Déjà-BOOM!

by Wally Duff

  And my daughter loves eating there, always demanding two pancakes and the original mac n’ cheese. It’s a weird combination but, truthfully, I’ve sampled it when her head is turned, and it’s not too bad.

  David John walked in at noon. A little girl held his hand as they entered. Like all moms, I evaluated how she was dressed.

  She wore patent leather Mary Janes with sparkling white anklet socks. Her summer dress was checked green and white. Her blond hair was pulled back in precisely combed pigtails.

  I glanced at my daughter. Her hair was tied in a sloppy ponytail with more than a few loose ends. She wore blue shorts, toddler Nike shoes, and a toddler San Diego Padres jersey, compliments of her Uncle Jimmy.

  It was obvious David spent a considerable amount of time on grooming his daughter.

  Me? Not so much.

  I waved at him, and as he walked toward our table, his daughter spied the picture of the pig and her babies.

  “Daddy, look at the picture!” she exclaimed.

  He pulled out his cell phone and snapped a picture. “We have to show it to Mommy.”

  They arrived at the table. I turned to Kerry, who was busy with a coloring book. “Kerry, this is my friend David.”

  “Nice to meet you, Kerry,” he said. “This is my daughter, Margaret.”

  Kerry is in her shy phase with strangers. She looked at Margaret and went back to her coloring. I didn’t push her to respond.

  “Margaret, this is my friend, Mrs. Thomas.”

  She held out her hand. “Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Thomas.”

  Pretty formal.

  “It’s Tina,” I said.

  We shook.

  At least she didn’t curtsy.

  As David pulled out a chair for her, it was hard not to miss how big she was for a three-and-a-half-year-old girl.

  Maybe Linda got Margaret’s birthday wrong.

  David took out an iPad and earphones from his backpack and set them in front of his daughter. He turned on the iPad. She put the earphones on and began playing a game.

  He confirmed this was a well-practiced routine. “We don’t know anyone here, and except for preschool, Margaret doesn’t have anyone to play with, so she spends a lot of time on the computer.”

  I thought of the Hamlin Park Irregulars. “I might have an idea about that.” I pointed at the menu in front of him. “I don’t want to rush you, but let’s order before Kerry melts down.”

  “What are her favorites?”

  I told him what Kerry always had. “I usually have the herb-crusted tilapia, or sometimes the catfish, but everything is pretty good.”

  The waitress came to the table and greeted Kerry with her favorite drink: a small carton of chocolate milk.

  “Kerry will have her regular order. I would like the tilapia.”

  “And for you, sir?”

  “I’ll have what she’s having.”

  “The tilapia?”

  “Oh, no. The pancakes and mac n’ cheese. So will my daughter.”

  The waitress gave him thumbs up and walked to the kitchen.

  26

  Kerry and Margaret were busy, which gave us the chance for some adult talk.

  “I used to be a reporter,” I began. “The other day, I was curious when you commented about the security cameras on my friend’s home. It’s been bugging me, so I have to ask: why did you notice it?”

  David lowered his head and stared at the table top. “I have to admit something here,” he said. “I’m a computer guy, and I checked you out the first time we crossed paths.”

  I didn’t want to tell him that I’d done the same thing with him and his family, but now I would have to be careful with my questions. He was a professional with security clearance, and I had to treat him as one.

  “You already knew I was a reporter?”

  He looked up and we made eye contact. “Do you mean knew you were or know you are?”

  “You’re referring to my Lakeview Times column, right?”

  “Sort of.”

  “I don’t consider that real reporting.”

  “But you just had a front page story in the Tribune. I always read the paper online, but it was so exciting, I actually bought a print copy of the newspaper to get a real sense of it.”

  “Did you have trouble finding a copy?”

  “Funny you should ask that. I had to go to three different places before I found one I could buy.”

  “It’s a new world out there, but let’s get back to my question.”

  “Yeah, so before we moved here, I worked for the Hogan Company in San Jose, California. Hogan is a multifaceted security firm, and I was trained to notice things like that.”

  That corroborates my research.

  “Do they have an office in Chicago?”

  “They have offices all over the world.”

  “Do you keep in touch with them?”

  “Sure. I still do some per case contract computer work for them at home.” He paused. “Not to be nosey, but why are you so interested in my former employer? Are you doing a story on them?”

  “Absolutely not. I have a friend who has a security problem. Actually, two security problems. One of them concerns that home you asked me about. And the other one is a medical lab.”

