Chapter 19: Neither Tarnished nor Afraid
November 8, 2018
Chloe didn't sleep.
She leaned against the wall by the window in the living room of Max's suite, and waited. She felt her neck warm as the sun outside rose and shone through the glass. Finally, at a little after eight, Max emerged from the bedroom, a long t-shirt coming down over her hips. She rubbed her eyes, looked at Chloe, and rubbed her eyes again.
Chloe was wearing black boots over the cuffs of distressed, form-fitting jeans. Her black jacket was over a white tank-top that had the stylized image of a skull plastered over the front. From the neckline of the shirt emerged the tops of the cups of a black bra. A necklace of black fiber chord with three bullets making up the pendant hung below Chloe's sternum. Her wrists were adorned with bracelets, the pride and joy of which was a black one with metal spikes. Her fingernails were blue, as was the hair that was waging a marginally successful battle to come out from under a black beanie.
Max looked like she'd seen a ghost… and for all intents and purposes, she had.
Max held up one finger and wordlessly went back into the bedroom. She returned moments later with her phone. She put her arm around Chloe's waist, held up the phone in front of them, and took Chloe's earlobe between her teeth, which was the only way Max knew how to get Chloe to naturally smile for a selfie.
"I thought you were through with the past," Max said after she'd checked the picture on her phone.
"This isn't about the past," Chloe said. "I haven't been to war in five years. It wouldn't do to be caught out of uniform."
"I do love me a woman in uniform," Max said, and leaned in for a kiss. She stopped, however, before their lips made contact.
"Wait," Max said. "Does this mean there's a blue hair dye mess in the bathroom sink?"
Chloe shuffled her feet, "Um… Well…"
Max fetched a heavy sigh. "Jesus, Chloe, I have to pay for this room."
Chloe drove Max in The Beast, and they were so stoked to be together again, that Max didn't even ask where they were going.
The ride was a quiet one, but this silence was not one larded with anger, awkwardness, or shock as the silences between the two of them in days past had been. No, this one had an undercurrent of observation to it. As though either of them speaking would ruin the moment. Chloe drove with one hand, and the other held Max's. She looked out on the golden glow that the morning hours gave Arcadia Bay and tried to see it with the eyes of someone for whom a damn was given.
They came to a stop in the parking lot of the Leonard International Arcadia Bay corporate headquarters. The building had been erected a year ago, and it was a new-agey monstrosity that looked like the 3-D version of a tic-tac-toe board.
"Why are we here?" Max asked.
"I have some questions that I need to ask Denise."
"What about?"
"The case," Chloe said. "There were some things I didn't remember to ask her about last night."
"You saw her last night?"
"Yeah. She kinda broke into my apartment."
"Oh," Max said. "Was, uh… was that why you didn't have panties or a bra on last night?"
Chloe instinctively shuddered at hearing the word "panties" spoken aloud (as Chloe despised the word, and wore boxers so she wouldn't have to hear it in her head), before taking Max's hand again.
"Max," Chloe said. "Nothing has happened between me and Denise. Nothing will happen between me and Denise, apart from her paying me to solve everything. It's money, okay? I need it to live."
"Okay," Max said.
"Alright. I'll be back in a few."
Chloe opened the driver's side door, only to be pulled back into the cab of The Beast by Max. She kissed Chloe, and it was a deep one. The amount of tongue, though appreciated, was something Chloe felt was a tad excessive, given the situation.
"What was that for?" Chloe asked as they pulled away.
Max smirked. "You know."
Chloe looked at the directory in the lobby of the building and saw that Denise's office was on the third floor. Up the elevator she went.
The elevator door opened on a reception desk, where a woman who appeared to be in her mid-fifties sat. She wore glasses, and there were streaks of silver in her chestnut brown hair.
"Do you have an appointment?" The receptionist asked.
"Nope," Chloe said, and walked on past.
Chloe had always wanted to do that. Just because the receptionist appeared to be a well-meaning person, didn't mean that Chloe was about to let her stand in the way of her dream.
She came to a big oak door, with the words "Denise Leonard: Chief Financial Officer" engraved, and filled in with gold paint. Chloe let herself in, and…
No one was there.
Chloe decided to occupy herself by looking around Denise's immaculately maintained office. She saw the massive wooden desk in front of a rather comfy looking leather chair. They were both situated in front of a window that provided a nice view of downtown Arcadia Bay. Or at least as nice as a view of downtown Arcadia Bay could be.
