Conduct Unbecoming (3 page)

 
                 “Hey.”  Harley glared.  The fact that she spent half her time writing fluff pieces and the rest of it making coffee and picking up lunch was a sore spot.  “I got a
lot
of positive feedback on that piece.”

 
                Augie looked her up and down, laughed.  “Right.”

 
                 “You know what?  Forget it.”  Harley lifted a hand, turned to leave.  “I'll just watch it on the 11:00 news.”

 
                 “Come on.”  Augie made a grab for Harley’s arm.  “Don’t be such a girl. Besides, I owed you for the jackass thing.”

 
                 “Fine.”  Harley tugged her arm free.  “Tell me about the police statement and we’ll call it even.”

 
                 “Deal.”  They shook on it.  “Okay, so basically we've got an off duty, Chicago PD baby cop gunned down sometime last night up in Xavier Heights.”

 
                 “Baby cop?”

 
                 “Twenty-one years old, just out of the Academy.”  Augie scrubbed a hand over his face.  “I saw a picture of him, Harley.  Kid looks like a cross between a choirboy and a boy scout.  Swear to God, big grin and dimples, the whole nine yards.”

 
                 “Ouch.”  Harley winced.  “So how bad is it?”

 
                 Augie lifted his shoulders.  “Critical condition, time will tell, blah blah blah.  Gotta be pretty bad to warrant this kind of vigil, though.  Murray said if the gunshot wounds don't kill him, Sepsis probably will.”

 
                 “Murray?”

 
                 “You know Murray.  He’s the Medic, lives in my building.  You met him last year.  At the Halloween party?”  Augie slung his camera bag over his shoulder, pointed.  “Over there by the pop machine.”

 
                 Reminding him that she wasn't
at
his Halloween party last year seemed more trouble than it was worth, so she didn't bother.  “So what do you suppose,” Harley mumbled, more to herself than Augie, “a choirboy - an off duty choir boy, no less - would be doing in Xavier Heights?”

 
                 “That, my hot little friend, would be the million dollar question.”  Augie shot his empty pop can into the recycling bin like a basketball, punched a fist up in the air in mock, silent celebration.  “Okay, I'm heading out.  Need a lift?”

 
                 “Nah.  Think I'll stick around awhile.”

 
                 “Suit yourself.”  Augie headed for the elevator, then glanced back over his shoulder with a wicked-looking grin.  “Did I mention the kid’s name is Lorenzo Giancana?”

 
                 Giancana?  Harley frowned, rolled it around in the back of her mind.  The mobster?  Frank Sinatra and the Rat Pack came to mind, too - and JFK? - but she was having a hard time connecting the dots.  “What, is he like some kind of gangster?”

 
                 “Not quite.  He is, however, Dante Giancana's kid brother.”  He got into the elevator and pushed the button, said, “Google them, I think you'll find it makes for interesting reading,” as the doors slid shut between them.

Chapter 3

Dante grabbed his duffel bag and climbed out of the cab, slammed the door shut behind him.  Sweat trickled down his neck, his back, and he rolled his shoulders in a half-hearted attempt at pulling his shirt away from his skin.  The air was so thick with humidity he felt like he was wading through it.

 
                 People walked around him, past him.  Dante ignored them, looked up instead, up at the seventh floor.  St. Ignatius’  ICU, lit up like the 4th of July. 

Jesus, he’d been in such a hurry to get here that he hadn’t stopped to consider what it would feel like when he did. 
Tightness in the chest, some shortness of breath, a little lightheadedness.  He was either having a panic attack or a full-blown heart attack.

Dante shifted his bag from one shoulder to the other, shook his head.  Opened the lobby door for a woman with a sleeping, rosy-cheeked toddler on her hip, and followed her into the hospital.  The baby - a little girl with damp brown ringlets and pudgy legs - was plastered against the woman's side, her face buried in her mother’s hair. 
Her mouth, a perfect little crimson-shaped O, leaving a softball-sized patch of drool on the woman’s shoulder.

She frowned when he followed her into one of the elevators, narrowed her eyes in his direction.  Probably hadn’t given a second thought to standing next to him in the lobby.  Being trapped in a tiny, enclosed elevator with him was a whole different ballgame.

When the doors slid shut he caught a glimpse of his own reflection and winced.  Jesus, no wonder she was nervous.  Two days worth of stubble on a tightly clenched jaw; dark, bloodshot eyes; two inch scar on his right cheekbone; bump on the bridge of his nose from an old, poorly-healed break; clothes that had obviously been slept in.  Hell, he almost scared himself.   

 
                 When the elevator doors opened on Seven he stepped out, turned left.  Six years was a long time, but not much had changed.  And yes, the deja-vu thing was more than a little disconcerting.

 
                 The waiting room was full of cops, but he leaned over the chest-high partition around the nurse’s station instead of looking for a familiar face.  “Hello?”

The U-shaped desk was covered with half-empty coffee cups, stacks of paper and file folders, several computers with brightly-lit monitors and an ancient-looking fax machine.  He drummed his fingers on the counter, but none of the nurses behind the desk even looked up.

                 He tried again, louder, knocked on the counter this time.  “Excuse me?” 

 
                 One of them - a forty-something dishwater blonde - pulled off a pair of half-moon glasses to rub at the bridge of her nose.  She slid the glasses back on and said, “yes?”, all without looking up from her monitor.

