Conduct Unbecoming (5 page)

“
Ovid, huh?”  Dante smiled wearily.  “I'll keep that in mind.”  

 
                 “Hey, I heard about Enzo.”  Manny shook his Mr. Clean shaved head, ran a hand over his gray, ZZ Top-style beard.  “Jesus, it’s like the whole fucking world’s gone crazy.”

 
                 “Tell me about it.” 

 
                 “He was always such a good kid.”

 
                 Dante's eyes flashed.  “
Is
such a good kid,” he snapped.

 
                 “Aw Christ,” Manny stammered, “of course
is
.  I'm not - I didn’t mean-”

             
“I know.”  With his exhaustion catching up with him, Dante shook his head, scrubbed a hand over his face.  “It's okay.  It’s just... been a really long night.”

 
                 “Let me get you a drink, man.  It’s on the house.”

 
                 “Thanks.  Whiskey, rocks.”  While Manny poured, Dante leaned forward, planted his elbows on the bar.  “Place looks the same.”

 
                 “Yeah well, come to find out, these guys don’t like change much.”

“
I hear that.”  Dante tipped his glass in Manny’s direction, took a swallow.  “So does he come in much?”

“
Enzo?  Sure.”  Manny frowned, tried to remember.  “Every couple days.  He was in... yesterday?  Two days ago?”

“
Alone?” 

“
Yeah.”  Manny nodded, moved down the bar to replace an empty beer bottle.  “Stopped in for a beer after his shift.”

“
He seem worried about anything?  Upset?”

 
                 “No.”  Manny shook his head, sure of his answer.  “To tell you the truth, it was busy that night.  We didn’t really have much of a chance to talk.”

 
                 Dante took another swallow of whiskey.  “So any...” Dante lifted his shoulders, “changes in his behavior?  New friends?”

 
                 Manny smoothed a hand over his beard, considering.  “I know he’d been hanging out at Roxi’s some.”

“
Roxi’s?”

“
That old strip club out on North Halstedt.  They reopened a year or so back.  Sonja’s cousin Chablis dances there.”  When Dante frowned, Manny added, “Chablis Avery, from St. Michael’s.”  The parochial school they’d all attended as kids.

“
Sure, I remember her.  She was a year or so behind us.  Really big...”  Dante grinned, lifted his eyebrows, held both hands out in front of his chest.

“
Yep.  That’d be her.”  Manny laughed quietly, filled a bowl with pretzels, slid it in front of Dante.  “Kid’s over twenty-one, Dante.  Seems harmless enough.”

 
                 “You’re right.”  Dante downed the last of the whiskey in his glass.  “Guess he grew up while I was gone.”

 
                 “So you gonna stick around for a while?”

 
                 “Yeah.  At least until the kid gets back on his feet.”  Dante refused to consider that he might not.  “I was thinking I’d stay at Enzo's place.”

 
                 “Sounds good.  You gonna need me to let you in?”  Manny leaned down to dig around under the bar.  “I think the boss's got a spare key around here somewhere.  You know, for emergencies.”

 
                 “Nah, I'm good.”

 
                 “Okay.  Let me know if you need anything.  And tell the kid we're pullin' for him, will ya?”

 
                 “Thanks.”

 
                 A blonde climbed up onto the stool two seats down and leaned in Dante’s direction, her long, pretty fingers reaching for the bowl of pretzels.  “You mind?” she asked, her voice low and throaty.

 
                 Dante lifted his eyebrows at Manny for a second, then slid the bowl in her direction.  “Knock yourself out.” 

 
                 She was what Dante thought of as ice princess blond.  Tall, if the long, bare legs folded around the bar stool were any indication, and slim.  Elegant.  Not, he knew from experience, Arturo's usual clientele.

 
                 Before Manny could ask what she wanted, she smiled up at him, just the slightest pull at the corner of her mouth, said, “Can I get a Guinness?”

 
                 “Coming right up.”  Manny retrieved a long neck bottle, put it and a glass on a napkin in front of her.

 
                 She murmured a quiet
thanks
before she swiveled her stool so her knees were angled in Dante's direction.  When she crossed her legs, her skirt rode up a little higher on her thighs. 

 
                 Dante had to remind himself that she wasn't his type.  That he preferred his women lush, voluptuous, with soft, ample curves.  Like cotton candy, soft and sweet and easily forgotten.  This one looked more... complicated than that.  Even so, she had his attention.  Every other man in the place’s, too.

             
She tipped her head back and took a swallow of beer - from the bottle, another surprise - before she leveled those odd, gray-green eyes at his.  She didn't really seem like the type to be hitting on some stranger in a bar, but he couldn’t help but notice that she maintained eye contact for a second or two longer than was necessary.

 
                 It was distracting.  Which was probably why it took a minute for him to notice her mouth, which was technically a little too wide, or her lips, which were almost too full for her face.  By the time he did she was smiling at him, exposing the little gap between her otherwise perfect front teeth, and he was wishing she
was
coming on to him. 

 
                 And under the circumstances, didn't
that
make him a total asshole.  

 
                 “Quiet around here,” she said.

 
                 “Usually is.”  Dante lifted his shoulders.  “Or was, anyway.”

 
                 “You from around here?” Harley asked, absently picking at the label on her beer.

