Trajectory

By G. F. Kaye

It was supposed to be what Pete Hawkins, P.I., sometimes referred to as a simple ‘who’s poking fun at who’ case. He was working undercover at a ‘retired’ mob boss’ party for a client that wanted to know who the guy might be playing footsie with. That was all. Then someone took the short way to the parking lot. Another P.I., that happened to be there also, unknown to him, saw it happen, more or less, and when she ran through the party yelling at him to call 911, he naturally followed. In short order, Pete and this babe secured the crime scene, the cops arrived, and, after finding a ‘note’ the lead detective ruled it a suicide. Case closed, right?
Well, except for the body being way too far from the building to possibly be a jumper.
Also, who was this other P.I.? Who was she working for? What was she after?
Of course, Janie Hillary was also wondering many of the same things, making it inevitable the two should meet, but did she deserve to be blindsided by a lipstick?
Peter Hawkins, P.I.
Janie Hillary, P.I.
Gas and a match, or love at first sight?
Just one of the many mysteries in ‘Trajectory’, the latest in G.F.Kaye’s ‘Marlowe, Inc.’, series.

• Language: English
• Publisher: G. F. Kaye
• Release date: Dec 15, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463485989

G. F. Kaye

G. F. Kaye lives in Grand Rapids, MI, in a lovingly restored 1839 farmhouse. The work was all done personally, including the exterior, which is shaked in the traditional New England style. This has been listed as a "dying American Art Form. The author also paints in most media, and is a neighborhood preservation activist and avid gardener. Of Eastern European descent, the author has always felt a close affinity with the soil and growing things. Writing has been a lifelong off and on affair, with serious efforts being made since 2002. The author has since completed numerous works, and is in the process of final editing them and publishing them as e-books. "I only write when I'm having fun doing it," is the author's credo. The belief is that if the author is having fun writing the works, then people will also have fun reading them. This is reflected in the author's 'tongue in cheek' style, which has been referred to as a cross between the works of John Steinbeck and Mickey Spillane.

Book preview

Trajectory

A Marlowe, Inc., Mystery by

G. F. Kaye

* * * * *

This is a work of fiction. All detailed physical locations are fictional, as are the events described, and exist only in the mind of the author. Any resemblance of characters contained herein to any specific person, persons, or beings, living or dead is purely coincidental.

Trajectory

Copyright 2018 by G. F. Kaye

All Rights Reserved

No part of this e-book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted by any means; mechanical, electronic, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission from the author.

In plain English, this e-book is licensed for the original buyer’s personal enjoyment only, and may not be legally re-sold or given away. If you feel the need to share this book, please purchase additional copies for each recipient. If you’re reading this book, and you did not purchase it, or it was not purchased solely for your use, then please go to your favorite e-book retailer and purchase your own copy.

Thank you for respecting the work of this author.

First Published by G. F. Kaye at Smashwords. Also by G. F. Kaye @ Smashwords

Stories of the Marlowe, Inc., Crew:

The T-bone Affair

Murder at Tiffany’s

Liberty Shrugged

Also:

Carats

Ikon

A Witch’s Tail

In The Cusp Series:

To Ride in Shadow

For all those readers who became intrigued with Peter Hawkins, P.I., in The Thousand Year Murders, and Janie Hillary in Murder at Tiffany’s, here they both are - on one case. Have fun, and know they’ll be back.

One

Shaking her head, Janie Hillary turned, aiming for the balcony, hoping for a breath of untainted air. She never wore scents, herself, other than spritzing a light mist of perfume in the air before walking though it, and the cloying, not all that compatible odors floating in the closed room were beginning to make her eyes sting. Changing direction in midstream, however, she opted for a path past a compact bar in a corner of the room. The bartender was a pretty honey blonde, nicely coifed in shoulder blade length curls, and elegantly made up. She wore a simple silvery satin oxford blouse over a mid-calf length full black skirt and the obligatory dark stockings and heels. She also wore a gracious smile while steadily taking orders and skillfully filling them. There was never a ruffle in that smile, either, even when an overly made up young woman ahead of Janie tendered an order for something neither she nor, apparently, the bartender ever heard of. Hmmm. Afraid that’s a new one on me, hon, the blonde replied in a low contralto, barely tinged with a southern drawl. Just what goes into that, sweetie?