 
                 “I need to see Lorenzo Giancana.  He was...” Dante paused to swallow the lump in his throat, tried again, “he's a gunshot victim.”

 
                 “Have a seat,” she said wearily, in a voice that sounded more mechanical than human.  “Doctor will be with you shortly.”

 
                 “Can you at least tell me if he's-”

 
                 “Doctor will be right with you.”  Still no eye contact.

 
                 “Hey.”  Dante brought his palm down hard on the counter, making all three nurses jump.  “That’s not good enough.  I wanna talk to Lorenzo Giancana’s doctor, right now.”

 
                 The blonde leaned back in her chair to look up at him over those half-moon lenses.  “Well, the doctor's
with
Mr. Giancana right now, sir.”  Okay, there was the missing eye contact, and look, apparently it came with a side of sarcasm.  “But you are absolutely right,” she went on.  “I'm sure it's more important that the two of you
talk
then for her to actually
treat
his life threatening injuries.”

She rolled her chair back and stood up as if she didn't think he was the world's biggest ass, hooked her thumb back over her shoulder toward the patient’s rooms.
  “I’ll get her for you now.”

“
Wait.”  Dante huffed out a breath, closed his eyes. “Just... wait a minute.  I'm sorry, okay?  Goddamnit, I'm sorry.  It's just that he's...”  Bone-tired, he scrubbed a shaky hand over his face.  “He's my brother.  The only family I have left.” 

 
                 She glared at him for a few seconds before her expression softened slightly.  Either she felt sorry for him, or she was just too tired to maintain the bluster.  “Look,” she said, sinking back into her chair.  “Doctor Jessup really is with your brother right now.  She’s good.  Actually, she’s the best.  And as soon as she's done with your brother, I'll bring her to you myself.  Promise.”

 
                 “Okay.”  Dante nodded, because really, what choice did he have?  “Okay, I'll wait.”

* * * *

                   Google.  She could do Google.  Hell, Harley thought, she was the
queen
of Google.  She whipped her phone out and turned it on, swore under her breath.  No bars, no Google.  Okay, she thought, Plan B.

 
                 Harley hitched her skirt up a little higher and tried to look casual, slowly ambled towards the pop machine.  Slid a bill into the machine and made her selection, leaned down to retrieve the can.  “Hi.”  She grinned up at him.  “You’re... Murray, right?  I'm a friend of Augie's.”  She opened the can, sipped.  “We met at his Halloween party last year.”  She slid her hand behind her back, crossed two fingers.  Childish, yes, but she felt better for it.

 
                 “Hmm, I'm not...”  He frowned, pushed his glasses a little further up on his nose. 

             
“You don't remember me?”  Harley poked out her lower lip, pouted prettily.  “Really?  I was a nurse.”  She'd been to her share of Halloween parties, nurse seemed like a safe bet. 

 
                 “Uh, sure.”  He hesitated, but only for a second, slowly nodded.  “Yeah sure, I remember.  So what brings you down here?”

 
                 “Hmm?”  Shit.  She blinked, scrambling for a viable excuse.  “Oh, my... um... neighbor.  She fell down some stairs.  They're doing x-rays.”  She took another swallow of pop.  “Are you on a call?”

 
                 He held up his clipboard.  “Finishing up some paperwork.”

             
“Ohmigod.”  Harley lifted her hand to her throat, opened her eyes wide.  “You brought that cop in tonight, didn’t you?  The gunshot victim,” she whispered.  Fluttering her lashes might have been a nice touch, but she couldn't bring herself to do it.

 
                 “Just doing my job.”  His chest actually puffed up a little.

 
                 “Crazy how dangerous this city is anymore, isn't it?”  Harley frowned, shook her head.  “Seriously, I wouldn't join the Chicago PD on a
bet
.”

 
                 “Yeah well,” he let loose a rather surly half-laugh, “I don't think being on the Chicago PD was the issue.” 

 
                 “What do you mean?”  Harley held her breath, waited for him to go on.  Come into my web, little fly, she thought, just a little bit farther.

 
                 “You know, I probably shouldn't…”  Murray rolled his shoulders, scrubbed at the back of his neck.

 
                 “Come on, you can tell me.  I won’t say a word.”  She drew an X in the air over her heart, gave him her best
trust me
smile.  “Cross my heart.”

 
                 “Let’s just say he was
way
off duty last night.”

“
What do you mean?”

Murray leaned in close, close enough that she could feel his breath on her ear, lowered his voice. 
“Far as I know, rolls of cash and bags of Heroin aren’t part of the uniform.”

She managed a quiet, disillusioned-sounding
no
, but inside she was screaming
yes!
  Doing one of those obnoxious touchdown dances, too, jumping up and down and singing a hallelujah chorus.

 
                 This could be it.  This
was
it, she could feel it in her bones.  The story that could finally get her out of features and into some real news.  All Harley had to do was sell her  boss on it.  To make Sylvia believe she could grab her reader's attention, keep them glued to the page.

The fact that she had a head start certainly couldn’t hurt. 

                  “I wonder if they all know.”  Harley frowned at the swarm of uniforms. 

“
If they don't, they will soon enough.”  Distracted, Murray frowned at something - someone - over Harley’s shoulder, shook his head.  Mumbled, “Can you believe that guy?” under his breath.

 
                 “What guy?”