Gold Coast Blues

by Marc Krulewitch

  “How do you know he’s not a killer?” I said. “You’ve been in the can the last three years.”

  “Sergeant Blake was always nice to me,” Tanya said. “And I don’t know so much. Nothin’ so important. And I haven’t been talkin’ to nobody anyway.”

  “Maybe you should get out of here,” Doug said. “We got your money. I’ll drive you to the train.”

  “Shut up!” Eddie said to Doug. I thought his right arm made the slightest move backward. “I got money too,” Eddie said. “With what you got and I got, we can get away somewhere nice.”

  Shaking her head sadly, Tanya looked at Eddie and said, “You don’t understand—”

  “I don’t care what you did with Cooper or the other guys,” Eddie said. “I don’t even care if you was wearin’ a wire—”

  “I never wore no goddamn wire!” Tanya said, bolting to her feet. “Did Cooper tell you that? He’s a goddamn liar.”

  “I know, I know,” Eddie said. “But that’s what I mean! It don’t matter either way—”

  “She’s telling the truth.” The voice resonated over the room. Eddie turned around to face Sergeant Blake standing in the doorway, holding a semiautomatic handgun pointed down at his side. “She wasn’t wearing a wire.”

  “Sergeant Blake!” Spike said, suddenly energized. “What’re you doing here? You got your wine, now get the hell back to New Jersey and start breaking thumbs again.”

  Sergeant Blake bought the wine?

  “Here,” Doug said, rolling the briefcase forward. “Take the money back. Just leave Tanya alone.”

  “Come over here by my side, Tanya,” Sergeant Blake said. Something about Eddie’s posture bothered Sergeant Blake. “Don’t be stupid!” Sergeant Blake shouted, instantly covering Eddie in a locked-arm shooting stance, both hands on his gun.

  “Easy, everyone!” I said.

  “What the fuck?” Spike said, walking up to Sergeant Blake, getting close enough to receive a left jab into his nose. Spike stumbled back several feet before dropping to his knees, moaning with his hands over his face.

  “Stay put, Tanya,” I said, then looked at Sergeant Blake. “You prepared to shoot all of us? Because you’re not taking her.” I pulled my jacket back to show my holstered weapon. “Either Eddie or I should get a shot off, don’t you think? And you’re a big fat target.”

  “C’mon, Tanya,” Eddie said, holding out his hand. “We’re gonna walk outta here.” Doug rolled the briefcase closer to Tanya, then backed away slowly with his hands up, almost reaching the window. “Mr. Landau,” Eddie said, “promise me you’ll shoot Sergeant Blake if he shoots me. C’mon, Tanya.”

  “Eddie—”

  “It wasn’t just Cooper!” Tanya yelled, tears spilling out of her eyes. “I was tryin’ to get away from you! Cooper owns your soul! You’ll never get away from him. You’ll always go back, just like you always have!”

  Tanya’s words gouged this son of Irvington’s heart. For the first time, I think I truly understood when the light left someone’s eyes.

  “Eddie, tell Tanya why Cooper sent me here,” Sergeant Blake said calmly, keeping him sighted down the barrel of his gun. Eddie looked at Sergeant Blake. Even through his leather jacket, I noticed his chest rising and falling. “Go ahead, tell Tanya,” Sergeant Blake added.

  Eddie turned to Tanya. “To make sure I did the job.”

  I slipped my hand under my jacket, removed my gun, and held it down at my side. Sergeant Blake looked at me, then back to Eddie.

  Tanya stared at Eddie, stunned, trembling. “You’re here to kill me? Y—you would really kill me?”

  Eddie shook his head. “Cooper thinks you wore a wire—”

  “I told you!” Tanya said, her voice wavering. “Cooper’s a goddamn liar. I wasn’t wearin’ no wire.”

  “It wasn’t a wire,” Sergeant Blake said. “It was a bug. In her phone. She didn’t know about it.”

  “You’re lyin’!” Tanya shouted.

  Sergeant Blake removed what looked like a small wallet from his pocket, said, “Heads up, Landau,” then tossed it at my feet.

