Missing Amanda

by Duane Lindsay

  “The mob knows where you live. We’ve beaten up on one of their big shots. They sent gunners right to your house. That’s guns, Lou, not guys to beat us up. That wasn’t a warning and they’re not likely to stop.”

  “Do we have to do this now?” Lou gestured with a yolk covered fork. “I wanna eat first.”

  “Lou, this is important. How’d they find you last night? How’d they know where you live?”

  “I dunno.” Lou chewed and swallowed picked up his cup. Coffee sloshed on the plate, just missing the eggs. “Relax. They don’t know where you live.”

  Monk set down another plate with toast, a little too hard. “How do you know that? How do you know they don’t know everything about me?”

  “They haven’t killed you yet.”

  The logic stopped Monk long enough to pour a refill and suck in some smoke. Lou picked up the Tribune while he thought things through, glancing at the headlines without really seeing them. The Sox were playing a double header today and another one tomorrow at Comiskey. He wished he could be there.

  “Lou?” Monk was holding a piece of toast near his face, uneaten. His coffee was in his other hand. He had on his professor look. “We’ve got to go see Guzman Cermak.”

  “Sure. Tony Scolio’s out to kill us. Me. Us. So, it doesn’t matter that Cermak adds a few more guys. How dead can we be? We’ve already annoyed one of the four biggest mobsters in the entire Midwest.” Put that way it sounded kind of impressive. Lou smiled and sipped his coffee. He gestured with the cup. “Is it a new percolator?”

  “I bought it at Sears,” Monk said. “On sale.”

  “Really?”

  “Um-hmmm. Red tag special.”

  “It’s nice.” Lou nodded to himself. “When do you want to go?”

  “Now.”

  “Sure,” Lou agreed. “The sooner the better.”

  Acting on the theory that if Cermak had an office, he’d be most likely to be there in the morning, they drove the Mercury downtown and parked in a lot across from his West Wacker street address. They got out and started down the sidewalk.

  “Do you realize,” Lou said with a tour guide voice, “that there is a North, South, East and West Wacker Drive? Or how silly the name Wacker sounds when you’ve said it enough? And where did they get the name Wacker anyway?”

  “Shut up, Lou,” Monk said. His voice was tight with tension He paused at the door to take a deep breath.

  “Scared?” Lou asked.

  “Terrified. You?”

  “Not really, no.”

  “Why not?”

  Lou shrugged. “Just never have been. We don’t have to do this, you know.”

  “Yes, we do.” Monk pulled open the heavy brass door. Maybe Amanda would be somewhere behind it.

  They rode the elevator in silence, thankful that it was a new building with an automatic lift. An operator would have been too much. On the tenth floor, they wandered down a dark narrow hall with mud colored carpet and dark trim. The lights were deco style sconces that lit the ceiling and left the rest dim. Modern, Lou thought, stumbling. He would have shot the architect if he had to work here.

  l026 on the door, Cermak Enterprises in gold, just like Lou’s office had been before Braddock’s guy used it as a backstop. They walked in and a cute girl looked up from a blonde wood desk. There were flowers in a crystal vase and a stylish lamp. She frowned as if they were slugs, entirely without approval.

  “Guzman Cermak, please,” Monk said pleasantly.

  “Do you have an appointment?”

  “No.”

  “He isn’t here.” She turned back to her desk, dismissing them.

  Lou said, “Listen sister. Where’s Cermak?”

  She glared and didn’t answer.

  “His office,” Monk said. “It’ll have a window.”

  “And a corner, too, I’ll bet.”

  “So that way.” Monk pointed and passed the girl who grabbed at his sleeve, trying to hold him back.

  “You can’t go in there!”

  “Well, yes; I can.” Monk shoved open an oak paneled door and they walked swiftly down another hall, still dragging the receptionist. This hall had offices opening onto it so there was plenty of natural light. They saw glimpses of Lake Michigan.

  “Guzman,” Lou sang out. “Guzman Cermak?”

  “You don’t have to enjoy this so much,” Monk protested. “Get off!” He shook his arm to dislodge the receptionist.

