Chicago Blood: Detective Shannon Rourke Book 1

by Stewart Matthews

  “That all?”

  She tilted the menu down to get a better look at him.

  “There’s nothing else bothering you?” he asked.

  “Should there be?”

  Dedrick dropped his menu, too. He stretched back in his chair and licked his lips. There was a little grin on his face.

  “If you don’t want to talk about it, I get it,” he said. “But I figured maybe you had a couple things you wanted to say. Thought I’d just make myself available to listen.”

  “About what?”

  The waitress came back. “Two waters.” She slid their drinks across the table. “And a glass of lemons.”

  All the while, neither Shannon nor Dedrick broke eye contact with each other.

  “Do you two know what you want, or would you like a minute?”

  “Grilled chicken salad for me.” Shannon stayed locked to Dedrick, trying to get a read on him.

  “I’ll take my usual.” Dedrick looked at the waitress and smiled politely.

  “BB King with hot sauce on the side.” She wrote down Dedrick’s order on her pad. “Next time you see me, I’ll have your food.”

  Dedrick took a sip from his straw. He returned his attention to Shannon.

  “Look, I’m not trying to get into your business, Shannon. But if I had a witness come to me and say a choice I made in my personal life had an effect on them,” Dedrick said, “I don’t know I’d take it as well as you are.”

  Ah. There it is. This was about what Isabella said—that Colm’s murder was caused by a series of events related to Shannon’s choice to leave Chicago behind for Stockholm.

  “I didn’t make him take the money from Ewan. He could’ve lived here and got clean, the same way Michael did.” She took the straw out of her glass, then squeezed and dropped a lemon into the water. “He was teaching Colm how to get by, and at least Colm had the benefit of that. Michael didn’t have anybody to help him get through his twelve-step program.”

  “Then why go to Stockholm?” Dedrick glanced up at her only briefly, like he was scared to ask the question.

  “Because as long as we stay in Chicago,” Shannon said, “Michael is at risk. I don’t want to leave, but it’s too easy for him to fall into his old life, and if he does, he’s going to start using drugs again. I can’t allow that to happen.”

  “And that’s a certainty?”

  Shannon grimaced. Dedrick couldn’t possibly understand the power that an addiction has over an addict. At least Shannon had an idea, because she’d seen it first-hand.

  “I know it’s hard to understand, but Michael’s well-being comes before everything,” she said. “After the way we grew up, I owe him that. The best thing I can do for him is to get him out of Chicago, out of this country, as far away from all his troubles as I can.”

  “If he’s the one with all the troubles, why does that mean you have to leave?”

  “He’s my brother.”

  Dedrick sighed. He tilted his head back and rubbed his neck.

  “What?” Shannon asked.

  He brought his eyes back to bear on her. For some reason, they caught her off-guard, and she felt warmth and the gnawing sensation of excitement sneak into her again.

  “I thought moving my family up here from Nashville would fix my marriage,” he said. “Turns out cheating on somebody still hurts even after you’ve left it in another zip code.

  “I couldn’t run from my problems. I don’t think you or your brother can, either.”

  Shannon had to stop herself from asking why anyone would cheat on Dedrick. He was a good-looking guy, intelligent, funny, and he cared about his kids. What woman would mess that up? But a noticeable silence blocked out the space between them—maybe the first she’d ever felt in Dedrick’s company.

  The jukebox playing Ritchie Valens’ “We Belong Together” didn’t help dissolve it.

  “You think I should stay?”

  Dedrick gave her a tired smile.

  The door to the kitchen swung open. Their waitress came straight toward them with a plate in each hand

  “One BB King with hot sauce.” She put a pulled-pork sandwich with a side of chips and a pickle in front of Dedrick. “And one grilled chicken garden salad.” She slid that down in front of Shannon.

  “If the two of you need anything else, I’ll be floating around here,” she said. “Just flag me down.”

  “You know I will.” Dedrick politely smiled at her, then set to eating his food.

  He and Shannon finished lunch without another word passing between them.

