Chapter Text
Evelyn’s shoes clicked on the tile floor, announcing her approach to an empty hallway.
The officer at the front desk had told her where to go, but as she strode toward the wood and glass door marked “Robbery and Homicide” she wasn’t so sure.
Should have just left the damn things outside in the mail slot, she thought, biting the inside of her lip.
A uniformed police officer opened the door on his way out, and she paused, gesturing for him.
“Ah, excuse me, I’m looking for—”
He brushed passed her without even a glance.
She rolled her eyes. “Well alright then.”
Catching the door before it closed, she strode into the aforementioned department, momentarily stunned by the eruption of noise. The hallway had been so quiet, but this? This was nearly chaos. Men in cheap suits rushed by her, making her dizzy.
A large, mustachioed fellow with his nose in a file walked in front of her.
“Excuse me, I’m trying to find—”
“Down the hall,” he grumbled, eyes never lifting.
“I didn’t even say who I was looking for…”
Taking a deep breath, she looked around the room, wondering if she could pick the man she needed out of the crowd without trying for anymore ‘help’.
Her face must have been the picture of ‘lost’, because in moments a taller, skinny man with narrow features stepped over from his desk.
“Can I help you, ma’am?”
“I’m looking for a Detective Teague,” she started. “I was told he’d be working today.”
The man lifted an eyebrow, regarding her warily, before cocking his head to the left. “Hey Joe, you’ve got a visitor.”
Before she could thank him, the man was halfway across the room. Turning, she saw the man he called to standing up from his desk. Dark hair, impossibly broad shoulders, thick hands… Now that fit the image she’d had in her head of the man she was told to meet.
She didn’t expect him to be this handsome though…
“Detective Teague?” Evelyn asked, stepping forward.
“Yes ma’am. What can I do for you?”
She didn’t expect a smoky voice like that, either. Maybe she oughta stop having expectations…
Clearing her throat, she locked eyes with him. “A friend gave me your name. Said you might be able to help me with… A particularly sensitive situation I’ve found myself in.”
She caught the tick of his jaw before his expression shifted into something she assumed he was hoping looked neutral.
“Why don’t we discuss it in here,” he said, motioning for her to follow him to his office.
Closing the door behind them, he offered her the wooden chair across from his desk before sitting himself.
Smoothing her skirt, she reached into her purse and pulled out a folded envelope, sliding it onto his desk.
“So, Miss…?” He trailed off, wanting her to give him a name.
Too bad she couldn’t. Wouldn’t. Both.
“I’m aware your time is valuable Detective, so I’ll be brief.” She clipped her purse closed. “I found the contents of that envelope at my place of employment—”
“Which is?”
“Somewhere I’d like to continue working,” she said it with a sharp smile. “Which won’t be possible if I bring cops to their door.” Evelyn tilted her head at the envelope. “I found… those. And wish to no longer be in possession of them. Hence why I brought them to you.”
Detective Teague’s brow furrowed, making his deep brown eyes even darker.
“You sure don’t like embellishing much, do you?”
Evelyn’s lips quirked. “If only you knew.”
“Then why don’t you tell me?” He leaned forward, gaze heavy on her. “Clearly someone you know thinks I’m trust worthy. Why don’t you take their lead?”
“I am taking their lead. That’s why I’m here.”
Detective Teague started to reach for the envelope when she clapped her hand over it, stopping him.
“I’d prefer it if you waited until I left before opening that.”
His head turned to the side. “You want me to close my eyes and count to ten, too?”
Evelyn smirked. “I didn’t have a problem with you watching me come in, I certainly don’t care if you watch me walk away.”
She knew how it sounded the second she said it, but she couldn’t let her slip of the tongue derail her. She wanted this done and over with.
That didn’t stop her from noticing the amused grin playing at the corner of his mouth.
“Look, Detective,” she hurried to continue. “I don’t want to be involved—”
“So you made the obvious choice of coming to a police station.”
Her stare sharpened. “I have enough keeping me awake at night, I didn’t want to add this to the list. So, I brought them to the most capable person I could find. And now I want to wash my hands of it all and go back to my life… unburdened.”
Detective Teague watched her a moment, eyes skipping over her features quickly, before he grunted softly—a noise she assumed meant some variation of acceptance on his part.
“Thank you,” Evelyn said, starting to get up. “I hope you have a—”
“Just one moment, Miss.”
“Damn it.”
He flashed a grin at her casual disgruntled curse.
“I just need your name.”
“Why?”
“For the report.”
She shook her head. “I don’t want to make a report. That’s all you need from me.” She waved her hand at the envelope.
Detective Teague clucked his tongue. “Except, if something were to happen…”
“Like what?”
“I’d need your name. Contact information. A way to get in touch—”
Frustration bubbled in her chest. Shoulda left ‘em in the mail slot.
“I’m not a witness, Detective Teague. Consider me a… Delivery woman. That’s all.”
