Vic Cross, PI

Chapter 2

Vic woke at her desk after a cold night spent reading the file left by Emerson Gunn's lackey. In the rain-soaked dark the whole thing gave her bad vibes. Unfortunately, it didn't look any better in weak sunlight. The more she read, the more this case stunk. Usually she dealt with runaways, jilted lovers, or possibly finding where some dopped-up kid hocked stolen family heirlooms. Stuff easily solved with a little brains and maybe a shakedown or the right greased palm. This case, though, was going to require a few house calls, and she wasn't looking forward to any of them. But time wasn't on her side. Vic didn't know the boss of the Barstolt Row Gang personally, but she'd heard things and she doubted he would put up with delays. Especially after paying in advance.

Still tired and stiff, she splashed water on her face in the cramped office bathroom, grabbed a cold slice of pizza from last night's dinner, and headed to her first stop, Arch City police HQ. Not a place you'd typically find a PI of questionable repute, but she was an exception. Her father had been a well-respected detective in Arch City for years and running the halls of HQ had been her favorite pastime as a kid. She'd taught herself to read on Guns and Ammo mags in his office. Detective Cross was a decent man, even if parenting wasn't his strong suit. He did his best, though. At least until he was offed by some meathead out for revenge when Vic was 17. That was a lifetime ago. But the old chief remembered the little girl with pigtails and a dirty face and took pity on Vic when she started her agency. He was always good for a few crumbs if she asked nicely. Most of the guys got used to seeing her around, so when Chief Sosey died a few years back, she was sorta grandfathered in. The detectives put up with her as long as she didn't come around too often or ask for too much. Most of them did anyway. Still, it was never a place she'd felt particularly comfortable.

Gray clouds hung low in the morning sky as she made her way up the front steps of the decaying building on Wiamut Avenue that housed the cities 'brave protectors'. That's what the inscription over the dusty glass doors said anyway. She'd known that was pretentious bullshit even as a kid. The inside of the building smelled as stale and decrepit as the city it served.

"Cross, what the hell do you want?" The man behind the front desk didn't look up from his magazine as she walked in. The phone in front of him was lit up on every line and his dark blue uniform was already covered in breakfast crumbs.

"Barry, how the hell do you still have a job?"

"What's it this time, Cross? Little Suzie run away with a banger? Or baker's wife screwing the plumber?" His multiple chins wobbled as he laughed.

"Whatever, Barry. Need to talk to Logan, he around?"

"Oh," he finally looked up properly, his bloodshot eyes wide with curiosity, "thought you two called it quits."

Vic rolled her eyes. "What are you a sidewalk super now? Ain't about that. Have a case."

"Damn. That Dicks been busting my ass for months. You fuckin' again would be great for morale." He gave her a nasty grin.

"Jesus Barry, is he here or not?'

"Yeah, yeah," he waved a pudgy hand dismissively and went back to his magazine, "he's in his office."

Vic found Detective Ward hunched over a stack of papers that nearly obscured his metal desk. She started to knock on the open door but hesitated, watching. She had been hoping to put off this meeting for much longer. They hadn't exactly left things on good terms the last time they'd spoken. She watched the muscle in his jaw twitch, as it did when he was under extra stress or more tired than usual. It was a strong jaw, what those flowery romance novels called chiseled. That aptly described nearly every feature of Logan Ward, if she was honest. And she'd seen them all in delightful detail. She didn't have to see his soft dark eyes to know they were tired or that his crooked grin was still as boyish and charming as ever.