Edna said, “Horse manure.” Which was one-half right.
Lockington said, “Hey, Rufe Devereaux got around! He had his first heart attack when he was in the hay with a Clark Street hooker—he was fifty-three at the time.”
“He’s had more than one?”
“Hookers? Oh, sure, dozens!”
“Heart attacks!”
“Two that I know of. His second came with a Wilson Avenue pro.”
“How old was he then?”
“Fifty-four.”
“Whatever happened to him?”
“He recovered, obviously.”
“I mean, where did he go?”
“Up to Sheridan Road. Sheridan Road got hundreds of hookers.”
Edna was glaring at him.
Lockington shrugged. “Hell, I don’t know—CIA people won’t tell you where they’re going—you’re lucky if they tell you where they’ve been. With that bum ticker, maybe he retired.”
On the southbound Outer Drive Edna said, “What did you two talk about?”
“Baseball, mostly—Rufe was a walking baseball encyclopedia.”
“So are you.”
“I know some baseball but I wasn’t in Rufe’s league—he knew baseball history. He claimed that the nineteen-oh-six Chicago Cubs were the greatest team ever.”
“Were they?”
“Not a chance! The ’twenty-seven Yankees were the best. We’d argue about that.”
“Maybe that’s why you got along—because you could argue about baseball.”
“I suppose so.”
“You said baseball mostly. What else—pussy?” Edna Garson had the unflagging curiosity of a kitten when it came to matters having to do with Lacey Lockington, and once she’d gotten onto a subject, getting her off it was extremely difficult.
Lockington said, “Men talk about things other than baseball and pussy.”
“Okay, name one.”
“Football.”
“Football’s a sport!”
“So is pussy.”
“Oh shit!”
“Well, there was one other thing—we listened to country music.”
“Where?”
“Honky-tonks—joints on Milwaukee Avenue, usually.”
“The Club Howdy?”
“Yeah, there, and that dive a couple of doors south.”
“Nashville Corners. I’ve been in both of ’em—badass places. You like country music?”
“Not as well as Rufe liked it—he was crazy about it—what the hell, he was from Louisiana. I prefer ragtime.” This was better—he’d managed to get her switched from his private life to music.
They’d turned into Michigan Avenue, then swung west to the Randolph Street parking lot. Edna walked east with him, holding his hand. They paused at the entrance to the vestibule housing the steps leading down to the Classic Investigations office. Lockington said, “Luck on your teddy.”
Edna said, “I have a few other things to do—I’ll pop for lunch. How’s eleven-thirty?”
Lockington shook his head. “I gotta meet Rufe Devereaux.”
“Oh, damn, that’s right! Well, I’ll see you around, stud.” She stood on tiptoe to kiss him on the cheek. Then she headed for State Street. Lockington watched her until she’d vanished into the 9:00 Randolph Street maelstrom. Edna Garson’s walk would have busted up a eunuchs’ convention.
5
LANGLEY-CHICAGO/ ATTN CARRUTHERS/ 1101 EDT/ 5/24/88
