Archive of Our Own

“What’s this?” Tess asked from behind me while I was rooting around for something to serve her.

The problem of consistent meetups like this is that I had to provide edible food for her, and that after it was over she’d go back to her husband with his four-course meals. I turned around to find Tess holding my gun, turning it around in her hand like it was alien technology. I shut the door to the fridge then took a step over to her.

“How seriously do you want me to answer that?”

Tess rolled her eyes and examined the pistol. She held it up so she was staring at the magazine with the barrel aimed at the ceiling. I crossed the room, took it out of her hand, and set it back in the drawer.

“Why do you have that?” Tess questioned as she gestured at my nightstand.

“Why were you looking through my stuff?” I countered, crowding her against the bed.

“You were taking forever, June,” she complained, and folded her arms like a child, “I got bored.”

“So, when you’re bored you rifle through my belongings?” I ask, then grab her hips. “That seems unfair.”

“Well, make sure I don’t get bored,” Tess replied easily.

I kissed her then, following her back onto the bed. Tess pulled me on top of her, directing me with a hand on my back.

“I couldn’t find any food,” I told her against her lips.

She frowned.

“You live in squalor, June.”

“Better than living with your husband,” I taunted, so Tess dug her painted and sharpened nails into my arm and down my back.

“Ha ha,” Tess deadpanned, “you know, I don’t have to come over here. You don’t even have anything to eat.”

“We always figure something out,” I murmured, hovering over Tess.

I leaned down to kiss her, but she turned her head so my lips landed near her ear.

“Also, I meant to tell you,” Tess began, and I braced myself for some disappointing news, “Baxter is going out of town for some business trip, so I’ll have the place to myself next week.”

I sat up, regarding Tess with my legs on either side of her hips.

“And you’re worried you’ll get lonely?”

“It is a really big apartment, after all,” Tess replied as she trailed her fingertips down my chest, “and a week is a long time.”

“He’ll be gone all week?” I confirmed, raising my eyebrows. It seemed like a dream, like something we’d talk about in bed but never came true. “Are you sure?” “Oh I’m sure, he told me this morning,” Tess explained, “I don’t remember what exactly it’s for, but it’s important. He’s been really stressed lately-” “Is that why I’ve been seeing so much of you?”

“Shut up,” Tess said, and put her fingers on my lips, “there’s something weird going on. He’s got all these secret meetings, he takes his phone calls out of the room, he’s always out of town…” Tess shrugged, suddenly folding her arms beneath me. “I don’t know.”

“Maybe he’s cheating on you.”

“Wouldn’t that be convenient?” Tess sighed, then looked up at me, serious. “It’s something with the business, I know that.”

“Maybe they’re planning to absorb another company,” I suggested, “there’s a tiny pharmaceutical operation that he was looking into a couple months ago.”

Tess shook her head.

“He’s been talking to one of the senators, the old one.”

I thought for a moment.

“Jameson? Why?”

“I overheard them talking about some new bill, but I couldn’t understand much of what they were saying,” Tess admitted, chewing on her inner lip nervously.

“The drug regulation one?”

“I think so.”

“Why?” I asked, though I didn’t expect her to answer.

“I don’t know, but it seems serious, and top secret.”

I nudged Tess’s chin so I could meet her eyes.

“Where is Baxter going on this trip?”

“D.C.”

I frowned.

“To meet with her?”

“I’m not sure,” Tess swallowed, “I think so.”

“That’s strange,” I thought aloud, trying to piece together everything I knew about Tess’s husband.

Baxter was a big name in medicine, a sort of drug tycoon who had at least some involvement in nearly every drug company that was worth mentioning. I had been tailing him for a client of mine, Kaede, for some accusation of willfully ignoring safety measures in favor of saving money. Admittedly, I’d gotten distracted.

“It’s concerning,” Tess added, “Baxter only cares about the profit margins. If he’s involved in a bill that’s meant to better public safety, we’d better brace for impact.”

“Are you asking me to investigate it, then?”

“No, the opposite,” Tess shuffled so she could rest on her elbows, then leaned forward until her forehead rested on mine, “I’m saying leave it alone. If it’s something bad, which with Baxter, it always is, then I don’t want you involved. At all.”

“I’ll have to be a little involved,” I said, closing my eyes, “I’m sleeping with his wife.”

I heard Tess’s laugh and felt it on my cheeks. She kissed my eyelids, combing her fingers through my cropped hair. Her grip tightened suddenly, and she looked very sternly at me.

“This,” she pulled on my hair, jostling my head, “is as close as I want you to get to him.”

Then she kissed me sweetly.

“Okay?” She confirmed.

“Okay,” I agreed, helpless and only half-thinking.

She smiled, and the real, pressing fear she had hidden was immediately revealed by the relief that washed over her. Realistically, I knew everything about Baxter that Tess did, but we still pretended she was protecting me from something. I think it gave her a sense of control or self-preservation in a situation where she had hardly any. Truthfully, I’d let her get away with almost anything.

She kissed me, and we didn’t talk anymore. 

Pascao lifted up a file, squinted at it.

“This one just says ‘PP. Drugs,” he called from across the office, “June, what the hell does that mean?”

“Patriot Pharmaceuticals Limited,” I explained without looking up, “it’s for a case I was investigating a couple months ago.”

“That’s a big company,” Pascao noted, then scratched his head with the file, “what were you poking around for?”

“I’m not sure, some former employee accused them of intentionally ignoring regulations,” I flipped through the file in my hands, some open-and-shut infidelity case from a year ago. I put it in the shred pile.

“Huh,” Pascao hummed, “aren’t they the company that’s supposed to be, like, ‘the people’s prescriptions?’ The every man’s drug company?”

“Supposedly.”

“Maybe that’s how they keep their products so cheap.”

“I think that’s what this woman was trying to prove,” I said as I opened another file, “hey, what’s this ‘Wing’ case?”

“Oh, it’s that one I was telling you about, some guy wanted to reopen a case his mom started,” Pascao said, standing up from his desk and walking over to mine, “do you remember? The mom seemed sweet, but a little nutty, and her case went nowhere. Then, years later, her son calls me up to reopen it.”

“What does he want?”

“Well, the mom wanted me to prove that her son’s illness came from the asthma medication he was taking or something, but there just wasn’t enough evidence for it,” he recalled, then leaned over to see the file in my hands, “it’s sad, but I think it was a crack-pot conspiracy thought up by a mom with a dying kid.”

