A Case For Conners

Chapter 12

Chapter 11: Back in Black

Conners lay on his couch and smoked a cigarette, basking in the glory of his latest success. He'd just solved a missing person's report… turned out the girl had been kidnapped by her grandmother. Of course, it hadn't taken long to put the pieces together, and he'd gotten an intentional sting in on the lieutenant of the police.

The best part of it all wasn't the smile she'd given him, or treating the girl to ice cream on the way back. It was the lieutenant throwing a check for his services at him, because he had technically solved the currently open case, and Lawrence got to label him as a consultant.

She was amazing, and if there was one thing about police work that he missed, it was her. She was one of the only cops he'd ever met that did legitimately seem to care about helping people. Of course, their banter was a cornerstone to his days.

As he was thinking about this, his phone rang, showing Lawrence's personal cell number.

"Hello," he said smirking. "If you're going to charge me money for this, I'd better get my credit card ready, honey."

"Smartass."

"Smartass, wiseass, nice ass… Wait, no. That one's you."

"Damn straight," she said, and he could tell she was smiling back at him. "Nice work on that missing person's case."

"Thank you, I figured you had your hands full. I mean there are so many teens speeding out there. How do you find time to eat and sleep?"

"Not all of us have the luxury of being able to pick and choose our cases. Speaking of, you feel up to another one?"

"The case of the cute police detective in need of a dashing private investigator to take her out for a meal? Sure, I can take that."

"…I'm choosing not to kick you for that because you said I'm cute."

"Deal, what you got?"

"It's moved up to a homicide now."

"How many bodies?"

"None."

"I may be a little insane," he said, confused. "But typically homicides result in people dying right?"

"Usually, but sometimes those bodies get moved by the killer. Not all of us are as afraid of physically doing things as you are."

"Oh ha ha. Where is the scene then?"

"I'll text you, luckily it's not underwater."

Conners hung up and took a quick moment to reflect on his life a little. Sure, he'd just given up the job he'd wanted to have since waking up in the hospital, but this was better for him. It was good, honest even. It would've made Bill proud of him.

His phone beeped determinedly at him to let him know the location of the crime scene and Conners stood, putting Sherry in her holster and several jolly ranchers in his pockets. Grabbing Bill's old cane, he figured he was ready.

This felt right, picking his own tools. There was no debriefing, no useless jabbering.

"Just give me a case and move out the way," he said softly.

Conners jumped down the stairs and hailed a cab as he ran out towards the street. He got in the car as he heard two people on the street talk to each other excitedly.

"That's him I swear! That detective who helps the police."

"No, he isn't really that tall. It's a copycat or something."

"He even has the coat! Besides, look at his face, you saw the video!"

Conners smiled, giving the cab driver the instructions to the crime scene. The cabbie nodded and started down the streets. This wasn't all that new. Between the youtube videos of his theatrics on the Vanderhill case and word of mouth from clients, he had become a sort of local celebrity. It was great for business.

"So, is it true that you're that detective guy?" asked the cabbie.

"Detective Michael J. Conners," he said. "At your service."

"You really help the police and everything?"

"They just usually give me a case and I point out how stupid they are. It's not all that hard to be honest."

"But I heard about you down at the dispatch. They say you're a jackass, but really super smart. Like a computer or something."

"Had a good trainer," Conners replied.

"Really? What you see about me?"

"It's not a magic trick I put on for amusement."

"Hey if you can't do it, you can't do it."

Conners glanced at the cabbie as time slowed down for him. His eyes were lightly bloodshot, but not by decease or illness. He wore old clothes, but they were freshly laundered, and prepped by a caring wife. However, he wore no wedding ring. So, it was likely she didn't work and he was struggling to earn enough for some kind of a wedding.

"You're poor, and the lone worker between you and your girlfriend."

"Not bad, but…"

"You smoke weed and are struggling to save up for a proper wedding for your girl, who you most likely call your wife. She lives with you and wakes you in the morning, prepares your breakfast and your clothes. She is the one who makes sure you don't look like total s**t when you leave the house in the morning."

He saw shock flood the cab driver's face, and then shame replaced the shock. Shame coming from family must mean it applied to kids if his wife was still making him breakfast.

"And you're ashamed of the drug habit. It's because of your smoking that she doesn't want to have children. She's afraid it's a bad influence."

"Ok!" he shouted. "You win."

"That merely means there's more," Conners said. "If she doesn't like the smoking and you have more to hide that suggests dealing… either currently or previously."

"I said that's enough."

"Really? You turned on the tap, don't know that I can shut it off now. Based on the dispatch you work for, and the fact you probably don't live very far away from it, that would put you near the Deerings district, that right?"

