Rogue Alliance

FIFTEEN



The precinct building smelled like rotten eggs. Shyla scrunched her nose and tried to ignore the foul odor as she sat at her desk on Monday morning.

Jason walked past.

“How was your weekend?” he asked. His tone was casual, but his eyes searched her face for answers as he sipped his coffee.

She shuffled through the paperwork on her desk,

“Pretty good. Got a lot done this weekend. I gave Shawn a call first thing Sunday morning and let him know about the phone. How was your weekend with the family in Oregon?”

She looked up. Jason was nodding his head.

“In-laws,” he corrected. “It was fair, nothing too exciting. Glad your weekend went well. I’ll catch up with ya later. I gotta check in with the chief about some things.” The conversation was quick and to the point, yet completely discreet and innocuous to anyone who might have overheard while passing by.

“Good morning, Shyla.”

Shyla turned and flashed a friendly smile in Hal’s direction. As always, his positive attitude was hard to resist.

“Someone left a message for you this morning.”

Shyla knew that the only people who would be calling her via Hal’s phone would be someone from back home, most likely Straton with an update from his end. But why wouldn’t he just call her cell?

Hal handed her a yellow post-it. She glanced at it quickly. Quentin Solero’s number. Oh good. He probably had something on that last Jane Doe they’d found in the pig trough.

She tucked it into her slacks and moved on as if it were inconsequential.

“What in the hell is that god awful smell, Hal?”

“Oh, that?” he chuckled, “yeah, Blake boiled some eggs last Friday then had to leave on a call before he could eat them. He stashed them behind the microwave so that no one else would, but then completely forgot about them and they sat there all weekend. I’m not sure how everyone on the weekend crew didn’t find them but we just discovered them this morning. The whole place stinks like rotten eggs. We’re trying to air the place out, but that’s just a smell that lingers, dang it.”

Shyla still had her nose scrunched up.

“No kidding. I say we make a rule against eggs in the building from now on. I’m ruined for life after this.”

Hal chuckled again.

The phone rang. Shyla reached for it.

“Meeting,” Hal whispered discreetly, “Tonight. 7 o’clock.”

He turned and walked away.

“Got a meeting with the Mayor later today, Shyla, make sure you’re there. I need you to take minutes,” he tossed over his shoulder.

“Sure thing, Boss,” Shyla returned, picking up the phone, “Redding Police Department, how may I help you?”

“Well, hello, Sunshine,” Quentin Solero’s familiar voice purred over the line, “I’ve been trying to reach you all morning. What are doing down there? Sleeping in? Are you falling right into country bumpkin ways already?”

“Hardly,” Shyla smiled, “it’s good to hear your voice, Quentin. Enough chit chat though. What’s up? I know you’re not calling every half hour just to check in and see if I’m wearing over-alls and smoking a pipe.”

“Over-alls and a pipe,” he quipped, “dang, girl, its worse than I thought.”

He laughed.

“Okay, okay,” he said, “you’re right. Is it okay to talk on this line?”

“Yeah, we’re good.”

“Okay. So our pig farmer girl - she’s a Miss Samantha Higgins, aka Sammy, age twenty-one. She doesn’t have a tight connection with Victor, but I did find a small one after I found out who she was and did some digging of my own. She’s been running with Ricardo’s gang for almost a year and dating Ricardo for the past six months or so. When she first met him she was dancing at a crusty place downtown called, get this, The Wet Spot.”

“That just sounds nasty,” Shyla said.

“I know, right? Anywho, so one day, she and one of her dancer friends, Shelly - she’s the girl I talked with - they get invited to do some dances at a private party. They’re told they’ll make some fat cash but they’ve got to keep their mouths shut in regards to anything and everything that takes place at this party.

“Shelly says she thought it was going to be some sketchy rave or something, but it turns out they were dancing for some seriously high rollers, one of them none other than Mr. Victor Champlain.

“Shelly says that neither she nor Sammy ever got too close to Victor, but that he and Ricardo disappeared upstairs for about forty-five minutes. She remembered it distinctly because Sammy was starting to get really pissed off that Ricardo wasn’t paying attention to her.

“So, Shelly doesn’t ever confirm anything about a drug exchange or any kind of deal, but she did say that Ricardo started making the big bucks after that. She also said that Ricardo started doing business with a guy out of San Francisco, too.”

“Really?” The information was juicy but not shocking.

“Yeah, I thought you’d find that last bit interesting. Victor has a few contacts in San Fran, doesn’t he?”

“That he does,” Shyla said, “in fact, he’s scheduled to go down that way this next weekend. Do you happen to know the name of this contact?”

“Uh, Shelly said she couldn’t remember it exactly, but it was the name of an animal. She remembered that. There is still no known motive for killing this girl that the department can find, nor any clue as to who could or would have killed her.”

