Quintic

by V. P. Trick

  Meeting done, everyone busied themselves returning phone calls and doing paperwork. Patricia was slaving over the phones and doing research and secretarial work for the guys: looking up phone numbers and addresses, making appointments, sorting files and such.

  Fred disappeared for over half an hour only to return to Patricia’s side where he spent almost fifteen minutes. It was a lot of talking for the kid even if he was speaking to her. From his favourite observation post, his office bay window, Chris had a good view of the homicide room, his guys at their desks talking on the phones or tapping on their computers.

  He liked to stand and pace when he was on the phone and observe his team. He fucking loved his team. Talking on the phone wasn’t his thing, especially when some big Brass was at the other end. Brass never had anything real to say and took forever to say it, but he listened patiently, standing watch at his window and eyeing his team. Ogling her.

  When finally the kid left, it was Ham’s turn to require her attention. She stood next to the guy’s desk, pointing at the computer screen over Ham’s shoulder. With their backs to him, Chris couldn’t see their faces, but he could read Ham’s fucking body language easily enough. Ham’s infatuation was holding steady. The guy’s body was leaning toward her, no doubt the jerk was smelling her. Exactly like Fred had earlier. Fucking shit. I might have to do something about it. About Ham. Only when she returned to Bridget’s desk did Chris notice she had a headset on her head and a tablet in her hands. Damn Freddy had made her a toy.

  Between calls and the guys taking turns to visit his office to review their planning, Chris didn’t get a chance to come out of his office all morning.

  “How about I take you to lunch, Patricia? I’m your new boss, after all.”

  “Cute. But I can’t. I have to stay by the phone. Why don’t you go with the guys?”

  “They don’t smell as sweet as you, Princess,” he whispered.

  “Officer MacLaren, I’m trying to work here.” So am I, Pussycat.

  U““

  They went to the building’s shitty cafeteria to get tasteless sandwiches. Separately.

  The afternoon started as busy as the morning. Fredrick showed up in his office around two. At least once a week, Chris and Fred met to discuss and prioritise, Chris doing most of the discussion and prioritising, as the kid stood in the door frame, not quite in, not quite out. Fred was gifted with computers, not so much with life and the people in it. The process took over an hour. At intervals, the phone rang, and while Chris took the call, Fred stayed waiting. The kid didn’t seem to mind; he was good at waiting and staring.

  The kid wasn’t listening in on his conversations, though, for Fredrick, as Chris noticed with amused annoyance, was busy stealing peeks at Patricia. On the one occasion Patricia caught Freddy looking, she waved with a smile, and the kid went rigid. Fucking smitten.

  She did have a way with geeks, didn’t she? Experience. Chris remained impassive listening to some Brass bullshit while glaring at a kid ogling his girlfriend. Yes, he was a patient man, he told himself. Yes, he trusted her. Absolutely. Despite her acting and her damn pretending, she was very honest. Yes, she excelled at omissions and half-truths, but she never lied about the personal stuff. As for the kid, Chris trusted him too. In a way. Too damn geeky, Fred was probably still a virgin.

  “I made a phone system for Patricia,” Fredrick eventually remembered to inform him. “It is a gift for Bridget.”

  “Yah right.” Fred had set up the thing right after the meeting without clearing it through him first. Hence, it might be a gift but clearly not for Bridget. Not that Chris would have objected, they now could receive, answer and transfer all calls with the pad and headset as long as the equipment stayed close to the router.

  She was a fast learner, wasn’t she? He studied her through his window as she walked around answering calls, smiling, chatting with the guys.

  Chris sighed and let Fred go. After weeks of tergiversation and delaying and making up excuses, she was finally back at the office. Not sure if it was for the better or worse.

  PI Unlimited: The Man

  Wasn’t the man lovely? Masculine and damn sexy. She had trouble thinking straight around him. Maybe that was why she had agreed to this date? A date she now somewhat anticipated. She hoped he would cancel or stand her up. Frankly, she hoped not to see him again.

