by Becky Melby
Jarod’s curses still rang in her ears as Rena ran up Trish’s back steps and let herself in. She pulled off her shoes and padded through the kitchen. The clock on the microwave illuminated piles of dirty dishes. The room smelled of rancid oil. In the living room, somebody, probably one of Trish’s cousins, slept on the couch. Someone else sprawled, probably drunk, on the floor. Trish stood at her bedroom door, wearing pajama bottoms and a T-shirt and rubbing her face. She closed the door without a sound when Rena walked in.
Trish flopped onto the bed. “Better be good.”
“What’s Rab doing tonight?”
Pulling her knees to her chest, Trish yawned. It looked fake. She wrapped her arms around her legs. One hand played with the hem of her pajamas like a fidgety little kid. “Taking care of business.” She glanced down at her phone.
“What’s going on? What do you know?”
“What do you know?”
For the first time in their ten years, Rena knew in her gut she couldn’t trust her best friend. “I know he’s got a gun.”
Trish shrugged. “It’s just for show.”
Right. “So you know what they’re doing tonight?”
Uncoiling from her fetal position like a snake getting ready to strike, Trish lifted her shirt, showing the 7 curled around her navel. “You forget what this stands for?” She jumped off the bed. She picked up her dark green sweatshirt, put it on, and zipped it, then pointed at the seven embroidered on the front. “You see this? You know what it means?”
“Quit the drama.”
“You quit not knowin’ who you’re loyal to. You don’t wear the colors, you hide your tat, you question everything. A couple a months ago Jarod was all that to you, all you could talk about. You woulda done anything for him, like it should be. Now you’re talkin’ stupid about leaving him. I don’t even know you anymore. I don’t even know if I want to know you anymore.”
Rena’s muscles tightened like a piece of steel stretched across her hipbones. For a second, she couldn’t make her lungs expand. “Maybe stupid is not ever thinking about leaving. Is this where you want to be ten years from now? Still wearing the colors, your tat stretching over and over with Rab’s babies? Bein’ a nothing? Hoping you live to see your kids grow up? Hoping they live to grow up?” She slid off the bed, almost tripping over something. “I don’t want that. I want to be somebody. I don’t want to be owned by somebody.”
As she walked to the door, Trish laughed with the same kind of tone Jarod had used. “You’re gonna so regret it if you try leavin’.”
“I don’t think so. I think you’re going to be the one who’s sorry.” She walked to the door. As she turned, she noticed something she hadn’t seen when she walked in. Dresser drawers. Empty and stacked on the floor. The thing she’d almost tripped over was a duffle bag. The steel in her belly quivered. “Where are you going?”
“Vacation. We’re leaving early in the morning.”
“And you didn’t tell me? Who’s we?”
“My family. We’ll be gone a week or so.”
Hand on the doorknob, Rena stared. “You forget. I know you. And I know when you’re lying.” Without saying good-bye, she turned her back on the girl who once shared all her secrets—and wondered if she’d ever see her again.
The claustrophobic feeling didn’t leave. Dani had expected the ride to be exhilarating, but as she sat in the narrow space between the passenger door and the laptop mounted between the seats, watching Todd approach a car he’d just pulled over, anxiety kicked in. The Kevlar vest bit into her ribs, and she fought the sensation that she couldn’t completely fill her lungs.
China had left the beach in a car like this. Dani had hid from one in the dark with a roll of cash in her hand. The boy who’d hid something in a coal chute should have been picked up in one. Because of her, he’d gotten away.
Dash lights and a soft glow from the computer lit the interior. Red and blue lights strobed the pavement and the gray siding of a warehouse. The spotlight bathed Todd in white light. He knocked on the driver’s window. “Open the window, sir.” His words piped into the car.
Reaching into her purse, Dani pulled out her recorder and turned it on. With the pen and notebook already in her hand, she wrote her impressions. He took the man’s license, asked several questions, and came back to the cruiser. She recorded his gestures and the expressions on his face as he ran a check on the license and plates. And for once she didn’t ask questions.