“Dying?” I repeated.

“Yeah,” Pascao nodded, frowning, “at least he was. I don’t know, maybe the treatment for him worked. He had some crazy disease that no one gets anymore, like consumption or vapors or something.”

“Tuberculosis,” I read aloud from the notes.

“Right.”

“No one gets that anymore,” I mumbled, thinking. The file stated that the medicine supposedly at fault was produced and distributed by Patriot Pharmaceuticals, and according to the notes, she wanted the whole company held responsible. I forced my expression to remain neutral, even as I felt a string tie itself between Tess’s worries about Baxter and this sick kid.

“Yeah, exactly, a seventeen-year-old, too,” Pascao continued, then pushed aside the paper I was reading to show me a photo of the kid. He had dark blue eyes, nearly purple, and curly blonde hair. It was obviously a school photo, and he scowled at the camera with a ratty band t-shirt, chain necklaces, and smudgy eyeliner. I smiled, despite the context.

“They were a poor family, but their living situation wasn’t anything crazy. They weren’t homeless, weren’t drinking rainwater, didn’t do drugs,” Pascao shrugged, “it’s a real mystery.”

“What made the son reopen it?” I asked. “I assume it’s not the one with consumption.”

“It’s his older brother, he’s about our age,” he tilted his head at the file, looking at the photo, “he told me he’s got new information that might change the outcome of the case, but won’t give me any hints.”

I was quiet for a moment, thinking. The picture of the kid was swaying me, all blustery youth and fake confidence.

“What’s the brother’s name?”

“Day.”

I narrowed my eyes at Pascao, unimpressed.

“What? That’s the name he gave me!”

“Why would he bother giving us a fake name when we have his whole family’s information?” I muttered, leafing through the sparse papers.

“Maybe he wanted to sound cooler.”

I snorted.

“Everyone wants to be Jake Gittes,” I paused on a brief report on past FDA investigations of Patriot Pharmaceuticals, eyeing a specific instance where the investigator never showed and the case was dismissed.

“It’s Chinatown,” Pascao quoted back at me as he plucked the file from my hands.

“Keep me in the loop with that one,” I told him, still thinking of the teenage boy’s photo.

“You got it,” Pascao answered, “but any progress is entirely hinged on this guy fulfilling his end of the deal, which you can never depend on.”

“In fact, our business relies entirely on people breaking their promises,” I said, watching Pascao shuffle through piles of affair, identity theft, or fraud cases, the very material that our lives were made of.

We worked in silence for a moment, then the phone on my desk rang.

“Yeah?” I answered.

“June, there’s someone waiting for you on line three,” Frankie chirped.

“Thanks Frank, put them through.” I mouthed ‘client’ to Pascao and waited for the click.

“Prodigal Private Investigations,” I stated automatically, “what can I do for you?”

“I’m surprised your receptionist doesn’t recognize me by now,” Tess said instead of a greeting.

I froze.

“Hello Ms. Dewitt,” I stated, “what’s going on?”

“Oh, is someone there?” Tess asked.

“Just me and my assistant, Ms. Dewitt,” I answered, and Pascao smacked my arm from across the desk. ‘Partner’ he mouthed, glaring.

“Alright, I’ll make this quick then,” Tess replied, voice quiet, “Baxter is leaving tonight. He’s got a redeye at midnight, and he won’t be back until Tuesday.”

“That sounds fine,” I responded, canned.

“There’s something really strange going on, June,” Tess worried, “he never takes redeyes, he hates flying late. He says it’s what hookers do. I don’t think he wants to be noticed.”

“Well, that could be true,” I mused, “we could look into it.”

“I’ve got such a bad feeling about all this, like something is going to go wrong,” Tess whispered, “stay safe, alright? Don’t come over tonight in case his flight is delayed.”

“I can do that.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Tess paused, “I miss you.”

“I feel similarly, Ms. Dewitt,” I said, keeping my tone stilted and professional.

Tess hummed.

“Is it bad that I’m sort of into this?”

I rolled my eyes and massaged the bridge of my nose.

“Goodbye, Ms. Dewitt,” I hung up with a huff.

Pascao was watching me with raised eyebrows.

“Who was that?”

“Some housewife,” I told him, not necessarily a lie, “a real busybody.”

Pascao laughed.

“Well, those are the ones who pay the most, right?”

“We’ll see how it turns out,” I said, then shooed him away from my desk, “get back to cleaning! We still have half the entire office to go through, and we’re running out of shelf space for our case files.”

“Ugh, fine,” Pascao groaned, limply rising from his chair like a ragdoll, “should I throw away this PP. Drug file? Its name might scare clients away.”

I shook my head and held out my hand to take it.

“No, it’s an open case.”

“Really?” He asked sardonically. “When was the last time you investigated it?”

“I’m actually going to check out a lead tomorrow,” I smiled back at him, sarcastic.

“I’ll believe it when I see it.”

I waved him off, then continued skimming through old files. I shook out a shiver, trying to stay calm. 

I was watching Tess step into a slip, laying in her husband’s bed across the room.

“How much do you know about Baxter’s business?” I asked, biting the bullet.

Tess paused, then turned around to face me, confused. She pulled the strap of her slip over her shoulder, and I tried not to get distracted.

“Hardly anything,” she admitted and padded back over to me, “he never tells me anything, and I didn’t actually finish med school, so it’s not like I understand what he does fill me in on.”

“I’m not sure how much he actually understands himself,” I mocked, newly angry. I couldn’t listen to Tess talk about him, or I started to want to kill him.

Tess scoffed, standing at the side of the bed now. I grabbed her hands and kissed them, gently, near her knuckles.

“I hate that he makes you feel like this,” I mumbled, keeping her hands close.

“I hate that he…” Tess trailed off, met my eyes, and sighed.

I wanted to tell her that it didn’t have to be like this, but we both knew better. Baxter wasn’t the kind of man that a woman could divorce. If Tess left him, she’d have nothing. He paid the rent, covered her debts, and kept her home without a job. She wouldn’t even be able to stay with me without completely sinking my finances, and we’d both end up homeless.

There wasn’t an easy solution here, I try to remember that.

“Come here,” I told her, and pulled her gently onto the bed beside me.

