Four

As the owner of one of the hottest upscale bars in the city, Mike Newton had his fair share of interactions from both sides of the law. He prided himself on being a negotiator. The peacemaker. The man who tried, to a point, to solidify the line between the general public and everyone else. He was what people on the streets called a "Swiss Player." He knew everyone but didn't explicitly affiliate with anyone—it was just business. He only sat back while the fighting continued and offered any help when it seemed fit. Everyone knew he had a complicated relationship with the cops, and that his bar had a strict non-partisan policy.

And that was why Mike was currently one of the most important (infamous) informants for the Chicago Police Department.

It was at his establishment, located right outside of downtown Chicago, where Jacob and Leah visited around mid-morning, following a pit stop at LaPush. The visit was not announced as evident by the look of horror and irritation on Mike's face when he caught sight of them walking into his bar, flashing their badges, and heading up to his second-floor office.

"Look, if you're about the lady found chopped up at LaPush, then you're wasting your time," Mike informed the detectives the moment they walked into his office. "I ain't got anything to do with that."

Leah had to scoff. This was Mike just being Mike. "Goodness, Newton, how many times have you received a visit from us, cops?" she asked, shaking her head in exaggerated disappointment. "Do you know those are some seriously incriminating words?"

Mike put up both hands. "I'm just saying. I've heard from my sources that you two are on the case, so I thought it would be wise to point out that I don't murder people like that."

"Are you implying that you've murdered people before?"

Mike's eyes widened. "Y-you know what I-I mean," he sputtered.

"Calm down, Mike," Jacob said. "We ain't here to arrest you. We only want to talk." He eyed the man. "Unless you've done something you weren't supposed to."

Leah took a step forward. "What did you do?"

"Didn't you just hear me?" Mike practically shrieked. He wasn't in the mood to visit a police station. "Nothing, I swear." He gulped a couple of times before taking out a cigar box and placed it on his desk. He opened the lid. "You want one?" he offered. "I need to smoke," and then added, "Not weed."

The detectives declined the offer and took their seats in front of the business man's desk.

Mike pulled out a cigar and lit it. "Okay," he took a drag. "So, what do you two want?"

"As I said, we're not here about the murder," Jacob said. "Not exactly. I know you got eyes all over this city, so start talking."

"About what?"

"Volturi."

"Shit."

"See, Leah, told you we should stop here." Jacob chuckled at Leah's half-heartened glare. "Yeah, the Volturi. C'mon spill."

Mike groaned. "C'mon, Jacob…"

"It would be in your best interests to start talking, Newton," Leah said, becoming increasingly frustrated.

Realizing that he wasn't getting out of the conversation, Mike finally relented. "Okay, okay. The Volturi... they're just being the Volturi—you know how it is." He leaned over his desk and lowered his voice. "Word on the street is that they're going head-to-head in the blood trade with the Cullen's and their allies. They want control of the northern route."

Jacob raised an eyebrow. The northern route stemmed from northwest Chicago, up north before stopping just past Canada. "The Cullens? I was under the impression that they only did business out west after the St. Patrick's debacle?"

"Well, somehow, someway, they're here, and now, everyone's collectively losing their shit."

The detectives exchanged looks. The Northside of Chicago was known for being one of the quieter areas. Paul Lahote, the captain of one of the more specialized (and underground) gang units in that region, hadn't mentioned anything about the increasing violence.

But then a realization hit Leah, "Hold up, that region was controlled by the Giza gang. Had been for years—"

"Yeah, until a week ago. The head of that crew disappeared to fuck-knows-where, and since there's now a power vacuum, that area's fair game."

"For what: drugs, guns, blood, trafficking…?"

"Everything."

"So, which alphabet agency is up their asses? DEA? ATF? FBI?" Jacob asked. "I know there has to be a fed-presence along the northern route."

"The FBI's been pretty quiet, but you know that's gonna change soon. There's some DEA action up north, near the Canadian border. There's this little war's spilling over out east into Iowa, of all places—into the James Gang territory—the ATF'S all over that."

