AN: Thank you to everyone for reading! Usual disclaimers apply, and I hope you enjoy this chapter.
Molly's foot was throbbing when she got up the next morning, to the point that she needed to take one of the Vicodin, and keep the store closed for the day. Joe couldn't take the day off work to look after her, so his mother came over, and when he left, Molly was sound asleep, cuddling Bob.
When he got to work, Ranger was waiting for him in the parking lot with another man who was, leaning up against a big Oldsmobile Cutlass. "I don't think you've been introduced. Jig Saw, meet Morelli. Morelli, JigSaw."
"You look really familiar," Joe said.
"I was your cab driver the other night," JigSaw said. "Get used to my face. You'll be seeing a lot of it."
JigSaw was a big guy, but thin in an unhealthy kind of way. Half of his face was heavily scarred and looked like it had been sewn back together like a patchwork quilt whose blocks didn't quite fit, or a puzzle with some pieces crammed in incorrectly. In fact, he had several mismatched puzzle pieces tattooed on half of his face, to augment this impression.
"I think I would have remembered a cab driver with your tats."
"Tattoo coverup; the ink doesn't play well when there are kids around," JigSaw said.
"You moonlight as a cabbie?"
"Nope," he said, "Molly doesn't drink to get shit faced. I figured something was up, and it'd be best to keep an eye on her. That and I wanted to make sure she got into your house without breaking her neck."
"You weren't going to stop me from taking advantage of her?"
"The boss said it wasn't your style, and I knew she'd probably pass out the second she was horizontal."
"You were right about that," Joe said.
"I know," he said. "Molly told me."
"Why do you protect her?"
"Because most of the men scare the shit out of her," JigSaw said, "And those that don't, think of her as a little sister. Not an ideal situation for a bodyguard."
"Why?"
"What would you do if you witnessed some drunk asshole taking your little sister's bra off with his teeth, in the back of a taxi?"
"Shoot him," Joe said.
"Mostly I was just impressed," JigSaw said. "How the fuck did you do that?"
"A little slight of hand, and it only works if it clasps at the front," Joe said.
"I may not have any say in who Molly chooses to fuck, but it would be wise to keep in mind that she is my cousin, and I don't want or need to know the specifics of her sex life," Ranger said.
"You're resisting the urge to reach for your gun?" Joe said.
"No, but mostly because a gun would be too quick," Ranger said.
"Who's watching the house?" Joe asked. "I take it you heard what happened last night and that's why you're here?"
"Ram and Hal are parked across the street right now," Ranger said. "They've been there since we heard the call on the police band last night. Given the circumstances, I'm not comfortable with it taking more than thirty seconds to get to her."
"I'm not either," Joe said.
"Brasseau knows JigSaw's car; once JigSaw is on the street, Brasseau won't go anywhere near the house," Ranger said.
"Why?"
"Because if he goes near her, I'll kill him. And I'd serve my time with no regrets," JigSaw said.
"You know I'm a cop right?" Joe said.
"Yep," JigSaw said.
JigSaw got into the Cutlass, and Ranger followed Joe into the station, to the break room for some coffee. Joe poured himself a cup, and it was decent, but he was already a convert. Whatever Molly put in the coffee to make it taste the way it did when she made it, was addictive.
"What's JigSaw's deal?" Joe asked.
"He's a highly skilled, high-functioning sociopath who is very loyal to Molly."
"Why?"
"She met him while he was in Germany, at Landstuhl Medical Centre just after he got his scars and instead of shrinking from his injuries, she asked him if he was any good at trigonometry because she had a problem set that was being a bitch. She introduced us while I was there visiting some of my men."
"What was she doing there?" Joe asked. Landstuhl was where American Military went when they were seriously injured overseas.
"Her father likes to tour the hospital once a month, and he usually brought her along."
"To volunteer?"
"For practical application of her mechanical engineering minor."
"At the hospital?"
"On the autobahns; he was teaching her to drive the shit out of her car on unrestricted highways."
Joe grinned. "You didn't come to the station just to make an introduction."
"Nope," Ranger said. "She's told you that I've only recently been made aware of the extent of the situation with Brasseau?"
"How recently are we talking?"
"The last eight months or so," Ranger said. "I knew he was a pain in the ass, but she kept the stalking close to the vest."