  “Haven’t you always wanted to do this?” Lou asked.

  A big guy stepped out into the hallway and Monk said, “uh-oh.”

  He was a twin of Scolio’s guys. He folded his arms across his chest, making the fabric of his coat stretch tightly. His hair was military short, his expression forbidding and he stood with a wide legged stance in front of the door, like the harem’s guard. They walked briskly up to him and Lou began talking loudly.

  “Is there a hiring hall for you guys? And a union? Do you all get medical benefits? Dental?”

  Without slowing Lou kicked him in the crotch, flinching as the guy gasped and fell.

  “Elegant,” Monk said.

  “Thank you. The basics are often best.”

  Monk pushed open the door and they entered a large room. The door closed silently behind them.

  A florid looking man with red cheeks sat an enormous distance away behind an impossibly large desk. He had thin hair, a vested suit and looked like an accountant. Lou recalled a mousy guy he’d worked with named Leroy Buckles, a small rat faced backstabber. Buckles had stiffed him on a divorce stakeout case and... He shook his head; not now. He turned his attention back to Cermak.

  Halfway to the desk was a low table with some sort of glass art statue on it. It might have been a naked woman or a willowy begonia. Two walls were covered with bookshelves filled with the Illinois legal code books, a nice ironic touch, considering.

  The windows behind Cermak were floor to ceiling, running right to the corners. The view was astounding and Lou upped his opinion of the architect. Somewhat blocking the view, like low storm clouds, were two more of the body builder types.

  “Throw them out,” demanded the little man. “And hurt them.” They obediently started forward, a miniature stampede.

  “Stop,” Lou said, pausing at the glass table. “Do we have to do this again?”

  “I said throw them out.” Cermak’s voice sounded petulant and whiney and Lou wondered how he could have become a dreaded crime boss. He picked up the glass... thing... and test swung it in a short arc. It would do.

  “Eek!” said the little man. He sounded like a frightened mouse and everyone swiveled to look at him in surprise.

  “Put that down,” he demanded. He stood up and pointed. “That’s a very valuable piece. A De Verbis.”

  Lou paused and set it down. “Send the bully boys into the corner where they can save you if I get rough. I just want to ask you some questions.”

  “Are you the police?”

  “Do I look like the police?” Lou walked closer to the desk. Up close Cermak looked even more like a cornered dentist.

  “I pay the police.” He took out a pair of glasses from a case on the desk and fitted them carefully over his nose, staring through them. Then he picked up a pear from a bowl on the desk. He slid open a drawer and took out a slim knife, held the blade in front of his face as if inspecting it, and looked up at Lou. “What do you want?”

  “Put the knife down.”

  “This?” Cermak smirked and again rotated the blade. It caught the light from the window and flashed brightly. Cermak, with a gentle turn of his wrist, delicately sliced into the pear, shaving off a long greenish peel. His eyes held Lou’s as he put the fruit to his lips and bit off a piece. He gently placed the knife and the pear on a linen napkin. The whole scene seemed calculated and grossly obscene.

  “I want to show you a picture,” Lou said after a long silence. He stepped forward and the guards stiffened.

  Cermak waved them back with a t
iny gesture that indicated he was more in control than he showed. Dwarfed behind the desk he didn’t look at all significant. There was none of the projected power of a Tony Scolio and Lou was puzzled. He passed the now creased photo of Amanda Braddock across the desk. Cermak studied it intently for perhaps a minute, during which time, clocks ticked faintly in the background. No one spoke.

  “Who is she?”

  “Amanda Braddock. She’s been kidnapped.”

  “And you came here seeking her? Why?” Puzzled, he touched the picture and said, “Oh. Amanda Braddock. Benjamin Braddock’s daughter. Yes?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you are operating on the theory that this is a gang related matter. Very intuitive. Tell me, am I the first... gangster...you have visited?”

  “We saw Tony Scolio yesterday,” Monk said.

  Cermak turned to inspect him, seemingly more impressed by Monk’s appearance than Lou’s, making the same mistake that people always made about Lou. Appearances, in this room, were deceiving.

