2. Chapter Two
Chapter Two
Dana
The boys that hang around the wharf know everything. They know everything about every ship that docks or embarks. They know about the crew. They know about the drama between the families. They know the layout of the packs and their territories and the changes to those things before anyone else in the city. They know how old the bread is at the bakery and what it means when the PC repair shop leaves the Out to Lunch sign up overnight. And they'll spill their guts for an extra large cheese pizza and a six-pack of root beer.
“I don't know nothin’ about any girls getting lost, but you should probably go to the bakery,” the tallest and grubbiest brat says around a mouth full of half-chewed pizza. “They've had a lot more after-dinner traffic for the past couple months, and they're getting even more busy with the ball next week.” That's street urchin for I'm not ratting out The Baker because he'll put me in an oven, but that's where your information is.
“Yeah,” one of the younger boys continues. “You go get some donuts or something and hang out in front of there. You'll see a lot if you're looking.”
“And go to the pharmacy,” the oldest one adds. “I was just in there with my uncle. They talk about the next ball an awful lot for a pack that already has a couple Omegas.”
“Will do,” I confirm. “You boys want any sweets?”
“Nah,” the oldest says. “You got us lunch. What's that girl look like that you're looking for? We'll keep an eye out.”
This is almost always the dilemma I have. If I gave these kids a description they'd absolutely keep an eye out for her, but the cost for them, not me, would be catastrophic if anyone found out they were watching for me. Getting a bunch of trouble making brats a pizza every couple weeks is no big deal. I've been doing that for years so nobody thinks anything of it. But if they start actively and obviously paying attention to things and talking with me more than usual, people will notice. The wrong sorts of people will notice, and I'm no more interested in finding out what The Baker would do with these kids than they are. So, yeah, the information they could get for me would be beneficial, but it's not worth their safety.
“No. Don't keep an eye out for anything. But if you run into trouble, call me. I'll be there.”
“We know, Detective Dana,” the oldest smiles again and takes another bite. “We will. Thank you for the pizza.”
I leave the boys to their pizza and take a walk to the end of the dock, stepping around piles of fish guts and bird shit. I'm not going anywhere until later this afternoon, but I'll go to the pharmacy first. I'll save the trip to the bakery for when I usually go. Regardless of any nefarious goings-on, I won't get my bagels from anywhere else and I've been buying them every Friday morning without fail for the past ten years. But I'm not going anywhere until plenty of people have seen me not going anywhere in particular.
The sheer fact that the pharmacy and The Baker were mentioned is significant. Those packs aren't exactly rivals but they aren't usually mentioned in the same conversation, either. The Alpha who runs the bakery tried to court an Omega that one of the Alphas from the pharmacy also tried to court. This was years ago and the Omega ended up being claimed by an Alpha from another city, but that's the story that always comes up when people start talking about The Baker and The Doctor.
I know a little bit about each of them. The Doctor is the father of the Alphas who run the pharmacy. He's old and no longer wants anything to do with the general population or its problems. He handed over the pharmacy to his sons and retired to a small farm somewhere outside the city. The story goes that when he opened the pharmacy, he was as bright-eyed and hopeful as anyone ever is. But years of loss and violence and turmoil changed that optimism into dull vengeance. After his mate was slaughtered, there's no other word to describe what happened to him, the vengeance turned into cruelty and The Doctor moved through the city like a plague. To my knowledge, he was never satisfied that he brought enough people to his version of justice. But as soon as his sons were old enough to take over the business, he left the city. They haven't really picked up where their father left off, but the majority of their wealth hasn't come from filling legitimate prescriptions from legitimate doctors.
The Baker is another story. He's a Valla. He has his brother run the bakery but there's no mistaking who's in charge of the operation. The Baker is probably the biggest sponsor of the Selection. Sure, the city council puts them on, but all the fancy shit comes from sponsors. I don't think The Baker has ever physically attended any of the balls, not that I've been to all that many of them myself, but he certainly has a hand in them. Everyone assumes that he has his own private meeting with the Omegas before the ball and I don't necessarily think that's out of the realm of possibilities. If I was a Valla with the kind of money The Baker has, I'd arrange private Omega presentations, too. All the fun without any of the fuss. As far as I know, he's still unmated. Maybe he's a hopeless romantic, but when every conversation about the darkest origins of the under the table Omega trade starts and ends with his name, it's hard to imagine him walking around handing out roses to hopeful Omegas.
It's early evening by the time I make it to the pharmacy. Just like the wharf boys said, Jonah and Michael are behind the counter when I get there and I hear one or the other of them whisper the word ball a couple times. While not obvious, they aren't being overly secretive, either. That isn't a problem on its own. People are allowed to talk about the balls and they do. Grandmothers, mothers, nosy aunts, and giddy young people can't stop talking about them during the couple of weeks preceding them. The thing that makes this particular conversation so interesting is that these Alphas are discussing the ball in such hushed tones. Why, though? Each of them have claimed an Omega, and they share a Beta between them as well to complete their pack. A pack with two claimed Omegas won't be approved for a third, so why the interest?
My doctor writes me a grocery list of prescriptions every three months and I usually flush them, but I still pick them up. Unless I forget. But I pick up and forget at a regular enough frequency that nobody's going to think anything of it if I've forgotten to have them filled and I need a little something extra to quell the pain in my leg until I can make an appointment to get a new note. And any request for a little something extra needs to be made directly to either Michael or Jonah.
