The Green Line

by E. C. Diskin

  Sarah sat on the edge of the chair. “Are you kidding—I’m freaking out. It’s my last day! Tomorrow, spa treatments with my sister and mom. Friday, we pick up the dress and check on the details, and then Saturday! I’ve been looking up things to do on the island all morning. I just don’t know if I’ll ever come home.”

  “Please do. I couldn’t last a day here without you. Just having to be here two weeks without you is going to be a bear.”

  “Come on. You mean that you won’t replace your lunch buddy immediately? Maybe Neil is free?”

  “Ha ha. We had a nice little chat this morning. I’ve got to do some work with him—for Peter. He talks to me like I’m working for him. Anyway, I think I’ll be eating lunch at my desk until you come back to me.”

  Sarah returned the conversation to the wedding. “Do you know what you’re wearing?”

  “Actually, I haven’t decided, but I’ve got a pretty good selection at home.”

  Abby had been to eight weddings in the last two years. It seemed everyone she knew was getting married. Even thinking about why she had so many dresses led her to think of David, which made her want to think of other things. She turned the focus back to Sarah.

  “I’m so excited to see you in your dress and see this shindig in action. It’s going to be spectacular. Your mom really knows how to throw a party.”

  Sarah laughed. “I know she’s a little over the top, but hopefully, we only do this once, right?”

  “Yeah, I just hope I get to say hello to you. With four hundred guests, you might be tough to spot!”

  “Well, you know that at least two hundred of those people will be over fifty. Just keep the visual for the young ’uns. And of course, I’ll be in the big white dress! You’ll see a few cool people from the firm who you can hang with.”

  “Got it. I’m kidding, you know. It sounds like a fairy tale. I couldn’t be happier for you guys.”

  “Thanks, babe!” Funny how it sounded so much better when Sarah said it. “Now you can still change your mind if you want to bring a date.”

  Abby tried to speak, but Sarah held up her hand, ready to defend herself. “I just think it would be nice to have a built-in dance partner.”

  “It’s not necessary. And really, what am I going to do, hire an escort?”

  “That would be hot!”

  “Yeah, right. I promise not to break down and cry or cause some scene with David and his girlfriend. Excuse me—fiancée.”

  Sarah smiled. “Are you going to talk to him?”

  “I don’t know. I think I won’t make a point of it. I don’t want to make them uncomfortable. But if they approach me, I’ll be very sweet, of course.”

  “Well, back to work.” Sarah stood to go. “Have you eaten lunch yet?”

  Abby checked her watch. It was one o’clock. “No. Let’s meet in the lobby in thirty minutes.”

  Working another thirty minutes now was easier said than done. The image of David standing at the front of that church next to Rick on Saturday was fixed in her head. It had been five months, but still, she wondered every day if she could have held onto him. She was not looking forward to this wedding.

  NINE

  WITH hands in pockets and a black knit cap pulled down over his ears, Marcus walked the littered sidewalks for ten blocks through bitter cold over to Carter’s BBQ on Madison, just a few blocks west of the United Center. He looked forward to the snow. They were predicting six to eight inches over the weekend. At least then the grime and trash would be covered for a while. The neighborhood would even look peaceful.

  Carter’s was a good place for the neighborhood scoop. Regulars hung out the way they used to at barber shops. The typical crowd was there, bullshitting the day away. Marcus grabbed a plate of wings and took a seat at an open table.

  “Sup, Marcus?” It was Darnel, seated at the next table.

  “Hey brutha.” Marcus reached over for the required fist bump.

  Darnel waved around the room like this was his party. “Marcus, you met these muthefuckas yet?” Everyone in the room smiled.

  “I met a lot of muthefuckas lately, but none of these,” Marcus offered.

  “Hey, muthefuckas, this is Marcus. Moved here from New York last spring.” Marcus gave them each a simple nod. “That’s Rickie, Tomboy, Fat D, Mikey.” Each of the men nodded as his name was called.

  “Fat D, huh?” Marcus offered with a smile. The man was about six feet tall and 150 pounds.

