Cade

He was livid. What an arrogant cunt. Storm cloud on his face, he left the DA’s office. Tell me about the Wells Fargo job? Fuck. He had received a citation for meritorious conduct and who was she to start digging into old wounds? Fuck her.

Back in his car, he pulled out his phone and called Rebecca.

“Captain wants you to come in,” she said before he even had a chance to say anything.

“Yeah,” he growled, “I just met with that Morrigan bitch, you pegged her right,” he conceded.

Rebecca chuckled, “Told you,” she added, twisting the knife just a little.

“Yeah, yeah. I need you to get me an address on Jack Dalton, ASAP,” he requested.

“Okay, give me a minute,” she said. A few minutes later she was back on the phone, “Got it,” she said, relaying the information.

“Tell the captain I’ll be in later, checking on a lead for what’s her face,” he asked.

“Roger wilco,” she replied smartly.

“Smart ass,” he grumbled.

“I suppose it’s better than being a dumb ass,” she retorted. “And don’t forget about my coffee.”

He disconnected the call and started the car, deciding he would drop in on the Hammer and have an informal chat.

Jack lived in a fairly rough part of town, a notch above seedy. The bright yellow corvette parked on the street in front of Jack’s stood out like a sore thumb. He ran the plate through his computer. Clarice Heller, eighteen years old, just turned. The girl who had been shot. Cade shook his head disdainfully.

Climbing out of the unmarked police car, he ascended the steps to Jack’s apartment. Testing the door knob, he found it surprisingly unlocked. Removing his pistol from his shoulder holster, he turned the handle and edged the door open quietly.

Peeking in, he cleared the corners and entered the room, both hands now on the pistol. “You home Jack?” he asked, voice loud. Place looked like a flop house or been tossed over some.

There was a sound from the other room.

“Jack?” Cade called again, moving across the room cautiously. Silence greeted him, even the other room was quiet.

Leaning against the wall next to the door to what Cade supposed was the bedroom, he peeked around quickly, trying to glimpse if there was anyone in the room.

Bringing his pistol in front of himself, he took a slow steady breath, before sweeping into the room, weapon at the ready. It was empty, the windows open, curtains drawn out, as if someone had hastily departed threw the opening.

Looking out the window, he saw no one. Grumbling, he holstered the Baretta. Was that Jack? Hadn’t seen him since his little girlfriend took one from Little Train. Why run? If it wasn’t Jack, who then? Bender? The girl? He frowned. Looking around the bedroom, he decided he would give a once over, see if maybe he might find what the intruder might have been looking for. After a half hour, he had found the hidden floor space, but it was empty, and nothing else of any particular interest. Sitting on the bed, he shook his head. What were you looking for when I disturbed you? “Dammit,” he muttered, getting up and walking to the door. Strolling back into the other room, he paused to look at the bottle of whiskey on the table. Temptation tugged at him. Wash away my troubles, wash away my pain, he chuckled and shook his head. He felt like he was already a half dozen steps behind whatever the fuck was going on and knew a slug of booze certainly wouldn’t help him close the gap. Turning, he shambled out of the apartment. The yellow stingray hadn’t moved. Not the girl, he concluded. Descending the stairs, he contemplated going back to Hilde’s but decided instead to go into the office.

Forty five minutes later, he strolled into the office, flashing Rebecca a smile and putting her coffee and apple fritter on her desk.

“Ta da,” he said.

“I’m impressed,” she complimented sarcastically, “Usually you forget.”

He smiled and tapped a finger against the side of his head, “Mind like a steel trap, nothing gets in,” he joshed, giving her a wink.

“Captain’s waiting for you,” she replied, reciprocating his smile and pointing in the direction of his office.

“Swell,” he said with an exaggerated roll of his eyes before heading for the boss’s office, transforming his face into an angry mask by the time he reached the doorway.

“About bloody time,” groused the captain, looking up when Cade appeared in the door.

Stepping in, Cade closed the door behind him, “What’s this horseshit about me being assigned to be Kane’s fucking little go boy, eh? Her lackey?” he challenged, voice raised.

The captain shook his head, eyes weary, “Cade listen,” he started, trying to explain.

“Save it, I already spoke to the condescending bitch not an hour ago,” he growled back.

“Came from the Chief himself, his lips to my eyes,” resigned the captain, looking down and absently shuffling the papers on his desk in no particular order.

“What about my ongoing investigations?” Cade protested vehemently, “I got real work to do instead of fucking around with a cold case.”

“All been reassigned, from this moment onward, you are completely at the disposal of Miss Kane and her office,” instructed the captain.

“Fuck it, fuck the chief and fuck you, I’ll take my holidays, burn them all,” he stated.

The captain shook his head, “Until she releases you or I get word from the chief, you’re on active duty in the capacity I mentioned earlier, no holiday requests will be processed,” he explained.

Cade glowered but he knew in reality there was actually nothing he could do. Resign? Hardly. “Fuck,” he said, turning and opening the door.

“Trust me Cade, I don’t like this type of deal almost as much as you, don’t like being told how to run my people,” he complained.

Not bothering to reply, Cade stormed from the office, unhappy written all over his face.

Seated back in his car, he let out a slow breath. Her command was simple, find Dalton or Haynes in the hope they might be able to steer her to Bender. Haynes was out of the question and he knew he would have better luck trying to find Jack. Did he know Morrigan Kane? He shook his head. Where to start? Mentally jumbling the random bits of information tumbling inside his head, he started assembling a strategy. Clarice Heller’s corvette was parked in front of Jack Dalton’s apartment building. The voices he heard inside Hilde’s house earlier, one of them sounded an awful lot like the girl, he was sure of it. If she was there and her car was at Jack’s, was Jack also at Hilde’s? “Sonofabitch,” he grumbled. Again, another goddamn mystery and the answer was apparently at Hilde’s. He still had absolutely clue how the hell she had put him to sleep just by tapping him on the head, like some bizarre post hypnotic suggestion or some bullshit.

Starting the car, he put it into gear and set out to return to the place where his day originally took him, but by god this time, he wasn’t going to leave without some bloody answers, come hell or high water.