Mary McDonald - No good deed

Surprised at the request, Mark shrugged. “I guess. I could probably paint it this weekend.”

“Great! Same rate? A hundred bucks?”

The job was worth more, but it was money and he was desperate. Working around cameras every day was torture. His fingers itched to try them, and every moment he wasn’t processing film, he played with the digital models. Gary had let him test one at a park and then uploaded the pictures to be printed. A few of the prints now decorated the shop. He wanted to save enough to buy his own, but at ten bucks an hour, it would take forever. “How about one-twenty five?”

Bud narrowed his eyes, but then grinned. “Deal.”

After that, Bud called on him with other jobs. Mostly painting, but when he found out Mark knew a thing or two about photography, he asked him to take some pictures of the newly painted apartments to put in a brochure for the building. He even admitted that he’d been able to raise the rent on the units.

Some jobs, Bud paid him cash, others, he knocked a few bucks off the rent. Either way, Mark felt like he came out ahead. The weather eased from brutal cold to spring dampness, and when he wasn’t working at the camera shop or fixing up apartments, he jogged. The freedom of running wherever he wanted never got old.

Jim leaned back in his chair, gazing out at the Chicago skyline. Relief at getting through the first week as head of the new FBI Counter-terrorism task squad swept through him. The two months of preparation that had gone into accepting the position had been worth it. Standing, he plucked his suit coat off the back of his chair and draped it over his arm. It was too nice of a day to wear it home. The office was mostly empty, but he nodded to the few agents still putting in time at their desks.

A couple of guys nodded back, and one told him to have a nice weekend. Jim smiled in response. Maybe there was hope that they would eventually accept him. His reception by the agents had been guarded, and he’d sensed a bit of resentment that their task force was headed by a CIA officer. It made no difference to them that some CIA offices were headed by FBI agents. The cooperation between agencies wasn’t new, but that didn’t make it easier for the agents under his authority. He’d already discovered that FBI and CIA had different ways of looking at things, and he’d made a point of emphasizing that as a strength in his first staff meeting.

The weekend loomed and he had absolutely nothing to do. Maybe he’d go out and have a big juicy burger at that pub he’d seen a few blocks from his apartment. The game was on and he’d be able to catch a few innings.

The pub wasn’t busy and he took a seat at the bar. Sitting alone at a bar watching a game and eating a burger felt acceptable. Sitting at a table alone in a restaurant just made him look lonely. While he waited for his burger, he sipped a beer and ate peanuts from the bowl in front of him. Pool balls clacked from the back of the room. A game would be fun. Too bad he didn’t have anyone to play against. He set his beer down and mopped up the condensation that had dripped onto the wood near his elbow. If the table became free, he could shoot a bit.

His dinner arrived and he bit into the burger. It was just as juicy as he’d hoped. A couple of guys near the end of the bar laughed about something. A group pushed through the front door and worked their way across the room. Law enforcement. Jim could peg them from a mile away from the way they carried themselves.

He observed them for a few seconds, then the sound of the crowd on the television caught his eye. The Cubs had a rally going and he forgot about the others in the room, so when he felt a tap on his shoulder, it took him a second to respond, and when he did, he jumped, rattling the silverware on his plate.

“Jim?” Jessica Bishop stood on his left, her arms crossed and eyebrow raised. “What are you doing here…again?”

“Detective Bishop.” He wiped his mouth and hands with the napkin, then put his hand out, noting her hesitation.

After a second, she shook his hand, but had to move in closer to allow the rest of her group to squeeze past them.

She stepped back and called over her shoulder to the retreating group. “I’ll be there in a sec, order me a beer, okay?” She turned back to Jim. “You didn’t answer me.”

He sighed. “I don’t think it’s any of your business, but as it happens, I work in Chicago now.”

She glanced around, then leaned forward and said in a quiet voice, “There’s not a CIA office in Chicago.”

Jim shook his head and took a swig of his beer. “I’m heading a task force in cooperation with the FBI here.” He gestured to the empty stool beside him. “Would you care to sit and allow me to buy you a beer?”

Her lips thinned. “Why the hell would I want to do that?”

Wincing, Jim jerked his head down in a nod of acknowledgment. “I understand. My apologies.” He pulled his wallet out and removed some bills, setting them on the bar near his empty plate. He’d intended to stay and watch the whole game, but the atmosphere no longer felt welcoming. “I’m sorry for keeping you from your friends.”

Behind her, the group settled at a table. “They’re co-workers, I wouldn’t exactly call them friends.” She looked like she was going to say something, but bit her lip instead and looked at the floor.

He waited for her to step back so he could go past her, but it was if she’d put down roots. “Excuse me, ma’am. I’d better be going.”

“I thought you were going to help him.”

Jim leaned against the bar, puzzled. “What do mean?”

“Helping Mark. When you were here last summer, you promised to see what you could do.”

“I did.” Jim shifted his weight. Taylor’s written prediction had shaken him at the time, but the more he thought about it, the more he wondered how much had been a guess. Or a set-up. He didn’t think Bill would do anything like that, but what of the others in the room? The photos could have been prearranged also. It made a hell of a lot more sense than the crap about a magical camera.

Her shoulders sagged. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have expected that he would be released based on the images you saw. Not sure what else it would take.” She gave him a hard look and turned to leave.

“He is free. What more do you want?”

“I don’t understand.” Her fingers tightened on her purse strap, the knuckles whitening.

He shrugged. “It’s not a trick question. He got out a few months ago.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Taylor. I’ll be sure to let you know if I find out anything.” Jessie set the phone back on the cradle and tapped the end of her pen against the ink blotter on her desk. Why did she even bother looking for the guy? Obviously, he didn’t want to see her. If he had, he knew where she’d be.

Dan entered the office, a stack of files in his hands. She sighed and held out her hand for her share. So much for lunch hour. “Thanks.”

He grinned. “Next time, say it with feeling.”

Reluctantly, Jessie smiled. “Oh, shut-up.”

With a wink in her direction, he sat and began sorting through the files. “So, what did you find out?”

She opened a folder, perused the contents and set it on the left side of the desk. “Mark came home, spent one night in Chicago, then took a bus to his parents’ house near Madison.” Another folder joined the one on the left. “Apparently, he’d had no idea about his apartment, so when he got back, he had nowhere to go.”

“Ouch. That’s rough.” Dan grimaced, his finger holding his place on a paper as he jotted a note down.

“Yeah. I’m sure it was. He spent about a week with his parents, but left after some kind of disagreement with his father. She’s only had one phone call since. He said he had a job at a camera store and was doing fine.”