SOUTHSIDE HUSTLE: a gripping action thriller full of suspense

by LOU HOLLY

  “Do what you got to do,” Trick bluffed with his life. “If I do have money, you can’t get secrets from a dead man.”

  “Neva said I was gonna kill ya. I stick this in yo spine far nough, it’ll paralyze ya. How’d ya like ta spen da rest of yo white-ass life in a wheelchair, huh? Think I won’t do it? I’m already in for murder. I’m neva getting’ out again anyway.”

  Shabaz took the blade from Trick’s throat and pushed it against the back of his neck. “Think I’m playin’ whicha?”

  Feeling the sharpened metal puncture the back of his neck, Trick’s heart pounded and thought he’d pass out as he wheezed, getting just enough oxygen to keep him alive.

  “Ya try goin’ ta da guards, I’ll know ‘bout it. Dese are my people. Ya dig? We one big family. Dey get a taste too.” Shabaz breathed heavily into Trick’s face. “Tomorra ya gonna git on da phone and make some calls. If it’s in yo house, we send someone ova ta pick it up. If it’s in a car, we go git the car. It’s in a safe, ya gonna tell us the combination or where da key is. Undastan?”

  Trick felt the sting of the blade push harder into the back of his neck and thought about the few thousand he had stashed in Reggie’s condo. He knew Shabaz was expecting a lot more than that. How could he give them something he didn’t have? How could he convince Shabaz his money was gone?

  Trick lay awake tossing and turning most of his second night in jail. He considered attacking Shabaz in his sleep but knew it would end up in a life or death struggle. And if he did kill Shabaz, he’d never get out. When he did sleep a little, again it was filled with nightmares.

  CHAPTER 38

  With Shabaz out of the cell for breakfast, Trick was finally able to doze a bit more, but was jarred awake. “Patrick Halloran!” From behind the eight-foot tall gate, a voice yelled out over the raucous jailhouse commotion, “You’re goin’ home!”

  Trick was in shock. He had a hard time believing anyone would bail him out. Was it a fluke? Maybe there was another Patrick Halloran in the system he was mistaken for. Whatever the reason, he couldn’t clear out quick enough.

  The process of getting out was almost as lengthy as getting in. After a couple hours of red tape, he walked into the immense lobby of Cook County Jail to find Starnes and Moogie standing there waiting. As they approached, Trick said to Starnes, “You’re the last person I expected to spring me.”

  “Surprise, surprise.” Starnes laughed. “I’m retiring from the drug trade. Gettin’ too hot out there. Everyone’s snitchin’ someone else out. No integrity left in the business.”

  “Yeah,” Trick responded, “I know exactly what you’re talking about.”

  “Come on, let’s move this outside,” Starnes said. “You and me have had our differences but you always came through. You were into me deep but you paid me back. Which is exactly what I expect you to do now, with interest, including the forty Gs you owe me for the kilo I fronted you. I’m goin’ into the loan shark business. I got enough to retire on. Gonna put my money on the street to keep up with inflation.”

  Trick walked down the concrete steps with Starnes and Moogie crowding him and caught the aroma of grilled onions coming from the sandwich truck parked out front. “What kind of juice we talking?”

  “I’m givin’ you a special deal since you didn’t ask me to do this.” Starnes rubbed his stubble, pausing as if still deciding. “Straight ten-percent. Payments start thirty days from tomorrow. Due the first of every month.” Starnes poked Trick’s chest. “You gotta stay out. Promise your lawyer your first born. Turn rat. I don’t care but stay on the street and keep earnin’. You end up doin’ time and we got a problem. Easier to have you stabbed in the joint than it is out here. We got an understandin’?”

  Trick tilted his head back, the late morning drizzle needling his face. “I hear what you’re saying.”

  “You’re gonna start collectin’ for me too. You’re gonna be workin’ with Moogie till you get me paid off. That means you’re gonna be leanin’ on people, breakin’ bones if you have to. Got it?”

  “Yeah, yeah. I got it,” Trick answered in order to buy time.

  “That little boy of yours could bring in a good buck on the black market. Grow up suckin’ dick in Bangkok. Imagine a bunch of dirty, sweaty degenerates strokin’ that blond hair while he gobbles their cocks. Once he disappears into the underground he’ll never resurface.”

