“You’ve got my vote, Roz. You know that.”
“More than that, though.” Before she could continue, Boots came up with MacDonald in tow. He flashed a perfunctory smile at me and dragged Roz off to confer in the house.
“Wait for me, huh, gringa? I’ll see you in the porch swing-oh, in an hour,” she shouted hoarsely over her shoulder.
I was left glaring at her back. Because I’m a woman in a man’s business people think I’m tough, but a truly tough and decisive person would have headed back to town at that point. Instead I felt the tired old tentacles of responsibility drape themselves around me. Lotty Herschel tells me it comes of being the only child of parents I had to look after during painful illnesses. She thinks a few years with a good analyst would enable me to just say no when someone shouts “I need you, Vic.”
Perhaps she’s right-the sour thought of my parents conjured by her remembered words mingled with the smell of roasting beef and nauseated me. For a moment I felt myself identifying with the dead animal-caught around by people who fed it only to smash its head in with a mallet. I didn’t think I could eat any of it. When the head barbecuer suddenly sang out that they were ready to start carving, I hunched my shoulders and left.
I circled the house to find the porch swing Rosalyn had mentioned. What Boots treated as the back of the house bad actually been designed as the main entrance when the place was built a hundred years ago or so. A set of shallow steps led to a colonnaded veranda and a pair of doors inlaid with opaque etched glass.
The porch faced a flower bed and a small ornamental pond. It was a peaceful spot; the band and the crowd sounds still reached me, but no one else had strayed this far from the action. I strolled over to the pond and peered into it. Clouds turned rosy by the setting sun made the surface of the water shimmer a silvery blue. A cluster of goldfish swam over to beg for bread.
I glared at them. “Everyone else in this country has a fin stuck out-why should you guys be any different? I just don’t have any slush left today.”
I felt someone come up behind me and turned as Michael put an arm around my shoulders. I removed it and backed away a few paces.
“Michael, what’s going on with you today? Are you peeved because I wanted to drive myself?… Is that why you pulled that number on me at the gate and again with your pals back there? You can’t muscle me aside and then come caress me back into good humor.”
“I’m sorry,” he said simply, “I didn’t mean it like that. Ron and Ernie introduced me to those two guys-Schmidt and Martinez. They’re breaking into construction, just getting a few good jobs, and their work sites are being vandalized. The boys thought they could use some free police advice. When you came up we were in the middle of it. I was afraid you were still mad at me and I didn’t know how to handle it and not let them think I wasn’t listening to them, either. So I blew it. Can you still talk to me?”
I hunched a shoulder impatiently. “The trouble is, Michael, you belong to a crowd where the girls sit on a blanket waiting for the boys to finish talking business and bring them drinks. I like LeAnn and Clara, but they’ll never be good friends of mine-it’s not the way I think or act or live or-or anything. I think that style-the segregated way you and Ernie and Ron work-it’s too much part of you. I don’t see how you and I ever can move along together.”
He was quiet for a few minutes while he thought it over. “Maybe you’re right,” he said reluctantly. “I mean, my mother kept house and hung out with her friends and my dad had his bowling club. I never saw them do anything together-even church, it was always her taking the kids to Mass while he slept it off on Sunday mornings. I guess it was a mistake trying to see you at a function like this.” The sun had set but I could see his smile flash briefly, worried, not cocky.
The surface of the pond turned black; behind us the house loomed as a ghostly galleon. It was Michael’s ability to think about himself that set him apart from his pals. There was a time when it might have seemed worth the effort to work things out with someone who was willing to stop and think about it. But I’m thirty-seven now and no longer seem able to put the energy into dubious undertakings.
Before I could make up my mind what I wanted to say, Roz whirled up. I hadn’t expected to see her-at a function like this she’d have so many demands on her time that a desire to meet with me could easily fade from her mind. Schmidt and Martinez were with her.
“Vic!” Her voice had faded to a hoarse whisper after a long day of talking, but it vibrated with her usual energy.
“Thank goodness you waited for me. Can we grab a few minutes on the porch?”
