Detective Kumar came out of Jon Tam’s apartment about then and saw me in a stare-down with the cop. “Well, Benny,” he said, “What brings you to Mr. Tam’s apartment? Just coming to see a friend?”
He said “coming to see a friend” like that’s the answer a bad liar would give, so I said, “Yes, that’s exactly right. What brings you here?”
Kumar came around the front desk. He motioned the cop toward the door to Jon Tam’s. “Go lock the place up. Make sure about the windows too.” The cop looked me over one last time as though he thought he might have to identify me in a lineup someday and didn’t want to make any mistakes. He scowled, took one step back to get out of range of me making a reach for his gun, then turned abruptly and swaggered back to the apartment.
Kumar turned to address me.
There are two kinds of bully. There are the ones that are mean and obvious. They get right in next to you and tell you they’re going to break your legs, or your nose, or your balls. They might wave a gun around. They might yell and stomp. They get on their toes and in your face like a male bird fighting for a mate or an alpha dog asserting her dominance. And then there are the ones who act like a friend trying to do you a favor. They might act like they’re making you a deal, “I’m trying to help you, but you need to help me a little too.” They might put an arm around your shoulder, talk quietly, use your name a lot, but all the while there remains a subtle undertone of violence. They move around the real issue like a gently circling shark or like an eagle soaring above its prey. An eagle will suddenly fold up its wings at just the right moment and drop like a cannonball for the kill. Kumar was the second kind of bully.
“You’re always turning up just when you shouldn’t, aren’t you Benny?” he said in a conversational, sympathetic way, as though we were chums.
“I guess I have a knack. Is Jon Tam dead too?”
“No. He’s at the station. Maybe I should bring you in too, Benny. I bet you remember something about the judge’s death you haven’t told me yet. Isn’t that right?”
I watched him closely. He thought I knew something. In fact, he appeared sure of it. I wished at that moment I knew what it was he thought I knew, because I felt completely ignorant. “Look,” I said, “I just came to see him because he was good friends with Chen and Paulo, and I thought he might need a little consolation. I thought maybe he’d want to go out for a beer or something.”
Kumar leaned against a post. “It’ll be awhile before Mr. Tam can go out for a beer. We arrested him for running a derpal kitchen right here in the hotel.”
Derpal was one of those drugs that people liked to use for years and years. Those I knew who used it weren’t in any hurry to quit. It was cheap and easy to make. For most people it made them drunk about four minutes after one swig. But for those hardened users, you could drink it through your nose and get a special woozy that was as intense as it was fleeting. People who used it that way would become very mad when it was gone. I’d thought that was what happened to Chen and Paulo, but knowing that at least Chen was still alive made me wonder.
I nodded solemnly to Kumar. Just like any other work based on commission, detective work was unfair and biased. I felt like pushing Kumar’s buttons because he was working so hard to push mine. I guess I just felt mean at that particular moment; and more than a little frustrated. “How much you get for bagging a derpal kitchen and making the arrest?” I said. “Can’t be much. Do all the big jobs, the ones with the big money busts, go to the chief’s kids? Maybe you should think about a different line of work if this is the type of bone the department is tossing you.” I turned and walked toward the doors. I tried to swagger like the uniform had.
“Hey,” Kumar said to my back. “I know it wasn’t Chen who died. If you’d told me that, I might have let Carla out, thinking you were on the good guys’ side.”
I spun around, “Carla?”
“Carla’s in custody too,” he said. He actually smiled. I wasn’t overly surprised to find out he enjoyed my predicament just as Chen did, but he wanted to make sure I knew he enjoyed it. That, I found especially maddening, which, I suppose, was his intent. “She was seen at the restaurant next to the alley with the judge right before he died. I’m holding her on suspicion right now.”
I wanted to smack him. I wanted to scream at him. But my mouth opened and closed and nothing came out. The usual wisecrack was nowhere to be found. Fear had ripped even the interest in a smart response right out of me. I must have looked like a hooked fish gulping air.
