“Don’t know,” Todd the announcer said. “Depends on how they want to run the spot.” He shot me the high voltage smile again, and added, “We’ll send you a cassette of it.”
Yeah, I thought. I’m not so sure I’d want one after they’d butchered it, but it might be nice for posterity.
When they’d gone, Chappie told me to change into my workout clothes and we’d go through a quick one. I nodded wearily.
“What, that bullshit that Day was spoutin’ get to you?” he asked.
I shrugged.
“I just want it to get here,” I said.
He smiled.
“I know the feeling,” he said. “But you can’t rush it. It’ll be here soon enough. Then you got to remember our strategy. You set up the bait, and let him come to you.” His fists shot out and snapped a quick three-punch combination in the air. “That the way to win.”
Set up the bait and let him come to you, I silently repeated. Sounded like a formula for success.
After my workout I spent ten minutes in the steam, then jumped directly into the shower. As I let the cold water sluice over my body, I pushed the pictures of Elijah Day out of my head, and thought about the other Olijede. I didn’t even know what he looked like. But I knew Red.
And maybe it was time to start baiting the trap for them as well.
After I dried off I took my time getting dressed and pondered my next move. It wouldn’t do any harm, I figured, to start the ball rolling a little bit. That way I could go to George and hand him the whole thing with a ribbon around it. He’d told me to sit back and do nothing, but I was tired of just taking punches. What the hell, I had to take some definitive action myself for once, right? I gave myself a mental affirmative and fished out a couple of coins from my pants pocket and went to the pay phone in the locker room. I figured it was safer using that one just in case Olijede had a caller ID box; it would just come across as The Beverly Gym.
I paged through my pocket notebook until I found the number I’d written down for Lothar Industries and dialed it.
It rang three times and the same recording as before came on and said to leave a message.
“This is for Mr. Olijede,” I said. “I’ve recovered some property of yours, and I’d like to speak to you about my finder’s fee for returning it. The name’s Shade. You can reach me at…” After hesitating, I left my beeper number then hung up. What the hell. I had to give them a way to call back.
I clapped my palms together, feeling strangely good that I’d taken some small step toward getting to the end of this mess. The bait was set.
Laurie was back by the time I got home. It looked like she’d practically bought out the grocery store and the whole kitchen table was covered with bags, foods, and other stuff. Plus, the cats all sat around the table dutifully watching her. She smiled at me as I came in.
“Hi,” she said. “I thought I’d splurge a little, since you’re being so nice and letting me stay here and all.”
“It’s been my pleasure.”
“So I bought all kinds of good things. I checked your refrigerator before I left. You needed them.”
“Thanks,” I said.
“What would you like me to fix?” she asked.
I glanced at my watch. It was close to three fifteen.
“Before I decide,” I said, “you still got that receipt and key for Paula’s safety deposit box?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“I was talking to George this morning and he suggested that we turn over everything to him.”
“Okay,” she said slowly.
“Now if we turn over the suitcases, he’ll be able to reopen the investigation on Paula’s death,” I said. “Or at least come at it from a different angle.”
“Good,” she said.
“But it’ll also mean that you’ll lose everything. All the money that she had.”
“I don’t care about that,” she said, shaking her head.
“Maybe you don’t. But we have no way of knowing exactly how much money she earned legitimately, either. And I’d like to see you and your family come out of this tragedy with a little more than a lot of bad memories.”
“But is that ethical?”
“To hell with what’s ethical,” I said. “Your cousin’s dead. Let’s do some good with what’s left as we pick up the pieces. It’s better than the state or the feds taking everything, right?”
Laurie looked at the floor. Georgio stepped forward and rubbed against her leg. She reached down and stroked his arching back.
“It’s your choice, Laurie.”
“Okay, Ron, what should we do?”
“Let’s go check out her safety deposit box,” I said. “And do it now, while we still have time. Before the cops and the DEA clamp a lid down on everything.”
Laurie sighed. “If you say so.”
God, I thought, she’s got a lot to learn about the real world soon if she’s going to become a lawyer.
The bank was downtown. All ATMs, busy tellers, ringing phones, and smiling personnel. A uniformed security guard stood watch near the front doors. He told us the safety deposit boxes were on the basement level. The escalator glided downward, leaving us off at a T-shaped corridor. Off to the right a rather plump-looking black girl sat behind a long countertop going over papers. We presented the key, a copy of the death certificate, and Laurie’s Michigan driver’s license.
“I’m not sure if I should do this without authorization,” she said.
“Come on, Miss,” I said, turning up the voltage in my smile a few watts. “We’re down here all the way from Michigan to settle her cousin’s affairs. We’d really appreciate a little help here.”
She bit her lower lip.
“Okay,” she said. “You’ve still got the key, right?” Moments later she led us into the vault and slipped the flat keys into the two holes. The drawer, which was one of the large size, pulled out slowly and felt substantial in my hands. Inside the privacy room, we sat down and lifted the metal lid, and saw several stacks of currency wedged into the box. Laurie looked over at me, and I held a finger to my lips.
“Just put as much as you can in your purse,” I whispered. “I’ll take the rest.”
