Chapter 35: Aftermath

Crowding the apartment, when two crime scene experts and Detective Johnson and Detective Finnegan and Andre Brown, the lawyer arrived, Joe, Marta and Mary decided to give them space. "We'll meet you at the coffee shop around the corner," Marta told Margie.

"Why don't you get a table," suggested Joe. "I'll be there in a minute." The ladies nodded.

"Dre, Detective Johnson, could I talk to you in the hallway?" asked Joe. "Margie..."

"Don't say anything, okay?" Dre told her. She nodded. The pug nosed Irish detective scowled. Dre showed him half a smile.

"Take notes Jimmy," ordered Johnson. Finnegan mumbled. Johnson shook his head as he exited over the body.

"J the PI told me he talked to you," said Joe to Johnson, a heavyset African American in his early thirties a head shorter than Joe.

"Yeah. After the fiasco at the Belacourt's, we thought we'd seen the end of the repercussions. Turns out Harry wasn't the only one trusted to carry out orders."

"You are in the loop."

"There's a lot going on, Joe. A bit of long needed house cleaning. Georgy was an aggressive motherfucker. Those that aligned with him ... Let's say it's turning out badly for them. Reprimands, demotions, early retirement and loss of sleep like my cheery partner. Our union's tight or we'd kick some of those..."

"What's going on?" asked Dre, a handsome, well dressed, bald African American near Joe's height.

Joe apologized. He told Dre about Georgy's coercion of Marta and the sting J and L orchestrated and how it played out.

"So the hitman intended to kill Marta."

"Yeah. We surprised him. Unfortunately Margie had to be the surprise. She's a strong young lady but..."

"Let me call Reynolds. He's the assistant DA we've been working with," said Johnson. "I'll see if we can just get a statement here and let it slide."

"What am I doing here?" asked Dre with a chuckle.

"What about the pistol?" asked Johnson.

"L lent hers to me. I just got a permit to carry. I have a gun of my own at my office, but wanted one at my apartment."

" ... for Margie."

Joe shrugged. "We figured the hitman would watch us, so Margie couldn't be seen training on fire arms. We showed her what we learned."

"A very attentive pupil," Johnson commented. "How old is she?"

"Sixteen."

"She's been living here?"

"She lives at her father's cabin in Barrington Hills."

"His name?"

"Harold Maguire. He's a novelist."

"The Harold Maguire? Wait. Felicity Maguire. She calls herself Margie. Wasn't Harry..."

"Yeah."

"I heard they planned on accusing her of prostitution and procurement before the statutory beef went away."

"She walked the street. Marta rescued her."

"Sure. Wasn't that useless piece of shit Slick her pimp?"

"Past tense, detective. She lives in her father's house, studying for her GED and writing."

"But she slept here with you for the past week."

"It's a big bed."

"How does she feel about this?"

"Killing someone in self defense freaked her out. Otherwise she's never been happier. Ask her. What's this about?"

"Nothing."

"Tell me please."

"I've known women ... Okay, my wife came out of a child slavery racket barely intact and my little sister ... didn't. I don't like it when grown men and young girls ... fraternize."

"Okay. Ask her how she feels about me and her life now. You've interrogated a lot of people. You'll see she's free to be wherever she wants to be. She's happy to be where she is. Speaking of her freaking out, Officer Xavier mentioned the psychologist the cops use. Do you think she would be available? Aretha Coetze I think her name is."