Drug Affair

by Rick Polad

  We ate and drank for a couple of minutes. The waiter brought more beer.

  “Why do you wish he wasn’t involved?” I asked.

  “He gets results, but he’s willing to sacrifice people to do it. I’m guessing he made some kind of deal about the kid.”

  “Yup, but evidently with the lawyer. Mrs. Margot told me to talk to him.”

  He nodded as he ate. “He doesn’t care about the kid… he wants the top of the ladder, and despite his record of arrests, he hasn’t been successful with that.” He took a bite. “By the way, neither have we.”

  I took a deep breath. “How long has he been around?”

  “He’s been in Chicago for about six years. In the Bureau… no idea.”

  “And he’s still on the street?”

  “Yeah, he’s not political… doesn’t play the game. And I think he likes the street. Gives him some power he wouldn’t have behind a desk.”

  We both ate.

  “Is this about the Prophets?” I asked.

  “Sure, almost everything is at some point.”

  “So if the kid gives up his supplier that’s going to help?”

  “Probably not. The couple of layers below the top are taken care of.”

  “What does that mean?” I took the last bite of lasagna. “If whoever supplies the kid doesn’t give up the next person they’re going to jail.”

  He shrugged. “Maybe… maybe not. They’ve got the best lawyers in town. Even if the state gets a conviction it won’t be much. And when whoever gets out of jail there’s a nice chunk of money in his bank account.”

  “Hard to fight against that,” I said.

  “Yup.”

  “You want dessert?”

  “Cherry pie at home.”

  “Sold. I wasn’t impressed by Chief Sawyer,” I said. “Seemed more like a politician.”

  He sighed as the waiter cleared the table and asked if we wanted dessert. We declined.

  “Those positions are political. It’s all about keeping your nose clean and raising money. Making it look like he’s protecting the kid gets him a nice check.”

  “So where does he fit into this?”

  He shrugged as the waiter dropped off the check. “He doesn’t. It’s all going to happen with the fourth precinct and the FBI...” He emptied his glass. “And not so much the FBI as Thward.”

  “What does that mean?”

  He shrugged and reached into his pocket. “He tends to be a lone wolf… operates pretty much on his own. He’s been written up several times for the way he does things.”

  “Then why is he still around?”

  He smiled at me like one would at a child who just asked a silly question. “He does get criminals off the streets.”

  I thought about that for a second without comment. “And then there’s the lawyer.”

  “That goes without saying.”

  We each left a twenty on the table and headed for the car.

  ***

  After two pieces of pie each, we played some gin. After the first hand I reminded him of the new doorbell rules. The odds were pretty good that a person looking to put a bullet into him wasn’t going to come to the door again, but the new rule was to look out the window before opening the door.

  As I dealt, he said, “So, kid, where do you wanna have your birthday party?”

  “I’ve told you six times I don’t want a birthday party.”

  “And I’ve told you six times that’s a lotta crap. Thirty is a big year. You need to celebrate.”

  “The big year is exactly the problem.” I picked up my cards. “Thirty years, and what have I done with my life?”

  “Maybe you could ask the people who are alive because of you.”

  I picked and discarded. “It’s my birthday. I cannot have it if I want.”

  He just gave me a look and drew a card.

  It was a quiet night after that, and I went home three bucks richer.

  Chapter 3

  Thursday morning, I joined the stop-and-go traffic on the Kennedy Expressway and drove to the fourth precinct headquarters on Randolph. I couldn’t help thinking I’d rather be driving up to my cottage on Moonlight Bay on this beautiful early-spring day. Before I left I called Carol and asked her to set up an appointment for Friday with Mr. Malbry.

  Stosh had made a call, and I was meeting a Detective Bast at ten. He was the head of the detective team. I was five minutes early. An officer showed me to Bast’s office. The man occupying it stood up, held out his hand, and introduced himself. As he gestured to the straight-back chair on the back side of the desk, I got an unexpected greeting with a smile.

  “Spencer Manning. You’ve become almost a household name around here.” That’s not usually a good thing for a private detective to hear from a cop, but this time was different. He continued. “You’ve done some great work over the last few years, but I would expect that, given who your father was. My sympathies about your folks.”

  I nodded and thanked him.

  “My colleagues told me to get some back story on the mob frame. Talk about a cold case. You should write a book.”

  I laughed. “Maybe when I’m old and gray.”

  He leaned back in his chair. “So, Lieutenant Powolski said you were interested in the Margot case. I’ve gotta admit, that has me curious and wondering if we missed something.”

  “Why is that, Detective?”

  He shrugged. “Call me Charlie. Until I got that call it was pretty open and shut. Kid caught red-handed, plenty of evidence, the feds drooling. But you wouldn’t be involved if it was that simple. So I’m wondering what we missed.”

  “Not a thing.”

  He looked confused. “Then why are you involved?”

  “To tell you the truth, I have no idea.”

  He still looked confused.

