Dark Alleys

by Rick Polad

  He nodded and took the pad.

  * * *

  They took about forty-five minutes to tour the entire house. There were three bedrooms and an office and bath upstairs. Charles would call the office a den. But even though there was a large, heavy desk, the room was decorated with feminine tastes: flowery curtains and upholstery, a copy of Redbook lying on an end table, and a picture of some good-looking young man. An impressive stereo system was built into a niche in the back wall. A large wood desk faced the picture window overlooking the lake. Instead of drawers on the left-hand side, there was a swinging door that looked on the front like pull-out drawers. The door was partially open and Charles could see a safe inside the door. Two of the bedrooms were frilly and smelled like a woman. The door to the third was closed and Mandy didn’t bother to open it.

  Charles kept a list as they walked, but didn’t see much that needed doing. The house was in very good shape. Mandy pointed out things like nicks in the walls that needed patching, trim she wanted replaced, a window pane that needed glazing, and carpet to be tacked. The largest job upstairs was in the den, which was done in dark woods. Mandy said she was ordering a new desk that was light oak and wanted the baseboard replaced to match. She wanted to stay as close to the old style as possible. That wasn’t going to be easy. The baseboard was very old and ornate. Part of it was missing. Other things looked like they were partially completed, also.

  “Can you handle this, Charles?”

  He said it was not a problem but would take some time.

  She smiled and said she knew it would.

  On the way down the carpeted stairs from the second floor, they passed Margaret, who was vacuuming the landing. She paid no attention to either one of them as they squeezed past and stepped over the cord.

  In the kitchen, Mandy swept her arm across the room and declared, “This place is a mess. I want it all repainted and new cabinets. Bright and cheery!”

  She led him outside where she pointed out window trim that needed scraping and painting. Then, laughing, she said, “And you can knock down the garage if you want.”

  Charles laughed.

  The last stop was the basement. As they were walking, Charles mentioned the things that were unfinished and asked if someone else was working there.

  Miss Brock seemed angry all of a sudden. “Well there was, but not anymore.” She opened the basement door, ending the conversation.

  Charles expected dust and cobwebs. Instead he found a clean, organized room. The tools were stacked neatly in a corner. His own tools were not kept this nicely. Aside from the standard hand tools there was a table saw, a miter saw, a router, and several drills of different sizes. They all looked fairly new.

  Mandy stood behind him and watched as he looked through the tools. “Do you think you can use these for what you need to do?”

  Charles bent and lovingly touched the blade of the miter saw. Someone had taken good care of these tools. “Sure. This is great. I’ll need some supplies, like spackle and nails, and of course the trim and baseboard and paint.”

  “Of course. Why don’t we go now? We can shop and Margaret will have lunch ready when we get back.”

  Charles cringed at the word shop. Men didn’t go to manly places to shop. He wasn’t sure what word he would have used but it wasn’t shop.

  Following her up the stairs, he asked if Margaret was there every day. Mandy’s hair was pulled back in a pony tail, and a trendy sweatshirt didn’t cover much of what filled a tight pair of jeans.

  “No. She comes three days a week, usually Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.” She waited for him to reach the hallway and then turned out the basement light. “How long do you think all this will take?”

  Charles thought hard about that. He didn’t want to have her think it would take too long and cost too much. But he also didn’t want to underestimate and have her mad later. “Well, it’s a lot of detailed work. There’s a lot of sanding and painting and the baseboard has to be removed carefully so the walls aren’t damaged. And there’s the kitchen. It’s hard to say really.”

  Mandy smiled and patted his arm. He caught his breath. “I know. I’m not trying to pin you down to the day. Just wondering generally. Would you say two to four weeks?”

  Nodding, Charles agreed that was a safe bet.

  “Good. Well, let’s get going. We’ll take the Cherokee.”

  * * *

  They loaded up the Cherokee with supplies, returned home, and ate lunch. They talked about nothing in particular over ham sandwiches. Charles was amazed at the willingness of this pretty lady to talk to him.

  Charles spent the rest of the afternoon unloading and organizing and planning. He found her in her office when he was ready to go. He had been there for seven hours but hadn’t done much. He was going to charge her for three hours. She swung open the door of the small safe that was built into the left side of the desk. The safe wasn’t locked. She pulled out an envelope full of money and counted out one hundred forty dollars in twenties and held it out to him. It barely made a dent in what was left in the envelope.

  “What’s that for?”

  She laughed. “For working today. What did you think?”

  “I just meant that it’s too much. I didn’t work that much.”

  “You were here for about seven hours. I know we hadn’t talked about pay, but is twenty an hour okay?”

  “That’s fine,” he said with amazement. “But I didn’t work seven hours. We spent an hour just looking around, and shopping, and there was lunch.”

  “Your time is valuable no matter what you’re doing.”

  Charles couldn’t believe his ears. He had never made this much money in one day. “Okay. But I shouldn’t get paid for eating, especially when it was your food.”

  She laughed again. “Okay, if you’d feel better, give me back twenty dollars for lunch.”

  He did. Charles said goodbye and was halfway to the door when Mandy called him back.