A moment later, a satisfied customer, scanning the room, headed for a bevy of similar creatures a short distance away as Janie watched. Turning back, rolling her eyes, she caught an amused smile on the blonde’s face in place of the gracious one. Grinning with a slight shake of her head, as Janie was the only one in earshot, the friendly voice said, accompanied by a conspiratorial wink, Hmmm. Let’s see. Your boyfriend brought you here, has completely ignored you ever since you walked in, and you’d rather be anywhere else, huh, doll? The smile, of course, never wavered. So. What’ll it be to numb the pain?

Oh, hell, it’s much worse than that, Janie giggled at her offhanded manner. Actually, I’m working. My boss brought me.

The boss, eh? The blonde, whose discreet nametag identified her as Sandy, grinned. I get it. He needed arm candy. In that case, you’ll have a double of what?

How about a stiff ginger ale, no ice, please, if it’s chilled, Janie grinned back.

One ginger, straight and tall, coming right up, the blonde chuckled merrily. Filling a glass, she set it on the bar. See if it’s cool enough, hon.

Just fine, Janie smiled after taking a sip. Perfect.

We aim to please, Sandy chuckled before adding, Good luck, with a merry wink.

Janie immediately decided she liked the woman. Right about then, however, a particularly noxious scent drifted by. Making a face, Janie noted, almost in passing, the smile on the blonde had faltered a little, the twinkling hazel eyes rolling up maybe a millimeter when the musky stench wafted past her nose. Unfortunately, the blonde might be stuck there. She, however, was not. Shaking her head in sympathy, Janie resumed her search for a breath of fresh air. A short time later, having made it to the French doors opening onto the balcony, she walked into the night and took a deep breath, immediately sneezing, however, when the breath came with a blast of used cigarette smoke.

Oh, I’m sorry! the man at the railing apologized. Janie waved him off with a slight sniffle, taking a position upwind of him. I take it you don’t smoke, he thrust.

Only the occasional good cigar, she feinted, smiling easily.

Ah, a beautiful woman who appreciates a good cigar, he riposted. For that, I could quit smoking cigarettes and take up other bad habits.

She turned her head, smiling at him. It definitely wasn’t a smile that said, Gee, that was so witty, and I’m so interested! Why don’t we just go jump in the hay? He was brighter than she’d thought. Graciously taking it as the coup-de-grace that it was, he stubbed out his smoke in a sand-filled bucket nearby, bowing in defeat before retiring to the wings. Returning her gaze to the city, ten floors below, she sighed as the door closed behind him. Spreading her arms to let the evening breezes blow some of the stink of the party from her dinner dress, Janie wondered, for maybe the hundredth time, why she hadn’t acquired a cheap polyester job for the occasion that she could just throw away - preferably in a dumpster before taking the odors it’d absorbed into her apartment. That was the thing about parties, cocktail affairs in particular. Some smelled good; good food, good drink, and delightful scents surrounding quiet, pleasant conversation. This wasn’t one of them. For one thing, it was a cold buffet. For another, Tony DaSilva ran with a crowd that, for the most part, like himself, had fought its way up from the poorer streets of Chicago. For the most part also, like the man, himself, they were flashy, loud, overbearing; given to monopolizing a conversation. Too, despite the enormous price-tags on their suits and gowns, the chauffeured limousines they’d arrived in, or the large, expensive homes, condos, or townhomes they’d come from, they still seemed to buy perfume and aftershave in five gallon plastic jugs.