"Why?" Joe asked. "She doesn't have a problem with her security."
"She's still getting used to the idea that she can trust me," Ranger said.
"What the hell happened between you?"
"Well between the ages of 3 and 13 she was my verbal punching bag whenever I was in a bad mood, and I was a fucking angry kid. Then when her mother died, I told her that it was a relief that Uncle Javi wasn't able to adopt Molly because it meant that we didn't have to pretend that she was family anymore."
"The only reason I'm not punching you in the teeth right now is that Stephanie claims you've grown since then."
"Does it make it better if I tell you that I said it because I was upset her mother died, and pissed off that Molly was going?"
"No," Joe said, "Why would it make it better?"
"It did for Molly, we hashed things out just before I joined the army, but some wounds cut pretty fucking deep," Ranger said. "When she called me the night Lucien stuck her with a bill she couldn't pay, I started digging. Molly was a member of the glitterati in New York. Her wedding was the invitation to get, and the reception was going to be held at a hotel that Molly designed back when she was an architect, but she was being courted by other establishments to host the rehearsal dinner."
"Okay," Joe said. "So?"
"It means that they were offering her big discounts to have her party with them. In exchange, when Molly signed the contract for the rehearsal dinner, she agreed to let them film the party with something better than a security camera, on the condition that she was allowed to approve anything they wished to use in their promotional material. I bought the footage from that night."
"Weren't you there?" Joe asked.
"I was," Ranger said. "But I wasn't in the room when it went down."
"Where were you?"
"You and Stephanie were in an on phase, and Molly had some very attractive friends with bad boy fixations," Ranger said. "My father came to get me when it happened because someone needed to disarm Lester, and JigSaw refused to do it."
"Did you see anything on the video?"
"What I saw, was a man who was looking forward to getting married. There was nothing about his behavior or body language that suggested that he was getting cold feet. And then he got a phone call."
"What happened on the call?"
"I don't know, there's no audio," Ranger said. "He took a call, and he went out to the front lobby where he spoke to a man who was standing off camera. He left for a few minutes, and when he returned, he took Molly out to the terrace and broke up with her while everyone was watching. He didn't want to let her go, and he broke down almost as soon as he was out of the party."
"You think whoever was on that phone made him end the relationship with Molly."
"I do," Ranger said. "And yesterday I found proof."
"What proof?" Joe asked.
"When Molly was stood up again on Saturday, I went back over the footage from their last encounter, and I noticed his speech had an unusual cadence to it. There were a lot of strange pauses and hurried sentences. I enhanced the footage, and discovered that Lucien was wearing an almost invisible earwig."
"You think someone was telling him what to say," Joe said.
"I went back over the footage from the rehearsal and confirmed that before the phone call he wasn't wearing an earpiece. After the call, he was."
"Do you have any idea who the man was?"
"Nope, but he was a professional."
"How do you know?"
"The only part of him that appears on camera is a gloved hand," Ranger said. "He's standing near no reflective surfaces, and not even his shadow appears on camera anywhere to give us an idea of his build. That wasn't an accident."
"So you think Brasseau is still acting under duress," Joe said.
"Sorry, man," Ranger said.
"Molly's not going to forgive him, if that's what you're thinking," Joe said. "I'm not worried."
"Her best friend in the world deserted her after swearing she'd stick by her. It was as significant a betrayal as Lucien's and Molly still wears the watch, Maggie gave her. She'd forgive Maggie in a heartbeat, because of their history."
"You're assuming that Molly thinks Maggie needs forgiveness. She doesn't see what Maggie did as a betrayal; she sees Maggie as a casualty of Lucien's idiocy. Lucien, on the other hand, will be lucky if she lets him keep his balls. He could have gone to you, or Lester, or JigSaw at some point in all of this, and he didn't. Instead, he thought torturing Molly was the best way to protect her. If that's what's he's trying to do; let's not forget the man he put in a coma."
"Brasseau didn't just put him in a coma. The man was a concert pianist, I say, 'was,' because after Brasseau beat the shit out of him, Lucien slammed his hands in the sliding door of a minivan, and left him there. He lost two fingers and required extensive surgery to save the others."
"And Brasseau isn't in jail because?"