  He had a way about him. Most disturbing. She preferred jerks. Although preferred was not the right word. Chose? She chose jerks because they were easier to handle. Maybe he would turn out to be a jerk, and she would storm out on him? Unfortunately, she did want to touch him. Perhaps she could let him touch her before running out?

  He smelled nice. How could such a jerk smell this good? All male and damn sexy. She shouldn’t like the man; she really shouldn’t. He was dangerous. Exciting, intriguing, fascinating. Dangerous. All she wanted was a polite, sweet, wholesome guy with a mom and pop, a college degree or a trade, a white-picket fence around his front yard, and home-cooked meals. No way was this guy ever going to have a white-picket fence around his house, no way was he ever going to have a house to put the white picket fence around.

  She should have walked out instead of listening to him talk. Smile. Laugh. Tell. Tease. The way he looked at her disturbed her. She felt his gaze right down to her stomach. Her thighs. Somewhere in-between.

  “I want to seduce you,” he had announced from the start.

  He was doing a damn good job. She feared getting to know him would only make it more difficult and yet, there she was, chatting with the enemy, and smiling, laughing, confiding and teasing. She had decided to stay off of men but was doing a lousy job at staying away from him.

  She let him kiss her. OK, so he didn’t exactly ask, but she could have pushed him away. She should have pushed him away. She pretended to be angry. She was angry. And aroused. Angry because he aroused her. How she liked the smell of him! How she liked the taste of him! She should never have let him catch up with her. She could not, would not let it happen again.

  Excerpt from PI Unlimited, by Trica C. Line

  His Unfinished Business

  Officer Charles showed up around four. Chris had talked to the young cop a couple of times since the motel murders. Keeping track of the rookie’s first murder case was his good deed of the month.

  When Charles showed up, Chris was thinking about coffee. An espresso from Vitto’s coffee shop hand-delivered by a beautiful secretary. As the Italian barista considered his coffee so good it deserved to be sipped from a ceramic cup; the old barista didn’t deliver. And indeed, Vitto’s coffee was well worth the short walk down the block, but on previous occasions, Vitto had conceded the paper cups for Patricia when she was on the go. Hell, the Italian guy had even brought her lattes on three different occasions. But upon seeing Charles, Chris knew shitty cafeteria coffee would have to do. He just hoped it was going to be better than the morning’s brownish brew.

  Anyone entering the office had to zigzag through the randomly distributed desks to reach Bridget’s reception desk. It had been Bridget’s idea back in the early days to position her desk far from the door. Although she never confirmed it, Chris suspected it was so she could stare down visitors.

  The reception desk sure caught Charles’s attention as he walked in. Its view, and Patricia smiling, hand outstretched, looking very friendly as she was coming over to greet him, stopped the rookie dead on his track. Once again Chris was thankful of his office view: an officer was ogling his new secretary.

  Patricia met up with Charles next to his office door. Not quite in front of his door, though, so he had to get up to join the party. The team hadn’t left for the night. They were now looking Charles over with smug interest. We’re a fucking homicide squad, people, not a damn social club.

  “Hello, Charles, it’s nice to see you again. You look very dashing in that suit. Much sharper than in the uniform you usually wear. Are those little guns on your tie? I like the colour if not the pattern,” Patricia c
omplimented Charles. The damn woman liked ties, and she innocently touched the rookie’s, making him blush. A fucking grown man! Time to rescue the guy.

  “Charles, good to see you. Glad you took me up on my offer.” Chris had suggested Charles dropped by. They were to review the case together; Chris had a nagging feeling the rookie’s old chief might not be up to the task. “Listen up, guys. Charles’s the officer working the motel case I told you about. How about taking five to help him out?” Help and test the rookie simultaneously.

  The team’s often tactless input was a good way to learn what kind of cop Charles was. Chris had learned his lesson with the quartet: better an average choice than no choice at all or worse, a fucking quartet from hell. They retreated to the conference room.

  As they were all taking seats and goofing around, Patricia joined them. “Should I hold all calls, or is one of you expecting an important call?”

  A repeat of the morning’s meeting. No one asked for coffee. Chris winked at her; he knew she knew what he was thinking.

