Frea's A/N the First: Aw, thanks for the reviews, guys! You're wonderful. If all's going to plan, I'm in Vienna, soaking up architecture and eating schnitzel, but I'm really excited that you get to read this chapter today. It has one of my favorite scenes of the entire story (Chuck mouthing off at people will always be a favorite, and finally, MY character has arrived; also, if you squint, you might see a Spies & Nerds/Fates character make a cameo), and I really love what we've done with Jill here. Haters to the left! Thanks to our fantastic beta readers, quistie64 and Steampunk Chuckster, who are complex individuals that teach me new ways to be awesome and upbeat everyday! And thanks, Max, for being a fantastic cowriter and an even better friend (and also not a crustacean).

mxpw's A/N the First: I'm also glad I'm not a crustacean. Recent personal experience has taught me they live short lives and are delicious. Speaking of delicious things, how about this story, eh? That was smooth. Thank you to everyone who is enjoying the story and reading and leaving reviews! We appreciate all of you. I am not currently in Vienna, though I may eat a Vienna sausage later today, so, you know, it's almost the same thing, right?

The Monkey and the Lady

I took off my hat and rose. "Miss Roberts," I said, even though she's told me ten thousand times to call her Jill.

"Jill," she corrected. Ten thousand and one.

I gave her the winning Carmichael smile. Sarah always said it was not as effective as I think it is, but a fellow can't help but try. Back before the War, Jill and I had gone stepping out. She knew just as well as I did that I thought of her as Jill in my mind. But my friend Ellie had told me to be respectful to the ladies. And you listened to Ellie Bartowski when she told you to do something.

"The woman of the hour," I told Jill, pulling out the stool next to mine so that we could both sit at the bar. "You sounded good tonight."

"Thanks." She waved a hand to fan her face. The Monkey could get a bit warm even in the bitterest of Chicago winters. "Buy a girl a drink, Mr. Carmichael?"

"Certainly. He—heck," I corrected myself mid-oath because Ellie's voice at the back of my mind reminded me that it was never proper to swear in front of a lady, "I'll buy you a dinner."

"Aren't you the sweetest."

The Monkey's boozehound of a barkeep, the other half of the dubious Jeff-and-Lester pairing, had wandered to the other end of the bar, but that didn't matter. I leaned over and snagged one of the brews out of the bucket of ice under the counter. It was already beginning to sweat as I twisted the cap off and handed it to Jill.

"Thank you."

One thing I liked about Jill was that she wasn't real prissy. She liked her beer just like any other proper Chicago resident: cold and dark. We let silence flow for a minute while we took our appreciative sips—say what you will about the man, Big Mike always stocked the good stuff.

Eventually, she began to dig through her clutch for a pack of Camels. "What brings you to the Monkey, Chuck? You're not normally here on Thursdays."

"Just wanted to hear your voice, dollface," I said. No way was I going to tell her that thugs had broken into my office, or that I'd spent the entire day developing foot problems and little else. "Been awhile."

"I tried to call," Jill said.

"You did?" That was news to me.

"Yeah, several times. You been busy or something?"

"Secretary went on the fritz." I gave Jill a sad smile. "She left me cold and broken."

She looked as though she might have liked to say something about—what, I don't know, since Sarah and Jill had never socialized much—but Jill just nodded. Jeff finally wove a drunken path down to our little section of the bar. "Hey, Chuck, man," he said, peering at both of us through red-rimmed eyes. "Getcha something?"

Jill leaned away, almost imperceptibly. Jeff has that effect on the female of any species.

"Coupla steak dinners. Burnt for me, but make the lady's medium-rare."

"Put it on your tab?"

"Yes," I said, hiding my wince. If I didn't pick up any clients soon…

"Big Mike's around tonight."

"Excellent. I'll talk to him in awhile. Just gotta have dinner with the prettiest gal in the place first."

Jill giggled, but didn't blush. She used to blush all the time, when I'd come a-courtin' (as they say), but too much time had passed, and too much history existed. We were better off friends. She'd put it that way herself, and the fact that it didn't shatter my heart told me she maybe had a point.

