by Gregg Bell
“Thanks.” He walked to just outside his aunt’s office, caught her eye and smiled.
She held up a finger.
He nodded. Aunt Elizabeth got things done. In fact, he called her ‘the fixer.’ She was talking about home inspections and radon reports and of course money. From what Denny could tell, real estate law was really just one big negotiation. He could sense her hurrying the conversation to a close.
She wore a white sweater, a navy scarf with a faint yellow oriental character pattern. She hung up and smiled big. “Well, hello, Dennis. It’s certainly been a while.”
Denny nodded. “All my fault, Aunt Elizabeth. So how have you been?”
She spread her arms over the clutter of her desk in answer.
He laughed. “I can see the real estate market is picking up.”
“Well, it’s slowing a little because of the season, but overall, yes.”
“So...”
“What is it, Dennis?”
“Well, I don’t know if you heard but I’ve some really sad news.”
The attorney shrugged. “What happened?”
He cleared his throat. “Rashida, Rashida my ex-wife, was murdered last night.”
A look of concern swept across the older woman’s face. “Oh my God.”
“I know. It’s just unreal.”
Aunt Elizabeth seemed to gather herself. She caught his eye. “How about you? Are you okay?”
Denny nodded.
“Have the police caught who did it?”
“That’s the thing, Aunt Elizabeth, they haven’t. And I really want to help them find the guy, and well, I’ve already talked to them twice, but I’m not so sure that was the greatest idea.”
“Hmm.”
“So I was wondering if you could help me out.”
“Of course I’ll help, Dennis, but here’s the thing—I know just enough about criminal law to be dangerous.”
“But you know more than me.”
She nodded. “Really, my best advice would be not to talk to the police again. And, if you have to, never without an attorney present.”
“Yeah. Honestly, I knew as much, but the cop came to my door and I wasn’t really thinking too clearly.”
His aunt hesitated. “Are you trying to say you were hung over? I hope you’re not still drinking.”
Denny exhaled deeply. “I was a little hung over.”
She shook her head.
“I know.”
“You need to stay sober, Dennis. Your DUI supervision states explicitly—it’s automatic—if you get another one you’ll do a year in Cook County Jail.”
“I’m going to stay sober, Aunt Elizabeth. I will.”
“But you were drinking last night.”
He sighed and looked down.
“All right. All right.” She nodded. “I know you can do it. I believe in you.”
“So you’ll help me?”
“Like I was saying, you really should see a—”
“Aunt Elizabeth, I’ve no money.”
She took in a deep breath and let it out. “I’ll do what I can.”
* * *
Aunt Elizabeth said she had to do work right there and then that would cost her thousands if she didn’t finish, so Denny should come back first thing in the morning. Denny was relieved she’d help. Very relieved. He trusted her. She’d always respected him, believed in him, whereas he really couldn’t say the same for his other aunts and uncles. Or himself, for that matter. But now what?
Well, he couldn’t possibly drink if he wanted Aunt Elizabeth’s help so that was out. And besides drinking he didn’t know what to do—drinking had been his cure-all solution for everything. But whatever he needed he knew he needed some kind of comfort. And that meant Summer, his girlfriend. Okay, maybe his former girlfriend, as she’d ‘had it’ with his ‘wasting his life’ with drinking and constant partying. But Denny knew that with Summer, her dissatisfaction with him was always more about his lingering feelings for Rashida than anything else. That was the ongoing sore spot with her.
He swung by her condo. She ought to be back from work by now. Funny, yeah, he thought as he parked in a visitor’s space in her complex’s lot, Summer had always been jealous he’d been married to who she called ‘uptown’ Rashida. Denny frowned as he wondered if she’d be happy about her death. He hustled to her door.
Summer opened the door but didn’t step aside. “Hey. What are you doing here?”
The pretty blonde just stood there. Such smooth white skin and such purely blonde hair. No roots or shading. Denny said, “Well, can I at least come in? There’s something I have to tell you.”