Tess settled into the mattress as I wrapped my arms around her, pulling her tight to my chest. I pulled the blankets up and over us, then rested my chin on her head.

“Things are getting worse, June,” Tess whispered, as though Baxter could still hear her on the other side of the country, “I get nervous just to hear him walk by. Whatever he’s doing at work, it’s big, and it’s evil.”

I rubbed Tess’s back, trying to provide whatever semblance of comfort I could. Though, for us, comfort came in glimpses and whispers, and it never lasted. I tried to appreciate the whole week we’d have together, then. I even considered calling out of work, but the Wing case kept gnawing at me. I tried to be whole and content in the moment, where I could fall asleep and wake up with Tess in my arms and not worry about the consequences, but it felt like Baxter’s D.C visit would split the world Tess and I built open.

“He’s big and evil,” I muttered, protectively curling around Tess.

“Simmer down,” Tess ordered, and snaked her hand across my waist, settling on the small of my back, “I don’t need you causing trouble, Cujo.”

I glanced down and found her already staring at me, smiling affectionately. She shimmied forward and kissed me, rubbing circles into my back with her thumb.

“It’s my job to sniff around,” I defended, torn between ignoring the case for now and pressing Tess for more details, “my duty, even.”

Tess scoffed.

“Right, is it also your duty to get shot at and fall into dumpsters?”

“Alright, I only fell into the dumpster once,” I defended myself, “and it was kind of cool! I was getting chased by a criminal on a rooftop, it was like an action movie, or Vertigo.”

Tess hummed, kissing my neck.

“Remind me, did the guy get what he wanted at the end of that movie?”

The remark caught me off guard, however lighthearted it was. I was reminded that the lives Tess and I were living, that I was neck deep in, were tumultuous and under constant fire. How many close calls and near misses did either of us have left? How long could we manage to gasp in air while something weighs us deeper into black water?

Tess noticed my silence and propped herself up on her elbows, examining my expression.

“Hey, I’m sorry,” she apologized, “I don’t want to be the person who comes into your life and demands that you change it, I know you do what you can to get by.”

I kiss her wrist, then glide my fingers along her warm skin, appreciating each freckle.

“You’re not that person,” I told her, “or if you are, we both are. I don’t always like the situations you get into, either.”

Tess sighed, dread sinking the comfortable, affectionate mood we’d finally settled into.

“Look,” I said, “I’ll hang up the trenchcoat when you get out of this house.”

She smiled sadly, but laid back down on the bed next to me. She pecked my nose, then rested her head close to mine on the pillow.

“I’ll get out of this house when you hang up the trenchcoat,” she replied.

I held the back of her head and pulled her against my chest, our arms wrapped around each other. We kept quiet, appreciating the lack of street noise or rough voices that punch through the thin walls of my place. I wanted this moment between us to be enough. I squeezed Tess tight, as if I could take her into my chest and keep her safe there.

I returned from retrieving the negatives for a surveillance case when I saw a blonde in the hall outside my office.

What a cliche, I thought, the blonde dame waiting for the PI late at night.

The person looked up, and I realized with a start that they weren’t a woman, but a man with long, luxurious hair. My mistake brought a brief flash of heat to my cheeks, but it was quickly overcome by confusion. He seemed somewhat familiar, but I couldn’t place him.

“Who are you?” He asked.

I suppressed a scoff. He was outside my office, shouldn’t I be asking him that?

But, he was probably one of Pascao’s clients, and I didn’t need any more complaints being made to him by paranoid husbands about his ‘rude assistant.’

“This is my office, I’m with Prodigal Private Investigations,” I explained in my best and least condescending ‘helpful’ voice.

Sure enough, the man asked “where’s Pascao?”

“I’m his partner."

“Really?” The man said, almost suspicious. “He told me you were his assistant.”

I rubbed a hand over my eyes so I wouldn’t roll them. 

Asshole.

“Haha. Well, my name is on the sign.” I replied, voice tight. I took a breath and forced a smile on my face. “How about you tell me what I can help you with?”

“I just want Pascao to call me,” the man answered, sounding desperate. Maybe this wasn’t a client at all, but another guy whose heart was stolen and skewered by Pascao and his flaky dating habits.

“It’s a Friday night, I’m sure there’s plenty of young men waiting on a call from my partner, Mr...”

He scowled.

“Wing.” He finished for me.

Immediately, I knew why he looked so familiar- he’s related to the sick boy in the photo.

“Day Wing,” he seethed, folding his arms.

“Oh,” I nodded, recovering quickly, “right, he mentioned you. Were you two supposed to meet tonight?”

Day frowned at the floor, as if asking him that was very offensive.

“Well, no, but I needed to tell him something.”

“Alright,” I said, trying to lead him toward saying something actually useful, “is this about re-opening your mother’s case?”

Day looked puzzled.

“What?”

“Aren’t you re-opening her case?”

Day shook his head, slowly, like a great weight was overtaking him.

“My mom is dead.”

My mouth fell open. I was completely floored, as if I actually knew the woman.

“What!?” I stumbled, trying to make sense of what he was saying. “What… How did-”

“According to the police,” Day gritted out, “it was a suicide, but I know they’re fucking lying, trying to cover something up.”

“I’m sure you’ve heard this before, but sometimes you really can’t tell what someone’s going through-”

“I know my mom!” Day shouted, interrupting me.

I snapped my mouth shut and waited for him to continue.

“I know my mom, and she would never do that to us.”

I nodded, ashamed to provoke a grieving son like that.

“I’m sorry.”

“Besides,” Day continued, ignoring my apology, “who’s ever heard of a suicide victim shooting themself in the back of the head?”

I perked up.

“The back of her head?” I repeated.

Day nodded like he had me cornered.

“Yeah, they say she shot herself in the back of her own head. How could that even happen?”

I frowned, thinking. I can’t believe Pascao didn’t tell me about this. Even if it wasn’t related to my own case with Baxter, it’s the most interesting thing that’s happened to us since we were chased off a roof by a drug dealer.

“That’s definitely abnormal,” I murmur.

“Right, you’re telling me,” he said, calmer now, as I’m coming around to his side, “Mom never gave up, even though eventually no one took her seriously anymore. She knew the truth about that company: that they poisoned my brother.” Day’s expression grew serious again. “They never stopped sending threatening letters, tailing her, hounding lawyers if we tried to get them to pick up our case, and now, my mom supposedly killed herself out of nowhere?”