Shaking her head, she breathed the air of ten stories up, listening to the sounds of the city. She probably should get back inside before too long, she supposed. She was on the clock. A prosecutor friend had contracted her to take a census of those that showed, and what seemed to be any major topics of conversation. Being a thorough woman, she didn’t want to miss anything he might deem relevant, or, at least, mildly amusing. Janie was a private investigator, fully licensed, and respected in her field. Unlike most, however, she didn’t have an office, or work directly for an agency. She did contract work for a couple larger firms, a handful of smaller ones, and sometimes the cops. Also, unlike most, she wasn’t really that well known, moving around like a ghost in the background, which was what she excelled at. She was a hunter, of sorts, but her game was usually information, not people; not that she hadn’t been hired, on occasion, to hunt livelier game than who might be making secret real estate deals or other arrangements with who in violation of their contract. For the most part, it wasn’t exciting work; not to outsiders, anyway. For her, it was fascinating; especially when it came down to finding the one snippet of information, like a key puzzle piece, that tied the rest into a neat, tidy package. So what if she sometimes seemed to have the reputation of a dilettante - a pretty piece of nicely assembled fluff that showed up here and there on the arm of so and so or that other guy. It added to her cover, making anyone that saw her often enough in just that situation suspect her not at all; thus talk quite freely. She wasn’t, however, a sweet, young, innocent someone would willingly want to tackle in a dark alley, either. For one thing, she was an ex Chicago robbery/homicide cop; who’d decided to go her own way for personal reasons - and, no, they were nobody’s business, thank you. That, however, rightly led to the assumption, for those that knew her history, she still had strong ties to the Chicago PD, which was not a bad thing to have in one’s rep. Besides that toughness by association, however, she was tough, with several belts of varying degrees in armed and unarmed combat. Besides that, she was very much stronger than her slender, nicely assembled, five-four frame might indicate. It was often told in one ‘hood how she’d taken a direct hit from one of the local toughs, blinked, and cleaned a less than savory South Side establishment up with him without even breaking much of a sweat. That sort of legend wasn’t a bad thing to have going around, either.

Tonight, though, all she had to do was look pretty, smile a lot, and occasionally hang onto her date’s arm, even if it was just for show. He wasn’t who she was working for. Other than that, she was there to keep her eyes and ears open. Which, I’m not seeing or hearing much out here, she sighed, taking one more deep breath before opening the doors to noisy chaos.

She never made it. Suddenly, something large and dark flashed past her periphery. By the time she could dash to the railing and look, there was a black suit containing what was likely a broken mess on the ground, right at the edge of the parking area. So much for a quiet night, she muttered, leaning backwards over the railing and looking up. A moment later, having seen nothing, she rolled upright and sailed through the doors, quietly instructing the still smiling bartender on the way by, Call 911, Sandy. Somebody just took a header from one of the upper balconies.

Trotting to the door, unmindful of the curious glances she was getting, she rushed to the elevators, stabbing the down button repeatedly. The blonde came up behind her, speaking hurriedly on her phone. Did you see anything else? she asked Janie in clipped tones that had none of her previous easy drawl. The brunette fired a curious glance at a very serious face before shaking her head in the negative.

Tell dispatch, no, she grunted. I caught a falling body from the corner of my eye while I was turning to come in. Saw nothing. Heard nothing. Tell them I’m a licensed PI, CPD trained, going down to secure the scene.

Speaking into her phone in the same clipped tones, clearly and briefly, Sandy informed what Janie assumed was CPD dispatch she’d go down also, keeping the line open. She stepped briskly into the car with Janie when it arrived. Nothing more was said. The brunette studied her while the car whisked them to the ground floor. Suddenly the brisk, efficient bartender was efficiency of a different sort. Janie was mildly curious, but had a bigger problem outside, so didn’t say anything. Rushing from the elevator, through the lobby doors, and down the side of the building, she was trailed by a security guard that’d been startled by their sudden appearance. He’d jumped to his feet, following at the bartender’s peremptory wave. Janie didn’t notice the bartender studying her curiously, too.

