Page 6 of Diamonds (Aces Underground #2)

MADDOX

I ’m driving. Fast.

Alissa’s in the passenger seat, and the hatbox containing May’s head is in the back seat, buckled behind a seatbelt.

I thought about putting it in the trunk, but then I worried that it might tip over and spill its contents. The last thing we need right now is the sound of May’s head rolling around in the trunk. And we want to keep it in as pristine condition as possible so Bill can confirm her identity.

Alissa leans over and squints at the speedometer. “You’re going awfully bloody fast.”

“It’s Chicago. People never go the speed limit here.”

“But it’s the middle of the night. It’s not like you have to worry about traffic.”

“I have to worry about getting the fuck out of that damned park, Alissa. About someone following us. We’re not even close to being out of the woods.” I point my thumb to the rear of the car. “Just ask our good friend in the back seat.”

“Yes, but we’re also not going to do ourselves any favors if we end up in an accident.”

I don’t respond.

Maddox Hathaway isn’t driving, anyway.

Mad Maddox is.

I used to think Mad Maddox only came out when I was aroused.

But tonight, I’ve learned he comes out when my fight-or-flight kicks in. And truth be told, he’s been at the reins since I came face to face with May’s severed head.

And Mad Maddox has one mission. Get to the coroner as quickly as possible. Speed limit be damned.

It’s the middle of the night. No one’s going to pull me over in the middle of the night. The cops who are on duty this time of night are focusing on our city’s many murderers and rapists.

Alissa swallows. “So you said this man did your father’s autopsy?”

“Correct.”

“Bill, you said his name was.”

“Bill Lassard, yeah.”

“And he’s a…friend of the family?”

“I guess you could say that, yeah.”

Bill isn’t a family friend. At least not in the way Alissa means. He’s the city’s head coroner, and he rubbed elbows with my dad during his term as mayor.

But Alissa doesn’t know about my dad. And now certainly isn’t the time to tell that story.

“And you’re sure we can trust him?”

I rub at the back of my neck. “Fuck, Alissa. I can’t know for sure after all we’ve been through.

But Bill Lassard is great at what he does, and he never asks too many questions.

He’s not a member of Aces, so he has no connection to Rouge as far as I know.

He’s our best bet. Speaking of which”—I reach into my pocket and grab my cell phone, speaking into its receiver—“Hey Siri, call Bill Lassard’s cell. ”

It doesn’t ring at all. Just goes straight to his voicemail.

“You’ve reached Bill Lassard. Sorry to miss your call. Please leave your name and number and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”

Alissa sighs. “Sounds like we may have to wait until morning. He probably has his phone on sleep mode.”

“You can break through Do Not Disturb if you make two calls back-to-back.” I tap the phone again.

This time it rings. Three times, four times.

And then the voicemail message again.

“Maddox, I think?—”

“No. One more time.”

I make the call once more, letting it ring once, twice?—

A groggy voice comes through the other end. “Christ, Maddox, do you know what time it is?”

“Bill. Thank God you answered. Listen, I know it’s late, but I have an emergency. Something I need you to look at as soon as possible. How close are you to the morgue downtown?”

“I live right around the corner, but?—”

“I wouldn’t be calling if it weren’t an emergency. Please. I’m five minutes away from there myself. Can you meet us there?”

“Shit.” He yawns through the phone. “Are you sure it can’t wait until morning?”

“A hundred percent. Cannot wait.”

“What the hell. I suppose I owe you.”

I wrinkle my forehead. What the fuck does Bill owe me for? I haven’t seen him since he handed me the report for my dad’s autopsy.

Maybe Dad did him some favors during his term as mayor that Bill was never able to pay back.

Shit. What kind of favors would a mayor be doing a coroner? Was Dad into some bad shit?

He had all those sex scandals after his so-called HOUSE bill ruined his entire political career, but that was the worst of what came to light as his approval ratings took a nosedive.

Was there more?

And fuck… Does that mean I can’t trust Bill?

I rub my forehead. I don’t know what to think anymore.

* * *

Why the fuck is this my job?

I guess normally the spouse of the deceased takes care of funeral arrangements, but Dad unloaded Mom a few months before he died. I’m his legal next of kin.

But given Dad’s position, you’d think the City of Chicago would be making his arrangements.

Then again, he plunged half the city into unemployment and homelessness in his last year, so maybe they didn’t feel particularly obligated to shell out for his posthumous expenses.

His estate is covering the cost of everything, but I’m the one who has to deal with all the little details. Pick out a coffin, arrange a burial, even decide which suit he’ll spend eternity in.

Probably that Armani suit he hated so much, the one he wore the night of my eighteenth birthday. That would be some fucking justice.

I got a call from Bill Lassard, the city coroner, asking me to come in and identify the body.

Such a fucking joke. Any person in this city could identify Henry Hathaway’s body.

His face has been plastered all over protestors’ signs and unflattering political cartoons the last few years.

Even after he lost the election, and even after his death, his face has become synonymous with political corruption and government overreach.

Bill Lassard meets me at the door. He’s a skinny guy, balding, wearing a suit two sizes too big and giant round glasses. A wiry goatee frames the lower half of his face. He reaches out a hand.

“Maddox Hathaway, I presume?”

“The First Disgrace himself,” I mutter.

