Fly With Fire

by Frances Randon

  “There’s a lot of people out,” she peered past him to the busy lakefront.

  “We have an appreciation for nice weather. Now fall’s coming. Not that we let cold weather get in the way of much. Usually, you see a lot of sailboats out there. Some ships. I run on the lake a lot.” Zack felt a little nervous trying to make conversation. “Have you ever been here before?”

  I was here a couple years ago. With the show. I never got into the city. We didn’t have a…well, respite.” Zack didn’t know what to say and she said nothing more but held her hand a little out the window to feel the air rushing against it like a child might. She looked at the city leaning her head against the edge of the window. They passed a marina full of sailboats rocking in the wind. Zack looked sidelong at her profile and saw little wisps of hair come loose from her thick, black braid. “I always thought of Chicago as grimy, grim, both I guess. It’s really quite beautiful.”

  “It’s got its grimy, grim parts. Believe me. But it is beautiful.” Zack slowed at the big curve where the Drake Hotel loomed over the drive.

  “You’re biased, of course, Detective.” Mo lurched forward and pointed at Navy Pier. The huge Ferris wheel spun as the lights running on the frame of it blinked against the dark sky. She wouldn’t mind a stroll in the fresh feeling after storm air. She sighed. “How do you get there? I mean if you wanted to walk?” Mo was suddenly treated to a bit of police driving as Zack suddenly cut into the next lane and made a squealing right turn. A horn blew as Zack weaved and turned feeling a little foolish, knowing he was showing off. There they were at Navy Pier as darkness veiled the city. The city twinkled now.

  They strolled along the pier which had light foot traffic. She looked out over the lake and at the boats loading tourists. “We can walk inside if you want to get out of the wind. There’s souvenir shops and stuff.” Zack held a hand out toward the building. “There’s a cool glass window exhibit. You know, antique ones.”

  “No, I’d rather be outside if that’s okay. It is windy, just like they say!” She smoothed her hair which blew right out of place again. “Montreal can be windy too but the wind around here never stops.”

  “Yeah, but Montreal gets even colder than here.” Zack had an impulse to put an arm around her. It wasn’t a date. He let it go. “You know Chicago’s just as well known for the wind of its politicians. That sure never stops. I could start a hot air balloon business on the roof of city hall.” She gave him a slight smile at that.

  “Why is this called ‘Navy Pier’? Was it a Navy base?” Mo turned and looked at the glittering skyline.

  “It was built for shipping and warehousing. Big port for shipping on the Great Lakes. It was used for Navy training in World War II but it was called Navy Pier before that to honor World War 1 veterans. Now it’s a big tourist trap. But it’s nice to walk here sometimes. I think it’s the city’s biggest attraction. Or one of them, anyway. Sometimes I come and watch a movie at the IMAX if there’s something that looks good. When I’ve got some free time.” Zack met her eyes as her gaze turned toward him. He looked away with the sensation that she realized his attraction. He didn’t want to make her uncomfortable.

  “I guess your times not always your own in your job.” She looked hard at him. He was shy. Despite his brisk air of confidence, he was shy. At least he seemed so as he avoided her direct gaze and pointed to the Ferris wheel.

  “It’s a hundred and fifty feet high, and let me tell you the wind up there is something. But the view…come on!” He grabbed her arm and headed toward the Ferris wheel. There were only a few couples and a family waiting as they approached the ticket booth. Zack pulled out his wallet and gave the kid a ten. The wheel never stopped but moved so slowly they could step into one of the cars with ease. They began their ascent. Zack and Mo sat across from each other. He watched her as she looked all around as they rose slowly into the air.

  “One of these ever fallen off?” She cried out.

  “Not that I ever heard of. Not afraid of heights are you?” She smiled a little smile and put her arms around herself. Zack realized she just wore a short sleeved shirt while he wore his suit jacket. The breeze was cooler the higher they went. It whistled through the car. He pulled off his jacket which she resisted very little as he draped it on her shoulders. He settled beside her as he did so. They looked at the view of downtown, the skyline sparkling in the darkness. Mo stared and hugged the jacket around more tightly.

