Bad Company
Detective Malone Series Book One

Chapter 1

The stapler sailed through the air to hit the brick wall across the room with a loud, satisfying crunch, pairing well with the guttural scream echoing from my chest. I rarely resorted to throwing things, but I’d been working on the Mennon case for a full week with absolutely, positively, no successful lead. It was the most frustrating seven days I’d ever had. I had been so sure this last lead would go somewhere.

Collapsing in my chair, I shoved away from my desk and further office-supply destruction. I sat, defeated, slouching deep as it rolled to the wall behind me, reddish-brown hair floating around my twisted face.

After all that time, I had found only two people who had seen Suzanne Mennon the afternoon after she walked out for her lunch break. The gas station clerk and a contact the clerk said she spoke with. When I finally got ahold of the contact, Jeremy Jones, he gave me no further leads to follow.

All Jeremy had shared was that he bumped into her at the gas station near her work. After further cajoling, followed by some light harassing, he explained he had swung by on his way home from an all-nighter at the betting parlor for some Mickey’s. I pressed him for more information, but he said he didn’t remember what she was buying. No memory of anything strange about her mood or appearance. He didn’t give me anything to go on. He said he only remembered Suzy because she had a big rack…Cue the eye-roll.

Over the past week, I had canvassed the neighborhood around Suzy’s home and workplace, trying to find anyone who might have seen her or anything that might give me a lead to go on. I felt like I was circling the drain.

Trying to focus my thoughts, I took several deep breaths. I most certainly wasn’t going to get anywhere by sitting in here, sulking, no matter how appealing it seemed. I had to figure out my next move. I shoved up from my seat, snatching up my keys and my leather jacket to head out for a walk. Maybe it would clear my head.

Stepping out of the old brick building where my PI office was located and into the warm spring morning, I slipped my jacket on. It was a beautiful day, and the sun was out. My boots crunched on the leftover road salt from winter, and the typical Chicago wind tossed my shoulder-length auburn hair around my head. I couldn’t keep it straight to save my life, the constant gusts adding to its natural wave. I had long-since stopped trying and tucked a particularly pervasive chunk behind an ear. Crossing the street, I turned into Grounds, my favorite coffee shop. Earning that title because it was ten steps from my office and I really liked Maurice, the fifty-something shop owner.

Maurice looked up when I walked in and waved hi. “Good morning, Mal!”

“Morning, Mo,” I answered, sliding to the counter. The fresh air—correction: the coffee-scented air improved my mood considerably.

“Working on a case?” Maurice asked thoughtfully. I noticed the slight gray on his temples was getting more pronounced.

I often talked out issues with Maurice for input, leaving out details to protect confidentiality. It helped me put perspective on things. He was a good listener, or so I’d discovered after many a late night at the café, notes and coffee in front of me.

“Yeah, but no good leads right now.” I blew a straggler from my face and toyed with a coffee stirrer in front of me. “No leads at all, in fact. My last one just fizzled up.”

“That sucks, Mal. But I know you’ll work it out,” Maurice said with a wink as he slid my usual to me.

I tipped a cinnamon shaker over the foam of the cappuccino to add a light dusting. “I guess,” I murmured, taking a sip of the little slice of heaven. “I just need to get a different angle on it. I’m missing something.”

I wasn’t much of a girly girl, but I did like fancy coffee when I could get it. Caffeine being a main staple in my diet, I believed variety was good.

After paying Maurice, I pushed away from the counter and headed back into the sun. I stretched my long legs and turned down the street in a nice stroll. Breathing in, I took a long sip and surveyed the streets. It was still early, and there were a lot of people wandering in and out of the shops in downtown Roscoe Village.

I loved my little suburb of Chicago. It wasn’t as crazy as downtown Chi-Town, and it had more charm, too. It was located in North Center and was just the right mix of cheap enough for me to afford, yet relatively safe enough to walk through the streets at dusk. I let the atmosphere roll over me, people watching and smelling the local pizza place across the street.