Summer frowned, then smiled, then stood aside. “I’m taking my real estate broker’s class online so I don’t have a lot of time.”
Denny liked her condo. Elegant, yet comfortable. A long brown leather sofa and matching chair, a little round cocktail table, a modern art painting, that somewhat resembled a rose, over the sofa. “Summer, I don’t want to sound dramatic but you really should sit down for this.”
She put her hands on her hips and pouted.
So cute, he thought. But he had to prepare her. “I’m serious.”
She plopped down on the sofa and crossed her arms over her chest. “Okay, Denny, what’s the big news already?”
“Summer, Rashida was murdered last night.”
Her eyes glazed over. She stared at him. “Your Rashida?”
He nodded.
“Oh my God.” Her chin fell to her chest. “How terrible.” She started to cry softly.
Well, so much for her being happy about the news. Denny sat and put his arm around her. God, whenever she showed big emotion like this—emotion he never felt—he was so incredibly attracted to her. “Hey, are you all right?”
She nodded but the soft tears kept flowing. “It’s just so terrible. Who? Why?”
“We don’t know. The police are investigating. I’ve already talked to them twice.”
“Oh, it’s so awful.”
“Hey, hey, hey, easy now.” He wiped her cheeks and leaned in to kiss her, she barely moving her lips. But the second time he kissed her she kissed him back. He eased her down onto the sofa, and while still whimpering she resisted him not in the least.
* * *
Oh, it had felt so good to unwind in Summer’s arms. He lay peacefully with her now. Yeah, maybe it had been manipulative to sleep with her when she was so emotional, but with her showing the big emotion like she had, Denny could hardly help himself. And she hadn’t seen, or if she had at least hadn’t said anything, the scratches on his arms and neck, which was cool. Anyway, he pretty much loved her, so he figured it was all right. And now he had to somehow get through the rest of the night without drinking. Because if he didn’t, he was sure to miss his appointment with Aunt Elizabeth in the morning.
But he couldn’t stay there—he was haunted by what Orson had said. That Denny had left The Wild Bull with Brig. And add to that his text: Watch out for Brig.
Ten o’clock at night. Being on the same shift as Brig and not needing to be at the firehouse for days, Denny knew more than likely Brig would be at The Wild Bull again. It was their, the firemen’s, hangout. At least their starting point for sure because it was only a two a.m. bar, and they more often than not went somewhere else after it closed.
But had they gone anywhere else last night? And when? What had they done?
Brig was trouble but he was a real friend too, always quick to laugh, and if you ever needed a guy to party with you could hardly find one more eager to please. But he could be tricky to figure too. He was always upbeat and friendly, but Denny had heard about his dark side as well. His history as a combat veteran in Afghanistan tinged everything he did. As if a violent episode of post traumatic stress disorder was always boiling right below the surface.
Because Denny was so upset and ashamed of not being able to remember anything last night, he was in no hurry to run into anybody who might’ve seen him. And yet at the
same time he had to know what happened. Otherwise, what would he tell Aunt Elizabeth?
Summer complained about his sudden departure, but he dressed and drove to The Wild Bull.
As he parked his car, he laughed cynically. It was going to be a real trick staying sober in The Wild Bull. His AA sponsor, George, had given him a ‘90 Day chip’ when he’d made it ninety days without drinking the one time. When George had given him the chip, he’d said: “If you ever feel like drinking, put this chip in your mouth.” Denny had thrown the little plastic chip, embossed with the AA logo, into his glove compartment. Now he grabbed it and stuffed it into his jeans pocket.
On Belmont Avenue, The Wild Bull was nothing special. It was just a firemen’s bar. There were always a couple of people standing out front smoking cigarettes, even when it was below zero, and tonight was no different. Denny said hi to one of the firemen out there as he walked in.
Inside, the bar was more like something out of northern Wisconsin than Chicago. The wood tables, heavily varnished, had knots in them, as if they’d only recently been hewn from the forest. Same thing for the bar itself, a row of vinyl-backed bar stools in front of it. Six TVs were mounted over the bar and a refrigerated case was filled with beer. A neon Chicago Bears helmet with the Miller Lite logo hung over a blackboard with the day’s drink and sandwich specials chalked there.
