Peet touched Jan on her arm. “Put the philosophy away. Looks like Ron Wilson is in search of earthier pleasures.”
Jan looked up to see Wilson’s BMW pull out of his side drive. Peet waited until he got to the end of the street and turned before she put the car in gear and sped up to follow him. They hung well behind as he led them right into Boystown.
Peet said, “I wonder if Paula Wilson will be relieved if the other woman is a man?”
“Ten dollars says he’s going to Steamy,” Jan said.
“Nah. I think he’s going to Hydrate. Doesn’t look like the type who’d go to the baths.”
“Like you’d know,” Jan said. “Do you think you can line up The Village People and pick out the steam bath type?”
Peet stuck her tongue out at her, which made Jan laugh.
“The point is that this is the fastest way to get what he wants. If he only has an hour or so, the baths are a surefire place to get sex,” Jan said.
Wilson slowed down as he neared Steamy, an old, nondescript brick building with no signage on the front other than its address. It could have been anything. Wilson was looking for parking, so Peet pulled to the curb across the street from the place, into a hydrant spot. Jan got out her camera and climbed into the backseat. She took several shots as he approached the building.
She knew she wouldn’t get any successful photos of Wilson inside the bathhouse. They might not throw her out, but neither her camera nor her female body would be welcome. She tried to guess how long a bathhouse for women would stay open. She might appreciate the convenience of one. When she felt the need for some companionship, she found picking up women annoyingly time-consuming, even tedious.
“I think he’ll be less than an hour. It’s unlikely he’ll have a man hanging on him when he walks out,” Jan said.
“If he doesn’t, we’ll still have the time stamps on the photos to show he was in there a while,” Peet said. “How do you think Paula is going to take it?”
“I don’t know. Why doesn’t he tell her, for Christ sake? It’s a shitty thing to do to the wife, and a worse thing to do to himself.”
Jan grabbed her laptop from the front seat and uploaded the first photos. She e-mailed them to Paula, who always had her BlackBerry in her hand. Jan knew she’d get the message almost as soon as it was sent.
Then they waited. Jan watched the parade of gay men walk up and down the street, the beautiful fall weather bringing more out than perhaps there would normally be on a Tuesday night. But there was always action on Halsted Street. Men knew exactly where to come to find the bars, the restaurants, the steam baths, all the places that threw them together and spit them out in different combinations every night. The mayor had installed tall metal pylons decorated with rainbow colors that marked this stretch of Halsted as Boystown, as if to contain the energy within geographical boundaries.
She thought of the time she lived on the streets in LA, the land of the runaway teen. She was more naïve by far than any of the others she met there. They talked of their shitty homes and schools and the parents they fought with and their pain in the ass little brothers and sisters. Many were running from abuse. But they all knew a hell of a lot more than Jan did about living on the streets. She was taken in by Fagin-like dealers and thieves who taught her skills unusual even for her unorthodox education. Among the many things she learned about from scratch was sex—how to have it, who she wanted to have it with (girls), and how to steer clear of the predators. There were plenty of girls willing to show her the ropes, sometimes literally. But no part of those experiences had the quality of freedom and celebration she saw in the way the boys walked around Boystown.
She heard a text message come in. It was from Paula Wilson, releasing them from duty. She understood the situation and the photo and wasn’t that surprised. She was just relieved to finally know. Jan called her to make sure she didn’t need anything else and moved back into the front seat of the car while she listened to Paula talk. And talk. When she was finally able to hang up, Peet was just pulling up to Jan’s building.
“Is she pretty upset?” Peet asked.
“It sounds like she’s trying to decide which is more humiliating—losing him to a man or to a woman.” Jan got out of the car with the camera. “I’ll write the report. You going straight home?”
“I’ve got to tell Kev about this job thing.”
“Try not to worry about it, Peet. There’s nothing that’s going to be helped by you worrying.”
“Thank you, o wise one. I have a feeling tomorrow will be an interesting day at Titan Security and Investigations.”
“Yeah, I’ll see you there.” Jan slapped the top of the car as Peet pulled away. She headed for her building’s garage, and a few minutes later she was in her Jeep on Lake Shore Drive. It was one in the morning, still plenty of time to see if anyone on the West Side of the city might recognize a photo of Maddy Harrington.
*
Jan knew that if you were white and needed to get hold of some heroin, the easiest place to find it was west on Augusta or Division or the streets in between. When you slowed down as you drove by the corner stores, you’d be recognized for what you were—one of society’s privileged who had willingly given up every advantage for the rush of smack. You would not be well respected.
Jan didn’t know Maddy Harrington. Her instincts told her it was unlikely she was a heroin addict, but it was always possible. She drove slowly, looking for the dealers, the retailers on the streets, some of whom she would recognize from past searches for teenagers. She never had any trouble here. In fact, she found them to be pretty cooperative. The last thing they wanted was underage runaway white kids hanging around their corners or in their basements. It only brought the heat on. If Maddy had been hanging around there, someone would give her up.
