The Green Line

by E. C. Diskin

  “What? Why?”

  “I don’t have all the answers yet, Abby. But I’m working on it. I’ve been chatting up the neighborhood and found out a little more scoop on that Trip character. I think I might be able to place him at Reggie’s.”

  “The night I was there?”

  “Maybe. I met Leon, the bartender. He was arrested for trafficking that night and he’s out on bond. He describes a cop that came in the night you were there. It matches our guy.”

  “So isn’t that enough? I saw a white guy with blond hair leaving the scene. The bartender tells you of the same man. A woman was found dead!”

  “Well, first, we have to find him. Everyone seems to think he’s a cop, but I’m not so sure. And second, Leon’s not a reliable witness. He’s up on drug-trafficking charges. His testimony’s almost useless. Abby, there’s something going on here. More than that murder and I need to figure it out.”

  “But, he’s—”

  “Oh, hold on. I gotta call you back.”

  The phone went dead and Abby listened to the silence, unable to hang up.

  NINETEEN

  MARCUS was standing in the side yard of a beaten-down two-flat with boarded-up windows, watching the activity across the street at Kildare’s, a cop bar frequented by the eleventh district, Officer Reilly’s district. He felt bad hanging up on Abby, but when the headlights caught his eye, he had to move.

  A black Mercedes with tinted windows pulled into the gravel lot in front of the building and a man got out and hit the button on his key chain. The locks engaged. Marcus stood back, hidden from view by a shrub and watched. The driver, white, wavy blond hair, just as he’d remembered from that day at Carter’s, got out of the car and headed into the bar. Marcus snapped a picture. It flashed, but the man didn’t notice. As soon as the man was inside, Marcus jogged across the street, zoomed in on the license plate and snapped another.

  Just a moment later, he could hear the sounds from inside the bar as the door began to open. He ran over to the side of the building, out of sight and watched Reilly and Trip get in the Mercedes and drive off. He ran for his car and followed.

  · · ·

  ABBY had been unable to get back to work after Marcus hung up. It was now almost five thirty. Dinner. She couldn’t concentrate on work at this point, but she did not want to go home. She walked toward the cafeteria.

  A group of about eight associates, mostly first- and second-years, were standing by the elevator banks with coats in hand.

  “Hey Abby!” Josh called out. Josh was the first-year she was supposed to be mentoring. He was a good kid. Eager, excited, smart enough, and Abby felt bad she hadn’t given him more time this year. Her mentor had often taken her out for drinks and showed her (or pretended anyway) that working at the firm could be fun.

  Abby smiled and stopped to chat. “What are you all up to?”

  “Happy hour! Timothy O’Toole’s on Clark. Join us, Abby. Come on, you haven’t been out with me since September.”

  Abby opened her mouth to say she was too busy. “I’m…okay, sure.” The words surprised her.

  “Really? That’s great!” Josh and the other associates were pleased to have captured another attorney for the adventure. Abby couldn’t help but laugh. Nothing sounded better right now than trying to forget all this madness.

  THE first three pitchers went down quickly. One of the guys said he was going to order a yard of black and tan—Bass Ale first, topped off with Guinness. Others hopped on the wagon, and within minutes a group decision was made for yards all around, though Abby pleaded for a weiss beer instead. Before long, she was squeezing a lemon into her yard high glass and standing to carefully tilt the tall glass to her lips. The young associates told animated stories of firm life so far. It was a great distraction. When they asked about certain partners, wondering if the reputations were accurate, if the gossip was true, Abby chimed in. They looked to her for some great stories to tell and she tried not to disappoint.

  After another hour, loud music could be heard every time the front door opened. It was obviously coming from across the street—the Blue Note. Abby looked out the window and watched the front door of the bar, wondering if she’d see him. Both of them, maybe. He used to play a late set there on Fridays. She silently drank her beer, tuning out the chatter around her and enjoying the memory of watching David and his band play there so many times over the years. She had been his personal groupie, happy to sit and watch and soak in the music. It was as close as she’d ever come to being on stage again. Now, she realized, someone else was watching, admiring, loving him. Her heart ached, still.