  I picked it up, recognized the ID holder, then saw Sergeant Blake’s photo identified by a different name. The realization was immediate, but cursory. Then came feelings of self-consciousness and abasement for missing what suddenly seemed so obvious. “Sergeant Blake’s an FBI agent,” I announced.

  The muffled drone of the helicopter engine only added to the sense of finality permeating the silence. Eddie had known Sergeant Blake only as a cop on Cooper’s payroll. Now, standing in a posh North Shore living room, Eddie digested the irrevocable meaning of the three letters associated with Sergeant Blake’s name.

  Sergeant Blake reached behind to take a radio off his belt. “Tanya, get out. Walk out the front door, arms raised.”

  “No,” Tanya said, “I’m not ready.”

  Sergeant Blake was not pleased with Tanya’s decision. Even from where I stood, I could see his jaw muscles flexing. Then he said, “Spike, get out.” Spike was sitting on the floor, still holding a hand over his nose. Sergeant Blake shouted, “Spike! Walk out the front door with your hands up!” Slowly, Spike got to his feet. He left without a peep.

  Sergeant Blake mumbled something into the radio. Then he looked at Doug, who stood farthest back. “You! Out the front door, arms raised.”

  Doug started walking. Tanya looked at him. He gave her a thumbs-up. They both smiled. Eddie swiveled his torso between the two several times. The butt of his gun was now clearly visible. When he stood square again, his mouth hung slightly open. A flush covered his neck. I shifted my index finger to the trigger. As Doug passed within several feet of Eddie, Sergeant Blake fired what turned out to be a warning shot. The blast extinguished any sense of myself as a sentient being. I had no memory of dropping to the floor and rolling to the side. When I looked up I saw Eddie’s left arm around Doug’s neck and his right hand holding a gun against Doug’s head.

  “Tanya, get back!” I shouted.

  She remained standing, staring at Eddie. “Are you crazy?” she screamed. “Let him go!”

  Sergeant Blake had backed up into the entryway, using the casing as partial cover. His radio crackled. He answered with some kind of code then said, “Tanya, get out of here! Go!”

  “Sergeant Blake!” I shouted. “If Eddie drops the gun and lets him go, you’ll control that itchy trigger finger, right?”

  Sergeant Blake didn’t answer. “Eddie,” Tanya said, “what’re you doing? Gonna shoot your way out?”

  “Eddie,” Sergeant Blake said. “Here’s the deal. When Tanya goes out that door, she’s in protective custody. You can join her. You’re still a small fish. We want big fish, like Cooper. We can all walk out of here, one big happy family.”

  Eddie didn’t have to think about it. “Yeah? And be a rat like you?”

  “Goddamn it, Eddie!” Tanya said. “Drop the gun and let Doug go and then we’ll walk out of here.”

  “You see how fast Sergeant Blake shot at me?” Eddie said. “He doesn’t want me walkin’ anywhere.”

  From my knees, I said, “There are three witnesses, Sergeant Blake. If Eddie drops that gun and you shoot—”

  “Tanya!” Sergeant Blake shouted. “Go out the front door now!”

  “Listen to me,” Tanya said, making a move toward Eddie.

  “Stay there!” Sergeant Blake shouted then stepped back into the room. “Eddie. Tanya never wore a wire, but she took notes and reported back to us. Then she decided she didn’t want to help the government anymore. That’s why we bugged her phone. She thought she could just run away from it all. But it’s never as simple as just running away.”

  “You’re a fucking asshole, Blake!” Tanya said.

  “She performed a great service for us,” Sergeant Blake said.

  “Eddie!” I said. “You called Cooper a scumbag, remember? Think how much fun it will be to help send him to prison!”

  “I know about the money you took, Eddie,
” Sergeant Blake said. “What was it? Four hundred thousand? I told Cooper about it after you left. I even know you split it up and got it in three hiding places. So if you would rather just walk out of here and hope we can put Cooper away before he finds you, go for it. Just drop the gun, let go of Doug, and beat it.”

  I wanted to think Eddie was rationally considering his options. Then he said, “All those years suckin’ Cooper’s dick? Is that what you guys call deep cover? Instead of wearin’ wires, you shove bugs up your asses?”

  Apart from Eddie’s giggling, a grim silence settled over the room.