"Insufficient evidence," Ranger said.
"So what is the plan regarding Molly's security?" Joe asked.
"She's asked me to back off," Ranger said. "She doesn't want the history between you and me interfering with whatever you two have going on right now. I'm willing to accommodate that request but only so much."
"I don't give a shit about our history," Joe said. "I want her protected."
"You might want to tell her that," Ranger said, "In the meantime, I'm going to park a car on your street with cameras that are set up to monitor the house. They will be watched by men back at Rangeman. JigSaw will shadow Molly when you're not around. She knows to text him if you get called out to a crime."
"JigSaw can't be on duty all of the time," Joe said.
"No," Ranger said, "He's bringing in a team from Boston. Most of them don't know her well so it shouldn't be a . I've emailed you their ID's. If someone comes to you that you don't know, isn't in the file, or JigSaw hasn't introduced them to you, you're to detain them. If he's one of my men, he'll submit peacefully and wait until he's been cleared by either JigSaw or myself."
"And what does Molly do if I'm not there?"
"She asks them to wait outside, locks herself inside and contacts me. If the man isn't willing, she hits her panic button."
"Which she keeps on her at all times?" Joe said.
"Yes," Ranger said.
"And GPS?"
"In her watch," Ranger said.
"Anything else you think I should know?"
"Everything I know about Brasseau is in a file box on your desk right now," Ranger said. "And Lester's current happy place is a mental picture of you without any skin."
Joe grinned. "Speaking of Lester. I don't buy that Stephanie doesn't know about Molly and me."
"Steph owes me big time for this one," Ranger said. "Lester's whining is out of control. I'd shoot him and put him out of our misery, but I'd have to get my grandmother on board with the idea, and I don't think it's going to fly."
"I'd mock you for being afraid of your grandmother, but I'm not one to talk. I've got Bella."
"Combine Edna, and Bella, add some sanity and you have my grandmother," Ranger said.
"I'm not sure if I want to be terrified, or impressed by the idea," Joe said.
"And that's the way she likes it," Ranger said. "I'm out. Watch your back; you could take Brasseau, but he's smart, pissed off and patient. He'll look for an advantage, and he'll take it."
"Thanks," Joe said. He watched Ranger leave the break room and took another sip of his coffee and seriously considered going home to fill a travel mug. Instead, he texted Molly to let her know that he was going to bust her unless she told him what she laced his coffee with.
M- I look forward to your interrogation, Detective.
He tapped the details button in the text message window and pressed the call button.
"Hey," Molly said. "Didn't you just get to work?"
"Aren't you supposed to be sleeping?" Joe asked.
"I'm apparently this tired because I'm too skinny," Molly said. "And because I have sensitive skin."
"What does that have to do with anything?"
"Well, obviously my inability to sleep last night had nothing to do with the fact that we were up late or that little disturbance with the cops and the vandalism that resulted in my freak out. It had to do with the fact that you don't change your bed linens as often as you should, and that's why my skin is so irritated this morning."
"Your skin is irritated this morning?" Joe asked.
"I have beard burn on my chest from your five o'clock shadow," Molly said, "Your mother knows it's beard burn, because she's not an idiot, but she came up while I was trying and failing to make the bed, and it was obvious that the sheets needed changing after last night. So while I'm downstairs enjoying pancakes with my Vicodin, we're both pretending that it's my sensitive skin that's precipitated the need for fresh linens. Oh and I hope you don't mind, but she insisted on washing my PJs for me even though they were barely worn, so now I'm wearing the t-shirt I borrowed the other night and your glow in the dark Ninja Turtle boxers. The possession of which there will be a serious discussion about, later."
"You do realize that's nuts, right?"
"Oh, she would have been thrilled pretending that I was staying in the guest room, and just using your room for the day because you don't have a television in the spare bedroom..."
"Except that you were sprawled out naked in my bed when she got there this morning, and you can both only pretend to so much ignorance before you start looking deluded," Joe said.
"Yep," Molly said. "Either way, we're both fully aware of the absurdity of the pretense, but it makes it feel less awkward that she's changing the bed linens because you and I had a lot of really great sex last night."
"If she gets overbearing, call me, and I'll do my paperwork at home."