That was what the newspapers called me after my birthday party. After I shunned the Hathaway political dynasty in front of all of Dad’s then-allies.

When Dad’s reputation went south, it took on a whole new meaning.

Bill frowns at my words. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“That makes one of us,” I say. “Let’s get this over with. I have an appointment with the funeral home after this, and every second I spend dealing with my father’s corpse is a second away from my own business.”

“Of course, Mr. Hathaway. Right this way.”

Bill brings me inside to a sterile room laden with stainless steel from floor to ceiling. I instinctively cross my arms against the chill. Bill leads me to a small table and pulls back a sheet.

“Is this your father?”

I look at Dad. I haven’t seen him in person since my eighteenth birthday. He looks about the same. A few more wrinkles and gray hairs.

But one thing different is his left eye. It’s swollen and dark, like someone punched him.

“What happened to his eye?” I ask.

“Your father died of a heart attack. The kind that kills almost instantly. He likely collapsed and hit his eye on a table or other piece of furniture.” Bill takes a breath in. “But you haven’t answered my question, Mr. Hathaway. Is this your father?”

“Of course it’s my fucking father.”

“Thank you.” Bill grabs the sheet to cover my father’s head again.

“Wait.”

Bill sighs. “Yes?”

“What… What are you going to do to him? To prepare him for the funeral?”

“The mortuary will take care of all that.”

“So? You’re a coroner, so you know that stuff. Tell me anyway.”

Bill frowns. “Are you sure you want to know? It’s not a pretty process.”

I nod. “I do. It’s my father, damn it. I deserve to know.”

“Of course.” Bill peels the sheet off my father, exposing his chest. “First, they’ll disinfect him. Clean the skin with a germicidal solution to prevent the growth of bacteria.”

I nod silently, swallowing.

“Next,” Bill says, “they’ll set the features. Eyes and mouth need to be closed.” He lifts my father’s eyelids briefly and then releases them. “They’ll use cotton or eye caps beneath the lids to keep them from sinking. A suture or wire keeps the mouth closed.”

“Guess he won’t be running it off at campaign rallies anymore.” I chuckle weakly.

Bill doesn’t laugh.

“It’s about preservation. And dignity. Everything I’m doing and everything the funeral home will do is as your father requested.”

“Of course. He’d want his best foot forward. As if the”—air quotes—“ mourners could ever forget how he fucked this city over.”

“All any of us can do is our best with the information we’re given at the time, Maddox.”

I raise an eyebrow. Up to now, he’s called me by my last name. Why this sudden shift of tone?

“Anyway, what’s next?”

“The next part is a little gruesome. It’s not really something family members want to hear about.”

“Well, he disinherited me, so I’m not really family, am I?”

Bill sighs. “Fine. They’ll drain the body of blood and make an incision, starting with the carotid artery.

” He places a finger over my father’s throat.

“Then they’ll attach the embalming machine to the incision.

As the blood drains through the jugular, the machine replaces it with embalming fluid, mostly formaldehyde. ”

My own blood feels like it’s draining out of my own face at his words, but my curiosity pulls me back for more. “And then?”

“Then there are the organs. Your father wasn’t a donor, so they’ll remain in his body.”

“Of course he wasn’t. Selfish bastard.”

“Even in death, an individual maintains authority over his own body.” Bill pulls out a silver surgical instrument with a three-sided cutting point enclosed in a tube.

“This is a trocar. It’s used to pierce the abdominal cavity and drain it of all fluids and gases.

Otherwise, the body will swell. Gases will rupture the organs. ”

“That’d definitely ruin the funeral.”

“I understand that you’re using humor to cope with your father’s death, but please try to remain respectful. A man is dead.”

I smirk. “A man who ruined the lives of half the people in this city. I’m sure your job was secure. All those homeless overdoses probably gave you lots of work.”

“Mr. Hathaway ? —”

“Shove it. I’m allowed to process my father’s death in the manner of my choosing. After the organs, what’s next?”

Bill frowns. “Then just a little makeup, and they’ll dress him. I assume you have an outfit in mind?”

I stifle a grin. “I do.”

“Then you’ll need to drop it off at the mortuary tomorrow.”

“Got it.” I scan my father’s still form. “Can I… Can I have a moment alone with him?”

“Of course. Just let me know when you’re finished.”

He leaves the room, leaving me alone with the remains of Henry Hathaway, disgraced former mayor of Chicago.

I stand there for a few moments. Finally ? —

“I don’t have anything to say to you, old man,” I say.

I turn around and leave my father for the last time.

His whole life over, all to end up pumped with chemicals and wires. Dad would hate that he’ll be wearing makeup at his funeral. He’d say only women should wear makeup, even in death.

But no matter what, we all end up on that embalmer’s table. In the dirt.

Dust and ashes.

Fuck.

* * *

My father’s death was one thing. At least his was natural, the result of a heart attack. After the last year of his life, no one was surprised the stress got him in the end.

May didn’t come to her final resting place naturally. She had the life stolen out of her body.

I don’t know what kind of life she led. All we know is that she was brought over from Vietnam and worked at Aces for a few years.

But she met the same dark fate that awaits all of us.

She met it in a particularly gruesome way, and far too early, but she’s gone off to whatever waits for us after this life.

And she won’t get the fancy chemicals my father got. She won’t have a funeral.

You need a body for that.