by Kaye Chazan
Trouble is, there hasn’t been much worth uncovering in a while. Just the same old same old from Duchess, the Rabbit’s tricks, and that’s not enough for a guy like me. Maybe I need a change of scenery . Maybe it’s time to cash in my retirement plan. Or maybe I just need a challenge.
Maybe Canary’s mystery girl is exactly what I’m looking for.
You want to find someone in this city, you talk to me. When I want to find someone in this city, I talk to Jimmy Cheshire.
Cheshire’s a ghost, a shadow; if he doesn’t want to be seen, you don’t see him. He’ll disappear on an empty street, no cover in sight; just gone, like he was never there. It’s a useful skill, one I wish I could cultivate.
It’s also a pain in my ass.
“Jimmy!” I yell, feeling like a jackass as my voice echoes back on me. Maybe he’s not even here. The warehouses flanking me seem empty enough, rust-stained from the salt air, like they’re bleeding. “Jimmy, I know you’re here. Don’t fuck with me.” The first part is a lie, but the second is just good advice.
My head snaps up at the click-scratch of a lighter, and Jimmy’s leaning against the tin wall to my left, easy as if he’d always been there. I don’t know how anyone can be so stealthy in khaki shorts and a yellow shirt covered in palm trees, but I didn’t see him until right this second.
“No need to shout, Jack,” he says, taking a drag off his cigarette, the cherry glowing hot and red in the shadows. “I heard you the first time.” He smiles, the tip of his cig the only thing lighting his face, so all I see is teeth.
“Cut the creeper shit,” I demand, one hand under my jacket to remind him I’m armed. It’s best to take a firm tack with Jimmy, otherwise he’ll lead you around and around until the wild goose doesn’t even know where you’re going. “Come out here where I can see you.”
“Jack, I’m hurt,” he says, clutching his chest like a fainting maiden. He’s slender, but he’s no fucking lady. It looks ridiculous. “Haven’t I always been good to you? Always helped you out? Even when you’re a humorless dick.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “Let’s not mess with what works.”
“You’re touchy today,” he comments, pushing off the wall and walking into the narrow band of sodium-orange streetlight, cigarette bobbing between his lips and hands raised up where I can see them. “What crawled up your ass and died? Is the Queen taking inventory again?”
“Careful, Cheshire,” I say, but I move my hands away from my gun, tuck them into my pockets instead. “You shouldn’t talk about shit you don’t know.”
“I know everything,” he grins, but his eyes are serious enough that I get curious as to what he’s thinking. Sure, I’m no saint. When you know the Queen as well as I do, you know she doesn’t keep all her eggs in one basket. You even know where the other baskets are, and maybe even how to get your hand in—and get it out again without getting caught. But Jimmy doesn’t know that for sure. He can’t, and I’m not going to advertise.
Jimmy’s leering at me like he’s got some kind of advantage, and maybe I’m starting to doubt that he doesn’t. Just the way he wants it. He must be fucking with me.
“I’m looking for someone,” I say, cutting off that line of thought before it even starts. Get the cards I want on the table, put them out there before he starts to wonder what else I might be holding.
“Have to be a little more specific, Jack.” He flicks the butt of his cigarette across the alley. “I’m good, but I’m not that good.”
“A woman, probably young,” I clarify. “A stranger. She’s been asking a lot of questions. Doesn’t really take it well when she doesn’t get answers.”
Jimmy hums thoughtfully, theatrically, and there is no doubt in my mind that he knows exactly who I’m talking about. Probably where to find her, too, but the bastard’s playing coy.
“Gonna need a little more, there.”
“The word ‘Dinah’ mean anything to you? 'Cause it rattled the Canary’s cage pretty hard.”
“Mm, can’t say it does,” Jimmy shrugs. “But you know that wasn’t what I meant.”
I sigh heavily. Greedy fucker. “You say you always help me out, Jimmy. Don’t I do you the same courtesy?”
“Times are rough, what can I say?” He steps forward, tapping another cigarette out of his pack, casually invading my space. “A man’s gotta make ends meet.”
I’m not in the mood for beating around the bush. “What do you want?”
He flicks his lighter again, click-scratch-echo off of metal and concrete, looks me right in the eye as he inhales. “I want in,” he says, flat, smoke covering his face like a veil. “I know you’ve got something going, Jack, something good, and I want a piece.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I tell him, and it’s technically the truth, but he’s not buying it.
“Come on, Jack, who do you think you’re talking to?” It isn’t a question. Whatever he thinks he knows, he’s not going to let up, not going to let it go.
“Ten percent,” I say, playing along.
“Jack…”
“Fifteen,” I snap. Fifteen percent of nothing is still nothing, but I can’t let him start writing his own checks. “Who’s the girl?”
“I don’t know.”
“Bullshit, you don’t know.”
“I don’t know her name, Jack. She’s just a girl, like you said. Came around asking questions. Been following the Rabbit, and you probably know by now how that one turned out.”
