Chicago Blue: A Red Riley Adventure

by Stephanie Andrews

  It occurred to me that I should really get a motorcycle if I was going to be doing a lot of this kind of work in the future. The parking, the flexibility, the fact that I’d always wanted one. Then I realized, for the millionth time, that I could be in jail or dead any day now. Not really the time to think about long-term purchases.

  I was able to rent a car, a nondescript Ford Taurus, thanks to Uncle Elgort and his great-nephew, Nicholas. I had returned to Shelby Furniture yesterday, after leaving the stadium.

  Uncle Elgort had been nowhere around, but Don had met me at the door and escorted me to a back office on the ground floor, away from the showroom windows.

  He had me take a seat and then buzzed upstairs for Nicholas. While we were waiting, he leaned back in his chair and gave me a long look.

  “I think we met, once,” he said at last.

  “Really?”

  “Yes. I know your Dad didn’t want anything to do with our family—“

  I started to object, but he waved me away.

  “Don’t worry, I don’t hold it against you, as I was about to say, you were a little girl. Not your fault. But I’m pretty sure you were one of the kids at Eldon and Nicholas’s funeral. You and Nicky are barely old enough to remember it, but you were both there.” His faced soured. “It was a terrible day.”

  “You’re named for him?”

  “I am.” He offered no more, and we sat in silence for a minute until Nicholas entered the office, a manila folder in his hand.

  “Well, looks like you two are getting along just great,” he said, setting the folder on the desk.

  “Hello.”

  He looked at me.

  “Stand up and take the glasses off, if you don’t mind.”

  I did as he asked, suddenly a bit self-conscious. He stepped close and peered at my face.

  “Nice work with the make-up. You’ve done it just as I showed you.”

  “Yes, sensei.”

  He ignored me, probing my hairline to check that I had attached the wig properly. He stepped back.

  “Looks good,” he nodded. “You might want to be a little more careful with your cleavage.”

  I looked down. I had the top two buttons of my blouse undone, but I wouldn’t call it indecent by any stretch of the imagination.

  “The freckles,” he said hastily. “They don’t match your new complexion. You should put some base on them.”

  I looked down at my chest, and then realized he was looking at my chest as well. Then he realized that I realized that he was looking at my chest, and we both reddened and looked away at the same time.

  “Okay!” said Don, rising to his feet and clapping his hand together. “I’ll let you two have some time alone.”

  Nick and I began to protest at the same time, but Don had already left the room.

  Silence hung in the air for a moment, and then I motioned with my eyes toward the folder on the desk.

  “Yes,” he said, recovering. “Here we are.”

  He started at the beginning. Birth certificate, high school transcripts (I could have done better, if I’d only dedicated myself to studying a little harder). Driver’s license, two credit cards, a passport. Lastly there were three wallet sized photos. One of me with two little girls, one of me standing in front of the Taj Mahal, and one of my father and mother and me when I was 6 years old.

  The first two were fakes, made with the photos he took in front of the green screen (I have no idea who the little girls were, but I’ve since named them Hazel and Maria, my nieces). The third photo was the real thing, and I looked up at Nicholas with astonishment.

  “How? Where did you get this?”

  “Mom. She hoarded family memorabilia, there’s boxes of it.”

  I frowned. “She’s passed?”

  “Yeah, Dad too. It’s just me and Don and Uncle Elgort, who seems prepared to live to 150. Anyway,” he stepped around to the back of the desk and sat down, “that must be from a wedding of one of the cousins. Don says weddings and wakes were about the only thing your family showed up for.”

  I looked at the picture again, and had to swallow back tears.

  “Thank you. I don’t have many pictures like this.”

  “I’m glad you like it.”

  I rose to leave, gathering everything back into the manila folder and putting it in my shoulder bag.

  “Will you send me an invoice?”

  Nick smiled.

  “I’m sure you know it doesn’t work like that.” He straightened up quickly when he saw my expression change. “I don’t mean anything sinister,” he rushed to add. “It’s just Uncle Elgort. He made it clear there was to be no charge.”

