Chapter 39
All Work
Since his arrival in Miami, Chase had worked around the clock. He temporary living accommodations with Simone were a sparsely furnished two-bedroom apartment in corporate housing. He transformed the second bedroom into a makeshift workspace. Dozens of boxes, filled with reams of paperwork, lined the walls. The bed was littered with manila folders, brimming with files. Photos of crime scenes, suspects, and witnesses were either taped or thumb-tacked to nearly every square foot of two of the four walls. But every lead either came to a screeching halt before gaining any traction, or took off into a thousand different directions, like the windshield of a car shattered by a BB gun. After a while it became difficult to ascertain where one lead began and another lead ended. Witnesses looked like suspects, and suspects turned out to be witnesses.
In an attempt to break the monotony, Simone slipped into the self-imposed prison that her husband called an office. In a heavy voice, she said, “All work and no play makes Chase a dull boy.”
The see-through lingerie number she wore was about an inch or two negligent of covering the area where the undercarriage of her plump caramel ass connected with her toned legs. Simone’s perky breasts stood at attention like obedient solders, standing sentry above her pancake-flat stomach. She’d waxed or shaved every hair on her body besides her head.
For as far as Chase noticed, she might as well have been dressed in baggie jeans, covered in dog manure. The room reeked of old coffee and stationery. His clothes were unkempt, and puffy, dark bags loomed heavy underneath his eyes.
“I have to break that Cashmore case,” he said.
Of all the cases that have been piled on him . . . she thought. Wouldn’t you know it would be the armored truck that he was obsessed with.
Simone played it cool. At least this time he was investigating a case in which she and her sisters weren’t the actual bandits. This time they’d only taken the money from the people who had really taken the money. Wasn’t that different?
“Baby, you have get some rest. You can’t continue to run on coffee and fumes.”
“I can sleep when I die,” he said. “Or once I solve the case. Whichever comes first.”
Being awake for eighteen straight hours not only made him fatigued, but also caused him to be frustrated and cranky. Chase just wasn’t thinking clearly—and maybe that was a good thing. Simone wasn’t sure. On one hand, she loved her husband and wanted to help her man, but not if it ended with her and her sisters going to jail,
“Maybe you should get some rest, regroup, and start fresh in the morning. I promise to make the break worth your while.”
Chase ignored her.
Simone pouted. Twirling a strand of hair with her fingers, she asked, “Is there anything I can do to help you? Would like for me to make you a drink, or something to eat?”
He snapped. “No. I don’t want a fucking drink.” The moment the outburst was out of his mouth, he wished that he could have swallowed his words. But it was too late. The stress from the job was making him crazy. He thought the promotion would enhance their lives. He’d only been in Miami for two weeks, and the job was already driving a wedge between them. The two love birds never used to argue before.
“My apologies.” He begged her, “Baby, please forgive me.”
“I know you’re stressed, but you can’t just snap on me or shut me out,” she said. “Allow me to help. Can you talk about it?”
Chase didn’t want to talk about it, but he didn’t want to be in the doghouse with Simone in addition to the headaches at work.
“There were some electronic files that were stolen from the Cashmore heist.” He sighed. “You wouldn’t be able to fathom the potential shit storm it will create if in the wrong hands. Every law official in this entire country is on edge.” He looked at her with complete despair in his eyes. “The name of every confidential informant ever used in the entire country is on those files. It could turn the law enforcement world on its head. So pardon me, please, if I’m being an asshole. Okay?”
“I’ve never seen you this way.”
“I’ve never had literally no clue as to where to turn on a case before,” he said. “It’s like the perpetrators have fallen off the face of the earth. No one has a clue as to where the files are. And the fact that I was promoted with such high regards, I have to deliver the goods.”
“And you will.” Simone hated seeing her husband this way.
“That’s easier said than done,” he shot back. “You don’t understand. This one case could make or break my whole career.”
“And you will break it open. I know you will.” Simone encouraged him, “Come on, you got this, baby! Let me put on a pot of coffee—mine black and yours with a shot of Cognac. And let’s work this thing out one step at a time.”
Though Chase knew better than to discuss his case with anyone, he decided to take Simone up on her offer.
Hell, he thought, right about now, I need all the help that I can get. And at the end of the day, Simone and her sisters have masterminded bank robberies before, so maybe, just maybe, she can bring something to the table.