  “And?”

  “And I need an expert to help her. Do you have time to talk to her?”

  “I can talk to her, but that’s all.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I signed a non-compete agreement when I left the company. I can’t do any independent consulting for any other company or work for myself in any area that involves security.”

  I had the feeling this was too easy.

  Be creative, Tina.

  “Do you still talk to the people you worked with?”

  “All the time.”

  “Could you contact them about my friend’s security problem?”

  “Sure, but I have to tell you, Hogan is a big firm, and they charge a lot of money for their services.”

  “That’s not a problem.”

  “Money is always a problem when it comes to security. Companies and individuals cheap out when it should be just the opposite.”

  “Don’t worry about Hannah. One thing she has is money. She won’t complain about spending whatever it takes to protect her family and husband.”

  “Good to know. I would like to meet Hannah before I call my former employers, but she has to understand that if they do a deal, I won’t be directly involved.”

  I was putting a lot of trust in a man I’d just met, and that bothered me. But the Hogan Company had an international reputation, and since it would be doing the job, and not David, I began to relax. And I wasn’t sure Tony would even take the time to help Hannah since the Chicago PD wasn’t involved.

  “Understood, and I might have an idea about helping Margaret meet some new friends.”

  I told him about the Hamlin Park Irregulars and invited him to bring Margaret and join us for our next playgroup get-together.

  “Let me talk to Mary about it, but I am definitely interested. Thanks so much for inviting us.”

  27

  Thursday, mid-afternoon, Cas and I were back in her Hummer. Molly babysat our kids. As she drove to Jamie’s apartment building, we discussed what we were going to do.

  “I checked the building directory when I was here on Tuesday,” I began. “Jamie’s name is there.”

  “You assume he’s still living in the building.”

  “I do.”

  “What’s our plan?”

  “I’ll unlock the back door to the apartment building so we can go in without anyone seeing us.”

  “And you’ll do this with your lock-picker thing?”

  “Yep.”

  A few years ago, I went online and bought an electric lock pick gun and torque wrench. They came in handy on stories I researched then, and recently, I’d used them again to investigate the “industrial spies.” Using them was the only way
we could break into the building and Jamie’s apartment.

  “After we enter through the back door, I’ll walk to the vestibule and buzz his apartment. If he answers, we leave and come back another time.”

  “But if he doesn’t answer, we assume he’s not there and then what?”

  “We go to his apartment. I’ll open his lock. You stay in the hallway. If you see Jamie come in either entrance, you speed-dial me, and I’ll leave through the patio.”

  I was positive I could either scale the five-foot wall or unlock the patio door to the street using my tools.

  “What are you going to do in his apartment?” she asked.

  “I’ll make sure he still lives there, and if he does, I’ll plant conclusive evidence that will link him to the ‘industrial spies.’ ”

  “Isn’t that illegal?”

  “Breaking into his apartment?”

  “No… I mean yes, that, too, but hiding evidence. Will a judge allow that?”

  “I won’t tell anyone if you don’t.”

  “What if something goes wrong?”

  “Already thought of that and have a backup meeting us there.”

  She drove in silence for a few seconds. “You really want this, don’t you?”

  “Micah’s a big boy and got himself into this mess. Hannah didn’t. She and her kids are now my — or better, now our — responsibility. We have to protect them.”

  “Even if it means breaking the law.”

  “Even if.”

  28

  Cas slowly drove by Jamie’s apartment building.

  “I don’t see any security cameras,” she said.

  “Neither did I when I was here before. Let’s find a parking place.”

  It took fifteen minutes, but we were lucky and found one across the street from our target building.

  “Now what?” Cas asked.

  “I’ll text our backup,” I said.

  Detective Tony Infantino texted back that he was on his way.

  “How much does Tony know about Jamie?” she asked.

  “Pretty much everything. Tony was at O’Hare when it all went down. He bitched about the FBI releasing Jamie, but it didn’t do any good. He said he would give anything to arrest Jamie to show up the feds.”

  “Tony doesn’t like the FBI?”

  “Don’t know many cops that do.”

  We waited eleven more minutes. Someone drove up in a new white BMW 650i coupe and double-parked next to us. The windows were heavily tinted, making it impossible to see who was driving.

  “Is that your cop friend Tony?” Cas asked.

  “I think so. It’s kind of hard to see the driver with those dark windows.”

  “How can a cop afford a ride like that?”

  “Good question.”