"I thought James was dead?" Leah asked.

"He is, but now his girl, Victoria, is running the show," Mike said with a shudder. "And boy, is that bitch a trip. She makes them cartels look like fucking pansies. No one's crossing her, not even the Volturi. Well, at least until they get more reinforcements."

Jacob leaned back in his seat. "Does the James Gang have a stronghold in this city?"

Mike shook his head. "Haven't heard anything about that," he said. "I only know about the territory out west. Near Midway."

"Okay, back to the Cullens," Leah said. "We need names. Real names."

"Oh, come on, you know they don't go by their real names. Even their nicknames change every other year—"

Jacob cut off the other man. "So, you're telling us that you don't know who they are?" he asked. This was Mike Newton, a man with questionable morals and the ability to obtain information that not even the damn Federal Bureau of Investigation could get their hands on. "You?"

"I mean, I may have heard of them, but like I said, they change their identities all the time," Mike explained. "Look, I've never seen them in person, only over the phone and shit. See, the Cullen's ain't flashy like the Denali's. They like to lay low... real low. Low enough for me not to know their actual identities. Except for the boss; everyone knows the boss."

"Who's the boss?" Jacob asked.

Mike let out a surprised snort. "You don't know the boss?"

"Mike…" Leah growled.

Mike tossed up his hands in defense. "Okay, calm down," he said. "The name's Carlisle Cullen."

The detectives shared a look.

"The doctor?" Jacob asked.

"Yeah, the doctor. Now, how did he manage to become a boss from that? I have no fucking clue, but he's now running the entire operation. You know that blood-drug bust by the DEA a couple of years back? The one where they found a few dead bodies filled with bags of blood and organs? That was all him. He managed to send out ten shipments before the feds got on his ass. Did only one year in Alcatraz."

Oh, Leah had heard of that story, alright. The deputy superintendent, whose son works for the Drug Enforcement Agency, was still ranting about it. Carlisle had gotten off easy because he was the client of the silver-tongued queen of all fixers, Rosalie Hale.

"I'm glad I'm not in the gang unit," Jacob remarked under his breath, and then asked in a louder voice, "This squabble over the northern route, is only about the contraband trade, or does it have something to do with the never about the never-ending coven drama?"

"Covens?" Mike nervously shifted in his seat and swallowed. "What do you mean?"

"Don't play dumb, Mike," Jacob warned. "You know exactly what I'm talking about."

"Look, man, I'm telling the truth. I don't know nothing about covens."

"You're using a double-negative," Leah pointed out, earning a glare from the night club owner. "So, I assume that you do."

"Which one is it, Mike?"

"I don't know!" Mike exclaimed, flailing his arms. "Maybe it's both. I honestly don't know anything about covens or vampires. They don't talk about that shit around me."

"But you do know something about it, so that means they must've mentioned something around you."

"Okay, yeah, but only in passing," Mike admitted. "I didn't really pay attention. See, I try not to involve myself with the supernatural. I have a hard enough time dealing with humans. I don't need to start anything with vampires or fairies or fucking people who can turn into half-man, half-wolf…"

"Werewolves," Jacob corrected. "They're called werewolves. Better yet, shapeshifters."

Mike rolled his eyes. "Well, whatever they're called, I don't mess with them either." He shook his head. "Sure don't."

Leah lifted an eyebrow.

"Oh, I'm sure you do," Jacob said, smirking at the puzzled expression on Mike's face. He looked Leah's way, hoping his partner caught onto the reference. She did and looked at him side-ways, silently conveying how unimpressed she was.

Jacob's smirk dropped.

Silence fell among the trio until Mike spoke up, "Hey, so is this little talk over?" He cleared his throat. "Because, if you haven't noticed, I got a club to run… among other things."

Jacob eyed the man, but then suddenly broke out into a grin. "Don't see why not," he said, standing up. "You've actually provided us with some important info. Thanks for that."

"We do appreciate your cooperation," Leah added, smirking at Mike's very much visible uneasiness.