He looked me in the eye, his blue eyes were bright with anger, beautiful like roaring ocean waves. I looked away.

“I don’t buy it,” he continued, “I saw Pascao’s name on some of the case files I found when we were getting her house cleaned out, and I decided to give him a call. If the cops are going to ignore me, I’ll figure this out myself.”

“I can understand that,” I admitted, memories of my brief stint in policework bubbling up.

I intentionally shoved aside any memories of my brother, but Day’s situation threw me right back into the horrible, clawing heat of betrayal and injustice. I reminded myself that I wasn’t a naive cadet anymore, and that Metias’s death was a lifetime ago. I wasn’t trapped in a system that rewarded and covered up the death of an officer, a person with a family and a future, just because the truth was too ugly to look at.

Day glanced at an old watch on his wrist, then straightened and took a step away from the office door.

“Look. I gotta go,” he looked worriedly between the door and I, giving me a hard stare, “will you tell Pascao to call me?”

“I will,” I agreed, “he’ll be here tomorrow, too, if you’d rather come in.”

Day shook his head.

“Tomorrow won’t work, tell him to call me,” he ordered.

I nodded, and Day began to walk away without another word.

“Wait-” my plea surprised both of us, but Day listened, and paused in front of me. “Um,” I struggled to get my question out, embarrassed by the situation I’d gotten myself into. I took a breath. “How is your brother doing?”

Day blinked at me. There was an undercurrent of annoyance in his body language, but mostly, he was surprised.

“I hope one day I can tell people he’s just fine.”

He didn’t say anything else. He turned around and walked silently through the hallway, leaving me in the wake of what he said. 

I rounded the street corner and found Kaede exactly where she said she’d be.

“Long time no see,” she said, punctuating it with a drag of her cigarette.

“Yeah,” I nodded, embarrassed, with my hands in the pockets of my trench coat, “I’m sorry.”

Kaede nodded back to me, then encouraged me to continue with a regal wave of her hand.

“For what?” She probed. “For forgetting about my case for three months, or for forgetting about my case for three months because you were sleeping with my boss’s wife?”

I grimaced.

“Both.”

“Maybe I should have gone to the other Prodigal, your partner. He seems like he has his shit together.”

I thought about Pascao nearly losing his finger when he tried to unjam the paper shredder with his hands.

“He doesn’t,” I told her, “but neither do I.”

Kaede motioned me closer by gesturing at the spray-painted club wall behind her. I leaned against it at her side, watching her. She was wearing a faded bomber jacket with scuffs and tears, equally rough-edged fingerless gloves, and work boots. She always wore intricate eye makeup, even in our first meeting, where it seemed like she came right from her job at the Patriot plant.

“But, I’m also sorry because you were right,” I added, then reached for the file I had hidden in my coat.

“Oh?” Kaede made a sarcastic shocked expression and cupped her ear. “You don’t say?”

I ignored her and flipped open the file to show her my findings.

“There is definitely something nefarious going on with Patriot Pharmaceuticals, namely, in their quality assurance operations,” I started, pointing out a report I dug up, “a government official from the FDA was meant to investigate their plants, but they never showed up, and the case eventually got dismissed.”

Kaede’s eyes were wide as she took everything in, expression grim. I let her take the folder from my hands.

“The inspection was brought on by a claim that my partner investigated a couple years ago, actually,” I explained, and Kaede looked up at me, surprised, “a teenager got tuberculosis, and his mother claimed it was from his asthma medication, which was distributed by Patriot.”

“What happened?” Kaede questioned, pausing at the photo of the teenager among the papers.

“It was a dead end. He couldn’t prove anything, and this was a few years ago, so it was easy to brush off as a crackpot conspiracy,” I sighed, the picture catching my eye too, “but, recently, the case was reopened.”

“What changed?”

I winced.

“Well, it wasn’t exactly reopened. The woman who first made the accusations was found dead, and even though the police ruled it a suicide, her son is having us look into her death.”

Kaede recoiled from the papers and stared at me, dismayed by my news. Her hand trembled on the file, but she quickly settled back into her usual anger.

“So you’ve decided that my case is important again?” Kaede snapped at me. “This woman had to die to show you what I’ve been saying this whole time?”

“No!” I insisted, refusing to shrink under her harsh gaze. “I always believed you, but the problem is one employee’s testimony doesn’t go very far without more ammunition.”

“I hired you to get me more ammunition.”

“Well, here it is!” I shot back, hitting the paper with my hand in frustration.

She sneered at me, unimpressed. I ran a hand through my hair, trying to regain my temper.

“I was never snubbing you, or ignoring you,” I urged, “the truth is that your case is now tangled up in other cases. It’s like a piece falling into a puzzle, and I hate the picture I’m starting to see.”

Kaede huffed and settled against the wall again.

“Your case was always important,” I tried to convince her.

“Sure, but now it’s more important than your relationship with my boss’s wife? Is that right?”

I groaned, letting my shoulders slump. I was getting nowhere with her.

“Kaede, listen to me,” I hissed as I forced myself into her space. It was a risky move, but I needed her to hear me. “Baxter Palmer, Razor Desoto, and Patriot Pharmaceuticals are all big names, if we even try to take a swing at them they could crush us,” I snapped my fingers, “like that. We have to make our claims as strong, as solid as possible.”

“Yeah, yeah, I get that pipsqueak,” Kaede grumbled, pushing me away again, “and we might still lose.”

“Yeah,” I agreed, watching a lone car drive past on the street next to us, its headlights avoiding us, “and we might still get crushed.”

Both of us were quiet, calming down from our respective tantrums. Kaede fished a cigarette out of the carton and offered it to me, but I shook my head.

“I don’t smoke.”

“You might want to start,” she informed me, “if we’re right, which we are, things are going to get a lot worse.”

“Before they get better?” I wondered.

“I don’t know,” Kaede admitted, shaking a few ashes off her cigarette butt.

She glanced around the alleyway, empty save for trash cans and broken bottles. We met at that awkward hour of the night, after parties had started but restaurants and other respectable establishments had closed. No one had gone in or out of the club since we had started talking, everyone was already stuck in place.

“Where do we go from here?” Kaede asked me.