  “It’s beautiful, very beautiful.” Mo said quietly. They sat in silence as the car rose. He leaned looking out at the city. He was inches from her ear which he focused on, then stared at with her entirely unaware. You’re beautiful, he thought. Very beautiful. If he could have spent the evening tracing the curves and turns of that ear with his fingertip he felt that all the tension of the past few weeks might have been lifted. To just gently trace the form of it, his fingers barely touching. Could he touch it so lightly she, perhaps, wouldn’t know? He shook his head at his own silliness and that caught her attention. She looked at him now, aware he had been looking at her. She smiled another quick, small smile and turned to look at the view feeling guilty at the sensation spreading through her. A heat that vibrated along her skin. She had goose bumps from the chilly air but a flush of that heat rose up her neck and to her face.

  Her voice wavered a little. “Up here one would be hard pressed to think of that grimy side. But I guess there’s always that, and we delude ourselves the best we can. Until it hits home. I guess you see it every day. Is it hard to see the beauty here, seeing what you see every day?”

  Zack slumped internally, just thinking about his job made him weary these days. He’d told himself many times it was just the pressure of the last few months. “Sometimes.” He tried to recover himself. “I do a necessary job. I try not to let it permeate everything else. I work a lot of hours but it’s not all I do.” They watched the city lights for a silent moment. Mo turned to look at the lake. It was black except for the lights of a few optimistic boaters and the tour boats chugging a ways from the lakefront. The lights on the Ferris wheel cast shadows as they blinked on and off. She turned her attention again to the city lights as they reached the highest point.

  Zack found he didn’t know what to say and Mo seemed content to watch in silence. He leaned back into the shadows and studied her profile. He heard her sniffle and watched her raise a hand to her eyes. He pressed a hand on her arm. Mo turned and looked at him. When the lights blinked on he could see her eyes were swollen with tears. She turned her face away and gently drew her arm away as well. Zack let his hand drop. He felt a tightening in his stomach. He wanted to put his arms around her so badly. It wasn’t lust he felt he told himself. He was drawn to her. Wanted to comfort her. Weren’t we all like children when we grieved? Didn’t we all need to be held? Was he kidding himself?

  He jumped off and held her arm as if she wasn’t one of the world’s greatest trapeze artists. She landed so they were toe to toe. “So, what else do you do Mr., Detective…?”

  “Zack, remember, Ms. Whitman?”

  “Mo, Remember, Zack?” She turned and walked on. She let out her breath. She felt like she had been holding it for minutes. “So, Zack. What else do you do besides catch bad guys?”

  “Get up, get dressed, eat.” He felt his heart slow up and realized how fast it had been beating. So much for his powers of observation. “You look cold; wanna head back to the car? She pulled the jacket closer around her and nodded.

  “Now you’re being evasive.” She stopped and turned to him at the bottom of the ramp. People still strolled on the pier. A tour boat was emptying out a small crowd, laughing, talking. She tilted her head, “You run, and?”

  “You know, that, different stuff. I go camping sometimes, when I can. I read a bit. Take in a game sometimes.”

  “Date? You’re a single man. You must date.” She tried to brush a blowing wisp of hair but her hands were full of jacket so he brushed it behind her ear for her as if it were spun glass
which might break at the least pressure. She hitched her shoulder at the tickle of it.

  “Not so much.” They walked back toward the parking lot, strolling leisurely. “I’ve been divorced about five months. Between moving, all that, work, then Ray. I haven’t had a lot of time. Tell you the truth, haven’t been that interested. I guess that’s what divorce does for you. And my job. I tend to work long hours. It’s not always the most convenient schedule. Women tend not to like it when you have to break dates. You been married?”

  “No.” She didn’t elaborate.

  “Serious relationship?” She had started the questions yet he couldn’t help but feel like he was intruding.

  “No.”

  “Well, what do you do when you’re not flying through the air and catching fire?”