  Someone in the group suggested heading over for the music. Josh nudged her.

  “What do you think? Up for it?”

  Abby checked her watch. It was just after eight o’clock. She had no intention of leaving the group and going home. “Sure.”

  Once inside, the group maneuvered a few tables to create a giant table by the empty stage. Maybe a band would go on later, but for now, the loud music came from the speakers on the ceiling. They ordered more beer and some nachos, cheese sticks, and wings for the table. When the food arrived, the group lunged forward with speed and excitement, and Abby, feeling somewhat like the old lady of the group, sat back to let the children go first. A sad, cheese-soaked chip and a lone wing remained and she ate the scraps. After another hour, after the table games had begun and the cocktail waitress had delivered several rounds of shots, the dares began. A karaoke machine was on the stage and the patrons were beginning to take turns making fools of themselves. Susan, another first-year, dared Josh to take the stage, and he said he’d do it if Abby joined him. “A duet, ma’ lady!” he suggested.

  Abby laughed and shook her head in protest. But the group was not going to have it. The chanting began. Before she could say more, she was being pulled by the arm toward the stage. Once in front of the crowd, Josh headed for the machine to program their song.

  Abby assumed this would be the typical Sonny and Cher, “I’ve Got You Babe” routine. When the music started, she looked at Josh, confused by the choice. He smiled and whispered in her ear, “I can’t sing. But I heard that maybe you can.” He handed her the microphone, jumped off the stage, and went back to the table to join their friends.

  Abby didn’t even have time to protest. The crowd was already clapping in anticipation of the familiar song—Melissa Etheridge’s “I’m the Only One.” She knew it well. She wanted to be mad. She felt silly to be so vulnerable in front of the associates. Sarah had such a big mouth. She stood on the stage, frozen, in her business suit, her glasses, looking like the polar opposite of a girl who would belt out a Melissa Etheridge song. But the crowd was cheering, awaiting her performance. She held the microphone tightly, laughed with embarrassment, closed her eyes, which caused a momentary stumble, and tentatively began. She looked down at the floor and off to the sides—everywhere but at her friends—and got through the first verse.

  The clapping and hollering from her group’s table made her laugh. She pointed at Josh with a smile as she began the second verse with more confidence.

  Josh stood and whistled. Everyone in the place began to cheer. The crowd was clapping along. Being on stage, feeling the crowd, the rush that she once knew so well, Abby gave in to it. With an exaggerated and dramatic gesture, she pulled off her glasses, took the clip out of her hair, and shook it loose. It was hilarious and she loved it. And the crowd loved her.

  She belted through the chorus letting her voice get rough and full. The words poured out of her. She never even looked at the screen. It was beautiful. Great tone, great vibrato. The crowd was on their feet. And she moved on the stage like she owned it.

  When she finished, the room shook with applause. Abby slipped the glasses back on and made her way back to the group.

  “Holy shit, Abby!” Josh was clearly impressed.

  Everyone offered praise: “That was amazing! You look like you’ve been doing that your whole life!”
/>   She smiled at the kind words and offered a “not anymore.”

  The table banter continued and they all joked about who would go next. No one wanted to follow her. Abby sat back, drank her beer, and laughed. She couldn’t stop smiling. She had put all that behind her so long ago, and she never let loose with firm people, ever. And here she had just done both. It was like she’d just gotten off the most thrilling roller coaster ride. She was almost giddy. And a bit queasy.

  ABBY dropped her keys three times while trying to unlock the front door. She finally got it open and stumbled inside. She plopped onto the love seat by the door, closed her eyes, and pictured herself on that stage, working the crowd. Feeling the lyrics. Finally, something good to think about. The room began to spin. She sat up. She needed some fresh air.

