Chapter Seven - Emily
When the world’s collapsing in on you and all sides are crumbling away and you’re falling down a deep hole, there’s no way to grip on to hope. As I battle the morning Chicago traffic, I feel a heavy weight on my chest, despite the promotion I’ve received.
Another loan rejection from the loan program I applied for. Denied. You’re not approved. There’s only so many ways to declare a rejection, but I’ve deciphered them all in my head by now. I pass by West Garfield Park, rain pelting down, matching my misery, because I can’t let Laura die. Not with everything she’s done for me.
I cruise to a stop at a red light, the radio not able to drown out the dark memories of having to sneak food into our eight-bed dorm room in the eerie orphanage. Hell on earth some days, but the girls I connected with in there made it better. We were all trauma bonded together in abandonment, but most of us made it through. All of them had a hand in holding me up until Laura swanned in with her golden halo, rescuing me like the heavenly angel she was.
I stood beside the nun, my T-shirt stained from cornflakes. I’d given up hope every time they introduced me to potential new foster parents or adoptees, and that day was the same as all the others. I scratched my head as the nun spoke to me, her eyes stern and cold.
“Stop scratching otherwise you won’t be taken. They’ll think you have fleas, and we don’t bathe you.” Agnus—I hated the woman with raw passion. The head nun of our dorm, and the most feared. I swore she only worked with children to torture them in subtle ways that broke their spirits. Often there were nights I went to bed hungry, not able to stomach the options.
“Oh, you’re hungry? Then you can have another bowl of oats. They’re good for you. Will make you strong. If you’re lucky I’ll add some syrup in for you.” It was almost as if Agnus delighted in the pain of others. The glint in her eye was too shiny for it not to be true.
“ No thanks, I’ll pass.”
I didn’t want another bowl of cloggy porridge, but my other orphan mate and I found a way to smuggle in Snickers bars to eat. They never used to last long, and I would devour them and hide the wrappers. You never knew when you would get another treat. Shuddering at the vividness of the memory, I turn into my street, finding a parking space and sitting for a second, trying to stop the tears from spilling over.
“We’re going to find a way. Hold on, Laura. You saved me, so it’s my turn to save you.” I look up into the mirror, smoothing back my gelled bun and reapplying a fresh coat of lip gloss.
Pulling myself together, I inhale a deep breath, heading inside. It’s a good thing, Brady and Milton are there to greet me with their shenanigans.
“Hey, why so glum?” Brady inquires, sipping his coffee. I drag my backpack off my shoulder, glad to offload the weight. Maybe they’ll have a solution I haven’t thought of.
“I got rejected for a loan. I’m cooked,” I tell him.
“That’s a shitty start. Doughnut?” he chirps, proposing a sweet alternative.
“Nah. A sugar high isn’t going to fix this one.”
“Right. I guess not. Have you spoken to her today?” Brady asks, walking me to my desk.
“No. I can’t—I don’t want to come back to her and say, hey I’ve got everything under control, and I’m working on it. No, I can’t do it to her anymore. I’d rather not say anything at all until I work out a solution,” I explain.
“I hear that,” Brady replies.
“Hey, what’s up, you two?” Milton asks, joining the fray. “I feel like I’m missing something.”
I wave at my colleagues, my boss, gesturing me to his office. Shit. I can’t even wallow.
“Something is. Don’t worry about it. I’m going to work something out. Duty calls. Have a good day. Chat later,” I tell them both with a wink. No point dwelling. I’ve got the citizens of Chicago to protect. It’s a good thing I like the hell out of my job.
“Okay. You too,” Milton adds as Jeff, a street cop passes by with a wave. I wave back, and if I was in a better mood, I would see that he’s really kinda cute.
Compartmentalizing my problems is a specialty of mine, and part of the reason I’m a great detective. Not that it bodes well for my personal life. And why is that guy from the one-night stand leaking into my brain? I want him out. Quick smart.
“Hey, Boss, you wanted to see me, yeah?”
“Yes. Close the door and take a seat,” he says quietly. “This situation has come to a head, and I’m going to need your needlepoint precision to cut through the bs on this one. It’s a concluded case at best.”
“Okay. I’m ready.” Closing the door, I feel my palms heating up like they do any day I get a new case.
Jackson hands over a manila folder, his face tight. “I’m throwing you in the deep end, but I know you’ve got what it takes, and I believe in your skills. It’s one of the reasons I’ve switched you into homicide.”
Taking the folder, I feel the weight of it. Whatever the case is, it’s got history. “Alright. Hit me with it.”
“William Frances Dee,” Jackson states.
A smile lights up my face. William was one of the most decorated detectives in the Chicago bureau, and given the past of the Chicago Police Department, it feels important. He’s known as a legend due to his bust in the early 2000s single-handedly taking down a Mafia outfit. It marked one of the most historical busts ever, especially since other officers were involved in taking contraband and reselling it.
William worked with the FBI to bring those men to justice and won a Valor award for his efforts. Not to mention he had to go into hiding for several years thereafter. He was known for being able to go so deep undercover and come out unscathed, dancing on the line of good vs. evil and remaining on the good side.
“Wow. William Frances Dee. Legend,” I gush, gripping on to the manila folder and feeling my body swell with pride. “Am I going to be working with him?” I ask excitedly.
Jackson’s face drops as he looks at the door and out into the sea of law enforcement in the team. “No,” he says gravely. “You’re going to be working on his case. William was murdered, and he was working on a case to bring Ryurik to justice.”