  And one I would never ask Tony. He was a mammoni, an Italian son who lived at home with his mother. Maybe he’d saved enough money to buy the fancy ride by doing that.

  Or maybe he had another source of additional income that might be off the books. Whatever it was, I didn’t want to know. Tony was my only connection to the Chicago police force, and I didn’t want to screw it up.

  Fourteen years ago, after we met in Dr. Mick Doyle’s penthouse on Lakeshore Drive, Tony and I had a steamy affair that lasted almost two years. I broke it off after I discovered he was cheating on me with several different women — and to take an investigative writing job with the Post in D.C.

  The Beemer’s driver window powered down. Tony has aged better than a great Italian Barolo red wine. His perpetually tanned face is wrinkle-free, and his black hair is devoid of even a single gray hair.

  “Nice blue blazer,” I remarked. “Is it new?”

  This was what Tony expected me to ask. He has his clothes custom-tailored to display his overly-muscular body and cover up his gun, something he shows me each time I see him.

  He made a production of slowly removing his designer sunglasses and then ogled Cas while he simultaneously spoke to me. “Italian silk. Needed it for all the interviews and such.”

  I remained silent, knowing what was coming next.

  “Can’t see it, can you?” he asked, still looking at Cas.

  He was all about the cut of his clothes and his precious gun.

  “No, Tony, I can’t see it.”

  He opened his coat. “New Glock ruined the line of my coats, so bought a different shoulder rig for it. Had to get this gun after I blew away that perp at O’Hare. IA took my old one as part of the shooting investigation.”

  He’d become a local celebrity when he was involved in gunning down one of the “industrial spies” who I later reported was attempting to steal Micah’s technology.

  Which the FBI forced me to do.

  He turned his attention to Cas. His ogle morphed into an all-out leer. “You the one who works out with Tina?”

  I expected my feminist-friend Cas to be put off by Tony’s hitting on her. But, of course, she wasn’t. Tony has always had that effect on women.

  Cas had her black hair in a ponytail, and she immediately began to smooth the strands back to make sure she didn’t have any scraggly hairs out of place. “I am,” she answered.

  He smiled, flashing his overly bright teeth. “Might have to begin takin’ some of your classes.” He tightened his left bicep, causing it to bulge against the fabric of his blue blazer.

  He said this without ever looking at me. Tony would tempt any woman with a pulse.

  I broke in. “Tony, we need to get on with this.”

  He put his sunglasses on. “Whatever, sweets.”

  29

  “What’s the plan?” Tony asked.

  “You park as close as you can,” I said.

  “No problem.”

  With the Chicago PD card on his dash, he could park his private car anywhere he wanted to.

  “We go in,” I continued. “If Jamie’s there, we call it off and try again some other day.”

  “If he’s not?”

  “Cas will stand guard in the hall while I go into his apartment and look around. If I find evidence that links him to the bad guys at O’Hare, we’ll come out. You wait until he comes home and then go in and arrest him.”

  “Might have a problem with probable cause.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Can’t just break the dude’s door down. Gotta have a reason to do it.”

  “How about a woman screaming that she’s being attacked?” Cas asked.

  “Good by me. Who’s the chick gonna do that?”

  “Me.”

  “What?!” I asked.

  “New plan,” she said to me. “If Jamie’s there, we knock on his door and go inside. You use your gun to persuade him to sit down and shut up. You give me the evidence, and I hide it. When that’s done, I tear my clothes and start screaming for help. You text Tony and then you leave.”

  What Cas proposed was obviously illegal, but if we didn’t catch Jamie, we might all be murdered. I crossed my fingers that Tony would buy into this.

  “How do you keep the guy from actually attacking you while you wait for Tony?” I asked.

  “I spray him with Raid.”

  “Raid?” he asked.

  “Works better than pepper spray,” she said.

  “Good to know,” he said.

  “Then what?” I asked.

  “Tony happens to be walking in the neighborhood. He hears the screams and runs inside. He sees my torn clothes and maybe a scratch or two on my arms. He arrests Jamie, cuffs him, searches the apartment, and finds the evidence.” She paused. “Just what is the evidence anyway?”

  “Trash that has C4 residue on it.”

  “Where did you get it?” she asked.

  “I stole a bag of garbage from the ‘industrial spies’ trash cans in the alley across the street from our home. I gave some of the trash to Tony. The Chicago PD lab found C4 on them. The trash I have with me is from the same bag.”