  Cermak smiled, a twitch of the upper lip. “How did Mr. Scolio react to your request?”

  “He seemed put out. We visited him at his house-”

  “His house! Marvelous! Did you see the sunroom?”

  “We damaged it slightly during the conversation,” Lou said. He watched Cermak closely. He felt his stomach twist as if he was looking at a snake.

  “Did you really? And now you are in here with me. Extraordinary. You are obviously much more than you appear.” Lou shrugged and Cermak added, “And so am I.”

  There it was. Lou jerked at the soft words.

  Somehow Cermak had touched a nerve, become more than the frightened accountant. The breath of a devil touched both Monk and Lou and they both understood the danger they were in.

  “Well. I don’t have the child.” Cermak put the photo gently on the desk and pushed it away. He gazed up benevolently, his hands folded neatly over his vest.

  Lou picked it up and replaced it in his coat pocket, near the gun. This was a spooky and dangerous little man and it made him nervous in a way the hired goons never could. He swallowed hard and wondered again. What was it about this guy?

  Behind him Monk said, “I think we should leave.” His voice rasped through a dry throat.

  “Uh-huh,” Lou agreed. The whole situation was becoming creepy.

  They backed up, covering the great span of the room in silence. Monk reached the door first and fumbled for the handle. He pulled it open and glanced in the hall. The guard was propped against the far wall, his face flushed, hands on his crotch. He glared ineffectually, totally without force.

  Monk stepped through and Lou followed.

  “Wait,” called Cermak.

  Lou turned back, halfway through the door. From so far away Cermak looked like a demented March hare from Alice in Wonderland. He had picked up the knife again and was caressing its handle. “I will kill you,” he said, “for breaking in this way.”

  “Um, sure,” Lou said. What else could he say? “Was there a better way to break in?”

  “Don’t mock me,” Cermak warned, but conversationally, as if we were chatting over tea, not talking about murder. “You are obviously more than you seem, to have survived a meeting with Anthony Scolio. You won’t be enough to survive me.”

  “I see. Well—” Lou pulled out his gun and shot once from the hip. The glass statue shattered and Cermak shrieked. Lou slipped through the door and shut it.

  And now, he thought, I’m being threatened by a homicidal accountant.

  Chapter 11

  What kind of freak was that?

  Monk’s hands were shaking when he got to the car.

  He dropped the keys to the mat and sat back, breathing hard. “What kind of freak was that?” he asked.

  “Drive,” Lou said. He was watching the door of the building.

  “What the hell kind of freak was that?”

  “Drive.”

  “It’s like he was crazy or something. Jesus, Lou.”

  “God dammit! Drive.” Lou shouted to get his attention and Monk looked wild-eyed, breathing from his mouth in deep gulps.

  “We can’t panic now. Not in a parking lot right across the street from the little freak. Just drive.”

  Monk bent to get the keys and a bullet went through the glass where his head had been. The Mercury’s windshield exploded, spraying debris. Another gunshot hit the dashboard. The radio squealed as if alive, shooting sparks to the floor.

  “Okay; RUN.” Lou dove out the side door, crab stepping between cars, keeping low. He rolled under a car, nearly got stuck, came out the other side and scooted for the rear of the lot. The alarm was setting in. People were screaming and running away.

  Monk met him and they joined the crowd as it fled Wacker drive, letting the mob direct them to anywhere else. Two blocks later they broke away, catching a cab to the EI station. They ran up the stairs and grabbed the first train, a commuter on the Ravenswood line.

  “Where does this go?”

  “Who cares? Away from there.”

  Lou found the line map and saw they were going Northwest, away from the city. Fine. No one would think of looking there. His whole life lived in Chicago and he’d never been further west than Cicero. He’d probably seen more of Korea than he had of his hometown.

  “Your car,” Monk said. “They’ll know who you are.”

  “They already know, remember?”

  “We’ll go to my place. They don’t know about me, yet. That’ll give us some time.”

