Chicago Broken: Detective Shannon Rourke Book 2

by Stewart Matthews

  “I liked Kristina.” Michael said to Jerrod.

  “You wouldn’t want to disappoint her, would you?”

  You only had to brush your eyes over Jerrod to see how hard he felt the money slipping away from him. It was like Miss Honey was ripping his baby out of his arms. “Wait a second, I didn’t get to finish,” he said. “Don’t you want to know the best part?”

  “We heard all we want to hear,” Miss Honey said. She tried to get up, but Jerrod’s hand lassoed her wrist and pulled her back to the bar so hard, her shoulder popped and his glass of water went tumbling into the sink behind the bar.

  “Stick around a minute, and I’ll take you somewhere you won’t regret.” Using his free hand, Jerrod picked up a phone and had it trapped between his cheek and shoulder right away.

  He pushed a single button on the phone and a moment later, someone answered.

  “I got a couple I want to bring downstairs,” he said. He looked Miss Honey over, then let her go. He turned around and muttered something into the phone Michael couldn’t hear. He faced them again, saying, “Okay. I’ll bring them down,” and hung up the phone. He spoke to them: “Come with me. I’m gonna show you where you’ll make more than you ever dreamed of, Marty.”

  Jerrod stepped away from them and exited through a gap in the bar. A second later, he had his arm around Michael’s shoulders, with his body blocking Miss Honey off from the two of them.

  “You gotta see this place,” he said. “You won’t believe it.” He guided Michael toward a small hallway off the main room.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “What about Kristina?”

  “I’m sure your friend would be happy to call her up and have her come over here, right? We’ll take good care of all three of you,” Jerrod said. “All the drinks you want for free.”

  Jerrod waved Miss Honey over.

  She picked up her purse, frowned, and reluctantly followed. “Where we going?” she said.

  “With me,” Jerrod said. “That’s all you need to worry about.”

  CHAPTER 39

  “I don’t know what you think this is,” Miss Honey said. “But I ain’t the kind of lady to go into the men’s bathroom with two boys.”

  Jerrod led them into a tawny hallway off the main room of Aces. It was big enough to drive a Volkswagen through. Odd for a hallway that ostensibly led to the men’s and women’s bathrooms and nowhere else.

  “Stay behind, then,” he said to Miss Honey. “Me and Marty are about to turn that hundred thousand into a cool million. Ain’t like he’s gonna need you around when he’s got enough girls to fill up the limo he’s leaving here in.”

  “A limousine?” Michael said. “Oh, gosh, I’ve never ridden in one of those before. You think I can afford it?”

  Jerrod laughed as he pushed open the men’s bathroom door and slapped Michael on the back. “Yeah, you can afford it. But you know what? We got one out back waiting for important people like yourself. You’ll get to use it tonight at no charge.”

  “Why y’all got them locks on the door?” Miss Honey studied the backside of the door. One edge of it was peppered with locks and braces.

  “They’re pretty,” Jerrod said. “It’s an aesthetic thing.”

  “I think they’re ugly as hell.”

  He turned and glared at her. “That’s a matter of taste, ain’t it?”

  “You’re awfully touchy about a damn bathroom door,” she said. “Like you got something invested in it.”

  Jerrod nodded at the bathroom attendants—a pair of suited men meaty enough to rip the door in half if the mood struck them.

  “Leroy talk to you?” Jerrod asked one.

  “He did.” The attendant walked over to the furthest stall—one of those extra-wide handicapped ones. It was occupied. He banged on the door three times, the lock clicked and the door opened.

  A man emerged from the stall. He looked like a TV butler, wearing a burgundy coat and black slacks. He nodded at Jerrod.

  “This is Marty and his girl,” Jerrod said.

  “I ain’t his girl,” Miss Honey said. “I’m independent.”

  Jerrod shook his head at her and laughed.

  “Sir,” the TV butler said to Michael, “if you and your guest would like to follow me, I’ll be happy to show you downstairs.”

  “You gonna flush us down the toilet?” Miss Honey asked.

