Conduct Unbecoming (10 page)

“
Nope.”  Dante slowly shook his head, heat flashing in his dark eyes.  She could feel his gaze trail down her body, like fingers on her skin, the shiver that rippled down her spine.

She was suddenly, painfully aware of the amount of skin her ratty old boxers and way-too-scooped-neck wife-beater tee left exposed.  That her hair
hair must look like she’d been through a tornado, and that she probably had bags the size and color of plums under her eyes.

Honestly, she would kill for a do-over.  Just... five minutes to run a brush through her hair, to throw on a
fricking robe.  Unfortunately, the best she could do was grab the top of her tee and give it a quick, upward tug when his back was turned as he made a beeline for the sofa. 

Harley rolled her eyes, her voice thick with sarcasm. 
“Make yourself at home, why don’t you?”

“
Don’t mind if I do.”  Dante sat down, stretched his legs out in front of him.  “So what’s on the agenda today, Princess?”

“
Oh my God, would you just
stop
with the Princess thing?”

“
Have we touched a nerve?” he murmured, rolling his lips together to hide a smile.

Harley sighed, rubbed idly at her just-starting-to-throb temple. 
Wandered into the kitchen, flicked on the coffee pot.  “I just... can’t think until i’ve had my shower.”

“
Go ahead.”  Dante leaned back, stretched his arms out along the back of the sofa.  “I’ll wait.”

“
I’m not going to-” she stammered, “I mean you-”

“
Come on, Princess.”  Dante rolled his wrist, gesturing for her to hurry up.  “Let’s get a move on.”

Harley opened her mouth,
then snapped it shut again.  At least a shower would give her a chance to put some clothes on.

* * * *

By the time Harley came out of the bathroom - dressed in yoga pants and a tee-shirt, hair slicked back in a ponytail - he’d managed to make himself at home on her couch.  A steaming mug of coffee in one hand and her day planner in the other, her cat - the traitor - curled up and purring in his lap.  “Hey.”  She glared at the cat, made a grab for her book.  “Give me that.”

“
What, this?”  Dante lifted his eyebrows, holding the book just out of her reach.

“
You know what?  You go right ahead.”  She made a face, left him there to go get herself a cup of coffee.  “It’s not like you’re going to understand it anyway.”

“
Gonna hurt my feelings there.”  He didn’t call her princess again, but she could tell he was thinking it.

“
Good.”  She brought her coffee over to the sofa and sat down.  Folded her legs up under her, sipped.  “What are you doing here anyway?”

Dante smoothed a hand over Tolstoy’s head, along his back. 
“You said you wanted to talk about my brother.”

Harley bit back a bitter half-laugh. 
“Yeah, and I believe
you
said I should get lost.  Why the sudden change of heart?”

“
Maybe I could use some help.”  And maybe he’d lost his fucking mind.  Why else would he even
consider
working with this woman.  A card-carrying member of the same goddamn bunch who’d nearly eviscerated him six years ago.

He told himself he’d be better off knowing what was coming.  God knew the knife you didn’t see coming was the one that cut the deepest.

Christ.       

As if she could read his mind, she turned slightly to face him, eyebrows up, clearly skeptical. 
“Help.  From me.”

“
Yeah well, at this point you’re the only one offering.” 

“
Careful.”  Harley rolled her eyes.  “Wouldn’t want all this praise to go to my head.”

“
Look,” Dante said with weary patience.  “Do you want to work together, or not?  It’s a simple question.”

“
Fine.  You wanna work together, we’ll work together.”

“
Great.”  Dante nodded, rubbed his palms together.  “So let’s start with the basics.  Who told you about the drugs?”

Harley snorted. 
“Well if I told you that, you wouldn’t need me, now would you?  Besides, reporters don’t reveal confidential sources.”

“
Reporters?  Seriously?”  Dante said, his temper giving his voice an ugly edge.  “I did a little digging.  Your last story was about pets who look like their owners.”

“
It was your idea to work together, pal,” Harley said sharply, trying to pretend his words didn’t sting.  “Believe me, I am fully prepared to do this on my own.”

“
At this point, we’re not even sure there is a story.”

“
Right.”  Harley nodded, not bothering to keep the sarcasm out of her voice.  “Because it makes perfect sense for your whiter-than-white choirboy brother to end up gunned down in the absolute worst part of Chicago with bags of heroin and rolls of cash.”

Dante leaned toward her. 
“We have no idea what-”

“
Come on,” she said, almost wearily, “we know
what
.  Whether you like it or not, the
what
is painfully obvious.”  She shrugged.  “But maybe there’s something in the
why
that will help us understand it.”

Harley watched him sink back into the sofa, watched him struggle to get himself back in control.  Whether it made sense or not, she actually felt sorry for him.  Humoring him, she said,
“At the very least, somebody left that heroin and money with Enzo.  Maybe if we figure out who, we’ll figure out why.”

Dante scrubbed a hand over his face, nodded.

“So what now?” she asked.

“
How do you feel about basketball?”

* * * *

“Oh my God.  Is that
blood
?”  Harley narrowed her eyes at the mammoth, Rorschach-ish red stain on the tall guy’s T-shirt.  Hooked her fingers through the chain-link fence, leaned in for a better look.

“
Looks like it,” Dante said absently, watching the basketball court for a break in the game.  “From the looks of his face, I’d say... broken nose.”

“
I thought this was supposed to be a friendly game.”