  Trick stepped closer to Starnes, leaned in and growled, “I told you once before, if you ever threatened me with my son again I’d kill you.”

  Moogie grabbed Trick by the sleeve of his leather jacket but he shook him off. “Anything ever happens to my boy, I’ll finish you off,” Trick said, glaring at Starnes, walking backward toward the row of taxicabs.

  ***

  Ginger’s phone rang ten times. Trick hung up and hopped in the shower at the Cloud 9 Motel to wash the smell of Cook County Jail out of his hair and pores. He quickly dressed and drove to Ginger’s apartment. Seeing children walking in the misty rain, dressed up as witches, cowboys, Elvira and Hulk Hogan, made him realize what day it was.

  As Trick walked to Ginger’s door, the wet wind blew against his neck, stinging the puncture wound from Shabaz’s shank. Her car was in the lot so he rang the buzzer and looked up to her second story window. It appeared dark in the late afternoon, gray light. He rang again and heard tapping. He looked up to see Ginger’s next door neighbor, Karen, waving to him from her second story picture window. The entry buzzer let him in and he bound up the steps two at a time. Karen opened her door with little Pat bouncing up and down behind her.

  “Hi, Daddy!” Pat waved, hopping around on a pogo stick.

  “Come on in,” Karen said, shaking her head. “Ginger already knows. It was in the Southtown Economist and the Sun-Times.”

  “Where is she? Working?”

  “Working? She’s in Christ Hospital. You didn’t know?”

  “Christ?” Trick’s expression quickly turned to one of concern. “What’s going on?”

  “She passed out at the top of the stairs last night. I called an ambulance. She didn’t look good at all.”

  Trick grabbed his short cropped hair with both hands. “I got to get over there.”

  “What about Junior? I’ve been watching him since last night. He’s a little cutie but I got things to do. Why don’t you take him with you?”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea. I better see how she’s doing first … you know, just in case. I don’t want to scare him,” Trick said low, as Pat dropped the pogo stick and watched intently.

  “What the hell were you thinking? Getting involved with that shit again. Are you that greedy that you’d risk your freedom for a buck?” Karen motioned toward Pat. “With a precious little guy like this? I don’t get you at all.”

  “Pat, go wash your face and hands.” When his son left the room, Trick continued, “It’s not what you think. There’s always more to a situation than meets the eye and I don’t have the time or the inclination to explain it all.” Trick reached into the back pocket of his creased designer jeans. “Look, here’s a little dough. Please, get some kind of costume together and take Pat trick-or-treating. Keep an eye on him while I see what’s going on.”

  Karen took the cash and counted it in front of Trick, flipping through the bills with her lips moving.

  “Come here, Pat,” Trick called, then got down on one knee. Pat ran back into the living room clutching a hand towel, his face dripping with water. Trick pulled him close. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. I love you big bunches.”

  Pat didn’t say a word. He just looked at Trick with sad eyes and nodded.

  ***

  Driving by the main entrance to Christ Hospital and Medical Center, Trick saw Ginger standing out front. He did a U-turn on Kostner Avenue and pulled up near the revolving doors. He put his window down and called, “Hey. What’s going on? You need a ride?”

  Ginger looked around, then got in his car. “Petros was supposed to pick me up
but he never showed.”

  “Told you he was an asshole.” Trick looked at Ginger who just stared ahead as the wiper blades kept time with Broken Wings by Mr. Mister playing low on the radio. “How are you?”

  “My stomach and back hurt. I got a prescription for some pain meds.”

  “Did they say what’s wrong with you?” Trick put his signal on then turned right onto 95th Street.

  “No. They’re running more tests. I’m surprised to see you back out so quick. Did you go see Pat?”

  “Yeah. I gave Karen some dough to get him a costume and take him trick-or-treating.”

  “I wanted to take him,” Ginger’s voice quivered.

  Trick saw a tear roll down her cheek and touched her shoulder. “You can take him next year.”

  “If there is a next year.”

  “Come on. Don’t talk like that. I’m sure you’ll get better once the doctors figure out what’s wrong with you.”