Denny waded in, one careful step after another, nodding to acquaintances. That hot new waitress, with one side of her head shaved and a nose ring, gave him a nice look. After just sleeping with Summer he was still feeling very sexual. Someone laid a hand on his shoulder.
“There he is. Back for more, are ya, killer?”
Denny recognized Brig’s voice but killer? Still, he had to play along. He felt so vulnerable not knowing what had happened. He turned. “Yeah, that was some night last night, huh? How you doin’?”
“Couldn’t be better, my man.” Brig hoisted his beer mug and called over the waitress with the nose ring. “Janie, get a glass for my friend here and we want another pitcher at my table over there.” He pointed with his eyes.
He hasn’t even heard Rashida’s dead, Denny thought. “Ah, I’m on the wagon tonight, Brig.”
“Nonsense.” Brig put his arm around him and walked him to his table. “And even if you are, I’m about to knock you off.” He laughed.
The waitress was back with the pitcher and the glass. She filled the glass.
“No, no,” Denny said, but she set the foaming glass of beer on the table before him. Under normal circumstances the beer would’ve been appealing enough, but with the way his life had been going lately, it was insanely appealing. He didn’t even know why, but he reached his hand into his pocket. The 90 day chip.
If you ever feel like drinking, put this chip in your mouth.
“Can’t do it, Brig.”
Brig looked at him as if he’d just revealed he was gay.
“I’m helping my aunt move tonight.”
Brig looked at his watch. “At eleven o’clock?”
Denny shrugged. “It’s the end of the month and she lost her lease. This is the only time she can do it.”
Brig smirked.
“It is.”
“All right, all right, Mr. Manpower Mover. I’ll give you a pass this time.” He gazed admiringly at the waitress with the nose ring as she waited on the next table. “Man, is she smokin’ hot or what?” He turned to Denny. “Hey, Den, what do you think of her?”
“Yeah, she’s cool.” But now that Denny was calming down he was remembering Brig called him killer. Could that just have been a coincidence? Or could it have meant more? And Denny needed to tell him about Rashida.
Brig said, “And now that I think about it, after last night—you were pretty wild—I guess you deserve a break.”
Denny thought that maybe, for now, it was better Brig didn’t know Rashida was dead. “Yeah, and I think that was due to your starting the tequila shots. That tequila is an insane drunk.”
“Yep, tequila will get your attention no doubt. That and vodka. Major danger both of them.”
The bartender turned up the sound from the US Olympic hockey team game on one of the TVs, the crowd roaring after a US goal. Brig started pounding the table. “USA! USA! USA!”
A man—smiling big, as if pleased by Brig’s patriotic display—in a red flannel shirt and a camouflage hunting cap walked to the table. “Why, Brig Rhodes, you drunk, how the hell are you?” The man put out his hand and Brig slapped his hand into it.
“Well, I’ll be damned. Rufus Tucker. I’m good, Rufus. I’m excellent. How are you?”
Denny was wondering who this Tucker was. He hadn’t seen the guy before.
Now Brig was chatting Tucker up. Oh, this wasn’t good. Denny really needed to talk to Brig, to find out what the hell he’d done last night, but now that Tucker was camped out at their table Denny was going to have no chance.
Chapter Five
Next morning Denny was up early. He considered it a miracle he hadn’t gotten drunk last night, especially being at The Wild Bull, but he wasn’t so sure he’d be able to accomplish the same feat today. And what had happened last night was adding to his stress because he’d been unable to learn from Brig, who talked to Rufus Tucker constantly, what he knew about the night Rashida was murdered. And who was this Rufus Tucker character anyway? Probably one of Brig’s war buddies but he was older and one hell of a loudmouth. But whatever. Denny showered, shaved and headed to Aunt Elizabeth’s office.
