Fly With Fire

by Frances Randon

  “I cry myself to sleep.” Now she took on a deeply saddened expression. “If I could only find another man as good as Ray. Ray talk about you always. He say you good cop. He never say how good looking you are. You younger than Ray. He tell me about your divorce. Say you need a woman. We both are sad for Ray. He is gone for two of us. Why don’t I give you drink. Let’s talk about Ray. How we love Ray. He would be glad to know we comfort each other.”

  “Curtis Lyons, Senorita Villareal.” He slapped the envelope against his palm. “This is two hundred but there could be more coming in if you hook me up with Lyons. Or has someone else already stepped into Ray’s shoes.”

  “I see. Business first.” She shrugged and told him all about Ray. He knew it wasn’t the whole story, but it was a start.

  Mo made faces at herself in the huge bean shaped sculpture called ‘Cloud Gate’. She laughed at some kids who were posturing and posing in the reflection of the big weird mirror polished chrome sculpture. It was strange to see at first, but if you stood back and saw how it reflected the city skyline and lake front you started to appreciate the intention of the artist. She sat on a bench and watched the kids while waiting for Zack. He was late and she tried not to be irritated that he hadn’t arrived when he said on their last check in. Being kept waiting was not something she had a lot of patience with. Her cell phone rang. “Where are you? I was starting to worry. Zack? Zack?” She looked at the phone. ‘Unavailable.’ Probably someone realized they had a wrong number. Or the call was dropped. It rang again.

  “Hi, I’m two minutes away, sorry, saw a fender bender and had to stop a fight.” I guess that’s a pretty good excuse, Mo thought. After all they weren’t meeting for a date. “You have lunch or are you hungry?”

  “I’m starved. I thought I’d wait so maybe we could have some lunch together.” She smiled at a little girl who was making faces at ‘The Bean’ as she heard people refer to it. Everyone one seemed to make faces or study themselves. “Is there a good place around here?”

  “Ms. Whitman, there’s nothing but good restaurants in Chicago. We’re on the far side of the lunch hour so getting a table shouldn’t take too long. I’m pulling up, look toward the street. I can see you.”

  Mo turned on the bench and saw Zack’s SUV pull to the curb. She grabbed her bag and threw her scarf over her shoulder. Even on a late August day the wind off the lake had a cool edge to it. She jogged down the cut stone steps to Zack’s car. He hopped out and opened the door for her. Something he invariably did. He turned and waved at someone with a little nod. She looked past him. “Someone you know?”

  “Just someone from work.” He got in the driver’s seat. Ben Ghury had stayed right on her.

  She had gotten some sun on her face. Her long braid was disheveled by the wind. But she had bought a Chicago White Sox ball cap to tame the elements. “Like my new hat?”

  “Lemme guess? Macy’s.”

  “Well, close. Chicago souvenir stand. I like to buy something from city’s I go to. At least this is practical. It’s usually a coffee cup. I have a lot of coffee cups. Don’t use them much.”

  “Afraid you might break one?” Zack pulled out into traffic. They headed north on Michigan then he took a left and headed away from the park.

  “Not home that much. It doesn’t seem to matter that much where I live. We travel all the time. Montreal’s beautiful, but I don’t see much of it. Just moved there when I began with the show. Gotta live somewhere.

  Zack found a spot near a place call Boston Blackie’s. He opened the door for her before she had a chance to smooth her hair and collect her bag. Mo thought she detected unease about her new friend. He took her arm as they walked to the Restaurant. “My first lunch in Chicago and you take me to Boston Blackie’s?”

  “The foods great, thought you might like it. You want to go somewhere else?” He was serious.

  “I was just kidding, Burnham. Mayor give you a wedgie?” She gave him a sidelong and saw the frown.

  “Didn’t see Tyler, left a report. Two please.” The hostess took them to a booth in the back. They slid in opposite each other. “They’ve got good sandwiches but what they’re known for are their steaks.”

  “I think a sandwich will do me, bad morning Detective?”

  “Nothing, no big deal.” He avoided looking in her eyes.

  “If it’s anything that’s come up about Ling’s murder, I’d appreciate it if you’d clue me in. Just water please; have any bottled water?” The waiter took Zack’s coffee order and left them looking at each other.

