Windy City Knights

by Michael A. Black

  “Follow me to the expressway,” I said. “We’ll get you set up at the Holiday Inn and then we can come back tomorrow with the truck and pick some things up.”

  “Oh, Ron, you’re so sweet,” she said. “I don’t know how I’m ever going to be able to thank you for all this.”

  I watched her hips in the tight jeans slide over the seat as she got out and thought that if I was a different kind of guy…

  The drive south took us about thirty minutes. It was almost eleven thirty and the traffic south was real light. I led her over to the hotel and carried her suitcase inside to register. She paid for the room with her credit card, and I walked with her to the door. Inside she turned on the light and looked around.

  “Oh, that bed looks so heavenly,” she said. “This was a good idea, Ron. I feel totally exhausted.”

  “Well, get some sleep then, and I’ll come by in the morning and take you to breakfast.”

  “Are you sure?” she said. “I wouldn’t want to interfere with any of your plans.”

  “That’s one of the great things about being your own boss. I haven’t got any plans. No money either,” I added with the slyest of grins.

  She smiled and came forward and gave me a quick hug. “Thanks,” she whispered, and kissed me lightly on the cheek. In the hallway, I stood and watched as she smiled once more before closing the door. The deadbolt lock clicked from inside and I meandered down the hallway.

  Well, I thought. Chappie will be happy. When I pushed open the doors and made my way to the truck in the cold wind, I remembered her smile as she’d closed the door, her scent as we’d briefly embraced, and I couldn’t help but wonder what she would have said if I’d asked to stay.

  CHAPTER 12

  The next morning I got up early and went for my usual six a.m. five-mile run. The temperature had elevated slightly, and a thin layer of snow had fallen overnight, looking kind of pretty under the nascent sky. But I barely noticed the solemnity of the morning as I ran, my mind reviewing the unlikely coincidences of the past week. Two almost identical burglaries. Both apparently professional jobs. My place and then Paula’s. Were they connected? And what was with the hang-up call that Laurie’d received at Paula’s apartment? Lots of questions, but no answers.

  By the time I’d looped the circle and begun heading back for the tail end of the run, the wind had reasserted itself and all but obliterated my previous tracks with a dusting of new snow. When I rounded the curb on my block, I’d decided to take Laurie up on her offer to hire me to look into things. It couldn’t hurt, I figured. There were just too damn many coincidences to ignore. As I trudged up the sidewalk to my house, the neighborhood was just coming alive with people warming up their cars to leave for work. I grabbed the broom I keep stashed under the back steps and swept the light snow from the sidewalks.

  Inside, I peeled off my clothes and checked my calendar for appointments. I always kept the calendar hanging right next to the toilet so I was assured of keeping track of things on a daily basis. I’d scribbled a note that Rags had to go in for his second, and hopefully final, worming. That meant I had to get him to the vet’s by nine. Since it was only seven fifteen I figured I had plenty of time. I shaved and adjusted the shower to the proper degree of warmth before stepping under it. After toweling off and getting dressed for action, I fed Georgio and Shasha upstairs and then went down in the basement to check on the little guy. He came prancing over to the edge of the cage when I whistled and shook the box of kitten chow. I felt downright bad that I had to deceive him, but picked him up and placed him gently in the cat carrier. His little head canted to one side as he looked at me through the bars in a perplexed fashion.

  “Hey, I’m sorry, okay?” I said to him. “But if all goes well today, you should get to go into general population.” He blinked twice and folded his paws under his chest as he sat down in regal fashion. I placed the kitty carrier by the heating vent and sat down for a nutritious breakfast of blended strawberries, a banana, protein powder, and milk. After finishing it, I allowed myself the luxury of a cup of coffee while I filled out the proper forms that I needed for the initial phase of my investigation. I sat at my desk and looked up the number for Ameritech Security in my Rolodex. At eight fifteen exactly I dialed, and when somebody answered I lowered the timbre of my voice slightly and gave my best imitation of George’s South Side accent.