Todd gave the driver a ticket and came back to the cruiser. “I was fully expecting the guy to be intoxicated. Driving without headlights is one of biggest cues you have to DUI.” He entered the details in the laptop. “This is the biggest part of my job. Not too glamorous. I hope something story-worthy happens tonight, but you could just end up seeing the boring side.”
“Hey, I’ve spent my week interviewing young entrepreneurs who walk dogs and make stationary out of recycled paper. You’ve already topped—”
The radio crackled. A woman’s voice broke through the static. “Respond to corner of Forty-Eighth Street and Thirty-Seventh Avenue for a possible B and E in progress. Caller says two SPs barged their way into an apartment across the street from caller. One appeared armed. Witness heard screaming. Stand by, getting further info.”
Todd spoke into the microphone. “Twenty-two. Three blocks from location. Responding.” He pushed the other red button. A siren wailed. The lights were already flashing. He peeled away from the curb.
“Copy twenty-two. One SP still in apartment. Other fled on foot. Be advised at least one person was on premises at time of B and E.” Several seconds passed. “SP running is Hispanic male, early twenties, dark sweatshirt, white shoes.”
Todd nodded. “Do you have an apartment number yet?”
“Not yet. It’s street level. Caller unsure of directions. Says it’s the only apartment with all lights on.”
“Twenty-two.” Another voice broke in. “Fourteen answering Twenty-two. I’m on Thirty-Ninth Ave and Forty-Fifth Street. Responding.”
“Copy.”
The cruiser slowed at a stop sign then took off again. Todd mashed the brake, stopped the car, and turned to her. “Stay here and stay low. Don’t get out of the car.”
Dani slid down. “I won’t.” Her pulse hammered. B and E… breaking and entering. If someone had seen her barge into China’s apartment… The thought took a backseat to the description of the “suspicious person.” Male, twenties, dark sweatshirt, white shoes. It fit hundreds of young men in the area. It also fit the boy she’d met in the shadow of the old garage.
The radio chatter increased as the second and then a third cruiser slid in front of the row of apartments. Four officers flew out. Two covered Todd as he approached a door that stood ajar. One officer darted toward a cluster of people in the front yard of the next block of apartments.
“Sargeant Metzger, witnesses say one SP headed north on Thirty-Seventh on foot, and a second just ran behind the building.”
“Copy.” Todd pulled his gun out, held it straight out, supporting his wrist with his other hand. Two officers stood on either side of him, several feet back. “Kenosha Police. Open up.”
Dani held her breath as seconds passed and he repeated the command, waited, then kicked the door open. He walked in, a second officer at his heels. Dani leaned toward the radio speaker, waiting for his voice. A knock on an inside door. “Police. Open the door.” Then the banging of a door against a wall.
“Apartment’s empty. Whoa—ho.” It was the voice of the second officer. “What do we have here?” A long, low whistle followed. “Must be two ounces at least.”
“A little home business,” Todd replied, the radio breaking up his voice. “Looks like we interrupted some pretty productive young entrepreneurs.”
A one-pound brick of marijuana and two and a half ounces of cocaine lay on a table in the back bedroom. Gloved policemen recorded everything on the table. A scale, scissors, a box of plastic sandwich bags. A little h
ome business.
Trying to stay out of the way, Dani wandered into the next room. Children lived here, but it was anything but a home. A crib with a broken spindle took up one corner. The sheet, stained with juice spots and who-knows-what, was so dirty it looked stiff. Two bare twin mattresses lay on the floor. A handful of toys and children’s books were almost buried in the dirty clothes and disposable diapers littering the floor. Her heart broke for the children. Her mind raged at the adults.
“That’s not always a bad thing.”
Todd had said Child Services would be notified. He’d also added, “There’s no chance whoever lived here is coming back.”
So where were the children? What possible hope did they have for a decent future? Again she wondered when it was too late to intervene in the life of a child. Lord, what can I do? She walked down the narrow, dirt-streaked hallway.
The only furniture in the living room was a stained flowered couch with a cushion missing. There was no kitchen table. Counters overflowed with empty chip bags and pizza boxes. The walls were bare. One dirty towel lay on the floor.
Todd walked in and opened the refrigerator. “Breakfast of champions.”
A half-empty bottle of orange juice and two cases of beer.