  “Nothing new on that. Look, I don’t want to bend your ear. Everything’s cool.” He tapped his finger on the menu. “They have a good Reuban. I guess you have to be careful what you eat when you’re doing a show. Except for pizza maybe.”

  “Sometimes. I’m suddenly feeling like I’m in the way of something you’d rather be doing. We don’t really have to have lunch. You are working. We don’t have to socialize after all. If you have things on your mind. Let’s just get going and you can sort them out while I rehearse. Any second thoughts about this arrangement you just let me know.” Her wind pinked cheeks burned red. Her dark eyes showed irritation. Her small mouth had puckered as if she had just sucked a lemon.

  “Chill out, Ms. Whitman. Yeah, I have some things on my mind. Something came up about Ray. I didn’t want to ruin lunch hashing out something I’m still trying to get my mind around. You inviting me to quit ‘cause I’m a little distracted? Believe me I can tell you what everyone in this restaurant is wearing. He slapped the menu shut. “You’re not happy with me? I’ll be on my way. But I might as well eat first.”

  Mo was startled. She’d not seen him in this kind of a mood before. At least not directed at her. “I’m sorry, Zack. I get so wrapped up in this whole thing with Ling and I forget sometimes that you’re grieving for a close friend too. I’m willing to listen. Here she comes. Let’s order.” She put her hand on his. “Hash it out with a friend.”

  Zack waited until he had stirred the cream into his coffee. Mo sat and patiently sipped her water. “Ray was having an affair. Not just a fling. Pretty serious. Serious enough to buy a condo with owner financing for her. He had set her up, paid the mortgage, everything. I have it from her he was dealing drugs stolen from dealers to pay for it. Fucking partners for two years. Known ‘im all my life. Never had an inkling. Some detective I am. You might want to reconsider after all. Now I know why they’re looking at me too. Convinced I was in on it. I went to see her.”

  “You went to see the girlfriend? This morning?” Mo was wide eyed. “What happened?”

  “Waved a little money in her face and she told me everything. About her and Ray. How he boosted the dealers then turned around and sold the stuff through kids on the street. About the dude who may have been the shooter and why he had Ray’s gun. Ray was shot when he chased this guy down an alley. I was in the car. Ray had gotten out to check him out. Ray said stay put just taking a look-see. The guy took off. Ray stood there a minute and then went after him. I’d never seen the guy before and thought it was strange that Ray thought he ought to check him out, he wasn’t doing anything. I went into the alley but couldn’t see them. Then I heard shots. They came from behind the old amphitheater. I ran back and there was Ray, sitting on a trash can as if he was just hanging out, shootin’ the shit. Except he was dead.”

  There was a waiver to his voice. Mo put her hand on his again with a squeeze. “He gave the guy his gun and had him threaten kids who owed, or weren’t selling enough. Fast enough. He was apparently desperate to make money to support this bim…woman. I convinced her I was interested. In getting in on the action. And her. I mean what are the dealers going to do? Call the police and report a cop stole their drugs? What a set up. It’s my guess that the guy that shot Ray with his own gun is a small timer, this Lyons. I couldn’t pick him out of arrest photos. He’s managed not to have an arrest record and he had sunglasses on. He’s dropped off the map. Maybe he wanted to take ov
er the action. Maybe he was hired by the dealers. An informer said he was scared shitless of Ray. Maybe he solved that problem. But now he’s a cop killer. The fact that he’s gone underground would seem to confirm it. But it doesn’t jibe somehow for me.

  “What are you going to do?” Mo waited while Zack looked thoughtful unconsciously rubbing her thumb on his hand.

  “I’m not even supposed to be touching this. I’m not supposed to be anywhere near it. A cop called Bull, best not give you his whole name, is the chief investigator on Ray’s shooting. I hear from the lady he’s looking to fill Ray’s shoes, in more ways than one. All I can do is turn what info I have into internal affairs, but this Bull is internal affairs and there’s no proof. Of course IA talked to the lady. Assholes know I’m clean but are taking their sweet time to clear me and they seem to have their reasons. Everything right under my nose. What a fool Ray must have thought I was.”

