Windy City Knights

by Michael A. Black

  Paulie swung his arm in an arcing motion, hitting me on the calf just below the knee, and sending a bolt of pain right up my leg. I glanced down and saw that he had the tire iron. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed a blur of movement and knew Red was getting to his feet. Dancing backward, ignoring the screaming pain in my leg, I snapped my head back just as the tire iron smacked the side of my head. Paulie’s feral teeth flashed. I pointed the revolver at his face and pulled the trigger.

  I heard his convulsive grunt, or at least thought I did. The explosion of the round going off in the muffled, shell-like structure made my ears ring. Swiveling, I tried to draw a bead on Red, who was moving toward the opposite wall. Before I could fire, Leon grabbed my left foot and pulled. The .38 discharged as I felt myself falling forward, the round cracking against the concrete floor and ricocheting off somewhere.

  My elbows took the brunt of my fall. Scrambling up, I lurched forward toward Red like a defensive lineman and slammed him into the heavy brick wall. The air seemed to go out of him and I followed up instinctively with a three-punch combination, keeping the gun in my hand as I hit him.

  More movement flashed and I turned to see Leon’s dark face glistening with sweat, the frosty breath expelling from his mouth like smoke, the tire iron cocking back over his head. Just pointing and pulling the trigger, I felt the .38 explode in my hand again. But Leon kept on coming. Could I have missed? I squeezed the trigger twice more, seeing him jerk slightly with each shot, the front of his dark jacket suddenly slick with blood. The arm with the tire iron lowered slowly and he staggered forward on drunken legs. I was set to put another bullet in him when Red bounced off the wall and slammed into me.

  We went down in a twisted heap, the shoulder of my coat rubbing coarsely over the concrete. I felt the rear of my head bounce once off the floor, Red’s forearm pushing forcefully downward under my chin. His fist smashed into my cheek and jaw several times. Bringing the .38 up under his armpit, I pulled the trigger but nothing happened. Had I fired six already? I squeezed the trigger again, but no discharge. Then I adjusted my grip and brought it down on the top of Red’s head a couple of times. He grunted and rolled, using his arm to trap mine. Then his fist slammed into my jaw. I whipped my left hand into his side as many times as I could, but without the leverage of my legs, they were just arm-punches.

  We rolled together, like unlikely lovers, each trying to whip in blows on the other with our free hands. His body mashed my right hand, which still held the .38, against the rough floor. I kicked with my legs, rolling us over once more, leaving the revolver in our wake.

  I found myself on top and managed to free my right arm. I swung at his head, but missed. He managed to connect with a punch to my side and grabbed for my balls. Struggling to block his hand, I had a sudden recollection of our first encounter. I had been correct to remain on my feet in that confrontation. He was stronger than I was. Heavier too. And he seemed to have some sort of grappling experience.

  I connected with a left to his temple. Blood was streaming down his face from the welts I’d opened with the gun. Shoving off with my legs, I struggled to regain my footing, but Red grabbed my leg and I fell on my left side, hitting hard. He was scrambling to get on top of me, but I managed to do a few snapping flutter kicks which kept him off. Breathing hard, I scrambled to my feet and swung a left hook at his rising figure.

  He slipped the punch, though by design or luck, I wasn’t sure. But the momentum of the blow swung me off balance, and I felt Red’s powerful weightlifter’s arm encircling my waist. Certain that he was going to try to body slam me on the concrete floor again, my left arm swooped down and snared his neck. A scissor-choke, they called it in judo. Tucking my forearm in just under his chin, and clamping my biceps over the back of his neck, I clasped hands and pushed backward with all the strength my legs could muster. Combined with Red’s forward motion, we went down, with me landing on my back and his body sailing over me. He struck the floor beyond my head and shoulders with a horrendous slapping sound. But I’d gripped his neck so hard that it didn’t travel the same way as the rest of him. When I rolled to my feet and grabbed his lapel to label him with a right cross, his head lolled backward at an almost ludicrous angle. I delivered the punch anyway, and felt the looseness when I connected. His neck was broken.