Anticipating that there might be a lot to carry, I’d brought along a collapsible nylon gym bag. We managed to stuff all the money into it, and then returned the empty drawer to the bank girl.
“There wasn’t any currency in there, was there?” she asked. “’Cause then you’ll have to make out a declaration.”
“Just family heirlooms,” I said, holding up the bag and smiling. “And photographs of old friends.”
As I drove home, Laurie counted. The rush-hour traffic made it slow going, so she was glad to have something to do. I was anxious to see how much Paula had stashed away for a rainy day myself.
“Fifty thousand, Ron,” Laurie said, turning to look at me as we crept toward the right lanes as we neared 95th Street. “This is so unbelievable.”
“Yeah,” I said, thinking we knew for sure now that Paula hadn’t been a neophyte. But then again, I never thought she was.
“This means that she was pretty heavily involved, doesn’t it?” Laurie asked, seeming to read my thoughts.
“It kind of removes any lingering doubts.”
She compressed her lips and let her hands fall to her lap.
“I don’t think I even want to know who killed her anymore.” A depressed resignation had crept into her voice. “And I don’t want this damn drug money either.”
“Like I said, that’s a decision you need to make later. Right now…” I paused as I swung over to get on I-57 south as the Ryan Expressway ended. “We need to finish tying this thing up. I was going to wait to give you a written report, but maybe it’s better to just run it by you now.”
I told her my best estimation of what exactly had happened, from Paula’s involvement with Peeps, to the probable double-cross. When I’d finished, she was silent for the rest of the ride home, and I
wondered exactly what effect my words had on her. When I pulled up in front of the house she glanced over at me with a tentative smile and said, “Okay, what’s our next move?”
Our next move turned out to be rushing to my bank and having her open a safety deposit box account in her name using my address. I was on it as secondary signer. After we’d deposited the recovered funds discreetly inside her new box, we turned and left. As we walked to The Beater Laurie hugged my arm.
“You of course read that part on the agreement about not storing cash in the safety deposit box, correct?”
“Yeah,” I said. “But it beats filling out a declaration when it comes time to draw out more than ten thousand.”
“Roger, wilco,” she said, saluting. “See, I’ve been practicing.”
“Practicing what?”
“My paramilitary skills so I can help you catch this Nigerian guy when we spring the trap on him.”
“Wrong.” I stopped walking. “We don’t spring the trap. I do. Along with George.”
“But—”
“No buts,” I said, interrupting her. “It’s too dangerous for you to get involved.”
“Aren’t I already involved?”
“Yeah, I guess you are. But it’s going to be kept to a minimum from this point on.”
“We’ll see,” she said, flashing a lips-only smile.
When we got home, I sat back and let Laurie fix the spectacular meal of roasted chicken and baked potatoes she’d been planning. She even fed the cats. I watched the news, then we ate together in the kitchen. Silently I wondered about the note she’d written earlier and signed, Love you, Laurie. Was this breach of client/private investigator ethics going farther and faster than I’d intended? Obviously the answer was yes…. But what exactly had I been intending? And how far should I let it go? That and other imponderables weighed heavily on me as we went into the living room to watch Casablanca again. It had been a few nights since we’d seen it and Laurie wanted me to explain all the nuances and references in it.
“What’s the significance of that song?” she asked as Laszlo fires up the band to play the French National Anthem to foil the Nazis.
By the time Ingrid snuck off to meet Bogey, we were snuggling, and when he said, “We’ll always have Paris.” I was carrying her off to the bedroom.
“What about the tape?” she murmured, her lips pressed to mine.
“You know how it ends.”
Later on, as we lay tangled together under the covers basking in the afterglow of passion well spent, I wondered if my comment on the movie’s unhappy ending had been more appropriate or prescient.
Laurie shifted on top of me, lifting her head, which had been resting on my chest.
“So is Chappie right?”
“Chappie’s always right,” I said. “Just ask him.”
She giggled. “No, silly, I mean about this weakening your legs.”
“I’ll be all right as long as I can rest up Friday,” I said. “But we probably should cool it tomorrow night, though.”
“Okay. I just don’t want to be detrimental to you in this fight,” she said. “I don’t want you blaming me afterwards in the unlikely event that you don’t win.”
“You won’t have to worry about that. ’Cause I’m gonna win.”
And if I don’t, I thought, I know who to blame.
CHAPTER 31
Thursday turned out to be more of the waiting game. My beeper never went off, making me wonder if Olijede even got the bait set-up I left. George called and I filled him in on my actions thus far. He was silent at first, then relented, saying that he was having a harder time than expected trying to reason with Reed and Randecki.
“Those two pricks couldn’t find their assholes with both hands,” he said. “But I’m working on things. Just keep the stash where it is for now and get hold of me right away if that guy contacts you.”
I said I would.
“Maybe I can get some guys in Narcotics interested in helping out. Then we can take him down ourselves and not worry about them two jerks.”
“Okay, brother.”
“And, Ron…”
“Yeah?” I figured he was going to wish me luck on the fight but instead he said, “Just don’t try to do anything else by yourself, all right? Just let us pros handle it.”
“Okay,” was all I said, even though the anger over his dismissal of my abilities burned in my gut.