  CHAPTER 20

  After a couple hours of quiet contemplation in the park while waiting for Afonso Arroz, Michael had come to terms with his situation. He waited on a known criminal. A man who, by Miss Honey’s telling, had killed before. A man whom Michael had purposefully angered.

  Sitting on this gray and splintered park bench wasn’t a terrible way to die, Michael decided.

  Maybe it was a poor choice for someone respectable, but not for him. He’d come up against at least a half-dozen different ways to die in his short thirty-five years of life—some self-inflicted, some not. If Afonso decided to shoot him before either of them got word one out, that was fine. Certainly it ranked better than being mauled to death by Dave McCready’s starved pit bulls.

  Nobody would really miss Michael anyway. Shannon, maybe. But in time, she’d see that she could do without his mess—she’d carted that load around long enough.

  But he didn’t think Afonso was the type to shoot him on sight. If all his time working for Ewan taught Michael one thing, it was that guys who’d rose to Afonso Arroz’s level were measured. They knew how to walk the fine line between killing and staying their hand just long enough to figure out what somebody like Michael was about.

  At least, that’s what Michael told himself as he saw Afonso walk across 44th Street and enter the park.

  Some guys were psychos. Simple as that.

  He thumbed the Taurus Judge in the pocket of his jeans. Michael had five triple-aught shells to fall back on, if nothing else.

  “A deep dish, huh?” Afonso smiled as he approached. “You a funny dude.”

  “I don’t know where it comes from,” Michael said. “I get caught up in the moment, I suppose.”

  “My boy Queso probably ain’t too happy about how caught up you got,” Afonso said. “Dude called me on the way to the ER, said you come out and blasted his kneecap before he got a chance to say wassup.”

  “Queso? You’re funnier than I am—the best nickname I had for him was ‘Fat.’”

  Afonso sneered. “I ain’t come here to talk about jokes, man.”

  “I’m not here to waste time, either,” Michael said. “So tell me what you know about Colm Keane.”

  Afonso looked at Michael like he was some kind of moron—like he didn’t know exactly what he’d walked into. Maybe the kid wasn’t as sharp as Michael thought.

  “See, you got it all wrong, man,” Afonso said. “You don’t get to ask me questions. You get to apologize to me. That’s what I need to hear right now—that’s the only reason I ain’t blow your head off yet.”

  He hadn’t killed Michael because he wanted an apology first? If that was all that kept him alive, why apologize?

  “You also don’t know where I hid your stash,” Michael said.

  “Yeah, that might have some play in it,” Afonso said. “But straight up, man, I ain’t like how you come into my neighborhood and shoot my people. Then you want a sit-down like I owe you something?”

  “You don’t owe me anything,” Michael said. “I’m the one who owes you an apology, your stash, and two grand.”

  Afonso smirked at him. By the look on his face, it was easy to see he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

  “You’re playing that hand pretty hard,” Afonso said. “I might take the loss just to put a couple holes in your knees before I put one in your head—an eye for an eye, you know?”

  “Ewan Keane wouldn�
�t appreciate that.”

  Afonso’s expression dropped. It was almost worth Michael’s trouble to see how quickly that predatory smirk on Afonso’s face turned to pure terror when he heard Ewan’s name. He knew who Ewan was—and he should if he’d decided to let Colm near his sister—for his own good, if not for hers.

  “Don’t lie to me, man,” Afonso said. “You don’t know that dude.”

  “I assure you I wouldn’t lie about who I know.”

  “If you thought it’d keep me from killing you, you’d tell me how tight you are with Obama.”

  “There’s no need for violence here,” Michael said. “I’ve only come to ask a couple questions.”

  “Yeah. Tell that to Queso.”

  Michael knew he’d end up dead right where he sat if Afonso didn’t believe he worked for Ewan Keane.

  He squeezed the grip of the handgun in his pocket. Michael crossed his legs at the ankles to ensure its muzzle pointed directly at Afonso. If he had to fire from inside his pocket, he’d burn the skin off his own leg and probably get brushed by a couple pellets.

  Fair trade. He wasn’t about to let Afonso kill him for free.