“Are you picking up today?” Rebecca, the ever-helpful Beta, asks when I take my turn at the counter.
I manage to pull together a sheepish smile. “Actually, I was hoping to speak to one of your Alphas. Do you think they have time today?”
“Let me ask.” She turns away and goes to whisper my request to Jonah. He glances up at me and gives me a wink before holding up a finger to let me know he'll be with me shortly. Rebecca comes smiling back to the counter. “He'll be right up. Just step over to the partition and he'll join you as soon as he can.”
The partition is just a thin wooden wall that blocks off the farthest edge of the counter. The idea is to provide the customer with privacy if a medication or treatment needs to be discussed in detail, or if someone is asking for a favor and doesn't want everyone in the pharmacy to know about it. They've even been kind enough to provide a stool for people to sit on if they want or need to, which is what I usually do. I might not take the pain meds and anti-inflammatory drugs the way I'm supposed to, but I'm not too proud to let a stool hold me up instead of my leg.
Less than a minute later, Jonah is standing across the counter from me with a big smile. “Good afternoon, Detective. What can I do for you?”
“Well,” I hum, making a big show of rubbing the side of my thigh. “I was hoping you'd be able to give me a little something to tide me over until my next appointment. This rain is really doing a number on me.”
Jonah nods and quietly calls the order back to Michael, then he turns back to me. “How is everything else, Dana? We don't get around like we used to and we miss out on a lot of news. Still working?”
“Oh, I'd never give up my day job,” I chuckle. “I'm still trudging along. Nothing serious, just missing puppies and cheating partners and things like that. How are things with you and your brother? Busy as always, I'm sure.”
He nods. “Yeah. People need what they need and we provide it. Are you going to the Scarlet Selection in a couple weeks? Or have you found someone and you've just been keeping them to yourself?” He smirks conspiratorially. Both of us know that I don't have anybody. If I did, everyone would know about it.
I still laugh with him, though. I'm glad he brought up the ball himself instead of me trying to find a way to drag it into the conversation. “I definitely don't have a secret somebody hiding in a closet at my office. I don't know, Jonah. Maybe? I thought about going. I'm not getting any younger and maybe now's as good a time as any to toss a rose at some poor, unsuspecting Omega.”
“Don't sell yourself short, Dana. You're not that old, and besides, the Omegas at the selections are always the same age and they're just as eager for a more distinguished Alpha as they are for a less worldly one. You'd be a blessing to any Omega you choose. You should go.”
“Have you heard anything about the line-up this time? Any good families?”
Jonah moves his eyes across the store, lingering briefly on the mirrors in the corners and one or two of the patrons in the aisles. “Well, you didn't hear it from me, in fact, you were never in here. But the Selection this time is supposedly full of perfection. Omegas from other places to beef up the bloodlines here.” He lowers his voice to a whisper. “I heard that a good portion of them have been to school to learn exactly what their future Alphas will want. I also heard that there's going to be a really sweet selection of male Omegas who should be more than capable of taking care of whatever Alpha they fancy.” He clears his throat and brings his voice back up to a normal volume. “I'm going. Oh, don't give me that look. I'm probably not going to be handing out any roses. I just want to see. I like watching the whole thing.”
“Probably? Jonah! Doesn't your pack already have two Omegas?”
He smiles sheepishly. “We do, but Rebecca gets left out sometimes. It can't be helped. Michael and I thought it might be nice to make it an even six.”
Well, regardless of all the terrible things Jonah and Michael have their hands in, that's a decent reason to get greedy with Omegas. And Rebecca deserves it. “I can't find fault with that. Maybe I'll see you there.”
“I hope so, Dana. You deserve some happiness.”
Michael comes to the counter and leans around his brother to hand me a small brown envelope. “Hey, Dana.” Then he goes back to whatever larger tasks they have lined up across their work table.
I would probably have a completely different relationship with them if I was an inspector for the city. I should really have a different relationship with them than I do anyway; but when it comes to certain people, you can get so much more accomplished with friendliness than you can with pushiness. If I came in here demanding information and answers from Jonah and Michael, not only would I get no information, I would likely get my ass handed to me on a bruised platter. I'm not a pushover, but I know my limits and Jonah and Michael together aren't a force I want to go up against alone.
“Thank you, Jonah, Michael,” I say loudly enough for Michael to hear. “I appreciate it. I'll settle up with Rebecca. See you around.”
Jonah knocks on the table a couple times, calling my attention back to him before I go back to the cash register. “You should go, Dana. It would be good for you.”
“I'll think about it.” I give him the smile he expects and step back over to pay for the medication.
It's not quite raining when I step back out onto the street but the damp air is still enough to make my clothes cling to me as I make my way back home. I have a place to start in the search for Mr. Westover's daughter. I was hoping to avoid the bakery, which is why I went to the pharmacy, but I suppose it was inevitable. The Selection ball will be brimming with quality Omegas and the unfortunate fact of the matter is that sometimes these quality Omegas don't necessarily come from quality origins. And the even more unfortunate truth is that less than quality Omega origins can almost always be tracked straight back to The Baker.