"Well, yeah, glad to help," Mike said, trying to maintain a steady voice. He cleared his throat again. "Glad to help out the men in blue."

Leah casted a knowing look on the man. Mike Newton wasn't glad; far from it, but he knew his cooperation kept him out of jail. "I'm sure you do."

"Is there anything else you need—"

"Actually, there is something else," Jacob said. "What's your opinion of the Dahlia murder?"

Leah gave him partner a bewildered look.

"My opinion?" Mike sat on his seat and took another long drag from his cigar. "I haven't looked that much into it, but… normal people don't kill like that. That's some serial-killer, Sicario, cartel-shit."

"You think it's them?" Leah asked.

"Who, the Volturi?" Mike shook his head when he received an affirmative nod. "Nah, they're old-school. If they'd killed anyone, you wouldn't even know about it."

The detectives shared a look. The business owner was right, unfortunately. Their admiration for discretion was the reason why the Volturi were able to slip through both federal and municipal authorities for years.

Jacob nodded. "Thank you, as always, for your help," he said, glancing at the clock hanging on the adjacent wall. "Have a nice day, and try to stay out of trouble."

Mike rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, yeah…" he mumbled, crushing the butt of his cigar into the ashtray.

Leah knew that Jacob did not want Paul to get involved in the Dahlia case (he had enough to deal with, Jacob had told her), but following the meeting with Mike, they didn't seem to no other choice.

Due to the captain's erratic schedule, the detectives had to visit the captain during his overnight shift. And thus, Leah was nursing her fourth cup of coffee (with two extra espressos). Jacob was having his second Red Bull of the hour, and they both managed to found themselves in the middle of back to back traffic on Lake Shore Drive.

At midnight.

How was that possible? This was the Midwest, not New York City. The bustle was supposed to stop a few hours ago.

"I'm really starting to hate Lake Shore Drive," Jacob grumbled as his car lurched up one glorious foot. "This makes no damn sense."

Leah nodded. There should be no reason why there were so many cars on the road at this time. On a Wednesday night. "I feel like we spend half of our day in traffic."

"Ain't that the truth…" Jacob said, rolling his eyes as he removed his phone from his jacket pocket. He checked it, and suddenly his surly mood disappeared.

Leah watched her partner and smirked. "Bella?"

Jacob slightly flailed, dropping his phone on his lap. After quickly responding to the text, he placed the phone in the cupholder. He gave Leah a dirty look before directing his attention to in front of him, nothing but rows of cars and traffic lights in the distance—he must have thought Leah was teasing him.

Leah wasn't teasing him. At least, not entirely. "What?" she shrugged, glancing out of the window. Her smirk didn't drop. "I think it's cute."

Jacob was surprised. "You do?"

"I mean, personally, I don't see the appeal, but yeah, I guess it's cute." Leah turned to her partner. "There's a question I've always been meaning to ask: what is it about her?"

Leah didn't mind Bella; she just never found anything special about the woman. She was a coroner that lacked any self-preservation, as shown by the events of the past few years. And she wasn't... interesting— Leah didn't know; maybe she was just being bitter.

"She's cute," Jacob simply replied.

Leah snorted. "There has to be more than that. What else do you like about her?"

"Why do you care?"

Leah sat up her seat. Now, Jacob was being defensive; he was always defensive about anything relating to Bella. "Oh, come on, Jacob. You know a lot about my relationship drama. Don't you think I should know something about yours?"

Jacob laughed. "Hey, I never told you to tell me about Sam," he said light-heartedly. He stole a glimpse to ensure that Leah knew he had been joking. Her smile said she did. "I don't know. I just do."

"Have you told her?"

"If she doesn't know by now, then she'll never know. Apparently, I wear my heart on my sleeve."

Leah nodded. Oh yes, she had heard about that very trait that got Jacob in trouble quite a few times. It tended to rear its ugly head at the worst possible times. "Yeah, but have you told her?"

"No."

"And why not?"

