Drug Affair

by Rick Polad

  “Strange.”

  “Maybe where you come from.”

  I got her point.

  We walked a block to Time To Eat, and she recommended the beef stew. We were the only ones there. I wondered how they stayed in business. After we ordered, she asked, “Do you think the Prophets are involved?”

  “Well, it would be hard to think that they’re not. And their raised fist was painted on the wall where Reynolds was found.”

  “I know. It’s an easy conclusion to jump to. But…”

  “Agreed.”

  She scooped up a spoonful of stew. “The name similarity is odd.”

  “It is… Reynolds and Renald. I wonder if it’s some kind of message from above,” I said with a smile.

  “One never knows, Spencer. The Lord works in mysterious ways.”

  That was the second time she had said that. I finished my stew and my coffee and said, “Not so mysterious are the ways of the gangs.”

  She frowned. “No, unfortunately they can usually be counted on.”

  “But you keep trying to change that.”

  “I do.”

  “May I ask why?”

  She shrugged. “I’m all some of these people have. I help them pick up the pieces. I sit with them and hold their hands, give them some hope, pray with them.”

  “It must be difficult. And who helps you?” As soon as I said it, I realized what a silly question it was.

  She just smiled... the kind of smile a kid gets when he should have known better.

  The waitress stopped and asked if we wanted more coffee. We did.

  “Back to my jumping to conclusions,” I said. “This all started with Reynolds selling drugs on Madison Avenue. Do you have any thoughts as to what he’d be doing down here?”

  “I don’t get much time to think, Spencer. Most of my time is spent holding someone’s hand and dealing with the sadness.”

  “Well, you don’t need to hold my hand, and you know more about this than I do. I’d appreciate your thoughts.”

  She finished her coffee, put down the cup, and looked up at me. “We get a lot of people, kids and adults, coming here. But they’re buying, not selling. I’d only be guessing at why he was down here. But once he was, I’m certain the Prophets weren’t happy about it. They’re very protective of their turf. Competition is frowned upon.”

  “To the point of killing someone?”

  “I’m guessing they would warn him first,” she said, “and then if he didn’t listen… Can I have your guess as to why he was there?”

  “My guess is he wouldn’t listen. He struck me as pretty cocky and arrogant. Rich kid from Kenilworth.” I shrugged. “There are several possibilities, but another guess is it was some kind of initiation… rich kids needing to prove something or be a part of something. One odd thing is that he probably wasn’t down there selling drugs the night he was killed. It had been a few weeks since his arrest. His mother says he was out with friends and was supposed to be home by eleven. When midnight came she called the police.”

  “So maybe it’s not related to the drugs,” she said.

  “That would be a big maybe. He was killed where he had been arrested. It sent a message.”

  “Do they know when he was killed?”

  “Not yet. He left his home about eight thirty.”

  I paid, and we walked back to the church in a light drizzle. I pulled open the heavy wooden door, and we sat on the aisle in a middle pew.

  “So how can I help?” she asked.

  I handed her my card. “If you hear anything on the street, I’d appreciate a call.”

  “Okay, I’ll see what I can find out. It’s all such a shame.”

  “It is. Especially since Reynolds was in the process of making a deal with the FBI. He may have gotten off without any jail time.”

  “A deal? Do you know what kind of a deal?”

  The front doors opened, and three women walked in. They talked briefly with Sister Katherine and headed for the choir area.

  “I don’t. But the FBI is looking for bigger fish than a kid from the suburbs.”

  “Yes, of course. So there are two motives for the gang doing away with Reynolds.”

  “Yes, if they knew about the deal.”

  “There’s not a lot they don’t know about, Spencer. Do you know who was working the case?”

  “An agent Thward.”

  Her eyes narrowed, and she looked a little less cherubic. She nodded. “I was afraid of that.”

  That surprised me. “You’re not a fan of his?”

  “Let’s just say Agent Thward does everything he can to help Agent Thward. If someone on the streets benefits from something he does it’s only a coincidence.”

  “I’ve heard that.”

  “You haven’t met him?”

  “No. But I plan to.”

  Her eyebrows went up. “Let me know how that works out,” she said with a knowing smile.

  I laughed. “I’ll do that.”

  Three more people came in and she said, “We’d better leave the choir to their practice, Spencer. It’s been a pleasure meeting you. I’ll see what I can find out. But I wouldn’t be too hopeful. The people here don’t know much about rich kids from Kenilworth.”

  “No, I would think not. It was a pleasure meeting you also, Sister. Thanks for doing what you do.”

  “Oh, I’m not the one to thank.”

  I smiled. “How do I find you?”

  “Benny and I have breakfast almost every morning at eight at the diner.”

  I shook her hand and walked slowly up the aisle, wondering if it was possible to fall in love with a nun. I decided that depended on whether or not you knew she was a nun. Sister Katherine lacked the usual clues. When I got halfway to the back I turned and looked, but she was gone.

