Part 3 (1/2)
”So, our friend, Mikhail, is a street pimp and he turned this girl out, but he was also watching over her legally at the time?” Preston asked, breaking the silence and escaping his darker thoughts about the future. ”Since when does a pimp go through the adoption process? It's not like they were related.”
Jack continued to sit on the old ragged couch in the corner. In front of him was a battered coffee table holding various manila folders and photographs that had acc.u.mulated in recent days. On the top of the pile, in plain sight, was the old mug shot of Mikhail Phillips.
”Hey, I know about as much as you do, except I bet I can track this guy down,” he said, rifling through a few more doc.u.ments. ”Guys like this who make it through life as long as he did aren't hard to find. They get slow at his age.”
”You have a talent for these things, Detective Paige,” Preston said a.s.suredly. ”Get back to me when you find something.”
”Okay, I'll hit it tomorrow. It's time to be getting home to the wife.”
”Have a good one,” Preston replied with a casual wave.
A shape caught Preston's attention out of the corner of his eye, standing in the doorway. He watched Jack turn, his partner keeping his face expressionless upon seeing who it was.
”I'll see you tomorrow after you track down that lead. I'll have a little discussion with our guest here,” Preston said, looking out the door. Instinctively, he turned over The Twist on his desk, almost without looking. The thud it made on the wood panel seemed loud enough to shake the room.
”Good to see you again, Mr. Argosi,” Jack said as he got up and headed out. ”How's business?” Jack offered with a rare cruel streak. He was out the door before he could get a response. Judging by the tense look on Mr. Argosi's face and a slight enraged squinting of his eyes, it was clear the man was attempting to hide his anger at the detective's remark. However, he took a seat at Preston's desk without saying so much as a word.
Preston could see the man hadn't exactly entered his office in the highest of spirits in the first place.
”Sorry about that,” Preston said, genuinely attempting to appear sympathetic. ”We're all just still tied up in this case. Kind of rattles the nerves, you know?”
”That's what we have in common nowadays, isn't it?” Mr. Argosi said. ”We just can't seem to get away from it, am I right?” he concluded calmly with an overt hint of cordiality and an equally considerate smile.
Wearing a three-thousand dollar suit, Preston would have a.s.sumed the man was doing just fine in life had he never met him before. In contrast to the detective's own wrinkled blazer and slacks, Mr. Argosi would clearly stand out in any setting, emitting a prestigious air of cla.s.s every time. As the CEO of one of the largest pharmaceutical corporations in the city, it was part of his job.
Argosi's red-brown hair was combed back and styled neatly, but the curled, slightly tangled follicles toward the front betrayed that he had been sweating profusely earlier on, probably due to stress. Jack's insult when he showed up in the doorway didn't help the matter either. Despite the summer heat, Preston knew the beleaguered CEO had plenty of other reasons to perspire.
The years were also beginning to catch up with him. Minute wrinkles were starting to creep in, but remained small enough to barely be noticeable. His waistline had almost certainly grown in recent months. Likely, he'd been trapped helplessly behind a desk or a podium every day, unable to find time to exercise while squeezing in a late meal.
Reading people was a part of the detective's profession and he could see, even without the aid of the headlines, that Benton Argosi wasn't having a good year.
Preston took a quick look toward the trinket on his desk, honestly more interested in the goo moving down the circular incline than what Benton Argosi had to say.
”How ya been?” Preston said, attempting to provide a friendly smile while not quite focusing on his guest.
”Oh, just fine considering,” he said, pausing. ”It's a little hot today, but I think we've exchanged enough pleasantries, don't you?”
”Yep,” Preston replied distantly, forcing a smile. Subtly, he repositioned himself as if showcasing his undivided attention.
A little less than four months earlier, just a few weeks after Bloodstrife first hit the streets and Preston had found himself a.s.signed to the case, some of the first confiscated vials of the drug had the name of Argosi's company, Myers-Echowan, labeled on the small plastic containers. Naturally, he'd been brought in for questioning, along with half of the logistics division of the corporation, but the man had an alibi and a convincing argument.