“Those poor… “Her voice disappeared as a picture magneted to the refrigerator came into focus. A Hispanic woman, early twenties, her head leaning on the shoulder of a bald man…with an eagle tattooed on his arm.
Dani’s pulse skipped. “I’ve seen that guy,” she whispered. “I know his name.” Rabia.
A direct link to the Sevens. And maybe Jarod.
Whose arrest could set Rena free.
April 29, 1927
Francie poured a second cup of coffee and set it next to the melba toast she’d barely nibbled. She crossed her legs and stared down at the invitation. She’d had it for a week. She now had half an hour to decide if she should join Albert and his mother for lunch.
She hadn’t talked to Albert in months. Not since the second time Tag’s brother had shown up at the bank with a bulge the shape of a revolver in his breast pocket. The invitation made no sense.
The bathroom door opened. Footsteps shuffled in the hall. With dark circles under her eyes and hair wild as a dust mop, her sister plopped into the chair by the wall, jarring the table.
Coffee sloshed onto the oilcloth. Francie leaped out of her chair. “Watch it!”
“Sorry.” Suzette yawned and reached for a Lucky. “Aren’t you just the cat’s meow this morning.” She moved her finger in a circular motion.
Francie turned in a slow pirouette. The irregular hem of the rust tunic dress flared as she turned. The print chiffon overlay drifted back into place when she stopped. “I just finished it last night.”
“Love the belt.” Suzette blew smoke out of the side of her mouth and reached out to touch the brown velvet sash on the dropped waist. “Very chic. Guess it means I’m stuck with Franky.”
Francie cringed.
Suzette brought the cigarette to her lips then stopped. “Going out on the town with Timothy?”
“Suze! How’d you find that out?”
“Asked the right person after the right amount of champagne. You wouldn’t tell me. ‘Tag.’ Makes him seem kind of weak, doesn’t it? Timothy Arthur Gaines. Who goes around being called by their initials?” Her mouth curved into a sneer. “Why don’t you go by your initials, Francie Avril Tillman? That would have been perfect a few years ago.”
In spite of the way her sister’s attitude irritated her, she couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh, yeah, and how about you, Suzette Orlene Tillman, you drunken sot!”
Suzette held her head with both hands as she laughed. “I guess mine fits.”
Francie took a sip of cold coffee. “What did you do last night after—” She couldn’t say “work.”
“George and Betsy and I hit a little joint on North Broadway, the Green Mill. Drinking room only.” She pointed at the band of fabric across Francie’s forehead. “Pretty. You do good work. So where did you say you’re going?”
“I didn’t. Albert’s mother invited me to have lunch at the Palmer House.”
“Albert? Thought you dumped him eons ago.”
“I did. That’s what’s so strange. I’m not sure if I’m going.”
Her sister’s bloodshot eyes widened. She waved her hand, the sign that Suze was slipping into pretend world. “Not sure? Are you crazy? Five years ago, you thought you were living high on the hog if you got a chunk of side pork in your beans for Sunday dinner. Now look at you. All dolled up like Greta Garbo and actually questioning if you should go to the Palmer House. Go. Albert’s a nice kid. I like him. He could be husband material.”
“Never. He’s a mama’s boy.”
“His mama’s got enough money to make you forget that little problem in a jiffy. If you don’t want him, I’m next in line.” Her eyes danced. It was a strange game they played, imagining they led normal lives. Sometimes it lifted them out of reality. Today it just seemed to make it all more depressing. Still, she played along.
Suze traced a vine on the oilcloth with her fingertip. “I can see you pushing a buggy down Michigan Avenue, cooking supper every night, going to church on Sundays. Tell me what your life will be like in five or ten years.” She closed her eyes, as if shutting out the present.
Swinging her foot, Francie leaned back and counted the pearl buttons she’d sewn on the satin T-strap on her shoes. “I’ll be married. To a man I haven’t even met yet. He’s tall and dark, with Valentino eyes. He’s insanely wealthy, but money hasn’t turned him into a snob. He’ll treat me like a queen and spoil our three kids. I’ll have a governess to push the buggy, a cook to cook, and a maid to serve, and on Sunday mornings we’ll have champagne and strawberries in bed.”
