Random Victim

by Michael A. Black

  After the meeting broke up Ryan went downstairs to check on his lady love, and Leal and Smith walked slowly back to their office.

  “You find out anything on that credit check, Joe?”

  Smith grinned and shook his head.

  “I was beginning to wonder if you were going to ask me about that.” He pulled a list of printed numbers from his inside pocket. “No missed payments, the usual credit card stuff, mortgage on the house, leased car for business expenses. Nothing to indicate he was hurting financially.”

  Leal sighed. “Well, we never figured greed was the motive, did we?”

  “I also called the credit card companies and asked them to monitor his numbers for any new transactions.”

  “Good thinking,” Leal said. “They gonna do it?”

  Smith smiled. “Some told me they’d do what they could, but a couple pretty much said they couldn’t do anything without a court order.”

  “Typical,” Leal said. “We’ll have to move and get an indictment against this guy sooner rather than later. Don’t know why Brice is slowing up again. It’s like he loses focus.”

  “Well, at least we got those type-three’s out,” Smith said.

  “Yeah. Joe, you take care. You’ve done a lot of good work on this one. And good luck if this is the weekend for the baby.”

  Smith smiled again. “If it ain’t, we gonna go in for a C-section. I’m tired of waiting. Something better happen soon.”

  There was still no answer, but he let the phone continue to ring. Finally, the hotel operator came back on and asked if he’d like to leave a voice-mail message. Leal muttered a few words about wondering how the interview went, and ended with, “Call me if you have a chance. I should be home.”

  Yeah, where else am I going to go at seven o’clock on Friday night? he wondered.

  After he hung up, Leal’s mind continued to play twenty questions. It was eight in New York, right? So where the hell was she? But was it any of his business? They weren’t, after all, anything more than casual lovers at this point. No strings… Wasn’t that what he’d told her? When the phone rang it jarred him out of his reverie, and his heart leapt, hoping it was her.

  “Frank? It’s Ollie,” the voice at the other end said. “I hope I’m not bothering you.”

  “What? No, not at all. I was just deep in thought.”

  “That sounds interesting,” she said. “About the case?”

  “Ahh, yeah. Sort of. What’s up?”

  “Well, I thought you were going to call me and give me a heads-up?”

  It suddenly dawned on him that he had promised that.

  “Sorry,” he said. “Actually, there isn’t much to report. Brice seems to have taken a slowdown.”

  “Are you kidding me? I figured now would be the time to push.”

  “Yeah, me, too.” His voice sounded listless, even to him.

  “Are you going out or anything?”

  “No, just sitting in the dark, contemplating a TV dinner.”

  “Well, why don’t you come over?” she said. “I’m going stir crazy in here doing nothing and I’ve fixed way too much food as a result.”

  What if Sharon calls? he thought. But then again, why not? He couldn’t shake the sinking feeling that his days, and nights, with Sharon had most probably come to an end. Especially after this New York deal.

  “I’ll be right over,” he said. “Need me to bring anything?”

  “Just yourself. And a hearty appetite, of course.”

  It was the first time he’d actually been up to Hart’s apartment and he was struck both by its neatness and feminine simplicity. Her living room had a large couch with a floral slipcover, two chairs and a coffee table. Several vases with bouquets of flowers sat on each end of the table and on another smaller table by the window. Next to it was a framed eight-by-ten picture of Hart in a black posing bikini, wearing a large gold medal. Her muscles in the photograph gleamed like polished marble.

  “Everybody from the gym sent me flowers,” she said, smiling and directing him to the kitchen. “I hope Rocky leaves them alone.” She indicated a large tiger-colored cat curled up in a corner of the sofa. The cat regarded Leal for a few moments then went back to sleep.

  Leal sat at a circular wooden table with a lazy Susan in the middle. Hart set a dish and silverware in front of him, along with a glass.

  “I hope you don’t mind cranberry juice to drink,” she said. “Otherwise, I can make you some coffee.”

  “No,” Leal said, taking a sip. “This is fine.”

  The meal consisted of steamed rice, vegetables, and a whole wheat muffin. Leal kept waiting for the main course, then suddenly realized there wasn’t one.

  “Is there any butter for this muffin?” he asked.

  She shook her head, chewing and holding up her hand. He’d noticed before that she chewed everything forever and a day, mixing it thoroughly with saliva, she’d told him.

  “Sorry, I can’t have any dairy products until after the contest,” she said. “I don’t keep them here so I won’t be tempted.” She smiled. “But what I wouldn’t give for an ice-cream sundae right about now.”

  Leal raised his eyebrows, impressed with her dedication, but still wishing he had some butter.

  Hart smiled and asked him if he was ready for dessert.

  “Sure,” he said. Not realizing that the sliced apple she was putting in front of him was it.

  Looks like it’s White Castle on the way home tonight, he thought as he bit into the slice.