I studied her hunched, tense shoulders and the slightest tremor in her frown; I knew she needed a good answer from me.

“I keep investigating, I send Pascao out on it too,” I said, trying to make sense of everything that had gone through my mind since I met with Day, “we see what we can dig up, and if anyone will listen to what we find.”

Kaede nodded, seeming pleased with that.

If Kaede was right, if Day was right, if his mother, the other accounts from the past few decades, the previous P.R director who was fired then disappeared were all right, then everything in my life could change. Most cases I worked on were small, infidelity, petty crimes, or investigations into personal backgrounds. They ruined, or rarely helped, individual lives. This situation, with a huge drug company and some of the richest men in the country, could change the world. Maybe I should have started smoking.

Kaede pushed off the wall and stomped out her cigarette. She adjusted her jacket like a lion puffing out its chest. She turned to me, stone-faced.

“Can I ask, what exactly do you get out of sleeping with the honorable Mrs. Baxter Palmer?” Kaede inquired, voice harsh. I took a deep breath, listening to the pounding bass from inside the club behind us.

I think about Tess, who’s waiting for me in her husband’s penthouse.

“A lot more trouble,” I answered, honestly.

Kaede frowned, her lips pulled together in a tight, disappointed line.

“Can I ask, what’s it matter to you?” I retorted, unsure how it was her business, and a little unnerved that she knew about it at all. Tess and I were so careful, I don’t know how Kaede could have gotten this information. But, part of being a good PI was knowing when to keep your cards close to your chest, and twisting fear into confidence.

“It doesn’t,” Kaede countered, then shoved the folder at my chest, “try not to get too distracted, I don’t want to fall behind again.”

I watched Kaede leave, too stunned to say anything. She disappeared into the city, and I was alone in the darkness behind the club. I stuck the file in my coat again, zipped it, and shoved my hands in my pockets. With my shoulders tight near my chin, I make my way through the empty streets to Tess’s place.

“Are you sure about this?” I asked Pascao as I adjusted my button-up blouse with the limited view the sun visor’s mirror gave me.

“Okay, I already asked you that before we left,” Pascao complained, “you can’t be unsure, I’m unsure!”

“It just feels a lot riskier now that we’re here,” I mumbled, looking through the window at the Patriot headquarters building.

It was unassuming, a plain beige brick box with the company name typed in reserved font on a sign when you enter the parking lot. Given Patriot Pharmaceutical's popularity, they don’t need to advertise where their most important business actually takes place.

“It sure does!” Pascao chirped sarcastically. He slugged me in the shoulder. “Let’s go get ‘em tiger!”

I knew Pascao was right, and that at one point it had been my idea to attempt to con our way into the Patriot offices to snoop, but it felt ludicrously stupid at that moment. Of course it hadn’t felt stupid when we were buying stuffy office clothes, printing and laminating fake name badges, or driving here, the danger only sank in after it was too late to turn back. I sucked in a deep breath, socked Pascao’s arm, and jumped out of the car before I could convince myself to back out of the parking lot.

“Hey!” Pascao shouted, muffled by the car, and he leapt out the passenger door to follow me.

“Shh,” I scolded him, “we’ve got to look normal.”

Pascao stomped his foot, but still made sure his coat and outfit looked right.

“Are you ready?” He asked.

I nodded, not trusting myself to answer.

We walked through the half-empty parking lot toward the building, made more intimidating by the sun setting behind it, shrouding us in darkness. We intentionally came when most employees would be leaving for the day, making the snooping process easier, but the dark, quiet lobby was more eerie than I had anticipated.

A receptionist poked her head up from a large desk in the center of the room, looking like she was about to step out for the night. Perfect.

“Hello!” I greeted in my best customer service voice. “So sorry to bother you, we’re with the city, and if you don’t mind, we just need to take a look at a few files tonight.”

She blinked at us, frazzled.

“The city?” She questioned.

“We’re with the IRS,” Pascao filled in, laughing jovially, “my partner doesn’t always like to announce that, since the name sometimes spooks people.”

The receptionist relaxed slightly, but still wasn’t entirely convinced.

“May I ask what the reason for this visit is?”

“Truthfully,” Pascao began, and he leaned on the desk to speak low and conspiratorially to her, “we’re investigating a claim about unfair property taxes from a building in the same office park as this one, and we’d like to know if the taxes you have been paying are comparable, and can be used in our case.”

I was genuinely impressed. I knew schmoozing was one of Pascao’s greatest strengths, but it’s always a thrill to see him in action. She bought it, hook, line, and sinker, no doubt helped by the charming smile Pascao aimed at her.

“Ohh, I see,” she whispered.

“You don’t happen to know if your company owns this building, do you?”

She shook her head.

“I don’t, honey, I’m sorry,” she apologized, looking like she’d give Pascao whatever he asked for, “but, I could page someone from accounting and they could help you take a look at, what, financial records?”

“That’d be perfect!” Pascao beamed, and he practically melted the poor girl with the force of his charm. “You’re such a sweetheart.”

“Oh, well,” she gushed.

Pascao and I shared a look as she fumbled with the phone on her desk.

“We don’t want to cause too much trouble,” Pascao cooed, “if you told us which floor the records are on, we could head up on our own, and meet an employee there?”

The receptionist nodded.

“Of course! That would work great, the files are on the sixth floor!” She instructed, pointing out an elevator to us as her phone rang.

She answered the call but still waved a flustered goodbye to Pascao while she greeted the person on the phone. We stepped onto the elevator and waited for the doors to close.

“That was just cruel,” I teased him as we flew to the sixth floor.

“Hey! I got us in, that was the job.”

The elevator was lined with mirrors, and I took the opportunity to study my appearance. I sure looked like I worked for the IRS.

“I bet she’ll be there when we get back down, waiting for you to give her your number,” I pressed, nudging his side.

“Yeah, yeah,” Pascao swatted me away, “you’re just jealous because she was going to call security on you.”

The doors opened with a ding to a half-lit floor of cubicles. We stepped out of the elevator and peered around the room, but I couldn’t make out where the files would be or what to even look for. Luckily, a bookish man stepped out from the darkness.

“Hello! The receptionist just filled me in, you two are from the IRS, right?”

“Yes,” Pascao and I answered together.

