Epilogue
Another week passes
Bobby's case was closed. Overdose of partying, both him and the women, and no matches from his gun to any outstanding gunshot victims. Jim felt a modicum of relief at that. Jenny had made the connection with the names and been quite sensitive to Jim; explaining that it was probably a good way to go, considering that cancer had metastasized all through his abdominal cavity and was probably quite painful. Jim accepted her condolence and assurance with a sad smile and a hug. He realized that was the news Bobby had come to tell him.
Jimmy found it hard to grieve. Bobby probably gave no thought at all to the women he drew into his little suicide party. Typical Bobby really, always doing for himself and oblivious to the harm and destruction he caused around him. It was pure luck that the younger girl had gotten herself locked in the bathroom away from the main stash of drugs. She recovered in a couple of days and Marty shipped her home to Kansas, taking her oath that she would stay off the drugs and out of the trade. Jim shook his head. Sometimes Marty was as naive as a child. The girl was easy prey for men like Bobby. When the next good looking man with money and an aura of power crooked his little finger, she'd be right back where they had found her.
The phone on Jim's desk rang. Karen watched as Jim answered the phone, "Detective Dunbar. … Okay. Yes, I can come down after four. Yes. I got it."
"That the ME's office?" Karen asked. They were waiting on a report on their latest DOA. A Chinese male found strangled in an alleyway in Little Italy.
Jim looked toward her, "No. Bobby's attorney. Says he has some paperwork for me."
"You need a lift?"
Jim shook his head "No, I'll be fine."
"Where is it?"
"7th Avenue."
"And you want to do the subway at that time? No, let me give you a lift and you can spring for pizza on the way home." Karen pushed the point and Jim hesitated; it was true it would take twice as long to get down there and back, and it had been a long week.
"You don't have a date tonight?"
"I wish! Bumming pizza and a movie off my partner is the best thing I could pull out of a hat tonight."
"So, now it's pizza and a movie?" Jim gave an exaggerated sigh. "Henpecked, I finally manage to get the place to myself for a while and I get invaded."
Karen smiled, "I'll even let you pick the movie."
"Like last time?"
Karen laughed, "Yeah, like last time."
"What happened last time?" Tom couldn't help asking.
"We went to the video store and walked up the isles and you know what?" Jim raised his hands in astonishment. "Every title that sounded good was out? The only ones in were chick flicks."
"Come on, Karen, that's not fair," Tom chided her.
"Tom, since when was Kill Bill a chick flick?"
"Jim, she's got a point there," respect showed in Tom's voice.
The phone rang, and Jim was happy to get out of the conversation. Truth was, he still had trouble getting into a movie he hadn't seen before the shooting, so it didn't make that much difference to him. And unlike Christie, Karen was pretty good at providing an audio description, so really, it was better. And he'd been worried things would get difficult, now that Christie had been away for so long but Karen seemed oblivious and it had been fine so far. Karen thought she was just on assignment in LA and due back any week now. Better that way, less chance for those deep and meaningful talks Karen liked to have. Still, he'd be relieved when she did get a permanent boyfriend. She deserved someone really good. He smiled, Karen was a great partner and after hours, she was like his little sister. Yes, he'd look at it that way.
"Detective, I have the ME's office on line 2 for you."
"Thanks." Jim's hand ran along the edge of the phone and pushed for line two. "Jenny. You ready for us?"
"Yes, Detective Dunbar, we're all done, and I am sure you will be interested to take a look for yourself."
"Alright, we'll be down shortly. And Jenny, it's Jim, okay?"
"Yes, of course, Jim." Jim grinned as he put the phone down. When did he start feeling like an older brother to all the women around him? Jeez, he'd have to change this quick smart.
"Hey, Tom, you got a girlfriend at the moment?"
"No, I'm between fish right now."
"Fish?"
"Yeah, as in there are plenty more fish in the sea."
Jim sat nodding.
"You going to sit there contemplating the ocean all day, Jim, or are we going to the morgue?" Karen's acerbic tone started a slight blush. Sometimes he swore she could read his mind.
The ME had some very interesting results, the strangulation of the new DOA was done by a single right hand, and fingerprints were embedded in the skin. Careful cooperation between CSU and the ME brought in the best physical evidence they had so far, and it was three o'clock before they had finished. Jim stepped into the Boss's office to bring him up to date.