  “Oh, Charles. Here.” She rummaged through one of the drawers and pulled out a key. “Take this key. It’s to the back door. If you’re coming every day you may have to let yourself in sometimes.” She held out the key.

  Charles hesitated. “You trust me with a key to your house?”

  Mandy smiled. “Sure. Why not? You’re trustworthy aren’t you?”

  “Well, yes,” he stammered. “But you hardly know me. I...”

  Gripping his arm tightly she said, “Charles, I know you as well as I need to. Sometimes you can tell about people right away. You know?”

  He did. He knew about Amanda well enough. She was the nicest woman he had ever met. But no one had ever trusted him that much. That was a strange feeling.

  Driving home, Charles thought that Sarah would never believe how he got this money. She thought he was worthless. But maybe if he told her, she would change her mind. He and Amanda had made plans for him to return on Monday. For the first time in his life he wished the weekend would go by quickly.

  Chapter 15

  Spencer fought the hunger that was rolling in his stomach. He felt stupid for not having thought ahead. It was close to nine. The sun had set and the night was starting to chill. Turning on the engine to run the heater, he wondered how long he would have to wait. If Laura was going out tonight, he wanted to follow and make sure she lived through it.

  The neighborhood had gone through two spurts of activity while he sat and watched. Most of the traffic was on foot. This was a public transportation neighborhood. The el was not far to the west and buses traveled every fourth street. Parking was just too tough in the city. The workers had come home between five and six. The early evening dinner crowd had streamed out around 7:30. The next rush would be the nightlife bunch after ten. He figured that was when Laura would hit the streets. The city didn’t really come alive until eleven. At 9:20, he got out to stretch his legs.

  * * *

  Stretch watched as Spencer walked down three buildings and back. He had accepted the ni
ckname his crew had strapped him with and he kind of liked it. It was the third time Spencer had gone for a walk since Stretch had arrived at five. He was sure this Manning fellow was interested in Laura, but he didn’t know why. And why was something he wanted to know. This fellow was worrisome. Stretch would meet Laura later and fill her in.

  Standing at the side of the chair, Stretch went through his exercises while keeping an eye on the P.I. strolling down the sidewalk. He glanced at Al and chuckled to himself as he watched him struggling to stay awake. He cleared his throat and Al jumped and then yawned.

  Stretch was paid too well to ask questions, but he couldn’t help wondering what all the secrecy was about and what Laura was doing. In the beginning, two cities ago, he had asked why and she had said if he needed to know why she would find someone else. He then asked why she had hired him. That she did answer. He was highly recommended as a man who could keep his mouth shut if the price was right, and the price was more than right. So he kept his mouth shut, played the game, and did a damned good job of keeping his employer informed and safe.

  His only orders had been to let her know if anyone seemed to be interested in her whereabouts and to keep her safe. He found her apartments, set up the extensive security, and reported anything strange. Anyone following her or asking questions of the neighbors was suspect.

  Stretch had questioned her when she told him about the plan to join the ladies-of-the-evening club. That seemed crazy, especially for such a wholesome-looking young woman. But she responded by telling him that was none of his business either. He had dropped it until the murders started in Chicago. Then he had again voiced his concern. She laughed and told him that was why she hired him, to protect her. She trusted the men around her enough to not be concerned about the murders. She was never out of their sight. And if he didn’t think he could do it, she would find someone else.

  Despite the money, there might come a day when Stretch would quit. He considered it off and on. No amount of money could pay for the guilt if she ended up dead in an alley. But she wasn’t concerned. He had hired four more men to help out at night. One of them—he called himself Root—was as big as a house. And he could run like a thoroughbred. She was as safe as she could be considering the situation, but Stretch still worried. You just never knew what was around the corner, and he wasn’t arrogant enough to think he had all the answers. He stretched his fingers as Spencer got back in the car.

  Al threw an empty pop can toward the garbage and missed. It rolled to the wall.

  When Al didn’t move, Stretch ordered, “Pick it up. This isn’t a dumpster.”

  Al looked around. It wasn’t a dumpster, but it wasn’t much of anything else either. He hauled himself out of the chair and did as ordered. The can landed with a loud clang.

  Chapter 16

  Charles sat down in a booth at Lights Out at 8:15 and finished his second beer by 8:30. There were only twelve people in the bar but it was early. The place would be full in a few hours. And tonight, with money in his pocket, Charles would be the one buying a round, and people would be raising a glass to him. He ordered another beer and a shot of tequila.

  Chapter 17

  Every time the front door of the apartment building opened, Spencer straightened in the seat and reached for the door handle. Each time it wasn’t Laura, he slumped farther down in the seat. He was trying hard to stay awake. He had listened to all the radio he could stand. He was about to go for another walk when Laura came out. But if Spencer hadn’t seen the clothes in her room, he might not have recognized her. It simply was not the same girl he had seen earlier. Black leather pants that squeezed every inch of her legs, a black jacket, and the red tube top that did the same for her bust, helped change her look from a college coed to a hooker. With black heels, bright red lipstick, and hair pulled back harshly, she fit the part well.

