Chapter Three

Ginger let go of the table and turned to the inquisitive lieutenant, prompting Willa to shout a four letter word at the ceiling: "Dolly! Dolly Parton! Dolly, Mommy, Dolly," she blurted out.

The lieutenant's angry green eyes flickered to Willa, then darted back to the statue that was propping the door open.

Ginger said slowly, as though speaking to a town idiot who was also hard of hearing, “I suppose you meant, who the hell is this?”

She added, “Who are you, Willa? I don't understand.”

When he didn’t react, Ginger waited, expecting him to shrug, but instead he just said, “Do I really need to know who this is?” and that was the end of it.

Willa said, “Willa, dear, could you wait for me inside?”

Ginger didn't actually see her sister roll her eyes, but she heard her noisily comply and stomp into the apartment. She was left alone in the bright hall with the sullen Lieutenant von A-hole, who had twice asked her to apologize after giving her a hard time, shot her dirty looks, then shrugged when she mentioned the queen of Nashville, even after yelling at them from the upstairs window. Ginger couldn't stand it any longer, so she sauntered over to him, stopping a foot short of him, and enjoyed the satisfaction of his eyes narrowing warily as she got a good look at him. His green eyes were red, and she knew a hangover at once, having skimmed over his starched navy blue uniform and the unkempt dark brown hair that gave him away as a man. No, his reserve told her he was not the kind of man who would order a glass at the bar as a bartender or as a recreational alcoholic.

Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, Ginger woke up this morning feeling refreshed and hopeful. She couldn’t recall the last time she had felt this way. She had escaped the storm cloud that had clouded her life in Nashville and had moved to Chicago for her, and for Willa. She had left behind a leaky roof and a dubious future.

After a week in a rundown motel, Ginger had found an affordable apartment in a good neighborhood, near a good high school, close to downtown Chicago, and close enough for her to get a job there. She had sweet-talked her landlord into giving her a double security deposit instead of the required credit check, and bam! They had a nice two-bedroom apartment with new appliances, hardwood floors, and other amenities that hadn’t even been mentioned to her until yesterday. During the week, she and Willa had gone thrift store and yard sale shopping for furniture, pretending to be off-campus college students, and they had had a blast.

What's the matter, Lieutenant? He stepped toward her, bringing them face-to-face, and she had to look up to meet his gaze. God, this guy always surprised her. Men did like Ginger. It wasn't arrogance, though; it was more of an observation. But this man seemed determined to make her mad. She couldn't help a smile. “Stop calling me Lieutenant, it’s starting to get on my nerves,” he said. “I think that was the point,” he added, flexing a muscle in his jaw. “From now on it’s Derek.” Oh, he had balls, she had to admit. “I really don’t think I have a reason to call you anything,” he went on. “I’m sorry,” she blurted out. “Are you moving in with Willa?” He nodded toward the open door, and she was barely old enough to open it. “What do you think?”

Ginger's left eye flickered. This was going from interesting to unbearable. He didn't know what land mine he had just stepped on, but he was going to find out. "I'm only twenty-three, and last time I looked, that's old enough to cast a ballot, drink and gamble, rent a place to live, own a gun, and tell a grown man (whether he's a police officer or not) when he's being a giant idiot. And Derek? If it's not already clear, you're the idiot in this situation. Don't call me idiot.

"Did you just say 'Airplane!' to me?" she gritted. "That's really all you got? Glossed over the idiot part?

At that moment Willa called out from inside the apartment, "Ginger! I'm starving and all we've got are some triscuit crackers with strawberry frosting."

Derek answered her question with a smile, "I'd say you're right, Ginger. I don't feel very neighborly towards you. So, sugar, I guess our relationship is over. You can question anything if you give it enough thought. And I'm done thinking about it. Goodbye, Derek. I can't say it was a great time, but it was certainly an experience.

Ginger turned on her heel and started to storm into the apartment, expecting him to stare at her dumbfounded. Instead, she stumbled across the dining room table that had been blocking the hallway, and it knocked her to the ground. She fought the urge to take a deep breath and karate chop her way across the table. She didn't turn around, though, because she didn't want to see his reaction.

Ginger was closing the door behind her when she heard Derek call out, “Ginger, aren’t you usually a redhead?”

Ginger burst out, “What the hell are you talking about?”

As the man started to laugh at her through the door, Willa said, “Well, it looks like we found the one man who won’t crawl at your feet, Ginger.”

I guess we'll just have to wait and see, won't we?

Alvarez, work harder on your informant and find out if anyone has had contact with the leader of the Modesto gang since Monday. The streets are too quiet right now, and we all know that's the most dangerous time to be out. We need a strong presence on the south side, especially Back of the Yards, and keep canvassing for witnesses who aren't too scared to speak. Shop owners who have been victims themselves are probably the best bet. Don't leave anyone out.

Derek turned to his old partner, who had stayed on as a detective when Derek had been promoted to a lieutenant two years earlier, and said, "Kenny, get Barker and go back to Hector Modesto's girlfriend, she knows where he is, all we have to do is get her talking. Find out what motivates her and use it.

Derek looked down at the large whiteboard with mug shots, surveillance photos, and summaries of the top players and victims in Chicago's most recent gang war. Something told him that if his department didn't get Modesto in soon, they'd be adding more pictures to the victim's side.

He tapped his fingers together once and said, “Let's get to work!”

The men scooted their chairs back and began talking and strategizing.

Derek pushed through the sliding glass door and went into his office.

Barker, a newbie, followed him. He was cocky and open; he hadn't learned any boundaries yet.

"Lieutenant Tyler, can you help me, Barker?

Are you planning on attending the charity event on Saturday night?

He'd forgotten all about it, and for good reason. He'd been locked in a turf war with two powerful gangs for weeks, and politicians held parties and charitable events at their own discretion, and as the department's boss, he was usually expected to show up. This one, though, would be different. His uncle was on the city's council, and they'd bought all the homicide division's invitations, so they could all dress up and have shrimp cocktail while they worked.

"I don't know what else to do," he said, "but my uncle wants to talk to you."

"Great," the young officer said, "and I'm waiting."

But for once, he looked uncomfortable. "I don't want to bore you with this stupid stuff, but I can't seem to get anyone in my uncle's office to give me a call.

"You've already RSVP'd for two," Derek said, looking up at the ceiling, and Barker hurried on. "My uncle didn't mind paying for an extra plate because most of the guys bring their dates, but the guys say you usually go it alone."

It wasn't his style to mix work and personal life. He didn't like to introduce women to his closest friends, as it often gave them false hope that things would progress, which they never did. Women liked him to be the hero of the group after work, but he didn't care much for being nice once he'd gone home for the night.

In the end, women found his taste too extreme for their taste.