  “Yeah, this is Detective Grieves, Chicago Police Violent Crimes,” I said. “Who’s this?”

  “Irwin Caufman,” a male voice said tentatively. “May I help you?”

  “Yeah, I hope so,” I said. “I’m working a homicide case and I got reason to believe that it may be tied into a burglary that happened a week or so ago. Hold on a second, I’ll give you the date.” I rustled some papers on my desk and breathed laboriously into the phone. “Yeah, it was December twenty-ninth. Can you get me some MUD records if I give you the burglary victim’s phone number?”

  “As long as you have a subpoena,” Caufman said. “Those records are confidential, you know.”

  “Yeah,” I said, edging some petulance into my tone. “But I ain’t got time to run down to the grand jury today. I gotta move on this thing. I’m at the victim’s house now. How ’bout I fax you a release form, signed by him, and you fax me the records at Area One. Just put ’em attention to Detective George Grieves, okay, Irwin? What’s your fax number?”

  “Well,” he started to say. But I detected the uncertainty in his voice.

  “Come on, Irwin,” I said. “You’re telephone security, right? Let’s cut the red tape a little bit. I mean you’ll be faxing ’em right to my office, and you’ll have a signed, official Chicago Police Department Release form, for Christ’s sake. Gimme the number.”

  I heard him exhale, then he reeled it off. “Thanks, Irwin. I owe ya one. I’ll make out the cover sheet to you, then I’ll have my victim sign the release and I’ll use his machine to fax it, okay? My fax number’s on my cover sheet.”

  “Fine,” he said quickly.

  I thanked him again and said, “Okay, now I have to unplug his phone to plug in his fax machine so here goes. It’s been nice talkin’ to ya, and you need anything out of the Second District, you just give me a call.”

  Irwin assured me that he would. I hung the phone up and plugged in my fax machine. After dialing, I set the cover sheet and release forms that I’d lifted from George’s trunk last night into the tray and marveled at the faceless anonymity of modern technology as the papers passed through the rollers.

  Making one last pass through the house, I collected my gun, IDs, wallet, and cell phone. I also looked through my desk and found the number I’d obtained from the impression Paula’s writing had left on my telephone pad the morning she’d stayed with me. As I jotted it down in my pocket notebook, I still wondered about the significance of the “8AM” next to it. I picked up the cat cage, and the little guy opened his mouth and cried pitifully as I headed out the back door. I’d had to park George’s big F-150 in front of my house since it wouldn’t fit in my garage. I put the carrier case with Rags inside on the front seat of the pick-up, started it, and used the brush and scraper on the windows. The truck had fired right up, but I thought the gas gauge needle actually descended a tad as I let it idle. Undaunted, I shifted it into drive and proceeded cautiously down the snow-covered street, knowing that George would probably kill me if I put as much as a scratch on his pride and joy.

  Despite being well into winter, the light snow still made the morning drivers skittish. It was kind of nice being in the truck, because I was up higher than normal and could see the traffic conditions ahead. I mentally debated buying a truck for myself instead of the new Camaro I’d been saving for. But another glance at the descending gas gauge made me forget about that idea. My wallet would shrink so much from the gas costs that I’d probably need to stick a pillow under the left side of my ass just to keep level when sitting down.

  I dropped Rags off at the vet’s, and they told me to che
ck back with them after three. The kitten had the look of dejection on his face as I handed him over. When I was back in the truck again, I called Laurie’s room at the hotel. She answered on the second ring.

  “Hey, babe, it’s Ron. How about some breakfast?”

  “Love some. Are you at home?”

  “Already up and running. I should be at your hotel momentarily. Meet you in about ten minutes by the front entrance?”

  “Sounds great. Say, do you think I should keep this room for another night, or would it be safe to go back and stay at Paula’s?”

  “Why don’t we talk about things? I’m a little bit leery of having you stay alone at that apartment.”

  “I should be all right.”

  “Not to mention the parking problems,” I said. I thought I sensed her beginning to weaken.

  “Okay, I’ll stay here. You talked me into it. See you by the front.”

