A Case For Conners

Chapter 6

Chapter 5: Counter-Strike

Conners sprinted towards the flames, as the cabbie drove away. He flew up to the fireman line and leapt over the barrier. The man tried to stop him but Conners ducked under his arms and ran right up to the door. There was no time to think; he kicked what was left of the front door in.

He scanned the room quickly, but it was almost impossible to see more than an inch in front of him. The sinking pit in his stomach became a black hole as he franticly ran through the office, jumping over debris and ash. He threw his coat over his mouth, but it could still feel the burning smoke in his lungs, and he coughed several times.

He knew that there was no hope of actually breathing in clean air, but his body was desperately trying to fill his lungs with usable oxygen. Finally, he reached the desk Bill always sat behind. He was still there.

But he did not look warmly on Conners, or make a snide remark as he usually would. The man had been dead long before the fire had been started. There was a single bullet wound through the temple. Conners didn't have time to examine the body carefully as it was. He wished he could've seen how it happened, but the fire was going to burn him alive if he didn't move, and Conners couldn't find out what happened at all if he died.

He lifted the old man's body onto his back and ran as quick as his legs would carry him towards the front door. He was halfway there when his body forced him to inhale again, and black smoke filled his lungs. Everything went fuzzy and it became hard to think clearly. Exhausted, he fell to the ground, trying to breath in air. Conners knew something was wrong.

His body wasn't responding to his brain, and what thought he had left was getting dimmer and dimmer as he was forced to inhale and coughed up black smoke. His head hit the ground, and he knew it was too late for anything else now. Conners briefly took a moment to thank Bill for what he'd done, and closed his eyes, ready to die. But fate had another idea.

A pair of hands grabbed Conners by his coat and pulled him along the floor. Then he felt something being pressed over his mouth and nose, and oxygen flooded his lungs. Conners opened his eyes and he could think a little clearer. Another breath was forced into him and he could hear people talking and moving.

Then, the paramedic in front of him came into clearer focus. Conners waved at him to show that he was awake again. The paramedic took off the oxygen pump and Conners coughed several times to clear his body and brain. He turned to the fireman who was standing a little way away from him, helping his fellow firefighters.

"Thanks for... that," said Conners lamely.

"We didn't get you," said the man, half-focused on Conners, and half on the blaze. "We were about to, but she got to you first... said she knew you'd be stupid."

"Who..."

Conners turned and saw Lawrence, of all people, looking at him. He saw fear in her eyes. Why should she fear for his safety? They'd just met that day...

"Once I heard about the fire, I knew you'd try and make sure your boss was all right," she said, smiling softly.

"You knew that?"

"Yeah. It's how your kind are, you know?"

Conners shook his head.

"I don't... well, didn't know I would run in to find him. It just kind of happened."

She looked at him for a long moment before speaking again.

"Come on, I'll take you to the hospital then we can leave."

"We?"

"You lived here right? I think your room is kind of... uninhabitable right now. I'll let you crash on my couch for the night, but first let's make sure you're all right."

"No," he said firmly. "First, where is Bill's body?"

"Over there, why?"

"I need to examine it."

He could tell she wanted to protest, but she said nothing. Conners walked up to the old man's body and carefully scanned every inch. There was no sign of a struggle, or any sort of shock. Had Conners not known better, he would've even suspected suicide. It was Bill's left hand that held the key he wanted.

It was a simple note card that had an address written on it in the a woman's handwriting.

105 N. Tennessee St.

Conners pocketed the note and slowly walked back to Lawrence.

"Thanks for offering your place," he said earnestly. "But I'm afraid I'm going to be far too busy to..."

"Do you ever shut up?" she asked, cutting him off. "I wasn't offering my place. I told you that you need sleep. So, unless you want me to find a hotel for you, you're coming with me."

He looked at her quizzically.

"You don't get told no very often do you?" he asked.

"I'm guessing you don't either. Look, I know what you're doing. You're being cocky and a jackass to keep in control and that's fine, but you're sure as hell not going to be alone tonight."

It was answer enough for him to follow her.

"Thanks... why offer your place to a complete stranger like this?"

"You're not a complete stranger. I know you're not dangerous. Well, not to me anyway. Besides, I can tell you really need the help, or am I wrong?"

"No," said Conners, thinking what it would be like to sleep in the streets again. "I do need the help."