Dashing toward the body, she stopped some distance away, frowning in consternation. Something felt wrong; she simply hadn’t pinned it down yet. That the victim was, in fact, quite dead wasn’t in any doubt. He’d landed at the edge of the curbed parking area, and appeared, from closer up, as if he was simply lying, chest down, splayed out on the asphalt beyond the curb, with his head, facing left, up on the concrete sidewalk. She had the crazy thought that it looked for all the world like, except for all the blood, he was just resting, using the sidewalk for a pillow with his head nestled into it almost up to his nose. Of course, that said a lot for the condition the right side of his head and face was in. She turned abruptly on hearing the blonde’s voice.

We have one DB, male, forty-something, Caucasian, dark hair, belly down on the pavement. His head is on the walkway above the curb, right side down. Right side appears to be completely compressed into the left. The neck is obviously broken. There’s blood emitting from the left ear, nose, and mouth. There’s also a lot of blood spray from the abdominal area, visual evidence of dislodged viscera, and a whole lot of blood running down the gutter. Don’t bother with an ambulance. Just send the ME. Tell whoever catches this one to bring lots of sponges.

Frowning, Janie turned to continue her investigation. Sandy’s description being accurate, she shrugged, telling her to keep the looky-loos away from the scene until the uniforms arrived, as a small group had already begun to gather. With a quiet groan, she heard someone yelling from above that somebody’d jumped, and a cute brunette from the party was down there with him. Expecting some of the condo party would soon join them, Shit! she muttered with a heartfelt sigh. So much for playing the simple dilettante with this crowd.

Taking a hanky from a pocket, she lifted the out-flung left front of the man’s jacket, noting the presence of an inside pocket. There was nothing in it, however, so, letting it drop, she simply sat back on her haunches, careful to stay out of the spatter. While studying the scene, she cocked an ear toward the approaching sirens before glancing at her wristwatch. Hunh! Not bad for a Friday night, she shrugged. Leaning back, she frowned up at the building, noting the alleged barmaid standing some way off, between the body and the crowd, fists planted on hips. She was doing the same, a puzzled expression on her face.

Nuh-uh! Definitely more to that broad than met the eye.

By then, the first cruiser was screeching into the parking lot, however, and she was instantly busy with the uniforms. The only further note she made of the bartender was when her eye caught her slowly and deliberately walking straight out from the building, far enough away to be unnoticed by the cops or crowd. By the time the uniforms had taken Janie’s preliminary statement, taped off the area, and the coroner’s people had arrived, she was nowhere to be seen, and the only thing she could tell the officers was the bartender’d had a cell phone, had followed her down, and had relayed her assessment of the situation to dispatch. It stopped their questions for now, but definitely not hers. Eventually, the detectives arrived, and the procedure of finding out who the guy had been began. She knew the guys on the case. Giving one of them a high sign she’d talk to him later, she began searching for the blonde. She wasn’t anywhere in the immediate area, so Janie headed up to DaSilva’s. Blondie wasn’t there either. Recovering her drink and grabbing a seat, Janie settled back to wait. A short time later, Sandy showed up. Smiling at several thirsty people that’d gathered at the bar by then, nonchalantly unlocking it, she began dispensing sedatives to rattled guests with that big smile as if nothing had happened. It was just too damned weird, as her friend Nina would say. Janie decided, then and there, that a certain Miss Do You Want That Straight Up Or With Water was going to have a new best friend for the evening.

After a while the detectives arrived upstairs, wanting to know if anyone had seen anything. They eventually got to the cigarette smoker, who said, pointing, that Janie’d still been on the balcony when he’d come in. One of them spoke to the other and walked up to her, an easy smile on his face. Jerking her head at the French doors, not looking back, she headed out to the relative quiet. Hey, Janie, the tall, black detective grinned, following her into the cool night air. How is it that trouble just seems to follow you around?

Saves me the trouble of having to look for it, Bob! she chuckled. Standing on tiptoe, she gave him a big hug and a peck on the cheek. How’s Glenda?