"Don't worry about it; it's been a long time since I've been mothered properly and I'm enjoying it," Molly said. "Call me when you're on your way home, and I'll get dinner started."
"You don't have to do that," Joe said.
"I know," Molly said. "I didn't say I'd cook again; I might order a pizza."
"If you do, order it from Pinos, and I'll pick it up on my way home."
"Sounds like a plan," she yawned, "Sorry."
"Go to sleep, Sweetheart," Joe said.
"I might just," Molly said.
"Bye," he said, and she yawned a farewell. He smiled as he put his phone in his pocket and went out to the bullpen to see Eddie sitting at Joe's desk, reading a copy of Vogue.
"What are you looking at?" Joe asked.
"Manoso dropped this box off, and I've been reading about this chick Molly Von Grimmelsomething."
"She goes by Molly Von G," Joe said.
"That makes it easy," Gazzera said. "Anyway, is she a client of his or something?"
"Something like that," Joe said. "What are you learning?"
"She was a socialite that hung out with Margaret Rothes for a while and is now a bit of recluse. She's gorgeous."
"Margaret Rothes? As in Midas Maggie Rothes?" Joe said. Eddie nodded. Margaret Rothes was old money. Really old money and she had a lot of it. Her family made families like the Vanderbilts and Rotheschildes look like new money, and a lot of the New York City Skyline was owned in some way by her relatives. She was no celebutante either; she was renown for her business acumen, and her sixth sense when it came to venture capitalism. She earned her moniker for being able to turn almost any kind of business into a money making machine.
Eddie handed Joe the Vogue article, and it showed Molly with Maggie at the Met Gala the year after Molly opened her flower shop. The theme that year was flowers, as a commemoration of the 30th anniversary of the death of Lila Acheson Wallace. Wallace was one of the co-founders of Reader's Digest and had a wing of the museum named after her. She was also the one responsible for the endowment that allowed the Met to have enormous displays of fresh flowers in the great hall at all times.
While the customary displays were tended to by their usual curators, Molly had been responsible for everything else flower related that night, including collaborating with several fashion designers to incorporate fresh flowers into their client's gowns.
Ironically, Molly wasn't wearing a single bloom; instead, her gown was a sleek dark green silk, that with her deep purple hair was, according to the magazine, to be reminiscent of a professor iris. Around her neck, she wore an enormous jeweled fleur-de-lis that was on loan from the Brasseau family's collection. Maggie, on the other hand, wore a gown with a jewelled bodice, and a late Victorian era skirt and bustle, the six foot train of which, was detachable from the waist and made up of hundreds of flowers that had been hand sewn to a light mesh, by Molly the night before the gala.
The article was talking about the designs and the size of the crew that had been required to put together the event, and Molly was the mastermind behind most of it. While it didn't exactly make Molly a household name, it did put her on the map.
"How the hell did she land that contract?" Joe asked.
"Midas Maggie," Eddie said. "She was head of marketing for Von G Designs. She negotiated the deal, and Miss Von G did the rest. Her business went from a successful startup beginning to make a name for itself to, sensation overnight. Maggie stayed on for another six months after the Met Gala and then left. Says in another article that the parting was amicable." Eddie handed him a copy of Forbes. The article wasn't huge, it just mentioned the turnover from Maggie as head of marketing to someone Joe had never heard of, and a statement from Maggie.
"You all know how I feel about nepotism, so you know that I didn't take Molly Von G under my wing, just because she's the rainbow to my cloud. I did it because I see the genius in her work. When she was looking for investors in Von G Designs, I jumped on board knowing what a success it would be. I will continue to oversee the marketing campaigns to ensure that my successor doesn't drop the ball, but it's time for me to step back and let her work speak for itself."
This isn't the first time Margaret Rothes, otherwise known as Midas Maggie, has used her influence to put a small company worth noticing onto our collective radars. Miss Rothes went on further to say that she will be working in an advisory capacity in two years time when Von G is expected to go public.
"Do you have the financials for Von G?" Joe asked.
"Yeah," Eddie said, "Her primary investors were a Colonel Von G and M. Rothes. The company started making a profit almost right away, and by the time the Met Gala rolled around had two storefronts, a warehouse and was looking at purchasing some land in New Jersey to start growing their own flowers."
