by Julie Beard
“I said I wouldn’t kill you, you stupid dick,” Brad said. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t impale you.”
He slipped the weapon off his arm and reached down to help me up. “Angel, I’m so sorry I didn’t come sooner.”
“Jesus, Brad,” I said, wincing as he placed my hand around his shoulder and hoisted me up, “you just…nailed the guy to a wall.”
“Hey, my sweet, anything for you. No need to thank me.”
I didn’t say another word. If Brad hadn’t taken such a drastic step, this guy would probably have killed us both.
“Looks like I got here just in time. I was trying to keep the press away, and that little shit Cyclops closed off the entrance after you and Keshon went inside. He must have been hiding near the entrance. He had obviously planned this one out.”
“He had to have help,” I said, wincing in agony when he hoisted me up.
“You okay?”
I nodded and bit back a moan, breathing deeply instead as Mike had taught me. “Yeah. We have to find out who helped a blind man and a Neanderthal plot this attack. It had to be somebody who knew about the meeting.”
“It’s a damned good thing you have an outsider here to do a little poking around.”
“By the way, you’re wrong,” I said, leaning heavily on him for support. “I do need to thank you.”
He flashed me a sexy smile and grabbed my butt. “Oh. Good. I know just the way for you to do it.”
I smiled. Clever boy. He knew I was too weak to knee him where it would really count. And he knew my behind had enough padding to ensure it was the only place he could grab without causing me more pain.
After filing a report with the police, I stopped by a drive-through doc-in-a-box shop to make sure I hadn’t broken anything more serious than my pride. Mickey insisted on playing the chauffeur. I had some bruised ribs, too many contusions and lacerations to count, and a long cut on my neck that required laser stitching. Otherwise, my bones miraculously had remained intact.
On the way home, I was groggy and thankful that I felt virtually nothing, thanks to the wonders of modern medicine. I must have passed out in Mickey’s car, because when I came to, I was stretched out comfortably on my couch in the living room. I lazily inhaled the delicious scent of moo goo gai pan and egg foo yung. A familiar voice brought a smile to my lips, though I couldn’t quite place it.
“I think she’s coming to. Hey, sis, are you awake?”
I pried open my eyes through sheer determination and found Hank leaning over me. I combed my fingers through his wavy, red bangs. “Yes, Hanky, I’m fine.”
He laughed with obvious relief that I was well enough to tease him with an old and hated nickname and sat on the edge of the couch. “Mike said to tell you he’ll be back later. He went to old China Town to get some herbs that he says will help you heal faster.”
I nodded. Mike was not only a friend and mentor, he sometimes took on the role of nursemaid.
Hank then frowned. “When your friend pulled you out of that building, I thought you weren’t going to make it. Jesus, Angel, you really scared me.”
I breathed shallowly to avoid the pain in my battered chest. “I’m sorry, Hank. Sorry that you were there to see it. I was scared, too.”
He blinked back what I suspected was an imagined scene of my demise, then said, “You’ll be happy to know we diverted a horde of reporters from your doorstep. Everybody wanted an exclusive with you.”
“You’re a magician,” I said, coughing to clear my throat, then wincing at the sharp chest pain that resulted. Hank offered me a sip of water, holding the glass to my parched mouth. It was cool and delicious. “Thanks. How did you get rid of the media frenzy?”
“I sent them to your lawyer’s office. I called and warned him, giving him the lowdown. He said he’d make some kind of statement.”
“That was nice of him.”
“Hey, sis, it’s the least he can do for ten million. Soji and I brought some dinner. Why don’t you try to eat?” He fluffed up the pillow tucked under my head.
I managed to sit upright, though every inch of my body protested with mutinous spikes of pain. “I have never hurt so much in my entire life.”
Soji entered from the kitchen, carrying a tray a steaming Chinese food. “Hi, Soj. How are you?”
“The question of the hour is how are you?” She placed the tray on the coffee table in front of me and gave me one of her knock-out smiles that had, along with her killer instincts, won her a new multiyear reporting contract with WFFY-TV. That’s where she’d met Hank.