  “It’s ironic,” Darnel offered with a proud nod, like he had created that one.

  “So, Marcus,” Tomboy began, “I got a cousin in New York. Where you live?”

  “Queens.”

  “Oh. My boy Tyron’s in Harlem. Guess you wouldn’t know him.”

  “Oh yeah, Tyron. I love that dude!”

  “You shittin’ me?”

  Marcus held up a finger so he could finish the wing. He had their attention. He dropped the bones on the plate. “Yeah.” They all broke out in wild laughter and Marcus licked his fingers.

  Darnel threw his napkin at Tomboy. “You dumbshit. ’Course he don’t know your cousin. New York’s fuckin’ huge.”

  “So why’d you come to Chicago, Marcus?” Rickie asked.

  “Just needed a change.” He focused on the food.

  Darnel was glad to fill them in. “He was there when the Towers came down.”

  Fat D spoke up. “No shit. You see that happen, Marcus?”

  “Yep.” Marcus didn’t offer more and they left it alone.

  The bells on the door chimed as the front door was pushed open. A white man, late thirties, dressed in business clothes, walked in and surveyed the room with confidence. He went to the counter and addressed the fry cook by name, like they were old friends, and ordered a platter to go.

  Darnel looked at Marcus, nodded toward the man, and mouthed cop.

  Marcus looked him over. He had the right air, all swagger, no fear, but the clothes weren’t typical of the undercover look. They were too polished.

  The room fell silent and they all waited for the white man to leave. The man smiled, nodded at them, and left.

  “Watch out for that one, Marcus,” Darnel began.

  Marcus turned and watched the man through the glass front. He got in a Mercedes parked illegally out front.

  “Yeah, why’s that?”

  Mikey was quick to join in. “Crooked as they come, that’s what I hear.”

  Tomboy stuffed a bunch of fries in his mouth and garbled, “Johnny told me that he jumped him two weeks ago.” There had to be thirty fries in there. It was disgusting. He put up his index finger for a moment to chew, wiped his face and continued. “Pulled the gun, acted like he was going to arrest him. Johnny was carrying big that day. He was on his way to Darrel’s place.”

  The others chimed in with a knowing “Shit.”

  Tomboy continued. “Grabbed his entire wad and the stuff. Five large and three pounds.”

  “Five hundred bucks?” said Fat D.

  “No, dumbshit. Five thousand.”

  “So, I guess I gotta worry about cops here too, eh?” Marcus offered.

  They each added their own version of “Hell yeah.”

  Rickie continued. “Some of ’um act like we their fuckin’ ATM machines. Just pat you down, take your cash, and move the fuck on. Who gonna stop ’um?”

  Marcus didn’t respond.

  Fat D offered his bit to the group. “Jenny said she saw that dude with Delia before.”

  “Who’s Delia?” Marcus asked.

  “You ’member last Monday they pulled a body outta Reggie’s?”

  Marcus nodded.

  “That was Delia.”

  · · ·

  WHEN Nate called on Friday morning to confirm dinner, Abby suggested they meet at Mia Francesca on Clark at six o’clock. With snow coming, she wanted to be close to home. Plus, she had work to do. The Prince Industries case was heating up. She had to prepare for next week’s depositions and deal with all the
discovery that had come in from the Dalcon Laboratories case.

  They ordered cocktails and an appetizer while Abby learned that Nate had married just two years earlier to a fellow lawyer, a woman he met at school. His wife was on maternity leave for six months. He shared a picture from his wallet. She looked like the girl next door: shoulder-length straight brown hair, an Abercrombie T-shirt, a lovely smile, and not even a hint of sorrow or sarcasm. A perfect match for him. Abby couldn’t believe it. She and Nate were only two years apart, but he seemed so adult. It sounded as if his life had been going according to plan. Great education, great job, great girl, and now, a beautiful baby. If he didn’t remind her so much of Denny, she would have hated him.

  Nate grabbed the bread, smearing it through the olive oil and parmesan. “I can’t believe we’ve both been in Chicago for all these years. Both lawyers and we never connected.”