  “Do you think I’d be here talking to you about Mr. Keane’s son if I didn’t work for him? Why would I stick my neck out for someone who wasn’t paying me for my trouble?”

  Michael leveled his eyes on Afonso, trying to impart the grave seriousness of what he said to him.

  “You think nobody on my side knows your sister, Isabella, is pregnant with Mr. Keane’s grandchild?”

  Afonso smiled at Michael like he’d been caught in a bluff of his own.

  “You Irish pricks think you can come across town and dig in anybody’s business.”

  He’d bought the lie. Michael’s hand relaxed around his pistol.

  “Only our own,” Michael said. “Look, Afonso—I don’t care about your money or your drugs or whatever else it is you do in that house. And I’m sorry I had to hurt your friend. All I came here to do was find out what you know about Colm’s activities.”

  “Your boss ain’t know?” Afonso said. “Ain’t that what your people get together about?”

  “Mr. Keane doesn’t know.” Michael lowered his voice like he was spilling a secret. “And he thought, seeing as his son was with your sister, and you are the man you are on this side of town, you might have a little information to share.”

  “Look man, I don’t know nothing about what Colm was into,” he said. “I figured whatever game he was running, he was doing it with y’all’s blessing, so I let it be. Unlike some around here, I don’t put myself into other people’s business.”

  Michael cracked a smile at him. “So you don’t know anything about Colm?”

  “No, man. I mind my own, and he ain’t one of them.”

  “What about your sister? Would she know something?”

  Afonso looked down at the ground. His eyes shifted over to a maple tree’s branches shimmying in the hot June wind.

  “She ain’t know nothing—and if nobody wants trouble, you’d be smart to remember that.”

  That was a lie. Even without Afonso’s obvious tell, Michael knew that was a lie. What wife or girlfriend or mistress didn’t know what her man was into? It wasn’t like Colm had the tightest lips of anybody in Chicago.

  “Now, I’d buy that about you,” Michael said, “but I know Isabella knew something about Colm’s activities.”

  Afonso shook his head.

  “Don’t lie to me,” Michael said. “You know how many years I’ve been doing this job?”

  “Do I care?” Afonso asked. “I said she ain’t know nothing, and that means she ain’t know nothing. Leave my sister out of this. She’s a civilian, man. That’s the last time I’m saying that.”

  Michael stared at him for a moment. He wanted Afonso to feel the pressure of his gaze on him, to see if the lie would buckle under it. It did. And that was all of the lie Michael needed to know. If he pressed any harder, he might end up with a bullet in his head.

  “Okay,” he said. “But if I don’t find something about Colm’s dealings, I’m going to come knocking on your door.”

  “You best not come alone,” Afonso said. “You ain’t catching us sleeping twice.”

  Michael shook his head. “You know I’m trying to help you, right?”

  “Man, whatever,” Afonso said. “You over here hassling me. That’s all I know.”

  “Don’t you care that your unborn niece or nephew won’t ever know their father?”

  “Ain’t like there’s nothing I can do about that now.”

  “You can help me catch whoever did it,” Michael said. “Let me deal with him the way he needs to be dealt with.”

  Afonso shrugged.

  The guy’s absolute indifference toward the whole thing struck Michael as bizarre. If he were in the same position as Afonso, there was no way he’d stand in the middle of a park with his hands in his pockets, going about his day like nothing was wrong.

  “You think your sister is okay with letting her boyfriend’s killer go?” he asked. “You think she’d want to see justice put on the guy who shot Colm?”

  “Colm got what he got.”

  “So, Colm’s dead and that’s that, then? I thought you at least had some heart in you.”

  That woke Afonso up. He stomped toward Michael.

  For a split second, Michael entertained the idea of letting the Judge go to work, but he thought better of it when Afonso didn’t make any move toward grabbing a weapon of his own. Maybe he really did come here unarmed, silly as that was.

  “I got heart, man.” Afonso beat his fist on his own chest. “I’m doing what I’m doing out here to take care of my people—Isabella before all the rest of them.”

  Michael stared at him.