Still, I wasn't lying: Jill's a stunning dame.

When she held a cigarette up to her lips, I dug out my matchbook and struck up a flame for her. Her eyes nearly crossed at the first drag.

"Thanks, handsome," she said once she'd had her fix. "Mikey doesn't like me smokin' during my acts. You look a bit worn," she said, glancing down at my mud-spattered trousers. Rain puddles hadn't been very nice to my shoes, either, but she didn't comment. "You walk all of Michigan Avenue today or something?"

"Or something," I said. "Lookin' for a fellow."

"A fellow, huh? I thought you didn't take those cases?"

"I don't. Just satisfying a curiosity. And sometimes it's good to go back to my roots." I gave her a knowing look.

She returned it with a sad smile attached. Neither one of us would be sitting at the Monkey sharing a beer and a steak if I hadn't taken on a very significant missing person's case: Jill's. Sometimes I don't think she's happy that I found her in that slowpoke Wisconsin town, and convinced her to come back to Chicago with me. She makes a good living singing for Big Mike and his boys, but maybe she'd have been better off staying with the dairy farmers I'd found her with back in '46.

I took a drink of beer and forced the past back where it belonged. "And I didn't take the case, not for anybody particular. Something just seems…fishy about it."

"Fishy?" Jill tapped her cigarette on one of the palm tree-shaped ashtrays.

"Yeah," I said, and belatedly remembered Ellie's etiquette lessons. "I mean, yes. Something doesn't make sense about it, you know?" Between the thugs and the southern belle gracing my poor office in the course of a single afternoon, "Doesn't make sense" was probably a generous description. If Bryce Larkin had attracted the Bishop's attention, at least one of my informants should have heard of the cat. "But it's not important, and I shouldn't really be even thinking about it when I've got bigger problems to worry about."

Like how I was going to pay my bar tab, I thought, hiding a wince behind a sip of beer. Used to be, Big Mike took it on faith that I would be able to pay him, but after that blow-up with Milbarge double-crossing Father Moses last year, he's been a mite suspicious of everybody.

"The guy you're looking for, he's not dead, is he?" Jill gave me a fearful look.

"Probably not," I said. "They'll likely find him in some hotel room. No need to worry about it. In fact, neither of us should worry about it. Tell me about what's been happening with you lately. You still stepping out with that fellow—Terrence? Tyler?"

"Tobias? No, he moved out west. California somewhere, I think." Jill rolled her eyes with what I thought was a healthy and appropriate disdain for the entire state of California. "Any new broads in your life, Chuck?"

"Broads?" I asked, laughing.

"That's what all the cool cats are saying these days, right? Broads?"

"Oh, Miss Roberts, the only broad in my life is you. And Ellie, of course. And Sa—" I broke off mid-sentence. Sarah wasn't a broad in my life anymore. She'd vanished without a trace. I tried to cover it with a laugh. "And Miss Anna, of course."

As I said this last bit, I turned on my stool and smiled at the diminutive Anna Wu. Big Mike had hired her about three years prior, and she filled the role of everyman for him far better than any man could ever hope to. She didn't even hit my shoulder, but the woman could take down footballers with ease.

"Speaking of which," I went on. "Hello."

She gave me her normal predatory smile and looked pointedly at the brew in my hand. "Hey, Carmichael. You payin' for that?"

"It's on my tab."

Anna gave me a skeptical look, which I felt was a bit unfair. I'd only missed paying my tab twice, or maybe three times. Those had been bad times, though.

"I'll pay it, I promise," I said, though I wasn't sure if I was lying or not.

She gave a firm nod, as if she'd expected nothing less, and turned her attention to Jill. "The boss-man wants you to do another set."

Jill sighed. "It's past eleven."

"He'll pay time and a half."

Apparently, the lure of that much money was simply too tempting for Jill. I wondered if things were as "okay" as she claimed, as she didn't put up a protest, but simply nodded. Her work done, Anna gave me a final stern look and walked away.

