Dark Alleys

by Rick Polad

  “Well, not quite, but now you know why our table wasn’t ready.”

  Her mouth dropped open even farther. “You mean the mayor is sitting at your table?”

  Spencer nodded with a smile and spread the napkin in his lap. “More like we would be sitting at his table.”

  Rosie frowned. “Kind of awkward, don’t you think?”

  Spencer slowly shook his head. “No, over and done with. Life moves on, Rosie.”

  At that moment, the mayor happened to glance in their direction and nodded with a slight smile. Spencer returned the nod and the smile. The nods acknowledged the pain of a past case. The smiles showed that life had moved on.

  Manny arrived with the drinks. He placed the chablis in front of Rosie and a bottle of Peroni in front of Spencer. He poured the beer slowly down the side of a fluted glass and said the appetizers would be right up.

  “Are you ready to order?”

  “I sure am,” Spencer said hungrily. “But why don’t you bring the display tray for the lady, please.”

  Rosie started to protest, saying she would just have a small steak, but Spencer insisted.

  “My pleasure, Mr. Manning,” Manny said with a bow.

  “Spencer, I know what I want. He really doesn’t have to go to the trouble.”

  “It’s no trouble. And you have to see this.” His eyes twinkled. He was obviously enjoying the suspense.

  She shrugged. “Okay. You’re the man with the special table.”

  * * *

  Manny was back in less than a minute, holding a large silver platter in one hand. The platter was filled with steaks. Rosie’s eyes opened wide in amazement as Manny started to describe the cuts of meat. Steaks bigger than salad plates draped over each other in luxurious decadence. Manny lovingly pointed to each cut and described them like he was talking about expensive jewelry. He balanced the tray expertly and said he would return in a moment to take their order.

  They lifted their glasses and clinked in the center of the table.

  Spencer raised his glass a bit and said warmly, “Here’s to good friends.”

  Rosie stopped the glass an inch from her lips, looked disappointed, and said, “Is that all? I was hoping for a bit more than friends.”

  After a long drink of beer, and with a great deal of poise, Spencer returned, “I did say good friends.”

  Still holding the glass and looking like a sad puppy dog, Rosie slowly and softly said, “I was hoping for a bit more than that too.”

  With raised eyebrows and a smile, Spencer said, “If I had known that, I would have planned somewhere a bit more private.”

  She took a sip of wine and set the glass down to the right of the plate. Brushing auburn hair from her face, Rosie said with a coy smile, “I don’t think this dinner is going to hurt your chances. A very good source tells me the steaks here are wonderful.”

  “I promise you a steak that will absolutely melt in your mouth.”

  Rosie dabbed her mouth with the napkin as Manny arrived with a large wicker basket of breads. He explained the three homemade varieties which included apple nut, marble rye, and whole wheat with just a hint of banana.

  “May I take your order?” Manny asked.

  They both ordered filets, Rosie the ten ounce and Spencer the sixteen with melted blue cheese.

  Rosie took a piece of the apple nut bread and, as she was adding whipped butter, asked Spencer if he had any more information about the girl he was looking for. As Rosie listened quietly, sipping wine and making a pig out of herself in the bread basket, Spencer filled her in on what he hadn’t covered during their morning run. Manny placed salads on the table during the conversation.

  “Do you have any idea why she left Florida?” Rosie asked.

  Spencer shrugged. “I’d have to agree with Tim. Probably looking for her sister, but who knows?”

  Rosie tried to make Spencer feel better by telling him the same thing Stosh had—if the girl knew he was there and wanted to lose him, she would. She also told him she didn’t want someone who treated her to dinners like this sticking his head in dark alleys and made him promise he would be more careful in the future. He promised. She had asked what Spencer planned to do about Laura when Manny arrived with the steaks and the biggest potato Rosie had ever seen. Manny cut it in half and served it on two small plates.

  Staring at Spencer’s steak, Rosie said, “That’s the largest piece of beef I’ve ever seen. You can’t possibly eat all that.”