  She winked back. “Does someone wants something from the cafeteria?” His guys were wise enough to keep their mouths shut. “How about you, Charles, would you like a coffee or something?” She asked sweetly, brushing her hand slightly on the rookie’s shoulder to catch the guy’s attention. No need to touch the guy. He hasn’t seen anything but you since he came through the door, Pussycat.

  “Yes, coffee would be nice. Thank you.”

  “Anyone else?” Having proven her point, I’ll fetch coffee when and for whom I damn want to, she smiled at the kid. “Coming right up, Charles.” And out she went.

  “OK, Charles, why don’t you go over the case for the guys?” Chris had briefed the team at the meeting that followed the murders, so they already knew the general but not the particulars, and not what Charles had found out since then. Which wasn’t much.

  “Cause of death looks to be strangulation. The medical examiner said he won’t confirm it for now. Assuming strangulation, the weapon used on the woman is a leather strap, and on the client a silky ribbon tie from an undergarment. The ME found signs of trauma at the base of the man’s skull.” A blow to the head. “No signs of trauma on the woman.” Had the man resisted the killer? Why just one blow?

  “You sure the stiff was the whore’s john?” Ham.

  “Body fluids matched,” Charles answered readily before looking at Chris. Chris nodded with his chin, and the officer pursued his review. “The woman had prior arrests. Beatrice, profession prostitute.” If one considered prostitution as a profession. “I haven’t located a pimp.”

  “Possible she changed trade.” LeRoy.

  “Yah right. And the motel was a date?” Ham.

  “Anything on the john?” Chris asked the kid.

  “Nothing yet. DNA and fingerprints didn’t turn up anything. We’ve toured the neighbourhood, but nobody saw anything.”

  The rookie didn’t know what to do next hence his visit.

  Charles was wrapping up his presentation with the partial autopsy report when Patricia returned.

  Professional smile on. “Sorry for the interruption, lady and gentlemen. Charles, your coffee, as requested.” She pushed a cart in with a big coffee pot, no donuts but a plate of very Italian-looking flaky pastries. She poured Charles a cup in a non-paper porcelain mug and left the coffee pot on the table, the tray with the pastries next to it. “Enjoy.”

  Point made and underlined, Angel of mine. Not that it would stop Chris from having her fetch him coffee tomorrow. Macho. He planned on taking her out tonight to prove his point.

  Charles was smiling big. “Wow. Thank you. This is really good coffee.” Damn right it’s good, you jerk, it should have been mine.

  Patricia gave the rookie a sweet smile. “I’m glad you like it, Charles. It is good, isn’t it? It’s Italian.” At this point, she had trouble not laughing. So fucking childish, Angel. Vitto’s coffee was fucking worth it, though.

  Chris thought back to her at the motel; they had not talked about it afterwards, had they? Seeing as she was in such a good mood now, he decided to see what he could get out of her. “How about quitting the receptionist stint to sit with us, Patricia? Hell, bring your coffee if you want.” Vitto wouldn’t have brought them a pot of coffee without making a large decaffeinated latte for her. And indeed, when she came back to sit with them, she had one of Vitto’s ceramic mug in her hand.

  Charles was sitting at one end of the table, so she took the opposite end. An unusual spot for her. At meetings she normally sat wall-side, flanked by Reid and Fred, while Ham, Des and Frankke sat window-side. Shapiro and Le were less peculiar about their seats and took whatever ones were available. Chris remained standing to look over his guys, studying their faces attentively, making them talk in turn, following their thoughts, noticing when one had an idea or an interrogation.

  The rookie had done a thorough job, a lot of legwork around the motel’s neighbourhood. Charles talked with more confidence now, once again retracing the steps he had taken so far. Patricia smiled and nodded but kept silent. Chris noticed how she avoided looking at the autopsy pictures Charles had fanned in front of him. Good. Chris didn’t want her to look; she had seen enough of the dead john at the motel as far as he was concerned.