  “Well, I do, but it’s nothing that has to do with your case. I did a job for a friend of Mrs. Margot. She raved about me, and Margot asked me to take a look at it. Said it would make her feel like her son was getting the best she could hope for.”

  “So you’re looking for a favor?”

  “Not at all. Just looking. She tells me there’s some deal in the works with Thward, so she’s getting the best she’s going to get already.”

  Another detective came in, and Bast introduced me. He dropped a file on the desk.

  “So, what do you want from me?” he asked.

  “Just background. Whatever you can share.”

  He took a cigarette out of a pack and rolled it slowly between his fingers. “That’s not much. It was 10:20 on a Wednesday night on a run-down block on Madison. The feds and us had surveillance that night from inside an apartment across the street. A BMW pulls up and parks at the curb. After ten minutes the customers started showing up. We got video of three buys before we stepped in. The kid didn’t cause any trouble. The only thing he kept saying was he didn’t use the stuff… like that made it okay.”

  “How did he act?”

  “Tried to be a tough guy, but he wasn’t good at it. There was fear behind the words.”

  “A rich kid pushing drugs in a poor neighborhood.” I shook my head.

  He let that sit for five seconds. “This kid isn’t going to win any awards for civic responsibility.”

  I agreed.

  He still looked confused. “So…?”

  “Yeah, I know… why am I here?”

  He nodded.

  “I haven’t met the kid, and I gotta say I don’t really want to. But somewhere inside Mrs. Margot’s checkbook there’s a mother who is worried about her son. I’m here because it makes her feel better.”

  He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Okay. You wanna see where he was arrested?”

  “Sure, if you’ll give me the address.”

/>   “I’ll do better than that. Let’s go… we’ll take my car.” He stuck the cigarette behind his ear.

  I liked that idea. I was planning on seeing where he was arrested, but I wasn’t happy about driving my Mustang through the west side of Chicago.

  As we stood, his phone rang. He answered it and held up a finger. I turned and looked at the wall to my left where various certificates and plaques were displayed. Among several commendations was a degree in Criminal Justice from Northwestern. Next to that was a plaque that named him as president of Alpha Epsilon Pi fraternity in 1975.

  He finished his call, and we walked to his car. When we got to the lot, he pointed to a crowd and said, “I wonder what’s going on over there.”

  “Looks like my Mustang has some admirers,” I said.

  “Your Mustang? Let’s take a look.”

  “Hey, Bast. Take a look at this beauty,” one of the officers said.

  “Pretty sweet. I’ve got the owner here. Maybe he’ll open her up.”

  I walked over and said, “She’s open. Help yourselves.” They did, and the crowd spent a few minutes admiring my baby. The crowd broke up, and we walked across the lot to Bast’s car.

  “You don’t lock your car?” he asked.

  “In a police lot?”

  He laughed. “Especially in a police lot.”

  “I try to have faith in human nature.”

  “Really. With what you do for a living?”

  “Because of what I do for a living.”

  As he unlocked his car he said, “It’s your Mustang.”

  As he was backing out I asked, “Are you going to smoke that?”

  “What?” Before I could answer, he laughed and said, “Oh, the cigarette. I’m trying to quit. It helps me just to hold it.”

  “And you don’t light up?”

  “I usually give in once a day. But that’s down from two packs, so I figure I’m way ahead of the game.”

  “I agree. Good for you.” I had never had a cigarette and had no desire to. Breathing in smoke just didn’t make much sense. But never having tried it, I had to admit I didn’t understand the addiction. And I never would.

  ***

  The neighborhoods deteriorated the farther we drove west. Mixed light commercial and apartment buildings changed to boarded up buildings, most of which looked empty. Bast stopped halfway down a block in front of a three-story brick building with a lot of boarded up windows. Next to that on both sides were empty lots full of debris. There were no other cars on the block.

  “This is where he was parked,” said Bast.

  I took a deep, slow breath and looked around. “I have a silly question.”

  “Probably already been asked.”

  I nodded. “What’s a rich kid from Kenilworth, who has plenty of other rich kids from Kenilworth to sell drugs to, doing down here?”

  “We’d all love to know.”

  “Any ideas?”

  “A couple. Could be whoever was supplying him wanted to do some business here.”

  A cherry-red Chevy in showroom condition sped by, making a lot of noise.

  Bast shook his head. “They live in squalor, but somehow they have money for hot cars and drugs.”

  “But why would dealers want to sell drugs here when they can probably get more money for them on the north shore?”

  “Beats me. I’m not privy to the business plan. My guess would be it has something to do with prostitution. I’m guessing a reduced drug price is a loss leader of sorts.”

  “Yeah, just part of a bigger picture. What’s your other idea?”

  “The kid just did it for the kicks. You aren’t a player in the drug culture unless you’re working the west side of the city.”

  I shook my head and watched an old man pushing a shopping cart full of probably everything he owned in large, black plastic bags. “It’s all so sad.”

  “Yup. The kid has everything going for him, and he ends up here.”

  “Well, almost everything…” I said.

  “Almost?”

  “Everything but whatever made him start with drugs and come here… excitement, danger, whatever pushed that button for what was missing.”

