Setting: Sunday, April 1, 1998; New York City:
A knock sounded less than ten minutes later, surprising Mac. He walked to the door and looked out the patterned glass panel inset next to the old wood. Through the warped glass, Mac saw a six foot tall man with bright red hair dressed in a business suit. Irish most certainly but rather understated for a pimp. Mac opened the door and stepped back. "Johnny Kelly?"
The redhead nodded and stepped inside, glancing quickly around his surroundings. "Yeah. Mac?"
"That's right," Mac responded. He carefully closed the door, not wanting to draw the attention of their new neighbors. Surprise coursed through the former Chicago cop when Johnny went on to pull out security credentials.
"I'm a private detective," Johnny explained. "Where's Starr?"
The pieces in the puzzle began to shift and Mac asked "she's a narcotics officer, isn't she?" He'd seen many good cops turn dirty because of narcs. Often it was the undercover work and the necessity to use the drugs to elicit confidence for the larger drug busts.
Johnny nodded, frowning softly. "She told you?" Surprise laced the man's voice.
"No," Mac slipped out his own credentials and presented them to Johnny. "I'm the new head of the crime lab, Mac Taylor."
"Damn," Johnny's frown deepened. He slid his hands to his waist, pushing back his suit jacket and inadvertently exposing the gun in the shoulder holster. "What do you plan to do with her?" the detective asked.
"I plan to get her cleaned up." Mac turned and led Johnny up the stairs, all senses alert in case the stranger tried anything.
At the attic, Mac gestured at Starr lying, filthy and exhausted, on the bed. Claire had already cleaned up the vomit from the floor. Johnny swore softly and turned to Mac. "And what then? She's supposed to be working a local ring." Johnny sounded disgusted but it wasn't clear why. Closing the door on the women, Mac turned to Johnny. "What do you suggest? She needs off the drugs, my guess is heroin, and out of narcs."
Surprisingly, Johnny nodded and sat on the top step, waiting until Mac joined him. "She works for the 15th. The narcs supervisor's a real ass but no one will turn on him. I can't get enough on him since I left the precinct and my old partner's knee deep in homicide." He turned worried blue eyes on Mac, his voice disgusted as he said "I've gotten her cleaned up three times, totally off the heroin, but that ass keeps throwing her back in. Stella keeps getting caught up in the cycle and starts using again. He keeps promising her out and a big promotion, but I think he's holding the drug use over her to make her continue. She's made the most busts of any of his crew."
Thoughtfully, Mac nodded, blue eyes staring at nothing in particular as he processed the information. Finally, softly, he said, "I know a way to clean her up without it getting on her record." He looked at Johnny, noting the surge of hope in the other man's eyes. "And I can use her to help clean up the 15th." He stood and opened the door, signaling Claire to join them in the hall.
After briefly explaining the undercover officer's predicament, Mac added, "what I've got in mind is going to be dangerous and could get us all thrown in prison if it doesn't work." He looked from his wife to Johnny. "But if it does work, we can take down a dirty cop and expose a police cover-up."
Johnny nodded and ran a hand through his red hair. "It's a big risk to you guys to help her out. You can't take her to the hospital: the paper trail would kill any chance for this to work. He's got the clinic staff and some of the hospital in his pocket." Johnny's accent thickened as he became more angered at the injustice.
Mac nodded. "That's not what I have in mind."
Johnny shook his head, putting his coffee cup down on the windowsill. The plan these Chicago transplants had didn't sound any better the third time they'd run through it. "It's too dangerous. The number of survivors from a cold turkey withdrawal are . . . uh . . . too low to take the chance."
"The only way to get the alternate medicine would be to check her into the hospital or rehab," Mac countered. Over the last several hours they'd discussed every possibility for helping the woman lying on the bed nearby. The arguments always circled back to what Mac proposed: Mac and Claire would keep Stella at their house and clean her up while Johnny would tell everyone she was taking personal leave to find her parents. The fact that Stella had been adopted added that personal touch to the story. But the hazards of quitting without medical assistance were proven time and again on the streets. Mac had no illusions that this would be the most unpleasant experience Stella would ever go through.
The red-haired New Yorker turned to look out the window onto the quiet, reasonably clean street. "She could die," his voice sounded choked, desperate.
"I want to." Stella lay on the bed, trembling but lucid. She looked from Johnny to Mac to Claire then back to her oldest friend. "Johnny, I can't keep doing this. I need out. I need out of narcs, out of the 15th." She pushed to a sitting position, smiling wanly as Claire helped her. "Johnny, I trust them."
Johnny turned, his face twisted in pain for the woman he hadn't been able to help so far. "We just met them, Stel. They took up a stranger on an offer of a threesome for money. How can you trust them?" He didn't care if he insulted the couple; he spoke the harsh truth.
Claire sank onto the mattress next to the shaking Stella, wrapping a secure arm around the other woman. "Then stay and help us. You can be part of this."
Johnny's blue eyes widened at the offer and he studied Claire for a long moment. Finally, he looked at Stella. "You know what it is they want to do, Stella, right?"
Taking a deep breath, the dark-haired officer nodded slowly. "Yes, Johnny." She reached out a hand and he grasped it. "They want to give me a chance to break free. They want to give me back my life."
"But it could kill you, Stel," he slid to his knees by the bed, bringing her hand to his lips, his eyes searching hers desperately.
Neither Mac nor Claire denied the strong possibility Johnny feared.
Stella turned her hand to cup Johnny's cheek. "But I could live, Johnny. The way I am now, I'd be better dead. I can't do it anymore."
The friends looked at one another for several slow heartbeats, communing in silence, their eyes relaying their thoughts, their fears, their hopes. Finally, Johnny turned his head slightly to kiss Stella's palm. "Alright, Stella. Alright."
She offered a tremulous smile.
With a decisive nod of his head, Mac strode towards the trio at the bed. "First thing then is to secure you so you won't get out." He met Stella's eyes, his manner as serious as the frown on his face. "And begging won't make us relent."
"I've been through withdrawal before, Mac," Stella assured him.
He shook his head. "Not like this. This will be hell."