Dressed for Ruin

On a sticky Saturday evening in downtown Philadelphia, the line for Evie’s Eden wrapped around the block. Blaring, fast tempo music and strobing neon invaded the detectives’ senses as they pushed their way through a throng of warm, gyrating bodies to take a seat at the bar. The stench of sweat and stale beer permeated the dark room, and the rush of, frigid air from the vents above offered minimal relief from the stifling heat. The officers shouted to make themselves heard over the din, while several people almost knocked the men from their seats in their drunken attempt to squeeze between them and get the bartender’s attention.

 The younger of the two men; a clean-shaven blonde with neatly combed hair and stern hazel eyes, tugged at his tie and scowled at a group of scantily clad women with neon painted bodies as they approached him. They gave him sour looks and a few rude gestures in return, before scampering off to find a more willing recipient of their affections. 

His partner looked down on most of the room at almost six feet. Gray streaked through his dark, purposely disheveled hair and there was a hard glint in his cobalt eyes. His broad shoulders and well-built barrel chest, along with the faint scars littering his arms, made Vincent look less approachable than the blonde detective. The illusion was broken by the deep laugh lines etched into his cheeks as he chuckled and teased his dour partner.

“You didn’t have to scowl at them like that. The poor girls were just being friendly.”

The blonde scoffed, rolling his eyes as he said,

“I’m not interested in their kind of friendship. Besides, we’re here to work, not socialize, remember? Speaking of, should we really be consorting with criminals to solve cases?”

Vincent ordered a Corona and lime from a bartender even taller than him with bubblegum pink and deep purple hair styled in a short mohawk. He accepted the drink with a charming grin and left a generous tip before facing his partner, ignoring his disapproving glare.

“Criminals make the best informants. This one has helped us with a lot of cases. Her information network is invaluable.”

The younger detective grit his teeth, holding back an argument. No matter his feelings, the boy had to accept that their case had gone from nearly solved to stone cold in less than 24 hours. They needed whatever help they could get. 

Vincent's partner tugged at his tie. Sweat rolled down the boy’s neck and stained his collar. He had tried to convince him to change out of his uniform but was unsurprised when he refused. He wondered if the stubborn boy regretted it now with the sweltering heat pressing in on them. Vincent downed his drink and ordered another while his partner gave in, removing his tie and unbuttoning the top two buttons. The young detective barked another question before Vincent could comment.

“Where is this informant then? Every minute we waste here is another our suspect has to flee the country.”

“Oh, I don’t think we have to worry about that. She should be here any—ah, there she is.”

They turned their attention to the top of a metal staircase at the back of the club. Vincent’s throat felt dry despite the two drinks he’d already finished as he watched his old friend step through the VIP entrance. 

She gave her white suede jacket to the doorman with an alluring smile, then turned to face the officers as she descended the stairs. Diamond studded gold stilettos clicked against the metal as she went. Her strapless, midnight pantsuit with a plunging neckline swayed around her ankles and long legs but cinched tightly at her waist to accentuate wide hips and hug her chest. The fabric shimmered under the strobing neon lights and the diamond choker that cascaded down her throat like a waterfall and nestled between her breasts flashed brightly. Smooth olive toned skin contrasted the gleaming jewels perfectly. Bright copper ringlets spilled partially over one shoulder; the rest pulled back with a clip to show off the shaved right side of her head. Russet painted lips with a prominent cupids bow, dark thick lashes, and a chocolate smoky eye highlighted her high cheekbones and bright, electric blue eyes. Vincent turned to face his partner as he scoffed and said,

“You’re joking.”

“Nope. Detective, I’d like you to meet Evelyn Ross. Evelyn, this is my new partner, Connor Williams.”

Connor was so distracted by her appearance that he hadn’t realized she was walking right toward them. Evelyn smiled coyly and extended an intricately manicured hand. Tiny rhinestones were arranged in a rose design on every other stiletto shaped nail, which were painted to match her eyes. Her breathy tone was deeper than Vincent remembered and laced with expertly veiled sarcasm.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you detective.”

Reluctantly taking her proffered hand, Connor forced an awkward smile and said,

“Likewise.”

Her lips twitched with amusement as she dropped his hand, then turned to speak to Vincent with something akin to fondness.

“Join me for a drink?”

“Of course.”

Evelyn lifted a panel and moved behind the bar towards a burgundy painted steel door, Vincent two steps behind her. Connor followed, but the senior detective shook his head and said,

“Wait here. Get a drink or something. I won’t be long.”