"Nothing's going to come out of it. We're friends, and that's fine. Why complicate things?" Jacob shrugged. "So, I like her? But I'm not looking for anything. A relationship or whatever. I don't mind the single life, and despite what my dad thinks, I ain't lonely."

"Have to you tried…" Leah stalled, trying to gather the right words. "Not the single life?"

Jacob chuckled at the odd wording. "You mean being in a relationship?" he asked, and before Leah could provide a snarky response, he told her that, "I was married once."

Leah blinked. "You were?"

Jacob nodded. "Yeah. High school sweethearts."

"What happened?"

"I became a cop."

Leah didn't need to ask more. Those four words provided all of the information she needed. The life of a cop wasn't easy, especially on relationships. It was generally no one's fault; it was just a different lifestyle with different responsibilities and realities.

"Would you do it again?"

"What? Marriage?"

"Yeah."

"I honestly don't know," Jacob said. He then cursed under his breath when he realized that the traffic was finally moving again. And that he was being beeped on by two cars behind him. "If it happened. It happens…" he trailed off, stealing his partner a glance.

Jacob wanted to ask the same question; Leah could practically hear the question forming in his mind. She was grateful that he hadn't; she didn't know what her response would be. She was still married, after all. She hadn't thought much beyond that, beyond a life without having Sam as her husband. She never thought that day would come.

"How's Sam?"

"He's fine," Leah quickly replied. Not that she would know. No one had called her with any bad news; she supposed she could assume he was alive and fine. Was he coming home that night? She didn't know. He hadn't asked about dinner. He hadn't asked about her whereabouts.

"That's good."

"I don't know what to do," Leah said without thinking. She wished she had kept her mouth shut. It wasn't fair to drag Jacob into her mess—though, in her defense, Jacob had never told her to stop talking.

"Wait out, and see how it goes?" Jacob suggested, not needing to ask his partner what she was referring to. "Did he, at least, apologize for anything?"

That would be too easy, apparently.

"He said it was complicated."

Jacob gave a short nod. "Oh."

"I just—" Leah's hands balled into fists. "I just can't seem to read him anymore. I don't know what he wants anymore. And it's my goddamn job to read people."

"In your defense, Sam's a good detective and an even better interrogator. I'm sure he's just working extra hard not to show anything that can be used against him."

Leah rolled her eyes. "And what would that solve?"

"Not a goddamn thing," Jacob admitted.

Leah liked Captain Paul Lahote.

She never had an issue with the men. Yes, he could be a little too brash with anger issues and an affinity to toeing the legal line when it came to getting people to cooperate, but all and all, he was a pretty decent man.

He was also the head of a specialized gang unit in the police department. Their role was not defined on the books. Neither was their jurisdiction. Their entire unit wasn't even official— the press didn't know about it. The mayor liked to pretend it didn't exist, and the feds only tolerated it because the unit made their lives significantly easier.

Rumor had it, Paul's unit handled situations that other gang units (or the feds) wouldn't dare touch for reasons that might include the supernatural—but that was an unconfirmed rumor.

That was probably true.

Yeah, it was definitely true.

"Paul, my man!" Jacob greeted loudly as he beelined towards Paul's office. Not one of the cops on duty turned their heads at the disturbance. Leah apologized to each cop as she slowly followed Jacob. No one seemed too upset, thank goodness.

"Look who decided to ruin my morning," the captain grumbled, standing under the threshold to his office. He leaned against the doorframe with his arms crossed. Despite his tone, he was amused. "Yay—Good very early morning, Detective Uley."

Leah acknowledged Paul with a nod. "Captain Lahote."

Jacob looked from the captain to his partner. "What, no first name basis?"

"No," Paul said, pushing past Jacob. "Because we're professionals."

"Oh, fuck you."

Leah could only shake her head at the exchange. Laughing, the captain slapped Jacob's shoulder hard enough for Leah to cringe, but Jacob seemed perfectly fine. He shared a grin with Paul.

"Is that the language you use in front of a captain?" Paul asked Jacob, shaking his head in exaggerated shame. His grin gave him away.