  “Tanya, get out!” I said.

  “We can try again,” Tanya said, sobbing. “We’ll start over—together. But we gotta go along with what Sergeant Blake says. Then Cooper can’t touch us. And we’ll be together….”

  Sergeant Blake crept closer. “Drop him,” Sergeant Blake said. “Just drop Doug, drop Doug.”

  “You shouldn’t have said what you did about wanting to get away from me,” Eddie said to Tanya. “You should’ve made somethin’ up until we got out of here. Now I know you don’t want me no more. So quit lyin’. I ain’t that stupid….”

  Tanya continued sobbing, ignoring my pleas to get out. Doug stared wild-eyed at Sergeant Blake, now about ten feet away, repeating the same two words, drop Doug, drop Doug.

  “I was never gonna hurt you, Tanya,” Eddie said. “But why did you have to say you wanted to get away from me? And don’t feel bad, Mr. Landau. You did your best for me and Tanya….”

  There was something about the fidgety movements of Eddie’s left arm around Doug’s neck that betrayed him as he spoke. I thought of Amy’s childhood ability to gauge her father’s potential for violence on a given day, and how eventually, just thinking about the man gave her a knowingness of what to expect. Maybe it was that same knowingness I felt, or maybe Tanya’s imminent danger would’ve been sensed by anyone immersed in the intensity of the moment. Either way, with the first hint of Doug’s descent, I was off. Three gunshots followed, two quick blasts as I tackled Tanya, then a final bang, all in the span of five seconds. I rolled off Tanya, pointing my gun at Eddie slumped over on his side, staring into the floor, blood trickling out of his mouth. He had never looked so peaceful.

  “Drop your gun, Landau,” Sergeant Blake said quietly, staring at Eddie’s bloody corpse, his gun lowered but still gripped with both hands.

  “Why don’t you pump another one into him?” I said. “Just to make sure.” I threw my gun across the room.

  Tanya crawled to Eddie and fell over him, sobbing. I stayed on the floor, watching. Two male agents wearing navy blue windbreakers cautiously entered the room, guns drawn in locked arm positions. Agent One approached Sergeant Blake while Agent Two circled around us, evaluating the scene.

  —

  “You okay, Blake?” Agent One said. Sergeant Blake answered in the affirmative, placed his gun on the floor, then described Tanya as an informant and me as a witness.

  Agent Two told me to stand, then led me to the window. Then he asked me if I knew the back of my neck was slightly bleeding. I didn’t know. From in front of the window, I stood watching the FBI assess Eddie Byrne for signs of life and attempt to show compassion.

  Chapter 51

  After a long conversation with Ted, I was able to piece together the events leading up to the final confrontation. Shortly after Doug’s reappearance, Jeremy approached Ted with a hunch. Jeremy then suggested Ted would have a sparkling future in the wine business if he confirmed this hunch. Ted obliged. Jeremy told Ted that revealing Tanya’s location would guarantee future training in wine identification from one of only two hundred and twenty master sommeliers in the world. Ted obliged after Jeremy swore that he too only wanted what was best for Tanya.

  Jeremy promptly shared this information with Spike, and the two hatched a plot in which Sergeant Blake would buy Margot’s wine at a deeply discounted price, which would enable Cooper to sell it to some sucker for a huge profit. Unknown to Spike, Jeremy cut a side deal with Sergeant Blake, earning him an extra one hundred and fifty thousand dollars in exchange for Tanya’s whereabouts. Unknown to Jeremy, Spike contacted Eddie, who also promised one hundred and fifty thousand dollars in exchange for Tanya’s whereabouts.

  Ballistics reports confirmed that Eddie’s gun had fired once, grazing the back of my neck on the way to leaving a neat hole with fracture lines in the window. This finding reinforced my conclusion that Eddie had attempted a murder/suicide-by-cop maneuver. After Eddie removed his arm from around Doug’s neck, the former hostage instinctively dropped to the floor. Instead of first shooting it out with Sergeant Blake, Eddie rotated left to fire at Tanya, fully aware he would be completely exposed to Sergeant Blake.