I grunted unenthusiastically.
Schmidt and Martinez were greeting Michael in low-voiced seriousness. I introduced him to Rosalyn. She shook his hand perfunctorily and hustled me across the yard.
The lawn was smoothly trimmed; even at the pace she set we kept our footing in the dark. The porch was outlined by light coming from the other side of the opaque doors. I could see the swing, and Rosalyn’s shape when she settled in it, but her face was in too much shadow for me to make out her expression.
I sat on the top of the shallow steps, my back against the pillar, and waited for her to speak. On the lawn behind us I could make out the shapes of Michael and the two contractors as dark splotches. From the other end of the house the band was revving up to a more feverish pitch; the increased volume and the noise of laughter drifted to us.
“If I win the election I’m finally going to be in a position to really help my people,” Rosalyn said at last.
“You’ve already done a great deal.”
“No soap tonight, Vic. I don’t have time or energy for pats on the back… I’m setting my sights high. Getting Boots to endorse me-it was difficult but necessary. You do understand that?”
I nodded, but she couldn’t see that, so I gave an affirmative grunt. Anyway, I did understand it.
“This election is just the first step. I’m aiming for Congress and I want to be in a position for a cabinet post if the Democrats win in eight or twelve years.”
I grunted again. The specific shape of her ambition was interesting, but I’d always known she had the ability and the drive to reach for the top. In eight or twelve years maybe the country would even be ready for a Hispanic woman vice president. She must have been born in Mexico, though-that was why she was thinking only of the cabinet.
“Your advice would always be valuable to me.”
I had to strain to hear her, her voice had gotten so hoarse. “Thanks for the testimonial, Roz.”
“Some people-my cousin-think you might do something to hurt me, but I told him you would never do such a thing.”
I couldn’t begin to fathom what she might be talking about and said as much. She didn’t answer right away, and when she finally did I got the impression she’d chosen her words with great care.
“Because I’m working with Boots. Anyone who knows you knows you’ve always opposed everything he stands for.”
“Not everything,” I said. “Just the stuff I know about. Anyway, your cousin doesn’t know me. We just met this afternoon.”
“He knows about you,” she persisted in her raw voice. “You’ve done a lot of significant work one way and another. People who are connected around town hear your name.”
“I don’t need soap any more than you do, Roz. I haven’t said or done anything to make anyone think I’d stand in your way. Hell! I even paid two-fifty to support your campaign. What does your cousin imagine I’m doing? It may be chicken feed to a contractor, but that’s a big outlay for me-I wouldn’t do it frivolously.”
She put her hand on mine. “I appreciate you coming out for me. I know it took a lot for you to do, both the money and the function.” She gave a throaty chuckle. “I’ve had to swallow a few things, too, to be here-the sidelong looks from the party regulars. I know what they’re thinking-Boots is getting a piece of Spanish ass and giving her a spot on the ticket as payment.”
“So w
hat is Schmidt worried about? That I’m from the Legion of Decency and I’m going to cook up a sex scandal? I’m really offended, Roz. Offended by the thought and by you thinking you had to sound me out over it.”
Her callused fingers gripped mine. “No, no, Vic. Don’t take it that way. Luis is my little cousin, my little brother, almost, the way he worries about me. Some men he was talking to told him how negative you are to Boots and he got worried on my behalf. I told him I’d talk to you, that’s all, gringa. Boots has his flaws, after all, I’m not blind to them. But I can use him.”
I didn’t know if I was hearing the truth or not. Maybe she was sleeping with Boots for the good of the Hispanic community-there was very little Roz wouldn’t do to help her people. It would turn my stomach, but I didn’t really care. At any rate, prolonging the conversation wasn’t going to buy me a copy of her thoughts.
“I don’t like you tying your wagon to Boots’s star, but I can’t afford to be picky-I’m self-employed and it’s a pretty small operation. And there’s certainly something to be said for letting Boots do your dirty work. Pulling the plug on abortions at Cook County the way he did, he owes the women in this town something-why shouldn’t it be you.”