  Spencer sliced a piece off an end, put it in his mouth, closed his eyes, and chewed very slowly. Opening his eyes, he declared he was in heaven. “No, I can’t eat all of this, but I’m going to give it my best.” He waved the knife at her plate and said, “Dig in.”

  Following Spencer’s lead, and expecting something extraordinary, Rosie took a bite of the filet. He was right. It was not possible that food could be this good. They ate and talked a bit about the weekend murders. Rosie didn’t have anything to add that Spencer didn’t already know.

  * * *

  Rosie watched Spencer as he slowly savored each bite of steak and wondered if her hints had any effect or were just falling on deaf ears. Lord knows she had been trying long enough. She had been in love with Spencer Manning ever since she knew what love was. They had gone out in groups and had become good friends, continuing activities together, like running, that they had previously done in groups. She had no doubt that he enjoyed her company, but couldn’t for the life of her figure out why he showed no deeper interest. She didn’t consider herself beautiful, but she was attractive and had many other requests for dates to prove it. They had cooked together, told each other deep, dark secrets, laughed about silly things, and fallen asleep in each other’s arms while talking into the wee hours of the morning. She had done everything but jump in his lap, and tonight she was ready to do that.

  Spencer finally gave up trying to conquer his steak, and Manny started to clear the dishes.

  Asking where the little girl’s room was, Rosie slid to the edge of the seat and swung her legs into the room.

  “Up the stairs. You’ll see it at the top. Take your time looking at the pictures. And see if you can find the mirror.”

  “What mirror?”

  He smiled. “You’ll find it. I’ll meet you by the pictures.”

  Rosie left and Spencer paid the bill. Five minutes later he joined her on the second landing of the stairway. Engrossed in the pictures, she didn’t notice he was there till he asked, “See anybody you know?”

  “My God, Spencer. This is amazing. Is there anyone famous who isn’t on this wall?”

  “Probably not.”

  “And this mirror!” She spread her hands and pointed with both to the ceiling and a huge mirror in a hand-carved, ornate wooden frame. Turning toward him and wrapping her arms around him, she said, “Thanks for bringing me here, Spencer. I had a wonderful time.”

  He hugged her back. “Yes, it is wonderful, isn’t it?”

  She looked up at him, her eyes about six inches lower than his. “So are you.”

  It was the perfect moment for a kiss but the kiss didn’t come.

  Trying to keep the confused look off her face, Rosie looked into his eyes. She believed the reason for his reluctance to get involved lay somewhere deep in those eyes, mixed in the cobwebs of the past. He had lost both parents in a car accident, and common sense told Rosie that had to have something to do with the way a person acted. Maybe it was a big part and maybe it was a small part, but it was something Spencer wasn’t facing by himself. He needed help, but she had no idea how to go about suggesting that. One thing she knew for sure—his reluctance wasn’t because of her. She wanted to scream at him that she loved him and had for years, but knew that wouldn’t work either. So she would continue to drop hints and slowly try to wear away the wall Spencer had around him. It might take time and it might never happen, but she had plenty of time and it was worth a try. She had nothing to lose and plenty to gain. And if this was all she
got, she had a wonderful friend to share life with.

  Rosie oohed and aahed over autographed celebrity pictures, including Tony Bennett and Ron Santo, and then they headed for the door. There was no longer anyone standing outside, but about twenty people were still waiting for a table. It was 10:25.

  Chapter 27

  The city lights washed out everything in the sky except for a half moon that hung above the western horizon like a slice of orange. The temperature was in the low forties and Laura was chilly. She wrapped her arms around her chest to try and keep in some warmth. She had spent the last hour avoiding police cars. At a quarter to eleven, she decided it was too cold to stay out on the street.

  On the way back to her apartment, she sympathized with the women who tried to make a living at this. It was hard enough to start with. But throw in the fact that some deranged maniac was roaming the streets and the cops were out in droves trying to catch him, and business got much riskier. The johns knew the cops were out in bigger numbers and patrolling more heavily, so they stayed away. Maybe that would stop the murders. No tricks, no reason to be on the streets, nobody for the guy to kill.