  “Well,” I stopped with my hand on the door. “Tell him I said thank you, and I will pay him back some day.”

  So now I was able to rent a car, and buy things with a credit card (Don had set up a bank account for me with $5000 in it, and a PO box in my new name for the bills to go to).

  It was a big, big help, and if I needed to get out of the city, or out of the country, fast, I’d be able to do it now. But I couldn’t leave yet. I was determined to clear my name, or at least figure out who had framed me, and get some revenge.

  That’s why I was on surveillance detail, and just across the street I could see my target getting out of his car: Greg Ralston.

  He stepped quickly from the car and entered the building. I checked my hair in the rearview one last time, grabbed my lunch bag, and followed.

  Twenty-five

  Last night, half asleep, researching the telecommunications industry online, I had recovered another memory from the night of the explosion. Blalock had said to me: “I told Ralston to hurry…” or something like that. Had Greg Ralston been in the building that night? And was he somehow in cahoots with Carter Blalock? It seemed like there were a lot more connections between the two companies than most people realized.

  In fact, looking back through press coverage over the last decade, it was rare to find any instances of the two companies attacking each other in public. Sure, they had competing phone and internet plans, but it did not seem as hostile as Coke and Pepsi, or McDonalds and Burger King. Katy Perry and Taylor Swift. No lawsuits, no acrimony. Two companies in the same field, headquartered in the same city, run by two men who had been college pals. Hmm.

  I was beginning to think that the stolen document might dictate the terms of a merger, if one of the two men were to die or be incapacitated. This would be highly unusual, as both Farnham and Illcom were public companies, but each CEO did own more than 50% of their respective companies.

  I was convinced that I was on the right track with Ralston. I had followed as he left work mid-day, driving by himself across the city. He was wearing a sharp suit and dark sunglasses, but nothing strange there; it seemed to be his standard daily attire.

  He parked on West 19th St., and entered the National Museum of Mexican Art. Well, that was an unexpected destination. On the other hand, it made smart sense. Who would expect to find an ex-military security agent strolling through an art museum? It was a great place for a secret meeting.

  I hurried up the stairs, into the lobby, and moved quickly to the exhibits (Free admittance! Awesome museum!). I wanted to get ahead of Ralston, so it wouldn’t seem like I was tailing him through the museum.

  I moved through a few rooms, passing a lit sign that read “Make Tacos Not War,” until I sat myself on a bench in front of a beautiful Flor Gaduño photograph. I thought instantly of my mother, the real Georgette, who had taught Art for so many years until she was forced to resign because of her illness. Some people follow in their parents’ footsteps, some run the other way. I’d botched the job completely, following in Dad’s footsteps, when really I should have followed in Mom’s. I loved art. The Art Instute of Chicago felt like a second home, something I ‘d never really talked about with my fellow officers on the force. I could just imagine how those conversations would go.

  I took a sandwich out of my lunch bag and h
ad eaten half of it when suddenly a docent entered the room. He was a small man, of east Asian descent, in a sharp blue uniform with a name tag that read “Hao.” He looked at me, then looked at my sandwich, and shook his head disapprovingly. I looked him square in the eye and shoved the last half of the sandwich completely in my mouth. It was a tight fit, and I had a bit of trouble chewing, but boy did I show him who’s boss.

  He still didn’t say a word. He just looked at me through thick glasses and took up a place against the bare wall by the entryway. It was clear he had decided that he needed to keep an eye on me.

  I heard voices, then, coming from the adjacent exhibit space, and turned to see Greg Ralston enter the room, walking hand in hand with Valerie Archer! They were leaning their heads close together, and whispering, but judging from their demeanor they were not discussing corporate espionage.

  Well, they were both gorgeous, and they worked in the same building. I guess these kinds of relationships happen between coworkers in the workplace. In other workplaces besides my precinct. Or to other people in my precinct, who are not me.