“Great!” He sang, far too excitable for someone who works with spreadsheets all day. “I’ll show you where our tax documents are, and you two can get to work.”

“Thank you,” I enthused, “but if it’s alright, we’re really only looking to pick up a few files and take them back to our department head.”

“Well, I’m sure we can arrange that!”

Pascao and I smiled at each other behind the accountant’s back as he led us deeper into the dim office, passing empty cubicles and various file cabinets. If I hadn’t known better, I might have worried he was taking us in circles. Finally, he stopped outside a closed door and unlocked it with a key from his key ring. He opened the door and revealed even more filing cabinets, almost as tall as the ceiling, and a small desk with a desktop computer in the corner. He walked to a filing cabinet right away and pulled out three files automatically, then handed them over to me.

“These should be a helpful place to start,” he explained, “it’s the year’s tax information broken down into three quarters.”

“This is incredibly helpful,” I said, keeping as much disbelief out of my voice as possible, “thank you so much.”

“You’re welcome!” He replied, then clapped his hands together and backed out of the small room. “Well! I’m going to finish closing out for the night, you guys know how that goes, but holler if you need me!”

“We will, thank you again,” Pascao told him, taking the top file from my hands.

The accountant nodded and then left us alone. Pascao and I waited for a moment, looking out from the door to make sure no one was around, then we both grinned, wide and awestruck.

“I can’t believe-”

“That it was so easy!”

We whispered over each other, careful not to make too much noise. Quietly, we high fived, then giddily turned to the files we had been given. I opened the one on top and tried to make sense of the grids of numbers. I could figure the date out okay, but everything else seemed impossible to parse.

“What does this mean?” I asked Pascao, pointing to a large sum in the middle of the page.

“I don’t know,” he answered honestly, “I can’t make heads or tails of mine either.”

I had barely flipped to the second page when rapid footsteps approached Pascao and I. A red-faced security officer stormed into the room, followed by the receptionist and the accountant.

“You are not allowed to be in here!” The security officer boomed.

“Excuse you!” Pascao retaliated, and he whipped his fake badge out from his coat with a flourish. “We’re working on some very important business-”

“Bullshit!” The officer accused, ripping the files out of my hands and yanking Pascao forward by his arm. “This is private property! Who do you think you are, breaking into our office!?”

“We’re not breaking in!” Pascao tried to argue, hopelessly. “We’re with the IRS! We have serious business to do with those documents!”

“There was no visit scheduled today, and drop-in visits are strictly forbidden, no matter who you claim to work for,” the officer raged, slamming the door shut behind us, “get your asses out of here, now!"

We scurried to the stairs and flew down them as fast as we could, with the security officer spewing threats at our heels the whole way down. In the lobby, the receptionist was watching us get chased out with horror, shaking her head.

“Fine!” Pascao shouted as we reached the door. “But someone else will be back to retrieve those documents, and we’ll need to have a very unfortunate conversation with our superiors regarding this matter!”

I dragged him out by his coat sleeve, ignoring the security officer barking something about jail time, even though he had already won. It was black and cold outside as we fled the building, it made the defeat seem even worse. I hated that we got so close but were caught at the last second, and it felt especially devastating because of everything that depended on those files.

“Well that was a rousing success!” I complained as we climbed into the car. “Damn chains of command, I swear it’s only getting harder to break into places.”

I glanced at Pascao as he turned on the light above the console. He was smiling to himself and bouncing his leg like a giddy child.

“What are you so happy about?”

He pulled a thick folder from his coat.

“The financial records from the most recent quarter.”

“Oh my god!” I exclaimed, beyond ecstatic. “How did you get this?”

“The way any good magician would-" he repeated his dramatic badge flourish, "misdirection.”

“This is great! It’ll completely change our case! You’re a hell of a partner.”

Pascao grinned.

“Gee, thanks mister.”

I flicked through the files, seeing page after page of spreadsheets.

“Combing through this will be slow going, though,” Pascao said, pointing out exactly what I was thinking, “we’re going to need a lot of research, and we might need someone who can understand this accounting mumbo jumbo.”

“My old boss!” I remarked, snapping my fingers as the idea came to me. “He loves this kind of stuff, and even if he can’t do it, I bet he could find someone who could.”

“The one who was into you?” I rolled my eyes, tossing the file back into Pascao’s lap so I could start the car.

“Ugh, yes, but he’s a very nice person, and we’re still friends.”

Pascao made a disgruntled noise.

“Humph. Can you trust him?”

“No,” I stated, “but I can lie.”

“Great!”

I pulled away from Patriot headquarters, steering us through the grimy streets back to our office. It started to rain, tricking the eye into seeing this city as smooth and clean, with lights reflecting on wet pavement and on rusted car hoods. Even though we both knew we couldn’t understand the numbers, Pascao read through the documents in passing streetlights anyway. I knew he was meeting with Day tomorrow night, and given our last, and only, meeting, I wouldn’t want to see him empty handed either. Our office building seemed small and pathetic compared to the Patriot headquarters, with aging red brick and only four floors, pitch black until someone turns on a light. I parked my car near the curb, anticipating driving to see Tess right after we drop the files off.

“That was some first rate espionage,” Pascao commented while we ducked inside our building.

“Yeah, until we got caught,” I scoffed.

“Right, but until then, it was some of our best work!”

We climbed the stairs together; we didn’t have a fancy elevator like the Patriots did.

“That was some smooth work with the receptionist,” I admitted.

“I know! I’m even more charming than I thought.”

I gave him a skeptical look.

“Hey! I’m the reason we even got access to the file in the first place, that lady hated your ass.”

“Well, what can I say? I make insecure women uncomfortable.”

“Ooh, get her, June!”

We reached the office, unlocked the door, and stepped inside. It was kind of a relief to be back somewhere familiar, and to have the files somewhere safe.

“I’m sorry I don’t have more for you to bring to your client,” I said while I knelt to open the safe beneath my desk, “but I’ll let you know what Anden says, and hopefully we can make progress soon.”

“Are you leaving?” Pascao asked, disappointed.

I stood back up and saw him making the pouting puppy face he uses to guilt me into doing what he wants. I steel myself against it.

“Yeah, I’m meeting up with a friend.”

“Blow it off, I’m your friend,” Pascao urged, then shook my arm.

“Come on! Let’s go celebrate this victory by getting dirt and getting plastered!”