“Still, Quentin, this is incredible news. It’s the first time I’ve ever had a solid connection between Victor and Ricardo. No one believed me when I claimed that Ricardo was just one of many of Victor’s lower rung grunts. Who knows who killed her or why - it could have been a domestic violence issue. We all know Ricardo has anger-management issues. He has multiple assault charges. What else you got?”

“Pshh, what else? Dang, isn’t that enough?”

“Yeah, it’s great, Quentin,” Shyla laughed, “I appreciate it more than you know. As always, you are the best!”

She could hear the smile in his voice.

“Damn straight, and don’t you forget it. So speaking of Victor, how are things going up there?”

Shyla shook her head.

“Don’t ask. I’d love to give you the full run down but it isn’t something I want to share over the phone.”

“Sure. I understand, but you be careful, Sunshine. I don’t want you to wind up as pig slop. Well, I’d better be running along, anyway. I got lots of dead bodies lying around. I better see to them. Miss you, Girl.”

“Miss you too, Quentin,” Shyla smirked, “talk to ya later.”

She was smiling as she hung up the phone. She looked toward the front door as it swung open.

In walked Carmen. She was wearing a much too short denim skirt over torn black tights. Her make-up was thick as ever and her hair was tangled around her head in purposeful disarray.

“Hey. There you are. Are you ready to hang out?” she shouted across the room as she clomped over in her combat boots.

Shyla suppressed a groan and stood up.

“No, I’m not ready to hang out. I’m working. That’s what grown-ups do on Monday mornings. Just like thirteen-year-old girls are supposed to be at school. What are you doing here, Carmen?”

Carmen gave her crooked smirk. Clearly, she thought Shyla’s question was ridiculous.

“What do you mean, what am I doing here? I’m talking to you. We’re supposed to hang out remember?”

A flicker of something broken and desperate passed over her features.

“I knew it,” she said, “you didn’t really mean it, did you? Figures.”

She turned to walk away.

A memory flashed in Shyla’s mind. It was there and then gone again. But with it came a brief connection to how she’d felt at that same age. Suddenly, she felt a new empathy toward Carmen’s loneliness. She reached out.

“Of course I meant it, Carmen. Come here. Sit down.”

She led her to the other side of her desk and pointed to the chair she normally sat in. Then she sat in the one just to the left of the desk and leaned forward.

“I’m glad you came down,” she said, “I just don’t want anyone down here to know that I’m going to teach you some moves. I’m just the secretary, remember? I wouldn’t want to threaten their soft egos, you know?”

Carmen’s hurt expression softened into a small grin.

“Yeah, I get it. Ninja by night, right?” she quoted.

“That’s right,” Shyla grinned, “so…I get off at five. What are you doing around that time?”

“Nothing.”

“What about your parents? What time will they want you home for dinner?”

“Um, how about never?” Carmen scoffed, “No, seriously. It’s not like there is a big family meal every night. We just kind of figure it out, you know? Trust me. They won’t even know I’m gone.”

That’s right, Shyla thought. Her parents were practically non-existent, which was why she was always out running around the streets in the first place and needed to learn to protect herself.

“Why don’t you meet me here and we’ll both go get a burger so that we have plenty of fuel to get us through our grueling session. Does that sound good?”

Carmen’s face lit up.

“I’m down with that. But let’s not go to that joint on the corner. Their burgers suck a fat one.”

“Jeez, Carmen, watch your mouth,” Shyla warned.

“What? I’m serious. I threw up for three hours after eating one of their nasty burgers. We should go to Charlie’s. Now that’s a damn good burger.”

Shyla shook her head. Yep, this girl was going to be trouble.

“Fine. Charlie’s. Meet me here at five. No wait, I got a meeting later. How about four, that should give me enough time.”

They both stood up as Carmen was getting ready to leave.

“But what I want you to do now,” Shyla said, “is get your butt to school. I happen to know that today is the first day.”

Carmen gave a “yeah right” look.

“I’m completely and totally serious, Carmen. I’m going to pretend I’m your mom and call the school to find out if you made it.”

“You don’t even know my mom’s name,” Carmen said, skeptical.

“I work at the police department. I can find out any damn thing I want.”

Carmen smiled. She seemed to appreciate the banter.

“Touché. All right, then. I’m going to school now. See ya at four.”

With that, she turned on her heel and sauntered out the door with a bounce in her step.

Shyla plopped down in her chair behind the desk. What the hell had she just signed herself up for?

She’d only been in the office for forty-five minutes and already had a run-in with the chief, small-talk with Jason, an enlightening call from Quentin, and now a surprise visit from Carmen with a promise for dinner and a workout, followed by a debriefing at Hal’s at seven. Not too mention the rotting egg smell that she couldn’t get out of her nostrils.

Her cell phone rang. She looked at the caller I.D. It was Victor. Holy hell, it was going to be one of those days.