CHANCE HAPPENINGS

ONE:
A Day in the Life

“Xave!” Robin O’Dell screamed.  She pulled at the chains, ineffectually, as he knew she would.  Her hair was usually done up in a smart ponytail; it was frayed now, bangs wisping around her heart-shaped face.  She was nude, but that only barely registered to him.  What did register was her face.  She was grinding her teeth together, trying to get leverage to pull the chains away from the wall, maybe to wrench her arms from their sockets, but nothing was working.

“I’m coming, Robin!” Chance yelled, vaulting down the stairs two at a time.  His arm was still on fire; his leather jacket had a clean hole through it, revealing how drenched his longsleeve was in his own blood.  Damned bullet might have ripped through a muscle, might have hit an artery... but he didn’t have time to check.

His ankle almost wrenched as he hit the concrete floor of the basement.  Pain shot up his leg.  But he raised his Stunner, waved it at the shadows to his left, keeping one eye on Robin. 

“On the floor, scum!”  He yelled.  Nothing moved.  And then he caught a flash of movement near Robin’s struggling form and whipped the Stunner around.  And there he was.  Even in the bad lighting of the basement, he still didn’t look like a serial killer, just a scrawny man with a pinched smile and something behind his eyes that looked more than just dangerous.

“No,” he said, and now he was using Robin’s nude body for a shield, stretching her to the limits of the chains. One bony hand held around her chest, possibly just endeavoring to feel her breasts with his forearms.  If she’d had any ability to move, she would have done something— kicked him, slapped him away, head-butted him.   Chance had seen her do it.  Either he was stronger than he looked, or he had leverage on her. 

“Back away from her,” Chance said dangerously.  The bony man was the one they’d been hunting.  Harold Jacoby.  He’d gotten a hold of some tech, gotten a yen for art, and five different ladies from a finishing school were on display in a burned out warehouse, all of them now composed as a tableau of bronze because of him.  He was unhinged, too.  Like so many Chance had seen.

  “I don’t think so.  I’ve come too far now.  I have another, Chance.”  The man’s thin voice cut through the shadows like a hot knife.  Then he chuckled, finding the turn of phrase amusing.  “Another chance.  And now you have none.”

“Dammit, shoot him, Xave!”  Robin said tightly.

Chance’s gun-hand wavered slightly.

And then Jacoby turned.  Chance fired the Stunner, but the shot was wide, whistling off into the darkness.  He fired again, but he could hear the maniacal laughter fading along with the footsteps.  He’d get him.  But first, Robin.

“Stay back, Xave!”  She said.

And then, in the darkness, he saw the blinking light on a shadowy orb by her bare feet.  He’d seen the same orb before, he knew... never active, though.  “Oh God.  Give me a second, I’ll get through the chains!”  He yelled, taking a running step closer.

“Xave!”  She yelled at him, stopping him instantly.  And then the anger was gone, her eyes became soft, a small smile almost touched her lips.  “Don’t.  Just get that bastard.  Promise me, Xave.”

Xavier Chance felt his eyes mist.  “Promise...  Robin.”  He said.

“I’ll miss you, Chance,” she said.

And then the grenade went off with a flash of incandescent light and a hiss, and he lost the only partner he’d ever cared for.

And still her voice echoed on: I’ll miss you, Chance.

Miss you, Chance.

Missyou Chance.

“Mister Chance?”

Silence.

“Mister Chaaahaaance.  Yoo-hoo?”

Detective Xavier Chance slowly opened his eyes and rubbed his hand over his face, already thick with two days’ worth of dark unshaved stubble, and mumbled something incoherent that very likely was at least half under-the-breath profanities.  It took a long while for the pretty, lightly made-up face of Bethany Stone to clear in his vision, surrounded by her mane of blonde curls.  She cocked her head at him.