When those same empty vials were on the highway having just left the factory roughly thirty minutes earlier, a cadre of armed criminals hijacked three trucks worth of the containers, leaving several of the employees dead. One of these employees was Argosi's nephew. By all accounts, they were on good terms when he died.
The CEO himself had been at a late night board meeting attended by several powerful corporate individuals who would have liked nothing more than to see the man go. Nevertheless, they vouched for him.
It had been a madhouse for a while after that. The interviews and interrogations were constant. Preston himself questioned at least fifty people in the coming weeks, three to four per day. Moreover, since the trucks were pulled over by the police only about three hours after they were stolen, Myers-Echowan didn't have enough time to notice they were missing before getting a call from the Chicago PD.
Naturally when word spread that the company had a connection to the case, their stock-price plummeted. Preston had been reading the papers and keeping tabs on the man since. Apparently, he was dealing with a daily struggle to keep himself as the CEO while simultaneously trying to uphold the long, grueling trek back to the top of the pharmaceutical game.
Remarkably, he'd managed to keep his job, especially after a recently published article in the Chicago Herald that quoted a female stockholder who stood up and spoke at the last meeting. Preston thought about it for a moment, but remembered it went something like ”Mr. Argosi, are you a drug dealer?” Preston had to admit, he wished that they had been recording it so he could see the look on the man's face when it happened.
A thin and hopefully barely noticeable smile crossed his face, forcing the detective to look away from the CEO.
Preston's instincts said the man wasn't stupid enough to get involved with something like drug peddling on purpose regardless of the publicity, negative or otherwise. A man like him didn't rise to the top of the corporate world without evaluating possible consequences. He would have seen all this coming. I'll keep my eyes open anyway, the Detective added.
”I've come across some information regarding Bloodstrife and I thought you'd be interested,” Argosi continued, apparently ignoring Preston's lack of interest and the obviously restrained smile. ”It might be a new lead in the case.”
”Really?” Preston offered with a casual sigh. ”I doubt your company is involved, unless you're here to tell me that something was going on down there after all,” Preston said, looking tired. His eyes darted quickly to the trinket, then back to the man across from him.
”Please, Detective Burroughs, I've already been exonerated. We barely got through the public relations nightmare when everyone found out the first confiscated tubes of Strife had been produced by our company. But I needn't remind you it was proven that they were stolen,” Argosi said with a calm reticent tone, simultaneously wiping his brow with a handkerchief he produced from his suit. In doing so, the man accidentally threw his hair out of place with the cloth. Now it looked snarled and greasy, adding to the already disheveled appearance of the CEO before him. His suit still looks nice though, the Detective added.
”So, what have you discovered?” Preston asked with limited, but slowly building interest.
”After I made it through the ringer alive, I made sure I was abreast of all dealings in and out of the company. Clearly, things had been getting a little too lax around the office,” he said, his reserved tone becoming more p.r.o.nounced. ”Furthermore, I was keeping a closer eye on the compet.i.tion. I realized a few days ago that the interstate you captured the vials on is one of the major s.h.i.+pping routes into Chicago for one of my main compet.i.tors.”
”The interstate?” Preston asked, hoping that Argosi had more to go on. ”That's kind of a broad swath of Chicago, don't you think? I mean, hundreds of companies undoubtedly use it, that's practically what it's there for.”
”Don't worry,” Argosi said, forcing a small and clearly triumphant sneer. ”I've done a considerable amount of the leg work on this one for you already. I'm pretty sure it's them.” Instinctively, he brushed the hair that had fallen out of place to the side. He tried subtly to bring out his handkerchief again to wipe off his hand.
”Sure, I'll bite,” Preston said. ”So, you think they stole these vials to, what? Set you up?” he said, leaning back in his chair. By then, the trinket had run empty and stood motionless on the desk. Preston found it an appropriate juxtaposition to the conversation.