The cop came back out of the apartment at that moment. While I thrashed on the line, Kumar turned toward him and said, “Turn on the cameras, Carmine. I want to know who else comes visiting tonight.” He turned back to me and smiled. If smirking were a performance art, Kumar would have been able to sell tickets. “Let me know if you find out anything else of interest, won’t you?”
“I know right where to find you, detective.” I couldn’t look at him anymore. The swagger had been taken out of me, so I plodded out the door.
Carla was locked up, and, as I stomped toward the street, I felt more alone than I’d ever felt in my life. Not much affected me before I met Carla, but now I had something to lose. My loneliness was like a lens magnifying my anger. I shoved my fists in my pockets hard enough to hurt my hands and my jacket. Ineffectual, idiotic lout. Saying that to myself over and over didn’t help either. Usually, I could use reverse psychology. If I kept telling myself I was stupid, I would eventually admit that maybe that wasn’t really true, and that I was being too critical, but even my self-deprecation wasn’t working. I was accepting my insults as a completely accurate assessment.
The third person I walked into gave me a shove, and I cursed him. I stomped on.
I felt sure Carla couldn’t have killed the judge, and I felt sure that if she knew who had killed the judge she would tell the police, but my reasoning wouldn’t hold up for anyone who wasn’t in love with her. I had to get her out of jail, and I knew the only way she was going to be released anytime soon was if I figured out who murdered the judge. To do that, I needed to talk to Chen.
I tramped North on Bigbash, trying to decide if I could watch Jon Tam’s apartment building long enough to meet up with Chen without the police noticing. Maybe he lived there now, maybe not. I didn’t know if he would return to the building at all, but it was the only lead I had.
A guy in a gray coat brushed passed me. When I glanced over to scowl at him, he winked at me and said, “Meet me Under The River at seven,” then he sped up and turned left on Gripe Street.
Chapter 13
Chen must have thought we were being watched when he passed me on the street, and I suppose we were. Much of the city was under surveillance at any moment. If Kumar wanted to see where I went and who I had talked to, he could do it, but he’d spend hours looking through memsticks from each store’s outside cameras. I doubted I was worth that effort.
Under The River, where Chen had asked to meet, was an abandoned, below-street-level train station the size of a soccer stadium, which was actually alongside the river, rather than under it. The east side was open to the weather and looked down onto the mud of the Chicago River. The homeless and the hoboes and the bums used Under The River as a place to stay warm and somewhat safe in a chaotic mix of boxes, barrels, rummage tables, and day-old-food markets. It was a cavernous place, bounded by a low wall dividing it from the river on its east side and a maze of underground offices and apartments called the Warren on its west.
The Warren housed criminals who could no longer show their faces topside. Everyone called them Gnomes because they would die, or at least be arrested, if sunlight touched them.
The homeless who lived Under The River could have made it difficult for the Gnomes, but it was a symbiotic relationship. The Gnomes of the Warren, who had money if not mobility, paid a group of techs to keep electricity and plumbing and some data flowing. Apparently to keep the metaphor intact, people called the techs who did this work Elv
es. The homeless acted as a buffer between the Gnomes and the police.
There would be no surveillance cameras Under The River. The police left Under The River to itself. It had law. It had justice. Just not police. The sentence for just about any disturbance was to toss the perpetrator out over the east wall and into the river without trial.
Resting on top of Under The River, were office buildings and apartment towers, their residents mostly unaware that under their feet there was a hidden little Chicago.
I knew Chen would want to meet by the west wall. That’s where he often went to buy secondhand gadgets and absurdly inexpensive photonics. Chen had said seven. It was four, and I knew those three hours would last forever if I didn’t do something with my hands and my mind other than twitch and fret. I decided to go back and search the public records and even the individual traffic for more references to the judge and his death.