“Not tonight, Pascao,” I replied, smiling at him regretfully, “besides, every record office or library is closed, and we need my old boss who you’re afraid of.”

“I’m not afraid of him!” Pascao argued. “I have a healthy apprehension of rich people.”

I sighed and lightly knocked his arm with my fist.

“I promise, we’ll celebrate properly some other time,” I swore, and he sighed like a toddler but nodded, “you did good today, partner.”

“Yeah, you too,” he waved me off, then started walking down the hall, “goodnight June.”

“Night, Pascao.”

I watched him go, then stuck the document in the safe. I was already grabbing my keys when my desk phone rang. I debated letting it go to voicemail, but as it continued insatiably, I huffed and answered.

“Prodigal Private Investigations, I’m sorry, but we’re closed at the moment,” I started, balancing the phone on my shoulder as I finished twisting in the safe’s combination, “I could take your message, but I’m afraid any work you request would be postponed until tomorrow morning.”

“That’s too bad, I was going to offer Ms. Iparis a very exclusive and exciting opportunity.” I smiled tiredly when I heard Tess’s voice, and a weight lifted off my shoulders.

“Hm, I’m listening…”

“The ball and chain is supposed to get back tomorrow night,” Tess said, “and I was wondering if you wanted one last night in a place that isn’t infested with roaches.”

“I told you, that wasn’t a roach,” I stressed, imagining her teasing smile, red hair falling in lavish waves over her shoulder, “it was an earwig. They’re completely different bugs.”

“Well, the only pest at my place is in D.C right now,” Tess brought us back on track gracefully, “so, what do you say? Want to come over?”

“I’ll head there now,” I told her, already sliding my bag onto my shoulder, “I’ll see you soon.”

I hung up and rushed out of the office, giddy from the win for the case and the prospect of seeing Tess. I didn’t feel the rain as it hit me or the cold as it reached for me, in my mind, I was already warm in Tess’s embrace. 

I watched the curve of Tess’s back as she fixed the record player, adjusting the needle so the song corrected itself.

“You know that doesn’t happen with CDs,” I teased, starting a pointless argument on purpose.

Tess turned around to glower at me, a hand on her hip.

“First, I know what you’re doing, and second, CDs skip just as often, if not more, than records.”

“I’m not doing anything,” I grinned, waiting on the bed for her to come back over.

She stood in front of me, still out of my reach.

“I like records, I’ve always had records, and nothing will convince me to switch over,” she said with finality.

“What about when they stop making records?” I prodded.

She shoved me onto my back on the bed and pulled the comforter over my face.

“They never will!” She retorted.

When I yanked the covers off, she put them back right away. The record skipped.

I laughed underneath the covers while Tess climbed on top of me, pinning my wrists to the mattress.

“I know you did that,” Tess said, “somehow, that was your fault.”

“That was the universe telling you that I’m right,”

“You’re in my house, June, you should always let me be right.”

“That’s what you say when we’re at my place too.”

Tess freed me from the covers again, and I saw her hovering over me, smiling, red hair falling around her face like a curtain. She ran her fingers along my cheek then down my jaw.

“Is this what you wanted to get out of arguing with me?” She asked.

“Almost.”

She kissed my cheek and then pulled away.

“Closer,” I said.

She kissed the corner of my mouth and hovered there.

“A little closer,” I murmured.

“I will never, ever, buy a CD,” she whispered.

“Why should you?” I replied, staring at the freckles dusting her flushed cheeks. “Records are better.”

Tess rolled her eyes but finally pressed her lips to mine, soft and shining with lip gloss. I ran my fingers through her hair with my other hand on the exposed skin of her back under her tank top. I loved Tess in the elegant clothes her husband would stick her in, but I loved her more in the outfits she chose for herself when he wasn’t around. It was like seeing a truer, hidden part of her.

“I like this,” I hummed, pulling at her tank top.

“Oh yeah? I couldn’t tell.” She lifted her arms up so I could slip it off. At this point, we’re completely in sync.

Tess smoothed her hands over my button-up shirt, and I felt a flush simmer up my throat and to my face from the attention.

“I like your cute, secretary outfit,” Tess said, unbuttoning my shirt, “what were you doing today? Baiting a CEO into cheating on his wife?”

I considered telling her the truth, but I couldn’t find a way to explain why I was infiltrating her husband’s place of work without bringing up Kaede, or Day and his family. I didn’t want to think about that while I was with her, either. I curled my finger around a strand of her hair, smiling coyly at her.

“No, I was baiting a wife into cheating on her CEO husband,” I responded, and I inched my hand to the back of her head so I could pull her closer.

“Aha,” Tess fake laughed, “right.”

“Is it working?”

“Yes,” Tess answered and kissed my jaw, “but your smartass comments are working just as hard against it.”

“Okay,” I tilted my head, trying to encourage her to kiss my neck, “but look at my tights.”

Tess shushed me, running her thumb over my lips. I studied her, appreciating the way her hair looked bright and vibrant in the lamplight like a gem, and the pattern of freckles on her shoulders that trailed down her chest, and the soft slope of her stomach.

It struck me that I was in Baxter’s bed, with his wife, and I couldn’t help but think about how often he had seen her like this. The thought made my stomach twist, and drew my attention to the feeling of dread that had been gnawing at me since Tess had called me at the office earlier that night. I looked away, focusing instead on a framed piece of artwork that stood out on an otherwise clinically white wall. I saw Tess everywhere in the apartment, fighting to pull herself out of Baxter’s fist.

“Baxter is coming back tomorrow night?” I confirmed in an attempt to shake off my growing unease.

Tess froze, some kind of sullen fear creeping up on her in the way her brow furrowed and her jaw tightened.

“Yeah, tomorrow night.”

It dawned on us both that this was our last night together like this, at least for a while. I dodged her eyes, not wanting to see their rich brown color dampened with the same despair that was lodged in my chest.

“I wish I could stay here,” I confessed, feeling brave with my forehead pressed to hers.

“I wish you could too,” Tess agreed, “it’s always hard when he gets back, there’s always something he takes out on me.”

I frowned at her, angry with nowhere to put all of it. I longed to do something to fix this for her.

“He’s awful for doing this to you,” I muttered, but I didn’t know what exactly I meant by ‘this.’ It could be blocking her from getting a job, doing shady business deals behind her back, leaving her lonely, or marrying her at all.