Oh, just fine, as usual, he replied, letting his arms drop to his sides. When I called and told her I’d be late tonight and why, and told her you were here, she said, ‘Be sure to remind her about dinner, Sunday.’

Remind me about dinner? she chortled. Like I’d miss a Southern style steamed ham? Come on, Bobby! She should know me better than that.

Oh, yeah. She knows you, all right. A DB landing smack in your lap? She knows for a fact just how much that can distract you. That’s why she said to remind you. So, what do you think? he grinned.

By then, she’d leaned over the railing, looking down on what was now a brightly lit scene as the coroner’s men prepared to bag the body and a crew of CSI’s began spreading over the immediate area. How about you first, she nodded, watching the crew.

He shrugged, though she couldn’t see it. Looks like a suicide.

Suicide? She frowned without looking at him. Your call?

Nope. Nelson’s, he replied, frowning at her tone.

Right! Nelson’s an idiot! she muttered.

Well, there was a note, of sorts, he said.

There was, huh? she snorted. Spinning, she asked, pointedly. What do you mean, of sorts, Bob? Was there a doggoned note or not?

Well, his computer was on. One of the guys jiggled a mouse or something and the screen lit up and said, ‘Life sucks, you know.’ He shrugged. Nelson took one look and called it.

Nelson’s an idiot, she repeated.

Okay. Well, if you recall, I did ask you what you thought, he chuckled.

I think he had help, she frowned, returning her gaze to the ground.

Find me something concrete that shows that, and I’ll hold the case open, he declared. You know I will, J!

Hmm. You might just measure the distance from the building to the point of impact, but I’ll get back to you, okay? Get me a key to the guy’s place if you can, she muttered as he started to go.

Now, Janie, he frowned. Noting the look in her eyes. I’ll see what I can do, he finished with a sigh.

Thanks, old buddy, she smiled. I mean that.

The detective headed into the condo, shaking his head.

Right! Suicide, my aching ass! Janie muttered before heading in, also.

* * *

Watching her come in after the cop, noting the grim expression, Pete Hawkins nodded to himself. Sure, there were more notorious guests at the party, but this girl, he felt, bore watching. Actually, she bore watching anyway, he observed. She was very pretty, with acres of nearly black, glossy curls surrounding an open, friendly face. Wide-set, gray-green eyes were framed by naturally long, lush, lashes, even darker than her hair. She surveyed the room from under fine, expressive brows, and had a pixy nose and full lips; pouting and sensual at rest, that broke into an easy grin at the slightest provocation, revealing the whitest, most perfect teeth he’d ever seen. All this perfection perched above a trim, well-proportioned figure, currently showcased by a strapless, deep red, brocaded dinner dress with a full, just above the knee skirt. She had great legs, too, which were currently, unless Pete missed his guess, and, as a life-long leg man, he didn’t often, encased in ultra-sheer stockings that matched her skin tone, set off by high heeled, almost nothing sandals. He grinned wryly, remembering the way she’d trotted across the room in those heels just a short time ago, and shook his head slightly in appreciation. It was obvious, from that, she wore tall heels most of the time, and walking or running in them was second nature to her. That meant she was probably very aware of those great legs, too. To top it off, she was, by her very own admission, a PI.

Fascinating!

It was definitely not a time or place to be eyeing pretty girls, however, he reminded himself. Tossing the honey-blonde hair of a wig back over his shoulder with a quick, natural seeming flip of ‘her’ head, ‘Sandy’ leaned slightly on the bar, smiling at ‘her’ next customer.