So I was pretty much relegated to sitting around watching the clock and thinking about Elijah Day. I did call the hospital to check on Father Boris, who was resting comfortably with Alley at his bedside. Then we picked up Paula’s Firebird from Big Ed’s, who replaced the damaged trunk lid for us. We also touched base with the movers to make sure everything was set for the next day and found out they’d tow the Firebird up to Michigan for an extra fee. Laurie agreed and I followed her up to Paula’s old apartment parking lot.
Initially we’d figured to leave the Firebird there for the next day, but Laurie waved to me as I began pulling into the reserved spot.
“Ron, I don’t think the insurance is still valid on her car,” she said. “You don’t think it would get broken into or stolen here, do you?”
I glanced around the neighborhood.
“No one to watch it real close,” I said. “We could leave it at my place to night, and drive it down in the morning.”
“Maybe that would be a better idea,” she said.
It would also be smarter just in case Red or Olijede was still keeping watch on Paula’s old digs, I thought. But the chance that they were going to take my bait was getting doubtful. Maybe they realized the jig was up, and decided to cut their losses and run for the border. Or at least out of the area for a while.
So we left Laurie’s Nissan in the spot instead of the Firebird. We managed to put most of the stuff that she wanted in the boxes the movers had provided, and left the rest of the stuff for them to pack. We even called old Mr. Turner to tell him the apartment would be vacant after tomorrow.
“Suit yourself,” the old man said. “You ever find out about that phone?”
“Yeah, it was hot,” I said. “The cops have it. That guy ever call back asking about us?”
“Nah,” he said, and hung up.
What an old grouch, I thought. He probably didn’t have anybody to call with the damn phone anyway.
I drove the Firebird back, appreciating the smooth acceleration of the engine as I stepped lightly on the gas.
“This baby reminds me of my Camaro,” I told Laurie as we cruised along at seventy in the express lanes.
“You had another car besides The Beater?”
“A black Camaro. It got stolen.”
“Oh, that’s too bad,” she said.
After sticking the Firebird into my garage, we both got our bags and headed to the gym for a light workout. As we were getting into my car, Laurie told me that she’d only had two cigarettes all day.
“That’s great,” I said.
“You seem to be having a salubrious effect on me,” she said.
“What’s that mean?”
“That you’ve been good for me.” She leaned over to kiss me.
Right, I thought, but will you still think that when semester break’s over and it’s time to get back to your other world?
It seemed strange not to have to run Friday morning when I woke up. The day’s first light was just starting to nudge its way between the slits of the blinds as I lay there with Laurie entwined next to me and the three cats each curled up in one of the folds of the heavy quilt. True to our word, she’d kept her pan ties on all night and we’d abstained. But now I found myself feeling restless. Maybe it would have been better not to vary our routine after all, despite my promise to Chappie. But he’d pulled me aside and practically begged me to rest up until the fight.
“Nothing even remotely strenuous,” he’d said. “Please.” With a request phrased like that, what could I do?
But now I almost felt like
getting out of bed and going for my run. Work out the kinks. Break a sweat. But I didn’t. Chappie was right. If I wanted to win, I had to conserve my energy today. I was going to need all of it to night.
“Don’t waste a minute doing nothing that ain’t restin’,” Chappie had stressed. “Don’t even get up to go to the bathroom lessin’ you really have to.”
“Why would I do that if I didn’t?” I said. But I knew what he was trying to say. Conserve and conquer. Elijah Day was the one who had that long drive or flight down from the Motor City. That put the home court advantage in my corner.
By seven fifteen I just couldn’t stay in bed any longer anyway. My alarm clock rang a few minutes later. Laurie had to be up at Paula’s by eight to meet the movers, so I said I’d drive her.
“No, don’t be silly,” she said. “You rest. I’ll just take the Firebird up and drive my Nissan back, once they get everything started. I need to make a few stops on the way back anyway.”
“No, I’ve got to do something, or I’ll go crazy. I’ll follow you up in The Beater in case you have problems or anything.”
We stopped at a coffee shop and got two toasted bagels with cream cheese and coffee. Plain for her and whole wheat for me. Then we shot over to the expressway and headed north. Unfortunately, when we got to Paula’s old place, the movers were nowhere to be seen. She pulled over to the curb ahead of me, stopped, and came back to my car.
“Where are they?” Laurie asked, looking at her watch. “It’s eight fifteen. They were supposed to be here by now.”
“Call them.” I pulled out my cell phone and handed it to her.
She dialed and spoke to someone who said that the truck was on the way and that traffic must be heavy or something.
“I guess we’ll just have to wait,” she said. “Sorry.”
“That’s okay,” I said. “Chappie wanted me to rest anyway.”
At nine fifteen the truck finally showed up. A crew of five Mexicans got out of a van behind the truck and they all headed for the apartment. I honked my horn and waved at them.
“Where you guys been?” I asked.
“Lo siento, senor. Un, I am sorry, sir,” a swarthy guy who looked to be the foreman said, rolling his head apologetically. He spoke to the group in rapid Spanish, then turned back to me. “We got all tied up.”
Windy City Knights Page 25