"Maybe, but…"

"So in Deerings the main dealer I know of is Hillary White…"

"We're here! Get out."

"What do I owe you?"

"No charge," he said irritated. "You're brilliant and a jackass. What they say about you is true. I just hope that if I scratch your back… you scratch mine, you know?"

Conners considered the man for a long moment. It was the ability to make choices like this that left him in private practice in the first place.

"Be careful who you deal to, absolutely no kids, and no parents. You got me?"

"Of course! Of course!"

"You've seen what I can do. And I can run a search on you through this cab. Believe me, if I find out you're lying to me, I will find out and I will make you regret it!"

"Yeah! Sure! Whatever you say Mr. Conners."

"No, say my full name!"

"I just…"

"Say it."

"Anything you say, detective Michael J. Conners!"

"Better. Get out of here."

The driver took off and Conners walked up to the police barrier, swinging the cane back and forth without a care in the world. Lawrence saw him and ran up to him, hugging him quickly.

"Well hello!" he said. "Missed you too."

She punched him swiftly across the face and he stumbled back.

"Missed you," she said, straightening. "The station is just a bit… boring now that you're gone."

"Yeah," he said rubbing his check gingerly. "I usually punch people I miss too."

"You left like a b***h. For that, I punched you. I also miss you. For that, I hugged you."

"Crazy bitch."

"I have a taser."

"Right! So then… this body… or lack of a body…"

"Terry Ryan. He's actually got a bounty on him. They caught the guy on aggravated assault years ago and he got a year in jail. As soon as he got out, Ryan robbed thirteen businesses in one month, and is on the move through the country."

"Looks like a bounty hunter caught him," said Conners.

"Not likely. He's not been claimed, just found his car here with blood all over it."

"His blood?"

"His type for sure," Lawrence said. "Lab is trying to confirm the DNA."

"Well, I would've put a bounty on this guy for his name alone."

"His name?"

"Guy has two first names. Terry Ryan? Come on man, pick one."

"Whatever, you get anything from his truck?"

"It's definitely registered to him, right?"

"Yeah. He had it before the jail record started."

Conners examined the cab of the truck thoroughly as Bill had taught him, and something was very, very wrong. Assuming he'd been shot from behind, blood would've sprayed all over the cab and windshield before the bullet could've hit the windshield.

Assuming he was shot from the front, the blood would've sprayed through the cab and maybe out the windshield before the bullet broke through the back window. From the size of the holes, it seemed like the shot had come from the back window. Blood was all over the seats and steering wheel. There was blood on both sides of both windows and even on the passenger's seat.

"He's not dead," said Conners. "This is staged."

"Sorry?"

"Get your blood spatter guy over here. Blood's not likely on the inside and outside of both windows. He's alive somewhere, and without his truck he's probably in the city somewhere."

"He could've got a train or cab or plane and be out of the city by now."

"No, that's what city police always try they mess up in that. He's not left yet, his face is too well-known right now. I'm assuming the media put this all over the place already."

"It was on the eight o' clock news," said a police officer behind him.

"Exactly. He's too afraid to go anywhere too public right now and a cab won't take him out of the city. Put patrols at the stations and airport just in case, but I would be shocked if he tries to leave the city today or even this week. You forget, he has money so he can lay low when he wants. Check the slums, homeless shelters and s**t-hole apartments in the surrounding area."

"Do you think he's still in district?"

"It's likely. He's not a local and never lived here before. This is a confusing place to an outsider, and he's from the country. He probably wouldn't be able to board the L-trains smoothly."

"He's got a point on all accounts," said Lawrence. "Spread out men. Come on Conners."

"Why am I going with you?"

"Excuse me?"

"I mean yay! More time with the taser."

Lawrence led him into several side alleys and motels, showing the picture of Ryan around to everyone. Sadly, no information came up, not that Conners expected it would. In all honesty this was a bad plan, but he didn't have a better one available so he kept quiet, sucking on his jolly ranchers and twirling Bill's cane.

He was studying the map intently. If he'd just faked his death, where was a place he could disappear? Maybe he should call up one of his old contacts from his days with Hunter? It would help and there was no group that knew the back alleyways of the city better.

He dialed the number of a street watcher, Micah Olaf. He was Conners' go to man when he still needed places to hide from cops and kept tabs on where people liked to lay low. If there was someone who he could consult on this, it was Micah.

"Michael," said Micah picking up the phone. "It's been way too long. Heard you turned all legit on us."

"Only a little. You know I'd never really turn."

"Course. You're too much of an ass to be a pig. What you need?"

"I was wondering if you've seen an out-of-stater. Name's Terry Ryan. You seen the news about him?"

"Yeah I saw the story on my phone earlier. I don't have anything sure, but I'll set my boys on it. Any general location?"