“Guess that means no church.”
Francie laughed. “Definitely no church.” She took a drag on her cigarette. “Hear anything about the job yet?”
“No.” She’d done what Tag had asked. She’d “bumped into” Mr. Walbrecht and forced out every ounce of charm she possessed. The next week he and his wife had sailed to France. Where she thought she’d be by now. “The Walbrechts are in Europe.”
“Ta-ta.”
“Yeah. Ta-ta. Can you imagine how much money they have?”
Suzette tapped the letter from Mrs. Hollanddale. Her expression turned serious. “With enough money, we could disappear.”
CHAPTER 21
Todd walked her to her car at the police station just after three on Saturday morning. He’d been laughing off and on for the past two hours. “Too weird,” he said for the tenth time at least. “How is it you just happen to be riding with me, and you just happen to recognize…” She tuned him out as she searched for Agatha’s keys. “I’m telling you, tracking down this kid could unravel something big.” He gave her another slap on the back. Gentle, but annoying. “So when do you want to do your next ride-along, partner?”
Her shoulders ached. The back of her neck felt like it was held in the grip of a massive hand. She forced a smile. “I’ll let you know after I recover from this one. Thank you so much.”
“If not a ride, how about dinner later this week?”
“I’ll check my schedule.”
“Good enough.” He bent toward her.
She offered her cheek. “Good night, Todd.”
He followed her home and waited in the cruiser while she trudged up the stairs to her apartment.
She walked in and kicked off her shoes then fixed a cup of chamomile tea and ran a hot bath. As the tub filled, she checked her phone for messages. She’d missed a call from Anna. And a text from Nicky. ON A SCALE OF ONE TO TEN, HOW IMPORTANT IS SLEEP TO YOU?
He’d sent it at 9:45. She glanced at the time and texted back. ZERO IF IT’S WORTH IT. WHAT DID I MISS?
Tapping fingernails on the edge of the tub, she pictured him finishing up for the night, taking bread from the oven, wiping down the table. Would he know when his pho
ne signaled a message that it was from her? Would he smile? She counted the seconds it would take for him to set down a hot pan or a blob of dough, maybe walk to the sink and wash his hands before picking up his phone or pulling it out of his pocket. As she imagined him drying his hands on his apron, he answered. I THOUGHT YOU MIGHT LIKE TO COME AND READ TO ME WHILE I WORK. WHY ARE YOU AWAKE?
She replied that she’d been out working on a story, and she would have loved to read to him.
HOW ABOUT TONIGHT? I’LL HAVE A MIDNIGHT SNACK READY.
“Time with you is a midnight snack.” She grinned at the phone as she sent a self-controlled SEE YOU THEN.
Nicky tossed his jeans over a chair and flopped onto the bed. Five minutes later, he was still staring at the same spot of light on the wall. And thinking about the same girl.
So Todd’s e-mail earlier in the day hadn’t been just idle conversation. Sandwiched between the cost for an oil change for the Javelin and “Want to go out on the boat on Sunday?” was a seemingly casual comment: “Got a woman doing a ride-along tonight. Always makes me nervous.”
Mighty strange coincidence that Dani was working on a story in the middle of the night.
Let the battle begin, buddy. You may have sirens and flashing lights, but I’ve got a time machine.
He sat up, turned on the lamp, and grabbed the photo album he’d taken from the shelf in his grandfather’s room. A portal—for stepping into a simpler time. With a beautiful blond at his side.
He’d driven to the nursing home on Monday with an agenda, but it hadn’t been one of Nonno Luca’s better days. He was glad Rena hadn’t joined him. Nonno had yelled at him for not bringing the books for him to look over. When he’d explained, as he had often before, that they kept everything on the computer now, his grandfather had thrown a glass of water at him. “My sons I can’t trust. But you, I had hopes for.” The words stung, even if, like he’d told Rena, Nonno wasn’t always responsible for what he said.
He never got to voice the question about Francie Tillman he’d come to ask. But he did get pictures. He’d deliberately not mentioned them to Dani on Monday night. The timing had to be just right.