”Think about it,” Argosi stated flatly. ”Myers-Echowan's share price has dropped precipitously while several of my compet.i.tors have only risen. Admittedly, I would have capitalized on such a thing in their place as well, but I never would have done anything illegal.”
”Look, Mr. Argosi, I need to know what you know,” Preston said, getting slightly on edge. He checked his watch just conspicuously enough for his guest to notice. Although meant as a signal to speed up the exchange, Preston grew surprised at how late it was when he saw the time.
Argosi cleared his throat and, with hands folded, asked, ”Now, I know that I have no official immunity or anything like that, but a man like yourself . . .” He paused, clearly trying to find the right phrase. ”I would a.s.sume you wouldn't be interested in, let's say minor infractions involved in this case so long as they led to a bigger catch.”
”No,” Preston agreed, ”I wouldn't as long as it really is minor. I investigate narcotics offenses, specifically those pertaining to Bloodstrife. I don't care about much else these days.”
”Good,” he said, appearing relieved. ”I used some of my remaining influence to check into one of these compet.i.tors I mentioned. As someone who works in the narcotics division, I'm sure you're aware that one of the ways cops tell the location of, say, a marijuana grow house, is when it has off the charts power consumption for a house of a certain size.”
Preston nodded while Argosi continued. ”I had some people look into the power consumption of the factories along that route and discovered that one of them was consuming far more power than a comparable factory in my company or, more important, a comparable factory of theirs. Other presumably legitimate factories where they produced the exact same thing were consuming far less. I'll give you the location if you keep my name out of it, just to start with.”
”Let me guess,” Preston said, pursing his lips, ”that is, unless it turns out we catch these people. Then Myers-Echowan, and especially you, gets some credit.”
”Then the good publicity flows like wine. Yes, that would be the idea, Detective Burroughs,” Argosi said with a smile. ”I'll have my dues, but regardless of how much my stock price goes back up, you'll be the real winner here. So will the city.”
”Alright, then. Give me an address.” Preston a.s.sumed this was how Benton Argosi concluded deals in his gla.s.s skysc.r.a.per near the heart of the city. He had to admit, the man was good. Preston slid a piece of paper and a pen across his desk. After scribbling it down, Argosi sent it back. Preston knew immediately where it was. The factory itself was in the industrial district, blended in among the others. However, it was the name of the company that got his heart racing. ”Phillips Pharmaceuticals?” Preston asked.
”What's wrong?” Argosi asked with interest. ”Does that mean something to you?”
The air was thick with decay, saturated in decades of neglect. Although Jack had dealt with the sadly familiar stench many times as a detective, it was never something he was able to get accustomed to. Crime scenes tended to take the middle-aged detective to the slums and alleyways of Chicago now and then. It was all a part of the job.
After taking a few steps inside the dilapidated building, he instinctively put a handkerchief to his face. There was an almost palpable odor of rot striking him as he moved farther into the structure, more pungent and forceful than he had realized. It was almost certainly emanating from a dead animal, having been left to decompose somewhere within the walls.
Although he didn't see an immediate need for his gun, the diluted darkness offered any number of chances for a surprise. Casually, he brought out his flashlight, centering the narrow beam on the path in front. A lone bulb flickered on and off at the far end of the hall, but it didn't offer enough light to see immediately in front of him. It glowed in the distance, as if accentuating the end of a dim trail.
It was times like these that he kept images of his family fresh in his mind, as if filtering the world with a translucent image of genuine tranquility. His wife, Melissa, had strawberry blonde hair and a sharp wit, always keeping Jack on his toes. Her face was dotted with light freckles, accentuated with deep green eyes.
Then, there was their son, James, who took after his mother. He was the smart one, already reading two grades above his age. Jack's daughter, May, while still young, always spoke about how she would catch bad guys when she grew up. Somehow, with her it seemed more serious than the usual aspirations of a child. He believed it was likely she would achieve her goal.