“You know, I figured if I ever caught you sleeping it would be because I wore you out, Mister Chance.”  She said with a purse of her lips, and then put her hand on her hip, just above the hem of her tight black skirt, and hmmed.  Bethany was his personal assistant and receptionist (which was a nice way of saying secretary without all the innuendo that she loved to milk out of the title anyway), but more than that, she also took it upon herself to look after Chance.  And nettle him.  Why, God only knew.   “And here I didn’t feel anything this time around.”

“Nnh.”  Chance said, pulling himself from a more laid-back position in his leather chair to a more seated posture, still rubbing his face and finally reaching for a battered pack of Camels on the desk.

“Oh, and you’re so articulate today, too!”  Bethany beamed.  She reached down into the chair in front of his desk and picked up a stack of file folders with some loose papers between them, like a manila sandwich.  “Would you like a nice bagel with cream cheese to go along with your cigarette?” 

Chance shook his head.  “Nnthanks.”

“Then will you be having coffee with cream this afternoon, or you want to just do Chivas Regal from the bottle again?”  She asked with a smile that made it all but impossible to be angry with her verbal nudges.

Chance tried anyway.  He glowered at his young receptionist for a long moment.  Then his face slowly eased.  No need to be angry at her; he was the one who was dreaming at his desk.  He flicked open a Zippo and lit a well-packed cigarette, pointedly ignoring the way Bethany waved the file folders to keep the smoke away from her.

“Sorry, Beth.  Think I dozed off.” 

“Wow, you’re right!  And to think sometimes I wonder why you’re a detective.”  She sat on the desk corner, and looked at him, the laughter fading from her blue eyes.  “Big stakeout last night or something?”

“Paperwork.  Ghosts.  Bullshit.”  He waved it off, shook his head.  “What’ve you got?” 

Truth to tell, he likely could go to sleep and it wouldn’t much matter.  Bethany fielded the calls, handled most of the filing, and generally ran interference for him.  When people called, and despite the fact the office was slow this lazy summer day, they did call quite often, it was Bethany who took down all the information.  Even if he did all the field work and the actual investigating, the office of Xavier Chance, S.P.I., would have gone to hell in a handbasket if Beth wasn’t so good at her job.  She gave him a promising smile— a lot of her smiles tended to be promising— and flipped through her stack of notes.  Pale yellow Post-It Notes dotted the top file folder, as well. 

“Well, hmm.”  She plucked one memo off, seemingly at random.  “Captain Danton from the 19^th Precinct wants to know your findings from the Stockwell case.”

Chance rubbed at the bridge of his nose and ran his hand through his hair as he glanced at the clock on the wall.  2 pm.  Too mid-day-ish.  Late for lunch, early for supper.  Possibly not too early for a drink, though.  He jogged his memory.  “Stockwell.  Stockwell.  Oh, yeah.  Tell him I’ve sifted through and concur with the original findings.  That’s a Mae work.”   

“Mmm.”  Beth consulted the note.  “He says, and I quote, ‘don’t just give me that Mae Dusa malarchy either, unless she’s changed her M.O.’  End quote.” 

Chance lifted himself out of his chair, ashed out his cigarette, then adjusted his shoulder holster and brushed off his slacks as he made his way to the small campus-sized fridge he kept in his office.  He was about to pull out a beer, and thought better of it, taking out a small bottle of seltzer water, instead.  The whole time he was thinking.  Now that he’d remembered the basics, the details of the Stockwell case-file came through with frightening ease.  It was a blessing for a detective— Chance always had been good with details, especially when it came to a case. 

He’d investigated it not quite two weeks ago, after a call from the precinct saying they’d found a statue at the site of a residential break-in.  The victim was the owner of the house, one Chelsea Stockwell, a pretty young auburn-haired woman of twenty-six.  Recent college grad, interning at the Hub City Zoo after majoring in veterinary medicine.  Unmarried, no children, no known enemies.  She was found in the hallway, a look of surprise frozen on her stony face, her clothes ripped off and lying in tatters on the floor around her.  No note, nothing taken from the house.  Danton’s men had suggested Mae Dusa, but Danton himself wasn’t impressed... he wanted someone his men were capable of taking down, and when it came to the higher-powered types, most often, the officers were told to stand aside and let the costumes do the dirty work.