  He flashed an impatient smile and turned to Michael. “You’re under no obligation to bring anyone along with you, sir.”

  “It’s okay.” Michael took Miss Honey by the hand. “She can come.”

  “Then please, I’ll ask that you come with me, sir.”

  Michael walked forward, Miss Honey at his side. When they approached the last stall, they saw there was no toilet. Only an opening cut straight into the wall. Behind it, a rich-looking stairway led down. It reminded Michael of the hallways of an old opera house Ewan had taken him to once.

  There wasn’t anything about it he liked.

  “May I have any cell phones, photographic devices, or recording devices you may have on your person?”

  “Why do you need that?” Miss Honey said. “What if one my friends tries to call me?”

  Once Michael and Miss Honey found the ledger and dropped it into plain sight, it was critical that Shannon find it before anyone else saw or moved it. Without a cell phone, contacting her became a whole hell of a lot harder.

  “It’s a necessary security precaution, I’m afraid,” the TV butler said. “Of course, if you don’t want to give them to me, I’ll have to turn you away.”

  “Here.” Michael grabbed his cell phone out of his pocket and handed it over.

  “I don’t think that’s a great idea, hun.” Miss Honey said. “How we gonna keep in touch with Kristina?”

  “We’ll figure out a way.”

  Miss Honey took her cell phone out of her purse. Her eyes marched from the phone to Michael and back again. Losing access to their phones was a wrinkle in the plan, sure, but they weren’t getting another shot at this, and he couldn’t do it without her help.

  “I won’t go if you don’t,” Michael said.

  That made all the men standing around tense up. It was almost funny how hard they’d bit into the hustle.

  “Boy, you’re gonna owe me for this one.” She held the phone out. He already owed her big time. He owed her a lot more than she may have realized. This was just another tally at the end of the list.

  One of the bouncers grabbed her phone, as well as Michael’s, from the host and put them in his jacket.

  “Where are you gonna take those?” Miss Honey said.

  “He’ll put them in a holding area. Something like a more secure coat check—you’ll get them back at the end of the night.” The TV butler passed a white ticket with a number printed on it to Michael. “You’ll want to keep this on your person until you leave. It’ll be quite impossible to retrieve your cell phones without it.”

  “Okay.” Michael tucked it into his coat pocket. “What do we do now?”

  “Follow me, sir.” The attendant smiled and motioned them down the stairs.

  By now, it was clear that Gregory Wendt’s gambling operation was a tad more complex than a couple retired dealers in a shipping container. But was it big enough to draw the attention of the Irish mob? This whole thing with the secret entrance and the TV butler and the bouncers could be for show.

  Whether it was all a front or not, Michael’s heart was doing the can-can in his chest.

  He started down the stairs, keeping his grip on Miss Honey’s hand. If he made his way to the bottom without breaking his neck, it’d be a miracle.

  He had to stay on task. He had to find the ledger. He couldn’t let his anxieties run roughshod over him. Good God, he hoped Gregory Wendt wasn’t connected to the Irish mob. Michael would either be forced to give up the pacifist life pretty damn quick or be content with the fact that he’d be buried in the suit he was wearing.

  At least it was his be
st suit.

  “Y’all got slots down there?” Miss Honey asked.

  “We run a fully equipped casino, yes, ma’am.”

  As if they heard Miss Honey ask, the dings and dongs and clang-clang-clangs from the slot machines echoed up the staircase, which must’ve extended twenty feet into the ground. A riot of cheering touched off—how many people in Chicago already knew about this place?

  At the base of the steps, the closed door to Gregory Wendt’s underground casino waited. It was gold leaf, or at least painted to look like it, and an ace of spades had been etched into it.

  The TV butler turned and faced them, then bowed with a shade more theatricality than anyone really wanted. Miss Honey almost laughed. Michael kept the blank, dumbfounded face which had gotten him this far.

  “If you have any questions or needs, I ask that you please find me,” he said. “I’ll be at the service desk near the exit.”