I didn’t know that was her, but the whole city knows the gist of it. Practically tore the roof off the poor bastard’s house; the Rabbit’s been running scared ever since. This broad is serious. “What’d you say to her?”
“She wasn’t sure where to go,” Jimmy says, inhaling deep, then breathing smoke. Pause for dramatic effect. “And you know I can’t let lost souls wander, so I gave her some directions.”
That’s a loaded word if I’ve ever heard one. “Directions?”
“Yeah, directions. That’s all.” He rolls his eyes at me like I’m the one being difficult. “I sent her to March, okay? Figured if she could get answers out of him, she deserved to have them.”
It’s true. Harry March is a notoriously hard nut to crack. When he does, though, it’s explosive. Could make the Rabbit’s place look like a happy accident. He isn’t scared of anything and he’s stone-cold crazy. But if she did manage to get to him; if he did talk to her…
The thought makes me antsy. Nobody knows more about how the Queen runs her accounts than March, at least when he's on his game, and if this dame is still following the Rabbit’s connections, and that information makes its way to Duchess, that could mean big trouble for everyone. More work and closer eyes on me, and that’s the last damn thing I want.
“Thanks, Jimmy,” I say, tugging my collar tighter against the cold breeze that’s sprung up out of nowhere, taking my leave. “I’ll be in touch.”
“I’m sure you will,” he calls after me, and I can hear the smug grin in his voice as it fades away.
Harry March used to be the numbers guy for the Queen. Looking at him, you can see why—thick glasses, thin hair, short-sleeved buttondowns done all the way to the top, even in his own house.
He had been the best in the game, the best anyone had ever seen. He knew the ins and outs of every operation under the Queen’s umbrella, legit and not so much, and he knew how to make it all look nice and legal. Airtight. Aboveboard. Tidy.
Then one day he came into work, sat down calmly and quietly, just like always... until somebody took something off his desk without asking. A pen, a paperclip, doesn’t matter. Three hours, two ambulances, and about twenty grand in property damage later, everyone had learned a valuable lesson about keeping their hands off March’s things.
The Queen offered him a generous early retirement package, provided he stay discreet about what he knew, and ever since then he’s been living a quiet life with his partner, Maddie, who is arguably just as batshit as he is
.
Observe.
“Have some tea, Jack, you really must,” Maddie, says, filling a cup and passing it across the table to me—more an order than a suggestion. The sleeves of his violently purple blouse billow with the movement, threatening to upset the tea service on the table. I take the teacup, take a sip and nearly choke.
“Jesus, Mads, a little tea with your bourbon?”
Maddie just smiles, the edge of something sharper than amusement behind it, and drains his own cup. “Mother’s ruin,” he says, over the rim. His lips leave a glossy red print on the white ceramic.
March’s paper rustles softly. “Gin.”
“What, Harry dear?”
“Mother’s ruin. It’s gin.” His voice is soft; a little bored.
“Maybe your mother,” Maddie retorts with another smile, but March doesn’t even look over.
“My mother’s fine.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t go that far…”
“As scintillating as this is,” I have to interrupt. “I’m not actually here for a social call.”
March lowers his paper entirely and fixes me with a look, gunmetal-grey eyes behind thin wire frames, and I have to fight against the urge to back down. He might not wear his madness on his sleeve, but that only makes him more dangerous. “What’s on your mind, Jack?” he asks, all kindly curiosity.
I shiver. “I’m looking for a woman.”
“Well, I don’t know why you’re asking us,” Maddie teases, throwing a flirty sideways look at March, who misses it entirely; he’s still focused on me. He huffs a little and pours himself another cup of tea.
“A specific woman,” I say. “She’s been asking a lot of questions. Cheshire said he pointed her in your direction.”
Maddie replies before March has the chance. “Oh, her. I don’t know why you’re looking for her, Jack, she’s nothing but rude and petty. Acting as if she’s entitled to everything, telling me how to behave in my own house, and the way she talked to you, Harry, like you were an obstinate child—”
“Maddie, leave it,” March says, tone brooking no argument. Hell, it makes me shut up, and I wasn’t even saying anything.
“She had bad hair,” Maddie finishes, and is still. He leans back against the cushions and sips his tea through a petulant pout.
March folds his paper and puts it aside, careful and deliberate. “I don’t know her name, if that’s what you want. We were never properly introduced.”
While I do wonder at how this woman is getting around, getting as deep into things as she is without anyone knowing her damn name, that’s not really what I’m after. “I’m more interested in where she might be. What you might’ve told her.”
“I might not have told her anything at all,” March muses, toying with me. He pushes his glasses up from where they’ve slipped, just slightly, down his nose. “On the other hand, I might have told her everything I know about the Queen’s accounting, and how exactly to best capitalize on that knowledge in today’s… competitive job market.”
“Which is it?” I ask, my blood like ice.
