The Galilee Falls Trilogy (Book 3): Fall of Heroes (11 page)

“It’s my own fault for trusting men who consciously choose to lead double lives. Or hell, maybe it’s karma. I betrayed you and damned if it hasn’t come back to me three fold.”

“Don’t say that. You don’t deserve this.”

“Maybe.”

“Well, I’m here for you if you need me. If you feel like taking a drink, if—”

“I will call my sponsor and go to a meeting. I swear it.”

“And
I
swear if you’re holding anything back on the Gearhead case or put yourself in danger, I will arrest you.”

“I know. Just, you might want to compile that list I mentioned. Mr. Ross might be far less complex than we gave him credit for.”

He’s silent for a moment. “You think this is a robbery? He killed almost a dozen people yesterday. He destroyed half a building.”

“As I said, early stages. I’ll call when I have more. And say hello to the guys and Bella for me. Bye.”

I hang up before he can rip into me further. I truly don’t want him worrying about me. He’s done it far more than I deserve. Another reason we never would have worked as a couple. He’d have a heart attack a year from the stress alone. He’ll forget all the worry when I hand him the goods on Gearhead.

If Diamanda Roth’s checking up on Missy Royal then I’ve made the first cut. Missy worked well for me when we were trying to track down a weapons supplier in the Giuliani syndicate. Missy Royal acted as a front for the 1-8-7 gang in New Urbana, at least per the rap sheet implanted in the databases. I resurrected her in the system before I left for the bar. Damn good thing too, it seems. But I’m tired of waiting. Through my investigation I tracked down Darryl Paul’s home address. Quick pop home for a costume change. And—

My phone rings. A 138 area code. Independence. Hell no. Voice mail do your thing. I pull out of the parking garage onto the always hectic city streets. I need to hire my own car service now that privilege was signed away. I’ll add it to the endless list. Which leads to the question,
how
exactly will I fill my days? There isn’t always going to be an investigation in need of my skills. I
could
actually focus on charity. Form a few of my own. The Joanna Fallon Foundation for Children in Need or whatever. Give kids in the foster system counseling or something. And endowments, lots of endowments and grants, but in my own name. All the charities I help are in the Pendergast name. Nothing has my personal stamp on it.
I
want a legacy, not just to be a footnote in the Pendergasts’. I’ll form one in Pop’s name too. That way he’ll never be forgotten either.

The cell phone beeps to inform me of a voice mail. Fuck. Just rip off the Band-Aid, Jo. I punch in my code and listen.

“Hello gorgeous,” Bennett Stone says. I breathe a literal sigh of relief. “This is my, oh, fourth call and no reply. I’m beginning to think you’re avoiding me, which is a shame because there’s something I need to tell you.” He takes a deep breath. “Okay. Here goes…Joanna, I’m pregnant.” He says it so seriously I can’t help but chuckle. “And it’s yours. So you have to call me now.” He’s silent for a moment. “Seriously though, I would like to speak to you about something business related. I’m in town for a few days, and I’d love to take a meeting. Just a meeting. So please call. For the sake of our child,” he says melodramatically before chuckling. “Bye.”

Oh, what a dick. But a funny dick. With a big dick. Okay, Mr. Stone, you made me laugh. That deserves a response. He picks up on the third ring. “Well hello, Ms. Fallon.”

“Mr. Stone.”

“Screening your calls?”

“Always.”

“Hopefully next time I make the cut. How are you?”

“Sitting in traffic behind a semi. Been better.”

“And are the rumors true? You’ve officially given Pendergast Industries the finger and walked away?”

“Word travels fast.”

“It does indeed. So how do you feel about it?”

“Relieved mostly. My dream of becoming an unemployed waste of space has finally come to fruition. I now have time to be a lady who lunches between plastic surgery visits and talking down to the help.”

Bennett chuckles. “Living the dream, right?” His chuckles subside. “No. Really. What will you do with yourself now?”

“Focus on charity, I guess”

“Really?” Stone asks.

“Yeah. Why not?”

“Precisely what I hoped to hear,” says Bennett. “
And
it sounds as if I’ve caught you before anyone else can scoop that luscious butt of yours up.”

“Okay…”

“Are you available for dinner tonight?”