  ***

  After getting Ginger’s prescription filled, they continued south on Cicero. She remained quiet most of the way home. Trick broke the silence as they passed the Condesa Del Mar restaurant and banquet hall. “I was wrong.”

  Ginger opened the paper bag and looked at the label on the brown plastic bottle. “What are you talking about?”

  “Everything. I was wrong about everything.” Trick cleared his throat. “I’m sorry.”

  “That’s a switch.” She put the bottle back in the bag. “I never heard you talk like this.”

  “You were right. I should have never taken the chances I did back then, selling drugs … when I had a wife and a little boy at home waiting for me.”

  “You don’t have to do this, not now.”

  “I do have to. I made excuses. Told myself I was doing it to provide for you and Pat, to set us up, buy a nice house, financial security … all that. I was really doing it to fill a void, an empty spot I had inside. Turned out to be a bottomless pit, caused by the abandonment I felt growing up, not understanding why a mother and father would just ditch me. Spent many years wondering. What was wrong with me? Wasn’t I a cute enough baby?”

  Ginger reached over and squeezed Trick’s arm. “Oh, Pat.”

  “Guess I always felt like I wasn’t good enough. But all the money, fancy clothes, jewelry, didn’t solve my problems. They were just band aids. I know what’s important now. I hope you can forgive me.”

  “Of course I can. I guess I’ve been pretty hard on you. I’m sorry too.”

  When they pulled up in front of Ginger’s apartment, Trick asked, “You think I could come up for a while?”

  “I’m really tired. Maybe we can talk tomorrow.” The interior light went on when she opened the door, illuminating her gaunt cheeks.

  CHAPTER 39

  Since the Oak Lawn Police confiscated Trick’s last two ounces of cocaine, there wasn’t much to do but collect money from his customers. So he spent the day gathering as much cash as he could. It wouldn’t be enough to appease the Mexicans and not even close to paying Starnes back. Trick sat and looked at wads of bills in his open glove compartment and thought. The money he collected wouldn’t do him any good if he were back in prison. It would be even less helpful if he was dead. He purposely missed his meeting with his parole officer and knew he could be locked up again any day now, any hour. He knew what he should do with the money.

  Driving south on Cicero Avenue, Trick saw the Latinos’ Oldsmobile 98 pull out of Hot ‘n Now Hamburgers as if waiting for him to come by. He wondered how they knew he was in a different car now and floored it, darting in and out of traffic when the Olds sped up behind. Horns blared as Trick swerved back and forth between lanes dangerously close to other vehicles. He looked in his rearview mirror to see the four gang members keeping up with him. Accelerating to eighty miles an hour, he looked around for police cars. A minivan changed lanes in front of him and Trick hit the brakes. With the smell of hot tires and grinding brake pads heavy in the air, he swerved, gripping the steering wheel hard, trying not to lose control. He couldn’t stop in time and pulled to the left, bouncing over the median and into oncoming traffic. His glove compartment popped open, spilling cash onto the floor and passenger seat. Reaching over and slamming the glove compartment shut, he cut back into his own lane of traffic, almost clipping the front end of the Olds.

  Someone screamed at him from an open car window. He couldn’t make out what they were yelling and didn’t care. He floored it again, zigzagging in and out of traffic. With his neck muscles aching from tension, he slammed on the brakes just after he flew through the yellow light at 147th Street and did a U-turn, bouncing over the median. Gunning the engine, he ran the red light, narrowly missing a Fasano pie truck that was heading west.

  With the Olds now sandwiched in traffic at the red light, Trick nodded to the driver as he drove past. He continued north on Cicero and pulled into the Crestwood Police Station, parking in the rear of the lot behind rows of other cars. He stuffed handfuls of cash in his pockets, got out, locked his car and circled around the back of the building to 138th Street. He walked the short distance to Lamon Avenue and went south past the dead-end, cutting through the half-bare trees and shrubs. Twigs and leaves crackled under his shoes, high tension lines hummed as he passed under them in the drizzle. As he approached the dead-end side of Leonard Drive, he saw the coffee-colored Olds circle around from Char Lane. He ducked behind a gathering of damp smelling saplings, crouched in the wildflowers and waited. After they pulled off Leonard and onto the Midlothian Turnpike, he ran as fast as he could to Ginger’s apartment building and pushed the buzzer.