  Abby lay on a lounge chair on her roof deck, under a thick blanket, staring at the stars and munching on pretzels. It was after ten, she had to work on that partner memo in the morning, and she could already feel the beginning of an intense hangover. But it felt good to breathe in the cold air. It was a balmy thirty-five degrees now. A warm front was coming through.

  She hadn’t been up here since that night with David. A perfect August night. It was just starting to get cooler. No mosquitoes. A slight breeze. But he’d been up there for two hours before she got home. He was surrounded by burned-out candles and cold food and more wasted effort. And he was sick of it. Sick of waiting. Sick of playing second. And he was sure it meant she didn’t love him. His voice was full of anger, but his face just looked sad. Tears had streamed down his cheeks. “Who remains engaged for two years!” he had yelled. “Why can’t we move forward?”

  She’d had no doubt Mrs. Tanor and the other neighbors had heard all the details. But she didn’t have an answer. She’d felt paralyzed. So she just let him go. And then she spent hours up there, looking up at the stars and crying. Tears that started because of David, but continued because of Denny. The next day David had moved out.

  And now the tears came again. “I’m so sorry,” she muttered. She wanted to take it all back. To set a date, to do everything David wanted. But she knew that she couldn’t. She didn’t have the right. She cried softly as she re-lived the night that started it all.

  She heard a buzz, sat up, and listened. There. Again. Buzz. Buzz. Buzz. It was her doorbell. The hatch was open and she quickly climbed down the ladder stairs, and pushed the button on the third floor speaker. “Who is it?”

  “It’s Marcus. Henton.”

  Abby buzzed him in and ran down the stairs.

  He was dressed in his gang-banger-style clothes. Abby scanned the courtyard and pulled him inside.

  Marcus had an urgent look on his face. “Where have you been? I’ve been calling.”

  Abby was confused. “You hung up on me!”

  “Yeah, sorry about that. But I’ve been trying to reach you all night. You never picked up your cell.”

  “Oh, I must not have heard it. I was in a bar all night. Come on.” She headed up the stairs to the kitchen. “You want anything to drink? I need some water.”

  Marcus followed her upstairs.

  She stumbled on a couple of treads.

  “You okay?”

  “Oh yeah,” Abby offered. “Just some beer.”

  “I see.”

  He had that brotherly tone she remembered well.

  “Okay, maybe a lot. But I’m freaking out over here!”

  They were in the kitchen.

  She leaned across the island, munching on a chip. “Why are you here anyway?”

  Marcus took off his coat and threw it onto the chair. “I hope it’s not too late.”

  “No. I just got home a little while ago.”

  “Abby, I’d like to stay here tonight if it’s okay with you.”

  “What? Why?” Now she was scared.

  “I saw Reilly and that Trip character together tonight. That’s why I hung up on you. I had to follow them.”

  “So, what happened? Where did they go?”

  “Down to the Loop to a bar on Chicago and Racine. Met another man there. Had drinks for a while. They all split up and I followed Trip. He headed north to Rogers Park, but there was an accident on the street and I lost him in the chaos.”

  “So what about this third guy? Any ideas?”

  “Well, I snapped his picture so I can run it through the system and see if he’s a cop too.”

  “Can I see?” She took the camera and zoomed in on the shot. “Wow. He looks really familiar. I just can’t place the face.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Wait, I remember. Oh, he’s an asshole! Hard to forget.”

  “How do you know him?”

  “I met him once at a party with David. It was David’s Christmas party.”

  “So this guy works with your ex-boyfriend?”

  Abby nodded. “He’s a prosecutor in the state’s attorney’s office like David, but they’re in different departments. David didn’t know him. There are hundreds of attorneys. But this guy was drunk, obnoxious, a total creep. He introduced himself. I just can’t remember the name.”

  “Interesting.” Marcus made a note. “Well, I also got a picture of the license plate on the black Mercedes Trip was driving. It’s registered to TWC Industries. And guess who owned the title before TWC Industries?”

  “Who?”

  “The Chicago Police Department.”

  “What?”