  Their sandwiches came, the waiter topped off Zack’s coffee. “Enjoy your sandwiches,” she said with a tired smile.

  “You can’t blame yourself for his dishonesty. He used your trust. Used his position. Lied to his wife. Oh, gosh, his poor wife.” Neither of them touched their sandwiches.

  “I don’t think I could ever tell Marge about that woman.” Zack kept stirring his coffee lost in thought until Mo cleared her throat.

  “It’s going to come out isn’t it? I mean, you have to be cleared. The scam has to be stopped. Cops dealing drugs?” She caught herself and lowered her voice. “What kind of drugs?”

  “Smack, coke, you name it. She told me I could make some really big money if I partnered up with Lyons. She doesn’t know where he is. She’s waiting for him to contact her. Cop killing never blows over but she seemed confident he’d be in touch. She said Ray told her if anything ever went wrong; wait for Lyons to contact her. He seemed to trust Lyons and she doesn’t think Lyon’s did it. Meantime Bull Shaun…the other cop says he’s gonna take care of everything, including her. She’s afraid of him and desperate for protection. The dealers have gotten word she was Ray’s girlfriend. But she doesn’t want to lose her place. She hoping they won’t blame her for Ray, but she’ll take Bull’s protection if she has to.”

  “How very practical. Look, it’s almost two. Let’s take these and head back. I can rehearse and you can figure things out. Zack, I’ll understand if you need to quit…this. Just don’t do anything dangerous. Please.”

  “I gave you and Roddy my word. I don’t feel I need to quit and I don’t want to, but I don’t trust internal affairs and Bull. But I know someone who goes way back with Bull, oh fuck it, Shaughnessy. He’s the last man I want to deal with, but I’m sure he’s clean, and he hates drug dealers. I’ve told you nothing, got it? Strictly professional conversation with us. Ms. Whitman.” They had the sandwiches boxed.

  “So, this gig with the showgirl mean they’re finally cutting you loose, Burnham?” Al Simpson gripped his coffee cup with his large paw of a hand. His chin seemed to chronically jut forth with distain. Or was it anger? He had taken off his tie and thrown it over his computer screen. Aside from that his office was neat and orderly. Paperwork in neat stacks, files cabinets closed, in and out boxes organized with tabs and color folders. There was a picture of his wife and son and daughter on the desk, turned outward. The frame was engraved “World’s Greatest Dad”. It was difficult for Zack to reconcile the sentiment that inspired such a gift being applied to the tough, cynical detective. But the gift was apparently from when his son Russell was still alive.

  “She’s an aerial artist, Al. Not a showgirl.” Zack blew it off as the offensive move he knew it to be. Put someone on the defensive right off and you’ve won half the battle. Al was an expert marksman at character assassination. “You keep in touch with Bull Shaughnessy these days?”

  Al frowned, “You wanting to get social, now you’re here in Greendale on your temp job?” Then he smiled, his white teeth gleaming against his dark skin. He almost looked friendly. “Good ole Bull. Now that’s a cop’s cop. Not one of the new sensitive male types the CPD seems to be recruiting these days. With college degrees now. A bunch of know nothings. You went to De Paul didn’t you, Burnham. Learn much police work at De Paul?”

  “I studied criminal justice, Al. Took some law. It’s comes in handy. We educated cops like to sound smart when we’re having our tea parties.” He saw Al frown when he helped himself to coffee. The big man grimaced as Zack sat down across from him. “You’re the most decorated cop I know, Al. Miss the action? Pencil pushing in Greendale’s gotta be a far cry from being Chicago’s superhero. Isn’t that what The Tribune called you? Best record of solves in CPD history. Now all of a sudden you’re working this murder case. You haven’t done a murder in a while but harassing innocent people was never you’re style, Al. Your Dad would’ve reigned that shit in a long time ago. Guess you’re your own man now.”

  “Dad woulda tossed a pussy like you off the force a long time ago if he was still chief. And I’m not bringin’ up your Dad. Got some respect for the dead. I’m hearin’ rumors that Ray mighta been dirty. Sorry to hear that’s going around ‘cause at least Ray had himself a pair. You dirty too, Burnham?”