“Oh yeah, you’re a regular mail lady,” he quipped. “Got the ornery temperament of one anyway.”
Her smile was just shy of a sneer. “And what a delightful civil servant you are.”
Sighing through his nose, Detective Teague looked up at her. “How about a name? Just a name, so I don’t have to tell my boss that whatever this is fell outta the sky.”
Glancing around the room quickly, she nodded. “Alright. Barbara.”
Teague picked up a pencil, scribbling on a scrap of paper. “Barbara…?”
She spotted the apple sitting at the end of his desk—part of his lunch, she guessed.
“Barbara Appleman.”
Detective Teague wrote out her alias and the date next to it, nodding. “Thank you, Miss Appleman.”
Standing abruptly, she tugged at her skirt to straighten it. “Have a good day, Detective.”
She was halfway out of his office when he called, “Guess you really don’t mind me watching you leave, huh?”
If her cheeks weren’t warm, she’d have turned to glare at him. Instead, she simply waved over her shoulder and booked it for the exit.
***
Joe knew he was in trouble the second she’d sat across from him.
At first glance he’d expected her to be nervous, maybe even a little rattled… When she’d reached into her purse he thought she was going for a handkerchief. Then she’d plopped down an envelope and started trading banter with him like a boxer ready to jab and cross their way out of a corner.
Teach him to judge on looks again.
And looks she had plenty of. Her black hair was cut short—a newer trend he’d seen with the higher educated women in town—but still had enough length to curl and pin back, showing off her delicate features. Fair skin, blue eyes, and petal pink lips he was sure had driven dozens of men to madness.
But it was her sharp tongue that had really caught his interest. That sensation he knew so well, hooking in at the base of his spine, curling around and around, drawing him closer.
And then she was gone. He’d thought his last comment would have at least gotten a last look over her shoulder, but instead she’d waved him off. A woman determined to leave.
Good, he thought. I’m still not in any condition for…
He scowled, shaking himself out of that train of thought.
It had been a long year. He’d at least concede to that.
Eddie appeared at his door, leaning his shoulder into the doorframe.
“A gift?” He asked, narrow face barely emoting. Eddie wasn’t exactly the expressive type.
“Maybe…” Joe opened up the envelope, gingerly pulling out the papers inside. They were worn, folded up scraps from what he could tell.
“What’s on ‘em?”
Joe squinted, reading the chicken scratch on one of the slips. “It’s… shorthand I think.”
“That woman hand delivered secretary notes?” Eddie stepped further into the office, crossing his arms. “That… would be a first.”
“You read shorthand?”
Eddie shook his head. “Nope. I think Tug does though…” With that, he turned and disappeared around the corner.
Joe was just about to grumble to himself about ‘unhelpful co-workers’ when Eddie returned, with Tug just behind him.
“Hey fellas,” Tug said with a nod of his head. “What’s so important?”
“Lady just dropped these off,” Joe told him, sliding a few of the pieces across his desk. “Didn’t give any explanation, wouldn’t even let me open ‘em while she was here—”
“Strange…” Eddie commented under his breath.
“Well, let me take a look,” Tug said, sitting down. After a moment, he jerked his head and made a surprised noise at the back of his throat. “Yeah, yeah, I can read this. Can I… You got a pen?”
Joe handed his over quickly, leaning on the edge of his desk in earnest.
Tug’s mouth fell open as he decoded the second slip. “I recognize this address.”
“It’s an address?”
Pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, Tug nodded. “It’s a club… Owned by Mickey Cohen.”
Joe’s stomach twisted, the blood draining from his face.
No, c’mon, no, not again, I can’t…
Eddie’s stare was on him, observing but not exactly judging. “You sure know how to stir things up, Joe.”
“I didn’t do this,” Joe snapped back. “She came to me, she brought them here—”
“It’s probably a good thing she did…” Tug said, still writing. “Two of these places were hit in the last week, several men killed at each place, but the other addresses I’m not familiar with…”
“You think it’s a hit list?” Eddie asked, stepping closer.
“Maybe…” Tug glanced up at Joe. “What’d this lady say about them?”
“Just that she found them at her place of employment and didn’t want anything more to do with them.”
“So she asked for you specifically to deliver them to?”
Joe sighed. He was just barely out of the cloud of suspicion concerning Bugsy Seigel’s murder last year. It had taken intense diligence at every turn, every move he made. He’d had to keep his nose clean and his head down, had to be the perfect model detective, and even then, some on the force still eyed him funny. Not that he really blamed them. He knew what he’d done, he’d do it again too… But having his own colleagues look at him the same way they looked at wise guys and bag men for the mob… It grated a man’s nerves.
And then a broad in a blue dress had to come in and kick up dust at his ankles.
Just what he needed.
“Joe?”
He glanced at the two men. “She said a friend gave her my name. Probably found my card somewhere… Maybe a witness from a case or something.” Deflection was second nature to him now.