In a way, they looked like a mismatched pair. She was nearly six feet tall, as thin as a clothing store manikin, and boasting a luscious caramel candy complexion. She really stood out in a crowd. Plus, she had a rich and creamy voice with a slight colonial British accent.
Hank, on the other hand, was just another overgrown descendant of Irish elves—a charming and handsome, slightly freckled and huggable fellow who stood five foot nine.
I was happy to see them both, and even happier that they’d brought food.
“I just realized I’m famished, and I always enjoy Soji’s cooking.”
“Chinese is one of my specialties,” she replied, filling a plate and handing it to me so I wouldn’t have to reach.
“Chinese take-out, that is,” Hank added.
“I also make very good reservations.” She winked at me, and I appreciated the fact that she wasn’t cooing over me as if I were an invalid.
We chatted as we ate, filling in the gaps over the day’s dramatic events. Soji had been covering the CRS meeting for WFFY and witnessed the chaos that followed my attack. When she realized I was the victim, she handed over the story to a colleague, called Hank, and they helped get me into an ambulance. She then made some calls to find out what was happening with the Shadowman.
The police arrested him, but he refused to point the finger at Cy. There were plenty of retributionists from the meeting who could testify that Cy had threatened Angel, and that was enough to have him put back in jail. But authorities held out little hope of finding him.
“I’ve never seen such a vicious attack,” Soji shook her head. “It’s a wonder you’re still alive, Angel.”
“You didn’t exactly see it, Soj,” Hank amended.
I let out a rueful chuckle. “I didn’t even see it. But I certainly felt it.”
“That retributionist from New Orleans was quite the hero,” Soji said as she leaned over the coffee table and helped herself to seconds. She could eat a Green Bay Packer under the table and never gain a pound. I swear she had a hollow leg. Soji sat down with a full plate and eyed me curiously, putting on her reporter’s cap. “Who is he? How do you know him?”
“His name is Brad the Impaler.”
Hank’s pale eyebrows curled doubtfully. “With a name like that, he must be a nice guy.”
“He’s a good-looking guy, anyway,” Soji said, then gave me one of those needling woman-to-woman looks. “He seemed very concerned about you, Angel. Are you…dating?”
Laughter burst out just as I swallowed a bite of egg roll and I choked. I slugged down half a glass of water before I could breathe again, then raised an index finger, begging another minute.
“We’ll take that as a no,” Hank translated for me, laughing.
“Or,” Soji said, “it’s a ‘No, but I’d like to be dating him, though I’ll never admit it.’”
“Ah, yes,” Hank said, “you’re using that ‘reading between the lines’ special parts assembly given to all women at birth. I don’t have that kind of equipment.”
“Neither does Brad,” I said, finally recovering my composure. “I owe him my life, but he’d be the first one to point that out. He’s not exactly modest or subtle when it comes to interpersonal relationships. I’m sure he does care about me, but not as much as he cares about himself.”
“Still, he’s a delectable piece. I think you should grab him.”
I shrugged noncommittally. I
couldn’t deny that I found Brad attractive. I always had. And now I could add gratitude and respect to my feelings for him. But it was easy to fall for a guy who dressed like a vampire and crucified a thug on your behalf. Too easy.
How much more intriguing to fall for the guy who might blend into the crowd or the establishment, but whose thoughts were truly unique, who was worth listening to, especially when he spoke quietly. And who listened in return. The same one who wouldn’t grab your tush just because it felt good, and insisted that lovemaking should be exactly that.
“What about Marco?” Hank asked.
I looked up in surprise. “You read my mind, little bro. You may have some intuition after all. I think it’s fair to say that Marco and I are hopelessly stalemated at this point.”
“I liked him a lot. So you’re still interested in him?”
“Oh, yes,” I replied with an exaggerated nod.
Then it struck me, if Marco really cared more about me than Brad did, why hadn’t he called? Marco had been on both murder scenes just minutes after or before I’d arrived. But when I was badly beaten, he was nowhere to be found, even though the local television stations had broken into programming with the story. No phone call. Nada.