"Somewhere around Roger Park would be my guess, might be a little farther out though."

"Got it, I'll hit you up. Come down to my shack there and we'll see what comes up, all right?"

"Got it."

He hung up and told Lawrence about his lead.

"Let's go down that way then. See if this turns anything up."

"No. I need to go alone."

"One of your old friends again?"

"One of the best," he said, joking. "He probably won't talk to anyone else though. I'll hit this up and text you if this is anything."

"Be careful. I don't need to deal with putting you in the hospital."

"Please, I'm way too pretty to hurt!"

"Hardly."

He hailed a cab and gave the driver the street Micah's shack was on, and they flew through the streets at break neck pace. One interesting things about Chicago was that the cabbies were sometimes faster then the cops with the lack of respect they had for the rules of the road.

In mere moments they had arrived and Conners tipped the cabbie generously. As the driver accepted the money, he addressed Conners.

"You that famous asshole right?"

"Detective asshole to you."

"Yeah that's right. Heard about you from a buddy of mine. Said you were one of the smartest jackasses he'd ever driven around."

"Probably."

"Hey, I mean. I like what you do. You're a good guy; so, you ever need a ride, call me up. Me or one of my boys can get you anywhere you need to go in a hurry all right?"

Conners accepted the man's card in stunned silence. He slipped the card into his wallet at the man drove back into Chicago's busy streets. This guy was insane, but it would be good to have a driver that could get him where he wanted to go, and quickly.

"Hey Michael!" said Micah calling to him. "In here my man."

Conners walked over to his shack, which was actually far more luxurious than it suggested. It had running water and electricity, and a solid stash of food.

"What's going on Micah? You got anything?"

"Maybe, any of these your guy?"

He handed Conners his phone and the detective began scanning faces.

"Not that one, too much hair. Not quite right. This guy is Asian! Ah here we go. Where is this one?"

"On 53rd street and Cherry cross. Only a block or two away."

"Great! Great! You're helpful as always Micah."

Conners reached in his wallet to pay Micah his fee, but the man stopped him.

"I would wait to pay me if I were you."

"Why's that?"

"Someone else paid more."

"What do you mean?"

A pipe smashed into his head at that very moment and he hit the ground dazed as the cane flew out of his hand. Blinking the blood out of his eyes, Conners looked up at his attacker, and saw they had raised the pipe up again.

The adrenaline flushed through Conners and he glanced all around for anything that could be used as a makeshift weapon. He spied a trash can lid and old television set behind his foe. With a powerful kick, he made the man's knee buckle and rolled past him deftly. The man wheeled around and came into the full light as Conners' mind broke down what he could about the man.

He was young, not even into his thirties, and bore several scars across the face. So, he was experienced in close combat. Most likely he was leg-breaker for a gang or mob. He was short, at least a full foot shorter than Conners was… Best to use that to his advantage. His clothing was worn and faded, but expensive. So, the man made plenty of money and yet worked with his hands. Leg-breaker was looking more likely.

He wasn't married, and judging by the stains on his crotch was a frequent masturbator. He had shaved himself bald to try and seem more impressive, and on less experienced people it would've worked. Most likely the man had Slavic roots, judging from the skin tone and face. He was likely one tough bastard.

Conners snapped out of his analysis and picked up the trash can lid, blocking a blow from his attacker, and another strike. The man was ruthless, and had a lot more stamina than Conners did. This battle could not go on for too long, or he'd be in trouble.

"Where's Lawrence and her damn taser when I need her?" he grumbled to himself.

He struck at the assailant's temple with the lid, only to get hit in the ribs with the pipe. Conners was sure he felt ribs crack, and rolled away from the man, drawing Sherry. Normally, he would've felt as if using her were cheating. There was certain honor in close quarters combat, but this went into extreme circumstances, and this Slavic wouldn't likely stop at knocking him out.

"Freeze!" Conners shouted.

To his bewilderment, the man merely moved forward like a train and Conners shot, trying to cripple the beast of a man. Regrettably, the shot went wide and the leg-breaker closed the gap between them in a split-second, knocking Sherry from his grip.

"f*****g asshole!" Conners shouted, hitting the man square in the jaw.

His hand stung and he felt he might have just damaged himself more than the other man. He was built almost entirely from muscle, and didn't seem to have any obvious weaknesses. This man was fluent in boxing and kickboxing at the very least, and while Conners was trained in martial arts, it likely wouldn't be enough to overcome the man's strength.

He grit his teeth and ran forward ignoring the screaming pain in his chest and struck at the man. The Slavic dodged his first strike and punched Conners in the leg. Conners let out a cry of pain and responded with a high-kick, catch the man in the face. The leg-breaker stumbled back and righted himself quickly.