Jill bit her bottom lip in regret. "I'd better go," she said, rising to her feet. I stood up, too. "If the boss wants another set…"

"I understand. I'll have them keep your dinner warm for you, though I probably won't be around too much longer." I needed to stop by Our Lady of the Lilies and see Ellie. Delgado and Colt were all bluster and no bite three quarters of the time—it was easy to make your living through intimidation when you were roughly the size of Mount Kilimanjaro like Mr. Colt—but with Ellie, I wasn't taking any chances. I'd have a word with the guard at the hospital, too. Just to make sure he wasn't one of the Bishop's many plants.

"Chuck, you don't have to do that," Jill said.

"I know, I want to." I smiled and kissed her on the cheek. "Knock 'em dead."

She rolled her eyes, but she was smiling as she walked away.

Alone, I sat back down to my beer and brooding. Something about the Bryce situation just wouldn't leave me alone.

"Did I hear you were lookin' for a fellow?" Jeff had ambled back up to my corner of the bar.

"Uh, no, thanks, I think I'm set." Some people were just born to be frightening and oily, and Jeff took that role to heart. I grabbed my beer and thought that maybe there was something I should see over by the piano, as my steak would take awhile.

But Jeff stopped me in my tracks. "Fellow by the name of Larkin, maybe?"

I turned slowly back to the bar. "You know about Larkin? You?"

He swiped a greasy hand across the front of his vest. "Could be I hear things, too."

"Could be." I put my elbow up on the bar and rested my chin on my fist. "Where'd you hear about Larkin?"

"Some guy."

"Yeah?" If Jimmy the Ratcatcher was coming up empty on Larkin's whereabouts, it seemed a bit of a stretch that Jeff Barnes would know anything. But a desperate man doesn't have a lot of options when he's drowning in a sea of nothingness. "What guy?"

"Dunno, just some guy."

This was going well.

"Bragging about how he'd found a guy named Bryce Larkin, and he was going to make a lot of money," Jeff went on.

Well, that fit with the Bishop's story of offering up to fifteen grand to any private dick willing to toss his hat into the ring. Jeff leaned forward, a greedy gleam in his reddened eyes. "Lotta money," he repeated. "If you're looking for Larkin, too, does that mean you're up for a lotta money?"

If I found Larkin first and took the Bishop's pay-off, sure. But it would be a cold day in July before I touched the Bishop's blood money.

But now, I shrugged. "Sure."

"And I get a cut?"

"If the information's good."

"It's good, I promise." Jeff's head bobbled.

I'd have to remember to scrounge up the money to pay him, or at least hope that the memory of our conversation was lost to the ether of Jeff's brain. "And how do I know that you're not just saying that to win me over, sweetheart?"

The sarcastic endearment tripped Jeff up; I could see him searching his memory, trying to figure out why I would call him sweetheart when he was neither, as the good Sergeant had put it to me earlier, pretty or female. He must have decided to let sleeping dogs lie, for he visibly shook it off and leaned forward. It made me want to lean back. I didn't.

"A'cos," Jeff said, his voice low and his eyes gleaming, "I wasn't supposed to hear it."

"Okay, Jeff, I'll play your game. When and where did you hear it?"

"I told you—"

"I know, some guy. But where'd you happen upon this fine fellow?"

"Here. At the Monkey." Jeff's tone made it obvious that that was a stupid question; he didn't go anywhere else but occasionally to the alley behind the Monkey, where I knew he kept a cot out by the rubbish bins. "He was with some other fellow, a real badger-lookin' sort. They paid me up front for the drinks. Tipped well, too. So I did 'em a service of listenin' in on their conversation, better to serve 'em, you know?"

Jeff's logic worked only in Jeff's world, but I took a pull of my beer and nodded for him to continue.

"And they're going on and on about some guy that stole somethin'."

This was new.

"And now how everybody from the Bishop to his Aunt Shirley's looking for this cat."