Then, before Connor had a chance to question him, Vincent followed the gang leader through the door.

As the steel door to Evelyn’s office closed behind him with a click, a chill washed over Vincent’s face and arms, leaving goosebumps in its wake. A faint aroma of vanilla and dark cherries replaced the reek of sweat. Vincent’s stiff shoulders relaxed at the familiar scent. Four sleek leather armchairs surrounded a mahogany card table, and a personal bar stood in the far-left corner. An ashtray made of cobalt glass sat on the table, clean and empty of any remnants. Vincent’s fingers itched for the smokes tucked in his breast pocket. A single painting of a man and two women performing around a piano hung on the wall opposite him. It had hung there since the day it went missing from a museum in Boston some thirty years ago when he was barely a thought. Evelyn’s office was quiet except for the clinking of glass as she poured them drinks. The reinforced concrete walls, painted evergreen, blocked out all trace of music or chatter from the club. Vincent sunk into the cool, smooth leather, stifling a sigh.

Evelyn sauntered over to the table, sitting on top directly in front of him and crossing her legs before handing him his glass. Vincent enjoyed the bitterness of the bourbon as it washed over his tongue and slid down his throat. She always did have the best taste in liquor.

Vincent watched his old friend curiously as she set the glass aside and leaned close to pull two Camel Blue 100’s and a lighter from his front pocket, her lips just shy of grazing his stubbled cheek, and the heady aroma of vanilla and dark cherries briefly overwhelmed him. Electric blue eyes dancing with mirth bore into his as she slipped the cig between his teeth and lit it for him. Then, a rush of clarity and disappointment hit hard as she sat back to light her own. Curls of white smoke drifted from her lips and slowly filled the room. She stared him down with a raised brow until the cigarette had burnt down almost to the filter. Then, she said,

“So, you going to tell me what you want?”

He raised his own brows and grinned teasingly as he answered.

“Can’t I just come to see an old friend?”

Her unimpressed stare pulled a snort of laughter from his lips. She held her hand out expectantly and retorted.

“Not when you have your dog waiting outside.”

Vincent relented with a sigh and pulled a file from inside his jacket, which she snapped from his fingers and threw open on the table next to her. The detective lowered his leg from the table and leaned forward to look over its contents, which she was flipping through with a carefully placid expression. The faces of 15 young women stared up at him, all of whom had gone missing within the last six months. The final photograph in the file was a mugshot of a man with beady gray eyes, greasy black hair, a pudgy face, and a sad, wispy little mustache. Vincent watched Evelyn’s face carefully as her bright eyes paused on his picture, looking for any sign of recognition. If she did know the man, she wasn’t giving it away, so he decided to probe her a little.

“He’s our main suspect. Goes by the name Rob, full name Robert Carroll. We’ve been tracking him down for a month, even got a hit on his hideout. Then we go in for the raid last night and he’s gone without a trace, so now we’ve hit a dead end. Do you recognize him?”

Evelyn placed the picture back in the file, closed it, and took a generous sip from her drink before answering with a carefully even tone.

“Afraid not, should I?”

Vincent kept his own tone light as he pushed a little more.

“Well, our files say he was one of your men until about a year ago. You’ve made it a point to know the names of everyone who works for you, haven’t you?”

The stare she pinned him with was bitterly cold, and her breathy voice took on a dangerous edge.

“My organization doesn’t deal in sex trafficking. A fact of which I know you’re quite aware.”

“Yes. I’m also very aware of how you’ve punished those who have gone behind your back in the past. Which is why I thought you might be able to help me find my suddenly missing suspect.”

The way her lips curled into a cruel sneer and her face turned away confirmed his suspicions that she was involved in Robert’s disappearance. He sighed as he put out his cigarette, stood, and placed his arms on either side of Evelyn’s hips, caging her in. She met his gaze with pursed lips as he asked,

“Where is he, Evie?”

The brazen woman leaned forward, trailing her sharp nails down the side of his jaw and over his chest. The coy smirk was back as she goaded him.

“If I did know where he is, why should I hand him over to you? My men are mine to punish. That’s the deal we made, remember?”

“This isn’t some petty drug dealer who stole from you. This man is responsible for the disappearance of 15 women, that we know of. Who knows how many are still alive? Their families deserve justice.”

Evie rolls her eyes and scoffs at his appeal to her better nature. 

“Oh yes, sitting comfortably in a jail cell watching TV and getting three meals a day sounds like justice to me. Those families deserve to see him strung up and castrated. Try again.”

