Hammered: A Shadows of Chicago Novel

by Rose Hudson

  “Hey, Mom.” I push my way in, sitting on the edge of the bed. “You look nice today.”

  She smiles big up at me. “I was beginning to wonder if you were gonna visit your momma this week.”

  “Sorry. Been busy working around these holidays. I put Bruno in the back yard, he’s been cooped up all week.” I scoot back on the bed by her chair, the old bed frame squeaking with my weight. “I’m adding a new bed to my list of things to get you. How do you sleep on this noisy-ass thing?”

  “Oh, stop it. If you want to make me happy why don’t you try finding a nice girl to bring into this family of wild men.”

  “Yeah, well, I’ve got a business to build before that happens.”

  “You were just featured in the Tribune, I’d say you’ve arrived. Now take a break and make me some grand babies, could you?” Celia’s fingers stop knitting and she looks up at me, seriousness all too evident in her eyes.

  “I hear you, Mom.” I stand, kissing the top of her head. “Right now, I’ve gotta get to work before your other son screws something up.”

  Ironically, some of my most productive days are the ones that start from my inability to sleep. I was like that growing up too. I’d wake up before Celia came to wake me, sitting at my desk working on chapters of the textbooks we hadn’t even covered yet. I knew if I wanted to make that money, win those fights, I’d have to be ten steps ahead at school. It kept teachers from saying too much when I came to school with black eyes and busted lips. Of course we went to a city public school where kids got arrested for bringing guns and knives in their backpacks, so I was really the least of their worries.

  At sixteen, I’d already started working for one of Jerry’s old bosses doing construction work on the weekends that I didn’t fight. Masonry work isn’t easy, but I liked the challenge of perfection that came with it, how if anything was slightly off center you had to take it up and start over. But mostly I liked that I never had to do that. Mr. Passmore would say I had fire and ice in my hands, which I assume meant speed and precision.

  Speed and precision is what’s necessary to accomplish what I’ve set out to do; bidding and winning these larger projects and being actual competition to some of the bigger contractors in Chicago. It’s a cut-throat business and the investors don’t give a shit how many people you’ve got on your payroll.

  So as a contractor, you never want to see your fucking project manager on the job first thing in the morning. That can only mean one thing, and it ain’t good. Anytime you see a dude in a suit, or a woman in a skirt walking around a construction site with a hard hat on, just know that the contractor of that job is likely having a shit day.

  I’m about to have a shit day.

  And of all people for the project manager to be addressing anything with, pulling up to see her talking to Thorn isn’t good. We made a deal when we went into this partnership that I would handle the business end of things and he would focus on production. Period.

  I scramble out of the truck, barely getting it into park before grabbing my gear and slamming the door shut.

  “Morning, Lisa,” I say.

  “Stone, we’ve got problems.” She pulls a red slip of paper from her clipboard and hands it to me. Okay, so a red piece of paper is worse than a suit in a hard hat. “Quality control filed a temporary rejection on your permits. They couldn’t give me any answers, so you’re going to have to go down to City Hall and find out what’s going on.”

  “I sent all the guys home, told them we’d send out notice as soon as the problem’s fixed,” Thorn says, pinching off the burning ember of his cigarette and tossing it in his empty soda can. I’m distracted briefly by his lack of awareness.

  “I don’t know what this is about, but I’m sorry. We’ve never had this issue before. I’ll call you and let you know what they say at City Hall.”

  Storming back to my truck, I don’t have a good feeling about this.

  When Mr. Passmore was ready to retire, he offered me the opportunity to take over the company he’d built. Over fifty years of hard work laid at my feet. I was glad that I had enough sense to know that was one man’s legacy being passed to another. Sure, it was a construction company, but one that had been built from nothing. I could drive all around this city and see where it left its mark. Buildings that were now points of interest for tourists and locals alike. That was something to be proud of and I knew I wanted to be a part of it. I want to be a rich old man one day, able to drive around and see my own mark on this city the way that Passmore did. But bigger and maybe even better.