  “There are other things to do?” She laughed but it was nothing like the first night he’d met her. It was a hollow laugh. The pleasure of true laughter would be suspended for a while. He held her elbow as he unlocked the car door. An unnecessary but comforting courtesy in her mind.

  “This is a quiet neighborhood, not much going on, though a little further south there’s some blues clubs. They’re mostly for tourist these days. Crammed on the weekends. Sometimes I stop in one during the week if there’s someone I like. Quieter then. Fewer drunks. You a blues fan? Willie Dixon, Muddy Waters?” He hit the button, the elevator started rising to the twelfth floor.

  “I’ve heard of it.” She looked at the elevator ceiling. “Rue Goldstein plays it on his guitar.”

  “There’s some good places up on the north side. Lots of tourists there too. I keep talking about something I think you don’t have any interest in. Just making conversation.”

  “I’m sorry, it’s just... I like music. I’m not very familiar with blues. The blues. I’m a classical fan. But I listen to pop sometimes. A little rock. Can’t be helped with the people I work with.

  Zack fit the key into his door. “This is it. My bachelor pad.” He held the door and let her pass. “I’ll just be a minute,” he said flipping a light switch. Mo waited looking around the living room of his condo. The building was an interesting renovation of an old factory building, but his condo lacked most of the features like large beams and brick walls she had noticed in the hall. It was sparely furnished, bland and largely unlived in looking. The Georgia O’Keefe caught her attention. Nodding her approval of it she walked to the sliding glass door. She noticed it was unlocked so she slid it open and stepped out. The pungent smell of marijuana wafted over. She heard people shout as if at a ballgame from above. A baby cried in the distance. “Look, there’s a woman on the cop’s terrace.” She heard the low voice coming from her right and realized at the sight of the glow of a hard puff, that was where the reefer smell came from. A couple terraces over.

  “Halleluiah for him, it’s about time.” She heard a woman’s voice say.

  “So which one are you?” Zach stepped out onto the tiny terrace behind her. “Piano or violin? You’ve got good hands, long fingers. I thought you might play.

  “I played one and then the other. I play piano occasionally, but mostly, being on the road so much, I’ve given it up.” She turned to step inside but he took up too much space. They looked at each other for a moment. Zach shook his head as if just coming to and stepped inside so she could do the same. “You left your door unlocked, you know. I would think a cop would know better.”

  He had been so frustrated not being able to see her. He had recovered from his brief fit of jealousy and now realized his beloved had not been involved with the tall black man. He was sorry for his mistake and could only hope they pinned the murder on Linc Harris. Who no doubt deserved it. The cops seemed to buy his story. The big guy had kind of frightened him but he stuck to his story and must have seemed convincing. The security camera never saw him leave his room because someone wasn’t paying attention to their job. Lucky him. Poor maintenance just wasn’t acceptable. What if someone broke into his room? The big cop, Simpson, was focused on Linc the dreadlocked Rastaman anyway. He certainly couldn’t afford to go to jail when he just realized his true love was innocent.

  He took a stairwell down to the basement. This time of night there wasn’t anyone around. He’d guessed as much. He looked around and pressed the button to call the elevator that went to the presidential suite. Too bad he hadn’t had the opportunity to lift the key from the housekeeper who handled that suite. They had questioned him endlessly. Rude assholes. He had not known what was going on with her the whole time. She had been tucked away in the presidential suite with her own personal bodyguard. What was that all about? How could he step in as the hero if she had some cop around all the time? And Roddy. Was she doing him? Roddy was a small man. Why Roddy and not him? He sniffed around her constantly despite being married to the biggest whore around. Just ask anybody. He chuckled to himself.