  “You gonna get that limo for us?” Miss Honey asked. “’cause tonight, I want to ride out here in style.”

  His mouth twisted into the tensest smile he could muster. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll see that the arrangements are made.” He pushed the door open, and they caught their first look at Gregory Wendt’s underground casino.

  Michael’s eyes widened, and Miss Honey’s breath caught in her throat.

  They were screwed.

  The room was easily the size of The Aces Club above them. It was dappled in neon lights, there was music, drinks, all manner of games from Texas Hold’em to baccarat and keno to a wall of bingo screens clear on the far side of the floor. People whirled between all of it like drunk dancers, happy enough to walk on the moon or depressed enough to choke down drink after drink of whatever free booze the waitresses carted back and forth on their trays.

  This little underground casino was fully equipped, fully stocked, and fully secured. Large men in burgundy coats were everywhere—and every one of them looked itching for a chance to pull somebody’s arms out of their sockets.

  “How y’all been hiding this down here so long?”

  “Don’t concern yourself with that.” The TV butler smiled. “Now, please, go enjoy yourselves. You may pick up your chips at the service desk at your leisure.”

  Michael hooked his arm into Miss Honey’s and pulled her forward. Screw it. He’d figure something out.

  He strode out onto the casino floor, his heart still pounding and his palms sweating. A girl in a tight, black cocktail dress holding a drink tray packed with thimble-sized shot glasses walked across their path and smiled at him.

  “Care for one? Compliments of the house.”

  “No, thank you.” He waved it away as casually as he could.

  Miss Honey grabbed one and tossed it back before he could put in the thinnest of protests.

  “Thanks, sugar.” She slapped the shot glass back on the tray upside-down, and nearly knocked the whole thing out of the waitress’s hands. She glared at Miss Honey, and went on her way.

  Michael dragged Miss Honey over near a section of out-of-order slot machines. Maybe the only place in the whole casino that wasn’t crawling with humanity. “What the hell was that?”

  “What was what?”

  “The shot.” He rubbed his hand through his hair, scraping a film of sweat from his palm. “Why did you do that?”

  Miss Honey lifted an eyebrow at him. “You been on hustles with me before and never complained about a drink.”

  “This isn’t the average hustle, now, is it?” He looked over one shoulder, then the other. Was one of the pit bosses watching them? Were they already wise to the game he and Miss Honey were hip-deep in? There was only one exit—back up the stairs. Were the two of them allowed down here so they could be trapped easier?

  “Michael.” She put a hand on his cheek. “You’re gonna sweat yourself to death.”

  All she had to do was say his name. The edge of his paranoia dulled.

  He took a breath. Then another through his nose. And another and another until the throbbing of his veins in his fingers slowed down enough that he could feel the wetness of his own palms.

  “Don’t think about what you got hanging off this, all right?” She put her hand up to his other cheek. “You’re gonna tangle all those nerves up inside you, and you don’t wanna do that. Hear me?”

  He nodded. “Sorry.”

  She smiled at him and he almost felt like a normal human being—a rich dimwit on a date in an underground casino with his new girlfriend.

  “What do we do next?” he said.

  Across the way, somebody hit it big on a craps table and it felt like half the room exploded. It drew Miss Honey’s eyes in their direction. “You see that?”

  “The craps table?”

  “Behind it,” she said. “That hallway. You think that’s where Wendt’s office is?”

  Michael peered between the heads and shoulders by the craps table until he saw it, too. “If his office is over there, it’s probably locked.”

  “I got that handled.” She winked at him.

  Sounded as good as anything he could come up with right now. He grabbed her hand and they wove their way through the game tables. It felt like they’d drown in the people and noises of clinking poker chips and tumbling dice, but they made it to the side hallway.

  Michael stopped right at the threshold and popped his head around the corner. To the left was an important-looking wood-and-leaded glass door with the words EMPLOYEES ONLY etched on it.

  It was cracked open.

  He looked at Miss Honey, a little confused. “I guess we’re luckier than I thought.”