  Today is the first time since I bought Passmore out, that I’ve had one blemish, one fuck up. I’ve never had permits rejected, and damn sure never had a red slip handed to me. The feeling in the pit of my stomach grows into anger as I drive to City Hall. I don’t know how I’ll prove it, but I’m sure I know who’s behind this.

  “LYDIA NORBERG TO SEE MAYOR Collins’ assistant,” I say to the woman sitting behind the front desk.

  “Come through this door to your right and sit in the hallway there. I’ll let her know you’re here.”

  “Thank you.”

  The metal door buzzes and I turn the knob, using a little elbow grease to tug it open. I guess government offices have really had to increase security measures over the last few years.

  There’s a long wooden bench along the wall and I sit to wait for Kelli, the mayor’s assistant to take care of some paperwork for a case my father is working on. Kelli and I went to the same high school but weren’t really friends until I started working for my father. I don’t know if it’s maturity, environment or the absence of Madison that’s created the opportunity, but I’m glad for her recent friendship regardless.

  The air is cold and smells like bleach and industrial strength air freshener. It’s probably why the walls are almost blindingly white and the floor gleams reflectively against the fluorescent lights above. Down the hall, a door opens and I hear voices—angered voices. Naturally, I’m inclined to eavesdrop. When I scoot to the end of the bench closest to the voices, I have the odd sense that I recognize one of them. I crane my neck to hear, hoping nobody comes down the hall and sees how ridiculous I’m sure I look.

  “Ma’am, I have a crew of nearly a hundred men that are sitting around twiddling their thumbs until I get this cleared up and we can go back to work. I just need to know why the job was shut down and what I can do to fix it.”

  Stone.

  There’s no mistaking the combination of respect and dominance laced with deep bass and the slightest tinge of street. The sound makes my teeth grind and my thighs clench.

  “Mr. Keeling all I know is there was a report filed and signed off by both the Quality Control Manager and the mayor’s office. All I can do at this point is try to track down the initial report through the mayor’s office and get back with you this afternoon.”

  I hear the metal legs of a chair scrape against the floor and I sit up straight.

  “Here’s my card. Please do give me that call this afternoon.”

  I hear the annoyance. I don’t know what’s happened, but whatever it is has got him fuming. I smooth the hair from my face and fix my skirt, crossing my legs and looking straight ahead.

  When he walks down the hall toward me, I see him out of the corner of my eye. But I don’t look at him until he stops in front of me.

  “My morning just keeps getting better and better.” I cock an eyebrow.

  “Hello to you, too. Troubles in la-la-land?” He sits down beside me without an invitation.

  “Smart-mouthed and self-indulgent. It’s a wonder someone didn’t swoop you up years ago.”

  “Ah, don’t you worry about me. A real man will come along one day. As for you, I know a couple of girls that work the corner down from my office that would be right up your alley.”

  “As much as I’d love to sit here and list all the reasons why you’ll die an old maid, I have a business to run.” He begins to stand.

  “Sounds to me lik
e you’ve got the day off.”

  He hesitates. “Eavesdropping? Sounds to me like you’ve got too much time on your hands.”

  “I couldn’t help but hear it. You were nearly shouting.”

  “Don’t worry your pretty little head, sweetheart. These are the types of problems people have to deal with in the real world.”

  I lean closer to him so my voice doesn’t carry. “Enemies? ‘Cause that’s sure what it sounds like to me. Or do you conduct yourself on the job the same you do in the bedroom? Half-assed.”

  He leans in the rest of the way, breath warm against my neck. “Nobody likes a liar, Lydia. I made you come in four strokes of my tongue on that pretty pussy.” He slides from the seat and stands. “If you want to see if I can get you there in three, you’ve got my number.”