"Okay, you can finish up the reports on Monday."
That was great, it was three thirty, and he'd have time to make that appointment with Bobby's lawyer.
"I just need to sign the paperwork?" Jim sat stiffly in the deep chair in front of the lawyer's desk. The smell of leather mingled with hint of cigar smoke set Jim's teeth on edge. He imagined sharks circling high above him near the ceiling. A hundred questions battered at his brain, all demanding answers at the same time. Eight hundred thousand dollars? Continuing income? This was clean money?
"Just sign, that's all." The smug lawyer tapped the papers again, eager to finish this business.
Jim refused to respond to the taps, he wasn't a puppy dog whose attention could be directed against his will. "You need to make copies in Braille for me. When can they be ready?"
For the first time since he invited Jim and Karen into his office, the lawyer lost his smarmy superior attitude and sounded a little lost, "I don't know; I've never needed to do that before."
Jim pulled out his wallet from his inside pocket, chose the card with the Brailled artwork, and tossed it onto the table between them. "Use these people. I'll be back in ten days."
Jim stood. He felt the little push Karen gave him when someone wanted to shake hands. Somewhat reluctantly he reached out and shook hands with Bobby's lawyer. He resisted the urge to wipe his hand on his pants as they left; instead he took Karen's arm and gripped it hard.
In the car, Karen vented her curiosity, "So, why'd you make him go through that rigmarole with the Braille docs? You don't trust me to read it for you? Or you got things to hide?"
"Maybe," Jim raised his eyebrows, but then smiled quickly. "No, I just needed time to think, wanted to delay it without being obvious."
"Why?"
"Karen, I'm not even sure why. Maybe the thought that the money is bad, you know, came from drug dealing or worse, or maybe I just need time to get used to the idea."
"Well, I'd be happy to help if you wanna check on this money. You know, make sure it's not laundered." Karen watched Jim for a clue about how he would take her offer.
"You still in touch with that guy you dated from white collar? Maurice?"
Karen grimaced, that was a painful subject. "Yeah," she admitted reluctantly. "He still calls and asks me out once a month. I still say no."
"I'll do you a deal, you tell him we need his help, I promise you he'll never call you again. If that's what you want?"
Karen jumped at it. "Absolutely," she borrowed one of Jim's favorite words. "He won't be upset though?"
"He won't blame you. " Jim smiled and gave her the rundown on the Godfather technique; a technique for thinning out the bees around a uniformed honey he had perfected in the 77th several years ago.
Karen finally managed to catch her breath after laughing so hard she nearly cried. "You really did that?"
"Yep, worked every time. You can ask Anne actually. We did it for her once."
Jim bit his lip. They'd never talked about Anne Donnelly again, and although he doubted Karen would still hold that against him, it was dangerous territory he'd just stepped into.
"I will, I'll ask her. And I'll call Maurice now."
Maurice, on the implied promise of another date, promised to be thorough and discrete.
Five days later Jim had his answer. A package arrived at the squad with his name on it.
"Karen, this from Maurice?" Jim handed her the package that the desk sergeant had given him when he came back from walking Hank.
"Looks like it." She went to open it; he put his hand out and brushed hers.
"Let's not do that here. I'll make pasta if you'll read it for me tonight?"
"Deal," Karen was happy, Jim was getting pretty handy in the kitchen and she was very curious about the package.
"Deal?" Marty asked coming in. "What you two up to now?"
"Just working out our next practical joke. Karen says it's your turn to take a spill."
"Can I join in? I like some of your ideas, Karen," Tom sauntered in.
"Sure, Tom, wait 'til you hear what we got planned."
"Make sure its funny for all of us," Marty tried to turn the joke around but it really didn't work.
Coincidentally, about twenty minutes later, Tom, Karen, and Jim went to get coffee at the same time. Marty watched, tapping his pen, and wondering if he would be able to hear them from the corridor.
"Serve yourself, Karen." Jim turned the heat down on the sauce and wiped his hands on the tea towel tucked into his waist.
"Mm, looks awful, what is it?"
"Awful?" Jim got worried, had he opened the wrong jar again? He leaned over and smelled the air above the pot. "Smells good. If it's not chili bolognaise, then it's something else just as good."