  With the traffic being slower than normal, it took me almost fifteen minutes to get there. When I pulled up in front I saw her standing by the vestibule between the glass doors. I slowed to a stop, and she came walking out, taking one last drag on her cigarette, then tossing the butt into the snow. She wore a black nylon ski jacket and blue jeans that fit her like a second skin. A lavender scarf was wrapped around her neck, and she had one of those knit earmuff things that fitted over her head while letting her hair flow freely. The cloudy vapors traced from her nostrils as she smiled and pulled open the door.

  “Brrrr,” she said. “I hope my poor little car will start.”

  “We can check it later,” I said. “I figured we could grab a bite to eat then use the truck to pick up some of the stuff from the apartment.”

  “Great, but are you sure you don’t mind? You have the time?”

  “My time is your time,” I said. “I’ve decided to take the case.”

  Her eyes widened and she looked mildly shocked. “Ron, that’s wonderful. I really appreciate it. But what changed your mind?”

  “A couple things,” I said. I told her about the “coincidental burglary” to my house right after Paula had spent the night. It suddenly hit me how that must have sounded to her, but I was past worrying about it. After all, she definitely wasn’t the same little girl in pigtails that I’d remembered.

  “I should be getting a hold of some MUD records that might give me a lead,” I said.

  “MUD records?”

  “An acronym for Micro Unit Detail sheets,” I said. “They’re computerized printouts of the phone numbers of every call made from a particular phone.”

  “Wow, I didn’t know something like that existed,” she said. “How do you get them?”

  “Ah, George is sort of helping me on that,” I said.

  “So will they show who made that hang-up call last night?”

  “No, you have to know the number that the call originated from,” I said. “But that hang-up call bothers me too. Like I said, it’s a lot of little things added together that don’t seem quite right.”

  “I’m glad we agree,” she said. “On the phone Detective Grieves told me that there was evidence that Paula was using heroin.” She shook her head. “I just can’t imagine that. I mean, she used to smoke a little pot now and then. But heroin…”

  We pulled into a Greek restaurant known as The Eggman’s. Like most Greek places, they made sure you never got slighted with your food.

  “If we eat at this place,” I said, “it’ll take us the rest of the day to work it off. Then maybe I can buy you dinner.”

  “Sounds nice,” she said.

  Inside the hostess approached us and asked if we wanted smoking or non smoking. Laurie glanced at me quickly and said, “Non.” As we weaved through the crowded dining room, she glanced back over her shoulder.

  “That was right, wasn’t it?” she asked. “I know you don’t like smoking, do you?”

  “No. Especially when I’m in training.”

  We sat in a booth by the window. Laurie slipped off her black nylon jacket and folded it on the seat beside her.

  “Have you ever smoked, Ron?”

  “No. Not even marijuana.”

  “Wow.” She smiled.

  I noticed her hazel eyes had tiny splashes of green in them.

  “I’d quit, believe it or not, for four months,” she said, her eyes widening as she spoke. “Got through my finals and everything. Then,” her eyes narrowed, and she blinked a couple of times, “when we got the call about Paula, I reached for my uncle’s pack of Marlboros and I was hooked again, just like that.” She snapped her fingers. “Like I’d never stopped. Although that first one really knocked me on my ass.” She paused and took in a deep breath, as if she were reliving the moment, and let out a sigh. “Guess I’m just a nicotine junkie.”

  The waitress came and took our order. I got my usual high-energy special. Two scrambled eggs, rye toast, coffee, orange juice, very crisp bacon, and a side order of pancakes. Laurie had an omelet and watched in amazement as I ate. Afterward she wanted to pick up the check, but I grabbed it. She insisted on giving me a check as a retainer, however. I accepted it and told her that I’d draw up one of my standard contracts later on. We drove to a Pack-and-Send shop and bought some boxes, tape, and address labels, then hit the expressway and drove straight to Paula’s old apartment. Outside, we stopped and checked with the parking lot attendant the super had mentioned. The guy said he remembered Paula’s red Firebird, and even pointed out her spot. But he said he hadn’t seen her or the car for a couple of weeks. I gave him one of my cards and five bucks and told him if anyone asked about the car to give me a call. He nodded as he pocketed the bill and put the card in his wallet. I pulled the truck into a vacant spot by the alley and Laurie narrowed her eyes as she looked at me.