Jacob flopped into one of the chairs in front of the captain's desk. "You're not my captain," he reminded Paul with a smirk.

"Thank the fuck for that," Paul joked, sitting behind his desk. He then clapped, ready to get back to business. "Alright, I like you both. You're like family to me, seriously, but I know you didn't visit for a hello…So, what happened?"

"We visited our favorite informant," Jacob said.

Paul scoffed. "Oh, how is that fool doing?" he asked. "I haven't seen or heard from him in a long time."

"He's fine," Leah said, sitting down next to her partner. "He claimed not to know anything about the Dahlia case, but did mention a little scuffle brewing on the border?"

"Scuffle?" Paul sighed. "Yeah, I know about that—and before you both ask: that's not my jurisdiction."

Jacob narrowed his eyes. "What is your jurisdiction?"

Paul cut him a look. "It's complicated."

Jacob nodded. "Ah."

"Is the ATF involved in the action?" Leah asked.

Paul rolled his eyes. "Of course, they are," he grumbled. "Because God-forbid, we can ever take credit for busting on some asshole on an illegal arms charge without someone from the federal government getting involved."

Leah lifted both eyebrows. She made a mental note to be careful when she mentioned the agency in front of the captain.

"It's complicated," Jacob told her before asking the captain, "Just arms?"

"No," Paul said. He let out an exasperated sigh as he dug into his bottom desk drawer. He pulled out a file and sifted through the pages until he stopped at the last one. "Blood," he said. "Blood."

Leah cleared her throat. She hadn't expected that. "Blood?" she questioned. "Since when is blood in high demand?"

"Anything can be in high demand," Paul pointed out. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out of it. He glanced at Jacob, questioning goodness knew what. But Jacob seemed to understand.

"She knows," Jacob told the captain.

"Oh," Paul said with a nod. He relaxed into his seat and put two thumbs up. "Well, look at that. Congratulations, Detective Leah Uley. You've been officially inducted into the club. Your life will quite literally never be the same."

"I'm flattered," Leah replied, deadpanned. "So, what can you tell us?"

"I have a few people shadowing the Olympic, the Volturi, and everyone without a pulse," Paul said. "It's been relatively quiet, but you know how it is—quiet before the storm. From what I hear, there's a new bullet on the market. It's called: ultraviolet."

"Ultraviolet?" Leah questioned. "As in light from the sun? But why?"

"What, rather who, does light kill?"

"Holy shit," Leah said, eyes widening. "You can't be serious."

"They have bullets designed to kill vampires?" Jacob asked, running a hand down his face. "You've gotta be shitting me."

"Oh, I wish I was," Paul said. "Look, we don't know who's the supplier or the main buyer. But if any of those assholes have that kind of bullets, imagine what havoc they're going to unleash."

"There's going to be another war," Leah concluded.

"Yes, there is."

"Why?" Jacob asked.

Paul shrugged. "Why not? The Olympic and the Volturi have hated each other for centuries for reasons I still don't know. I don't even think they know."

"Those bullets have got to be the hottest commodity in the supernatural black market," Leah said. "Even more than human blood."

"At the moment, I agree with you," Paul said. "Hence the ATF being up my ass."

Jacob shot up from his chair. "Hold that thought. Sorry. Be right back— gotta take a leak."

Leah grimaced. "Thank you, Jacob, because I wanted to hear that."

Jacob chuckled and blew a kiss. "You're welcome, my love."

Leah rolled her eyes.

"He's a funny dude," Paul remarked once Jacob was out of earshot. "You good?"

Leah was taken aback by the question. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"I'm not gonna lie to you. People talk—How's the transfer going?"

"I mean, personally, I rather not deal with the Dahlia case," Leah shrugged. "But I have no one but myself for becoming a detective." She let out a dry laugh. "I can't complain."

Paul nodded. "I'm glad," he said. "Jacob's a good man. You shouldn't have any problems with him."

"I don't."

"Good." Paul nodded again. "So… he told you everything."