BEGIN TEXT: AVERY REPORTS UNFAVORABLE DEVELOPMENTS CHICAGO/ CONFIRM OR DENY/ END TEXT/ MASSEY
CHICAGO-LANGLEY/ ATTN MASSEY/ 1003 CDT/ 5/24/88
BEGIN TEXT/ CONFIRMED/ SERIOUS COMPLICATIONS THIS STATION/ END TEXT/ CARRUTHERS
LANGLEY-CHICAGO/ ATTN CARRUTHERS/ 1104 EDT/ 5/24/88
BEGIN TEXT: TRAIL?/ END TEXT/ MASSEY
CHICAGO-LANGLEY/ ATTN MASSEY/ 1005 CDT / 5/24/88
BEGIN TEXT: NONE VISIBLE/ CHECKING/ END TEXT/ CARRUTHERS
LANGLEY-CHICAGO/ ATTN CARRUTHERS/ 1106 EDT/ 5/24/88
BEGIN TEXT: LUGGAGE? END TEXT/ MASSEY
CHICAGO-LANGLEY/ ATTN MASSEY/ 1007 CDT/ 5/24/88
BEGIN TEXT: GONE/ END TEXT/ CARRUTHERS
LANGLEY-CHICAGO/ ATTN CARRUTHERS/ 1108 EDT/ 5/24/88
BEGIN TEXT: GODIVA?/ END TEXT/ MASSEY
CHICAGO-LANGLEY/ ATTN MASSEY/ 1008 CDT/ 5/24/88
BEGIN TEXT: LIKEWISE/ END TEXT/ CARRUTHERS
LANGLEY-CHICAGO/ ATTN CARRUTHERS/ 1108 EDT/ 5/24/88
BEGIN TEXT: EXIT ROUTE?/ END TEXT/ MASSEY
CHICAGO-LANGLEY/ ATTN MASSEY/ 1009 CDT/ 5/24/88
BEGIN TEXT: FIRE ESCAPE LIKELY/ END TEXT/ CARRUTHERS
LANGLEY-CHICAGO/ ATTN CARRUTHERS/ 1110 EDT/ 5/24/88
BEGIN TEXT: YOUR STATION INCOGNIZANT POSSIBILITIES AFFORDED BY FIRE ESCAPE/ END TEXT/ MASSEY
CHICAGO-LANGLEY/ ATTN MASSEY/ 1011 CDT/ 5/24/88
BEGIN TEXT: ASSIGNMENT ROOM 333 UNANTICIPATED/ ORIGINAL RESERVATION ROOM 206/ NO FIRE ESCAPE ROOM 206/ END TEXT/ CARRUTHERS
LANGLEY-CHICAGO/ ATTN CARRUTHERS/ 1112 EDT/ 5/24/88
BEGIN TEXT: LAST MINUTE CHANGE?/ END TEXT/ MASSEY
CHICAGO-LANGLEY/ ATTN MASSEY/ 1013 CDT/ 5/24/88
BEGIN TEXT: AFFIRMATIVE/ END TEXT/ CARRUTHERS
LANGLEY-CHICAGO/ ATTN CARRUTHERS/ 1113 EDT/ 5/24/88
BEGIN TEXT: SWITCH BY TURKEY OR MANAGEMENT?/ END TEXT/ MASSEY
CHICAGO-LANGLEY/ ATTN MASSEY/ 1014 CDT/ 5/24/88
BEGIN TEXT: MANAGEMENT/ 206 SHOWER ON FRITZ/ STORY CHECKS/ MAINTAINENCE CREW QUESTIONED/ END TEXT/ CARRUTHERS
LANGLEY-CHICAGO/ ATTN CARRUTHERS/ 1115 EDT/ 5/24/88
BEGIN TEXT: FIRE ESCAPE CERTAIN WAY OUT?/ END TEXT/ MASSEY
CHICAGO-LANGLEY/ ATTN MASSEY/ 1016 CDT/ 5/24/88
BEGIN TEXT: NOT CERTAIN/ PROBABLE/ END TEXT/ CARRUTHERS
LANGLEY-CHICAGO/ ATTN CARRUTHERS/ 1117 EDT/ 5/24/88
BEGIN TEXT: HOW ELSE IF HALLWAY MONITORED?/ HALLWAY MONITORED OF COURSE/ END TEXT/ MASSEY
CHICAGO-LANGLEY/ ATTN MASSEY/ 1019 CDT/ 5/24/88
BEGIN TEXT: NEGATIVE/ PRIMARY CONCENTRATION LOBBY/ HAD UNDER 2 HRS LOCATE HOTEL RESERVATION J. PFIESTER/ SHORT TIME ORGANIZE HOTEL DETAIL/ REACHED INTERNATIONAL ARMS BARELY PRIOR TURKEY ARRIVAL/ SUBJECT GAVE NO INDICATION AWARE SURVEILLANCE INTERNATIONAL ARMS/ END TEXT/ CARRUTHERS
LANGLEY-CHICAGO/ ATTN CARRUTHERS/ 1121 EDT/ 5/24/88
BEGIN TEXT: TURKEY TOP FLIGHT PROFESSIONAL/ TOP FLIGHT PROFESSIONALS GIVE NO INDICATIONS/ END TEXT/MASSEY
CHICAGO-LANGLEY/ ATTN MASSEY/ 1022 CDT/ 5/24/88
BEGIN TEXT: RECOMMENDED COURSE OF ACTION?/ END TEXT/ CARRUTHERS
LANGLEY-CHICAGO/ ATTN CARRUTHERS/ 1123 EDT/ 5/24/88
BEGIN TEXT: NOTHING FOR SITUATION BUT SHELL GAME/ END TEXT/ MASSEY
CHICAGO-LANGLEY/ ATTN MASSEY/ 1024 CDT/ 5/24/88
BEGIN TEXT: AGREED/ SHELL GAME/ END TEXT/ CARRUTHERS