But what really caught Chloe's eye was a clear glass case immediately to her left that took up space from the ceiling to the blue carpet. Contained within were medals, plaques, trophies and various other awards and accolades.
Of course, Chloe thought. She's rich. If we didn't reward rich people for being rich, America would collapse.
One in particular stuck out. It was a picture of Denise being handed a medal at a podium by a doughy-looking middle-aged man in front of a dark blue banner with yellow letters saying "FBI." Next to the picture was the medal itself, all pointy corners with an American flag in the middle. It was in a case of its own, with a little thing on the bottom that said "THE MEDAL OF CIVILIAN VALOR, presented to DENISE LEONARD on FEBRUARY 3, 2017."
It was at this point that Denise herself came through the door. She was wearing a dark green business suit that went well with the dark red hair that was tied up in a bun. She looked like she was ready to rend limb from limb this blue-haired intruder who had barged into her office unannounced… until she realized it was Chloe. She didn't know Denise had it in her to look shocked, but that was the look she had on her face, and Chloe considered it a side-show in and of itself.
"Well," Denise said after she had composed herself a little. "I must say the new look suits you.
"Thanks," Chloe said, and pointed at the trophy case. Is there really such a thing as… 'The Medal of Civilian Valor?'"
"Truth be told," Denise said, "if you donate to the FBI's Data Intercept Technology Unit, they'll just make up awards and throw them at you."
"Something with that many syllables must be important," Chloe said. "I didn't know the FBI took donations."
"Everyone takes donations," Denise said. "The richer you are, the more you realize that."
"Data Intercept…"
Denise nodded. "Hacking, counter-hacking, email and telephone intercepts. Every corporation has their own in-house tech to keep their secrets, and law enforcement agencies come calling, hat in hand." Denise shifted her weight from one foot to the other. "You do realize that seeing me in public defeats the purpose of my hiring you in private."
"It does," Chloe said. "But I have questions."
Denise made her way to her desk. "Then it is devoutly wished that I have answers."
"Why didn't you tell me that Arnold Trainor worked for Leonard International?"
Denise sat down. "Did I need to?"
"It would have been nice."
"Admitting that an employee of mine may or may not have had ties to The Bull would have made this enterprise seem a great deal shadier than it already did. Yes, Arnold Trainor was an employee of mine. If finding out who hired him to kill Justin Williams means finding the person who killed Arnold Trainor, then I don't see how we both win."
"Why did you hire him in the first place, if you knew he was working for the guy jacking drugs out of your shipments?" Chloe asked.
"Simple," Denise said. "HR hired him, not me."
"And there were no background checks?"
"Oh, there were. But we here at Leonard International proudly follow a policy of hiring ex-felons, so as to put them on the right path for a brighter future. Just because someone spent time in prison doesn't mean they can't contribute to the community. We knew that he was a con, but not that he was working for The Bull."
"Awful charitable of you," Chloe said.
Denise smiled. "Charity is the future of branding, after all."
"You do realize that that this makes Trainor look like a mole inside Leonard International. Feeding The Bull information about drugs in your shipments, so The Bull knows which shipments to jack."
"It certainly does appear that way," Denise said.
"But you don't think so?"
"I don't know what to think," Denise said. "That's why I hired you… But I'll tell you what I am thinking."
"What's that?"
"Dinner," Denise said.
Oh, shit.
"Dinner?" Chloe asked.
"Indeed," Denise said. "Have you ever had duck a l'orange?"
"I don't even know what it is."
"It's roasted duck with orange sauce. A little retro, but it's to die for. In fact, when I hired my personal chef, I made sure that duck a l'orange was in his repertoire. Yes… duck a l'orange served with steamed potatoes and paired with… let's say… a Cotes du Rhone red. Then we go out on to my balcony, finish off the bottle of wine, and talk as the sun goes down."
Chloe looked Denise up and down. "Sounds nice."
"Do you know what would sound nicer?" Denise asked. "The breakfast we would have the next day."
Chloe folded her arms. "I gotta ask," Chloe said. "Why are you breaking your back trying to sleep with me?"
Denise tilted her head uncomprehendingly.
"I mean," Chloe said, "maybe that's the wrong question. What is it you see in me that's worth all this effort to you?"
"I'm curious to what you think the answer to that question is," Denise said.
"I think," Chloe said, "that you're rich. And beautiful. And just… like… hella bored. You're surrounded on all sides by straight women and entitled old men who see you as a challenge more than anything else. You're so bored you'll go for a ride with anyone who's remotely compatible with you. Even if it's a vaguely butch, rough-trade townie like me."