The hospital visit passed by in a blur and he answered questions while they took his blood pressure and checked his breathing. After he was cleared to go, they drove to Lawrence's apartment. Once inside, Conners fell into a chair, letting the soft leather cover him and slowly absorb his body. He flung his legs up over the armrest, and took several deep breaths trying to control the odd flood of emotions his body was forcing on him. Normally he was able to keep himself set apart from all of his casework, and much of anything around him. Sure, he'd joke around, he would be an ass, but it was never truly personal.

This was different. He'd liked Bill. The man was like an ox. He was strong, powerful, but also wise and he'd given Conners his first shot at a real job and a real life since the hospital. It was like the beginnings of redemption. Bill also had given Conners someone to rely on, someone to go to when things were hard to piece together. Bill's death left a hole in him.

Lawrence looked at him, and he saw pity in her eyes. Conners hated pity, and always had. Pity made you so weak, not to mention stupid. Any emotion that didn't fuel the body or help you survive was so... useless. Why did everyone else seem obsessed with them?

Bill had believed in them, strongly. The old man was smart, at least as smart as Conners. However, he wasn't smart enough to keep himself alive, and that was his own fault in the end.

Lawrence came over with a cup steaming with some hot drink… Hot chocolate, he thought. He stared at the drink and mumbled his thanks. After a moment, he saw it ripple, then again two more times. It took him a moment to realize that tears were falling into the drink. It took another moment for him to realize that he was actually crying.

What the hell is wrong with me?

Lawrence to her credit, didn't say anything. She reached over and put her hand on his shoulder, trying to comfort him. He looked up at her and his mind took a snapshot of her automatically.

He realized that the pity he'd thought he'd seen was actually compassion. She felt for him... why? Did she just care about everyone? That would be beyond strange for a cop.

"I'll be fine," he said. "Tomorrow I can find somewhere else to stay. Thank you."

"I'll be in the next room if you need me."

"I won't," Conners said, and he almost smacked himself.

He knew he shouldn't be an ass to this woman who was helping him, and he wasn't sure why he'd been like that. Maybe it was some self-defense or something his body had towards emotional pain. He wasn't in the mood to work it out.

After a few moments, he heard Lawrence pass into sleep, but he couldn't follow her into the realm of blissful dreams, however much he wanted to. Conners stayed up all night, thinking in circles. His brain was failing him for the second time that he could remember, and this time he had no excuse. He could only hope the address in his pocket would give some answers.

Conners knew he shouldn't scorn Lawrence's help, and he knew she'd probably chew him out for it in the morning, but he couldn't sleep an inch anyway. He took his notepad out one of his many pockets and scribbled a note for her.

Hey Sweetheart: (not actually here, so that whole "breaking my face" thing doesn't have to happen, right?)

Couldn't sleep, so I'm off to get some answers. Thanks for the drink, it was good. Call me if you come across anything interesting and need help.

MC

He attached his phone number to the bottom of the note and quietly slipped out into the very early morning.

It was a breeze to get a cab to take him to the address Bill had written. The driver had just seemed happy Conners wasn't a drunk. After he paid the man, Conners could see that the house wasn't actually a house at all. It was huge office building. Tentatively, Conners walked in, and was greeted by a bellhop of some kind.

"Hello sir," the youth said.

"My name is detect-"

"Michael Conners," he interrupted. "Yes, we've been expecting you, sir. This way."

Conners walked after the man, surprised.

"I'm expected?"

"Miss Richards is very knowledgeable. She has set up a large dinner for you."

Conners checked his watch.

"It's nearly 3:15 in the morning. Who the hell has dinner now?"

"She said you would ask that. She said, 'people who refuse to eat when they work.' I hope that makes sense to you."

"Far too much."

"Here we go sir," said the young man outside a door. "Just enter in through here. I'm afraid I'll need to take your pistol and phone."

Conners decided it was the only way to get answers, and he handed the man his weapon and cell phone. The man opened the door and Conners looked in, ready for anything. What he saw was a slightly aging woman sitting at the head of a long table.

"Michael Conners," she said. "I have waited a long time to meet you. I am not used to waiting, but I must say you are worth it. Please sit and eat."

Conners walked forward and when he could see her in the full light, his mind took a snapshot of her.

