Lady Smith Lock And Key Pt 07

Thanks again to lastman for help with the editing. Sorry for how delayed this one was. Work.

-Trixie Kirkpatrick-

Monday - May 3, 2021

The Keurig finished the final spurt of freshly brewed coffee as I read a news article on my phone. The usual kind of news. The world is steadily falling apart. Without taking my eyes away from the phone, I reach for my cup and curl my fingers around the handle. I bring it to my lips but before I sip, I hear footsteps enter the kitchen.

My son Alex looks so much like his father it pisses it me off sometimes. Same shaggy hair he'll cut this summer. He was taller than me a year ago and is still growing. He'll probably be the same height as his dad when he stops. Nearly six and a half feet. Simon towered over me when we first met. I had a thing for tall guys. I still do, but now I know height isn't a viable replacement for a personality.

My weekend with him is over, so he's on his way back to his dad. His bag is on his shoulder, and he's looking for something to eat before his dad shows up. It was a hard decision for me to make, but I work too much. His dad is a phycologist who works mostly from home, and he's honestly a better parent, as difficult as that is to admit. My primary skill set makes my parenting style lacking in compassion. People tend to default to what they know, and what I know is hostility.

I met Simon on accident. When I was a sergeant on the beat, one of my junior officers had to discharge his weapon. Policy required him to see a therapist, and that therapist was Simon. I stopped by his office to make sure he was meeting his appointments, and I talked to Simon while he was between patients. He was tall and handsome, and I was a sucker for that.

Simon was also married when we met, but he neglected to tell me that. I only found out after I was pregnant. I don't know why, but his wife forgave him. I couldn't.

A knock from the door echoes into the house. I finally sip my coffee, because there is no way I can deal with Simon before I do. I hear Alex open the door, and see Simon enter the living room. Alex doesn't hug or kiss me as he leaves for the car. He's at that age, but it still stings a little.

"How was he?" Simon asks.

"Fine. Mostly ignored me," I say.

"Teenager," he says, and I kind of shrug. "You okay?"

"Work," I say, and he nods.

This is how most of our conversations have gone for the last thirteen years. Comment, gesture, followed by comment.

"Hard case?" he asks, and I nod. "Want to talk about it?"

"Not with you, doctor," I say, and he sighs. Our son is the only reason we even pretend to have anything resembling a relationship. "I don't need your psychobabble in my house."

"You should talk to someone," he says, and I look at my phone. "You still good for the summer?"

"Don't worry, your vacation with your wife will not be interrupted by your love child."

"Trix..."

"...get the fuck out of my house," I interrupt without looking up.

Simon surrenders, and I hear the door close behind him. To make sure he's gone, I go to the window and watch his car pull out of the driveway. Alex is on his phone and doesn't look up at me as they drive down the street. That was him this entire weekend. Just locked in his room pretending that I didn't exist. I know it's a phase, but I would have appreciated him at least trying.

--

I filed a report to IA about Miles last week, and they're finally sitting down with me. It didn't take long for the department to know what I did, and I'm already experiencing the cold shoulders. Blue wall of death. God forbid you turn in a dirty cop. Cops treat you worse than a leper after you do that. I can handle the cold.

"You think he tampered with evidence?" the agent asks, and I explain that I think he went into the evidence room and swapped the bullets from another case. And that I can prove he was in a sexual relationship with Jodie Potter when the murder took place. "So, he covered up a murder for his girlfriend?"

"That's what I believe," I say.

"How long were you partners for?"

"About six years," I reply. Six fucking years, and I never assumed he was capable of something like this. What else did I miss? What other cases has he messed with? Did I help him without knowing it?

"Anything else he might have done?"

"Not that I can think of."

"Does this have anything to do with why he had his eyes on Lady Smith?"

"I honestly don't know. We had some circumstantial on her, but nothing good enough for warrants let alone an arrest. He was unusually gung-ho to get her."

"We'll call you if we need anything else," the agent says, and leaves the room. We conducted the interview in a small office on the first floor. I start making my way back to my office, ignoring the glances of the officers who know why I was in that room.

"Squeak," I hear as I pass by a uniformed officer, and I stop in place.

"What was that?" I ask, and turn around. "You got something to say officer."