"We like to vent our frustrations en-route to murder scenes."

Paul chuckled. "Well, look at that. Crime scenes truly do promote some good ol' quality bonding time." He snapped his fingers. "Gotta tell my people that."

Leah smiled. "You should."

"Hey, so we're having a little get-together at the end of the week at a local bar. Nothing too big—just some friends around the force and Jacob's people. You should come; you can even invite Seth so I can kick his ass at pool again," Paul said. "It'll be nice."

She thought about politely declining the offer, but deep inside, she knew there was more to life than going to work and then heading straight home. "What time?"

Paul grinned. "Happy Hour," he said. "And don't worry. I'll talk to your boss about not having you do overnight shifts."

"Thanks."

"And if anyone dares to joke about your marital problems. I'll punch their face in and make it look like an accident."

Leah's smiled widened. That had to have been one of the nicest things anyone had ever said about Leah's situation (which was pretty tragic, now that she was thinking about it). "I'll be there," she promised. "Thanks for the invite."

She considered asking about Sam. After all, he and Paul had been work-friends for years. Surely, Paul would love to see his face, but Leah didn't want to put Paul in an uncomfortable position. He had enough on his place.

"Ah, no problem," Paul said with a shrug. He looked behind her and announced in a mocking voice, "Oh, look who finally decided to come back. You had better not mess up my bathroom—"

Jacob gave the captain a dirty look as he walked inside the office. "Oh, I know you're not talking—"

Leah raised a hand, effectively ending the potential of yet another good-natured argument. "Okay, as appealing as it sounds to hear about your bowel movements, I think we have more important things to discuss."

"Yes, of course." Paul clapped. "So, I know this isn't my investigation, but I'm curious. What do you think happened to that girl?"

"You mean the Chicago Dahlia?"

Paul nodded.

"We think it's a hit," Leah said.

Paul lifted both eyebrows. "That's one hell of a hit."

"We think they are involved," Jacob said.

Paul's expression was doubtful. "Look, I know how they operate, how they get rid of problems." He shook his head. "That, right there in LaPush? That's not their work."

"Yeah, we know," Jacob said. "We think Jessica might have been associated with the Olympic coven, who, as we all know, isn't on the best terms with the Volturi, so…"

"You think the Volturi killed the Dahlia?" Paul asked and then shook his head. "They don't do shit like that, Detective. They're more discreet with getting rid of people. Even more than the Olympic."

Leah frowned. That wasn't what she wanted to hear. But then again, Paul agreeing that the Volturi (or someone) was behind the murder would have been too easy. Nothing in this investigation was easy; she had to remind herself.

Jacob shrugged. "Well, shit."

Leah pulled out a piece of folded paper from her back pocket, opened it, and handed it over to the captain. "Recognize this?" she asked.

Paul took a look at the photo. He quickly sat up his seat as his eyes widened. He looked up at the detectives, taken aback. "Where did you find this?"

"Inside Jessica's apartment," Jacob said. "Her roommate showed it to us."

Paul cocked an eyebrow. "Did she?" He blinked a couple of times, visibly confused. "But that doesn't make sure…" he trailed off and brought the colored photo closer to his face. He studied it for a few seconds before carefully placing the picture on his desk. He let out a sigh. "Do you know what this is?"

The detectives glanced at each other.

"No," Leah answered for the pair, becoming extremely interested in the captain's mannerisms. His look of concern. This wasn't like him. At all. "Why is why we're showing you this.:

"And you found it inside her apartment?"

"Yes."

"How did she get it?"

"We don't exactly know," Jacob said. "We assumed it was a gift. Jessica had a lot of expensive items in her possession."

Paul shook his head. "No one could have possibly given her that necklace."

"Are you implying that it was stolen?" Leah asked.

"Hell yeah, I am. That necklace belongs to Sulpicia of the Volturi," Paul said. "Yeah, that one. She had reported it stolen to a certain agency several months back. Now, what I wanna know is how the hell did a waitress get her hands on it."