“I’m interested,” I clarified, choosing my next words carefully, “maybe that’s just because he’s playing hard to get.”
Hank waved an invisible watch fob back and forth in front of my face and gave me a look that would have made Anton Mesmer proud. “Look into my eyes.”
“No way!” I waved him off with a laugh, avoiding eye contact. This was one of our running jokes. Whenever Hank wanted me to spill the beans, he’d pretend to hypnotize me.
“You will tell me the truth, Angel Baker,” he said with a bad Viennese accent. “Is it possible you are the one who is playing hard-to-get with Detective Marco?”
“Not a chance.”
“Analysis paralysis,” Soji said, reprimanding us both and scooping up our empty dishes. She ferried them out to the kitchen, adding for good measure, “Go with the flow. Make love, not war.”
“Any other clichés you want to throw my way?” I called after her.
“Buy low, sell high!” she shouted over the sound of running water and clanking plates.
Hank and I grinned, but tensed when the service elevator clanged, squeaked and groaned to a stop at the top of the stairs.
“What in the hell…?” Hank frowned suspiciously at the closed door to the apartment. “Did the circus just arrive?”
“That was my service elevator.”
“Good God, that thing actually works?”
“I used it once when I first moved in, but it lurched so much I feared for my life.”
“What brave soul is using it now?”
“I’ll let you see for yourself.” I opened the door just as Jimmy was about to knock and stepped aside so he could wheel his way into the living room. I made introductions, explained Jimmy’s presence, assured him that Hank, who was clearly amused, could be trusted, then took a seat. I gratefully accepted the coffee Soji brought me and prepared for a longwinded explanation of another one of Jimmy’s conspiracy theories. He was clearly agitated.
“L-look here, Angel,” he stammered, waving a stack of prints hot off the printer in my downstairs office. “I took some photographs when Lola left on her date earlier tonight, just as you asked me to. I think you’ll find this very interesting.”
I reluctantly set down my coffee mug and started flipping through the images. All of them were taken from the window behind me. There was the postman, making his once-a-week delivery of snail mail earlier in the day, a return appearance of those antiretributionist kooks with their handmade signs, and several shots of various windows in the old redbrick apartment building across the street.
“Okay, Jimmy,” I said as I quickly flipped past these, “this isn’t a scene out of Rear Window. Nobody in the building across from ours has murdered his wife. You’re going to get arrested as a Peeping Tom, if you’re not careful.”
He wiped a graceful hand over his mouth. “Well, you never know when someone has done something they shouldn’t.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, welcome to my life.” I quickly flipped through the rest until I found a shot of Lola crossing the street, decked out in a red sequined gown with a black boa—and it wasn’t a snake. Far from it. She looked like Lucille Ball going to the Academy Awards. Okay, Lucille Ball after losing a serious battle with gravity. Still, I had no idea Lola could clean up this well. She’d been holding out on me.
“Wow!” I whispered.
“What is it?” Hank leaned forward, eager to see.
“My birth mother. I had no clue….”
He grabbed the photo and whistled in appreciation, sharing the photo with Soji.
“This is your mother?” Soji’s chestnut eyes twinkled. She crossed a long, svelte leg over the other and leaned toward Hank for a closer look. “She’s lovely.”
I grimaced. “Sort of. I’m not sure she’d look so great if it were a close-up. She’s been around the block a time or two. She’s kind of like the main character in the movie Stella Dallas, played by Barbara Stanwycke. Pretty but hardened by life.”
“You really love those old movies, don’t you?” Soji remarked.
“When I was little, before Hank’s parents took me in, Lola used to get drunk on a regular basis. Whenever she did, I’d watch classic movies. We both had our way of escaping, but mine didn’t result in hangovers.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen a classic movie.”
I gaped at her. “Get out of here.”
“Nothing certainly before 2080, I’d say. I’m invited to lots of premieres because I work in the media.”