LANGLEY-CHICAGO/ ATTN CARRUTHERS/ 1124 EDT/ 5/24/88
BEGIN TEXT: LAW HANDLES CORRIDORS AND LOBBY ONLY/ ABSOLUTELY NO POLICE ADMITTANCE 333/ END TEXT/ MASSEY
CHICAGO-LANGLEY/ ATTN MASSEY/ 1026 CDT/ 5/24/88
BEGIN TEXT: UNDERSTOOD/ END TEXT/ CARRUTHERS
LANGLEY-CHICAGO/ ATTN CARRUTHERS/ 1126 EDT/ 5/24/88
BEGIN TEXT: MUNICIPAL AUTHORITIES GET MINIMUM INFORMATION/ NEWS MEDIA NONE/ REPEAT NONE/ THIS NATIONAL SECURITY MATTER/ YOU KNOW ROUTE/ END TEXT/ MASSEY
CHICAGO-LANGLEY/ ATTN MASSEY/ 1027 CDT/ 5/24/88
BEGIN TEXT: UNDERSTOOD/ END TEXT/ CARRUTHERS
LANGLEY-CHICAGO/ ATTN CARRUTHERS/ 1128 EDT/ 5/24/88
BEGIN TEXT: POSSIBLE COLLUSION HERE?/ END TEXT/ MASSEY
CHICAGO-LANGLEY/ ATTN MASSEY/ 1029 CDT/ 5/24/88
BEGIN TEXT: BETWEEN WHOM?/ END TEXT/ CARRUTHERS
LANGLEY-CHICAGO/ ATTN CARRUTHERS/ 1129 EDT/ 5/24/88
BEGIN TEXT: BETWEEN ANYBODY AND ANYBODY/ END TEXT/ MASSEY
CHICAGO-LANGLEY/ ATTN MASSEY/ 1030 CDT/ 5/24/88
BEGIN TEXT: NOTHING POINTS COLLUSION/ END TEXT/ CARRUTHERS
LANGLEY-CHICAGO/ ATTN CARRUTHERS/ 1131 EDT/ 5/24/88
BEGIN TEXT: TURKEY DIRECT O’HARE FIELD TO HOTEL?/ END TEXT/ MASSEY
CHICAGO-LANGLEY/ ATTN MASSEY/ 1032 CDT/ 5/24/88
BEGIN TEXT: NEGATIVE/ OVER 2 HR LAPSE/ END TEXT/ CARRUTHERS
LANGLEY-CHICAGO/ ATTN CARRUTHERS/ 1132 EDT/ 5/24/88
BEGIN TEXT: EXPLAIN/ END TEXT/ MASSEY
CHICAGO-LANGLEY/ ATTN MASSEY/ 1033 CDT/ 5/24/88
BEGIN TEXT: TURKEY DEPARTED O’HARE RENTED JAGUAR V–12/ LOST JAGUAR KENNEDY EXPRESSWAY VICINITY HARLEM AVENUE/ END TEXT/ CARRUTHERS
LANGLEY-CHICAGO/ ATTN CARRUTHERS/ 1134 EDT/ 5/24/88
BEGIN TEXT: HOW DOES ONE LOSE JAGUAR V–12?/ END TEXT/ MASSEY
CHICAGO-LANGLEY/ ATTN MASSEY/ 1035 CDT/ 5/24/88
BEGIN TEXT: FORD ESCORTS GO 85 MPH/ V–12 JAGUARS GO 140 MPH/ THAT IS HOW/ END TEXT/ CARRUTHERS
LANGLEY-CHICAGO/ ATTN CARRUTHERS/ 1136 EDT/ 5/24/88
BEGIN TEXT: TURKEY DROVE JAG?/ END TEXT/ MASSEY
CHICAGO-LANGLEY/ ATTN MASSEY/ 1036 CDT/ 5/24/88
BEGIN TEXT: VRROOOOOM/ END TEXT/ CARRUTHERS
LANGLEY-CHICAGO/ ATTN CARRUTHERS/ 1137 EDT/ 5/24/88
BEGIN TEXT: PRESENT LOCATION JAG?/ END TEXT/ MASSEY
CHICAGO-LANGLEY/ ATTN MASSEY/ 1037 CDT/5/24/88
BEGIN TEXT: RETURNED HAPPIDAY MOTORS ROSEMONT ILL/ TURKEY AND GODIVA ARRIVED INTERNATIONAL ARMS YELLOW CAB #1609/ JAG CHECKED/ NO LEADS/ END TEXT/ CARRUTHERS
LANGLEY-CHICAGO/ ATTN CARRUTHERS/ 1138 EDT/ 5/24/88
BEGIN TEXT: NO KNOWLEDGE INTERIM?/ END TEXT/ MASSEY
CHICAGO-LANGLEY/ ATTN MASSEY/ 1038 CDT/ 5/24/88
BEGIN TEXT: NONE/ END TEXT/ CARRUTHERS
LANGLEY-CHICAGO/ ATTN CARRUTHERS/1139 EDT/ 5/24/88
BEGIN TEXT: SHIT/ END TEXT/ MASSEY
LINE CLEARED LANGLEY 1139 EDT 5/24/88
6
At 9:15 on that Tuesday morning the temperature in Chicago’s Loop was a flat eighty degrees, this promising an early afternoon peak of low to mid-nineties. By 11:00 it was ninety and climbing.