If Denise was offended, she didn't show it. She leaned back in her chair and squinted her eyes like she was trying to recall something before she spoke.
"'Down these mean streets a man must go who is not himself mean, who is neither tarnished nor afraid. The detective must be a complete man and a common man and yet an unusual man. He must be, to use a rather weathered phrase, a man of honor. He must talk as the man of his age talks, that is, with rude wit, a lively sense of the grotesque, a disgust for sham, and a contempt for pettiness.' Switch out all the he's for she's in that quote, and that would sum up Chloe Price in a nutshell, wouldn't it?"
"Who wrote that?" Chloe asked.
"Raymond Chandler," said Denise. "Chloe, asking me to disregard you would be asking me to disregard rarity. I'm not built that way. Is it really that hard to comprehend someone like me treasuring you? Cherishing you? Showing you off in public and bragging about you in private? If you can't understand that then, well, you need me more than you think."
"You're good," Chloe said, smiling. "You're very good."
"I'm glad you think so," Denise said. "So… about dinner."
"I can't," Chloe said. "I have a girlfriend."
For breakfast, Chloe and Max picked a beachside place called Sharky's that served their entire menu all day long. This explained how Chloe could have the fish and chips while Max was eating a plate of scrambled eggs. The both drank tall plastic glasses of Coke.
Chloe looked at the rolling waves glistening in the morning light through the window before turning to Max.
"Are you ever embarrassed by me?"
Max looked surprised as she swallowed her eggs. "What?"
"I mean… you know art people, photography people, Seattle people. They're, like, all cultured and delicate and shit. Do I require explanation at all?"
"No," Max said. "Of course not. If anything, I'm embarrassed by them on your behalf."
"I find that hard to believe."
Max took a sip of her Coke. "I know a dude with pig-tails."
"I remember him," Chloe said.
"He grew a third one out the back," Max said. "He looks like a really fancy lawn sprinkler."
Chloe laughed, Max smiled, they both took in another mouthful of food.
"Do you read Kurt Vonnegut?" Chloe asked.
Max looked surprised by this, too. "Do you read Kurt Vonnegut?"
"I did," Chloe said. "I was in a wheelchair in another timeline, but still. He wrote… I can't remember precisely how it went, but it was basically how when things are good, you should say to yourself 'If this isn't nice, I don't know what is.' So… There's that, I guess."
"Aww," Max said, and briefly touched Chloe's hand. "Do you remember everything from that timeline? I was always curious about you when you were there."
"Well," Chloe said. "I know that the atomic number of barium is fifty-six, and that there were ninety-seven episodes of Quantum Leap."
"Nerd," Max said.
"Seriously, though, have you seen Babylon Five?"
"I've been meaning to."
"Yeah, we need to fix that."
They both smiled.
"You know," Max said. "I didn't get rid of any of your things. It's all still in my apartment. You can, uh… you can move back in whenever you want."
The smile on Chloe's face faded.
"What is it?" Max asked.
"It's just… we keep making these grand plans, and life steps in and starts breaking shit."
"So… you don't want to move back in with me?"
"I'm saying I have two murders and two kidnappings to solve. I get past those, then we can start talking about the future. So what I say actually means something."
Max leaned an elbow on her chair. "Y'know," she said. "I actually respect that. I don't think I could have back in the day, but… Jesus, we got old."
Chloe playfully and lightly kicked Max's shin beneath the table. "None of that talk. We got miles to go before we sleep. And on that note, I'm gonna have a cigarette."
Chloe got up from the table, but before she could move too far, Max had grabbed Chloe's hand and pulled her in for a kiss.
"Don't take too long."
"I'll only smoke half."
Which Chloe did. As she ground the half of a Parliament Light beneath her boot, she caught a look at herself in a side-view mirror of a car parked by the curb. She looked in the mirror and did the thing she felt most like doing in the moment.
Chloe smiled.
It felt weird, as she'd spent years out of practice, but it… looked right, as though she had a face that was made for smiling. Chloe felt an odd and sudden loss, a keenly felt sense of the loss of time. It took her twenty-four years to figure out that she, as a human being, was built for being happy.
Chloe came back into Sharky's and saw Max with her phone in front of her. The look on her face was… not good.
"What is it?" Chloe asked.
"Margarita Newman," Max said. "They just found her body."
