle Elgort met my gaze.

  “I’ve done a lot of bad things in my life,” he began. “Things I’m not proud of. Violent things.” He sighed. “But, they were done to create control. Yes, for my own benefit, and for my family’s benefit, but the side effect of that control was peace, at least in certain parts of the city, for a period of time. This man,” he jabbed his finger at the statue, “this man sows chaos, for personal gain. He profits on the destruction of young people, young poor people. Minorities. Teenagers.”

  His voice was strong with anger now.

  “So many young people dying. In our city. I’m not going to stand for it.”

  Elgort sat back in his chair, and I could think of nothing witty or clever to say, so I smartly kept my mouth shut. For once.

  Three

  “Ruby, what are we doing here?”

  “Do you enjoy using my cabin as your private training facility?”

  “Yes, of course, but—”

  “Do you appreciate all I’ve done for you the past six months?”

  “I gave you a million dollars!”

  “True, but this is different. It’s personal.”

  “I’m on board. For you, I always am. I just want to know what we’re doing.”

  We were sitting in her car, parked on a leafy street in Evanston, intently watching a small house across the street. Ruby, in the driver’s seat, was watching through binoculars, while I sat in the passenger’s seat eating carrot sticks. Why can’t potato chips be high protein and low fat? How ‘bout it, science?

  “We are here,” she said, still looking through the binoculars, “to assault a police captain.”

  “What?”

  “See! I knew you would be objecting.” Her Czech accent always strengthened when she was riled up.

  “I’m not complaining, I’m just, um, mystified.”

  Ruby put down the glasses and turned to me.

  “Look, this new identity of yours. My retirement. We are to become like Batman, no? Righting wrongs by working outside the law?”

  I winced.

  “You make it sound really ridiculous…but, yeah. Sort of.”

  “These jobs you’ve been doing for Shelby. They don’t seem very virtuous.”

  “Those were just practice!” I objected indignantly. “I gotta ramp up to being Robin Hood. I don’t want to get clocked my first time out.”

  “I just don’t think these Shelbys are on the same page as we are.”

  “You know,” I said, putting my hand on her shoulder. “I might have agreed with you until yesterday.”

  “When you began having sex with the young one?”

  “Not because of that!” Man, she was really on a roll tonight. I knew I shouldn’t have told her. “Having sex with someone doesn’t mean I believe they are virtuous. I can like bad boys, too, you know.”

  Ruby laughed. She actually laughed at me.

  “What’s that mean?” I demanded.

  “You are funny. Making me laugh.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you stole the money. You bought the leather pants, and that silly motor scooter.”

  “It’s a motorcycle. Sort of. A really small one.”

  “My point is that you are still Miss Pollyanna. I mean that in a good way,” she said, talking over my objection. “You want to be very tough girl, but at heart, you want to do the right thing.”

  “Okay,” I sighed, crunching on a carrot. “So you’re right. Whatever. I owed a debt to Uncle Elgort, regardless of whether I approve of what he does. But this time, Ruby, he’s got a proper job for us, and it’s really about stopping bad guys. Big, bad guys.”

  “Excellent,” said Ruby. “That’s what I’m in this for. Otherwise I would have taken that money and gone to the Riviera or some such.”

  “I know.”

  “You can tell me about this new job later, let’s go get Captain Haines.”

  Captain Lawrence Haines ran one of the precincts on the north side of Chicago. It was an affluent area with not much crime, not many guns, not a lot going on. Haines wasn’t a crooked cop. He wasn’t taking money from drug kingpins or burying evidence. No, Captain Haines was just an asshole.

  Two weeks ago, he had been charged with sexual harassment and two counts of sexual assault for cornering a young police officer in the women’s bathroom and making unwanted advances, followed by equally unwanted touching.

  The previous week, all charges had been dropped and he was reinstated, with no reason given. Sometimes the internal workings of the Chicago Police Department were maddeningly opaque, not to mention prejudiced and unfair. The incident had barely garnered a mention in the newspaper and would be forgotten completely within a week. By everyone except Ruby, that is.

  The officer in question was named Ellery Park, an American born in Chicago to first-generation Korean immigrants. Ruby remembered processing the paperwork for Park’s transfer from one of the downtown precincts to Haines’s outfit. Top marks in school, top marks at the academy. As a result of Haines’s reinstatement, Park had quit the force, and Ruby was pissed. The city needed more women in top law enforcement positions. It needed more women like Ellery Park.

  Ruby handed me a ski mask and got out of the car.

  “Really? Ski masks?”

  “I’m sorry, I haven’t sewn our superhero costumes yet. Put it on. It will go with your silly black gloves.”

  I put it on and got out of the car.

  “Will you make me a fancy cape?”

  “Make your own cape. I’m your operations manager, not your mom.” She reached back into the car and pulled out her cane.

  “Woah,” I said as we crossed the road and entered the shadowy side yard of Haines’s house. “With that attitude, you’re either getting into character or you’ve got low blood sugar.” I looked down at her cane. “You don’t think the cane might be a distinguishing characteristic when it comes time for the captain to file an incident report?”

  “I’m not worried. Who would suspect I would be involved in this? Plus, it’s my weapon.”

  “Your
cane is a weapon?”

  Ruby stopped and turned to me. Grabbing the handle of the cane with one hand and the shaft with the other, she pulled them apart to reveal the beginnings of a long blade. It glinted sinisterly in the moonlight.

  “A sword?” I hissed. “You bought a sword cane?”

  “Well,” she whispered defensively, “you’re so sensitive about guns, I thought…”

  “I’m a little goddam sensitive about swords, as well,” I shot back, holding up my gloved hand to remind her of my missing fingers.

  “Right. Sorry.” She re-sheathed the sword.

  “You’re not planning on cutting any body parts off Haines, are you?”

  She gave a low, menacing chuckle.

  “Now that you mention it…”

  We approached the back door with caution. No sign of dogs. The house was dark, apart from one light in a room at the front. I reached into the small backpack I was wearing, and took out a little yellow plastic box that looked more or less like a stud finder. Stud finder—that name always cracked me up.

  I held it up to the side of the house just to the left of the doorway, pushed a button on the side, and slowly moved it in a widening circle until there was a small beep and a light on the top turned green. I’d have to talk to Marty about getting rid of the beep. It’s not helpful when you are trying to be a ghost.

  I marked the spot on the wall with my finger, and swapped the alarm finder for another small gizmo. This one was dark grey and unbelievably heavy. It felt like one of the ten-pound weights that I used for bicep curls. Probably the magnets in it, or the power source. I placed it on the spot and pushed and held the trigger mechanism. It made a deep, resonant, but fairly quiet buzz, and then went silent.

  Meanwhile, Ruby was cutting out one of the four small window panes set in the wooden door. She used a piece of duct tape to make sure the pane came out into her gloved hand rather than falling into the kitchen and smashing on the linoleum floor.

  I nodded to her and she reached through to unlock the door from the inside. It swung open without a squeak, and we entered the dark house. I looked briefly to my left and confirmed that the alarm system hung powerless on the wall, completely shorted out. Score one for Technology Acquired, and their clever CEO, Marty Martynek.

  We were in one room that was both kitchen and dining room, divided by a countertop that jutted out from the wall. The light was dim, which probably was a godsend, as the general vibe coming off the place was “Divorced, Living Alone.” Ruby set the window glass carefully on the kitchen counter, then motioned down the hall where light was spilling from underneath a closed door. We made our way silently down the hall, stopping to listen carefully at the door. I thought I heard voices, but realized it was the low blathering volume of a television. I eased the door open silently, and we tiptoed in, Ruby gripping her cane tightly.