Nine a.m. The sun was out, glaring off the freshly fallen snow on the sides of the road, but the air was cold and dry, arid almost. Maybe fifteen degrees. With the advent of global warming or climate change or whatever you wanted to call it, the fluctuations of Chicago weather from day to day were incredible. Denny found a parking spot and walked to the office. Aunt Elizabeth was there, at her desk, and except for the change of clothes—she wore a rose-colored sweater with a gold chain over it—she looked as if she hadn’t left. The door was locked. Aunt Elizabeth saw him.
She hurried to the door, opened it and said, “Gabriela, my secretary, had to take her mother to the doctor so I’m on my own for now.”
“Okay.” Denny stepped in and she locked the door behind him.
They went to her office. She rolled up a maroon leather chair. “Have a seat.”
Denny sat and took a deep breath. Aunt Elizabeth was an attorney yes, but she was still his aunt, his mom’s sister. He wondered how comfortable he’d be talking to her, well, how comfortable he’d be talking to her about what happened the night Rashida was killed. “Thanks for this, Aunt Elizabeth.”
“That’s all right, Dennis.” She sat across her desk from him. “But let me start by saying that this isn’t church. It’s the law. I’m looking to keep you out of legal trouble, not judge you for what you have or haven’t done.”
“Okay.”
“Now.” She looked him in the eye. “Let’s make this official. Do you want to retain me as your attorney?”
He shrugged.
“Just say yes.”
“Yes.”
“Do you have a dollar?”
Denny reached for his wallet. “Uh-huh.”
She nodded. “Give it to me.”
He did.
“Now sign this.” She handed him a piece of paper and a pen.
He signed and handed it back.
“Okay, now that you’ve requested I be your attorney and you’ve paid a retainer and signed a contract we’ve established attorney-client privilege, and that means that from now on anything you tell me is between just you and me. No police officer or lawyer or judge can force either of us to reveal any of it. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“So, now what I want you to do is tell me everything you know about Rashida’s murder—”
“I don’t know anything really—”
“Let me finish. I want to know what you do know, whatever it might be, and I especially want you to tell me everythin
g you were doing at the time of the murder.”
Denny had known this was coming. Ugh. “Aunt Elizabeth.”
She waited.
“You know how I told you I was drinking that night?”
“Yes.”
“Well.” He took another deep breath and looked around. “I don’t remember a lot of the night.”
She looked hard at him. “You mean you blacked out?”
There were those words again. He nodded.
“For how long?”
“I don’t really know. Hours though.”
“And during the time the murder was committed?”
“I think so, yes.”
“Okay.” She blew out a breath. “I can see now why you were nervous about talking to the police.”
“Yeah.” It felt good to tell her the truth. But he was dreading what would come next. “So what’s going to happen?”
She threw up her hands a little. “Frankly, I’m not sure. But what we’re going to have to do is treat you as if you were a suspect. And that means no more contact with the police, period. And it means establishing a timeline, who you were with, what you were doing, during the critical time frame when the murder was committed.”
“I didn’t do it, Aunt Elizabeth.”
“Dennis, there are countless people sitting in prisons all across the country that didn’t commit the crimes they’re accused of.”
“All right,” he said but his breathing quickened. “So where to from here?”
“Well, if the police have material or eyewitness evidence against you—”
“Aunt Elizabeth, I told you I didn’t do it!”
“And, Dennis, I told you, I’m going to treat you as if you were a suspect. Now shut up and listen.”
Whoa. He felt as if he’d been punched in the chest.
“Now, if the police have evidence from the scene or someone saw you entering or leaving Rashida’s residence, you’ll be arrested. And if you are, you’ll be allowed to telephone me and then we’ll go from there.”
“You make it sound so serious.”
“It is serious, Dennis. And you’ll be wise to treat it as such.” She took a sip from a stainless steel bottle on her desk. “So three things. One. Absolutely no more talking to the police. Two. Find out who you were with and what you were doing at the time of the murder. And Three. And we might as well start here—tell me everything you know about anything possibly related to the murder and especially what transpired in your interviews with the police.”