  Originally, I would have thought Archer was a bit above Ralston’s pay grade, but I was beginning to suspect that his position at Farnham was a bit more convoluted then just being a security guard.

  Another couple, retirees by the look of them, entered the room as well, and I returned my attention to the photographs on the wall, keeping my ears focused.

  “…you know we can’t, yet,” Valerie Archer was saying. “Not right now, there is too much going on.”

  “Oh please,” said Ralston roughly, “I’m sure Ferris already knows. I’ve known him forever, and trust me when I say he keeps tabs on everyone, you included.”

  “Not quite as zen as he appears,” said Archer wryly.

  “Well, who knows. Maybe he’ll become one with the universe soon.”

  “Greg! Don’t even kid about that.”

  “It would make you the new CEO of Farnham,” Ralston said in a teasing voice, but a long silence followed. They were behind me, but I pictured them staring uneasily at each other as the moment stretched. Then Valerie Archer laughed a smooth, honey laugh.

  “I don’t think that would work out the way you want it to, Sweetie. If Ferris comes to a bad end on your watch as head of security, I would most surely have to fire you.”

  “I’m ready for the next room, Luis,” a woman’s loud voice cut in.

  “I’m still looking!” shouted the old man, clearly hard of hearing.

  “Because she’s naked,” the woman shouted back, yanking Luis by the arm. “You are still looking because she’s naked.”

  Greg and Valerie chuckled to each other, amused by the elderly couple, and started for the archway themselves.

  Just then, a sound like a cannon echoed through the room. Instinctively, I rolled off my bench and on to the floor, looking up just in time to see Greg Ralston reach smoothly into his suit coat and pull a revolver from a shoulder holster. Valerie Archer screamed.

  From the other side of the room, Hao the docent shouted “GUN!” and leapt at Ralston, grabbing him around the wrist with both hands. I braced myself for gunfire, but it never came.

  I assume Hao had intended to wrestle Ralston to the ground and relieve him of his gun, but that of course was not what happened. The man was a mountain, and the docent probably weighed 140 pounds at the most. Greg grabbed him by the back of his uniform and pulled him back and away. Then after looking around the room quickly he put the revolver back in its holster.

  “Who are you!” demanded the docent.

  “I’m sorry,” growled Ralston, though he didn’t sound particularly so. “I’m a security specialist. I have a license for this.”

  “Well, you shouldn’t have it in here. You could have killed someone.”

  “What the hell was that noise?” Ralston said in response.

  Hao took a deep breath, I assumed adrenaline was still coursing through his veins.

  “It was a foul ball, from Harrison Park next door. Hitting the roof. It happens every once in a while.”

  “Are you okay?” asked a voice at my elbow. I turned to see Valerie Archer picking up my broken glasses from the hardwood floor. She reached out a hand to help me up.

  “Yeah. Just my pride,” I said as I got to my feet. The older couple had fled the room in a panic.

  “But your glasses are ruined,” she said, holding them up to the light. She seemed suddenly intrigued, and looked at them more closely. “They don’t have any magnification.”

  “Right,” I mumbled, taking the glasses from her. “They’re just for show.”

  Archer smiled knowingly, and leaned in toward me.

  “I always find museums romantic, too,” she whispered. “A great place for a secret meeting.”

  I gathered up my things. Hao and Ralston were still talking in hushed tones. Hao was clearly still mad at having someone bring a firearm into the museum.

  “Yes, well,” I said with a bit of sorrow in my voice. “It looks like my date isn’t going to show. I’ve got to get back to work.”

  “Goodbye,” said Archer, and turned back toward Greg Ralston. I felt another pang about having stolen her credit card. Maybe I’d make it up to her someday.

  I made my way to the door and out into the sunshine, convinced that Ralston was either deeply on edge about something, or that it was time for him to find a new job, maybe collecting stamps or something else that was peaceful and quiet.

  Twenty-six

  From a quiet park bench I called Marty with my new superspy Sim card. I tilted my face up toward the warm spring sun. It was a beautiful day to still be alive.