Tug finished writing out his last decoded address. “Well, Joe. I hope you’ve managed to smooth things over with the guys. ‘Cause it looks like you’re back in the Organized Crime division.”
Joe’s jaw clenched. “Bully for me.”
***
By the end of the day, Hal and his wonder team were all back together, sitting in that same conference room, notes and pictures on bulletin boards, files getting brought in by the box load.
The police commissioner had continued the Organized Crime division but had selected his own team to do most of the work. Everyone got bounced back to their old divisions, brought in only when specific cases or people were the focus of investigation.
Mickey Cohen was the name that brought them all back to that room.
Specifically, Mickey Cohen and his raging feud with Dragda. The prized fight that was on its 9th round.
After decoding and cataloging the slips of paper, they got tacked up on the board for everyone to take note.
For Joe it was a blinding reminder that he may never escape the hole he’d dug himself.
Just as Hal was giving the rundown for the next day’s plan, something clicked for Joe.
She’d said ‘a friend’ had given her his name. Nowadays, Joe didn’t have many friends, especially not one that would highlight his occupation as a detective.
He had a very small pool of candidates to work with.
Last time he’d seen Ned was two months ago, striding into the bullpen looking for his client. They’d shared a nod—not like they could catch up on life in the middle of the police station.
Eddie clearly hadn’t known who the woman was when he’d greeted her, so that scratched him off the list.
Joe was halfway to his car when he had an idea.
Maybe he had more friends than he thought…
It was a quiet and swift drive across town, and he parked around the block. He never liked to park too close to any place he was going—never wanted to announce his presence anywhere.
There was a small crowd gathered on the sidewalk outside the club, but that wasn’t unusual for a Thursday night. Pulling his hat down low, he sauntered through the front door to Bunny’s Jungle club, cocking his head as he surveyed the place.
Anya spotted him immediately, gaze raking over him.
Dropping his hat on the bar, and sliding out of his jacket, Joe sat at his usual spot and waited.
“My night just got a whole lot better,” Anya said, smiling at him. “Wanna know why?”
“Win big at the track, Anya?”
“I only gamble with my heart, Joe. You know that.”
He smirked. “Sure do.”
“You’ve come to visit me. Here I thought I’d be spending my night lonely and bored, and then you came struttin’ in and changed my mind.”
Joe ducked his head. “I don’t strut. Bad knees, ya see.”
“Tell that to the rest of you,” she commented, voice sultry as she poured his usual.
Pulling a pack of smokes from his pocket, he tapped them on the bar before sliding one out and placing it between his lips.
“Need a light?”
“Actually I was hoping you could help me with something.”
Anya smiled, more predatory than anything. “I get off at 1.”
Joe chuckled. “We’ve been over this Anya. I’m no good for you.”
“Think I deserve better, do you?”
“Much better.”
“Like who?”
He thought for a moment. “There’s a guy in my building who sells vacuum cleaners,” he said, striking a match. “He seems nice. You don’t mind glasses do you?”
“Oh come now, Joe. You think a vacuum salesman is gonna satisfy a girl like me?”
Lighting his cigarette, Joe smirked. “Probably not. But at least he’d be dependable.”
“It’s like you hardly know me.”
Dropping the smoking match in the ashtray, Joe glanced up at her. “But you know me.” His tone was just this side of serious to get her attention.
“Sure do. That what you wanted to talk about? What kind of man you are?”
The irony wasn’t lost on him. Anya had no idea…
“More curious to see if you’ve been telling anyone else about the kinda man I am…” He locked eyes with her. “Anyone come to you for my kind of help lately?”
Leaning forward on the bar, Anya lowered her voice to ask, “The tall, muscled kind or the shiny brass badge kind?”
“The latter.”
Glancing to her right, Anya waited until the busboy finished taking the rack of glasses before speaking. “We got a new waitress. Been here a few weeks. She’s good—Maybe too good. Seems too bright to be working that hard to keep a job like this. She works Fridays through to Monday nights.”
“Lemme guess. Her name’s not Barbara Appleman.”
Anya laughed at the alias. “If she ever was, I can understand why she’d change it.”
“Didn’t look like a Barbara to me…” Joe took a deep inhale off his cigarette.
“So she did come to see you.”
Joe looked up through the cloud of smoke. “She did.”
“And did you?” Anya lifted a brow at him. “Help, I mean.”
“Tried. She was pretty keen on not getting involved further.”
“Can you blame her?”
“No, but what she… delivered, wasn’t exactly a basket of muffins.”
Anya spotted more customers taking a seat at the far end of the bar and started to turn away. “Just try to keep this place out of it, Joe. Lord knows we’ve had enough trouble to last us a while.”
As she strode away, Joe nodded. He took another drag from his cigarette and sipped his bourbon.
At least he could say his list of friends was up to three now.