  “More than rumors, Al. And I guess if I’m dirty it’ll come out in the wash. I got word Bull Shaughnessy’s already got his foot in the door of Ray’s action. Funny how he hasn’t collared his main suspect yet. Ray’s alleged business partner, Curtis Lyons. You ever know Lyon’s? From the hood? My source tells me he was a stoolie for Bull back in Bull’s narco days

  “Curtis Lyons is a nobody. Yeah, he was friends with Russell but they went their separate ways when Russ went into the army. If I thought he’d sold dirty heroin to Russ, he wouldn’t have lasted long enough to be our topic of conversation. Russ got it from one of his Iraq buddies. That’s what the young…woman he was with when…that’s what she said. You been sniffing ‘round that investigation, got your nose where it don’t belong?”

  “Just curious seeing as how so many are insinuating I was involved with Ray’s sideline. When you have some spare time, check out Senorita Villareal. Rosalie. Here’s the address. Got it from an anonymous source. Just thought you might want to check out for yourself how Bull’s handling things without you to back him up. See if he really can think all on his own without you pulling the strings.

  “I have confidence in Bull. He’s not riding a bike in boy’s town. He’s a real cop.” Al snorted dismissively furrowing his brows while tossing is head toward his office door.

  “That he is, but in his spare time he’s driving a sixty thousand dollar car and losing big out on the boat. Real man activities. Just so you know he’s the man you always thought him to be.” Zack got up and walked to the door. He looked at Al and saw a confusion of emotions on the detective’s face. Anger, bewilderment, and grief. “How many cops can drop ten thousand in a night, Al?”

  Mo rolled her eyes as Claude held her a little too tightly as they balanced side by side on the tandem. They were working on integrating the marriage ceremony of Hades and Persephone into the show. Mo wasn’t feeling the concept that had come down from Montreal. Claude was loving it. It gave him more visibility in the act. He was also loving the abundance of physical contact with Mo it also provided. “I missed you, Momo. Let’s have dinner after the show. Can you get rid of the fascist pig for a night? Look at him. That suit!”

  “Not all men wait with bated breath for the latest edition of ‘Vogue Male’, Claude. I already have plans for dinner.”

  “With, with that cop?” He spit out the last word as if an insect had flown in his mouth. They both dropped and swung by their knees.

  “With Roddy and Luciana, actually. After the show. They’re entertaining the Whitneys. I couldn’t get out of it.”

  “Roddy did not invite Claude,” he sniffed. “You spend all your time with that capitalist watchdog. No time for me anymore.”

  “I’m sure Roddy will invite Claude. You should check you’re messages.” She
hung by one leg. “He is my bodyguard after all.”

  He twirled up onto the bar and ran his hand down her leg, his hand massaging her foot. “Such pretty feet. Let’s meet and go together.”

  “Sorry, I’ve already told you we’re done.” She swung up into a sitting position and looked down at Zack with a little smile. He leaned back in a chair talking to Lourdes Garcia, one of the coliseum security guards. He had loosened his tie and gotten comfortable. Her workdays were long and he had gotten to know all the performers and workers. The crowd of people gathered in the arena to put on the nightly show numbered nearly two hundred and fifty. Mo watched as he talked, looked around, chatted with performers or riggers, then got up with a stretch, and started to make one of his rounds, checking rooms, cameras, and exits.”

  “You date a glorified security guard? How gauchely American. He goes to a barber. I don’t need to carry a gun to be a man.” They landed on the platform. Misha handed them towels. “I thought you were one of the few Americans with taste. Now you prove me wrong. Misha, this towel smells sour, get rid of it.” He tossed the towel at Misha’s face with anger. She saw a look of anger flash momentarily in the younger man’s eyes. Mo put her hand on his arm rolling her eyes in Claude’s direction. This got a little smile from the shy Ukrainian.

  “No need to be rude. Misha doesn’t do the laundry. And if I’m so gauchely American then you shouldn’t have a problem with me dating another loutish American will you? Not that I have a date with Detective Burnham. We’re just friends. Misha, please have the riggers check out the tandem, it’s not level. Oh my god, there’s Linc!” She slid down the pole leaving Claude and Misha looking after her.