He sipped at the seltzer.  “I’ll call him.  But he’s just looking for someone to beat up.  Mae usually prefers more public locales, but otherwise, this is all her.  Forensics says the chemical composition of the stone’s consistent with a few of her other victims.  And Chelsea’s cell phone had an entry for her uncle, Martin Stockwell, who married one Elizabeth Camden two years ago.”

Bethany looked politely blank at this piece of news as Chance sat down.  “And?” 

“Camden was a student aide at Green Valley Modeling School.”  Chance added.  “Took some digging to find that out, but it fits Mae’s profile.  He’ll need to toss that case to Whetstine.  She’s in tight with the costumes... she could likely get Ms. Stockwell back to normal.”

Beth bobbed her head.  “There’s that, then.  This one just came in.  Carl at the 22^nd wants you to call as soon as you have a chance.  They might need you, but he didn’t give me any details.”

 Chance grunted.  The Twenty-Second Precinct was the northwest side.  A lot of urban developers had begun recently putting up new shops and carving out residential neighborhoods there, crowding out some of the older buildings.  Didn’t figure that would be a place for anything to crop up, but Carl was one of the few people he knew on the force that he could stomach for long periods.  “I’ll get back to him.”

Beth nodded.  “Okay, then.  Let’s see... Uhm... the D.A. might need your testimony on the Piper case from last month.”

“He knows where to call.”  Chance said blandly.  That was open and shut.  He’d helped put some street tough that came across one of Gem Stone’s special necklaces away.

“And I’m sure he will,” Bethany mused.  “And your cable bill’s overdue.  The third notice came in the mail today.”

“Toss it.” 

“Figured as much.  And... this, too: if you’re replacing me, it might be nice to give me a little advance warning first.”  Bethany said coolly.

Chance nodded as a force of habit and then froze, raising an eyebrow, the seltzer bottle stopped halfway to his lips.  “Beg pardon?”

“I said—”

“No, no, I heard what you said.  What do you mean, ‘replace’ you?”

“Well, you have a call from a Ms. Noelle Jordan, saying that she would be on her way to apply for the open position.”

“What open position?”  Chance asked.

Bethany shrugged.  “I would assume mine, seeing as if she’s replacing you, I’m going to have to become bisexual to get a rise out of her.  Unless you’re looking for a new partner...?”

The glare from Chance quashed that line of thought instantly.  Beth even took an interest in the carpet of the office, so stony was the look.

“Ah... You want her number?”  She finally asked.

“Yeah.  I’ll set her straight.”  Chance said, and scribbled it down.  A chime outside the door rang, the office doorbell.  “Can you get that, Beth?  I’ll take care of this.”

“Sure,” Beth said, her whole demeanor becoming more sedate since the mention of a partner.  “I’m really sorry I brought it up, Mister Chance.  I didn’t mean...”

Chance settled back down in his chair, cradled the receiver of his phone on his shoulder, and quickly began to tap out the number on the keypad.  “It’s okay.  No harm done.” 

She nodded and left the office as the ring tone started in his ear.  The other end clicked.

“Hello,” a female voice responded.  It was youthful sounding, Chance decided, maybe a bit on the no-nonsense side.  “This is Noelle.”

“Yes, Ms. Jordan?  This is Mr. Chance, of Chance, S.P.I, and—”

“I’m afraid I can’t make it to the phone right now...”

“—and I’m talking to a voicemail.  Dried fuck on a stick.”  Chance muttered.  He tried to place the accent on her voice.  It sounded a bit on the southern side, although not the stereotypical Gulf twang or Texas drawl.  Carolinas, maybe?

“…but if you leave me a message, I’ll get back to you as soon as possible.  Thanks!”  Her cheery voice was replaced by a tediously long set of beeps.

“Yes, Ms. Jordan?  This—”

The intercom rang.  “Mr. Chance?  There’s a Ms. Jordan here to see you.”