  ***

  The rain had picked up, and the man on the parapet was gone. I was looking forward to getting home. It had been a long, sad day. But I needed to talk to Ben, my favorite retired State attorney, so on the way home I called and invited him to dinner on me, Saturday at seven. He was leery about what I wanted but was not one to turn down a free dinner. I then called Carol to see when I had an appointment with Thward. His office hadn’t returned her call. She said she’d call back on Monday. Given what I had learned about Thward, I hadn’t really expected to hear from him.

  Chapter 9

  It was still raining early Saturday morning, but had stopped by the time I left for lunch at Stosh’s, leaving a grey sky and that smell of rain in the air. The forecast was for more rain and strong storms later in the day.

  The front door was open, and I let myself in. After he’d been shot, we’d had a talk about opening the door before looking, but I guess that didn’t apply to just leaving it open. Stosh had his head in the refrigerator when I walked into the kitchen. He stood up, and I set a six of Schlitz on the counter.

  “Hope you’re hungry, kid,” he said.

  “I am, but the first thing you’d better hope is that it was me who walked in the door. We had a talk about that.”

  He stood up with his hands full of mustard and mayo jars. “Yeah, yeah, what are the odds? I’ve already beat the one in a million. And besides, I knew you were coming.”

  He handed me two bottles of Schlitz. “Open these, will ya?”

  I pulled the opener off of its cabinet hook and popped the tops. “How long have you been a policeman?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “If my memory serves me correctly someone was shot in this neighborhood last year. And I think he was a cop.”

  “My mother, God rest her soul, must have been unlucky enough to have been reincarnated as you. Pastrami, roast beef, ham. Spring training game on at two. Life is good. Let’s eat.”

  I made a pastrami on rye and followed him i
nto the living room.

  “You talk to Bast?” he asked.

  “Yeah, very cooperative. He took me to the alley where they found Reynolds.”

  He ate. I ate and talked.

  “Do you know a Benny Landez?”

  “I’ve heard a lot. Met her briefly at a couple of functions. She’s got a tough job.”

  “Agreed. But she seems to have help from above.”

  He gave me an odd look and then nodded. “Oh, you mean the nun. Sister…”

  “Katherine. Yeah, not exactly your typical looking nun.”

  Stosh stopped his sandwich in mid-bite and stared at me.

  “She’s every fifth-grade boy’s vision of first love.”

  “Good thing you’re not a fifth-grade boy.”

  “Maybe not. She’d be easy to fall for.”

  He set his sandwich down. “Are you saying you’re falling for a nun?”

  I laughed. “There are worse things.”

  “Yeah, like falling for two nuns. Eat your sandwich. You talk to her?”

  I nodded while chewing. “Yes. She’s going to keep her eyes open.”

  “Listen, kid, it’s a good thing what you’re doing for the mother, but this one is going to be hard to solve. The kid got in over his head and stuck his nose in where he shouldn’t. The gangs don’t take well to competition, especially from the suburbs.”

  I finished the sandwich and got up to make another. “Get you anything?”

  “Another Schlitz.”

  When I got back, I sat and asked, “You see the drug problem getting any better?”

  He took a long drink and said, “Hard to be optimistic. We control what we can with the help of people in the community, like Sister Katherine. The gangs know where the lines are… like stay out of the schools. They cross the line we go after them… hard. But we just don’t have enough manpower or money. The people who bank the money don’t pay attention to what happens outside of their gates.” He finished his ham sandwich. “It was the gangs, Spencer, but I know you’re not going to let go of this. What’s your plan?”

  “I’ll let go of it if it hits a wall. I promised I’d look into it, and I’m going to, but it may very well go nowhere. I’d like to see what Sister Katherine comes up with, and I’m going to put a tail on the senator’s kid. I want to have a chat with him. He and Reynolds had some kind of connection.”

  “That connection may have been drugs, Spencer.”

  “May have. And now that you’ve opened the door, maybe the senator is it.”

  He shook his head. “Make sure you keep those thoughts to yourself. His lawyers are better than yours.”

  “Just thinking out loud.”

  “Try thinking silently. Let’s play some gin.”

  I was up a buck eighty after an hour.

  “What do you know about Thward?” I asked.

  “Thinks a lot of himself.” He fanned his cards and discarded a two.

  “Bast says he gets results.”

  “I guess. Little fish. And he has thrown us under the bus several times to do it. He’ll jeopardize a case to make a headline. But it’s the big fish we’re after, and he hasn’t hooked any of those.”

  “So he doesn’t always follow the rules?” I smiled a little. He just glared at me. “Doesn’t make him all bad.”

  “Gin.” He usually beamed with gin. He just wrote down my points. “Not a question of good or bad. It’s a question of following the rules and being part of a team.”

  I didn’t continue the argument.

  “I’m thinking of having a chat with him.”

  He dealt and said, “That should be fun. Let me know how that works for you.”

  “From what I’ve been hearing, it won’t work at all, but it’s a rock I’ve got to turn over.” I needed one card for gin. “This is all so sad. A kid who had everything going for him gets a funeral instead of a future.”