When Moose Katzenbach came down the stairs and into the Classic Investigations office, he found Lacey Lockington dozing in the creaky swivel chair behind the desk. Moose Katzenbach was a big man, six-five plus a fraction, weighing upwards of 260, and although he walked with a splay-footed gait, it was a virtually silent splay-footed gait. He eased the office door shut behind him and he reached Lockington’s desk undetected, an unholy smile creasing his hound-dog features. He stepped back and delivered a swift kick to the base of the swivel chair. Lockington’s head snapped up. Moose said, “Wake up and piss, the world’s on fire!”
Lockington wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He said, “For lesser offenses I have torn men to shreds and fed them to whippoorwills.”
Around a yawn, Moose said, “You wouldn’t know a whippoorwill from a fucking ostrich.”
Lockington said, “The hell I wouldn’t. Ostriches don’t go ‘tweet-tweet.’”
Moose said, “Neither do whippoorwills—whippoorwills go ‘too-wit-too-woo.’”
Lockington said, “Any whippoorwill that goes ‘too-wittoo-woo’ got to be a fag whippoorwill. What color are whippoorwills?”
Moose lowered his bulk onto the client’s chair at the side of the desk, inserting a cigarette in a corner of his mouth and giving one to Lockington. He said, “Why should I tell you?”
Lockington held a match for them. “You’re the fucking bird expert, ain’t you?”
“Well, sure, but us bird experts can’t go around passing out free information.” Moose sucked on his cigarette, speaking through a swirling gray veil of smoke. “What’s happening?”
Lockington shrugged. “Our ten o’clock appointment was on time. Name’s Hector—Hector Godwin.”
“What’s Hector’s problem?”
“Hector’s under twenty-four-hour surveillance.”
“Who’s watching him?”
“Creatures from another galaxy.”
Moose thought about it. He said, “What galaxy? That’s important, what galaxy.”
“Hector ain’t sure—he wants us to find out.”
“We better get on that first thing in the morning.”
Lockington glanced at his watch. “Eleven-fifteen—I thought you were gonna be tied up all day.”
“So did I, but the insurance company paid up quick and it took that fucking undertaker less than ten minutes to screw me out of an extra three hundred dollars. I already had lunch, so if there’s something you want to attend to, go ahead.”
“Nothing really pressing, but now that you’re here, I’m gonna ankle over to the International Arms a bit earlier than I planned.”
“What’s the attraction at the International?”
“I’m supposed to have lunch with Rufe Devereaux—he’s back in town.”
“Never knew he left. You’re talking about the CIA cat you used to get soused with?”
“Yeah, he phoned Edna yesterday afternoon.”
“Edna? How come Edna—why didn’t he phone you?”
“I wasn’t home yet, so he got Edna.”
“Uh-huh—so Edna moved in.”
“No, but she’s working on it—using the gradual approach. She doesn’t want me to panic.”
Moose nodded, making the sign of the cross. “What’s with Devereaux?”
“No idea. I haven’t seen him in a blue moon.”