Chance looked at his phone stupidly for a long moment, and then hung up.  “Fine.  Guess we do it in person, then.”

He leaned back in his chair for a long moment, and let his glance slip over to that one corner of his office.  Most of the office was a bit cluttered— Chance might have been a lot of things, but neat freak was never among them— but that one corner was constantly spotless.  He’d made it a point not to put anything there.  No files, no furniture, just the plinth he’d paid out of his own pocket for. 

...And Robin.

It had taken a bit of money and a local construction crew to put her there, but he couldn’t bring himself to let her go anywhere else.  He owed her that much.  And while it took a while to get used to having her in his office— he was pretty sure Beth still forced herself not to stare into the corner— Chance himself had seen enough people that ended up like her that the sight of her didn’t really faze him the way it used to.  The sight of the fluorescent lights reflecting off her body almost had a calming effect on him.

There was almost something... almost noble... about her, in fact.  A lot of times, there was the unspoken hint of fear on the faces of the victims he investigated, in their pose, on the general demeanor they’d shown at the last.  With Robin, she stood exactly as she had when she’d been chained to the wall and the grenade went off.  There was no struggle to her, and except for the slight wisps of her ponytail that had been perfectly preserved in disarray, there was no sign she’d even been put out of sorts before it happened.  Her face had almost shown a curious sort of acceptance, even though she realized she’d be a bronze nude. 

That hadn’t lasted once she got into the office.  Chance felt like a peeping tom seeing her like that, and had at least covered her with a blue terrycloth towel.  It looked ridiculous, he knew, but he didn’t much care... there was something cosmically wrong with the fact that such a strong, vibrant woman as she had been couldn’t even do anything to cover up her own nudity.   He’d felt almost like he was violating her some way just to touch her enough to make sure the towel didn’t fall off.  He hated the thought that someday soon he’d have to buff and polish her to keep discoloration from setting in.

He looked up into the blank, bronze eyes of his former partner and sighed, remembering when she’d been assigned to him, while he was still pulling time with the department.  She was a wet-behind-the-ears Academy grad, who’d opted out of forensics to get a bit more action.

“I’ve seen your reports on the petrification cases in class, Lieutenant.  That’s some pretty fascinating reading; you’ve really got an eye for detail.”

“Thanks,” Chance responded with a smirk.  “You know, you’re the first person to tell me that.  Didn’t know anyone knew me from Adam.”

“Oh, they do.  They mostly just think you’re a prick,” Robin amended without even breaking a grin, but her eyes glinted mischievously.  “That’s okay, they think the same about me.  Pleasure to work with you.”

“Still a prick, after all these years,” he said, raising his Schweppes to the bronze beauty in salute.  The sight of her almost always brought a streak of sentimentality out in him.  He had to admit, as much as it hurt him to do so, it had been over a year now... and it just didn’t feel the same anymore as it had when Robin worked with him.  Her office had been vacant all that time.  He had the payroll for another partner, but it just seemed like it would be defaming Robin’s memory somehow to hire one on.  “Hell, you’d probably kick my ass if I tried to get a new partner, anyway, wouldn’t you?”

Robin O’Dell’s bronze lips only glinted in response.  They hadn’t actually parted to speak for some time.

The intercom buzzed again.  “Mister Chance?”

He took another sip, and then exhaled once more and touched the speak button.  “Sorry, just going over some things.  Go ahead and send her in, Beth.” 

Less than ten seconds later, the door to his office opened, and a smart-looking brunette with a confident air walked in.  She was dressed in a navy blue business skirt and jacket with a white blouse, and had an attaché case strap slung over her shoulder by its strap.   She smiled cordially at him and introduced herself as Noelle Jordan, and shook his hand, sitting down only after he politely offered the seat in front of his desk, and after giving a cursory look around his office.

And if Chance had any idea what her arrival would eventually signal, he very likely would have booted her out of his office himself long before her rear ever touched that seat.

¬R¬