"Did they get the land?"
"Yes," Eddie said, "But nothing happened with it. It was sold at a loss a year and a half later."
"That would be after the divorce," Joe said.
"I haven't got that far into the box yet."
"Molly was in a formalized common-law relationship with a Frenchman, named Lucien Brasseau. It allowed them to get him a spousal visa before they were married. When they split, the court had to get involved. She got taken to the cleaners, and lost the business and pretty much everything else."
"What's your interest in this?" Eddie asked.
"Let's put it this way, she's wearing my underwear right now," Joe said.
"Aw man, thank you! I never, ever get to say this," Eddie said.
"What?"
"She's way the fuck out of your league. What the hell is she doing slumming with you?"
"If you'd met her before reading the article, you'd know that she's not what you're expecting. She's right though; she does look fantastic with purple hair."
"That wasn't just for the event?"
"Nope," Joe said, "She's had it since she was a teenager. Well not anymore, but she did."
"Yo Joe!"
Joe turned around and looked up at Officer Septimus Finch. Whenever Joe heard the name Septimus Finch, he thought of a Columbo-like character with a wrinkled trench coat and maybe a fedora. When Finch became a Detective, he was going to have to start writing his memoirs just because it sounded like he had the name of the lead in an Agatha Christie series. Finch looked like he was thirteen years old, and was used in a lot of sting operations because he was so baby-faced.
"What can I do for you?" Joe asked.
"I was one of the officers assigned to canvass your street last night," Finch said. "Four of your neighbors have doorbell cameras. All of the people that have them are pretty old. I guess they got new iPhones for Christmas and decided to take a class together at the Apple Store to learn how to use them. While they were there they got talked into getting these fancy doorbells; only they don't know how to retrieve the footage from them, so I took the liberty of going back over there this morning to see if they were able to get anything."
"And?" Eddie said.
"And what?"
"And were you able to find anything?" Joe asked.
"Yeah," Finch said, "Well sort of."
"What do you mean, sort of?"
"Well the cameras don't point at your house exactly, so we don't see him do the Jeep, or get into the Prius that you saw drive off."
"But?" Joe asked.
"But he was walking down the street, holding a baseball bat."
"Show me," Joe said.
He pushed his chair away from his desk so Finch could plug the thumb drive into his computer. The camera had managed to capture the Cantarellas' house right next to Joes, and the corner of Joe's place, but not his driveway or Mrs. Kusak's house. The footage picked up the sound of a car trunk closing, and then an African American man, wearing a dark sleeveless hoodie, came into the frame carrying a baseball bat and hitching a bag over his shoulder. The camera recorded for a few seconds after he left the frame and they could hear the distinct rattle of a spray can being shaken. The next clip was time stamped a few minutes later and showed the same man running back from the direction he'd come from, and the sound of car doors slamming, and then the Prius sped through the frame.
"What did we miss?" Eddie asked. "What happened off frame?"
"That guy tagged my neighbor's Jeep thinking it was mine," Joe said. "Molly was pretty convinced it would be Brasseau. She'll be relieved to know that it wasn't."
"Can I watch the first clip again?" Eddie asked.
They watched it again, and Eddie shook his head. "He reminds me of someone."
Finch played it again, and paused on the clearest image of the guy, and zoomed in. With the picture enhanced it was possible to make out the tattoo on his bicep. It was the hands from Michelangelo's Creation of Adam. The man's shoulder had scars that looked like they were from road rash and added to the old painting effect of the tattoo.
"I can't place him," Eddie said.
"Maybe you recognize the Ink?" Finch said.
"No," Eddie said. "Play it again."
Finch played it again, and Eddie snapped his fingers. "Linda Reese."
"That Dude's one buff chick," Finch said.
"Yeah, Eddie needs a coffee," Joe said. "Or sleep. About the only thing that guy has in common with Linda Reese is that he's tall. Linda Reese is very white with a lot of blonde hair. I dated her briefly in High School."
"What Joe means is he slept with her once and went back to Terri Gillman. And I'm not crazy."
"Then you're going to have to explain yourself, or I'm going to start calling you Klinger?" Joe said.
"Who?" Finch asked.
"And now I'm old," Eddie said. "Klinger was this guy on the show MASH who kept trying to get a section 8 discharge by doing crazy things."