So I went to the library and searched and read and even took notes, which was not a Benny thing to do. I decided it was a Benjamin thing to do though, and compiled a list of questions which I sought to answer. The ones I couldn’t find an answer to at the library, I was hoping Chen would help me with. Like, who killed the judge?
One thing I did find out was that the judge wasn’t investigating criminal narcotics dealers after all. He was exploring corruption within the narcotics division of the police force, and the investigation was aimed at police who used their surveillance equipment and techniques and a group of prostitutes for blackmail.
The source of this new bit of information was an anonymous police officer on the payroll of Up Your News. Up Your News was chaotic and impudent and irreverent and sometimes silly, but they were always a whirl to read. They had no sense of propriety, and I could never figure out how they avoided being shut down for one reason or another. Not the most dignified news agency, but the most entertaining, and sometimes, the only one with the truth. Sometimes not, but in this case other news agencies claimed they’d also dug out the same information earlier and just didn’t report it because the police department asked them not to. Yeah.
They closed the library at six, so I headed for the river. It was a short walk, but the weather wasn’t cooperating. The wind made the trip seem like a hike up the Circus Tower. On the positive side, there were few people out in the wind, and I could see anyone who might be following, but no one went my way. I did a few extra circle backs and side trips and came into Under The River by the north stairs.
Under The River was humid, and brightly lit from high intensity lamps and a few low intensity fires. I picked a paper napkin up off the concrete, wadded the cleanest corners into ear plugs and burrowed my way through the crowd along the west wall. Previously, I had been there only during the day, when many of the people were away, out on the streets above scavenging or begging. At night, it was a tight squeeze and the place felt and smelled like the inside of a sweaty old sock. They could have used a little of the wind from topside.
I cruised the tables looking at memstick players where the screen fit right over your eyeball, solar powered personal air conditioners, soap, boots, stuffed birds, even touchpoint jewelry that could make you happy if you went near someone else who wore the matching jewelry. I stopped at a wrist unit table and noticed the time was about ten past seven.
I glanced around and saw Chen a few tables away looking at belts. He’d changed from a gray businessman’s look to a sort of pirate garb, wearing a large gold loop in his left ear and a bandana stretched over his head and tied in the back. He had no parrot, yet he gave the impression that he usually had one, that it had just flown off looking for something to eat. I moved generally in his direction, picking things up and putting them down as though browsing.
“I think you need a bigger one,” Chen said when I picked up a thong. I’d picked it up without realizing it, but Chen seemed amused.
I had a million questions. I even had the top five written down on a piece of paper somewhere, but all I could come up with was, “What’s going on, Chen?”
Chen winked. I was really starting to hate that. With a slight tilt of his head, he motioned for me to follow him. We wove around a bit and ended up at a huge stapled-together box. One piece of the cardboard had a doorknob sticking out. He stuck his hand in a ragged hole near the door, and I heard a click from the palm lock. Chen opened the door and motioned me in.
The inside of the cardboard box was paneled in dark wood. It contained a kitchen, a couch, two easy chairs, and a bath tub. The air was conditioned and comfortable. It was relatively quiet.
Chen took off his coat. “Want a derpal?”
“No,” I said, dropping into a chair. I actually relaxed. For the first time in days, I knew the cops didn’t know where I was and weren’t viewing me. I still had all my troubles, but Chen’s relaxed attitude and apparent lack of concern made me feel like things might not be so bad.
Chen quick-frosted a derpal shot and sat down, putting his feet up on an ottoman that slid out smoothly from under the couch. He grinned at me. “Been to see Jon Tam?”
“Yeah, you already know that. I saw you in the mirror. They took him to jail for making derpal.”
“Actually, Kumar took him to jail because he makes derpal and because he knows me. I’m surprised Kumar didn’t arrest you too. Why haven’t they arrested you, Benny?”
I felt suddenly chill. Chen was accusing me of something, though I didn’t know what, exactly. And I thought, what if Chen is a murderer? What if Paulo made me forget that? What if Chen brought me here to kill me too, because he thinks I remember too much?
