passing some checks,” Paulie said. “I got a bum rap.”
“Right,” Doug said.
“You bring the smokes?” The little man nervously threaded his fingers through what was fast becoming a receding hairline.
“Yeah,” Vic said, “you ought to give ’em up. They’re gonna kill you.”
Paulie chuckled. “Naw. That’s why I smoke filter tips.”
“So, what have you got that’s so important?” Doug asked.
“I wuz talkin’ to this fella who wuz jest brought in today. He told me somethin’ you guys oughta know.”
“That’s what we’re here for,” Doug said to the snitch.
“I figure it’s worth a sawbuck to ya.”
“We already brought you a carton of smokes. It cost a damn sight more than a sawbuck.”
“You sure they’re filter tips?”
“Get on with it, Paulie,” Doug said impatiently. “If you’ve got something good, we’ll throw in the ten dollars.”
“Okay, okay. This fella lives in the Third Ward and said the word on the street is that someone’s lookin’ to hire a hit man.”
Paulie paused to let his words sink in as Doug and Vic exchanged a long look.
“Who’s the target?”
“He didn’t know.”
“Who’s putting out the contract?”
“Didn’t know that, either. He only heard it involved a case McGuire and Peterson had handled.”
“Which case?”
“He didn’t know.”
“You’re saying he doesn’t know the case, the victim or who put out the contract,” Doug said. “You wouldn’t be holding out on us, would you, Paulie?”
“No, I swear, fellas, that’s all he told me. Ain’t I always been up front with ya?”
The guy was clueless. Doug headed for the door. “If you hear anything more, give us a call.”
“What about the sawbuck?”
“You’ll get it when you give us something more,” Vic said. “The name of the game is names, Paulie. We need names.”
On the way out, Doug stopped and added a ten-dollar bill to the carton of cigarettes.
Vic shook his head. “Under all that skepticism, you’re a real marshmallow, McGuire.”
Chapter 2
Vic maneuvered the Crown Victoria into their parking space and killed the engine. He glanced at his watch, then at Doug. “You going home?”
Doug had already gotten out of the car and retrieved his jacket, shrugging into the sleeves, despite the late-afternoon heat. The captain frowned on detectives walking around without jackets in public. No displaying your weapon in front of the citizenry—probably wasn’t a good idea for the criminals to see it, either. Like nobody knew they were wearing Glocks. Right!
“I think I’ll go in for a while.” Doug’s gaze met his partner’s across the top of the car, just in time to see the flash of concern in Vic’s eyes. “What?”
“Why don’t you come over for dinner? You’ve got to eat.”
“Thanks, but no. I was over twice last week.”
“Bev loves to have you—and the kids do, too. Andrea has a crush on you a mile wide. Right now it’s cute, although I will have to kill you in about eight years. Justin and Brandon would love to toss the ball around.”
Doug ignored the stab of envy for his friend. Vic and Bev had been married twenty years. They had two teenage sons and an eight-year-old daughter—who was going on twenty-five. Vic was lucky. He was one of the few cops who had a marriage that had survived. His children were healthy, happy and thriving, and the Peterson clan always welcomed Doug with open arms. But lately he’d started to feel just a bit sad when he was there, and for the life of him he couldn’t figure out why.
“I’ve got paperwork.” He slammed the car door. “See you in the morning.”
“Just don’t stay here until all hours drinking coffee and skipping dinner.”
“Yes, Mother.”
“I mean it, McGuire. You’re turning into an old man before my eyes.”
And since Vic was too close to the truth for comfort, Doug forced a grin and a lighthearted wave. “You should know, old man.”
He headed for the station without looking back. The buzz of voices, calm against angry, swirled about him as soon as he stepped inside; the scent of cigarettes and stale coffee hit him like a punch to his empty stomach and set it to churning. Flickering florescent lights over his desk made the entire office seem like a surreal episode of Star Trek. Sitting down at his desk, he stared at the scene before him. Cops, perps and a couple victims.
“Welcome to my life,” he muttered.
He’d asked for this; planned for it by taking Pre-Law courses and joining the force immediately after he finished college. For him solving puzzles was what was important. And there’d never been a puzzle he couldn’t solve—unless you counted women.
Women!
Doug sighed. He just couldn’t figure them out. Take Judge Jessica. Boy, would he like to take Judge Jessica!
Doug groaned at his wayward thoughts, and libido, forcing himself to pick up a pen and get to work. But within minutes his mind wandered once more. Name, address and crime just didn’t measure up to smooth skin, the scent of sin and a body he’d like to get to know from the tip of what he was certain would be great toes to the top of that too-smart head of hers. How long was that hair she pinned up so primly? And was that red-brown color for real?
“Hey, McGuire!”
“Huh?” Doug blinked at the desk sergeant. “What?”
“I was calling your place. Don’t you sign in anymore?”
“Sorry.” His mind was not where it should be today. “What do you want, O’Riley?”
“You know that creep Judge Kirkland let go today?”
Doug sighed, the image of Jessica’s hair trailing to her waist dissolving at the reminder of what had happened to the case of which he’d been so proud. “Gilbert? What about him?”
“They just pulled him out of the Milwaukee River at Michigan Avenue with a plastic bag over his head.”
Doug
