Page 4 of Night Justice

A quick look at the clock told her she should arrive on time. While she had sources and heard rumors, others had more direct links to the city’s underworld, and one in particular.

Normally, she’d head downtown and scour the dives, but as time was of the essence, she went straight to his house in West Englewood to find Martin Pebbles, aka Freckles, before he started his night of work.

Driving into the small neighborhood, Orla pulled her hoodie over her platinum blond hair and was glad her small car was a reliable pile of rust that wouldn’t draw attention.

She parked two doors down from her destination and took a quick look around. Everything seemed calm enough and she exited her car. The air felt cool and the area seemed peaceful, apart from the sound of a motorcycle in the distance. The small houses were old, and the yards well kept, but she had no illusions. It was a potentially dangerous zone that could turn sour the next second.

As she stepped in front of the door and knocked, Orla touched the knife hidden in the small of her back and the can of mace tucked into her waistband. With attitude being half the battle, she loosened her shoulders and put her poker face solidly in place.

When the door opened, a strong smell of weed clogged her throat, and she coughed while waving a hand in front of her face to disperse the smell.

“Hey! If it isn’t my favorite but annoying journalist. You finally took up my offer to come and suck my dick this lovely fall evening?”

She arched an eyebrow at the ginger headed, wannabe thug, with pale skin due, and so many freckles there was no other name to call him. “You kiss your mother with that mouth?”

High as a kite, he snickered and gestured for her to enter. The scent was overpowering when she stepped into the kitchen. It was his mother’s house, but she mostly lived in Florida with her sister when fall temperatures came knocking. “I can’t offer you anything because my fridge is empty. I was on my way to the store.”

“Don’t lie. You were heading off to sell your drugs. Don’t know how you’ll drive downtown in your current state.”

When he smiled, he looked so young. It hurt her heart to see a young man with such potential being dragged into the criminal world that way, but it wasn’t her decision.

Freckles slouched on a chair and pushed a pizza box that smelled rotten toward her. “I have a mom, and you’re not her. If you came here to play her part, you’re wasting your time.”

Orla thought about the old woman and sighed. She’d met his mother years ago when she was investigating a boss abusing factory workers and had bonded with the woman and had even tried to pull her son away from the street but to no avail. “It’s because of her I’m trying to help you.”

“You saved me from going to jail a couple of times, and I thanked you for that. How long will I have to keep paying for it?”

He was rambling and apart from breaking her heart, Orla decided to jump into the reason why she came. “Phantom.”

Being under the influence of drugs, the young man couldn’t conceal his surprise at the name. “Never heard of it.”

“Yeah, right. Don’t take me for an idiot. Instead, tell me you aren’t selling it, or you can’t sell it because you’re not part of the distribution network?”

The young man rubbed the back of his neck, looking disgusted. “Fuck, Blondie. You’re correct, but if you want my advice, it’s not something you should investigate. Anyway, that shit hasn’t arrived yet as far as I know.”

Oh, right. Just the thing not to say to a reporter. “And why shouldn’t I ask questions?”

The Freckles she knew was always aloof, joking with a hint of defiance. At that moment, it wasn’t what she saw. Not only did he have a dark look, but he was scared. Freckles had been on the streets for a long time and was cunning and smart. He would’ve been dead a thousand times in his line of work if he’d been stupid. He knew everybody and everyone on the street, and if he was telling her to back off, that meant another force was at play, and he was afraid.

“Baby, you can do what the fuck you want, I don’t think you’d listen to anyone even if you had a gun to your head.”

“So Phantom isn’t being distributed currently. That’s what you’re saying?”

With a sigh, Freckles stood and opened the fridge door, but she saw how he glanced at the door and covered windows. He grabbed two beers and threw one at her. “No, but it should be soon because everybody is on edge. You hear about the power struggle a few months back? Most people thought it was because of the shifts within the Mafia, but it was deeper than that. From what I gathered, a lot of the top guys flew to Europe a few times, where lots of money was exchanged. People thought it was for an alliance, but I doubt it, especially since several MCs were involved in that too. Riders don’t do politics, at least not on that level, so it had to be part of a negotiation.”

Orla took a swig of beer, but it tasted foul in her mouth. “Big money, power struggle. If the top criminals in Chicago are ready to ditch that much dough, there’s only one reason. They’re trying to control the Phantom distribution.”

Freckles shrugged, before looking behind the curtain covering the kitchen window. “Can’t be sure of anything. Nobody’s talking, and that’s weird. Spooky. I’ve heard the rumors about The Phantom, but I never thought a new drug would create so much fuss.”

Leaning forward, she put her elbows on the table. “I’ve researched Phantom. What’s so special about it? Why do so many people die using it?”

“I don’t know. It says that unless you try it, you don’t know how it feels, and once you do, you’re so hooked, you’re willing to die for more of it.”

Strong words. Not kill for it but die for it. Time and time again, she’d seen heroin carve away at men and women, turning them into zombies willing to sell their own children to get their fix.

“I don’t know if I want to see that, Blondie, let alone sell it.”

A shiver went down her spine at the gloom oozing from him. “Why don’t you close up shop for a while and go visit your mother?”

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