Chapter 2-4
853 Words
Jimmy stomped down the stairs and out into the fresh air. Or what would’ve been fresh air if it wasn’t July in Chicago. He dragged in a deep breath from the wall of humidity. He didn’t know what he’d been thinking. He just wanted to teach Moira a lesson about personal safety.
He wouldn’t want to face her brothers if something happened to her and he could’ve prevented it. Never had he expected to find her wearing nothing but a skimpy robe. The woman was like a quick-change artist. He might not have even noticed how short the robe was or how the pale skin on her chest was sprinkled with freckles, but she got all feisty and started poking at him, which caused the opening of the robe to widen.
Even then, he kept himself in check, but he made the ultimate mistake of getting too close to her. The look in her eyes when they met his undid him.
He almost lost his f*****g mind and kissed her.
Shaking his head, he slid into the car beside Gabby.
“’Bout time. What the hell were you doing? Gettin’ lucky?”
His head jerked back. “No. I wanted to make sure she locked her door. That apartment isn’t safe.”
“Dude, it takes three seconds to say, ‘Lock the door.’” Gabby snickered.
“It takes longer than five minutes to get lucky if you’re doing it right.”
She continued on as if he hadn’t spoken. “Plus, you’re looking totally guilty right now. What’s the story?”
“There is no story. Moira’s like a little sister.” The lie made his stomach turn. He wanted to think about her like a little sister, but he hadn’t been able to for years. Which was why he avoided her.
Gabby pulled out into traffic, a smile still hovering on her lips.
“What?” he snapped.
“Nothing. You want me to believe she’s like a sister, so be it. But the attraction in the hallway was like snap, crackle, pop.”
“Not attraction, annoyance.”
“Whatever.”
Gabby drove back to the station so they could discuss a game plan. Last night had been a waste of time. He was supposedly new to the city, and no one was quick to befriend him. How was he supposed to get people to talk about being robbed? This whole thing reeked of a wild goose chase.
If these rich assholes wanted to take the loss, let them. They obviously didn’t trust the police to do their jobs.
They let the commander know they talked to Moira, who at least appeared to be cooperative. Then after a long-a*s day of accomplishing exactly jack s**t, Jimmy drove home.
Elks told him he’d be in touch with the mayor to decide how they would proceed, but Elks gave the impression that Jimmy’s days of being James Buchanan weren’t quite over.
By the time he got home, the last thing he wanted to do was deal with his dad. He walked through the front door and tripped over the same damn hockey skate. He picked it up and hurled it across the room. It whizzed by Tommy’s head as he came in from the other end of the room.
“What the f**k, dude?”
“That’s what I was thinking. If you can’t pick up after yourself, find somewhere else to live. I’m not your goddamn maid.”
Tommy grabbed the skate and shoved it under the table. “You’re not my mother either, so stopped acting like it.”
“Be an adult and I won’t have to.”
“What the hell crawled up your a*s and died?”
What the hell indeed? Jimmy didn’t know what the hell was bothering him. Yes, he did. A hot little redhead made his blood boil every way possible and made him crazy. “I’m having a bad day.”
“I’ll say. Maybe you need to get laid. Always sets me straight. You wanna go out?”
“Maybe later. I have some work to do. Have you checked on Dad?”
Tommy shook his head. “He was asleep when I came in.”
“Asleep?” Not a good sign.
“He was breathing, but I didn’t wake him.”
Jimmy stuck his head in his dad’s bedroom. The man’s snore sounded like a Mack truck. He counted the empties surrounding his dad. Eight beers. Enough that his father wouldn’t have thought to check his blood. Probably not for the entire day. Jimmy thought that once he got in as a detective, he’d be able to keep a better eye on his dad. It didn’t help that Tommy and Sean didn’t see his drinking as a problem. If he offered them a beer, they’d sit and drink with him.
No matter what he told them, they didn’t get it. They still looked at Dad like he was an invincible superhero instead of a diabetic old man.
Jimmy gathered the supplies and tested his father’s blood. As expected, his blood sugar was low, so Jimmy roused him enough to take a glucose pill. Then he went to the kitchen to make some real food.
Most weeks Dad did a good job. He watched what he ate and stuck to a couple of beers a night. Something would trigger a binge like this, but Jimmy didn’t know what the trigger was. And it wasn’t like Seamus O’Malley would ever admit to his sons that he had a problem.
- Writer