  Dropping him, I staggered over and searched for my Beretta. It lay in the far corner. Gasping like I’d just sprinted a half-mile, I staggered over and pressed the switch lowering the overhead door. Still no one else in the surrounding aisles. The door lowered as Red’s dead eyes stared up vacantly at me from the floor. Neither Leon nor idiot Paulie had moved during the struggle. Twin puddles of dark, thickening blood were spreading from under each of them. I slowly let my back hit against the wall, then squatted to lower myself to the floor.

  CHAPTER 34

  It took me a few minutes to get my breathing back to normal and figure out what to do next. As far as I could tell, I wasn’t injured other than a few cuts, scrapes, and bruises. But where did I go from here? That was, as they say, the million-dollar question. After putting the suitcases in the trunk of the Taurus, I went through the pockets of the three dead guys. They yielded very little. Leon and Paulie both had wallets with petty cash in them. Red’s wallet contained several hundred dollars, numerous credit cards, and various IDs in the names of Regis Phillips, Regis Werner, and Regis Brill. It would probably take the cops several hours to get his real identification by fingerprints, and I didn’t have a couple of hours.

  I replaced all their personal property except for Red’s cell phone. After leaving them, and the .38, in the storage facility, I raised the door enough to slip under, then lowered it again. The temperature had been dropping again and I figured the cold would keep them on ice, so to speak. I got into the Taurus. It felt like I’d gone ten rounds in a meat freezer. The left side of my head had a large lump that was dripping crimson from the center. My right cheek and eyebrow were bruised and starting to swell. I pressed the recall button and watched the last number called flash across the screen. Then I hit SEND. It rang twice before Olijede answered.

  “This is Shade.”

  “Ah, Mr. Shade,” he said. His voice was hesitant, uncertain. “How nice of you to call.”

  “I want to talk to Laurie,” I said as calmly as I could.

  “I am afraid that is not possible at the moment. May I trouble you to speak with Regis?”

  “Regis can’t come to the phone right now,” I said. “Well actually, I could bring it to him, but he couldn’t talk into it. Neither could any of the three other identities he had in his wallet.”

  “I see,” Olijede said slowly. “Mr. Shade, it seems that I have badly underestimated you.”

  I could tell by his tone that I’d caught him flatfooted.

  “So did your three stooges,” I said. “Now listen, you want your stuff, and I want Laurie. I’m willing to trade, no questions asked. We got a deal?”

  “A deal?” he said. He was stalling for time, trying to figure out what to say.

  “Yeah, a deal. Now let me speak to her.”

  Several seconds of silence, then he said, “Just a moment.”

  After a couple of minutes, Laurie came on the line.

  “Ron?” she asked.

  “Yeah, it’s me, babe. Are you still okay?”

  “I’m all right, Ron, but I’m just real scared.” Her voice broke.

  “I know. It’s okay. Can you tell where you’re at?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “We’re at some kind of house, but I don’t know where it is.”

  “Listen, I’m going to get you out of this,” I said. “Everything will be all right. Believe me. Just do what they tell you for now.”

  “All right, Ron. But please…hurry.”

  Olijede came back on the line before I could say anything else. I knew he was still holding the better hand, since he had Laurie and I didn’t know where the hell he was. I didn’t even know what he looked like.<
br />
  “Mr. Shade, I have considered your offer and agree,” he said. “But you must follow my instructions to the letter. Do you understand?”

  “As long as the instructions include me physically exchanging the suitcases for Laurie,” I said.

  He laughed his lilting, up-and-down laugh again.

  “I’m sure we would agree that you are in no position to dictate terms,” he said.

  “I ain’t dictating nothing,” I said. “I’m telling you like it is. We’re each holding something the other wants, and you don’t trust me any more than I trust you.”

  “And your point is?”

  “That you won’t see your stuff unless I see Laurie, safe and sound, when we make the exchange,” I said. “You can name the place. Take your stuff and we both can walk away.”

  “And what assurance do I have that you won’t contact the police?”

  “Yeah, right,” I said. “I’ll want to tell them about the three dead bodies I left in the storage locker, won’t I?”