Conners let his mind run a scan on his body to access damage he'd taken:

Cracked Ribs

Internal Bleeding

Bruised shin

Lightly bleeding head wound

It was bad, but not unbearable. Nevertheless, this had to stop. Searching for both the cane and Sherry, he found they were too far to reach without re-engaging in combat. Instead he moved slightly in front of the old television set and banged on the trash can lid loudly, taunting the Slavic. The attacker took the bait and came charging at Conners, arms spread wide to crush him.

Conners did a back handspring, using the television for leverage and pushed it forward off its perch. The other man caught it, surprised and unsure how to react. Using the second of confusion, Conners beat him in the temple with his trashcan lid. This time, the attacker dropped the set to clutch his head and it landed on the floor, shattering the screen.

Conners planted a solid double kick in the Slavic's chest knocking him backwards several feet, and reached down picking up a large sharp piece of glass. The other man regarded him wearily.

Conners motioned for a moment to breath, and leaned against the wall, clutching his side.

"You are as dangerous as they told me you would be," the other man said.

"Thank you," said Conners, gasping. "From your accent and features I would guess you're from the Czech Republic, right?"

"Well done. Most think I am Russian."

"They are similar in the base sound and accent. So, are you an assassin for hire, or do you have beef with me?"

"I have the highest respect for you," said the man honestly. "Sadly my boss doesn't share my view of you."

"Assassin then."

"Not normally. My boss is a very powerful and connected person… They decided you were too dangerous to be left alive."

"You are experienced too. I noticed you avoid names and even a gender."

"Correct," said the man. "You earn your reputation Michael J. Conners."

"Well that's no fair. You know my name and I don't know yours."

"My name is unimportant."

"Not to me," said Conners. "You are the best fight I've had in a while. I may actually die here. I deserve to know my foe's name."

"Demetri. I'll withhold my last name for obvious reasons."

"Fair enough. Demetri, pleasure to know you."

"Likewise. Are you ready to continue?"

"Whether I am or not, you've been more than fair."

Demetri came at him again. Conners deflected the first two attacks and stuck the Czech in the arm with the glass, twisting it as he pulled it back out. Demetri looked down at his arm in shock, then punched Conners in the face. The detective fell back, feeling the blood spill from his nose and mouth. This fight was taking his toll and his muscles were aching. Demetri was an expert at his craft and knew how to put true power behind his attacks.

Conners steeled himself and sprinted at the other man, screaming the whole way. Demetri held up his arms, ready for defense. Conners threw the trash can lid at him and the Czech ducked under the projectile before Conners slid in between his attacker's legs and stabbed him twice in the right thigh. Demetri collapsed and Conners ran past him to his cane and Sherry.

"It's over, Demetri. Don't make me end it like this."

"I don't think so. You know much of me, Michael Conners. You understand my military training and our devotion to the job. You know we are prepared to die for our cause."

"Don't do it!"

As Conners said it, Demetri put a capsule into his mouth and bit down on it hard. Foam spilled from his mouth within seconds and he died, refusing to give in his enemy.

"f**k!" Conners shouted. "f*****g f**k! Dammit! I swear I'm going to throw a f*****g truck at the next motherfucker that pisses me off. Micah! You b***h! Where are you?"

There was no answer. If Micah was still in this alleyway, he was far too hidden for Conners to see. As much as he'd like to, Conners knew he was in no shape to search for the two-faced rat. He pulled out his cell phone and dialed an ambulance and gave them his location and a description of his injuries.

They told him to wait where he was, and Conners hung up to dial Lawrence's cell phone. She picked up on the first ring.

"Conners! I was about to phone you. We got the bastard! Looks like you pulled our ass out of a hotspot with this one. You need me to pick you up? I think the city wants a picture."

"No. I certainly won't be there for any pictures."

"Why?" the tone of her voice shifted instantly. "What's wrong?"

"My lead was a bust, obviously. It was actually a set up, and a Czech named Demetri attacked me. I got an ambulance coming, but he got me pretty beat up."

"Where is he? We'll get him too!"

"No need, he bit a capsule when I got the upper hand on him. We'll need a squad down here. Blood spatter guys, forensics… all the works."

"Of course. Where are you? I'll pick you up."

"No need," he said. "I can hear the ambulance around the corner. I'll call you when I learn anything more."

"I'll visit."

"I don't think they allow conjugal visits in hospitals, Lawrence."

"Shut up asshole. Just relax… and don't die, all right?"

"Doing my best."

She hung up as the EMTs came around the corner and began pulling him onto the stretcher and Conners allowed his weariness and blood loss to carry him into the realm of sleep.