Windy City Knights

by Michael A. Black

  “I did. It was stolen in a burglary about a week or so ago.”

  They exchanged looks again, then Randecki spoke, “How convenient.” He moved toward me, emphasizing each phrase with his extended index finger. “So what are you saying. Shade? That you can’t account for the whereabouts of this particular weapon of yours?”

  “I’m saying that if you find my twenty-two, I’d like to have it back,” I said. “It’s sort of a family heirloom. My uncle left it to me when he died. The serial number should be listed in the computer as stolen.”

  “You know that Peeps is dead?” Randecki said.

  “I heard,” I said.

  “He was beat up pretty bad. Like somebody used him for a punching bag.” Randecki leaned forward. “You mind showing me your hands?”

  I held them up.

  “Looks like you mixed it up with someone,” he said.

  “Several people actually. I’ve been training for a fight.”

  “Did you know a twenty-two was the murder weapon, Ron?” Reed said.

  “Was it your twenty-two, Shade?” Randecki said, leaning closer to me now. His breath smelled like stale cigarettes and strong coffee.

  I looked up at him, resisting the temptation to shove his leering face away with the palm of my hand.

  He must have sensed something, or maybe had planned it that way.

  “You want to take a swing at me, Shade?” Randecki said. “Well go ahead. But I gotta tell you, you don’t look so tough.”

  “Looks can be deceiving,” I said.

  “You know, I think I could take you myself.”

  “Come by the gym and try,” I said, leaning back slightly. “I can always use another sparring partner. Look, find the person who burglarized my house, and you can ask him about the gun.”

  “Shade, I told you before,” Randecki said, his face stopping an inch or so from my nose. “I don’t like smart-asses.”

  I knew he was trying to get me to take a poke at him. Then they could hold me, and really shake me down. It’d give them the standard seventy-two hours to assemble some charges. Maybe get a warrant to search my house, and sweat me some more. I was debating the prudence of another smart-ass remark when the door abruptly opened and George stuck his head in.

  “What the hell’s goin’ on here?” he said.

  “Butt out, Grieves,” Randecki said. “This ain’t your district or your case.”

  “I told you guys to wait till I got over here,” George said, stepping into the room. His voice had that certain edge it got when he was about to explode.

  “We figured we’d better get started,” Reed said, standing up. “Your lieutenant over in the Deuce told us that you were real tight with Ron here. Figured it might be hard for you.”

  “You back-doored me with the L.T.?” George said, scowling. He looked at each of them, then said, “You lowlife sons of bitches.”

  “Fuck you, Grieves, we don’t have to take none of your shit,” Randecki said.

  George shot forward more rapidly than I’d ever seen him move and shoved Randecki up against the wall with a resounding thump. The mustached detective tried to squirm away, but George leaned his weight forward, pinning Randecki to the wall, and clamped a big hand over his face, squeezing the other man’s lips into an exaggerated pucker.

  “Listen, asshole,” George said, “you ain’t seen shit yet. I told you on the phone that this guy was family. And I expected him to be treated as such. I asked him to come down here to help out the Department with a murder investigation, and you two jokers go double-teaming him without even showing me the professional courtesy of an invitation.” Randecki tired to squirm away again, but George’s big fingers crushed the puckered lips together more, making them look like purple licorice twists. “And then you dime me out to my boss…Why, I oughtta kick your fuckin’ ass just on general principles.”

  “Hey take it easy, Grieves,” Reed said, trying to pry the two men apart. “Come on, let him go.”

  George released Randecki, who immediately gave George a hard shove. Both men balled up their fists, and Reed and I both jumped between them and pulled them back.

  “You just wait, Grieves,” Randecki said.

  “Any time, pal,” George said. Then emphatically to me, “You ain’t got nothing else to say, right?”

  It was actually more of a statement than a question.

  I shrugged and shook my head.

  “Hey, just a minute,” Reed said. “I thought you wanted to cooperate, Mr. Shade.”