  Chris had them talked and bounced ideas around for thirty minutes before calling the meeting to an end. The team stood as one, ready to take their leave. He intended to go over it once again with Charles, to see what the kid had drawn from the review and plan the next steps with the rookie. Sitting window-side, Ham had to circle the table to exit the conference room, and he passed next to Charles. “Not bad for a virgin, Rookie,” he offered, patting Charles’s shoulder patronisingly. The guy couldn’t resist, could he? Noticing the pictures still on the table, Ham picked one and slid it on the table toward Patricia. A full-body shot of the john on the autopsy table, naked and cleaned but cock ring not yet removed. “Hey, Puss, I heard you knew what this was. Care to show me how to put it on?”

  Patricia opened her mouth to snap back, but no sound came out. She swallowed a breath as her face turned white. Shit. Nobody moved, but they were all thinking the same thing. She’s going to be sick. She bolted to the door.

  They had all been witness to Patricia’s visceral reaction to dead bodies or stress. Be it instantaneous or delayed, her response, for she always had one, was the same. She turned white and felt sick. Most of the time, she wouldn’t throw up for real but running to the toilets gave her time to calm down and compose herself. No doubt when she returned in a few minutes, she would have a few chosen words for Hamilton.

  Chris turned his attention to Ham, as did everyone else. Hamilton had turned a little white himself. The guy acted crude and macho around her because he enjoyed sparring with her and, as Chris had fucking noticed, because the guy liked her. Everyone on the team liked her. Le and Des thought of her as a sexy cousin, Frankke more like an annoying kid sister. Shapiro expressed paternal feelings; Reid considered Patricia her best female friend (if not her only female friend), and she was Bridget’s godchild. Hamilton was different, though. More like Fred but with a knowledgeable dick in his pants.

  Plainly put, Ham was hot for her but hid it under sexist remarks and sexual innuendo. It had worsened in the last weeks. Months. OK, it had been there right from the start, but Chris had no intention of protecting her from Ham’s interest. He didn’t need to, Patricia could hold her on in the verbal department, and he suspected the damn woman enjoyed the badgering almost as much as Ham. Chris didn’t doubt Hamilton’s loyalty, the guy had taken punches for both Chris and her in the past, but her kissing the guy awhile back to lure the quartet out seemed to have fried Ham’s self-restraint.

  “Sorry, Boss. I’ll go get her.” Hamilton left sulking.

  It took a good ten minutes for them to come back. The guy must have pleaded some. She might have made him beg a little too. Knowing she would be OK, she was damn tougher than she looked, the team was trying hard to act as
if nothing had happened. At their return, the pictures were all back in the file, the file closed and in Charles’s hand.

  Her face was as pale as when she had run out. “Sorry about that,” she whispered staring at her shoes.

  She had felt sick before, and the following embarrassment had made her blush. Something was wrong for she wasn’t blushing now. It might not be shyness that made her avoid eye contact. Did Ham do something inappropriate? The guy had his paw at her elbow, but she wasn’t shying away. Think, MacLaren!

  If not Ham then the picture itself? Had she seen something in it? Chris took the file from Charles and looked at the picture again. Hard. He didn’t see anything he had not seen at the scene. And since she had found the fucking body, he didn’t see anything she had not seen herself at the scene.

  She had seen naked guys before as she had also seen naked dead guys before. She had seen that particular dead naked guy before too, in the flesh, lying on the ground, dirt smeared all over, cock ring full-on. Yes, the discovery of the body had shaken her, yet he thought not by the corpse or his nakedness but by the fact that it was her who had found it. The damn woman sure had the knack way of stumbling on dead bodies. It angered her, depressed her, made her physically sick, but her reaction was temporary as anger would kick in and bypassed her fear. Her coping mechanism, pretty damn effective too.

  She kept her eyes glued to the tip of her shoes. Tell me what’s going on in that complex brain of yours, Princess. Was she embarrassed because of Charles? Angry at Ham? At him? She didn’t look angry, though. He could hear her soft pants. Knot tightened low in his stomach. He looked at the picture again, mentally comparing it to the body at the motel as she would have seen that afternoon.