“
Nothing friendly about basketball, Princess.”  Dante lifted his chin, hollered, “Yo Mickey, nice hands.”

The guy with the blood on his shirt turned and looked in Dante’s direction, then flashed a slow, toothy grin. 
“Take ten, guys,” he told the other players, tossing them the ball before he jogged towards Dante and Harley.  “Giancana.  Long time no see.”  He came around the fence, grabbed the bottom of his bloody T-shirt, wiped the sweat off his face.  “Heard about Enzo, man.  How’s he doing?”

“
Kid’s tough.”  Dante thought about the whole Savannah/broken arm thing, smiled.  “He’s... hanging in.”

“
Good.”  Mickey nodded.  “That’s good.  So you sticking around for a while?”

“
At least until he’s up and around again.” 

“
Stop by sometime.  We can always use another player.”  Mickey didn’t say to replace Enzo, and Dante tried not to think it.  “So who’s your friend?” 

“
Hmm?”  Dante looked from Mickey to Harley, then back again.  “Sorry.”  He shook his head.  “My bad.  This is Harley.”  He put his arm around her waist, pulled her in close for a squeeze.  “Harley, say hi to Mickey.”

Harley gritted her teeth, squirmed a little.  Not enough that Mickey noticed, certainly not enough to get away from Dante.  She made herself smile, said,
“Hi, Mickey.”

“
So does Enzo still play ball down here?” Dante asked Mickey.

“
Yeah.”  Mickey nodded.  “Maybe not as much as he used to, but a couple times a week.”

“
And he seemed okay to you.”  A statement, not a question.

“
He seemed good.”  Mickey rolled a shoulder.  “
Was
good.  I think he’d even started seeing somebody.”

“
He tell you that?”  

“
Not out right.”  He chuckled.  “But the signs were all there.  The whispered phone calls and the shit-eating grins, the fancy new cologne.”  Mickey glanced at Harley, then back at Dante.  “You know how it is.” 

Dante let his hand slide lower on Harley’s waist, landing on her ass.  He felt her stiffen, grinned down at her. 
“Don’t we all.  He ever mention a name?”

“
Uh uh.  I asked him, but he wasn’t talking.”

Dante had to laugh. 
“Kid always did like his secrets.”

Mickey’s answering smile faded a little. 
“You know, it was probably nothing, but there was an.... incident.”  He scratched his jaw, let the words trail away.

“
What kind of incident?”

Mickey sighed, rolled his eyes. 
“Last week Enzo got into a big shoving match on the court.  Totally out of character, you know?”

“
With who?”

Mickey muttered,
“What the Hell was that guy’s name?” under his breath.  He closed his eyes for a second or two, then opened them again, shook his head.  “Sorry man, can’t think of it.  He works at Dewey’s, over on 8th.  Skinny guy.  Hispanic.  Dragon tattoo around his neck, down his arm.”

“
What were they fighting about?”

“
No idea, but the kid was really shook up.  Not hurt, you know.  Just... shook up.”

“
Thanks.  I’ll check it out.”

“
No problem.”  Mickey started walking backwards towards the court.  “And seriously, man, we could always use another player.”  He grinned, nodded.  “Good to meet you, Harley.”

Harley smiled back, said,
“You too, Mickey.”  She waited until he’d turned away again to shrug Dante’s hand off her ass.  “Was that really necessary?” she hissed, eyes narrowed.

“
Oh yeah.”  Dante laughed, enjoying himself immensely.  “Totally.”

Chapter 13

Harley hung her arm out the car window, drummed her fingers on the door.  She squinted into the sun, lifted her hand to block the glare. 
Turned to Dante, frowned.  “This is crazy.  What,” she snorted sarcastically, “we’re just gonna... hang around until the guy shows up?”

They were four doors down from Dewey’s, the bar Mickey had told them about, close enough to see anybody coming or going.  At least out the front.  If he went out the back they were screwed.

“You got a better idea?” Dante asked softly, his eyes glued to the entrance.

“
Well no, but...”  Harley frowned, leaned forward, pointed.  “Shit,” she whispered.  “Is that him?”

“
Looks like it.  Why don’t you wait here.”

Seriously?
  She didn’t bother to answer him, just opened the door and climbed out of the car.  When Dante started after the guy, Harley was right on his heels.  Had to be him, the tattoo was a dead giveaway.

Mickey had said dragon, but Jesus, this was a
dragon
.  Bloody fangs and talons, flames shooting out of its mouth, the whole nine yards.  Definitely quality work, and definitely one of a kind.

Dante moved quickly, quietly.  He was almost on him - five, six feet away at the most - when the guy made him. 
When the son-of-a-bitch took off down the sidewalk like a bat out of Hell, pushing and shoving his way past anyone in his path.  “Hey,” Dante shouted.  “Stop right there.”

In a perfect world he
would
have.  He would have stopped right there on the sidewalk, and the two of them would have engaged in a calm, rational conversation.  At the very least they would have been civil with each other.  But of course the world was far from perfect, so Dante had to chase after him for another three blocks.  He even had a hold of his T-shirt at one point, but the little shit pulled loose and ducked down a narrow alley, crashing into one wall, bouncing off another.

And then somehow -
somehow
- Dante had him.  He took an elbow to the mouth and his lip was bleeding, but he had him. Dante shoved him up against the wall, pressed his face into the bricks.  “What part of
stop right there
didn’t you get, asshole?”