'Til Death (part nine of fifteen)
13. Jul, 2009 
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The following work of fiction may contain language, violence or themes considered unsuitable for young readers. Parental discretion is advised. (If this story was a film, it would likely pull a PG-13 rating.)
‘Til Death
A Trick Molloy Mystery
©2009 Michael A. Stackpole
Part Nine
Turned out the shooter was a nobody. He’d had a history of minor scrapes with the law. His jacket had a psych eval that suggested he was dumber than a hubcap. Either he’d be judged incompetent and get hospitalized, or go to prison and spend time with the brother and uncle already there. He’d have to go away because he’d killed a cop, but he’d be back in seven to ten.
His lawyer spun the story that Lou had harassed him and the kid lost it, stalked and killed him. It would become an abuse-of-power thing. That would be a sexier story than Lou’s being a hero, but the hero thing would play for a bit.
I hoped it was still playing when I freed Irina.
I had a couple of choices on how to approach Turpeluk. The first was straight up: I still wanted her because Lou was a friend. He’s dead, so there’s no coke. Name a price.
In a perfect world, that might work. Problem was, Turpeluk already knew my upper limit. He’d look to get his hooks in and use me. The price would get too high, and no friendship was worth that, especially friendship with a dead guy.
And, of course, Turpeluk knew I’d kill him to avenge Lou. This really narrowed the chances for success.
The second avenue got a bit trickier. Vice didn’t have anything on Turpeluk, so they couldn’t move on him. The local Syndicate, on the other hand, didn’t like the Russians. Nudge here, shove there, and I could ignite a gang war. They do each other, and I pull Irina out of the ruins.
Problem with that idea was that gang wars tended to have a lot of collateral damage. Merchandise is merchandise. You hijack it or destroy it—neither of which would get Irina in the clear. The fact that the local Syndicate had recently lost its boss and was engaged in some nasty downsizing during the successor wars made focusing them on the Russians more difficult.
Vectoring in on Turpeluk was the hard part of the problem. I explained all that to Talia over dinner. She indulged me, letting me lay everything out. And when I got frustrated, she reached out and squeezed my hand.
“Trick, I hope you don’t mind. From what you had said before I figured this would happen. Not the shooting, but…”
“The lack of access.”
“Right. I think I have a solution.”
“Really?” I guess my voice conveyed utter disbelief.
“I didn’t get all those letters piled up after my name by being stupid.” She gave me a hard look. “I’m a sociologist, remember? I study societies, how they function.”
I nodded. “Sorry. I just don’t think of you and criminal minds at the same time.”
“That’s okay. I wasn’t thinking about criminal minds, either.” She sat back, smiling slowly. “I had a friend in the IT department at the college take a look at any accounts that accessed the Russian bride site your friend used. The survey turned up a number of hits. I did a little checking. Doctor Quincy Fairfield is in the music department. Mid-fifties, widowed, brilliant violinist, but very introverted. He’s been out of sorts lately—last month or so. He was very happy before that. I think your Russian is doing to him what he did to Lou Sandberg. He’s brought the girl over and is holding her for ransom.”
“Asking for money the man doesn’t have.” I nodded. “We supply him with the money, use Sniff to trace it and find Turpeluk’s warehouse. Long shot, but doable. We’d have to explain how Fairfield got the money, but I have an angle on that. You think Fairfield will go for it?”
Talia smiled. “I have an inkling he might. That’s why we’re meeting him for coffee in an hour. I told him I had a friend who could help him out.”
I frowned. “Did you meet him face to face, or talk to him on the phone?”
“I went to his office. The music department is just across the green. We’re meeting at the Student Union.”
I took her hands in mine. “Talia, I can’t thank you enough for this. You’re brilliant, and brave.”
She lifted our hands and kissed my fingers. “My pleasure.”
“One thing, darling, and this is really important.”
“Yes?”
“After this evening, you never see Fairfield again—at least, not until this is all over and Turpeluk is gone, got it? If something goes wrong, and the Russians trace this back, they’ll hurt you badly.” I shook my head. “I don’t want that to happen.”
“Trick…”
I tightened my grip. “Promise me.”
“Trick…”
“No, Talia. I know you’re a big girl. I know you can handle yourself, but these guys, they’re not from your world. Promise me.”
“I promise.”
I smiled. “Thank you.”
I’m not sure I ever had a mental image of what a violinist should look like, but Fairfield fit. Someone had cobbled his skeleton together out of toothpicks. His hands weren’t that big, but his fingers were long and strong. Reminded me of spider’s-legs. Too much nose, not enough chin or hair. Not sure he ate much. He’d not eaten recently. An M&M would have made him look pregnant.
He dressed well, however, and fit the Professor stereotype. Three piece suit, white shirt, ascot from King’s College, no jewelry. He used a pocket watch. His only concession to fashion was his driving cap, but creases on his pant’s right cuff indicated he rode a bicycle to the meeting.
He’d arrived before we had and had ordered tea. I left Talia to sit with him while I fetched coffee. I let the java-jerk gunk it up with chocolate and whipped cream. It was dessert, technically speaking.
The faint attempt at a smile cracked the lower part of his long face. “Doctor Heron tells me you may be able to help me, Mr. Molloy.”
“I hope so, Doctor Fairfield.”
“Very good.” He reached into an old buckle-down briefcase and produced a bulging folio. He opened it and selected a photograph. “This is her. She’s with her sister.”
He sighed. “Her name is Svetlana, and she is the love of my life.”
If you are enjoying this story and were wondering how we got here, please visit the Stormwolf Store. The short story “The Witch in Scarlet” is the Trick Molloy tale that immediately precedes this one.
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