  “Don’t you come down here and tell me I ain’t got no heart,” he said. “I care about my sister’s baby. That’s why I ain’t sad to see Colm go.”

  “Is that right?” Now they were getting somewhere.

  “Yeah that’s right!” Afonso practically foamed at the mouth. “I came home more than one time seeing bruises on her—seeing the way he talked to her, and how he treated her. It killed me. I’m a man, I gotta protect my sister—my family—but I gotta let all that mess slide because Colm’s mobbed up. I can’t do nothing about that dude without getting me and mine killed for it.” He paused for a second and took a breath. “I didn’t know nothing about why Colm got shot or who did it, but how would you feel if you were me?”

  There was no doubt in Michael’s mind what he’d do if Shannon had a boyfriend rough her up. If the boyfriend had a small army of murderers willing to kill whoever dared put a hand on him, Michael would probably stay the hell out of it, too. And if someone else took care of it for him, he wouldn’t shed a tear over it.

  “You don’t last too long in this business if you play against long odds,” Michael said.

  “That’s why I left the dude alone,” Afonso said. “I ain’t mad to see him get what he got, but I ain’t stupid enough to do it myself.”

  That was all Michael needed to hear. He jerked his head over his left shoulder.

  “Your stash is up in the branches of that maple tree.”

  He got up from the bench and walked toward the south end of the park—away from Afonso and the house on the corner of 44th and Wood.

  “Tell Mr. Keane I’ll take care of his grandbaby,” Afonso said. “He ain’t got to worry about that.”

  Michael kept walking.

  CHAPTER 21

  After lunch, Dedrick and Shannon walked out to the car in silence.

  It looked like it’d continue that way until Dedrick turned the key to start the engine and opened his mouth.

  “What I said in there, Shannon—” He stopped himself. “You probably don’t want me in your business, but I don’t want you to make the same mistake I made.”

  “I know,” she said. She played with her star hooked to her belt—anything to keep her eyes awa
y from him.

  Out in the periphery of her vision, she noticed him smiling. He put the Impala in reverse, then pointed the car south on Broadway, in the direction of Ewan Keane’s office at The Galway Tap. They were on their way.

  “Things got a little too intense, didn’t they?” he asked.

  “A little.” Shannon snorted. “I didn’t know whether you’d flip the table over or kiss me.”

  Oops. She looked out the window. She’d said a couple words too many.

  “I was going to do both, but then our food came.” There was a smirk in his voice.

  She refrained from commenting. Shannon grabbed her work bag off the floor. She pulled the zipper back so hard, she almost ripped it off the teeth. Within a second, she had her notebook out, and tried to skim over the things she’d written down. It was a poor attempt to push any unprofessional thoughts out of her mind.

  “Shannon,” Dedrick said.

  She kept her eyes on her notes.

  “Hey, Shannon.” He tapped her arm.

  Goosebumps prickled up on her elbow.

  “I’m trying to brush up on my notes, Detective Halman,” she said, keeping her eyes down.

  “Would you cut the awkwardness for a second and look up?” he half-yelled.

  “I’m not being awk—” She looked up.

  The Galway Tap was about thirty feet ahead on the left side of the road. There was glass all over the sidewalk. The front door had been smashed in.

  Dedrick hit the lights on his car and floored it. Shannon grabbed the radio mic.

  “This is unit 411 to dispatch.”

  “Go ahead, 411,” the dispatcher said.

  “I need a unit at 3130 North Broadway to help with a possible 31 in progress.”

  “I hear you, 411,” another officer said. “I’m in the area and en route to your 31 now.”

  Dedrick stomped on the brakes. The Impala skidded to a stop in the middle of the street, lights flashing. Shannon jumped out of the car as quick as she could. Her heart pounded ten beats a second, but she kept her cool. She drew her Glock 40, sure to keep it pointed to the ground and her finger off the trigger.

  She ducked between two cars parked at the curb out front of The Galway Tap and pressed herself against a small section of brick wall to the left side of the shattered door. There were bits of glass everywhere but no blood, and nothing like a brick or a stone used to break the window laid nearby.