"Sorry, I don't speak snitch," he says, and turns away from me. He starts chatting it up with a different officer. Because of our height I have to jump a little, but I manage a clean downward slap to the back his head. The officer turns quickly, mouth open to say something, but he grunts when I grab him by the balls and walk him backwards into the wall. He grabs my wrist, but I tighten my grip, and he's putty.

"I'm surprised this even works, because I doubted the fact you even had balls," I say, pressing him against the wall with my forearm. The officer he was talking to watches in stunned silence. "This is the part where you threaten to report me, and wouldn't that be hypocritical, huh?"

His face twists into knots and turns red from holding his breath.

"If I ever hear that shit again, I'm not giving them back, and we'll find out who's really the squeaky one. Understand?" I ask, and he nods.

I let him go and he crumbles to the floor. Normal color returns to his face, and I step over him like he's a puddle.

The rest of the trip to my office is uneventful, and I arrive at my desk. The board is just where I left it. Lady Smith still looks like she doesn't belong.

"Kirkpatrick," Ronda says from the door of her office. I turn and see her gesture me inside. I put my bag on my chair and join her. She's walking around her desk as she tells me to shut the door.

"Ma'am?" I ask.

"What's your progress with Ms. Smith?" she asks. She's suddenly interested again.

"Another few weeks and I'm pretty confident I can flip her," I explain. I do believe that. She's right on the cusp of letting it all out.

"I'm giving you two days," she says, and I flinch back in shock. She picks up a folder on her desk and extends it out to me. I take one glance and look up at her.

"Already?" I ask. Federal warrants to freeze the accounts we've linked to the Legion.

"Mr. Pewter was worth the money. We sat on that parking garage all month, and it panned out. Their receipts don't add up. We know where the drops are, and who does them. The second unit followed a cash mule who made stops at several locations Mr. Pewter pegged as laundering businesses. Two days, those warrants are exercised. FBI and the Treasury wants their piece of the pie, so we're working on a bigger task force to take them all. The moment the money freezes, they start turning on each other."

"I need more time with her..."

"...you don't have it, and quite frankly we don't need her for the bust. If you want to get this girl out of the line of fire, you gotta do it fast, but on our terms."

"Full immunity," I say, and Ronda puts her elbows on the top of her desk. "She will never talk without that."

"I'll talk to the DA, see what they're willing to give her based on what she can give them. It better be good, otherwise she's doing some time."

Lady Smith has no guarantees. I can get her to talk, but if she's got less than I think she does, the only thing she's doing is incriminating herself.

"I'll try," I say, and she dismisses me. I immediately return to my desk and snatch my purse so I can find her before it's too late.

--

-Lady Smith-

Vanya is the friend I don't deserve to have. She can never know we met under false pretenses. That I was her boyfriend's paid escort. It's a shame, because I really do like her. I don't like having our friendship permanently scarred by an invisible asterisk.

Vanya asked me to lunch, which I reluctantly accepted. Not because it's her, but because it's me. We meet up at the Queen of Hearts - where else - and I'm disappointed I don't get my favorite seat. I have to sit on the four of hearts and put my purse on the five to save her seat. Dinah seems to still be taking a break, because I haven't seen her since last week.

"Hey," Vanya says as one of the cooks is pouring my coffee. Short staffed, so everyone is pitching in. "Coffee for me as well." He places a cup down on a small plate and pours her a cup as well. "How's it going?"

"Well enough," I say.

"You come here often?"

"Part of my religion," I say, and she gives me a beautiful smile. "How's it going with Dylan?"

"Great," she says. "We're finally together, without caring about who cares."

"Must be nice."

"You and Lucas?"

"Nah," I say, shaking my head. She tilts her head curiously, begging me to say more. I've never had many friends, so girl talk is like a different language to me. "He's my boss, it's weird."

"Not weird enough to avoid getting arrested for fucking in a car," Vanya teases. Figured she'd know about that.

"At least we finished," I say, and she laughs. "Remember when you said, you two were all physical, and never kid yourselves? Same thing."

"That's a shame, I liked the idea of you guys."

"He's got some baggage though. Ex-wife up and takes the company."

"Kind of," she says, and I slurp my coffee loudly to express my intrigue. "He liquidated the company to pay alimony. Had to start over with his third of it."

"Third?"

"One third went to the lawyers."