  He laughed again.

  “Very well, Mr. Shade. You have your deal.” He was speaking slower than he normally did. I took that to mean that he was scrambling. “You shall proceed to the O’Hare Oasis with my property and I will call you back in precisely forty minutes on the cell phone and give you further instructions.”

  “I’ll need more time than that.”

  “Absolutely not,” he said. “I will expect that you will be there in a timely fashion then? Good-bye, Mr. Shade, and please keep in mind that we will be watching you at all times.”

  The connection went dead. I glanced at my watch. Five to one. If I was supposed to be up by the airport in forty minutes, I’d have to hustle. I slammed the gear shift into drive and took off. I honked twice at the gate and the attendant opened it without looking outside. After driving through, I stopped and jotted down the number to call Olijede back, and quickly dialed George. All I got was his voice mail, which meant that he was out of the station. After leaving a quick message and telling him to beep me immediately, I pressed END and then got the number to Red’s cell phone by pressing RCL and #. I wrote that number down, too, then dialed George’s beeper. The clock was ticking, but there was no way Olijede could tag me until I got to the oasis. I stepped on the gas and headed over toward the tollway, gripping the cell phone in my left hand and waiting for George to call me back.

  Red’s cell phone rang again precisely forty minutes after I’d last spoken with Olijede. I’d spent the time trying to deal with the discomfort of my aching head, and wondering if he did indeed have someone watching me. They knew what Red’s car looked like, but did Olijede really know me by sight? Of course, other than him being a Nigerian, I didn’t know him either. Or any of his henchmen. I let the phone ring two more times before I answered it.

  “Ah, Mr. Shade, I see you have followed my instructions.” “Yeah, now let me talk to Laurie.” “I am sorry, that is not possible at this time.” “Bullshit,” I said. “Let me know she’s all right or I don’t fucking move.”

  He sighed. “Very well. Miss.”

  She came on the line again.

  “It’s Ron. Laurie, just say yes or no. Are you okay?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “Are you near the airport?”

  “Yes.”

  “In the limo?”

  Before she could say anything else, I could tell the phone was being taken from her. Olijede came back on the line.

  “Very well, Mr. Shade. You have your assurance that she is all right. Now, are you ready to proceed?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Very well,” he said. “But let me take the time to remind you that you are being watched as we speak.”

  I wondered if that was really true, jamming the car into drive and leaving the parking lot, checking the mirrors. Two cars took off behind me. One was a dark Chevy Caprice with two guys in it. I had a pretty good idea who they were.

  “You will proceed back on the tollway and proceed north toward the airport,” he said. “You will be given instructions as you drive.”

  “Okay, I’m northbound,” I said. “Where do I go from here?”

  “Move to the right-side lanes,” he said.

  I purposely stayed where I was to see if he’d correct me. If he did, I’d know he had a tail car.

  “Mr. Shade, do you understand the instructions?”

  “Yeah,” I said. The split in the tollway was coming up, with the lanes I was in heading off northwest toward Rockford. The exit to the airport was to my right.

  “Then exit at the airport, please.”

  I glanced in the rearview mirror. The Chevy had dropped back a few car lengths. The traffic was way too heavy for me to tell if anyone else was tailing me. And they knew the Taurus. No long dark limousines stood out. I signaled and veered right.

  “Very good,” Olijede said a few moments later. The timing of his remark made me feel that he was either behind me, or, more likely, he had someone else reporting to him on a separate phone.

  “I took the airport exit. Now what?”

  “Continue onward,” he said. “I will tell you where and when to stop.”

  “Remember you ain’t getting your stuff till I get Laurie.”

  He made no reply. I was on the airport road now, going over Mannheim and heading toward Bessie Coleman Drive. The signs above the lanes announced that Terminals One, Two, and Three were straight ahead. Outside parking and hourly parking had their designated lanes also.

  “I’m going toward the terminals,” I said into the phone. “Where the hell am I supposed to head?”

  “Continue toward the main terminals.”

  I did. Up ahead, the lanes split again, this time for departures on the upper level and arrivals on the lower.