  Abby just grinned and nodded in agreement.

  “If I had known you lived in Chicago, Abby, I would have insisted you come to the wedding!”

  “I would have loved to see that.” She looked at her menu then, hoping he didn’t sense the false sincerity. Until now, Chicago had been a great escape from all reminders of her childhood.

  The dinner was entirely enjoyable while she grilled Nate for information on his life. She found out that he lived up on the North Shore in Wilmette, in an old house, built in 1927, with a view of the lake. She laughed at the swanky address, since he’d gone into public aid work, and he joked back that it was nice to have a rich wife. Actually, he explained, she had chosen the big firm route like Abby, but she’d also lost her parents years ago and they left her some money.

  She watched him savor his martini, enjoying this little reunion. But then he had to go and turn the tables. “What about you?”

  “Brown for undergrad, DePaul for law, now working at Simon & Dunn. Not much else to it.”

  “I still can’t believe you did it in the first place. I know it’s been a long time, but I would have guessed you’d go to New York or L.A. or something—hit the big city.”

  “This is a big city!” Abby smiled with justification.

  “Oh, I know.” He continued to press. He wondered aloud about her school choices, her major, why she chose big-firm work, which firms she considered, her practice area. And, of course, he wanted to know about her love life, of which there were only charred remains.

  It seemed pathetic to have nothing to share, so she told him stories of David, of their meeting in law school, and of their steamy affair that had begun almost by accident. She had chosen a study group that seemed the most focused, being older students, but it was there that she met David. She had assumed it would be a brief affair, but it ended up lasting for years.

  It was fun to talk about him like this. He was the best person she knew. So she gave Nate some of the highlights, like how he was nothing like the other guys in law school. David had been twenty-seven when they were first-year students. He had spent years as a musician—he played the acoustic guitar and saxophone. He had tried to make a living at it, but after five years, two bands, and six waiter jobs, he had succumbed to the “grown-up world,” as he used to joke. He wasn’t sure what to do, but he was smart and had always done well in school. He enjoyed reading and writing and figured that he might actually be able to find an intellectually fulfilling career since he couldn’t seem to make the creative one work out.

  Nate was nodding, laughing, and enjoying her tale. Abby could tell from his expression what he was thinking: This guy sounded perfect for little Abby. She needed to set him straight.

  “But we broke up a while back and now he’s engaged to someone else. In fact, I have to see him and his bride-to-be at a wedding tomorrow night.”

  “Oh God. Abby, I’m so sorry. The way you just spoke of him, I would have thought you’d be next to get married.”

  “Yeah, well, timing is everything, and it just didn’t work out.”

  That’s what she had been telling herself for months. Of course, she didn’t know what she was talking about, and it seemed like Nate could tell.

  When Nate started reminiscing about Denny and “the good ol’ high school days,” Abby knew it was time to call it a night. The snow had started and they walked out to a fresh inch of powder already on the ground. They hugged on the sidewalk, promising to e-mail soon and keep closer contact, and she walked up the street to her place while he waited for the valet to retrieve his car.

  Abby drafted deposition questions for the next couple of hours. By about ten o’clock, she needed a break. She looked outside at the tree branches now fully blanketed with snow. Wearing a baseball cap and heavy coat over her sweats, she ran around the corner to the liquor store that sold some snacks and ice cream. It felt pathetic to be making a run for ice cream at this hour, in this weather, and on a Friday night. The streets were alive and everyone seemed to be meeting new people, or hanging with friends, or having dates—acting like twenty-somethings. Most of Abby’s twenties, except when she had been with David, were spent like this. All she could think about right now was getting some ice cream. She settled on Häagen-Dazs—Chunky Monkey, of course. Tomorrow’s dress had an empire waist, so she could handle a little Chunk.

  Coming out of the store, she glanced across the street at a police car, briefly wondering if she’d recognize the officer inside—she’d met a lot of policemen lately. The door of Johnny O’Hagan’s flew open and a couple walked out holding hands and stood momentarily under the light before turning away from her and heading south on Clark. They both had blond hair, pulled back. Like matching Barbie dolls.