  The fatal bullet struck Eddie on his right side, passing through both lungs and his heart, before lodging near his left armpit. A second bullet hit the top of his right hip, then tore into his small intestine. After an internal investigation, Sergeant Blake’s shooting was deemed “faultless,” since he feared for his life.

  —

  Tanya disappeared into protective custody while the Feds utilized the Racketeer Influenced and Corrupt Organizations Act (RICO) to prepare their case against Cooper. Although Sergeant Blake’s years undercover provided plenty of damning evidence, it was Tanya’s testimony and unwitting use of a “roving bug” that supplied the diversion the media was eager to feed a hungry public. Thanks to the Internet, crime-boss Cooper’s arrogant boastings to a “mysterious young woman,” detailing his mastery of bureaucratic corruption, his philosophy of crime management, and his invulnerability to prosecution, received worldwide attention.

  Ultimately, Cooper was charged with thirty-one counts of racketeering, extortion, money laundering, and wire fraud. His trial lasted two months and included sixty-three witnesses. The jury deliberated less than a week and came back with guilty verdicts on all thirty-one counts. Cooper received a life term, plus five years.

  —

  I fell in love with Amy to quench the pain of my breakup with Tamar. This conclusion arrived shortly after Cooper’s arrest, when I first experienced a sense of closure in the case. Combined with the completion of Punim’s trust and a general period of rumination on the dangerous situations I had faced, sadness dominated my spirit.

  Then came Tanya’s email. She was living in an undisclosed location—some place much sunnier and drier than New Jersey—and wanted to thank me for saving her life. She was very happy “wearing” her new identity, as it fit her better than anything she had worn back East. She also mentioned she had found her calling, working with cats at an animal shelter. In addition, she and her business partner were marketing flower essence remedies for cats with behavioral problems. Her email restored me.

  Coincidentally, Amy called not long after Tanya’s email. She asked if we could get together and properly say goodbye. I suggested we meet on the stone amphitheater steps of Diversey Harbor, a favorite daydreaming locale of mine. She agreed, and during the busy Fourth of July weekend, I waited in the humid, hazy air, cherishing the cool lake breeze.

  Amy smiled and waved as she stepped over others occupying blocks of concrete. She wore denim bib overall shorts and a white T-shirt, and carried two drinks.

  “Cold pomegranate yerba mate for you,” she said, handing me a cup. “Iced tea with lemon for me.”

  “So how’s the art crime business, Special Agent?”

  “Booming. I already got my next assignment. Bogus Picasso, Chagall, and Degas drawings.”

  I decided to get provocative. “By now, you must know quite a bit about faking,” I said.

  Amy looked at me and burped. It was the perfect comeback. When I stopped laughing she said, “My feelings for you are real, Jules, as was the conflict those feelings produced—if that’s what you’re implying. But my career is important to me. I can’t become romantically involved with someone I’m working on a case with.”

  “What if the case is finished?”

>   Amy took a lengthy sip. “Sure,” she said. “But in our situation, there are other complications. I might be getting transferred soon—and I’m coming off a long-distance relationship. I’m not going to do that again.”

  Amy was probably telling the truth, but I couldn’t shake the feeling she was glad to have these excuses. I said, “I’m still stuck on someone else. She’s unstuck, it seems. So it’s probably better that I not reattach to someone else until I feel sufficiently unglued.”

  Amy laughed loudly then lifted her cup. “Let’s drink to freedom from adhesives,” she said.

  We spent the next hour talking about whatever came to our minds. When I brought up spirituality, Amy’s enthusiasm lagged.

  “I can only talk about it to the same person for so long,” she said. “At some point you have to let go. If what I say takes root and grows, so be it. If not—doesn’t matter. There is no right and wrong. There’s just the truth. But truth has to be found on one’s own. Nobody can do it for you.”

  For the first time, I really thought I understood what she meant. Sort of.

  BY MARC KRULEWITCH

  Maxwell Street Blues

  Windy City Blues

  Gold Coast Blues

  PHOTO: © DARCY SHERMAN

  Like his character Jules Landau, MARC KRULEWITCH is descended from an infamous Chicagoan. He grew up in Highland Park, Illinois, and now lives with his wife in Colorado.

  Facebook.com/​marckrulewitch

  @makkrul

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