  “I told you he wanted to voluntarily come down here,” George said. “He admits to being in the office, and the gun’s reported stolen in a burglary back in December. You two guys ain’t got shit to hold him, and you and I both know it. Now we’re leaving, unless you want to really fuck up big time and hold him for nothing, in which case I’ll personally make the call to OPS.”

  “You’d bring those assholes in?” Randecki said.

  “Yeah,” George said. “Plus the ACLU, and anybody else I can think of.”

  Randecki massaged his jaw and looked malevolently at George, but didn’t say anything. Reed seemed to ponder momentarily, then said, “You’re free to go, Shade. You got a number where we can get in touch with you if we need to?”

  I gave him one of my cards. George walked out of the room and I followed. We found Laurie sitting in a break room down the hall drinking some coffee from a Styrofoam cup. She stood up and smiled at us as we entered.

  “Everything okay?” she said.

  “It is now,” I said. “The Lone Ranger here rescued me from the evil clutches of two assholes.”

  Laurie’s eyebrows raised. George’s face scrunched up and he made a dismissive gesture with his hand.

  “Come on,” he said. “Let’s get the hell outta here.”

  “Yes, Kemosabe,” I said.

  “Will you knock that shit off,” he said through clenched teeth.

  “I mean it,” I continued as we walked down the hallway toward the doors. “I’m gonna get you a white hat and a mask for Christmas next year. Then we’ll trade in your pick-up for a big white horse. I ain’t never seen anything like it.”

  He snorted, but the slight remnants of a smile danced over his lips. We turned from the long hallway and started toward the front doors of the station house.

  “But just tell me one thing, okay?” I said.

  He nodded.

  “Were you really gonna hit that jerk?”

  “I was thinking very seriously about it.”

  We pushed through the glass doors and the cool January air engulfed us.

  “Man, that’s a relief,” I said. “The way you were squeezing his lips together like that, I was worried you were thinking about giving him a big old kiss.”

  I’d run almost to the car before he gave up chasing me.

  CHAPTER 23

  George had a pensive look as his big fingers held the ceramic coffee cup. He worked his mouth like he was going to say something, glanced across at Laurie and me, then took a swig of the steaming dark brew. Laurie sat hunched in the corner of the booth, staring down at the table in stunned silence, stirring her cup with an almost detached look. I was the only one who didn’t seem extraordinarily fazed by the unexpected turn of events, other than the fact that nobody had seemed the least bit impressed by my power tie.

  “I hope this ain’t gonna get you in trouble with your boss,” I said finally.

  George shrugged and looked like he was trying to act nonchalant. It didn’t work.

  “Don’t worry about it,” he said. “Won’t be the first time.” He took another sip. “Besides, those two assholes will get what’s coming to ’em. I called them earlier and told them you were family.” He squinted reflectively as he looked over at me. “And they don’t even show me the professional courtesy of waiting till I got there…. Word will get around.” He shook his head. “The pricks.”

  I waited a half a beat then said, “So will you finally admit that I was right?”


  “Huh?” he said, his face scrunching up as he set down his cup.

  “That there are just too damn many coincidences in this thing for it all not to be tied together somehow,” I said, leaning forward. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Laurie perk up and stare at me. “I mean, first there’s Paula’s hit-and-run, the burglaries to my place and hers. Red showing up with Paula at the hotel and again at her apartment with a cloned phone. Peeps knowing Paula, and now him getting iced. Christ, this thing’s as rotten as a month-old watermelon.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” George said. “You made your point. Now we just got to get the right breaks.”

  “Did you ever do that check on Peeps?” I asked.

  He sighed. “I was just starting that when the son of a bitch turned up dead. And I don’t imagine those dicks are gonna be too cooperative now.” The waitress came by and filled his cup.

  “I’d be mighty interested to see if any of his prints showed up on the latents that they got from my burglary,” I said. “Or at Paula’s.”

  “I’ll have to call the morgue and see if I can get an extra set,” he said. “But if he was Paula’s boyfriend, that doesn’t prove much if they show up at her place.”