"I knew I hated lawyers for a good reason. Enough about men," I say, making her grin. "What else have you been up to?"

The bell chimes, and I look over my shoulder toward the door. Detective Trixie Kirkpatrick is standing there, looking straight at me. I turn away as she walks past me to a different seat. She wants to talk, but she doesn't want to do it in front of Vanya. I oddly appreciate that, even if I'd rather be left alone.

"Just working," Vanya says, and I nod. "You?"

"About to start to second part of my day picking locks," I say.

"How do you even figure out you're good at that?"

"Necessity. Grandfather said learn the family business or get out. So, I learned," I explain, and she seems to find that fascinating. "First, he made me learn how to fix pocket watches. If you can fix a pocket watch, you can fix anything."

"I'd imagine. All those tiny pieces, and if one of them fails, the whole thing doesn't work."

"Locks are similar."

"So is editing. Forget a comma and it changes the entire sentence. The sentence

'Let's eat, Grandma'

becomes cannibalism without it," she says, and snickers at her own joke. I don't get it but manage a cringy smile.

Vanya and I finish our meal and leave for a cigarette on the sidewalk. My lighter wasn't working, so she helps me light up with her own. We talk about getting together again this weekend, and she leaves to go back to work. The moment she's gone I feel her presence, and light another cigarette with the previous one. I'll need a smoke to have this conversation.

"Lady," she says.

"Detective," I reply without turning to her. "What do you want this time?"

"Internal Affairs is investigating Miles. He's suspended indefinitely until the investigation is complete," she says, and lights her own cigarette.

"Lot of good it'll do. Cops investigating themselves always gives me a warm fuzzy justice will be done," I reply, and tilt my head over my shoulder to her.

"You're out of time," she says, and I turn all the way around. "Things are in motion, and you need to get out of the way before that boulder rolls over you."

"What am I involved in that I need to get out of the way?"

"I know you're smart, but don't pretend I'm stupid. You don't have to say it, for me to know what's really going on. What is the Legion planning?"

"Who?"

"I'm trying to help you," she says in a firm, frustrated voice. Is she frustrated with my lack of cooperation or my unwillingness to save myself her way?

"Tell me what's about to happen, and maybe I'll talk," I say, and she shakes her head.

"You know I can't tell you that."

"Good talk," I say, and start walking toward my car.

"Full immunity." I slowly turn back. "Has to be today though."

"That's not a promise you can make," I say, and she sighs. "I know how this works. You promise, and the DA doesn't care what you promised."

"Lady, when this trigger is pulled, it can't be unpulled."

"I'll take my chances," I say. I pinch the cherry of the quarter smoked cigarette off and crush it under my shoe. I open my car door and sit down.

"Twelve hours," she says as I slam my car door shut.

--

Twelve hours. Something big is happening soon if she's giving me such a narrow window. If Miles had said that, I'd say it was all bullshit. Detective Kirkpatrick doesn't bullshit that way. When she says twelve hours, she means it. I spend the entire day doing as many jobs as I can. Thankfully most people pay in cash because I'll need that. Close to midnight I get home and start packing.

All the clothes I can fit into two bags. The few pictures I have with Grandpa. An old pocket watch he gave me. He wouldn't let me work for him until I

made it work

.

No matter how hard I tried I couldn't figure it out. I watched videos on the internet. I searched for similar models of watch to find spare parts. I even went as far as finding the original patent and schematics. This watch refused to start ticking regardless of the time and effort I put into it. Three months later and I still couldn't get it to work.

I was seventeen, and it was the first time in my life I had tried so hard at anything. So much time was spent peering through magnifying lenses, I nearly needed glasses. I got angry, and frustrated, and emotional that I couldn't do it. So, I quit. I packed a bag, expecting to get kicked out again, but Grandpa told me to put the bag away. In those three months I never even thought about gambling. I worked my fingers until they'd cramp, but I kept at the task. That was the real test. Regardless of failure, I was willing to at least try. That's more than my father ever managed.

It turned out I did fix the watch. Multiple times in fact. I fixed it, didn't notice I fixed it, tore it apart, and fixed it again. Grandpa took one look at the watch, and simply turned the stem until it wound up. I placed the watch to my ear and heard the ticking, and I watched the secondhand turn. I had been turning the stem in the wrong direction the entire time. The watch wasn't even broken when he gave it to me. He said make the watch work. All I needed to do was turn the stem. I just assumed it was broken. I had made something that was simple, needlessly complex. By overthinking, I had made it harder on myself.