Sam Mennon had come into my office a week ago, eyes drawn, hair on end, and clothes crumpled. It was obvious he hadn’t had much sleep. His wife, Suzy, had gone missing from work three days prior.

Suzanne, 35, goes by Suzy. The facts rolled through my head amid the distractions. Sweet face, long straight brown hair, worked as a teller at Heward Bank. She was seen on camera leaving the building around lunchtime and again by the clerk at the gas station down the street. The gas station clerk remembered Suzy checking out at the same time as a regular, Jeremy Jones. The same Jeremy Jones who had just told me he didn’t remember anything pertinent about Suzy.

The cops had the case, but with no leads and others piling up, it was no longer being actively worked. According to them, Suzy’s absence could be a simple matter of an unhappy wife leaving her husband. It happened all the time. There wasn’t any sign of foul play, so the cops moved on to bigger fish. She had passed the critical forty-eight-hour mark. The likelihood of finding her had drastically decreased.

Sam was entirely distraught. I honestly couldn’t see how a man so completely lost without his wife wouldn’t have known if his wife was having an affair. I mean, it was always a possibility; people could be clueless. But I was leaning toward kidnapping or murder, and my gut didn’t typically fail me.

Besides, Sam was the client and he didn’t believe Suzy had left him. He was paying me to find her, not necessarily to spend my time pursuing a route that involved her voluntarily leaving him. Something had happened to Suzy, and I planned on finding out what.

I really hoped it wasn’t murder, though. Murder cases sucked.

I took another sip of my coffee, enjoying the warmth before I noticed unusual movement down the street. It wasn’t until I saw the smoke, that I smelled it in the air.

A couple of blocks down, two people came running out of a brick building, dark clouds puffing around their heads. Flames leapt out the upper-story windows.

I ran forward to help a blonde woman who was stumbling out. Helping her down to the curb to catch her breath, I pulled my phone out of my pocket and dialed dispatch to report the fire.

“Are you okay?” I asked her, searching for signs of a burn.

The blonde coughed and looked back, trying to see through the smoke. “Yes, I’m fine, but my coworkers are still inside!”

I relayed the situation to the dispatcher and put her on speakerphone.

“There’s a fire in the kitchen. I don’t know what happened. We tried to grab the fire extinguisher, but the fire spread too fast!”

The dispatcher sent trucks and asked me to keep the woman close till the ambulance got there.

Only a few more people came out, so I worried there were still others upstairs. Moving toward the doorway, I peered inside. All I could see was smoke pouring out in big, rolling plumes. I had to move back to the fresh air, biting my lip in indecision. I hated leaving anyone in there, but I didn’t think I could make it inside. I wasn’t trained for that sort of thing.

The siren announced the fire truck only moments later. It wheeled to the curb, men jumping off and grabbing axes before heading inside the building. Another two trucks and an official-looking SUV came around the corner immediately after. One hooked up to the hydrant across the street, and its crew went to join the others inside.

I went back to check on the willowy blonde. Her coughing had died down, but she was shaking from the adrenaline rush. I helped her up and walked her over to meet the arriving paramedics.

“I’ll be all right,” the blonde said, smiling. “Thanks for your help.”

The paramedics got busy, checking over everyone who had escaped the building. Their work looked choreographed as they moved around the scene. I was impressed by how quickly and efficiently everyone responded. A firefighter in charge stood outside with his radio, shouting orders and keeping a keen eye on everything.

The sheer amount of black smoke coming from the building was startling, like diseased air crawling to the sky. I always figured fire would be bright and yellow, but everything about this building was dark, and black smoke billowed out of the doorway and windows. I was surprised at how difficult it was to simply look inside. How could they even see in there?

Suddenly, a loud explosion followed by a crash erupted from the building. Smoke flared out of the windows in an initial rush, then died back a bit to where it was before. The firemen and police officers ushered everyone, myself included, farther away. A few more headed in, and everyone stood in tense silence until they finally came back out again.