  She smiled at him.

  Just then, Michael saw a hand flash across the opening in the door and grab the knob. A man’s figure appeared, and the door opened wider. He had his back to Michael, but from the silver hair, the up-to-the-minute suit, and the manicured fingernails, there was no mistaking Ewan Keane.

  He was on his way out of Gregory Wendt’s office.

  Miss Honey spun Michael so fast, his neck popped. She slammed herself up against the wall next to the hallway’s opening, put her hands on his face and smothered his lips with hers.

  He was too nervous to kiss her back. If Ewan was here to have a meeting with Gregory Wendt, that could only mean Wendt had entanglements with the Irish mob. They had to get the hell out.

  “Rochelle,” he said into her lips. He had to get her away.

  “Kiss me back.” She pushed her body onto his.

  He didn’t want it like this with her. Not here, not now. But when her warmth leached into his suit, he couldn’t help but give himself over to the soft curves and comforting embrace of her body. Michael wrapped his arms around her waist. He spread his lips with hers, opened his mouth, and kissed her like he’d always thought about.

  His fingers slid into her hair. He took hold of the ends and pulled her head back.

  “Slow down,” she said with an unsure giggle in her voice.

  He didn’t listen—he couldn’t rein himself in now if it meant the world. Something had unlocked inside him. Something had taken him over. He kissed the delicate skin where her shoulder met her neck. He slid his lips up to her earlobe. She shuddered and released a soft moan. It drifted across his ear and was lost in the lights and sounds outside of them.

  A moment later, her hands climbed up his chest, feeling his lean muscles. Her arms came to rest on his shoulders. She cupped the back of his head, pulled away, and let her honey-brown eyes pour into his before she closed them and moved in for another kiss.

  In all the confusion and anxiety of the moments before, he hadn’t realized how soft and inviting her lips were. It was a gift to be with her—a thing he couldn’t ignore or pass up.

  She slowly pulled away from him until her head stopped against the wall. “Was that Ewan Keane?” Her voice was soft and drunk with lust.

  Michael licked his lips and nodded.

  With the tip of her finger, she wiped something from the corner of his mouth. Miss Honey
grinned and turned her finger around, showing him a dabble of her lipstick. “Looks like I need to reapply.”

  He smiled back at her. “Need a bathroom break?”

  “I think I can manage a little espionage if my makeup ain’t perfect.”

  “Fair enough.” He took her hand again, led her around the corner, and stopped. The office door was closed and the room behind the glass was dark. He tried the handle, but it was locked. Of course it was locked. Why wouldn’t it be?

  “Don’t worry about that,” Miss Honey said. She opened her purse and pulled out a black pouch about the size of a billfold. “I can pick that lock like it ain’t even there.”

  Michael stopped her with a touch on her wrist. “Not with all these people walking around.”

  She pulled her lips to the side of her face. She didn’t like it, but she knew he was right.

  “Don’t lose hope yet,” he said. “You still need that bathroom break?”

  “I never needed one to begin with.” She dropped the black pouch back in her purse. “Any woman my age knows the lay of her face well enough to make touch-ups without a mirror.”

  “Let’s pretend you can’t.” He took her by the hand again—a habit he didn’t mind so much—and led her back through the swamp of gamblers and their hangers-on.

  The bathrooms were on the other end of the casino. A line snaked outside the women’s, so Michael pulled her into the men’s with him.

  A guy in his mid-fifties stepped away from a urinal, zipping up his fly. He gave Michael a dirty look on their way to the furthest stall.

  “Don’t mind me,” Miss Honey said as Michael shut the stall door and locked it.

  “Let me see your purse.” He took it out of her hand before she could give it to him, and practically ripped the zipper open.

  “I don’t need you to do my touch-ups for me,” she said. “But I appreciate the thoughtfulness.”

  Michael took his cigarette case out and gave her back her purse.

  “You taking a smoke right now?”

  “Not exactly.” He took his lighter out, then put one foot on the seat of the toilet. “Help me out. I don’t want to fall in.”