  We were quiet for a minute, listening to the police radio.

  “Do you know what the deal is?” I asked.

  “Nope,” said Bast. “Thward is never very talkative. He doesn’t think much of us lowly cops on the city payroll. We’ll find out when the district attorney gets involved. At the moment, it’s between Thward and the lawyer.”

  “Who I’m going to have a chat with.”

  He smiled. “Good luck with that. I have a feeling he’ll be as talkative as Thward.”

  “I’m betting he’ll be as talkative as the lady who is writing the check tells him to be.”

  Bast laughed. “You may have a point there. Listen, Spencer, I’d appreciate working together on this.”

  “No problem, Detective. If I find out something, you’ll be the third person to know.”

  He laughed again but didn’t ask who the first two were.

  He drove back to the station and pulled in next to my Mustang. We agreed to keep talking.

  ***

  I had a date to pick up Rosie at the station at six. Her car was in the shop, and she had taken the bus to work. She had changed clothes for dinner. It would be our last one for a month. She was leaving Friday for training in California. She wouldn’t tell me anything about it. She said she couldn’t. Made me wonder what it was. I’d have to grill Stosh. I filled her in on the way to McGoon’s. Jack gave us a wave from behind the bar, and Nathan showed us to our usual table and said the Guinness would be right up. Jane brought two glasses a couple minutes later, and we both ordered steak, medium rare.

  As I wiped the foam off my lip, I said, “So, the question of the day seems to be why a rich kid from Kenilworth is selling drugs on the west side of Chicago.”

  She smiled and set down her glass. She had managed to take the first drink without ending up with a foam mustache. She was very well-mannered. “Well, that’s one of the questions. Another might be where he got the drugs. And that one we’re much more interested in.”

  “Yeah.” I took another drink. “Maybe they’re related.”

  She shrugged. “Maybe, but I’ll leave your question to the therapists.”

  “Do you know Bast?”

  “Yup.”

  “What’s your take on him?”

  “I like him. He’s always been straight with me.”

  “He was with me too. But he doesn’t have much to share at the moment. His attitude might be different when he does.”

  She slid her glass back and forth in the moisture on the table top. “Might, but I’d guess not. If you’re up front with him he’ll be the same.”

  “That’d be refreshing. Hardly what we got up in Green Bay.”

  She laughed. “You mean after you had been caught breaking into a business and—”

  “Hey! I didn’t break in. I—”

  She was still laughing. “Yes, we all know. But you see my point.”

  Jane arrived with the salads, and we both took a bite.

  “Have you run into Thward?” I asked.

  “A few times.”

  “And?”

  “And I’d rather not run into him again. What’s your opinion of him?”

  “Sounds slimy.”

  “Amongst other things. We call him the chameleon… changes his personality in seconds depending on who he’s talking to and what he wants.”

  “But I hear he gets results.”

  The steaks arrived.

  As Rosie cut into hers, she said, “He does, but people get thrown under the bus. Then he gets in and drives over them. Don’t trust him.”

  “Wasn’t pla
nning on it.”

  We ate and talked about the Cubs for a few minutes.

  “What’s your plan?” Rosie asked.

  “Two people I need to talk to… the lawyer and the kid. I don’t know which I look forward to least.”

  “Yeah, doesn’t sound like fun. I’m betting if there are any surprises they’ll come from the kid. You know what you’re going to get from the lawyer.”

  I agreed. “If it wasn’t for Mrs. Margot’s phone call I wouldn’t even get in the door.”

  We finished eating and moved to the bar where we had another beer and chatted with Jack. He wanted me to tell him again how I had brought Stosh back to life.

  ***

  When I got home I called Paul and gave him an assignment. I had a team of surveillance people, but I only needed one, and Paul was the best in town. I brought him up to speed and told him I was going to meet with Reynolds on Friday for lunch and would be shaking the tree and seeing what the kid’s reaction would be. The house across the street was a perfect spot to sit and watch the Margot house. Being for sale, a car in the driveway wouldn’t attract attention. The front of the house was lined with trees, so he could park out of sight and watch. If the agent showed up he’d have a story ready.

  Chapter 4

  Malbry’s office was in a two-story building made out of gray stone a block from the railroad station in Kenilworth. The rent would be more than I could afford, just because it was in Kenilworth, but the high-rent buildings were closer to the tracks. Before I left the house I had called Mrs. Margot and confirmed that Reynolds would be there for lunch. I got held up by a train and walked into Malbry’s office two minutes late. His secretary smiled and said it was no problem. He came out of his office to greet me.

  “Mr. Manning, we meet again. Please come in.”

  I had the feeling he was the spider, and I was the fly. There was a nicely stocked bar in the corner, but he didn’t offer anything. Before noon maybe.

  “What can I do for you?” he asked with a smile.

  He knew why I was there, but I’d play the game.

  “It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that with Thward at the party there’s some deal in the works. Mrs. Margot confirmed that, but all she knows is they’ll drop the sales charge.”