  The wind picked up and she pulled her coat tighter and walked home.

  Abby settled on the couch with her ice cream and stared into the lit courtyard, watching the snow fall. She began drowning in a pool of images that kept coming at her—David and his fiancée, Nate and all that he represented, Ali, a dead woman—then, like a flash, she was back in that neighborhood, reliving her own fear, running down the street, bumping into that hooker, heading back to the bar, spotting that blond coming out.

  “That guy!” Abby sat up, as if there was someone in the room listening to her. She stood and paced the floor, sorting through the images. She hadn’t told the police. She ran to her purse, grabbed the note with Officer Reilly’s number and called.

  He answered after three rings. “Officer Reilly here.”

  “Hello. I’m not sure you remember me. It’s Abigail Donovan. We met a week ago?”

  “Oh yes, I remember you. How can I help you?”

  “I was just sitting here thinking about that night, the night of the murder at Reggie’s, and I just remembered something. I saw a man leaving the bar as I turned up the street to Reggie’s.”

  “Really? Did you get a good look at him?”

  “Not really. He was about a block away. But I could tell that he was white because I saw light wavy hair.”

  “Are you sure it was a man?”

  “Yes. He was broad. He walked like a man. I’m sure it was a man. I’m guessing around six feet tall. That’s just a guess. But bigger than a woman, for sure.”

  “Okay, well, I’ll update the file with this information. Thanks for calling, Ms. Donovan.”

  “Wait. There’s more. I had bumped into a prostitute on the street a few minutes earlier. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before, but she was the same woman I found in the bathroom. I’m sure of it. I remember the skirt and the fishnets. Those red high heels. I had noticed the outfit when we bumped and that’s how I realized she was a prostitute. So, whoever I saw, he had to either have seen what happened to her or been her killer, right?”

  “Well, that may be a big leap. But I’ll add this information to the files. I really appreciate you calling this in, Ms. Donovan. We rely on the watchful eye of the community in many cases.”

  “Well, I just can’t believe I didn’t remember to tell you before.”

  “It’s not surprising. It’s common to
remember some details days and weeks after an event. After the shock goes away. Listen, I’m in the middle of something right now, but thanks again. Please call if you can remember anything else.”

  She hung up the phone. “He thinks that’s a big leap?” Abby wondered aloud. “That guy came out and a few minutes later I found a dead body. There was no one else there. That’s not a big leap!” Her stomach turned. She didn’t know if it was from the pint of ice cream, now in her belly, or the idea that she had been so close to a murderer.

  TEN

  TRIP paid his bar tab, finished off his martini, and checked his watch. It was time. Tonight he’d hit Englewood where there was always a good supply of kids on street corners. He took Halsted south a few miles from downtown to Sixty-Third Street, took a right, and slowed down. His windshield wipers were on low, just enough to clear the giant snowflakes that were quickly building up around him. The flakes on the ground reflected the street lamps creating an aura of light. He watched the street activity. The soft glow and blanket of snow failed to create any serenity on the streets. It was eleven o’clock and the punks were out in full force. Perfect timing.

  He pulled over to the curb near a group at the corner, hit the button for the passenger-side window to come down, and waited. He knew the signals. So did they. He watched as the boys looked at his car, at the tinted windows. This kind of car always meant one of two things: a visit from a boss or a good customer. Within a moment, the obvious young leader approached the window and leaned in. He couldn’t have been more than fifteen, but the strut went a long way.

  The boy bent down to look in the window. “Sweet ride.”

  Trip smiled. Everyone loved a Mercedes. “Thanks.”

  “Can I help you with something, mister?”

  “I’m sure you can,” Trip responded.

  “What’s your pleasure?”

  “Coke. How much you got?”

  “How much you need?”

  “A lot more than you’re carrying right now.”

  “Well, how ’bout I sell you a taste and if you’re happy with my product, we can go from there?”