  The train was nearly empty as it rocked along, passing countless brick brownstone buildings, the legacy of Chicago’s great fire. The elevated train was second story to these buildings and looked into tiny kitchens as it rattled by. Small yards, laundry on the lines, windows open to catch any faint breeze.

  “We’re screwed,” Monk said.

  “Yup,” Lou agreed companionably.

  Monk had relaxed and even appeared composed, a remarkable achievement, considering his recent panic. His hands were folded carefully at his waist. He seemed to be meditating.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Meditating.”

  “Now? Isn’t this an odd time to be getting mystical?”

  “What better time?” he asked in a deep voice.

  Sometimes his nickname fit him far too well.

  They rumbled through Logan Park. The houses were larger here, old money castles with ballrooms and dining rooms that seated fifty of your closest friends. The only closest friend Lou had was right next to him, serenely pissing him off.

  Passing River Park—Lou had never done that before and wasn’t impressed now—Monk mumbled something inaudible.

  “What?”

  “Sun Tzu was right,” he said. “‘The wise man seeks not the swift victory, but the sure one. He wins the war and fears not the battles. He uses all things to his advantage,’” he said with a smug lecturing voice over the clacking of the train.

  “That’s real nice, Monk. The hell’s it mean?”

  “It means that they’ve won this round. But we have to use our assets to our advantage.”

  “Assets? We’ve got assets?” Lou asked. “I have about twenty bucks, which isn’t enough to keep us going very long. The Merc’s been wrecked and they’d shoot us if we went near it anyway. They know my apartment.”

  “But they don’t know mine.”

  The sun came out. “They don’t know where you live.”

  “Ah so,” Monk said serenely.

  They took the next stop, ran down the stairs and up on the other side, catching a B train back downtown. They got off at Congress Street, walked the fifteen blocks to Washington and State by the Library and ate a quick lunch at Wimpy’s and caught the 11:20 Illinois Central south to Hyde Park and walked to Monk’s house.

  Monk immediately went to the kitchen table and absently started dealing out solitaire hands, studying them as if they were tarot cards. Lou had seen him waste hours doing that, deal
ing like a zombie and mumbling responses if he talked at all. Sometimes he’d come up with some great idea. Other times he just played cards. Lou hoped for the former; they could use a good idea.

  He puttered around the tiny kitchen, remembering it when they were kids and Monk’s mother would call them in for some treat she’d cooked. The room was unchanged and the memories fresh and now somebody wanted to kill them.

  The mob wanted them dead. A very disquieting thought.

  “How long do you think we have before they figure out where you live?”

  “I dunno.” Monk continued shuffling out cards. “Not long.”

  “I mean, they have to figure it out sooner or later. Too many people know we hang out together. Right?” Monk didn’t answer so Lou began making coffee. He cleaned out the pot, put in the grounds and a crushed egg shell for body and plugged it in. The clock said 12:32.

  Lou said, “I don’t have any money. But you do. You’ve got enough money to see us through, don’t you?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Sure.” Lou nodded in agreement. “So maybe we should just get out of here now. Before they find us. What do you think? Monk?”

  “I think,” he paused to frown at the cards and sweep them up into a pile, “that they’re trying to kill us and they will find us. I think we have an advantage because we’re in Hyde Park which is Rufus Black’s territory so they might not have any contacts here.”

  “So, we’ll be okay for a while.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “I don’t either. We should leave soon.” Lou poured two cups.

  “This is what happens,” Monk said, “when you enter into a situation that’s morally ambiguous.” He began to deal again.

  “What? Someone tries to kill you? That doesn’t so too ambiguous to me.”

  “No, I mean philosophically. See, we entered a situation that isn’t black or white, morally. It’s all shades of gray. Saving Amanda is a good thing. Working for her father is a bad thing. Seeking out the mob is a bad thing. You can’t get down into the slime without getting it on yourself, you know.” He moved one card and studied the layout. Frowning, he shuffled through the deck.

  “Sure.” Sometimes Lou didn’t understand Monk at all. This was all his idea, wasn’t it? “Didn’t you want to find, uh; that girl?” Lou almost said Corrie.