Autopsy

"That affair three years ago." Max said, some minutes later. "When your partner tried to kill you... John saved you?"

"Met him at a function. 'John Wiley, hedge-fund manager.'" Logan Pierce, sprawled over the couch in the lobby, made air quotes with his fingers. "Bought a letter for ten million dollars, right out from under me."

"Ten million dollars?" Max gasped.

"Just to get my attention. Didn't even bother to pick up the letter afterwards." A smug smile spread over Pierce's face. "His little friend in the glasses must have been loaded."

"You met Harold?"

Logan sat up with alarming speed. "Ha-aar-roolll-d." He murmured, drawing out each letter. "That's... very interesting." He steepled his fingers and stared over the tips at her. "I've hired squads of private detectives, developed facial recognitions programs specifically to scan the internet for his face, compiled every single 'Man in the Suit' legend available, and I finally learn his name within fifteen minutes of walking into your office."

"It... one of the people they helped... mentioned him." Max stammered, surprised by the man's intense attention. "I don't know much, just that he was insanely wealthy, and something of a hacker."

"'Something of a hacker...' she says." Pierce murmured, closing his eyes. "He was something of the god of hackers. I'm not sure I can convey to your uninitiated mind," he said, opening his eyes, "exactly how good this guy was. I mean, I'm a genius, but this... 'Harold?' He could have made me his bitch."

Max blinked. "Really?"

Logan cocked his head. "I feel like you're not getting that thing I just told you. I've spent the last three years hunting this guy and I've come up with nothing. Me. Nothing. Zip. Nada. The guy must've crapped all over the internet, but I never even picked up a whiff." A snort. "Shit, forget could have. He did make me his bitch."

"Er..."

"Take 'John Riley.'" Pierce held up a finger. "I've got search bots specifically devoted to finding that face. Not a one of them picked up anything until your little obit piece. Yet." He held up another finger. "Five minutes surfing will reveal that a mug shot of 'John Riley' has been in the police department database for a bit over two years now. He's probably been in a few newcasts too. That..." he shook his head. "I don't even know how you would begin to do that. A counter search-engine? Something that watched specifically for information and masked it?" Another shake of his head. "Made. Me. His. Bitch."

"How did you even manage to meet him?" Max asked. "He seems to stay in the background, mostly."

"Tricked John." Pierce fell back on the couch with a smirk. "Pretended to fall asleep then followed him after he left the apartment. I've had practice dodging security guards." He scratched his nose. "Scrawny guy with glasses and a limp, though I'm guessing you know that already." Max nodded, though neither Zoe nor Mira had mentioned the limp. "Didn't give me more than two sentences, and that was basically to tell me to shut up. Paranoid bastard. Probably the one who smashed the tracker."

Max frowned. "The what?"

Pierce gave a lazy wave of his hand. "I gave John a watch as a thank-you present. Didn't tell him about the GPS tracker inside, but a half-hour after I leave him..." The hand dropped. "...tracker goes dead. Had to have been Harold. I hid that shit GOOD."

Max's eyes narrowed in thought. "When you say you hid it well..."

"I didn't say I hid it WELL." Pierce held up a finger. "I said I hid that shit GOOD."

Max gave him a look. "When you say you hid that shit WELL, would they have had to break the watch to get to it?"

"Probably."

"This watch... what was it worth?"

"Two million."

"Two MILLION?"

"Or something." Pierce shrugged. "It was only my life."

Max decided to let it go. "So the parts to fix the watch... they would also be expensive? And rare?"

"Well no du—" Pierce stopped in mid-answer. An intrigued look spread across his face.

"Could you, perhaps," Max said, "trace the unique parts needed to fix this particular watch?"

"So it was yours." Lou Mitchell, an elderly bearded man with a queer twinkle in his eye, looked at them over the counter. "Thought it was a bit flashy for Harold."

"It was a treasured memento of our time together. I'm hurt he just gave it away like that." Pierce was slumped over the glass case, tilting his head at a bizarre angle to look at the watch nestled within.

"He didn't." Mitchell shrugged. "He gave it to me to fix up. Technically, it's still waiting for him."

"And how long has it been 'waiting?'" Max cocked her head.

"Eh, 'bout three years." Mitchell said, with a shamefaced shrug. "Gotten a lot of offers for it, but... well."

Max gave a little nod and glanced around. "Nice place."

"Practically rebuilt it from scratch." Mitchell grinned, looking around. "The watch came with a discretionary account for 'necessary parts and equipment,' used it to get the place back on its feet."

"Won't last." Pierce muttered derisively, head still slumped against the case. "Who wears watches anymore?"

Mitchell frowned at him. "I get ten kids a week who walk in here with their sweater-vests and rimmed glasses for me to patch up their off-beat pocketwatches. Of course..." He made a face. "...now I'm getting all sorts of pencil pushers who think I know how to fix their computer-watches..." A sigh, and a shake of the head. "Eh. It's a hobby, really. I get more income from the diner these days."

"Oh?" Pierce raised an eyebrow.