"Your father was good at that too," Grampa said.

"Good at what?"

"Creating problems where there weren't any before."

In the end I never took that lesson to heart. I am still good at creating my own problems. Only this time, there isn't anyone to tell me to put the bags away. I put the watch in my pocket and close the door to my apartment. I don't lock it because I'm not coming back.

I awkwardly carry both bags down the stairs and drop them at the rear of my car. I pop open the trunk and throw the bags inside. Thinking about it for a moment, I remove Detective Kirkpatrick's card from my purse. I slip it into my pocket and slam the trunk down. I jump back in shock when I see Terrence standing in front of my car. He slowly walks around and leans against the rear door with his arms crossed.

"Going somewhere?" he asks.

"Just my work tools. Getting ready for tomorrow," I lie, and he grins.

"At midnight?" he asks and shakes his head. "You always take your tools inside until the morning. I get it, bad neighborhood, be a shame for someone to steal your livelihood."

They've been watching me. For how long? What have they seen? Who have they seen? Do they know I know Matt, and do they know who Matt is?

"Lie to me again, and my uncle can't stop what happens to you. Where the fuck do you think you're going?"

"After the job, I'm not coming back. My debt is square, and I'm gone," I say, and he steps around to my side of the car. I nervously stand my ground. He can see me trembling, but I'm not stepping back.

"We say when the job is happening, not you. Do you get how this works?" he asks, and I hold my breath. "Cat got your tongue?"

"Yeah," I exhale. "I get how it works."

"Then why does it look like you're about to run before the job happens?"

I can't think of anything to say. After a brief pause, he grabs my throat and throws me against the car. I grab his wrist, but he's too strong for me. He leans down and licks my ear, and I whimper.

"I can keep you busy until it's time. Straighten you out the old-fashioned way," he says.

Before anything else happens, I see an arm wrap around his neck and pull him away. He starts cursing before the bicep cuts off his voice. My savior kicks the back of his knee to drop him, and now Terrence is flailing in an attempt to get free.

"Lady, call the police," I hear him say. I see a mustached face over Terrence's shoulder. Miles? "Call the fucking cops!"

"You are the cops," I say, and immediately remember he's still suspended. "Shit."

"You're gonna die pig," Terrence gargles. Terrence reaches into his right boot and pulls out a knife. He flicks it open in one swift movement.

"Miles!" I shout. Miles is stabbed just below the elbow on the arm wrapped around Terrence's neck. Miles lets go, and his face is rammed by the back of Terrence's head. He wobbles backwards and is tackled to the ground. They struggle with the knife, and I'm too scared to help. Miles is headbutted again, and Terrence begins a horrifying flurry of downward thrusts.

Terrence spits on his face and stands up while rubbing his neck. He wipes the blade on Miles's jeans and folds it back before returning it to his boot.

"Miles? You know a cop on a first name bases?" he asks, and I start running. Any direction, it doesn't matter. I sprint as fast as my legs will take me. I hear him in hot pursuit, but I don't look over my shoulder to see how close he is to me.

I'm not far from a more crowded street. Even he isn't stupid enough to snatch me in the open like this. Billings is a small-big-city. Even at midnight something is happening. After I get onto a street I recognize, I look over my shoulder and see Terrence turning onto the street after me. I walk fast and cut another corner. He comes around a few seconds later, and I start a slow trot. I look back and he's trying to match my speed.

At the end of the block I turn again, and quickly duck behind a few parked cars. I hold my breath, count to ten, and start crossing the street through moving traffic. A car slams on its brakes to avoid hitting me, and honks at me in anger. I look and see Terrence turn in my direction, and he starts running this time.

"Fuck," I mumble, and start running as well. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

I know this street. I see the sign at the end of the block. It was once an old single pump gas station. Now it's a small diner with only bar seating. My favorite place in the world. The Queen of Hearts. Even at midnight there are always people there. I cut around the corner and sharply bolt inside, staying low. I watch him pass the windows and disappear. There are no patrons for me to blend in with, so I duck behind the stool.