  If my life were one of those old cartoons, there would be smoke coming from my ears. But when he exits the door to the lobby, I realize it’s not him that I’m angry at. I’m angry at myself.

  “Lydia?” I hear the unmistakable, sugary-sweet voice of Kelli and whip my head from the door to her.

  “Hi. Thanks for seeing me.”

  “No worries. If I didn’t, we’d just be playing phone and email tag for another week,” she snorts.

  I walk with her around the corner to her office. She closes the door behind us and begins to say something, but stops when she looks at my face. “Are you feeling okay? Need something to drink?”

  “Got any wine?”

  “Don’t I wish.”

  I sit and hand her the papers we need signatures for. As she spreads them out and begins stamping them with the mayor’s seal, curiosity begins to weigh on me. If the statement ‘curiosity killed the cat’ were true, even a little, then I would surely be dead by now because mine gets the better of me daily.

  “Can I ask you for a favor that has nothing to do with a client?”

  “Well hell, I didn’t know we had lives outside of work.” She giggles. “What’s up?”

  “I’m not as versed as I should be in the whole process, but why would a Quality Control Manager file a cease production on a contractor?”

  Her fingers hesitate for the briefest moment on the stack of papers and I almost miss it she recovers so quickly. “I’m really not sure. I can do some research and get back to you though.” When she looks up, I edge toward the desk.

  “But if it were an order that the mayor signed off on, you’d know about it. Right?”

  “Not always. I mean, we deal with hundreds of permits and reports a week.”

  “Kelli, I think someone may be in trouble and I just want to know if I’m crazy or if they need my help.”

  She looks up at me and I know I’m right. My gut dips.

  “Please.”

  “Look, I’ll do a little snooping and if something smells fishy I’ll give you a call. Okay?”

  “Thank you, Kelli. I owe you.”

  She hands me the folder of papers.

  “I heard there’s a great new place that opened in West Loop.”

  “Drinks this weekend?”

  “It’s a date.”

  “Aren’t you going to finish your wine, dear? Your father told me you’ve had to prep most cases this week with Diane out on holiday. Sounds to me like you could use it.” My mother sidles up beside me, stretching her long arms around my shoulders, her dark eyes reflecting sincerity and concern.

  How’d I get so lucky? My parents are everything you could ever want in parents, yet I never spend enough time with them, never do for them in return what they do for me. Both children of immigrants, my parents have seen their share of strife, and never once did they let me experience any of it.

  “It’s an excellent wine, Mom. Just tired and I still have to go to the hospital tonight.”

  “Lydia, I thought you and Aston discussed this? You are going to wear yourself down going to the hospital every day.”

  Sensing a dead-end at the end of this conversation I squeeze my mother and kiss her cheek.

  “Thanks for dinner. I’ll try to stop by the art gallery sometime next week.”

  She nods, patting my hand, leaving the conversation alone. I turn to my father who sits in his chair in front of the small fireplace. Making my way to him in three quick steps, I kiss the top of his head.

  “See you in the office tomorrow. Get some rest.” I move to leave just as quickly, but he stops me.

  “I should say the same to you,” he replies quietly, gently taking hold of my hand as I turn to leave. I know what he’s going to say, like I hadn’t heard Mom clearly. But I’m done hearing them say the same shit over and over. Turning slightly, I don’t even bother making eye contact with him. “You’ve got to decide soon, Lydia. There needs to be peace and Aston won’t wait much longer. He can’t.”

  I really am a horrible daughter, but screw him for saying that. Jerking my arm free I make determined strides to the door, grabbing my coat off the rack as I walk out.

  They will never understand. How could they? My parents are both confident in who they are and what they do. Me? I thought I knew exactly who I am and what I want, but for the last six months, I’ve been lost.

  The ride from the top to ground floor feels like a free-fall it passes so quickly, my head swimming, panic creeping up my chest. I’ve asked Aston for more time, them wanting to let go and move forward, me wanting to hold on tighter and rewind time to a year ago.