"Just kidding, don't want you thinking you can get anything out of me with just a promise of pasta you know."
Jim smiled. At the island, he cut the fresh bread and pulled out the butter. "Can you butter this stuff?"
"Okay." Karen put her bowl of steaming spaghetti and sauce on the bench and reached around him for a butter knife. Last time he had done it, she'd slid to her ass before she'd realized he'd dropped a pat of butter to the floor. Besides, he was terrible at it, it never made it all the way to the edges.
"Come on, show time," she said around a mouthful, balancing her pasta bowl, the bread plate and the package from Maurice.
"Cover page. Lists the resources he's used to investigate."
"Such as?"
"Banking records from Citibank, company tax returns, credit registers, there's twenty or more."
"Okay, so he's been thorough, next page."
"The next several pages are company tax returns, jeez, this business is making money hand over fist."
"What sort of business is it?"
"A chain of health food and juice stores."
"Bobby was making money from health food and juices?" Jimmy couldn't reconcile this with his brother who drank beer from the age of eight and would puke at the suggestion of eating his vegetables. "What else is in there?"
"There are reports from each of those twenty listed resources, all figures and stamps, nothing interesting. And a summary page at the end."
Jim waited while Karen ate another mouthful and read ahead. Finally, she took a sip of her wine, "Well, he says it's all legit and the business likely has another ten years life at least. There's a guy running it, an accountant called Anthony Dahlia, and Maurice says he's a family man who takes 30 percent of the profits for his salary. Apparently he's happy to keep going under the current arrangements."
"Which are?"
"From what he says, you agree not to interfere with the business."
"That's it? I don't interfere and it keeps going?"
"There's paper work to sign that Maurice has drawn up, but basically that's it."
"So it's all above board?"
"Looks like it."
They finished their dinner in relative quiet. Finally, Jim went to his desk and picked up a large package. He pulled a Braille document from the package and stowed it back in the desk, he handed her the printed one with the signature tabs all through it. "They delivered the will a couple of days ago."
"So you ready to sign?"
"Yeah," Jim nodded quietly. She guided his hand to the signature lines on every page, sealed the envelope and handed it to him before starting the movie and beginning with the crime scene descriptions of Swordfish.
A week or so after the funeral and Jim had pretty much laid to rest all thoughts of Bobby Dunbar. Life hadn't changed much, Bobby's lawyer suggested that he wait until his divorce came through before taking possession of the cash and assets and, after checking with Maurice, he had agreed. Life went on as usual and his attention remained on the job.
Tom noticed Jim a couple of rows back at his locker. He licked his lips and took a step forward.
"Yes, Tom?" Jim asked straightening up and stowing his gym bag.
"Ah, I heard about your brother and I just wanted to say, um, I'm sorry I guess."
"You heard?" Jim frowned deeply. "How?"
"I caught up on the case files over the weekend, and, well, his DMV picture, he looks just like you, maybe a bit heavier, a bit older, but same name, same face…"
Jim nodded.
"Look, I wasn't prying, and it's clear you don't want to talk about it. I shouldn't have said anything."
Jim gave him a rueful grin, "No, don't worry about it, we weren't close, and as you say, it's a squad case file now so no secrets."
"Hell of a way to go, I mean that takes style, three girls and all that partying. Better than rotting with cancer."
Jim shook his head, a smile creeping onto his face, "Yeah, Bobby always was a hedonist."
A little emboldened by Jim's change of attitude, Tom continued, "The ME report showed eight different bullet wounds from different times. What is it with you Dunbar boys? Are you bullet magnets or what?"
"I guess." Jim didn't know what to say. He had collected a few already himself, though only one had left any permanent damage. "Our mother used to say we had nine lives each. I guess Bobby used up eight of them with bullets."
Tom was intrigued at this glimpse into the reserved Dunbar. "And how many bullets have you collected?"
"Six." Jim grinned, "I always have trouble at airports." He tapped his temple and turned it toward Tom.
"What? They still in you?" Tom looked at Jim's head, where the small scar might be hiding a bullet, "Nah! No way? It's still in there?"
Jim nodded, "Helps me think, really." He turned and walked past Tom who stood, mouth hanging open.
Tom hurried to catch up, "No, Jim, come on, level with me. You ain't really still got a bullet in your head have you?"
The End