Like the pretty brunette, Pete was a PI. Unlike her, he’d hung out a shingle, and worked on his own most of the time. He was assisted by his cousin and best friend Suzanne, who ran the office while taking criminal science classes at one of the downtown campuses in preparation for becoming licensed, herself. As for obvious police training, from the way he’d reported the scene to 911, he’d been a military cop before being recruited into Army intelligence, and from there into covert ops. It was there he’d first been introduced to the idea that he could take advantage of a slight build and fine features to impersonate a female if it became necessary to infiltrate somewhere. Over the years, he’d developed a couple of female ‘personas’ he still used, of the middle-aged librarian or schoolteacher sort. As for his current blonde appearance, it was only when working on a case with two lovely women from Marlowe Confidential Investigations, Inc., of New York recently, of which the somewhat notorious Jerry Marlowe, herself, had been one, he’d learned he could impersonate a pretty, younger woman - and do it quite well. It was something that’d simply never occurred to him before meeting them. It’d been accidental, too. As it’d happened, the people they were after had learned their identities - in Pete’s case, both his real one, as well as what he usually referred to as his ‘Miss Pete’ persona. They’d all had to change their appearance, and his new friends and partners had laughingly decided to hide him in the trees, as it were, by simply making him look like another young woman. The fact that he’d turned out to be attractive looking had actually been a surprise. It was one they’d taken full advantage of, however, by somewhat unmercifully teaching him to simply ‘be the pretty girl you appear to be’. They’d done that by the simple expedient of forcing him to be ‘Alexandra’, or Sandy, as he went by in this guise, for almost a couple weeks as they set about bagging the nasties that’d been shooting at them. There was nothing like a total immersion program to get the point across. It’d been a real education for a thirty-something bachelor; being made to live, not only as a female, on a day to day basis for a length of time, but to do it convincingly while in the close company of two genuinely pretty ladies; close as in sharing the same bedroom, not to mention wardrobe items. They didn’t simply hide him in a hotel room either. Oh, no! He’d been out in public the whole time, or most of it, following leads with one or the other, even going it alone on occasion once they felt he was ready. Actually, to his surprise, it’d been a lot of fun. He’d even started to flirt, playfully with some of the cops and others he’d known as himself, and who, of course, had absolutely no idea the blonde hanging on their arm was their old buddy. He’d explained it to Suzanne, who he’d introduced this persona to while still on that case. Like the rest, his cousin had been dumbfounded, not only at his appearance, but his actions, body movements, hand gestures, even manners of speech. Any guy can wear a dress, he’d told her, grinning, but how many have the privilege of being taught by not one, but two very lovely, down-to-earth experts, exactly how to wear the dress. It’d been memorable, in more ways than one, while opening up a whole new way of looking at things to an otherwise excellent investigator. It’d also resulted in a close friendship with Jerry Marlowe, that Pete hoped might become more than that, someday, but only time would tell. Right now, however, he needed to concentrate on being ‘Sandy’, the pretty blonde bartender from a catering service; at least for the next couple hours. Then he’d be looking into this ridiculous jumper thing more closely, starting with a couple things he’d already set in motion. He just had a feeling, too, he’d not seen the last of a certain brunette, but it, also, remained to be seen. Now he handed a pair of Margaritas to a simpering, bleached blonde and her goofy looking, though arrogant as hell escort while eying a cascade of glossy, nearly black curls, currently bobbing animatedly in conversation. He couldn’t quite shake the feeling she was watching him, too, or watching Sandy, anyway. Of course, that gave him one immediate advantage.

He was pretty sure she wasn’t wearing a disguise.

* * *

For the next couple hours, Janie circulated, playing the game she’d been hired to play. Most of the time, she managed to stay where she could keep an eye on a certain blonde with a big, sunny smile and slightly breathless drawl. That was where it’d started. The down-home drawl was unlike the precise tones and language she’d used with the dispatcher. Not only that, now she was acting like nothing odd or unusual had happened. It was a glaringly round exception in a puzzle of otherwise square pieces. She hated that, and decided she was going to find out who this woman really was, or her name wasn’t Janie Hillary. She’d begun her research by asking Tony DaSilva about her, giving him the impression she thought the woman was great, and she’d like to use her for one of her own parties some time. He’d shrugged, saying she was actually a substitute for the gal that was supposed to show up, but, Hey! A sub looks like that, I can deal wit’, he’d grinned, adding he’d probably request her from now on when throwing one of his ‘things’. Needless to say, he’d freely given her the name of the caterer that’d supplied the buffet, portable bar, and the blonde bartender when asked.