“Oh, Soji, you don’t know what you’re missing.”
“So tell me, what am I missing?”
“A lot of handsome leading men, classy dames, a wonderful world where everyone has manners and money, where justice always wins in the end.”
“Sounds good to me,” Soji said with a dry smile.
“If you decide to catch up, start with a Spencer Tracy movie. He reminds me of Hank.”
Hank straightened his collar and showed off his profile. “What do you think, Soji? Movie star material?”
“I don’t think so, boy wonder,” she teased.
“At least somebody in my family is good-looking,” he said, wagging his thumb my way. “And now we know where your beauty came from.”
Hank tossed the picture of Lola on the table. I focused on the remaining photos. “Here’s another one. Ooh, she looks even better here. Good shot, Jimmy.”
When he didn’t respond, I glanced up. He was back at his post, watching the street with his binoculars.
“Look at this, Hank,” I said. “Lola’s looking back at the building as she steps toward a waiting limousine. A nice one, too. Looks like a newer hydro. She must be waiting for her date to catch up.”
I passed that photo to Hank and studied the next one. “Ah, here we go. The man of the hour has stepped into the picture frame, I’d say twenty paces behind her. From what I can tell by looking at the back of his head, he looks handsome enough.”
“Go to the next one,” Jimmy urged me.
I did as he instructed, had to turn it right side up, then let out a slow, hissing gasp when I recognized the man in the picture. I would have screamed, but I couldn’t quite get another breath.
“What is it?” Soji asked. “What’s wrong?”
Hank snatched the offending photo from my hands. “Oh, my God,” he groaned. “It’s Vladimir Gorky.”
Chapter 16
Et tu, Brute?
“Damn!” I pressed my eyes with my fingertips. Fury and betrayal scalded me from the inside out. The painkillers were wearing off, and pain stabbed my head in a screeching rhythm. “Oh, God, I can’t believe Lola would do this to me.”
“I don’t understand,” Soji said, taking the photo from Hank. “Why on Earth would your mother be dating the
most notorious mobster in Chicago?”
“Unbelievable,” Hank muttered, thrusting up from his chair, clenching and unclenching his fists. “I need a drink. Soji?”
“No, thanks.”
“Angel?”
I just shook my head. “Damn her! How could Lola be this irresponsible? Strike that. She’s always been unreliable. But I thought she’d turned a corner.”
“What’s going on, Angel?” Soji asked in a soothing voice. “Lola and Gorky obviously didn’t meet through a dating service. What gives?”
While Hank went to the sideboard next to the fireplace and poured himself a shot of Vivante, I tried to explain the inexplicable.
“My mother and I lived for years in Rogers Park after my father skipped out on us. One night Vladimir Gorky got nailed in a shoot-out in front of our apartment, which also doubled as Lola’s fortune-telling parlor. She heard the ruckus and pulled him into our building, saving his life. She even removed a bullet from his leg so he wouldn’t have to go to the hospital and get arrested. Afterward, she became his favorite fortune-teller and bookmaker. I guess they’re back in business.”
Soji sat back as if she’d been shoved. “What an amazing story. I don’t suppose you’d be willing to—”
“No,” I said emphatically, “I will not repeat it on camera so you can use it on the news.”
“I wouldn’t waste it on the news. I was thinking of a documentary.”
I skewered her with a threatening glare. “No.”
“I’m sorry, of course not. I just can’t resist a good story.” She shook her head wonderingly. “Whatever happened to their association. Was it romantic?”
“No!” was my instant answer. I couldn’t even go there.
Hank sighed. “Give Angel a break. It’s personal.”
I automatically grabbed his hand and squeezed, just like I used to when we were kids. Gigi would make my life a misery, and he would be there to make me feel better.
“When I met with Gorky last month, trying to arrange the release of the Chinese orphans, I asked Lola to contact him to set up a meeting at Rick’s Café. When she did, they must have rekindled…something. So in a way, this is my fault. Still, I can’t believe Gorky is really romantically interested in her!”