Chen stared at me and sipped his drink. I didn’t know what to say. I had planned to be the one to ask the questions. I had planned to be in control.
“I don’t know,” I said. I looked at the bottom of his shoes, pink gum and part of the wrapper from a straw. I built up a little nerve staring at his soles. “Who killed the judge, Chen?” I looked into his eyes.
He looked back at me. I think he was trying to decide whether to lie to me or not. Finally, he smiled humorlessly and winked. “You killed the judge, Benny. Can’t you remember whacking him over the head with a piece of angle iron? No of course not. You forget anything that ties you to your own past. You want to live for the future only, tear off the rear view mirror and act like your history is just an inheritance.”
He paused while I reeled. I killed the judge? Could I do that?
“Of course you had the judge’s murder forgotten didn’t you, Benny? You don’t even remember how much you like to forget.” Chen continued while he stood up and quick-frosted another derpal. “Do you remember where you went to high school, Benny? What kind of car you used to drive? Do you even remember your mother’s name?”
He’d become angry now. Like this was all my fault. But he was right, I couldn’t remember my mother’s name. Was I an orphan? No. I could picture her clearly standing at a shop’s service counter complaining that her new refrigerator had ordered eggs four days in a row when we didn’t need eggs, that the refrigerator was faulty, and the refrigerator company should pay for the eggs because she sure wasn’t going to. She wore a pale gray shirt and blue pants with a black stripe that wound slowly down her leg like a spring. The spring was more compressed at the top and bottom. Her shoes were white and reflected the sunlight that shone through the plate glass on the shop’s store front.
The appliance shop was in Glen Ellyn and faced the CAT tracks. She’d bought a cowboy hat for me that same day. She was upset about the refrigerator, but had been unusually happy the rest of the day. “Clean air,” she said. “Enjoy it. It wasn’t always like this,” and she smiled and we walked hand in hand across the tracks. There was a breeze that blew up the tracks from the west, and she turned toward the afternoon sun then closed her eyes. I remember doing the same thing and feeling the warmth and seeing the red glow of the sun on the inside of my eyelids, imagining I was a plant absorbing the sunlight and growing. The wind caused a cool evaporation on my face, and, as th
e wind built and dropped, I could sense the sun more and less on my skin. It hadn’t rained for a while, so I could smell the dusty tang of the bed gravel that lay between the rails. I opened my eyes and looked at her again. She was looking at me. It was the first time I’d studied her face, and it may have been the first time she looked at me as a young man, I don’t know.
Sitting in Chen’s box I could remember my mother, just not her name.
Chen came close and leaned down at me. “I keep telling you that forgetting is supposed to be a one-time thing. That each time you use it, you lose more and more other memories, associations, important things, but every time you have something bad happen, you run off and forget all about it. I like you Benny, but forgetting is a drug with you and this time, it cost Paulo his life.
“Paulo?” I was shaking. What had I done? “Sukey killed Paulo, didn’t he?”
Chen dumped his derpal down his throat and poured another.
“The world revolves around you, Benny. History changes for you. Things never happened that you don’t want to have ever happened. How can you live with yourself? You’re a stranger. Don’t you ever wake up and wonder who you were the day before? Don’t you ever notice the holes, the spaces left blank? Those spaces are emotional things, tragic things, maybe illegal or evil things, but they’re part of you. It’s the foundation of your personality, and it’s full of holes. I don’t know what Carla ever saw in you.” He turned and went to the sink again.
“Carla?” I grasped onto the only thing that made sense. Carla made sense. I tried to refocus on getting Carla out of jail. I briefly thought about going and giving myself up, but that would only implicate Carla more. Did I actually kill the judge? Dumbfounded and suddenly cold, I sat there feeling very alone.
“Yeah, Carla. You don’t even remember who she was to you, you pathetic sap. Things get tough and you forget.”
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