  “I hope that contract doesn’t include paying all your parking tickets,” she said.

  “Just the ones I get in the line of duty. Besides,” I said, grinning as I reached across her legs, popped open the glove box, and took out the ticket that I’d gotten on the truck last night, “I got friends in high places.”

  “I thought you gave that to your friend already?”

  “That was the one on your car,” I said. “He’ll have to take care of this one. It’s on his truck.”

  We were laughing as we made a quick trek across the sidewalk to the front doors. Paula’s mailbox contained two letters that looked like advertisements. Laurie asked if we should check in with Mr. Turner, the super, but I decided to just go on up and get busy. I told her I’d touch base with him later on to see if he’d noticed anything strange after we left. I also wanted to ask him about any boyfriends or visitors that Paula might have had in the months before her death. There was something about that old bird that rubbed me the wrong way, but I didn’t want to spoil what was left of a perfectly good morning.

  As we got up to the fifth floor, my beeper went off. It was George’s work number and there was a 911 after it, which meant that I was to get a hold of him pronto. I left Laurie locked inside and told her I had to go back down to the truck to get my cell phone. Actually I had the phone in my pocket, but didn’t want her to hear the conversation. I was pretty sure what the call was all about, and I figured he’d be pissed. Besides, she was only studying to be a lawyer, and hadn’t passed the bar yet; she might still have some idealism left.

  I went into the stairwell and found a landing midway between the fifth and sixth floors. A filthy window provided a view of the crisscrossing streets, more high-rise apartment buildings, alleys, and a parking lot. I leaned against the wall and punched in the number. He answered on the first ring with his usual gruff, “Detective Grieves.”

  “Yeah, buddy, it’s Ron. What’s up?”

  “You tell me,” he said. “What’s with all these faxes with your MUD records? I didn’t know what the hell they were, until I looked at the number and saw it was yours.”

  “Ah, Sherlock, Dr. Moriarty sure ain’t gonna put nothing over on you.”

  “Kis
s my ass,” he said. “Now what gives?”

  “Paula made at least one call from my place the morning she was killed,” I said. “I mean, she had to call a cab or something. If we can find out which company, it’s a place to start backtracking.”

  “Ron,” he said, his voice taking a harsher edge, “I told you that I’ve taken it about as far as I can right now. And what’s this ‘we’ shit?”

  “Well, I told you her cousin’s in town, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “So I’m working for her,” I said. “Just going over the case a little.”

  I heard him sigh. I was expecting a tirade, or at the very least a lecture, but all he said was, “Okay, keep me posted.”

  “You ain’t pissed off?”

  “Not at the moment,” he said. “At least not until I find out how the hell you got Ameritech to fax me some fucking MUD sheets without a subpoena.”

  “Oh, that,” I said. “It just pays to have friends in high places.”

  “Or low places, knowing you,” he added. “So now I suppose you want me to trace down these names and addresses, huh?”

  “Hey, that’d be great,” I said, taking out my notebook. “Say, while you’re at it, see what you can come up with for this number, will ya?” I read off the 8AM number I’d obtained from the phone pad.

  “Christ, you expect me to do all your god damn work for you?” he muttered, but from his distracted tone, I could tell that he was scribbling it down.

  “Thanks, buddy,” I said. “It’s great to help a friend in need. Gives you a warm feeling, doesn’t it?”

  “Yeah, so does wetting your pants, at first,” he said. “Maybe you ought to try it sometime. The helping a friend part, that is.”

  “Well, actually I am. You see, I’m helping Laurie clean out Paula’s old place and,” I hesitated, and heaved a heavy sigh of my own that I hoped was sufficiently dramatic, “it’s pretty rough on the poor kid. I mean, I’d hate to have to leave her to do it alone.”