Oh, I knew it. “Bennett, I told you—”

“A business dinner. Nothing more. This will be worth your while, I promise. I’ll even pay.”

I consider the proposal for all of a second. Anything is better than sitting in that apartment waiting for a call that may never come. “Komodo’s. Best sushi in town.”

“Nine work for you?”

“Sounds good. But this is just a business dinner. What happened was a one off. I mean it. And keep the flirting to a minimum.”

“No guarantees on that last one,” he says, “but I will try my utmost. Until nine, gorgeous.”

“Until nine. Bye.” I end the call with a sigh. “You are playing with fire, Jo.”

Damn good thing I’ve spent my whole life juggling that element. Maybe this time I won’t get burned. Hope springs eternal.

*

Darryl Paul ain’t doing too shabby for a lowly bartender. The man actually resides in my old neighborhood. I lived two blocks away before Ryder blew up my apartment. Like that building, hell like eighty percent of the buildings here, Paul lives in a building owned by Pendergast, one built before the Great War. Not cheap, but no doorman. Lucky me. I press all of three buttons before I’m buzzed in. The super should hold a building meeting about the importance of vigilance while living in a major metropolitan area. I just stroll in and up to Paul’s third floor apartment. My bartender friend opens the door after the second round of knocks, obviously roused from bed judging from the boxers and Independence Eagles t-shirt. He can’t place me at first, it was dark in that bar, but my grin sparks recognition.

“Greetings and salutations, Mr. Paul. Sorry if I woke you.” I pause. “Okay, not really.”

“How did you—”

He’s left enough room for me to snake past him into his messy, modestly decorated apartment. “You think you and your boss are the only ones with people inside police departments? I handed you ten grand in diamonds. You really think I didn’t know who I was handing them to? I don’t represent some bushwhack gangbanger. We’re talking millions here. Not to mention my employer needs his order expedited. He’s not really into games. Well, not unless whips and stilettos are involved.”

“Get the fuck out of my apartment,” Darryl orders.

I flop on his cigarette reeking couch. “Yeah, not until I talk to Ms. Roth.”

“Bitch, you are—” He slams the door shut to take a step toward me.

The snub nose .38 I whip out of my black hoodie’s pouch stops the second step. I don’t point it at him, I just keep it in my hand, which I rest on my thigh. “Have you ever met a supervillain, Mr. Paul? I mean, a real one? Alkaline? That Emperor guy? The Basher? The kind with a double or triple number body count?”

His bloodshot eyes don’t leave the gun. “No.”

“Well, I
work
for one. I see him almost every day. So, ask yourself, do you think
you
scare me? The only thing that scares me is going back to my boss empty handed. And Mr. Paul, I will do anything to make sure that doesn’t happen. So I either start putting holes in strategic points of your body until you give me Ms. Roth’s number, or you just pick up that fucking phone over there so she and I can have a little chat, and you never see my beautiful face again. I vote for option two. You?”

The bartender glares at me, studying my impassive face, I guess to gage the severity of my threat. I cock my head and smile. One upside of finding yourself often facing down psychopaths, you can learn to mimic their mannerisms. I must be doing a good job channeling my inner sociopath because his shoulders slump slightly and he begins moving toward an end table where the portable phone sits. “Thank you, Mr. Paul. And your kneecaps thank you as well.”

His gaze stays on the gun as he dials. “Dee? It’s Darryl.” He listens for a second. “Not really. There’s someone in my apartment who wants to talk to you. The chick from New Urbana.” He listens again. “She said someone in the police department.” He pauses then scowls. “I don’t know, Dee. Just talk to the crazy bitch, okay?”

Holding out the phone, he bridges the small gap between us. I grip the pistol tighter, but he just hands me the phone. “Thank you.” I press the phone to my ear. “Ms. Roth? Glad we could finally connect.”

“This is not how I conduct business,” snaps the woman on the other end. I’d place her late forties, early fifties and from Galilee.

“Nor me, but as I was telling your man here, time is of the essence. My employer
needs
the drone Mr. Ross stole the other day.”

“Well, unfortunately that particular item was a commission and has already been delivered to its buyer. I
was
working on finding you a substitute from my list of contacts, but in light of this unprofessional behavior, I don’t think I’ll bother anymore. Do not contact me or mine again, Miss Royal. We’re done here.” She hangs up without another word.