  Marty wanted to talk more about the technology of that than he wanted to talk about Greg Ralston.

  “Just please, Martin, can you look into Greg Ralston again. Especially the old stuff. I want to know how he came to be associates with Farnham, and whether or not he had any relationship with Blalock.”

  Marty grimaced down the line.

  “I’ll do what I can. Why don’t you ask Aldo Frances?”

  “Thank you. I would, but everything just seems so insular. I want to keep outside this circle of Farnham and Blalock. Everything seems connected and incestuous, and Aldo is part of that circle. Also, I like him, and I’m worried that he’s next on the hit list. I don’t want to draw any more attention to him. Dragging him out to the ballgame was a foolish idea. I could have gotten him killed.”

  “Okay, then, we focus on Ralston.”

  “For now. The theory I’m working on is that Ralston is trying to get his girlfriend, Valerie Archer, promoted to CEO of Farnham, which means Ferris Farnham is possibly still in danger.”

  “What about Pershing and this Salerno person?”

  “Well, they could be behind it, that’s true. Or they could be a red herring, or it could be both things: Pershing destabilizing the telecom industry, Ralston trying to take advantage.”

  “What about Valerie Archer, or Belinda Blalock?”

  “Ack, Marty, I don’t know.” I paused to consider. “Aldo confirms Belinda’s assertion that she doesn’t stand to gain anything from Illcom, so I don’t see what her motive is.”

  “That’s why I like her for it. It’s always the ones you don’t suspect. In fact, it’s almost always the police chief. Have we investigated the police chief yet?”

  “No, and we aren’t going to.”

  “And Archer?”

  “Well, she has the motive, and the access to technology, but I don’t think so. She was really very nice to me at the museum.”

  Marty snorted. “Kay, come on!”

  “I know, it sounds stupid. Sometimes I use my brain, sometimes I use my gut. It’s what cops do.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m a computer scientist, I’ll stick to brains. I’ve got to go. My gut is telling me I’m hungry.”

  “Okay, buddy. Do me a favor and update Ruby on all this. I’m going to go sit on the Farnham Building for a while and see if I can
see anything there.”

  The Farnham Building was a little out of the heart of things, over in Cabrini-Green, not far from my old station. I knew from researching Farnham that he had picked this area to signal his belief in real urban renewal. Among the office buildings and condos springing up on the site of the old public housing, Farnham planned to build midsize, rent controlled apartments for Farnham employees. A strange guy, Ferris was, He did everything right on paper: brilliant, virtuous, enlightened; but in person he seemed a cold fish. I didn’t know quite what to make of him. Maybe his tie to Blalock was strong because he didn’t really have any other friends.

  I sat on a bench in Seward Park, where I had a clear view of the front of the building. This made me nervous. I had to keep reminding myself: new hair, new clothes, new car. No one would recognize me.

  I was wearing a grey dress skirt and a light blue blouse, with low-heeled shoes that were dressy, but that I could run in if I needed to. I don’t think any of my fellow cops had ever seen me in anything other than a uniform, or jeans and a sweatshirt. It was true what Nicholas had said: shifting social class makes you more invisible. Even my captain would probably walk right by me without a second glance.

  Nicholas. I spent some time thinking about Nicholas, because stake-outs can cause daydreaming. It’s a common side effect.

  “Hello, Kay,” I heard him say, and then felt a real hand on my arm.

  “Christ!” I yelled, leaping up and knocking my water bottle to the ground.

  It was him, in the park, with a steadying hand on my shoulder.

  “Whoa, there. Calm down. I’m sorry.”

  I took several deep breaths to calm myself, and sat back on the bench. He sat next to me, real as could be.

  “No, I’m sorry. I was distracted, and you just…well, you scared the crap out of me.” I straightened my blouse, and put a hand to my head to check that my wig hadn’t been dislodged.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked him.

  “I was just walking by, and I saw you. I’m surprised that you’re out in public, even with the disguise. It must be nerve-racking.” His voice was smooth and sounded like maple ice cream tasted.