Lead weight drops in the cavern of my stomach. “Fuck. I think I’m going to throw up. Willy was murdered?” I reply, my voice cracking under pressure. Willy is the affectionate name he was known by in the department.
“You and me both. He was on the edge of a breakthrough. I know it. Willy was.” Jackson pauses, the light dimming in his eyes. “He was special. He revived this department and saved it. He offered the bureau redemption.”
“Yeah, I know. Some of it I wasn’t even alive for,” I utter, stunned by the news, adding to my stage fright.
Jackson stills, looking me in the eye. “Don’t let the case intimidate you. Focus on the facts like you always do. You’ve got what it takes, Wilson.”
“F-fuck. This is…” I pause, the thumping beats in my chest jamming up my words. “Nuts.”
“Right. This is why I hired you. Comb over it. Find everything you can. Dig deep, because we’re going to need everything, we’ve got to clean these Russian mobsters out of the city. They’re taking over, and they’ve got money and power. Shit on dirty cops that are screwing up the department.” Jackson shakes his head. “But Willy, he had them by the balls and he didn’t get to finish. Bring it home for me, Wilson.”
“Okay. I’ll do my best.”
“Good. I want you to find out all you can on this Ryurik character. How he shits. What’s his hobbies. His weaknesses. His mother, his father. You catch my drift?” Jackson’s command is laced with high emotion, and the possible outcome from the case if I nail it would put me in another category altogether.
“Got it. Report back?”
“It’s a hot case. Every day until we gather enough ammunition. Even if you think it’s insignificant, I want his head on a platter while we can still string him up. He’s in our custody currently, but if we drop the ball, Ryurik could get away with murder, and yes, I meant the pun,” Jackson declares, spit flying from between his lips, the desk shaking from his fist slamming on it. It’s clear this guy is important to take down.
Pressure much?
“Done.” My legs feel like Jell-O as I rise from my seat and head out, but my determination is one of my strong suits. I make myself coffee, knuckling down at my desk and reviewing the case notes. The first things I notice are the dates of the convictions and how far they span back.
Assault with a deadly weapon. Case dismissed. Attempted robbery. Lack of evidence. Burglary. Arson. Attempted murder. Arson. Case dismissed. Case dismissed. Fuck. This Ryurik guy is getting away with… murder.
“Who the hell are you?” I ask out loud, grossly fascinated by the lack of due diligence in the cases and the lack of follow-up by forensics. It almost looks like evidence has been tampered with or left out in almost every case. My gut fires off.
There’s something off about every one of these cases at first glance and you don’t have to be a rocket scientist to figure it out, as cliché as that sounds. There are no visible photos of the guy at first glance, but as I shift through the files, burying my head in the information, I flick through the photos of ransacked homes, associates, and other pertinent details.
Why hasn’t this guy been caught? Then I see it. A huge amount of the information focused on something called the Omerta Files. Rifling through, I gasp at the names of officers in the department who have been called in for internal investigation and booted off the force. All of them taken down over a twenty-year span.
The Utkins. Fuck, who are these people? Dimitri Utkin. Ruslan Utkin. All of them are involved in a “Bratva” ring. I dart between the information, recalling what I know about the Russian Mafia. If you ask me, they’re a bunch of copycats, mirroring many aspects of the Italian Mafia. Either way, they’re an organized unit of thieves and murderers terrorizing the city of Chicago and they’re going down piece by piece, just like I took down the underground embezzlers.
“This file is too thick. Shit,” I say under my breath, skipping forward to Willy’s notes and the pictures of the Blindside Metro and a bunch of shady-looking men entering through the side. One of them has a cigarette hanging out of his mouth, and a stab pierces through my stomach as I look closer at the shot.
There’s an odd sense of familiarity when I look at the shot, but I can’t place it. And what’s worse is I was partying at this club only a month ago. I hate that the otherwise fun memory is marred by that asshole who thought it was okay to leave money on the nightstand.
A big fat fuck you. Willy’s handwriting is kind of hard to read, but he’s known in the department for leaving notes that read like a diary entry. Settling in, I let his notes sink in.
27. 1. 24. This is insane. I saw their deal right in front of my face. Snorting in the bathroom, and one of the women came out of the bathroom giggling with a couple of guys high as a kite. Illegal prostitution possibly in the mix too. Unconfirmed if Ryurik has awareness or is the ringleader.
There’s so much detail and information it’s making my head swim. Overwhelmed, but not wanting anybody else to know I feel as if I’m drowning in a soup of information, I look up and around the department, hoping nobody notices how much of a fraud I am. Imposter syndrome—alert, alert.
Playing it off, I wipe the tiny beads of sweat off my upper lip flipping over the page, knowing I’ve got my work cut out for me, and I’m going to need a minute to pick up all the key components of the case.
Do what you always do. Pick out the major elements of the case. Sort through the details. What are the missing questions? The holes in the case.
But when I flip the page, all my thought processing flies out the window because the man who I slept with a little over a month ago is staring me back in the face, several glossy photographs in high resolution. The edges of the pictures blur, but there’s no denying those piercing green eyes penetrating the core of my soul. Ryurik’s eyes seem to break you down just with a single stare. He’s wearing the same jacket I saw him take off in the club.
My jaw drops, realizing I’ve been part of the world’s biggest dupe in history. No wonder he wasn’t quick to approach. My stomach spins into a tumbling dryer of emotions, my lunch threatening to project out of my mouth.
Ryurik Utkin is the prime suspect in custody, and if anybody finds out I slept with him, everything is on the line.