“Yeah, well, maybe you better call him before you hike clear the hell to South Michigan Avenue. It’s hotter than a virgin’s crotch out there.”
“I’ve already called three times. The desk tells me he isn’t registered, but you know these fucking computerized systems.”
“Maybe he’s there under another name.”
“If he’s working on something, that’s likely. I’ll find him—probably in the lounge, drinking peppermint schnapps.”
“Lacey, you shoulda been a detective.”
“I know it, Moose, but it’s too late now.”
Lockington located his hat and went out, thinking about the old Greek philosophers. They too had indulged in profound dialogues.
7
The noonday heat was stifling. Lockington plodded toward State Street, perspiring like a Bourbon Street whore, waving to Information Brown, who leaned against the wall of his newsstand, talking to a pair of nattily attired young men. Brown’s return wave was a perfunctory thing—he seemed deeply immersed in the discussion. Whatever the conversation concerned, Lockington knew that its pertinent points were being filed into the voluminous computer-bank recesses of Information Brown’s phenomenal memory.
Information Brown knew more about the city of Chicago and its people than any man on the face of planet Earth and he bartered his knowledge for Walker’s Deluxe whiskey at the bar of the Squirrel’s Cage on West Randolph Street. He was in demand, policemen sought him out, so did gossip columnists, and so did private investigators—Lockington had used him to great advantage during the previous summer. Anyone who’d spring for a few hookers of Walker’s could acquire an education—he could learn who was sleeping with whom and where and when and why, he could find out who was at the top of the Mafia hit parade and who’d been hired to handle the job, and who the Chicago Bears were willing to give up in return for what. For so long as the Walker’s did flow, so would Information Brown’s stream of enlightenment regarding the blighted city of Chicago, Illinois.
Lockington made his way across North State Street, continuing east on Randolph, repeatedly buffeted and battered by women with bulging shopping bags and purposefully glinting eyes, the slitted eyes of leopards closing on a crippled antelope—hard eyes, merciless. Lockington’s myriad experiences with the fat women of Chicago had carried him beyond respect for that breed, transporting him to consternation, and thence to a state of salivating, twitching terror. As a callow lad, he’d been lured into the bed of one of them, an ordeal he’d since likened to a night spent under intense naval bombardment, an odd parallel because Loc
kington had never spent a night under intense naval bombardment.
He turned south on Michigan Avenue, walking leisurely, pausing briefly at intersections to peer through heat rivulets at Lake Michigan—blue, serene, thoroughly polluted—remembering it for what it’d been before Chicago defiled it. And he considered the matter of Rufe Devereaux who’d dropped from sight as though he’d stepped into an uncovered manhole, then surfaced just as suddenly—Rufe Devereaux, a man with insatiable yens for baseball discussion, country music, ladies of the night and peppermint schnapps, a fellow who’d kept his own counsel, rarely mentioning the ins and outs of his profession. There’d been times when Lockington had wondered about Devereaux’s experiences, how many brushes he’d had with the KGB and its affiliates, how many attempts had been made on the life of the quiet man from Louisiana. He’d wondered but he hadn’t asked, and Devereaux had volunteered a minimum of information. On one occasion he’d referred to a man known as the Copperhead, calling him “the Babe Ruth of assassins,” but he’d taken the subject no further and Lockington hadn’t pursued it. Devereaux had been well-traveled, he’d possessed impressive knowledge of global politics, he’d rattled off the names of those in power and those next in power, Argentina to Uganda, but this had come as casual comment, and their conversation had always drifted back to baseball and Devereaux’s beloved 1906 Chicago Cubs. “That wasn’t a baseball team,” he’d said, “it was a machine!” He’d never seen the 1906 Chicago Cubs, of course, and Lockington had never seen the 1927 New York Yankees, but they’d gone at it, sometimes heatedly, Lockington’s argument having been that a team that could whip the Philadelphia Athletics and Dykes and Cobb and Cochrane and Simmons and Foxx and Grove by nineteen games just had to be the finest in history, and Rufe Devereaux had smiled a vastly superior smile, reminding Lockington that the 1906 Chicago Cubs had beaten the New York Giants of Devlin and Seymour and McGinty and Matthewson by twenty games. They’d been locked into a no-win situation, as baseball fanatics usually are, and they’d enjoyed every minute of it, as baseball fanatics usually do.
The Devereaux File Page 2