"To get back to the thing with the casino." Max said, dragging them back on track. "You met Harold—and John, I'm assuming."

"And Detective Fusco, and that Leon kid, yes, yes."

"Leon?"

"How big was this conspiracy?" Max grumbled, studying the sketch Mitchell had provided them with. "Seems like every person I visit there's a new partner." She sighed. "They must have trusted this Leon, to give him this much money."

"What, five million? Psh, small potatoes, sweetheart." Pierce rolled his eyes, dropping languidly into the car. "I flush money like that down the toilet. That's probably what this Leon guy is. The toilet."

"We're not going to find out anything about what he was until we find out who he is." Max pointed out, dropping into the passenger seat. The smooth leather molded to her body and she let out a small grin. She could get used to working a case with a flamboyant billionaire. "I'll talk to some of my friends in the NYPD."

"Hey babe." Pierce said.

Max blinked and looked over to see the billionaire, smartphone pressed to his ear.

"It's going great, thanks. Hey Emily, the picture... You find him?" A warm—almost genuine—smile spread across his face. "Awesome. You're the best, honey. Right, see you later."

Pierce hung up the phone. Looking over, he saw Max staring at him. He arched an eyebrow. "Did I suddenly sprout antenna or something?"

Max grinned. "Emily-Emily Morton, right? Developer of A-love-erithm? Your business partner?"

"...Yeah." Pierce shrugged. "I go to her with questions, sometimes. Because we're business partners." He turned to look at his phone. "Leon's got an account on our site. No address, but the site matched him romantically to a Candi Peterson at a West End address." He turned around again to look at her. "Emily looked it up for me. Is it that weird for me to call her?"

"It's weird for you to call her 'babe.'"

"I call YOU 'babe.'"

"You call ME 'sweetheart.' You called HER 'babe.' And 'honey.'"

"So?" Pierce shrugged again, a trifle stiffly. "You got a point, Lois Lane?"

Max was still grinning. "Your A-Love-ir-ithm account... what's it say about you and Emily?"

"Every dealer knows better than to use their own product, BABE." Pierce wagged a finger at her. Reaching to the steering wheel, he started up the car. "Glasses and I have way too good a business relationship to spoil it with something like sex."

Max just kept grinning. "Whatever you say, HONEY."

Pierce glared at her.

"Le-leon?" The mousy-looking brunette staring back at them through the crack in the doorway shook her head. "N-no, I don't know anyone by that name."

Maxine and Pierce stared back at her, unimpressed. Pierce's bodyguard, "Gorilla" (as Pierce had introduced him), kept his foot planted between the door and frame.

Candi Peterson's eyes darted from one to the other, over to Gorilla and then back down the hallway behind her. "I'm s-serious, I don't..."

"Honey, I deal with professional liars on a daily basis." Maxine folded her arms across her chest.

"And I deal with daily lies on a professional basis." Pierce added, Leon's Alove-erithm account clearly displayed on his phone.

"Seriously." Max shook her head. "Don't even try."

Candi kept up the brave mask for a few seconds more before it crumpled entirely. "Look she said, leaning forward in a whisper. "If you can just tell me how much he owes you, I can..."

"Honey, I swear, I don't owe anyone anything!" A short, Korean 20-something man suddenly appeared from the left, grabbing the young woman by the shoulder.

"Well, apparently you forgot someone." The woman hissed back, nervously.

Leon cast a nervous glance up at the others. Maxine noticed his left arm was in a cast. "Look... just let me handle this myself, okay? I'll pay them off and..."

"With what, your other arm?" Candi asked. "Or maybe a nose. or a finger, or..."

"We're... not here about money." Max interjected. "Leon doesn't owe us anything."

Candi stopped and looked at them. "He doesn't?"

"I don't?" Leon seemed equally surprised.

"Nothing except some answers." Pierce pocketed his phone and grinned meaningfully. "We're really more curious about Johnnie-boy and Harold."

"Harold? Johnnie-boy?" Candi looked from one to the other uncomprehendingly.

But Leon had gone pale. "I-I-I..." He stepped back a little. "...I don't know who that is..."

"Again. My job, his hobby." Max pointed at Pierce. "How about you let us in, so we can have this conversation in private?"

"I used to be... well, I was a flake, basically." Leon shrugged. "A welsh accountant. I would be hired to manage money from... less reputable firms, and I would steal from them." A wince. "And I was pretty stupid about it. I mean, I could hide the money well enough. I just wasn't very good at hiding that I was doing it."

"Which means a lot of these 'less reputable firms' started trying to kill you." Max could see where this was going.

"If you're here about John, you know what he did." Leon shrugged. "I was a... regular customer."

"Regular? You did this more than once?" Maxine raised her eyebrows

Pierce seemed enormously amused by the whole situation. "I'll bet John loved that." He smirked. "He's got a soft spot for people who willfully endanger themselves."

"Good thing for you." Maxine noted.

Leon gave a half-hearted shrug. "I guess. John isn't always exactly always gentle about how he saves people..."

The others looked at him.

Leon caught on. "Well... I mean, I was grateful and all, but... it wasn't just that... like... they started making me do things for them, too. Hiding accounts, posing as a paramedic..."