Roz gave a husky laugh. “I knew I could count on you, Vic.” She summoned enough of her voice to call her cousin. “Hey, Luis, come on, we gotta go get a drink and shake a few more hands.”
Luis ambled over to the porch with Michael; Carl Martinez apparently had taken off. “You get everything settled, Roz?” It didn’t sound like a casual question.
“Coming up roses. You worry too much, you know-you’re just like your mama that way.”
We stood up. Roz hugged me. “I may call you yet, Warshawski. Get you to stuff envelopes or hold my hand if I freak.”
“Sure, Roz. Whatever you want.”
I followed her down the shallow steps. When Luis had hustled her around the side of the house, Furey took my arm.
“Let me meet you back at your place, Vic, get things talked out. I don’t want to have matters go completely bust between us without at least saying good-bye in a friendly way.”
I was staring at the corner of the house where Roz had disappeared, still trying to figure out what the hell that whole conversation had been about. I was so busy with my thoughts that I found I’d agreed with Furey without even realizing it.
8
A Devoted Mother
It was dark when I pulled up behind Michael’s silver Corvette on Racine. I’d expected to be home long ahead of him-he’d run into Ron and Ernie after seeing me into my car. When I pulled out they were still talking. However, relying on superior police knowledge of city routes-and professional courtesy from the traffic cops-he managed to beat me. He climbed out of the Corvette when he saw me behind him and came over to me.
“Vic. This is not destined to be our best day. A call came in on the radio while I was driving over. I’m not supposed to be on duty until tomorrow morning, but Uncle Bobby doesn’t care much about official rosters when there’s been a triple homicide. Sorry. I’ll give you a call tomorrow, okay?”
I tried to muster an appropriate expression of sorrow, but I was just as happy to be on my own tonight. The idea of a nice soak in the tub without having to be pleasant to an outsider had been tantalizing me during the long drive home. I barely waited to wave good-bye before heading up the walk to the front door. And the shattering of my dreams of solitude.
Elena was parked on the first-floor landing, her duffel bag at her feet. Next to her sat a young black woman. Even in the dim hall light I could see she was dressed with a stylishness that highlighted Elena’s worn face and bedraggled clothes. When I saw them my guilty worries about my aunt vanished. My stomach knotted and I felt a cowardly impulse to shut the door and head back to Streamwood.
Elena sprang jerkily to her feet and opened her arms in a wide meaningless gesture. “Victoria, sweetie, your nice neighbor let us in so we wouldn’t have to wait for you in the lobby. The old gentleman. He’s a real gem, you don’t find too many as chivalrous as him today. He told us you hadn’t left town so I figured we’d just wait for you ′stead of coming back later.”
“Hi, Elena,” I said weakly. “I found a room for you. Over on Kenmore.”
“Oh, Vicki, Victoria, I mean, family’s family and I knew you wouldn’t let me down. This here is Cerise. She’s the daughter of a buddy of mine from the Indiana Arms. Cerise, meet my niece Victoria. Finest niece a woman could ever want. If anyone can help you, she will.”
Cerise held out a slim, manicured hand. “Pleased to meet you.” Her voice was almost inaudible.
“I can’t put her up, Elena,” I said grimly. “No amount of sweet-talking is going to make me turn my place into a way station for victims of Wednesday night’s fire.”
Elena pursed her lips in exaggerated hurt. “No way, sweetie. I wouldn’t dream of it. Cerise here needs a detective. When I heard her story I knew you were just the gal for her.”
I wanted to pull my hair out by the roots or scream or anything extreme that would keep me from pounding my aunt. Before I could formulate a nonviolent response, the door to one-north opened and the banker popped out again.
“Oh, it’s you,” he said disagreeably. “I might have known. Well, this time I am calling the cops. I saw your pimp pull off just now in that silver Corvette. What are these-your drug clients?”
“What do you do all day long at work?” I snapped. “Spy on the clerks to see who’s taking five minutes too long at her coffee break? You must be one of the most popular guys around if all you do is peer over people’s shoulders into their business.”