She was in her mid to late fifties, and obviously wealthy. She wore a woman's pants suit, but with a button-up shirt and tie. Her hair was pitch black and her face had charm to it. It was her eyes that screamed evil. They were light green, but so piercing and cold that any smile was drowned out by the fear they inspired. He knew she wasn't someone to be taken lightly.

She had the very air of a killer.

Yet, there was more to her. She wore jewelry on several fingers, but none on her wedding finger. She had no husband, and from her position and power in life it was unlikely she had any kids. The woman was driven by power, yet that wasn't all, or he wouldn't be here. She was after something else... something emotional.

Conners had learned that of all emotions, the strongest were love and hate. Looking at Richards, he was pretty sure whatever she felt for him was not love.

"Miss Richards," he said, sitting. "I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage. I know your name but not much else, and you seem to know a large amount about me."

"Call me Kelsey... all my friends do. As for knowing nothing about me, we both know that's not true. You analyzed me about ten paces ago. You know a fair bit about me... More than most get to know, anyway."

She saw all that?! Who the hell is this b***h?

"So, why am I here?" he asked.

"So straightforward," she said. "You're so desperate to control the situation... to know everything. William was the same way."

"Well if you want to control me you'll need a whip," he said, letting the smartass out a little. "Obviously it was you that started the fire."

"My men, I rarely dirty my hands so often personally. Although William was a bit special."

"So, what do you want?"

"To see you. The old fool was wild about you before he died. I wanted to see his... protégé. So far, I admit underwhelmed."

"The evening is young though. I'm full of surprises when you get to know me."

"Actually it's in its adolescence."

Conners sat down and examined the meal, but he doubted poison... it wasn't her style. He ate the steak in front of him and barely noticed the actual taste of it. He was too busy trying to figure out who this woman was. She clearly had an attachment to Bill, but Bill didn't mention her that he could ever recall.

So, what was the connection?

Suddenly he remembered something Bill had told him. He had told Conners all about this woman, if he was right. The suspicion went through his mind, and he decided it was the most likely solution. All of his thinking took only a moment, and he was ready with his theory. The worst thing he could do was be wrong, in which case he was probably dead anyway.

"So Michael…"

"Conners," he interrupted.

"Michael," she insisted. "I suppose you're wondering exactly who I am and how I'm connected to dear William."

The "dear" didn't escape Conners' attention. In fact, it hardened his suspicions.

"Actually, I know exactly who you are and how you're wrapped up in this."

Shock flooded Richards' face.

"Do you?" she asked, but her cold eyes had become full of fury.

"Yep," he said, calmly eating more of the steak. "You did love Bill. You were his wife. But he spurned you because you're a controlling b***h, not to mention a complete w***e. How's that sound, am I hitting anything so far?"

She said nothing, so he continued.

"Now, most people would try to find some way to move on, but you became obsessed with him telling you 'no'. You probably don't hear it often. He was unobtainable to you."

"So," she said smiling again. "You think I'm a fan of 'if I can't have you no one can', is that it?"

Conners carefully studied her face.

"No," he said softly. "No there's something else. You aren't bitter, you're self-centered, probably narcissistic..."

"And so the pot calls the kettle black."

"No. In our solar system I would be Jupiter, a totally badass planet f*****g up anything too stupid to mess with me. But there are other planets and moons and stars... all doing their own thing, and all are important."

"You are Jupiter, and I think I'm the sun is that the difference you mean to point out?"

"No, not exactly. You think you're the universe. You think that you are all that exists. Of course, that's not right either. What you actually are is a black hole, devouring everything in its path until you destroy anything that was even remotely decent about the systems you visit."

Her eyes burned as he looked at her. He saw the anger slowly come to her and knew he was right. In spite of her anger, Richards managed to remain civil with him… at least in tone.

"Well Mr. Conners. I hope you don't meet with an accident, just as William did. It must hurt to have someone so close to you die."

"It hurts, yes," he said honestly. "But I suppose my hands aren't the ones caked in blood. How do you sleep at night?"

That was enough, and she snapped.

"You! How dare you?! I ought to kill you too!"

"I 'dare' rather easily I'm afraid. Anyhow, I think I'm done here. For such a wealthy woman, you really prepare substandard food. So goodbye, looking forward to the court case."

Of course, he had nothing to get her arrested, but she wouldn't make her move yet. She was like him, a planner. He got up slowly, and placed the napkin on top of his half-eaten food. He walked slowly out of the door and into the streets.