Vincent muttered a curse under his breath. If it were anyone else, he would just get a warrant, but Evelyn had become untouchable in the last few years. She had half the department, the mayor, even their state senator in her pocket. No one would dare sign a warrant against her, and she’d never take a threat from him seriously anyway. Time to change tactics. 

He wove his left hand into her ginger curls, running calloused fingers down the back of her neck. She tensed at the contact and repressed a shiver, but the goosebumps erupting over her arms and the excitement in her eyes gave her away. Encouraged, Vincent pressed his forehead against hers and whispered.

“For me then, as a favor to an old friend?”

Her nails grazed his cheek again as she glowered.

“Right. A friend who only comes to see me when he wants something. I feel a little used. Maybe you could give me something, in exchange for my kindness.”

“What do you want?”

He could guess the answer, had known her long enough to read the cues. In their previous meetings, she had always treated him like he was just another business partner, careful to keep her distance, giving no hint toward their longstanding and complicated friendship. Her forwardness now was telling, but he wanted her to say it. A selfish part of him needed her to admit that she had missed their closeness. 

Evie pushed him back into the chair, placing her knees on either side of his and pulling herself close. Her hand left his cheek, burying itself into his messy dark locks, gripping tight. Evelyn’s electric blue eyes bore into his as she said,

“Don’t play dumb Vince. It doesn’t suit you, and I’m not in the mood for any more games.”

It was as much of an admission as he was going to get, and Vincent gave in with a groan as he pulled her lips to his in a bruising kiss, one that she returned with just as much vigor.

Sometime later, Vincent watched with hazy satisfaction as the cobalt lace of Evie’s lingerie disappeared back underneath her shimmering silk outfit. When Evie faced him with an equally sated look, he took a moment to appreciate her swollen, though still perfectly painted lips. Her hair, which he had torn from its clip, cascaded over her shoulders in a wild tangle of curls that made her look deceptively innocent. One could almost mistake her for a normal woman like this, instead of a dangerous crime boss. He wondered how many others had been permitted to see her that way, then scolded himself for hoping he was the only one. Vincent gave up that chance a long time ago, the day he swore his oath and joined the police force. Even this small indulgence was one he shouldn’t have allowed himself. 

Once they finished straightening themselves, the pair looked at each other. Vincent lamented the return of Evelyn’s closed off expression that had been so open and vulnerable under his touch just a few minutes ago. But their time was up, and he came here for a reason. He struggled to keep the regret out of his tone as he asked,

“So, where can I find Mr. Carroll?”

Evelyn grinned playfully, hips swaying as she walked over to the bar, picked up a cell phone, and hit one of the speed dial numbers. After a few moments, the call picked up. Her orders were curt.

“Bring him in.”

A side door that Vincent swore was a wall before opened, and a beat up, barely conscious man who matched Rob’s description to a tee was shoved through by two bulky, suited thugs. Rob, with hands tied in front of him, collapsed to his knees. The thugs backed out without a word and the “door” shut behind them, leaving nothing but smooth wall in its place. Evelyn laughed at his incredulous glare and said,

“He’s all yours detective.”

Vincent rolled his eyes and strode over to the quickly fading man, tossing a sarcastic remark over his shoulder as he yanked the suspect up.

“If you were gonna hand him over anyway, why bother making such a fuss?”

She giggled and walked over to open the burgundy door for him. He could already see his younger partner’s expression morphing from annoyance to surprise and disbelief. Evie’s breath at his ear sent a tingle down his spine.

“Well, I thought he would make a good gift, but I wanted something too. Don’t pretend you didn’t enjoy it.”

He glanced to the right to meet her roguish grin as she continued.

“Happy Birthday.”

Connor took the unconscious trafficker off his hands, so Vincent turned back to Evie, who stood in the doorway with arms crossed, looking way too pleased with herself. He had forgotten that his birthday was tomorrow, and that it was something he and Evie shared. Vincent chuckled wryly and carded a scarred hand through his hair as he thanked her.

Then he helped Connor drag their suspect out to the car, tossed him in the back, and settled into the driver’s seat. From the corner of his eye, he saw his partner open his mouth, most likely to barrage him with questions.

“Don’t ask. It’s complicated. But now you see what I was saying about Evelyn being one of our best informants. This isn’t the first time she’s handed our guy right to us, and it probably won’t be the last.”

Connor didn’t press for more information. He faced front with a thoughtful, almost conflicted look and the ride to the station passed in silence. A silence that Vincent spent thinking of her, of their bodies pressed together, and foolishly wishing that he could do it again.