  As she turned onto Wilson, Laura thought about Naples and longed for the warmth of Florida. But the problem that had sent her north was still there.

  As she turned into her doorway, Laura watched the moon disappear behind a blanket of clouds.

  Chapter 28

  The doorman held the passenger door open for Rosie, who held onto the roof of the car and gently lowered herself into the baby-blue Mustang. Spencer paid for the service and headed north on Rush Street, which was packed with Saturday-night traffic, everyone going nowhere fast and not seeming to mind.

  Without considering where he was going, Spencer drove north and turned onto Lakeshore Drive.

  Rosie moved her hand to Spencer’s leg and asked, “We going somewhere in particular?”

  “Just thought a drive along the lake would be nice.”

  It was, but Rosie knew there was more to it than that. She wasn’t sure what drove Spencer emotionally, but she knew in the rest of his life there was little wasted effort. When he exited at Belmont, she asked if he wanted some help.

  “With what?”

  “Looking for Laura. Four eyes are better than two and you’re supposed to be driving.”

  Spencer turned right onto Broadway and drove slowly down the tunnel of neon lights. As he headed north, he described Laura to Rosie. He also wondered if she was smart enough to figure out that he was thinking about Laura or if he was that obvious. Probably both. He pointed out the spot where she had stood and the alley where she had disappeared. People in all stages of drunkenness filled the sidewalks, but there was no Laura. After the third pass of a six-block area, Spencer turned onto Wilson and headed for her apartment.

  A half block from the apartment, Spencer spotted Laura walking home. He pointed her out to Rosie and pulled into an open spot next to a hydrant where he could see the rest of the block. She turned into her building and disappeared inside.

  “Do you feel better now?” asked Rosie.

  Taking a deep breath, Spencer responded with relief, “Yeah. I was worried someone would find her in a dumpster somewhere.”

  “Well, thankfully that didn’t happen. But you know Spencer, even if it had, it wouldn’t be your fault.”

  “No?”

  “No. Now let’s go home. My place or yours?”

  He looked at her with surprise. “Not both?”

  “No, not both.” She twisted sideways and gave him a coy smile.

  He gave in. “Mine.” He pulled away from the curb. As they passed Laura’s apartment building, Spencer gently placed his right hand on Rosie’s leg and said, “You know, I’d hate to ruin a good friendship.”

  “Ruin how?” she asked innocently. She knew what he meant, but wanted to tease him.

  Not wanting to wrongfully assume what Rosie had in mind, Spencer answered noncommittally. “You know, doing things that are, well, beyond the things friends do.” He turned onto Halsted and headed south.

  “And those would be?”

  “Jesus, Rosie!”

  She laughed. “It’s okay, Spencer. I’m just teasing. We can do or not do whatever you like. I think it would be nice to spend the night with you. We can talk and fall asleep on the couch if you like.”

  They sat in silence for a few minutes as Spencer drove through the crowded streets.

  “Would you like to do more?” he asked as he stopped for a red light. He looked straight ahead.

  Rosie touched his arm and said, “I would like whatever you feel comfortable with.”

  “That doesn’t answer my question.” He slowly pulled away from the light.

  “I’ve wanted to do more for years.”

  Chapter 29

  Stretch had been following Laura and saw the Mustang park and then leave after she entered the apartment building. He went up to the second floor room across the street and let himself in. The shift man, a skinny, balding runt named Rico, looked up from his chair with sleepy eyes.

  Stretch looked over the log. “You see the notice about the Mustang?” he asked irritably. A page with large print, directing the men to watch for a baby-blue Mustang with Spencer’s plates, was taped to the wall next to the window.

  Rico shrugged. “Sure.”

  There were two times noted in the log—when Laura left and returned. “No Mustang?”

  Rico shrugged again, pursed his lips, and shook his head sideways.