There were no untoward incidents the rest of the evening. Just after midnight, per Tony’s instructions, ‘Sandy’ closed the bar, taking an inventory of what was left in stock before tidying up the top, securing the low, wheeled cabinets that contained the booze, a chilled keg of draft beer, and other items, and wrapping and tying the ends of the long plastic tubes the disposable ‘glassware’ had come in. Walking around the room, she gathered the empties that’d been left lying about, disposing of them in a wheeled trash container that’d been behind her station. Finally, she inspected the buffet, arranged on carts latched together, front to rear, to form a continuous surface. Restocking disposable plates and plastic flatware from a cabinet the items were arranged on, she made sure everything was set for any guest that might want a late sandwich. After she finished, Tony spoke to her a moment, Nodding, she went back to the bar. Unplugging a cabinet with a small catch-basin and bar style tapper on top that contained the chilled keg, setting a stack of plastic glasses atop it, she wheeled it to the end of the cold sandwich and salad buffet while one of Tony’s buddies brought out a folding card table from another room. She held the plug up a moment, a well shaped eyebrow raised, since the outlet behind her was already filled with cords from the food coolers, but Tony just waved negligently, saying the beer probably wouldn’t warm up all that quick in the insulated cabinet. Don’t worry about it, kiddo! he laughed, walking up and proffering two envelopes. Holding up one, This one’s for your boss, he said. Tell him I said, ‘Thanks. Come by for a cannoli sometime.’ This one’s for you, babe, he grinned, handing her the second. Thanks for everything. Come back any time, okay? You don’t have to wait until the next shindig, either. She actually surprised Janie by blushing slightly when Tony gave her a kiss on the cheek. Afterward, she quickly gave everything a quick, thorough looking over once more before opening one of the supply cabinets and extracting a warm looking, black cape.

Hey, doll, where do you live? I’ll have my guy take you home, Tony called from a seat at the card table while one of the guests dealt.

If it’s no bother, she smiled graciously. Laying her cape over an arm, she named an intersection downtown.

Really? What’s a pretty girl like you doing living down there? he replied in surprise, and she shrugged, saying it was quiet, especially at night. She added she didn’t even notice the el, anymore, and it was just a nice place.

Well, hey! If you like it, it’s all that matters, Janie heard, walking out the door on the arm of her ‘date’. She’d already decided to dump the guy, soon as possible, and check out the address. She waited at the lobby door while he got the car, and was still there when the blonde came down. It seemed she hesitated a moment, spotting Janie, before walking over, laying her cape across the guard’s desk, and making nice at him. Laughing merrily at something he said before saying goodnight, she walked up beside Janie, her cape now over both arms. Janie was spared having to speak by her ‘date’ arriving. Turning, she smiled quickly before backing through the outer door and walking to the car, rolling her eyes only a little, unseen by anyone, when the uncultured moron sat in the seat while she opened her own door and got in. They were nearly out of sight of the building before DaSilva’s Caddy showed up, She nodded in satisfaction. It would give her time to get where she wanted to be. It wasn’t until they were nearly out of sight of DaSilva’s building, heading downtown, that her suspicion bone pained her sharply. Suddenly realizing there’d been a flat package on the counter when the blonde had laid her cape on it, not when she’d glanced up at the reflection of the guard’s station in the plate glass of the door while the blonde was walking up, Damn! Janie muttered in a low voice, cursing herself for a rank amateur at not having spotted the handoff.

Excuse me? blurted her ‘date’.

Nothing, she snapped. Just take me to Wabash and Jackson. I forgot I was supposed to meet a girlfriend after Tony’s party. It wasn’t that far from the truth. The barmaid was a girl.

But . . . he began.

But what? she turned, eying him sharply, one of her eyebrows describing a delicate arch as she skewered the putz with a look. You spent the whole evening talking bullshit and ponies with your buddies. What did you expect; I’d reward you for it?

Uh . . . he tried again.