  “If you don’t walk in front of buses you’re not likely to get hit. And it’s sadder for the kids he was selling drugs to.”

  I just sighed and drew. I remembered the first time Stosh said that to me about the bus. I was four. What I didn’t remember is what I had done that made him say it. At the time I had no idea what he was talking about and just put it down to one of those things adults say that kids aren’t meant to understand and shouldn’t ask about. A few more years older, I figured it out by myself. And at some point I stopped walking in front of buses… most of the time.

  I drew four times before I got my card and stuck him with four face cards. That brought my winnings to four bucks. “And there’s a mother who has a big house on the lake but has lost her whole family. It’s just plain sad.”

  He stacked the cards and said he had enough. “Kid, the sadness happens every day, mostly to people who don’t have big houses on the lake. Some don’t even have houses. In that neighborhood where your kid was selling drugs, most are good people just doing their best to raise kids in some really depressing conditions. They don’t wish for fancy cars and big houses. They just want their kids to make it to their next birthday.” He picked up the remote and turned on WGN for the Cubs spring training game.

  “How do you live with it?” I asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “How do you come home after a day’s work and live with the sadness?”

  He took a deep breath. “How many times do you remember your dad coming home and talking about it?”

  I thought about it and said, “I don’t.”

  “Right. If you’re smart you leave work at work. If you bring it home, sooner or later you don’t have a home to bring it to. Lots of divorces in this business. It’s enough that the spouses have to worry about whether their husband or wife is even going to come home. They don’t need to hear about the job.”

  I nodded and moved to the couch. As I stretched out I asked, “What do you hear from Rosie?”

  “Nice try,” he said. “I don’t hear from Rosie. I won’t hear from Rosie.” He looked at me with a raised eyebrow. “You know, seems you think about her more when she’s gone than when she’s here.”

  “Do I have to pay for this therapy?”

  He smiled. “The going rate is four bucks, kid.”

  By the third inning Stosh had fallen asleep, and I quietly let myself out.

  I usually had dinner with Rosie on Saturday nights, but she wouldn’t be back for a month. I was meeting Ben at McGoon’s at seven.

  Chapter 10

  A light drizzle started as I pulled into the parking lot. Ben was waiting for me at the bar with a bottle in his hand. Nathan showed us to a table next to the windows, and I ordered a Guinness.

  “So, you want to tell me why you’re bribing me up front, or do you want to draw it out for a while?” he asked.

  “Bribe is such a nasty word.” Jane brought my Guinness, and I raised my glass. He clinked it with his bottle.

  “Yes, it is. What would you prefer? Coerce? Manipulate?”

  “Yes, I’m threatening you with steak and beer. It could just be that I’m a nice guy making you an offer you can’t refuse.”

  “I’ll reserve judgement. What’s up?”

  “You heard about the kid from Kenilworth killed on the west side last night?”

  He nodded as he ate a piece of bread.

  “He was arrested for drug sales and possession a few weeks back, and the mother called me to see if I could help.”

  “Somebody you know?”

  “Friend of a friend.”

  “I remember the case. Arrested on the west side. Drugs and rich kids make good headlines. And what did she want you to do? Seemed like there wasn’t a question about guilt.”

  “No. They had him. But seems the feds were offering her kid a deal in return for information. She wanted me to make sure the kid was g
etting a fair shake.”

  “Not your usual line of work.”

  “No, but the friend connection made me sound like Superman. And the mother, Mrs. Margot, was pretty distraught. She had recently lost her husband and was losing her son.”

  “So you offered to look into it?”

  “Yup.”

  “What was the deal?”

  “I’m assuming it was less jail time for a name or two.”

  “Assuming?”

  “Yeah. The kid wasn’t talking. Pretty big dose of arrogance. So I had a chat with Detective Bast.”

  “Good man. But I’m guessing he didn’t know what the deal was.”

  “Good guess.”

  “I’m also guessing Thward is involved in this.”

  “Yup. I met him at what was called a meeting but looked more like a cocktail party at Margot’s house.”

  “What did you think of him?”

  “Pretty self-centered. More of a politician than an agent.”

  Ben laughed. “I agree. He makes a dent in crime, but he’s never made it past the street thugs. He’d love to get the top of the food chain… maybe this is his big chance.”

  “Maybe.” I started on the last bite of steak and thought for a minute as I slowly swirled my Guinness. “Something’s been bothering me.”

  Ben raised his eyebrows as he took a bite.

  “All of the cars in Mrs. Margot’s driveway were pretty high end except for my Mustang and a Ford Crown Vic with antennas, and I saw the police chief get into that. So one of the fancy cars must have been Thward’s.”

  “Supposedly Thward’s wife has money. He does this for fun.”

  “Hmm.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “Just hmm. I’m not fond of him.”

  “Join the club. Nobody is. What’s your take on Mrs. Margot?”

  “Hard to tell. She is used to getting what she wants because money talks. When she saw I wasn’t impressed she tried the sultry approach. When that didn’t work she switched to the caring mother.”

  “Which one was real?”