"They made a show about that fortune telling game you play as kids?"
"Oh my god," Eddie said, and Joe held up a hand.
"Just nod your head, Finch, and pretend you're not just barely more than a fetus," Joe said and turned to Eddie, motioning for him to explain himself.
"So Linda was on the basketball team right? She didn't play on the girl's team; she played with the guys because she was that good, and our team sucked, so we needed a ringer. Anyway, Linda was a really good looking woman, and 100% straight so she more or less had her pick of guys. We'd heard that she had bought this tiny little dress for prom, and we're looking forward to those long legs in something other than basketball shorts. Except when she showed up at prom, she didn't look right. The dress fit her perfectly, and she had an amazing body, and I thought maybe it was because she was so freaking buff and we were turned off because we were intimidated. But that wasn't it."
"It was because she was a tomboy and didn't know how to wear a dress," Joe said. "She didn't know how to move in it. She looked more feminine when she changed into shorts and flip-flops at the after-party than she did dressed up in the tiny red dress and heels."
"Exactly, and when you looked at pictures from prom afterward, she looked great."
"Because she wasn't moving. She could look the part, but she couldn't play it," Joe said.
"This guy is Linda Reese in a dress," Eddie said. "Look at the way he moves. The bat doesn't look natural in his hands, and he doesn't have the street punk swagger. If he's a hood, I'll eat my shoes."
"That and his ink is pretty distinctive, as are the scars. If he's been in the system, there will be a record of it somewhere. Finch, run the tattoos, and when you strike out there, bring a picture of the tattoo to parlors to see if anyone recognizes the work," Joe said. "Start with artists that specialize in tattooing scar tissue."
"There's a difference between tattooing regular tissue, and tattooing scar tissue?" Finch asked.
"Yup," Joe said.
"That's a lot of work for a vandalism case," Eddie said.
"Finch, get started on the tattoo," Joe said. "Eddie, let's take this into the Captain's office."
They walked into the office just off of the bullpen and closed the door.
"You really should be using this room you know," Eddie said.
"The Captain will be back in a couple of weeks," Joe said. "It's too much of a pain in the ass to move my stuff back and forth. It's easier to do the admin from my desk."
"You haven't checked your email this morning have you?" Eddie said.
"Nope," Joe said.
"There's a memo; he's staying out until the middle of August, at least."
"Awesome," Joe said.
"Do you know what's going on with him? Has he said anything to you?" Eddie asked.
"Nope," Joe said.
"He's never taken more than a few days holidays a year in his entire career. He's never taken a sick day, and now he's off for the summer? With no notice?"
"All I know is that when he told me to take some leave after Stephanie and I split, he said he needed me rested because his grandchildren were going to be spending a lot of time at his house this summer, and he was going to be taking time off."
"That's all?"
"That's all I've heard," Joe said. "Now would you like to know why I'm using police resources to track down an asshole vandal or do you want to keep gossiping?"
"No, fill me in," Eddie said. So Joe told him about Molly and Lucien, and Ranger's suspicions that Lucien wasn't acting on an entirely voluntary basis.
"That Maggie, is Margaret Rothes, complicates things. I want to look into this, but we're going to have to tread carefully. The rift between Molly and Maggie happened over a supposed theft that Molly had no part of. Now according to Molly, she and Lucien would have both had a lot of access to Maggie's place, and she's bound to have plenty of priceless objects in her apartment. It's a long shot, but Lucien may have been coerced into stealing whatever it was that went missing, setting Molly up to take the fall knowing that Maggie would never press charges."
"Maybe," Eddie said. "But it's a stretch."
"It is, but Maggie and Molly had a very public friendship; whoever is behind this could be someone looking to exploit that relationship."
"Or it could be completely unrelated to the Rothes, and Brasseau could just be in over his head with someone."
"I don't think it is," Joe said. "If it were that, then why not go to Maggie for money? She gave Molly a watch worth more than my car as a gift for starting up her business. If Brasseau were in financial trouble, Maggie would bail him out, to protect Molly. Making him break up with Molly, the public humiliation, the repeated trips to court, there has to be a point to it all. If your, 'Linda in a dress,' is part of this, and not someone with a grudge against me, or cops in general, then if we can find him, we may be able to find who's pulling Brasseau's strings, and maybe get him off of Molly's back."