No, uhs, Teddy, she sighed. You were my in to DaSilva’s. That’s all. End of subject - and you now owe me one less. You still owe me many more, though, my man. Don’t forget it. Oh, and, she frowned, turning to glare at him, next time you could at least try and be a little more attentive, even though tonight was business? I ain’t exactly chopped liver, you know, and it probably didn’t look good for you, bringing a babe like me to a party and ignoring her all night. I’m sure the rest of the women noticed it, and that kind of word, my man, will spread! she sniffed in annoyance. Fast!

* * *

Pete approached the Caddy, smiling pleasantly. The driver, a slab of muscle he’d been introduced to as Dickie when he’d helped ‘her’ set up for the party, held the door. Maintaining the smile, he sat on the end of the seat, lifted his legs, and drew them into the car in a ladylike fashion. Waiting until Dickie installed himself in the driver’s seat and turned his head, Pete gave him his address, then sank back into the deeply padded leather with a silent sigh, his feet thanking him profusely for finally being off them. Flats would have been out of the question at a dinner party, even an informal buffet, but he was thinking he could’ve worn lower heels. Shortly after arriving home, the spikes, though well made and well cushioned, would likely be reposing somewhere across the room, he felt, or, more likely than not, simply dropped beside his bed while he shed the rest of the specialized undergarments responsible for his nicely curved figure. Then he’d bid the pretty blonde Sandy good night, storing her in the left hand end of his closet. For now, he just gazed at the ever-changing city skyline as the sleek, comfortable car sped silently downtown. This wasn’t one of the new rounded, lightweight models. It was one of the big, heavy salons from about the mid eighties, built when a Caddy was still a Caddy, before they’d fallen prey to government economy standards that’d mandated downsizing. The trip didn’t take long, at this time of night. In short order, the driver was off the Ike, heading through downtown to his place, just below the Loop. Take a right at the next corner. Pull up at the first lobby, he prompted Dickie at last.

Okay. There you are, Miss, the big guy said, pulling into the curb and stilling the powerful motor. Taking the hint when the driver’s door opened, Pete waited as he came around and opened the door. Maintaining character, he took the offered hand while stepping up out of the luxurious interior.

Thank you very much, he smiled up at him, wondering if the guy was as close to seven feet tall as he thought he was.

My pleasure, Miss, the guy smiled genuinely. You want I should walk you up to your place, Miss?

No, thanks, Dickie, Pete smiled graciously. I’ll be okay from here. Thanks for driving me. Tell Mr. DaSilva thank you, too, please.

I’ll do that, the big guy nodded, and, Pete noted, watched from the back door of the car until who he thought was a pretty young woman was safely inside the building and had pushed the inner door securely closed. Only then did he close the car door and walk around. The big driver - and probably bodyguard - waved slightly before folding himself back into the car with surprising ease. Pete returned his wave, and he was off with a silent surge of power from the big V-8. Nodding, eyebrows raised slightly at manners he hadn’t seen in a while, Pete turned. Deciding to pull the spikes off right where he was, he padded toward the elevators on stocking feet, sighing relief. You and I are not speaking to each other for a while, he muttered with a grin, holding the offending pumps up while waiting for the car. Frowning, slightly, he thought he’d caught motion from the side of his eye. As had been well ingrained over the years, though, he didn’t automatically look, stepping into the car and turning to press a floor button as if nothing were awry. Studying the parabolic mirror mounted on the opposite wall before the doors closed, however, he saw that the motion was real, all right, and seemed to have a lot of dark, curly hair. Damn, he sighed. When the doors slid open minutes later at his floor, he ran to his private entry and into his place. Hurriedly tossing the shoes, unzipping his skirt, dropping it on the floor, and stepping out of it, a moment later he was literally throwing himself into a set of drab colored jogging sweats that’d been laying on the end of his bed. Stuffing his feet into a well-worn pair of crepe soled loafers, grabbing a scrunchie from a dresser, he ducked back into the hallway, trotting to a nook