  * * *

  Stretch’s team used hand-held radios to communicate, and he checked to make sure Laura’s bodyguards were in place. They were good at disguise, so from one week to the next, no one would suspect they were the same person. It was all a show choreographed by Laura. To anyone looking, she was a hooker. She was never in danger, at least not in her opinion. But there was always an unknown danger on the streets. Laura didn’t seem to understand that, but Stretch did and he worried about it. The show was so real that Laura had even been arrested. She was thrilled—said it made the show even better. He had asked who the show was for, assuming she wouldn’t answer. He was right.

  Stretch got the distinct feeling she was enjoying the game, and that worried him too. She wasn’t being as careful as he would like. She said that’s why she had hired him, to take care of her. He was worried before the murders started. He was even more worried after. That’s why he was never far away whenever she went out. The times were prearranged. The rest of the team was already on Broadway. Stretch would follow Laura on the opposite side of the street, and tonight he had added an extra man to watch Spencer.

  * * *

  Laura was walking quickly and Spencer had to work a bit to keep up. As he crossed Kinley Street, waiting for a car that turned right in front of him, it started to drizzle. He turned up the collar of his jacket and pulled the visor of his baseball cap down. A growling stomach reminded him that he had missed dinner. He walked on, hoping there would be a chance to grab something on the run once they reached Broadway. He assumed that’s where she was going. If she was, it would make keeping track of her a bit easier. Broadway was a crowded, brightly lit street and he would be able to follow Laura easily. She reached Broadway, glanced in both directions, and turned right, with Spencer following about a hundred feet behind.

  The street was crowded with cars and the sidewalk with people. The steady hum of traffic blended with music from apartments above the stores and clubs along the street. Spencer threaded his way through the crowd, completely unaware that he was being followed by two men, one on each side of the street, who were also keeping an eye on Laura. Spencer took off his cap and shook off the raindrops that were starting to drip off the brim.

  At the corner of Broadway and Webb, Laura turned into a hot dog joint, the Last Wiener. Spencer decided he was too hungry to worry about her wondering if he was tailing her and followed her in. There were two lines and he stood in the one she wasn’t in, hoping he got served first. He did, and ordered two dogs with mustard, relish, and onions. One he stuck into a jacket pocket, the other he wolfed down on the way out as he grabbed a pile of napkins and stuffed them into another pocket. Taking up a position in a bus-stop shelter across the street, he waited for Laura, who came out a minute later holding a wrapped hot dog. Spencer watched as she looked around, threw the hot dog into a metal trash basket, and, unbuttoning her jacket, continued south on Broadway. The dogs weren’t the best he’d ever had, but they weren’t that bad. He took another bite and pulled out a napkin to wipe mustard off his chin. As he threw the napkin into a trash can, he noticed a yellow LW in the corner. He pulled out another. It had a red LW. Last Wiener done in mustard and ketchup. Cute.

  * * *

  The hot dog man tucked the fifty dollar bill Laura had given him into his pocket. He was the contact man between Stretch and Laura. His only responsibility was to relay the information to Laura that everyone was in position. Fifteen minutes ago Stretch had passed along that information to him with a nod. He thought he was part of some undercover police sting operation and was told to keep his mouth shut or they would find someone else. If they were willing to pay him fifty bucks for doing basically nothing, he was willing to keep his mouth shut.

  Despite what Stretch thought, Laura was very concerned about her safety and wasn’t about to walk out on the street without knowing she was closely watched. There had never been a serious problem, but she wanted help close at hand. The elaborate system was expensive, but money was not a problem, and she would not go out on the street without an okay from the hot dog man.

  Chapter 18

  Stosh got home at eight an
d sat in front of the TV, slowly nursing a beer and hoping this would be a quiet night. He had done all he could with the manpower he had. There was a greater presence on the streets, both uniforms and plain clothes. But the women they were trying to protect were also doing everything they could to evade the protection. Dark alleys were a favorite spot. After all, they couldn’t exactly make a living while Chicago’s finest looked on. Stosh wondered if perhaps they were just forcing them deeper into the dark corners of the city where they were even more at risk.

  At 10:15, Stosh fell asleep watching the news. Knowing he would spend the night in the chair, Stosh hadn’t bothered to get undressed. If anything did happen he would be ready, and he was used to the chair. It really wasn’t that uncomfortable. And it wasn’t quite as lonely as the bed. At some point, he would wake up and turn off the TV.

  Chapter 19

  Spencer kept abreast of Laura on the opposite side of Broadway. With frequent glances in her direction, he pretended interest in the store windows as he slowly ate the second hot dog.

  “Hey gorgeous, like some company?”

  The voice came from a dark stairwell to Spencer’s left. He stopped, and a woman who looked to be in her thirties, and was not wearing her age well, stepped out of the shadows.

  “You look like you could use a friend on a rainy night,” she said with an effort to sound sexy. “Want to buy me a cup of coffee?”

  Her face was lined and tired, but there was a hint of prettiness that had been worn away by years of drugs and the street.