  “The guy that called me on that set-up had an English accent,” I said. “Peeps had an English accent.”

  “So does bonnie Prince Charles,” he said. “Want me to call him and see if he has an alibi?”

  “Dammit, you know what I mean,” I said.

  He smirked and drank some more coffee.

  “Yeah, just giving you back a little of the shit you been handing me,” he said. Then, looking at Laurie, he added, “Sorry.”

  She smiled.

  “Anyway,” George continued, “one thing is perfectly clear. I got to solve this Peeps thing before those other two assholes do.”

  “Now you’re talking,” I said. “And this Red guy’s tied into it somehow. I know it. If we can just figure out who he is and what his connection is.”

  “Hey, can that ‘we’ shit,” he said, pointing his big index finger at me. “You’re in enough trouble as it is. Just let me handle it from here on out, okay? You want to come by and look at some mug shots, that’s fine. But otherwise, butt out.”

  “What do you mean, butt out? I started this whole ball rolling.”

  “Yeah,” he said. “And you’ve done a real good job rolling yourself right into the Most Likely Suspect category. I don’t want you monkeying around in this anymore. If one of those pricks goes to the Grand Jury, they could get an indictment against you with what they got already.”

  “That doesn’t mean squat,” I said. “They could indict the Pope in that kangaroo court if they wanted to.”

  “Yeah, but they ain’t after him this week,” he said, giving me one of his patented authoritarian stares. “I’ll crack this thing as soon as I can run down some leads.”

  “You even wouldn’t have any leads if it wasn’t for me.”

  “If it wasn’t for you,” he said, grinning wickedly. “Sometimes I fantasize about that and try to imagine how peaceful and uncomplicated my life would be.”

  I frowned and drank some coffee. It tasted as bitter as I felt.

  “Okay, but will you at least check out some of the stuff I told you about?” I said.

  “I’ll check the street name file for a guy named Red, but there’s got to be a whole lot of ’em,” he said. “Plus we’re not sure if he even goes by that. It’s just what you been calling him for lack of something better, right?”

  I nodded. “Remember I told you his name might be Regis Phillips. Can you check on that too?”

  He shrugged. “It’s worth a shot I guess. And he’s a white guy with red hair, which kind of narrows it down some. But I want to concentrate on finding out about this Peeps character first.” He picked up his cup and squinted at me. “In the meantime, you concentrate on keeping out of trouble. Remember, you got a fight coming up in a couple of days, and I might even bet some money on you. This time.”

  I smiled back at him, but I didn’t want him to know that the facetious tone of his words had really stung me.

  The drive south was your typical Monday afternoon fiasco. Slow-motion shuffling from one traffic jam to the next. Bumper-to-bumper all the way south. Plus the double-team interrogation tactics of Dumb and Dumber seemed to have had a delayed effect on me. By the time I hit the I-94/I-57 split, I’d felt like I’d been ten rounds with a 400-pound gorilla. I glanced at Laurie, who seemed equally drained.

  “You want to go get something to eat?” I asked. “Maybe go to a movie or something?”

  “Sure, if you do,” she said. “But I’d just as soon grab something and relax in front of the TV.”

  “You’re sure?” I asked. “Don’t you want to go out dancing again?”

  She smiled that wonderful smile of hers.

  “Oh, Ron, the weather’s so bad, and it’s cold, and you must be exhausted after all you’ve been through. It’s okay. Really.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “I’m sure,” she said.

  “Well, I am feeling kind of beat. Maybe a nap would be nice.”

  “Now that,” she said, reaching over and squeezing my arm, “does sound inviting.”

  It turned out to be anything but a restful nap. The tension of the afternoon was like a coiled spring and I kept tossing and turning. Eventually, I fell asleep and when I awoke I heard Laurie talking in muffled tones on the phone. Stretching, I listened to her voice as it carried from the other room.