 
                 “Not any more.”  Dante lifted his glass to get Manny's attention, then tipped it towards Harley’s beer.  “How about you?  You need another one?”

 
                 “No.  No, I’m good.  I'm Harley, by the way.” she said.  “Harley Greer.”

 
                 Dante lifted his eyebrows.  “Kind of an unusual name, isn't it?” 

             
“Very.”  She nodded, the corners of her mouth lifting in a grin.  “Made my teen years... interesting, to say the least.”

 
                 “Yeah?  Try being named Dante Giancana.”  He looked over at her, didn’t even realize he’d been holding his breath until the air hissed back out through his teeth.  There was no vague sense of awareness, no flash of recognition.  She didn’t know who he was.     

 
                 “Giancana?”  Harley looked up for a second when Manny came back with Dante’s drink, wrinkled her nose.  “Like the mobster?”  

 
                 “See.”  Dante pushed his empty out of the way, took a drink from its replacement, allowed himself a little smile.    “Harley's not so bad after all, is it?”

 
                 “To us.”  She lifted her bottle.  “Living proof that what doesn't kill you, makes you stronger.”

 
                 “I will drink to that.”  Dante downed the last of his drink, nodded to Manny at the other end of the bar.  Stood up and left some cash on the bar. 

 
                 “You're not leaving, are you?”  She flipped her hair back over her shoulder and he got a whiff of her perfume.  Something subtle and clean, elegant.  It made his mouth water.

 
                “Yeah.  It’s been a long night.”

 
                 “Sure you don't want one more for the road?”

 
                 He told himself he wasn't tempted, but that was bullshit.  What he
wasn't
, at least tonight, was ass enough to act on it.  “Thanks anyway.”

 
                 Harley didn’t turn around, but she watched Dante leave in the mirror behind the bar.  Frowned at her own reflection while she considered her options.             

 
                 Following him from the hospital had seemed like a good idea, but in hindsight?  Probably not so much.  Following him into this bar?  Now
that
had been flat-out crazy.

At this point, she was at a complete loss as to how to segue from small talk over drinks to
can I quote you on that.
  Somehow
so
tell us, Mr Hottie, care to speculate on your brother’s unexpected foray into drugs?
seemed a little weak.

 
                  She shook her head, finishing the last of her beer as Manny came back to scoop up Dante's empties, the cash he'd left on the bar.  He looked around, asked, “Dante go up already?” 

 
                 “Up?”

 
                 “Upstairs.  His brother’s got a place over the bar.  He’s gonna be staying there, least for awhile.”  He rubbed his palms together, smiled wearily.  “So, can I get you another Guinness?”

“
No thanks.”  She smiled, shook her head.  “I think I’m good.”

Chapter
6

Dante reached up over his head, dragging his fingers along the top of the door jamb for
Enzo's spare key.  Their father used to do the same thing at the apartment on 12th, where they lived when Dante was a kid.  Pop would have been the first to tell somebody else it wasn't a good idea, but a lot of old school cops were that way.  Do what I say, not what I do.  Like the rules didn't apply to them, somehow.

“
Thanks kid,” Dante muttered when he found it.  “Don't mind if I do.”  He swiped his dusty fingers on his jeans, unlocked the door and went inside.  Felt around for the light, switched it on.

 
                 He’d never been inside before, but it was about what he’d expected.  Small.  Living/dining room combo, a closet-sized kitchen, tiny bedroom, even tinier bathroom.  And clean, cleaner than you'd expect from a kid living on his own.

There was a spoon in the sink, along with a mug and a bowl, but other than the coffee maker and a toaster, the counters were clear.
  He’d had breakfast - cereal, maybe? coffee? - rinsed his dishes before he left for his shift.

 
                 Dante opened the refrigerator door, peered inside.  Six pack of beer on the top shelf, ketchup and mustard, a jar of pickles.  A carton of leftover Chinese food that, when opened, smelled relatively fresh.  On the bottom shelf, low-fat yogurt and diet pop.  And Jesus, he shook his head in disgust, was that
soy
milk? 

 
                 The furniture was mismatched and ugly, a sofa and a recliner, an end table between them.  A twenty-seven inch television and a DVD player tucked into one of those cheap, some-assembly-required stands.

 
                 The walls were bare except for a couple of framed photos.  One he recognized of his own Police Academy graduation, with him in his crisp navy uniform, his arm around thirteen year old Enzo's shoulder, the kid looking up at him like he hung the moon or something.  Another he’d never seen of his brother and Leo and Leo's wife Rose at
Enzo's
graduation.  Lorenzo in his own dress blues, a grin on his face, dimples flashing.

Their folks were already gone by then, their mother when
Enzo was seven, their father the kid’s senior year in high school.  He, on the other hand, had been in St. Louis, no more than a five hour drive from Chicago, but couldn’t be bothered to come home for the ceremony.  Not, he recalled, his finest hour.

 
                He dragged a hand over his face and moved on to the bathroom, which was small enough that he could probably stand in the center, reach out his arms and touch both walls at the same time.  He slid the shower curtain back to find shampoo and conditioner, soap, and a pink -
pink?
- razor.  There was shaving cream and more razors -
not
pink, interestingly enough - a couple of toothbrushes and some toothpaste, a half-empty bottle of over the counter pain killer and a box of tampons.