Along Augusta Boulevard the streetlights glowed in between the piercing blue lights perched high on steel poles that marked the area as a police watch zone. The police lights provided no added security for the citizens of the neighborhood, but they did manage to make it really difficult to sell property there. Jan came to a familiar corner and parked in front of a liquor store. The surrounding area was residential, mainly brick two and three unit buildings and small houses. Neighborhood Watch signs were on the front windows of nearly every house, and most intersections held a large sign announcing that the area was drug and violence free. Talk about your misleading advertising. If Jan stood at one of those signs for an hour, she’d see countless drug deals and probably at least one act of violence.
A group of young men stood around the store entrance. They parted just enough to give her a narrow path to the door. She knew at least one of them would be holding, carrying out the retail heroin business that was the lowest rung in whatever gang they were with. One of them stopped her with a pull on her jacket sleeve.
“You were here last year looking for some chick. Ain’t that right?”
“That’s right. Now I’m looking for another. Same thing. Suburban girl, high school age.”
“You got a picture?”
The group huddled around as Jan showed them the photo of Maddy.
“I can’t tell one white chick from another,” one of them said. They all laughed, but she thought it might be true. They only saw these girls for a moment, unless they became regular customers. And by then they didn’t look very much like Maddy.
“No, I ain’t seen her,” said one. The others agreed.
Jan went into the store and turned to the caged cash register to her left. A Middle Eastern man sat at the counter, part of a trend throughout the West Side of Korean shop owners selling out of the neighborhoods. Jan didn’t know what that was all about. Maybe the Koreans were fed up. Maybe the Middle Easterners were from the war zone and a West Side corner shop felt like a peaceful place. She put the photo of Maddy on the carousel and the man twirled it around.
“You seen her?” she asked.
“No.”
“At least preten
d like you’re looking at the photo.”
“Haven’t seen her.”
She took the photo and returned to the group of boys.
“Any luck, lady?” It was the one that had recognized her.
“Nope. Does he speak much English?”
“Oh yeah. He’s always saying, ‘I call police!’”
“Yeah. Or ‘I got gun!’”
“Right. But if you ask him for change for a twenty, he don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Jan grinned at them. She handed her card around. “If any of you see my girl, be sure to give me a call. I pay for information.”
She left them on the corner, keeping their eyes peeled for business.
Chapter Three
Jan was pouring her first cup of coffee in the break room when Peet walked in. She normally looked like she’d just woken from a particularly refreshing nap, but today she seemed tired. Jan could count on one hand the number of times she’d taken a nap herself. They’d all been frightening experiences. When she’d wake up, it felt as if she’d just fought her way to the surface of deep water with rocks in every pocket. When her eyes finally opened from these “death naps,” the feeling that she’d just escaped something dire would shroud her. She didn’t need therapy to figure out what that was all about.
Peet sipped some coffee. “I told Kevin about the takeover.”
“You make it sound like a coup d’état. Maybe these new people will be better to work for than LJ is.”
“That’s presuming I’ll be working for them. I’ve only been here a few months. I’ll be the first to go.”
“This isn’t a union shop, Peet. They’ll keep their best performers.”
“If they keep any of us.”
Jan was surprised at how pessimistic Peet was. “I bet Kevin told you not to worry,” Jan said.
“He did. He always says it will be okay, as if saying so makes it true.”
“But things are always okay for you guys. Let’s see what happens before we get in the soup line.”
David Collins walked into the break room, carrying his Chicago Bears mug. He also looked haggard.
“Long night with Vivian?” Jan teased him.
“Shut it, Roberts.”
“You may be interested to know that Don Detmer told us about the sale of the company and that he heard the news from you. I’m thinking your testicles are in peril if Vivian finds out you blabbed her secret.”
Collins topped off his coffee. “I wouldn’t worry about mine, Roberts. They have more brass than yours ever will. I’d worry about our jobs, though. The new owners have just arrived.”
“What?” Peet asked.
“A group just went into the main conference room. Big Junior’s even sitting in. They’re about to close the deal.” Collins started to walk out the door. “It’s really not much of a secret now, is it?”
Jan and Peet went back to their desks.
“This is fucking unbelievable,” Peet said. “You’d think they’d talk to us before parading the new owners through the office. That’s really disrespectful.”
“Maybe now you know what I mean about LJ. He’s a joke.”
She saw that Peet was genuinely upset. “You stay put. I’ll go on a reconnaissance mission. It will look stupid if we both go.”
Jan crossed to the other side of the office and stood by Vivian’s desk. The conference room was filled with people in suits, all of them taking laptops and files out of their briefcases. Junior Begala sat at the head of the table with LJ and their lawyer, while at the other end sat a larger contingent, presumably representing the buyers. Jan’s eyes locked on one of them, a beautiful woman with long dark hair, shot through with a startling streak of white. She looked to be Jan’s age, and there the similarities ended. This woman was elegant, beautifully dressed, and composed. Confident. Jan couldn’t look away, even when the woman lifted her head and looked her up and down, a slight smile turning up one side of her mouth. Then she turned back to her computer screen and Jan felt heat rush through her body. She was completely turned on.
“Who’s that woman?” Jan asked Vivian.
“That’s Catherine Engstrom. She’s the VP of something or other of CGS. Kind of a barracuda.”