Tess eyed my expression, undoubtedly noticing my frustration. She sighed, sitting up to get a good look at my face.

“I won’t let him treat me like this forever,” Tess breathed, pushing hair behind my ear, fingers careful and warm.

“I won’t let him, either,” I told her. I meant it, I hated this life for her, I wanted us both out of it.

She smiled softly at me, and I could feel the affection she felt for me, warm and radiating from her like sunlight. I sat up and kissed her, wrapping my arms around her waist. Tess was quick to kiss me back, with one hand on the back of my neck and one at my hip. She slowly lowered us both back onto the bed, sliding a hand up my shirt and making me gasp into her mouth.

I was always glad to be with Tess, but I was especially thankful for the distraction she offered me tonight. I didn’t want it to matter that tomorrow Baxter would come home and she’d have to be there to greet him while I was alone in my shitty apartment. I didn’t want it to matter that Baxter’s company likely was going beyond reckless endangerment and had committed murder. Worst of all, I didn’t want my quickly rising feelings for Tess to factor into any of this. It was getting impossible to delude myself into thinking this was a casual fling I could wriggle my way out of when necessary, but I couldn’t look directly at the reality of the situation either.

Still, I could ignore these pressing issues when Tess bit down hard on my neck, slipped my skirt off, dug her nails into the small of my back. I loved the totality of being with Tess, the blinders she offered me.

I remember she was hot under my hands and each of her touches lingered like she left me glowing. 

I woke up early in the morning when I felt movement next to me in bed. At first I was disoriented, the mattress was softer than mine, and I was covered with silky, delicately patterned blankets. I blearily looked to my side and saw Tess climbing out of bed carefully.

“Oh, go back to sleep,” she whispered and petted my head gently, “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

The room was still dark, but the blackout curtains were glowing softly with rising light from outside. I could just make out Tess in her glasses and slip, her hair blooming in uneven curls from sleep.

“Where are you going?” I asked, voice weak like a child’s.

“To the bathroom, I’ll be right back.”

I watched her leave, admiring her figure in the slip she was wearing, how it fluttered around her freckled thighs and clung to her hips. I closed my eyes again. The noise from early morning traffic was mercifully blocked by the thick walls, and I’d likely fall asleep again as soon as Tess came back to bed.

A thump from below startled me, and I sat straight up in bed. Tess’s bedroom was on the second floor of the lavish apartment, and judging by the sound, someone had come in through the front door.

I leapt out of the bed and moved to find Tess in the bathroom, but footsteps thundering towards the bedroom door held me in place. My heart was pounding so loudly it nearly drowned out the sound of the person stomping closer, and I realized I was frozen.

The only exit was the door the intruder was lurching closer to. I didn’t have any weapons, and I couldn’t call the police- I wasn’t even supposed to be here.

“Tess!” A voice snarled from the hallway outside Tess’s door. “Tess! There was an emergency at headquarters, did the office call here!? Answer me, damn it!”

I recognized it as Baxter. He was home early. He was home early because of an emergency, maybe someone stealing an important file.

I was looking frantically around the room for anything that could give me some kind of advantage when the door burst open.

Baxter was in the doorway, chest heaving, glaring at me. There’s a second where both of us surveyed each other, thrown off by the presence of someone unexpected.

Baxter recovered before I did.

“Who are you!?” He demanded. He prowled closer and loomed over me. “What are you doing here!?”

I didn’t know what to say. All the instances of me getting cornered doing PI work, all the lies I told to squirm out of trouble as a teenager, all the excuses I made to secretly meet up with Tess, none of them help me and I’m speechless.

He lunged for me, grabbing my arms and trapping me.

“Where’s Tess!? Where the hell is she, what are you doing here!?” He was shouting so loudly his voice wrapped around me like a fist, squeezing the air from my chest. “Answer me!” He howled, crushing my shoulder in his brutal grip.

My mouth was dry, my hands weren’t my own. I couldn’t do anything, I couldn’t look at his hand on me, but I couldn’t look him in the eye. I felt like I left my body behind, searching for someplace safe to go.

There was a gunshot.

I fell to the ground and curled into a bracing position, waiting for another to come.

I heard Baxter gasp and stumble.

There was another gunshot.

I heard Baxter gurgle and collapse on the ground with a thud that seemed louder than the shot.

I cautiously lifted my head from my hands and saw Baxter dying in front of me.

I rose into a trembling, kneeling position, and looked around the room.

Behind me, Tess was holding a gun aimed at Baxter’s still body.

The first thing I felt and then quickly buried was relief. I was relieved that Tess had protected me, but I was also relieved that he was dead. Stupidly, or childishly, I believed for a moment that this would solve all our other problems. Day's mother had justice, the corruption would stop, and Day's brother would live a long, rich life. Tess and I could be together.

Then, I really saw Tess, and what she was holding.

She was holding my gun.

Tess was pointing my gun at Baxter’s body.

“Tess,” I breathed. I swallowed thickly through the adrenaline that was making my mouth dry and my skin hot. “What is that?”

Tess didn’t answer, but she set the gun carefully on her dresser.

"I'm sorry," she said.

She crept over to join me on the ground.

We both knew it was my gun.

My head was spinning, I tried to figure out how she could have swiped it without me noticing. Did she get into my place when I wasn't around? Did she take it the last time she was over? How long had she been planning this? Did she plan it at all?

My eyes were watery as I watched her, but I felt like I could see her clearly. I felt like I was shifting, or falling backwards, but I was still when Tess touched my arms.

She pulled me against her chest gently, then started to stroke my hair.

“I told you,” she murmured, “I said I wouldn’t let him treat me like this forever.”

I still couldn’t speak, but I collapsed against her, pressing my face into her neck so I wouldn’t see Baxter. I tried to work through what had just happened, but I couldn’t get past the image of Tess holding my gun, pointed right at a dead man. It felt impossible that she could be the same person that was cradling me so tenderly, kissing my head and running her hands down my back. I knew eventually I'd have to get up and do something, solve this problem somehow, but I couldn't see anything beyond Tess.

I let myself drift away in her hands, I fell into the warm memory of our night together, of every moment we’ve had together, that couldn’t have possibly brought us to the body on the floor and my gun on the dresser.

I closed my eyes, I let myself drift away.