  “Arrivals or departures?” I asked. “Up or down?”

  “Proceed to the lower level, Mr. Shade,” he said. “That’s right. But do not stop until I direct you to.”

  “You expect me to stop in the middle of the road, or what?”

  “No, no, no,” he said. “Continue around the circle.”

  I coasted past Terminal One. To my left was a parking lot. I saw the listing for the airlines: Lufthansa, United, United Express. Terminal Two was next: Air Jamaica, America West, America Trans Air, Continental, Northwest.

  “Where do I pull over?” I said into the phone. “I’m coming up on Delta now.” Delta was in Terminal Three.

  “Pass the terminal and then take the small extension road and go around the circle again,” he said. “This time pull into Parking Lot B. Do you understand?”

  “Pull into Parking Lot B,” I repeated. The black Chevy shot by me.

  “That is correct,” he said.

  I swung the Taurus around and entered the perimeter road again. This time when the sign came up for the lot, I exited. At the end of the ramp was an automatic parking tab dispenser. I stopped before I entered the drive. A car behind me honked. I stayed where I was.

  “Where do I go?” I asked. The obnoxious guy behind me continued to lean on his horn, just as I’d hoped.

  It took him a few seconds to reply. I strained to listen for the blaring horn over the cell phone, but I could discern nothing.

  Olijede told me to pull forward and take a ticket. I did, reasonably certain now that he didn’t have an eyeball on me himself. He most likely had someone in a car behind me relaying my movements.

  “Okay, now where the hell are you?” I asked. “I know you have someone following me, but I want to see Laurie.”

  “Mr. Shade, your perception continues to amaze me,” Olijede said. “You will now pull into the lot and find an inconspicuous parking space.”

  I studied the cars in back of me. The idiot with the horn shot around me and went screaming off in the opposite direction. A nondescript-looking blue Buick LeSabre turned my direction and stayed far enough back so that I couldn’t see the driver.

  “Is that your guy behind me now?” I asked. “In the
blue LeSabre?”

  Olijede laughed. “Mr. Shade, I see now that I did very much underestimate you before. It is a mistake that I shall not repeat.”

  I slowed in the aisle. The LeSabre hung back too. The lot was pretty full, but I passed up several parking spaces. Scanning the lot as best I could, I still didn’t see any limos.

  Finally Olijede said, “Mr. Shade, any of the spots you have passed will do.”

  “Okay,” I said into the phone. “I’ll grab the next parking space that I see, all right?” I pulled into the next open space I found. It was near the edge of the lot and butted up against a taller parking garage structure that went up several stories. A tall cyclone fence and a steep embankment separated them.

  “Now what?” I asked, keeping an eye out for the blue LeSabre.

  “Remain in the vehicle, Mr. Shade, and my associate will approach you.”

  “Stay in the car so I can get shot?” I said. “No way.”

  I got out and locked the Taurus, stepping into the aisle and conspicuously stuck the keys in my pocket as the Buick slowly drove by. The guy behind the wheel was staring at me and talking into a cell phone. I put my phone down by my leg and grabbed my Beretta with my right hand. I ran toward the LeSabre. The driver’s eyes widened and he tried to shoot forward, but had to jam on the brakes as a black Chevy Impala screeched to a stop in front of him. I leveled the Beretta at the guy’s face and motioned for him to open the driver’s door. He immediately tried to jam it into reverse and back away, but another dark Chevy pulled up and tapped the LeSabre’s rear bumper. I smashed a round house kick into the driver’s door window. The glass exploded in a myriad of shards, and I swept the jagged edges away with the barrel of my gun. I reached inside and ripped the door open and dragged him out.

  “Where is he?” I yelled, pressing the barrel of the Beretta into the man’s forehead.

  “I don’t know,” he screamed as he dropped the cell phone.

  “Bullshit!”

  George suddenly appeared, his big, stainless Smith & Wesson .45 pointing down at the driver. He and the rest of the cavalry had been shadowing me since I’d left the oasis. I grabbed the phone from the ground. I just had to hope that wherever the big man was, he didn’t have a direct view of what had happened.