“It’s my business if you conduct your sleazy affairs at all hours-”
“No, no, honey,” my aunt popped up. “She’s a detective. A professional. We’ve come to consult her on business. You don’t want to frown in that angry way-it’s just as important for a man to keep his looks these days as it is for a girl, and you’ll get terrible wrinkles around your eyes if you keep scowling like that. And you’ve got very nice eyes.”
“Elena, just be quiet, will you? We can discuss Cerise’s problem upstairs. Take her on up, okay?” I wasn’t going to resolve anything with the guy if Elena was mediating.
Elena protested, hurt, that she was just trying to help me get along better with my neighbors, but she finally agreed to start upstairs. I looked at the banker, debating whether I should say something conciliatory-it’s not a great idea to have a vendetta with a neighbor in a six-unit building.
“Be sure to give the cops the Corvette’s plates when you call, will you?” I told him. “The fellow who drives it is a detective with the Central District’s Violent Crimes Unit. The beat guys’ll enjoy razzing him about getting accused of being a pimp. If you didn’t catch the plate, it’s ‘fureous’-that’s F-U-R-E-O-U-S.” Some days I’m just more conciliatory than others.
He scowled at me with dark angry eyes, trying to decide whether I was bluffing. Hearing the license plate spelled out apparently made him decide I wasn’t. He stalked back into his apartment and slammed the door. From the south unit I could hear Peppy’s insistent whimpering as she begged to join in the fray. I ran up the stairs two at a time to avoid Mr. Contreras’s predictable harangue.
I ushered Elena and Cerise into my apartment. “Can I get you something to drink? Coffee? Soda?”
“I’ll take a beer,” Cerise said.
“Sorry, I don’t have beer. Coffee, milk, or juice. Or I have seltzer and some Coke.”
Cerise settled on a Coke while Elena asked for some of that wonderful coffee like my ma used to make. I served up the remains of the pasta salad I’d taken to yesterday’s picnic and heated a couple of rolls. Neither woman seemed to have eaten much recently. Beyond Cerise’s asking what the queer white things in the salad were, and accepting “calamari” with a wise nod, they both ate rapidly without speaking.
“So what’s the problem that needs a detective?” I asked when they’d finished.<
br />
Cerise looked at Elena, asking her to speak for her.
“It’s her baby,” my aunt said.
In the bright light of my living room I could see Cerise wasn’t as old as her sophisticated clothes had made her look downstairs. She might have been twenty, but any legitimate bar would card her.
“Yes,” I said as encouragingly as possible.
“We think she died in the fire,” Elena said.
“Died in the fire?” I repeated stupidly.
“At the Indiana Arms,” my aunt said sharply. “Don’t gape there like a carp, Vicki. You must remember it.”
“Yes, but-you think? Don’t you know?”
I’d spoken to Cerise. She shook her head and again turned to Elena. My aunt spoke briskly, using wild hand motions and pursing her lips periodically to underscore a dramatic point.
“The whole point of an SRO, Vicki, is that it’s single resident occupancy. Single means no one else in the room with you, not even a cockroach, if you get my drift. And certainly no babies. And here’s Cerise, trying to get her life together, and she has the sweetest little baby you ever saw, fourteen months old and just starting to toddle, and what’s she supposed to do with it while she’s out hunting for work?”
Elena paused, as if waiting for an answer, but I didn’t try to interrupt the flow.
“So she leaves it with her ma, same as you would if it was you. If Gabriella was still alive, I mean, being as how she always wanted the best for you. And Cerise’s ma is just the same. Nothing too good for Cerise and she’ll risk getting thrown right out on her rear end”-Elena smacked her own behind to emphasize the point-“if it’d help Cerise here make a decent life for the baby.”
When I didn’t say anything she repeated her last point sharply.
“Great,” I managed.
Elena beamed. “So her ma is kind of a pal of mine. We’ve knocked back a few beers together, not that I drink, you understand, nor does she, just a few beers now and then in a sociable kind of way.” She stared at me defiantly, but I didn’t challenge the statement.
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