"What'd you hear about Larkin and his whereabouts? And Jeff, if this information leads me to the back of some flophouse lookin' for a guy named Skinny Larry again or helping some old woman get her cat out of a tree, you're not seeing a dime."

Jeff's face was still a picture of eagerness. "I hear there's some business going on down on at the docks."

"And the Lake's wet. So?"

"So's maybe Larkin's a businessman."

"You're saying Larkin's going to be at the docks," I said.

"Yes."

"Why couldn't you just say that?"

Jeff looked puzzled. "Dunno?"

I had to sigh, though the thought of having real, concrete information for once was like a siren song to my blood. "Did your mysterious gent say when?"

"Tonight. Late."

I checked my pocket watch. "Late" was fast approaching, if it wasn't here already, and Jeff's inside information would likely lead to nothing but more blisters. But on the positive side, Our Lady of the Lilies was on the way to the docks, so it wasn't like I wasn't going to already be in that area already.

So I took a last swig of my beer and set the bottle on the counter. "Thanks, Jeff. If the information's good, we'll talk."

"We will," Jeff said solemnly.

I paused before I reached the front door. Big Mike would have to wait for another night, I decided. Besides, it would be the same dance with him. Either we would do the why-haven't-you-paid-your-tab tango, or it would be the come-work-for-me quickstep. Both would have to wait for a different night. So I put my hat on, tossed a cheery goodbye wave to Jill, who was chatting up a businessman standing by the stage. She didn't see me, but one of the cigarette vendors gave me a wink as I headed into the Chicago night.

Our Lady of the Lilies was one of the oldest and best established hospitals in Chicago. To tourists, that meant it had a venerated history with loads of "historical" patients. To locals, that simply meant they knew exactly what happened at Lady of the Lilies: anything and everything. Racketeering, moonshining, murder, extortion, all just a days' work at the Lady.

These days, however, it was struggling to rise above that. A patient had a halfway decent chance of making it if he or she could get through those front doors, for instance. And all of that was thanks to one Eleanor F. Bartowski. I worried about her—life rarely ends well for the zealously ideal—but Ellie was tough. She proved it to Morgan and me when we were seven by sitting on Morgan until he gave her marble shooter back. We'd come a long way from scraped knees and agate shooters, but old habits die hard.

I nodded to the security guard working the lobby as I let myself in through the doctor's entrance. Unlike the desk officer at the 42nd, we had a congenial relationship. Dave was a Cubbies fan and our shared misery brought us together. I continued on down a hallway that smelled like antiseptic and misery.

For once, my timing seemed to be right in line, as just as I strolled into Ellie's tiny office, Maurice Tarplin finished out his closing monologue. An advertisement for Shiney's All-Lather soap came on. "Hi, El," I said.

Ellie looked up from the stack of folders she had probably been ignoring while The Mysterious Traveler played. Why she loved that radio program so much, I'm not sure. I was much more of a Adventures of Superman or Sam Spade kind of fellow, but Ellie always liked the spooky stuff. "Chuck!" She rose to her feet to give me a hug. "What are you doing here so late?"

"Legwork, of course."

"You work too much."

"I'm in good company." I plopped into her creaky visitor's chair and took off my hat. Ellie gave me a scolding look as she put it on the hat peg for me. "Just finishing up, or are you going to be here awhile?"

"Not for too much longer. Just had some paperwork." Ellie gestured at the stack on her desk as she sat down.

I set the bag I'd stopped at the deli for on the desk. "Brought you a late dinner."

"Aren't you sweet. Thank you." Ellie dug into the sack and pulled out sandwiches for both of us. I hadn't had time to wait for my steak dinner at the Broken Monkey, after all. "Were you just thinking of me, or do you have ulterior motives for being here?" Her eyes cut down to my leg.

So she'd seen the limp. With all the walking I'd done all over Chicago, the war wound was making its presence known. "Both. Neither. But my leg's fine. Mostly I'm here to enjoy a meal with a long-time friend."