"Handling millions of dollars as a high-roller at a casino." Max finished for him. "Yes, sounds like you had a rough gig." She looked around Candi's high-class apartment. "Seems to have worked out all right for you."

"Those guys scared me straight." Leon shook his head. "The stuff they had me doing—I got out of it. Stopped robbing from guys, they stopped having to rescue me."

"Gangs trying to kill you didn't scare you straight." Pierce frowned. "But posing as a millionaire gambler did?"

"And also Charlotte." Leon looked up at the girl and smiled.

She rolled her eyes. "Candi. My MOM calls me Charlotte."

"Because your mom is great with names."

It was a pity she had no reason to publish this particular story, Maxine reflected. "So how did you two meet?" She asked.

"At a strip club." Candi volunteered. "I was a dancer."

"Oh my gosh, would you stop telling people that." Leon turned on his girlfriend. "I mean, yes, but we met at the bar during your off hours. I had no idea you were one of the performers."

"You didn't seem to mind it either." Candi wiggled her eyebrows at him.

Max looked around the lush apartment. "You must be quite a dancer."

"She IS." Leon assured them.

"My... dad helps some with the bills too." Candi glanced away.

"Her dad's the head of Peterson Financial." Leon answered.

"Ah."

"I'm in the sociological graduate studies program here at UT," Candi elaborated. "I just do the dancer stuff for extra cash."

"Mind giving us a demonstration?" Pierce asked.

"Hey-!"

"How'd you break the arm?" Max asked, stopping the conversation before it could get too derailed.

Leon winced. "Ah. That was... an old account of mine. Some Irish guys."

"Nothing to worry about anymore." Candi said. "I paid them off. They wouldn't have had to even break his arm if FastBucks McGee here had TOLD me they'd called him up."

Leon squirmed a little. "It was just a little debt... I thought I could talk it out with them. Besides, you'd already handled the Russians last week and the Casa Nostra the week before that..."

"Jeez, kid, really?" Pierce raised an eyebrow.

"Old accounts!" Leon insisted. "Minor debts. Not embezzling."

"So, you didn't break the arm by slamming it in a door during your escape from an exploding building." Maxine said.

"Uh... no?" Leon said. "That's awfully specific. Again, what's all this about?"

Max showed him the picture.

Leon's whole body went slack. His eyes went vacant and he slumped back in the chair. "Oh." He said.

Candi touched his shoulder. "Baby..."

Leon took her hand and just held it for a few moments.

"H-how?" He asked, finally.

"We're not sure." Maxine answered. "Honestly, I was hoping you might know. There's evidence of a survivor who broke their arm flying the scene. You didn't...?"

Leon shook his head. "The last time I saw John and Harold was a few years ago, right before I met Candi. After that I... didn't need saving." He looked up with sudden understanding. "You... did he...?"

"Both of us." Logan answered, with odd soberness.

"We're..." Maxine paused for a moment. What were they trying to do, exactly? "...trying to get a picture of what they did... who they helped."

Leon shook his head. "I can't help much with that... I just worked on the periphery... they didn't really trust me." There was the ghost of a smile on his lips. "Suppose I can't really blame them for that..." He thought a bit. "The time I was a paramedic, I helped them rescue this Middle-Eastern-looking chick... I could do a sketch..."

"Thanks." Maxine smiled, but inwardly she had a sinking feeling she already knew what the result would be. One of the bodies at the scene had been a Middle-Eastern female.

Still, there was one final thing Leon could help them with. "Would you mind taking a ride with us?" She asked.

"They had this library they operated out of, that I visited a few times." Leon said later, in the car. "Always blindfolded, though. Like I said, John could be rough."

"Don't worry about it." Maxine shrugged. Hopefully their next stop could help with that.

"It had a killer computer array." Leon said. "Like four or five screens. And one of those crime-board things like what you see on TV, with pictures of the people they were helping."

"How did they know who to help?" Pierce said.

Leon shrugged dismissively. "Never asked. They were good, though. Usually knew when I was in danger before I did."

"I get the feeling that's not quite so impressive." Maxine muttered.

"We're here." Pierce announced.

The mercedes screeched (Pierce didn't do anything quietly) to a halt outside the building. Car doors opened and slammed. The three of them trotted up the stairs and pushed through the doors. The guard at the desk eyed them, but at the sight of Maxine, waved them through. Threading their way through the desks, they approached their object.

Detective Lionel Fusco was sitting at his desk, turning a strange bobblehead police doll over in his hands. His face looked old and weary, the fat collapsed into limp lines. As they approached, Fusco turned his head.

He saw Leon.

Fusco heaved a sigh. He set down the doll. "All right, newshound." He said. "Waddaya wanna know?"

A/N: This took a while, mostly because of the ending. I kept wanting to find a way to insert Jem, Harold's ward (aka the Russian wannabe spy girl who touched Shaw's heart). I finally decided it would raise too many questions, and that all I wanted to do with Jem was really a separate story by itself. So maybe I'll save that for next time.