  “C’mon, Ginger,” he pleaded into the metal-framed intercom, “answer.”

  A garbled voice asked, “Who is it?”

  “Ginger, it’s me.” Trick huddled under the canopy with his collar up. “Please let me in.”

  She looked out her living room window, then asked, “Where’s your car?”

  “I can’t explain. Buzz me in!”

  After racing up the stairs, Trick’s hearing dimmed. Then his vision started going black as he braced himself against the door jam in view of the peephole.

  Ginger opened the door scowling. “What are you doing here? I just got out of the shower.” She held her terrycloth robe together with one hand and put the other up to shield her face. “I don’t even have my makeup on yet.”

  Trick felt lightheaded and leaned against the door frame breathing heavily. He took a moment to compose himself and rubbed his eyes. “You look cute without all that makeup, like the young lady I first started going out with.” He thought he saw a hint of blush on Ginger’s now gaunt and sallow face.

  “Patrick’s not here. He’s spending the night at his friend’s house.”

  “That’s all right. I wanted to come by and give you some money.” Trick stood in the doorway feeling dizzy and put his face in his hands. “Can I sit down?”

  “Of course.” Ginger led him to the living room sofa and sat next to him. “What’s the matter with you? I never saw you like this.” Her abrasive manner turned to one of concern. “You’re so pale.”

  “Things just keep going from bad to worse. Damn it.” Trick pounded a fist on his leg. “I just wanted to be a good father to Pat. But I screwed everything up. Screwed up my whole life.” Trick pulled wads of cash from various pockets and dumped it all on the coffee table in front of them. “Not sure how much is there. Got to be at least fifteen grand. Why don’t you get away somewhere with Pat?”

  “I can’t just take off.” Ginger looked at the money, reached for it then pulled away. “What about Pat’s school? Where am I going to go?”

  “I don’t know.” Trick rubbed his temples. “I can’t think.”

  “You don’t look good. You’re shaky.”

  “I’ll be all right. As long as I know you two are safe.” Trick held his hands out and watched them tremble.

  “Can I get you something? A glass of water?”

  “Something stronger. What’
ve you got?”

  “Bourbon … but it’s 3:00 in the afternoon.” Ginger waited for a reply that didn’t come. She studied Trick, who was now sitting with his head back against the sofa cushion, staring up at the ceiling. She left the room and came back a few minutes later with two rock glasses of Wild Turkey on ice. Setting them on the coffee table, she sat closer to Trick. “Now you got me worried.” Picking up her glass, she stared at the rich brown color blending with the melting ice and took a sip.

  Trick gulped half the glass down on an empty stomach. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.” His words seemed to be coming from someone else, like he was watching a movie. He wasn’t sure if it was stress, lack of sleep, the bourbon leaving a warm spot in his stomach or the sweet smell of Ginger’s clean wet hair. Reality was harsh. Fantasy felt more welcoming. “I love you and Pat so much.” Tears welled up and he turned his head to hide his shame.

  “Oh, Pat,” Ginger said softly, reaching over and pulling his face toward hers. “It’s OK, Baby. It’s OK.”

  Trick looked down at Ginger’s tanning-bed browned thighs to see her robe separating, revealing she had nothing on underneath. They met in a soft kiss and the passion they once knew for each other exploded. Trick got on his knees in front of Ginger, grabbed her legs and pulled her forward. They made love fast and hard and Trick climaxed quickly.

  With his face on Ginger’s bare chest, Trick whispered breathily, “That’s the first time since I got out. I feel like a fifteen-year-old who just got laid for the first time.”

  “What? Are you trying to tell me you haven’t been with anyone else? That’s a little hard to believe.”

  “Scout’s honor.”

  “You were never a Boy Scout.” Ginger giggled as Trick scooped her up in his arms and carried her into the bedroom.

  ***

  It was dark out when Trick woke with Ginger in his arms. He was forced to think about what he avoided facing earlier; Ginger was so thin he could feel her rib cage. She had lost an alarming amount of weight and the whites of her eyes were tinged with yellow. Disoriented, he glanced at his watch in the dim glow of a nightlight to see it was going on 7:00. He tried getting out of bed without waking her and put his feet on the floor.