  The elevator arrived with a gentle thud and the usual ping. Now to hold it for just a minute. If he stopped it for too long it would set off an alarm. He had to be careful about the prints again. Couldn’t be too careful about that. He pulled out a rod that he had hidden in his sleeve. To it he had attached a long red silk strip of fabric. The metal rod telescoped. A handy feature that could be used for all kinds of nifty things. He knocked the trap door at the top of the elevator open by extending the rod completely and locking it. He hit the open button just in time. He jammed the rod quickly into the open door and almost in the same move crouched with the silken ribbon of fabric looped around his gloved middle finger. He blasted himself toward the trap door and grabbed the edges of the opening. He was up and in and yanking on the red fabric just as the door was starting to bounce squeezing the rod then jerking back a little. In a few seconds it would have set off the alarm. With a yank the rod was released, the door closed, and the trap door in place before the door opened on the first floor.

  All he had to do was wait to see her and try to find out what was the deal with the cop. He could wait all night if he had to. He rode up and down as if on a particularly tiresome carnival ride. He carried a small flashlight and looked around when no one was on the elevator. He heard the voices of different people getting on and off the various floors. There was a small gap he could see through. He had to be careful. It was dark on top of the elevator, but damn it was amazing how often people killed time looking up when there was nothing to see.

  After about forty five minutes he hit the jackpot. It was her. She was talking to the cop. Laughing even. With a cop? Where could they have gone? Maybe back to the police station. He’d been told she’d gone out with her escort. That’s what that idiot behind the desk had said. Her escort. Were they still questioning her? Maybe she’d gone to see Linc. Maybe they’ll fry him he thought with a smirk. What was she wearing? It looked like a man’s jacket. That wasn’t her style. It was huge on her. Had to be his. Nice. Now the cop was moving in on her. Playing the gentleman, giving her his jacket. He watched them stand there. He was talking about some guy named Willie Dixon. Who was he? A suspect? He didn’t care who got hung. He just hoped this cop wasn’t going to try to put the moves on her. It would be the cop’s tough luck if he did. The elevator stopped. The doors opened to the presidential suite. He watched her go in with the cop.

  He could have pounded his fist with frustration. He turned on the flashlight to look around. This was the top floor. Luckily there was a raised structure over the elevator shaft. Was there a way to watch from there? He saw the ladder of steel bars that went up to a steel door. The roof over the elevator was assembled from riveted steel plates that formed a sort of geodesic dome. The steel door was locked with an electronic lock. An alarm would go off if he touched it. Well, there were other ways onto that roof. There had to be a way to watch.

  Zack had Mo wait in the elevator while he cleared the rooms. He gave her the all clear and put his gun on the coffee table. He tossed his bag on the bed in his room while she went to the bar and entered the code for vodka. She was windblown and pin
k faced from the drive back up Lake Shore Drive. She had loved the drive along the city’s edge and despite the cool night had insisted on having her window down. Zack had pointed out some features and knew quite a bit about the various building. The crown on top of one in the design of the architect’s wife’s engagement ring. Why the lights of the same primary color were featured on a number of the buildings. “It’s not all gangsters and serial killers,” he had pointed out.

  “Want a drink or are you still officially on duty?” Mo pulled a seven up out of the dispenser.

  “I wouldn’t mind a beer.” He walked over to the bar, she punched the code in. She handed him the beer with a small smile. She was tired now. Ready to relax and go to bed. Roddy had called while they were still at Zack’s condo and informed them that the coliseum had been cleared by the police. She was anxious to see him and everybody. Still no news about Linc. No there was no word on when Ling’s body would be released for a service. That would be a while, Zack had gently explained. Just rest, Roddy urged, take care of her body, take care of her mind.

  “It was nice to get out of here,” Mo said as she curled up on the sofa. “I’m glad I got to see a little more of the city than the hotel and arena. I don’t often get to see too much of the cities where we perform. I should try to make a point of it.”

  “I guess most cities have their beautiful parts, as well as the grimy ones. What about Montreal?” He was sitting in the chair opposite her place on the oversize white sofa. He was making conversation while admiring the color brought on by the drive. He gazed at the mussed hair she didn’t seem concerned about in the least. Would it have mattered if they had met under different circumstances? If they were on a date? She still had his jacket about her shoulders. He liked seeing her in it, nearly swallowed by it.