Two firefighters had someone slung over their shoulders, a woman and a man, while another looked to be hurt and was leaning heavily on his teammate as they made their way out of the building. I heard someone yell into his radio, but it seemed like the tension had somewhat abated.

The fireman helped the injured one to the side of the truck where I was standing. After stripping off his Air-Pak and helmet, he leaned over to help his buddy do the same. Checking the other fireman’s eyes, he laughed jovially and slapped the other guy on the back in a brotherly way. The back of his bunker coat read “RHODES.”

He was a big, well-built man with broad shoulders, average height, and a commanding presence. He was obviously in charge of one of the crews, and his incredibly intense gaze scanned the scene to take in every detail. It seemed he wasn’t just a good-looking man; there was more to him than what was on the surface.

Rhodes seemed to be satisfied the other fireman wasn’t too badly injured, because it sounded like he was teasing him for getting under falling debris. Still, when he sent him over to the paramedics anyway to get checked out, I could see a little worry crease his eyebrows as he ran a hand over his shaved head.

The air was still filled with smoke, and while it was spreading, it seemed like everything was under control. Not that there was much I could do to help.

As I turned around to go, I noticed someone skirting around the back of the onlookers. It looked like a kid, maybe sixteen years old, wearing a gray hoodie. He was edging towards the paramedic’s vehicle. The skin under his eyes was dark, and he looked sick. I couldn’t tell what he was up to, but my gut said it wasn’t good. Deciding to follow, I edged forward.

The kid was watching the paramedics closely, but they were busy with the fire victims, and he slipped into the back of the ambulance. I moved over to a female police officer nearby, nudged her, and nodded slightly toward the van.

Turning, she took in the situation immediately and moved into action. Catching up with the kid, she yanked him out. In the scuffle, the kid pushed and shoved the officer into the crowd, where she tripped on the curb and fell to the ground.

I jumped forward to catch the kid just as a large body came up behind me. Looking up, I saw it was the firefighter Rhodes. The two of us surrounded the young man each grabbing an arm.

My eyes met his over the kid’s head: his intense, mine quizzical. I was surprised he had been paying attention to this part of the scene. I twisted the kid’s arm lightly but firmly to secure him as the officer made her way over to us, dusting off her uniform slacks.

“Thanks,” she said to Rhodes and me.

I knew quite a few of the officers from the local precinct, but she didn’t look familiar. Her name tag said Mathews, and I nodded as she took the boy from me.

“Drugs,” said Officer Mathews, pulling out a couple of vials from the boy’s pockets. “Buses are stocked with drugs for emergencies.”

“Buses?” I asked.

“The ambulance,” Rhodes answered, still watching me intently.

“I’ll take this one in,” Officer Mathews said, walking the kid to her cruiser.

I looked back at the fireman. “What kind of drugs?”

“Morphine, typically. It’s worth quite a bit on the street,” Rhodes said, crossing his arms, assessing me.

“You jumped in there pretty fast,” he added finally.

I turned back to him, one side of my mouth tilted up. “So did you.” I hadn’t even seen him come up behind me.

Rhodes stood eye level with me and a little close, so I stepped back to put some distance between us. Chemistry was sizzling unspoken in the air, but I had an afternoon meeting with a new client and had to get back to the office. Turning to head back, I noticed the fireman made a move to say something. I paused, but he looked back at his crew and turned to join them instead.

I got halfway back to my office before I remembered my coffee on the sidewalk, by the blonde. “Crap.” I sighed. “Probably cold by now anyway,” I muttered to myself as I trudged on, still without a new lead and no idea where to look next.

Bad Company

From the Casefiles of Detective ‘Mal’ Malone

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

All mistakes are my own.

Bad Company Detective Malone Series Book One

Bad Company
Detective Malone Series Book One