  “Yes, I know, Uncle Larry, but things are okay. He’s really making some progress.” She paused. “No, he’s not.” Another pause. “You’re wrong about that…. Because I know. You don’t. Well, that was a long time ago. Anyway, I have to go now. I’ll call you back later in the week and let you know about the movers. I’m fine, really.” Her voice was argumentative. “Okay. I will. Love you too. Bye.”

  I could hear her lower the phone softly back into its cradle. Then I saw her approaching shadow in the wall mirror opposite the door as she came toward the bedroom.

  I closed my eyes and waited to feel the familiar weight of her body getting back in bed. But it didn’t come, and I suddenly had the feeling that she was standing at the door watching me. A few seconds later I heard her turn and leave the room, then the sounds of her going through her purse.

  I heard the click of a lighter, then the quick padding of her footsteps as she headed for the back porch. She must have thought the smoke would bother me, and she was right.

  But what bothered me more was the overheard conversation that convinced me that as far as good old Uncle Lar was concerned, even after all these years, I was still the same asshole who’d knocked up his daughter.

  CHAPTER 24

  During my Tuesday morning run, the 138th consecutive day of training, I decided that it was time to go on the offensive in the case as well as the fight. Maybe it had been going over the game plan again with Chappie, or getting slapped around, albeit metaphorically, by those two assholes, Reed and Randecki, but as I rounded the final corner and did my customary finishing sprint, I knew it was time to start making the other guy sweat for a change. And to do that I had to gain the upper hand.

  I couldn’t wait for George. It was just like Chappie had told me at the gym. “If you want to win it, you gotta go and take it. You can’t just lay back and expect somebody to hand it to you.” He’d been talking about the fight, of course, but the message was clear: I had to take charge of the case, too, and clear myself.

  After a quick shower and breakfast on the run, I grabbed Laurie, got in The Beater, and headed back downtown.

  “What’s our next move?” she asked me.

  “To take the mountain to Mohammed,” I said. She raised her eyebrows quizzically and leaned back in the seat.

  I swung onto Lake Shore Drive and continued north past McCormick Place, Soldier Field, the museum, and Buckingham Fountain. On our right we were treated to the sight o
f the cold gray waves splashing over the beach. I cut over left and made the turn that took us to Michigan Avenue. The pre lunchtime traffic was limbering up, and I must have driven around for at least twenty minutes looking for a vacant parking space. Finally, figuring that I’d used up just about all of George’s largess as far as parking tickets went, I turned into a parking garage near the County Building.

  “Where are we heading?” Laurie asked, tossing her hair over her collar as we got out. The weather had warmed considerably, and some of the huge stacks of dirty gray snow were starting to melt, but it was still January in Chicago.

  “The Hall of Rec ords,” I said. “This will be good practice for an aspiring attorney.”

  She smiled at me and grabbed onto my arm as we walked. Just then the knife-edge of the chilly wind swept around the corner of the buildings and engulfed us. Like I said, it was still January in Chicago.

  Inside we went to my usual clerk and asked for help finding the corporate ledger books. The woman seemed to take delight in helping me every time I came in. She smiled and shoved the appropriate request form across the counter. I took out my pen and printed LOTHAR INDUSTRIES, INC. in big block letters. She took the form, smiled again, and vanished among the stacks of long binders. Presently she came back with one, and Laurie and I went to one of the high tables. Paging quickly, but carefully, to the L section, I ran my finger down the printed page. When I found the listing, I took out my notebook and began scribbling.

  “What exactly is this going to tell us?” Laurie asked in a hushed whisper. Being in the noisy office was somehow akin to being in a library. Maybe it was all the reference books.

  “This,” I said quietly, “is the name of the company that rented the post office box for that Regis Phillips character.”

  “Oh,” she said. I admired the fine bone structure of her face as she tilted her head back.

  “Look at this.” I pointed to the list of corporate officers. “See how many of these names here list the same address?” She nodded. “What do you want to bet that the names are phonies? You’ve got Regis Phillips listed here, and another person with the same P.O. box address here.”