"Well, cheers to that, then." Ellie toasted me with the root beer she pulled out of the sack. There were smudges beneath her eyes, and of course the hospital lighting didn't make either of us look great. But Ellie truly loved her job, which helped; neither of our parents had been around when we were kids, which was why Morgan, Ellie, and I had been friends at all. We made up for it in our own way these days, as adults. Ellie looked across the desk at me and I could see her assessing me just the same as I was currently doing to her. "Haven't found your Effie yet, huh?" she asked, handing me the second root beer.

The Sam Spade reference made me smile. "I will. She just needs a little time to cool off." From what, I had no idea. I had thought things were fine, until Sarah had just up and quit on me. "How're things at the Lady? That new doctor working out well?"

"He's already the most popular doctor on staff," Ellie said. "I wasn't sure if hiring him was such a good move, with his background, but he knows what he's doing."

"That's excellent, then. I'm glad. You sounded like you could really use the help." And something about the way Ellie avoided mentioning this new doctor by name made me want to look him up. But that was probably just the paranoid flatfoot in me. "Listen, Ellie, I wanted to talk to you about something..."

She groaned. "You're working a case. I knew it. I knew you couldn't just be dropping by."

"Hey, I drop by all the time!"

"But you never bring sandwiches unless you're working a case. What is it this time? Some husband stepping out on his wife?"

"No," I said. "It's..."

"Are they at least paying you? I know you're having a hard time making ends meet right now, Chuck."

"Not as hard a time of it as you'd think." I attempted a feeble smile. "I don't have to pay a secretary, after all."

Ellie rolled her eyes. "Do you need help?"

"I'm fine," I said, and hoped it was true. "There's just...there's something going on, and it's got the whole city up in arms, and I don't know what any of it means. But the Bishop's involved."

"I thought good old Vincent had been rather quiet lately," Ellie said. "He's still got two of my nurses in his pocket, I know he does."

He likely had more than that, but I wasn't going to be the one to bring that to Ellie's attention. "Had a visit from a couple of his goons today. It's probably nothing, and I don't want to worry you unnecessarily, but if you could do me a favor and have Dave walk you home for the next while, I would really appreciate it. And don't go anywhere alone."

"You worry too much."

"I know. But humor me anyway."

Ellie looked at me frankly. "Are you in trouble, Chuck?"

"I don't think so. I just don't like the Bishop, you know that. He's still mad that I wouldn't find Kevin the Mouse last year. You don't want to be on his bad side." I gave Ellie my most entreating look. "Just watch your back, okay? For me? For a little while?"

"Only because it's you. And if I find out you're actually in trouble and you lied to me about it, I will make sure you never get anesthesia in this hospital again, Charles Irving."

Since I knew she wasn't bluffing, I chose to nod. "Yes, ma'am."

"You're the closest thing to family I have," Ellie said.

"Same goes for you, Eleanor Faye."

"And it'd be a pain to deal with Morgan without you. So watch yourself."

"Same goes for you," I repeated, and cleared my throat. It was time for a change of subject. "So what did the Mysterious Traveler do today? Sounded like a pretty good show, from what I heard."

mxpw's A/N the Second: Again no second author's note from Frea. How are you liking things so far? Here's a taste of what's in store for you guys next chapter:

The man stepped forward, and light fell across his face, giving me my first solid look. He was handsome in a conventional sense, tall and broad, but looking at him, I felt a chill that had nothing to do with the wind. Something about his too-dark eyes in an impressively blank face seemed...off. The fact that he was pointing a revolver at me more or less put a damper on any attractiveness he might have had, too. I took in the details, just in case: a worn and unimaginative suit, expected unwarranted obedience, and carrying a .38 Special. It all screamed G-man.

"I don't have any money," I said. "Look, you're better off hitting up the next unlucky john, I'm—"

"I'm not here for your money," the man said. "And I told you to shut up."

"Hey, hey," I said, even as I cursed Jeff with every fiber of my being for the bum information. "We're all friends here, no need for hostility. Or…guns."

The man took a step forward. "You're under arrest."