  “Something’s going on, and you’re obviously a part of it. But that guy’s not a cop. We’ve checked the file of every officer on the force. He’s not there. I’ll just stay on your couch, if that’s okay.”

  Abby stood up and took a deep breath. Her buzz was gone. “Of course. I’m happy to have you here.”

  They walked into the living room.

  “Good. Me too.”

  She pulled a blanket and pillow from the cabinet under the television, hit the switch for the gas fireplace, and brought Marcus the remote control for the TV. “Make yourself comfortable. Help yourself to anything in the kitchen.”

  Marcus sat on the couch and put his gun on the coffee table.

  “Thanks, Abby.” And then he gave her that big brother look. “Now, you go get some sleep, young lady. I’ll be right here.”

  Abby smiled. “Will do. Goodnight.”

  Abby lay in bed thinking about Reilly and Trip. She couldn’t imagine why anyone cared about her.

  · · ·

  MARCUS slept for a couple of hours but woke to the sounds of a scream. He jumped up and grabbed his gun. The television was still on. It was some old horror movie. He got up, turned it off, and headed to the kitchen for some water.

  It felt nice to be here. It felt like a home. Not like the apartment he was living in. Though he had nothing to complain about. He had agreed to all this. And it was better than being in New York.

  He went back to the couch and stared out the window into the darkness. He never slept well. He hadn’t made it through the night in years. He heard the creak of the stairs and turned. First, he could just see her feet, then her knees as she crouched down, and then her face as she leaned forward trying to get a look.

  “Hello, Abby.”

  “Oh, sorry. I thought you’d be sleeping.”

  “No. But why aren’t you?”

  She came into the room and sat by the fireplace on the floor, facing him. “I don’t sleep all that well anymore.”

  “Usually someone with a lot of alcohol in them will fall asleep hard,” he noted with a grin.

  “You’d think, right?” They both sat in the silence, listening to the hiss of the gas fireplace.

  After a minute, she broke the silence. “Marcus, how’d you get that scar?”

  His eyebrows raised, a little surprised by the question.

  “I’m sorry. If you don’t want to tell me—”

  “No, it’s okay.” He felt like he could tell Abby anything. But he didn’t answer right away, unsure where to begin. He sat forward.
/>
  Abby pressed again. “Why’d you come here from New York, anyway?”

  “I was working on 9/11. Called to the scene. One of the first up the north tower, actually.” Her surprise was apparent. He continued, staring down at the glass coffee table. “Anyway, there were several of us. Guiding people down the stairs. We were just getting down to the ground floor when we heard the crack. And then the rumbling. We could feel the vibrations. There were about ten of us together. And we ran. We got out the front door and ran and ran and felt the collapse happening around us. The soot, the papers flying, the debris.” He put his hands up to the scar and turned to her. “I guess that’s how I got this.”

  “You don’t know?”

  “I don’t think I could even feel anything. There was such adrenaline. I’ve never been through anything like it. It wasn’t until a few minutes later when I started walking back toward the building to find my guys. Someone told me I was bleeding.” He leaned back and relaxed. He’d done it. Without crying.

  “You’re so lucky.”

  But then he could barely speak. “I don’t know if I’d say that.”

  “You survived the worst thing I can even imagine.”

  He took a sip of water and looked into Abby’s sleepy eyes. He hadn’t talked to anyone about that day in such a long time. He could remember the counselors and his parents trying to talk to him. He could never do it. But he could feel a kinship with Abby. She was another lonely soul.

  “Is that why you left New York?”

  He ignored the question and continued, holding his gaze at the table, trying not to blink. To hold it together. “I tried to call home. I knew my wife would have seen the news and been nervous.”

  “You’re married?”

  He looked at Abby. The tears pooled in his eyes. He turned to face the window and continued. “But no one answered. I called six times. I ran home once my chief told me to get out of there. But they weren’t there.”

  “They?”

  “My wife. My baby girl. Just six weeks old.” A single tear escaped and streamed down over the rough terrain of the pink scar.