  Aston is one of the best men I’ll ever know, but he never understood Madi and he doesn’t know what’s best. Right now, he’s blinded by anger and pain. I just have to show him that, and the only way I can is with more time.

  Flagging down a cab as I walk out the front doors of the building, I scurry to the back and fling the door open, jumping in quickly to shield myself from the frigid Chicago wind.

  “Lurie Children’s Hospital, please.”

  Who would ever think that somewhere as cold and depressing as a hospital, would be the one place I feel at peace these days. It’s hard to look at her like this, but sometimes I allow myself to believe that at any moment she’s going to wake up and be my Madison, smiling from ear to ear and cracking jokes. But it doesn’t come.

  I spend my time with her talking, catching her up on the news, reading her books and newspapers. But today I decided we needed a spa day. God, how we loved our spa days. Mud soaks, massages, manicures, the works. I braid her hair and paint her fingernails a bright shade of her favorite teal. I laugh at the irony of our favorite polish colors and think of how fitting it is.

  I’ve always been a nude or clear polish type of girl and she’s always been a bright wild polish type of girl.

  I’ve always been the conservative, reserved girl, and she’s always been the girl who lives life on the edge.

  Now fucking look at her.

  She’s not living life at all.

  She’s unmoving, lifeless, hooked to five different machines and growing a child she may never know.

  Why did it have to be her? Someone with so much color and vibrancy to shed on the world. Why couldn’t it be me, a clear polish girl?

  My throat’s on fire as I try to swallow the enormous lump forming in the wake of pain, at the thought of this world losing her.

  Although I was raised in church, I wouldn’t consider myself a religious person. It would kill my mother, and I’ll never tell her, but to me, church has always seemed like a place for the type of people who need something to believe in. People who can’t bare the thoughts of living life and being a good person just because it’s the right thing to do, instead of doing it because an instruction manual told them to. I don’t know. Maybe I’ve just never been shown the light.

  But over these last six months, sitting at Madison’s bedside day after day, night after night, I never leave without saying the Lord’s Prayer. Something about it brings me peace.

  Initially the doctors thought that the pregnancy was keeping her body from healing, taking the little bit of strength she did have and applyin
g it toward the fetus. Aston and Liz were already struggling over the fact that this baby was Damon’s, so when the doctors brought up the possibility of terminating the pregnancy it was all the reason they needed to be okay with it.

  Sometimes all it takes to make something right in our eyes is for relevancy to shed light on our darkest thoughts.

  I hated the fact that a monster, the man that possibly killed her, planted his seed inside her and it took root. At first it was easy to ignore, to only think about Madison’s health and hopeful recovery. But over time, as her belly has started to round and the doctor’s updates become more and more about the baby, ignoring became impossible. I’m sure that’s why Liz quit coming. Her and Aston feel like not only did Damon try and take her life, he left a lifetime of admonishment behind as collateral. But he didn’t count on Madi’s strength and determination. He thought he’d left her for dead, but she’s not only keeping herself alive, she’s keeping her baby alive too.

  It’s taken so much for me to overlook that, and instead, focus on the fact that this child is half Madison. He or she could have her gorgeous blue eyes and blond hair. Or her laugh. Or her lust for life and giant heart. If this God is real, he would never let a monster taint something so pure.

  I can guarantee none of us thought we’d get to this point. We went from thinking the pregnancy would have to be terminated, to the doctors deciding that the development of the baby was what was keeping her alive. The coma that her body fell into was apparently her body’s response to the traumatic damage caused by Damon’s hands, but a few of the specialists have even said that because she was already two months along, that it was the baby saving her life. Her case is such a rarity that there’s not a lot to go on, but now, all we can do is wait until she goes into labor.

  “How is she today?” The deep bass of Aston’s voice vibrates through the room. I lift my head from Madi’s belly to see him standing in the doorway. I see the pain in his eyes and I do my best to offer him a smile.