"What do you want me to do? Chase down tattoos with Finch?" Eddie asked.
"No, I want you to go through the divorce proceedings, and the financial records leading up to the split."
"Okay," Eddie said. "In the meantime, what are you going to do?"
"I'm going to look into Brasseau," Joe said.
There was a knock on the door, and Joe opened it. It was Finch. "There's a woman here for you?" Finch said.
"Are you sure?" Joe asked with a laugh.
"She's on crutches, and she's with this guy who looks like he kills people for fun. I'm not sure if I should be informing you, or warning you."
"Come on, I'll introduce you," Joe said.
Molly was waiting for him at the front desk. She wasn't wearing his t-shirt anymore and was dressed for work in a sundress, and light blazer that she rolled to the elbows.
"Hi," Joe said, "Molly Von G, Eddie Gazzera and Septimus Finch."
"Dude, with a name like that, you need to be in an Agatha Christie novel," Molly said, as she shook Finch's hand.
"With an accent like yours, you shouldn't be saying, 'dude.' It sounds all wrong," Finch said, genially.
"I'll be in the car," JigSaw said, handed Molly a thermos, and a to-go cup, and walked out.
"Nice guy," Eddie said.
"It's not his job to be nice," Molly said with a shrug.
"What are you doing here?" Joe asked.
"I have to go to work," Molly said. "Sort of."
"Why?" Joe asked.
"My landlord is there," Molly said. "I had some trouble with my furnace back in March, and he wants to do some maintenance on it before it starts getting cold again."
"It's July," Joe said.
"I know," Molly said. "Anyway, he might have to go into my apartment to check some things and would prefer it if I were there, so I don't accuse him later of rifling through my underwear drawer or something. I figured I'd pick up some stuff while I was there and work from your place this afternoon if you don't mind me taking over your dining room table?"
"Nope," Joe said. "Just don't operate any heavy machinery while you're taking the Vicodin."
"I won't even operate gardening sheers," Molly said, "I'll mostly be drawing and doing basic math."
"You could have texted me to tell me you were going out," Joe said. "You didn't have to go out of your way."
"Yeah, but if I tell you in person, I can do this," she said and handed him the cup and the thermos. "I'm not up on my criminal code; is this considered bribing a police officer or resisting arrest?"
"Bear my children," Joe said.
"Sure," she said, brightly. "But I have to go hang out with my landlord first."
"I'll see you tonight," Joe said.
"Bye," she said. She kissed him and hopped to the door. She was improving; her crutches only slipped twice.
"You're going to kill yourself," Joe said and rolled his eyes. He walked over to her, took her crutches in one hand, and put his other arm around her, to help her down the stairs to the parking lot.
"They must be adjusted wrong or something. It shouldn't be this difficult."
"You'll get better," Joe said. "Just don't go up to your apartment without JigSaw behind you in case you slip."
He put her in the car and went back inside. He took the coffee from Finch and went back to his desk. He sat down, took the lid off of the cup and took a sip. Yup, he was an addict.
"Is it spiked or something? Do you have a problem we need to know about?" Eddie asked.
"Get a cup," Joe said. Eddie grabbed one off of his desk, and Joe poured a mouthful of coffee from the thermos into the cup and handed it back to Eddie.
"Don't put anything in it, just drink."
"Jesus Christ. What does she do to it?"
"Dunno," Joe said. "Don't care either, so long as she keeps making it for me."
Eddie reached for the thermos, and Joe reached for his gun.
"No."
"That's not even funny," Eddie said.
"The coffee is mine. I'll share the dessert I brought for lunch."
"Is it any good?"
"Did you try the pie at Manoso's wedding?"
"Yeah," Eddie said, "That was good pie. Really, really, good pie."
"She made the pie, so what do you think?"
Eddie's eyes went wide. "Do you have a fucking death wish or something?"
"Why? Because my cholesterol is going to take a hit with all the butter I'm going to be eating? I think I'll take my chances."
"Because she's Lester Santos's sister. He's going to fucking kill you."
Joe grinned. "He can try, but in the meantime, I'm still not sharing my coffee."