He shrugs indifferently. “I suppose you’ll have to assume the worst. I didn’t tell her that, with the Rabbit temporarily out of the game, Frank Duchess is likely looking for a new second, but I rather suspect she knew that already.”
“Harry…” My voice is smaller than I want it to be, and there’s a sick feeling in my gut that isn’t going to let up anytime soon. “What are you doing? You got a death wish or something? You know the Queen’s not gonna let this go.”
March just smiles at me. “Now how is she going to know about something I may or may not have said to someone she doesn’t know?”
My cup clatters against the saucer as I put it down on the table, harder than necessary; hard enough to make Maddie hiss at me. I ignore him. “You want me to keep guessing, March? You want to make me jump through hoops? Or are you looking for some kind of deal… is that it? You tell me, I don’t tell the boss, and maybe we both live; would that make you happy?”
“Call no man happy until he is dead, Jack,” Maddie sing-songs. “And careful with my fucking china.”
“Quite right,” agrees March, reaching his hand over to rest on Maddie’s thigh, casually affectionate. Maddie practically purrs under the attention. I feel like I’m being ignored. Like I’m being dismissed.
“Was there anything else?” March asks, and yes, he’s saying he’s done. Fine. I don’t have the energy for this anymore. I know he talked, but the last thing I want to do is tell the Queen there’s trouble in paradise. Especially when it’s something that’s still preventable. At least, I hope it’s preventable.
“No, nothing else.” I pick up my teacup, carefully, and knock the rest of it back. The bourbon burns my throat, but it’s easy to swallow. March looks at me like he approves. “Thanks for your time, gentlemen.”
“Oh, always a pleasure,” Maddie beams. “You must call again sometime, Jack. Under more… pleasant... circumstances, of course.”
“Of course.”
“Good luck, Jack,” March says as a farewell. I hear you’ll need it perfectly clearly in the silence.
Maybe that’s true, but what I really need is a good night’s sleep.
The minute I step into my building, I get the feeling that something’s not right. My hackles are up and I’m not sure what’s got them there, but I’m not going to take any chances.
I do a quick sweep of the hallway, butt my shoulder up against the door and take a deep breath. Kick the door open and follow it in with my back flat against the wood, gun up and finger on the trigger.
The petite blonde on my sofa is unimpressed. "Hello, Jack," she says, looking at me like I didn't just almost put a bullet in her brain. "Is this how you greet all the ladies, or am I just special?"
She's special, all right. Among other things. Five-four, maybe five-five, fair skin, bright blue eyes—innocent eyes—and that long honey-blonde hair, falling in curls and waves over her shoulders, wild. She's beautiful, and it's just my luck. Just my damn luck.
I keep my expression steely. "It's how I greet everyone I catch breaking and entering on my property."
"I didn't break anything." She pushes her lip out in a pout that would be alluring, in other circumstances. Why'd she have to be a blonde? "I just thought you might want to have a friendly chat."
"Doesn't feel so friendly, what with you busting in on me uninvited."
"You're the one waving your gun in my face. Didn't anyone tell you that's impolite?"
"How about you tell me who you are, and I think about putting it away?"
She smiles, a little curve that doesn't quite make it to the rest of her face. "My name is Alice. It's nice to meet you, Jack. Or do you prefer 'Mr. Knave?' Seems stupid and redundant to me, but I guess you didn't have much choice in the matter. Not your fault your parents had no imagination."
Maddie told me she was rude, but goddamn. It startles a laugh out of me, her bluntness. "You have got a mouth on you, don't you, sweetheart?” It's completely rhetorical; I know it, she knows it. Hell, most of the city knows it, from the stories I've been hearing. But a deal's a deal, so I slide my piece back into the holster on my hip. Her eyes track the movement down and linger, just for a moment. I wonder what she's thinking. She’s not saying. I shake my head.
"Nice to make your acquaintance, Alice," I say, ever the gentleman. "Please, don't get up on my account." As if I thought she would. I shrug out of my jacket, loosen my tie, because it's my house, and a man should be comfortable in his own home, intruders be damned. She's still looking at me, and I don't know what to make of it. Maybe I'm not the only one enjoying the view.
That might be the tea-time buzz talking. I might as well keep it going. "Can I get you a drink?" I offer, not waiting for her answer before pouring one myself. Whiskey, neat. The good stuff.
"What you're having."
Privately, I raise an eyebrow. Is she being cautious, or does she actually have good taste? Add another
to my list of questions.
"So I hear you've been following the Rabbit,” I mention, all casual, letting her know I’ve been paying attention. “You know, someone trashed his place a few days ago, put a couple of his guys out of commission.”
“How dreadful,” Alice says, and she couldn’t be less interested.
“One of them may never walk again. Some kind of explosion. He’s lucky to be alive.”
“That poor man.”
Our hands brush as I give her the glass, and when she looks up at me, there’s nothing like innocence in her eyes.