No shit, thought Jan. She continued to look into the conference room, but Catherine didn’t look at her again. She’d never had a reaction like that to a woman. There would normally be a lot more direct stimuli occurring before Jan had this sort of physical response. Interesting, but potentially disastrous.
“They’re supposed to let everyone know about the sale as soon as they close. I think they’re sending out an e-mail,” Vivian said. “Because they’re classy like that.”
Jan went back to her desk and found Peet sitting in her chair, staring straight ahead.
“Collins is right. The buyers are here. There’s a bunch of suits in the conference room. Vivian said they’re sending an e-mail to let us know what was happening.”
Peet stayed quiet. Jan couldn’t think of what to say to make her feel better, so she sat quietly with her. She looked up at the sound of heels clacking toward them on the tiled hallway outside the break room. Catherine Engstrom stopped and stood at the door to the room, not far from Peet and Jan, and looked at them with a question on her face.
“Can I help you?” Peet asked.
“I’m looking for some tea, actually,” she said, British accented, bright. “I was directed here.” It didn’t surprise Jan that Catherine’s voice crossed over her body like the low notes of a cello. She felt the vibration that it left. She sat there speechless.
“Let me show you.” Peet got up and headed toward the break room while Catherine looked at Jan. When Jan got up the nerve to meet her eyes, it was every bit as bad as it had been on the other side of the office. Catherine broke the eye contact and followed Peet into the break room. They emerged a few minutes later, each with a mug.
“And this is my partner, Jan Roberts,” Peet said. “She’s been with the company a long time, our top investigator. Jan, this is Catherine Engstrom.”
Catherine’s handshake was warm and firm and extremely businesslike.
“You’re here to buy the company, aren’t you?” Peet asked.
Catherine laughed. “It’s so true that Americans are direct. It’s startling, I must say, but a wonderful time saver.”
“Is that a yes?” Jan asked. She kept her eyes on Catherine’s forehead, not trusting her powers of speech if she looked into her eyes. Ridiculous.
“Yes, it is. Though I wish the word hadn’t leaked out before we had a chance to properly announce it to the employees.”
“What happens next?” Peet asked.
“Nothing that you’ll notice. We’ll assess for a while, finding ways we can improve things for you here. It will be some time before you see any changes.”
Jan felt Peet stiffen beside her.
“Does that include layoffs?” Peet said.
Catherine touched Peet on the shoulder. Lucky Peet.
“We hope to avoid those altogether. And certainly we don’t want to let our best people go. From what the Begalas have said, you have nothing to worry about.”
Jan wasn’t sure she was being included in that reassurance, but she couldn’t open her mouth again to ask.
“I’d better get back to that meeting. It was so nice to meet you both.” Catherine walked away, moving through the space as if she’d always owned it.
“Feel better?” Jan asked.
“Yeah, I do.” Peet sat back down. “Sounds like we’re in good shape.”
Jan watched Catherine walk down the hall. She wasn’t sure she was in good shape at all.
*
Maddy fought to keep her eyes open. She and David had arrived at his house at four in the morning, his overheating truck turning their five-hour trip into ten. He seemed to want to talk the whole time. She just wanted to sleep. She’d spent her first nights away from her family sleeping in the Honda, parked on a street two
suburbs away from Winnetka. Another night in a vehicle was too much.
She shouldn’t have been surprised at what a talker David was. He monopolized their video chats, unaware that Maddy was continuing her own work while he went on and on. He would detail his vision for their new society, as he grandly called it, while she programmed the intranet site they would use to coordinate the move to Idaho and stay in touch with his contacts in Michigan. He placed a high premium on secure communications, though she couldn’t see who would be interested in their group. She didn’t mind all of David’s talk because she agreed with what he said. She just thought people in general talked too much.
When they reached David’s town, Maggie stared out the window at the stretches of abandoned homes and businesses. She’d driven through some pretty depressing parts of Chicago, but nothing quite so dead and beyond resurrection as this. The For Sale signs on the houses were as weathered as the houses themselves. She felt her spirits flag. Maybe she was just tired.
David pulled into the gravel driveway of a rundown ranch house, jumped out of the truck, and grabbed Maddy’s bags from the back. He seemed to have limitless energy.
“We’re having a planning meeting in a few hours,” he said. “You should get some sleep.”
Maddy was staring at the house. She’d never seen anything like it in Winnetka. It looked abandoned, dead. She wondered if he was squatting. “How long have you lived here?” she asked.
“I was raised in this house. It was my grandparents’ place, but they both died a few years ago. The mortgage is paid off, but at this point, you couldn’t give it away.”
He led her into the dark house and straight down to the basement. As she walked behind him through the living room, she thought it smelled like an old person’s place. She used to visit some elderly shut-ins with her grandmother, and she’d get scolded when she scrunched up her face at the smell. Apparently, David hadn’t done much to the place since his people died.
He showed her to a dark corner of the basement, her “quarters,” and pointed out the sink, shower, and toilet, all open to the rest of the room. The musty smell was strong. She worried that the mattress thrown on the floor would be damp.
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