  Stretch calmly pulled a roll of bills out of his pocket, peeled off a few, and dropped them in Rico’s lap.

  “What’s that?”

  “That’s your pay. Get the hell out.”

  “What for? My shift’s not done.” Rico said with a sneer.

  “It is now.” He thumbed toward the door.

  “What the hell for?” Rico asked belligerently. “I did my job.”

  “Your job is to watch the street. A couple minutes ago that blue Mustang drove by so slow you could have counted the dents.” He glanced at the money in Rico’s lap. “If you don’t want the money, I’ll take it back. One way or the other, you’re leaving.”

  Rico stared at Stretch for a few seconds and knew he was done. He folded the bills and tucked them in his pocket. As he got up and started walking toward the door, he said under his breath, “Maybe the lady would like to know that you’re watching her all the time.”

  Without a blink or a second to think about it, Stretch responded coolly, “Maybe you’d like to try walking on your hands.”

  Rico left the apartment without looking back. He didn’t mean anything by his threat. He just wanted the last word. But despite his bravado, he had the feeling Stretch did mean what he had said.

  The last word belonged to Stretch.

  Chapter 30

  Stosh woke up about four o’clock Sunday morning to what in his dream was a gunshot. In reality, it was a clap of thunder. In his dream, he was running through a dark, foggy alley toward a woman’s scream. Hazy yellow light from the end of the alley filtered through the fog like smoke through a veil. No matter how much he ran, Stosh never seemed to get closer to the scream, but for a second the fog cleared and the light sparkled off a shiny steel blade held in an upraised hand. As the hand lowered, Stosh raised his pistol and fired. At that moment he woke up, sweating and breathing hard, as if he had actually run down the alley.

  Taking several deep breaths, Stosh wiped sweat off his forehead and sat in the quiet of his living room. The only sound was rain falling softly on the roof. His breathing was returning to normal when a bolt of lightning lit up the western sky, followed about three seconds later by another crack of thunder. The storm was moving toward the lake, and Stosh knew the rain would soon intensify. He looked at the picture on the credenza under the window and thought back to nights when he and Francie would lie in bed, wrapped in each other’s arms, and fall asleep to the gentle patter of the rain. The feeling of loss that now kept him out of t
hat bed started to wash over him like a river over a sand bar, lifting from here and shifting to there, leaving him with a confusion of emotions that surfaced at the oddest times, seemingly out of nowhere.

  Whether it was because of the dream or the afternoon nap, he was wide awake. Another bolt, followed immediately by thunder, brought Stosh back to the alley and thoughts of Jack the Ripper. The rain suddenly fell in a torrent as he got up to search through his books. In the middle of the third shelf, he found Famous Unsolved Crimes, slid it out, and blew dust off the top. He ran his finger along the front edge of the shelf, and thought of all the little things that Francie had done that he had taken for granted. It was the first time he had ever found dust on his books.

  Stosh shuffled back to the chair as the rain drove into the picture window. It took him less than an hour to read the chapter on Jack. There was no mention of any coins.

  Memory had served Stosh fairly well. Five murders within a ten-week window had been committed in a poverty-stricken area of London known as White Chapel. They all had been low-end prostitutes, willing to sell themselves for only a few pennies. All but one had been mutilated, some more than others. One had been lucky and only her throat had been cut. The girl found by the owner of the laundry was fairly neat compared to one of the victims of Jack the Ripper.

  The London police did have a suspect—a Polish Jew by the name of Kosminski. Another Jew by the name of Israel Schwartz had seen Kosminski struggling with Elizabeth Stride, the third victim. Schwartz had run away. He later said he’d seen Kosminski. After the fifth murder, Kosminski had been arrested, but couldn’t be held because Schwartz had been unwilling to testify against a fellow Jew and had not seen the actual murder. Kosminski had been released into the custody of his brother and had been continuously tailed. Following that, the murders stopped. Kosminski was later committed to a mental institution.