That could have gone better, but it went well enough. Before I left my apartment, I set up a trap and trace on Darryl Paul’s home phone and cell. The moment he dialed Doris began tracing the number. I now have her direct line and possibly her location. Gotta love the technological age. “Your boss is a bitch,” I say as I stand. I toss him his phone back.

“You’re one to talk.”

I roll my eyes behind my fake glasses. “Sorry to have bothered you.”

I slip my gun and hand into my pouch and walk toward the door. Darryl doesn’t move I’m sure until I shut his door. With a satisfied grin, I meander down the almost empty hallway behind the man in the dark purple hoodie. Smooth as clockwork. I…my smile drops to the dirty ground when the man rounds the corner and I catch a glimpse of his profile. If the familiar cologne wasn’t a tip off those damn lips and cheekbones would be. Motherfucker.

Suddenly filled with righteous anger, I pick up the pace. He’s already a flight below me, hooded head bowed when I reach the staircase. “I know it’s you, asshole!” I shout down. “I bought you that damn cologne and sweatshirt, remember?”

He slows his descent almost to a standstill and looks up at my scowling face. Jesus Christ. I haven’t seen him since I moved out over a week ago and in that time I swear he’s lost ten pounds and hasn’t shaved once. With the hood, baggy blue jeans, and scruffy face no one would ever conceive that this is Galilee’s premier neurologist and superhero. I’m sure I’m no model right now, but he looks almost sick. Dark circles, hollow cheeks, waxy skin. That could just be a disguise. I
hope
it’s a disguise. But his present state does little to quell my anger. I hustle down the stairs, my scowl intensifying with each step. I do get some satisfaction when the man who regularly beats the crap out of the baddest bastards on the planet shrinks in on himself as I approach. He
should
be terrified. I grab his arm and yank him to the corner of the stairwell.

“What the fuck, Jem?” I hiss. “Have you been following me all this time? Are you stalking me now?”

“Of course not,” he says.

“Then what the hell are you doing here? How did you know where I was?”

“Doris. Lizard, y-your hacker set-up another laptop for me to access her. I was working the case and noticed from the files you were as well. I know all about Missy Royal’s re-emergence, but I grew especially concerned when Harry O’Hara phoned me. He told me you fell off the wagon. That he thought you’d lied to him about working the case. He’s worried about you. So
I
grew worried about you.” He pauses. “I traced the GPS on your cell.”

“
What?
” I snap.

“We installed the program on both our phones, remember?”

“Stalker!” I turn on my heel and begin walking away before I punch him.

“I was concerned and with just cause!” he calls behind me. I’m about halfway to the next floor when he reaches my side. “What on earth were you thinking? You went into a known criminal’s apartment without back-up. Without letting anyone know where you were. He could have raped you. He could have killed you, and we never would have found your body.”

“Give me a little damn credit,” I snap back. “I survived the ghetto, over a decade on the force, and two supervillains. One underling isn’t going to take me down. I’m not stupid. I have on a flak jacket and arsenal hidden on me.”

We walk out onto the sidewalk. “It was still reckless. And idiotic. And dangerous.”

“
And
none of your goddamn business! Nothing I do now is your business anymore. You’ve lost the right to lecture, hell to even
speak
to me.” He grabs my arm and spins me around. I yank my limb from his grip. “And you certainly lost the right to touch me!”

“I’m sorry,” he says, holding up his hands in surrender. “I’m sorry. I didn’t…” He groans in frustration. “You hate me now. Fine. I can take it. Perhaps I even deserve it. But don’t you dare punish yourself for my crimes. Don’t you dare needlessly endanger your life. Don’t you
dare
.”

“And don’t you dare flatter yourself thinking I hate you, Ambrose,” I fire back. “That implies I actually give a shit about you anymore. You mean
nothing
to me. You are nothing but a tainted memory not worth a second of my time.” I smile cruelly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, it seems I have to go purchase a new cell phone before my date tonight. Bennett Stone’s in town, you know. Flew all the way here just to see me. I have a
long
night ahead of me.” I drop the smile. “So fuck off.”

This time he doesn’t stop me from turning my back on him and walking away. “And you claim you don’t hate me,” he calls behind me.

I don’t look back. I don’t dare.