William Bernhardt - Hate Crime

“Sexual harassment?” Swift looked at Mike. “Did I harass you? I don’t recall you complaining.” She helped herself to a chair. “Why don’t one of you tell me what you’ve got on this case so far?”

Mike wanted to sit behind his desk, but that would leave Baxter standing, and that was too rude, even for him. “We don’t know much about the victim. Not even his name. We checked the mug shots. Didn’t find a match.”

“Check the DEA records?”

An interesting question. “No. We’ve been interviewing people who knew him, neighbors and such, but there aren’t many. They say he mostly kept to himself.”

“But you’re not buying that, right?”

“Right. No man is an island, entire of itself.”

Swift turned to Baxter. “Don’t you get shivers when he does the poetry thing?”

“Love it,” Baxter deadpanned.

“I appreciate you two being so reasonable about this,” Swift said. “Sometimes local law enforcement just goes ape when we Feds come in. Get more territorial than most jungle primates.” She checked her watch. “Wanna go somewhere for a cup of java?” She smiled in a way that was uncommonly inviting. “We could catch up.”

“Yeah. I think I’m about finished here.” Mike fiddled absently with the stapler on his desk. “Baxter, care to join us?”

“Thanks, but I’ve got some paperwork to take care of. Why don’t you call me when you’re actually ready to work? Partner.”

“No problem.” Swift grabbed his arm. “So, isn’t there a Java Dave’s within walking distance?”

Ben came home from the office as depressed as he remembered ever being. That’s what you always say, he told himself. Which said something about his life. Something fairly pathetic.

He had stopped by Weber’s for takeout-cheeseburgers, fries, and chocolate milk. Comfort food. With luck, he would make it up the stairs of his boardinghouse without being accosted by tenants complaining about the air-conditioning or explaining why they couldn’t possibly pay their rent this month. Sometimes both at once.

He entered the boardinghouse where he lived-which he now owned-and walked up the stairs to his room without interruption, dropped his food on the kitchen table, then stopped to check in on the felines.

A big wicker basket with a cushion was the current home of Giselle, the huge mama cat, and her kitten Melisande. Ben had eventually given away the rest of the litter, but he couldn’t bear to part with them all, regardless of what people said about two cats in a small apartment.

He opened several cans of Feline’s Fancy and scooped it into their individual bowls, stroked their fur, talked baby talk-then heard a sound coming from his bedroom.

He stiffened.

He removed his shoes so he could walk more quietly on the squeaky hardwood floors. He tiptoed across the living room, then slowly made his way down the corridor.

What he found in his bedroom was a beautiful young woman wearing nothing but a pink string bikini.

“I thought you’d never get home,” the woman said, brushing her curly brunette locks behind her round and radiant shoulders.

“Joni?” Ben said, almost choking on the words. Of course he’d seen her many times before. She did live here, and had been serving as his building superintendent to work her way through college. But she was normally wearing baggy overalls or jeans with holes in the knees.

“I tracked down the plumbing problem,” she said, pointing to the hole where floorboards used to be. “Leaky pipe. Just below your bedroom.”

“So… I assume you’re working on it?”

“Like, you thought maybe I was going for a swim under your bed?”

“Well… I didn’t… I-”

“Yes, I’m working on it. I knew I’d end up soaked-I always do when I handle these plumbing jobs for you. Don’t worry. I’ll mop up the mess.”

Now that he noticed, she did appear to be wet, which certainly had an effect on the adherent qualities of her suit.

“So I thought-be smart for once, Joni. Switch into your suit before you start the job. Hope you don’t mind.”

Ben managed to speak even though his tongue was thick and cottony. “I can live with it.”

“Good. I was afraid you might have a stroke or something.”

“What? Since when-”

“I know how uncomfortable you are with some things. Like human physiology.”

“That’s… not at all…”

“I told my mom what I was doing when I changed. She asked if she could come, too.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Wanted to see the expression on your face.”

“I don’t see why that would be at all amusing.”

“Me neither. You were totally stoic. Cool and debonair.” She looked away, smiling. “Anyway, the plumbing job’s just about done. I’ll be out of your hair soon.”

“Good.” He loosened his tie and tossed it down on his bed. “I have some things to do.”

She grabbed a wrench and went back at it. “Really? Hot Scrabble game?”

The weird thing was she said that like there was something wrong with it. “No.”

“Don’t tell me-you and Christina are going to do something else? Monopoly, maybe? I guess for you that would be, like, second base.”

He popped open his briefcase. “Christina’s in Chicago.”

“Why?”

“She’s working on a case.”

“But you’re not?”

“It’s her own deal.”

Joni’s eyebrows knitted. “I didn’t think she had her own deals.”

“Well, she does.”

“Is there, like, something wrong between you two?”

“Not at all. She’s just working.”

“Hmm.” Joni gave the pipe a final twist, which required flexing her biceps and creating a rippling effect that Ben thought he was unlikely to forget anytime in the near future. Then she began putting the floorboards back into place. “Well, it’s none of my business. But can I give you some advice?”

“I need a college junior to be my spiritual adviser?”

“Ben, you know how I love and respect you. And you know what a mentor you’ve been to me. But despite my relative youth, there are a few things I know more about than you.”

“Such as?”

“Life.” She hammered the floorboards back into place. “Maybe you should give Christina a call.”

“She’s busy.”

“Couldn’t you help?”

“Absolutely not.”

“I don’t suppose you’re inclined to tell me why.”

“Not in the least.”

“Same old Ben.” She grabbed a towel, then walked right up to him, wet bikini and all. “Could you at least do me a favor? Dry my back. There’s a spot I can’t reach.”

Reluctantly, Ben took the towel. Damn, but being a landlord was hard! The responsibilities were overwhelming.

Mike dropped by around eight, using the excuse of a hot Xena rerun and bearing a New York-style pizza from Mario’s. Actually, the Xena thing was a pretty good excuse as far as Ben was concerned. He hadn’t seen this episode before; Xena was in top form, hacking away in her black leather.

“So, you’re really going to take this Chicago case?” Mike asked.

“Christina is,” Ben replied. “I’m not having anything to do with it.”

“Word is lots of people are out to get that Christensen kid. Anyone associated with him is in danger.”

“Swell. I like this case even better now.”

“Why don’t you let me call someone at Chicago PD? Maybe they can send an officer over to keep an eye on Christina? At least during the trial.”

“Don’t bother. You know Christina won’t allow it. The jurors would assume Christina thought she needed protection from her client. Which would not exactly improve her chances.”

“Maybe they can send someone low-key. Plainclothes.”