  After dinner they sat on the living room couch with two cups of herbal tea, and he told her about the new developments.

  “So it looks like he left the country?” she asked. “Where does that leave us with the case?”

  “I don’t know. I originally thought that Brice was moving too slow on everything. But maybe now, with Walker being gone, it isn’t such a bad idea to just take our time building a case against him. I’d like to see us get an indictment against him for the drugs and other stuff we recovered in the raids.

  Then maybe let it leak that we’re close to a suspect and that we’re seeking him.” He smiled. “Hopefully, they’ll time the announcement to coincide with you getting the Medal of Valor.”

  Hart looked down suddenly.

  “What’s wrong?” Leal asked.

  It took several seconds for her to answer.

  “Frank, I can’t accept that medal.”

  “What? Why not?”

  “Because,” she said. “I don’t deserve it.”

  “Sure you do.”

  “No, you’re the one who does, not me.”

  “How do you figure that?” He couldn’t understand her reticence. Didn’t she know that most coppers would give their right nut for a chance to get the Medal of Valor?

  But I can’t very well say that to her, can I? he thought.

  “All I did was get myself cut to pieces,” she said. Her eyes were glistening now.

  “Ollie,” he said, reaching out for her hand.

  “Oh, Frank, I can’t accept something like that.”

  “You got it coming. You kept me from getting my throat slashed by that asshole.”

  “That’s sweet of you to say that, but I think you saved me. I was so lax,” she said. He could hear the crack in her voice. “I keep going over it and over it in my mind. I almost got us both killed.”

  “Bullshit, you weren’t lax. The bastard thought we were coming after him on a warrant. That’s why he fought the way he did. There was no way you could have known that. Sometimes you get blindsided, and there’s nothing you can do to prevent it.”

  He heard no response.

  “Just like when I got shot,” he said. “And my partner went down. It was unpreventable. Besides, like I said, you saved my life. He’d kicked me in the groin and was just getting set to cut my throat when you tripped him.”

  “I don’t remember it too clearly,” she said. The first tears started to fall.

  “Yeah, I know
how that is, but in the long run, it’s good. It just might keep your dreams clear at night.”

  “I hope so.” She wiped at her face. He offered his handkerchief.

  It seemed natural when she came forward, crying and circling his neck with her arms. He held her there on the couch, listening to her sobs, feeling her powerful shoulders and back quivering under his hands.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I feel like such a weakling.”

  “No, that’s okay, kid,” he said, patting her softly. “Sometimes you just gotta let it all come out.”

  The next day Leal was packing two weeks’ worth of dirty laundry into the machine and contemplating how, if things had been different, he might have ended up in bed with Hart instead of just holding and comforting her. He’d felt the sizzle, all right. But she needed a friend more than a lover. And a good partner couldn’t be both. Or could he?

  The phone rang, intruding on his thoughts, and he picked it up on the third ring.

  “Hi,” Sharon said.

  “Hi. Where you at? New York?”

  “No, I just got back a little while ago. I figured I’d take the shuttle bus back to that place in Alsip if you can pick me up.”

  “You sure you don’t want me to shoot up there?” he asked.

  “No, the shuttle is fine,” she said. “Why fight the traffic in this rain? Besides, I need some quiet time to think.”

  “Okay,” Leal said. Uh-oh, that doesn’t sound good.

  An hour later Leal was walking into the Holiday Inn bar, which was just off to the left of the main entrance. He scanned the sparse group of customers, and saw her almost immediately. Her legs were crossed and he could see her calf making a slow, rhythmic kicking motion as she smoked and talked with the bartender. He straightened up when he saw Leal approaching them.

  Sharon turned and smiled. “Hiya, handsome. Want a drink?” She gave him a light kiss as he sat next to her.

  “That depends. You want another one?”

  She looked at the amber fluid in her glass, swirled it a couple of times, and then stubbed out her cigarette. “Nah, let’s just go home.”

  Leal grabbed her suitcase from beside the stool, and Sharon gave a little wave to the bartender.

  “You bring enough stuff?” Leal asked, hefting the suitcase. “This thing weighs a ton.”

  “You don’t think I’d go to New York without doing some heavy-duty shopping, do you?”

  As they went outside the rain had been replaced by a fine mist. Leal placed the suitcase in his trunk and slammed the lid.

  “Feels more like September should,” she said, getting in the car.

  “Yeah, I always thought September should be called the cruelest month, instead of April,” Leal said. He shifted into drive. “You want to go get something to eat, and you can tell me about your trip?”

  But he was wondering if he really wanted to know.

  “Sure,” she said. “That place down the road is fine.” She stretched her arms over her head and leaned her head back. “Oooh, it feels so good to be back.”

  That sounds kind of promising, he thought.

  “The interview went real well,” she said, looking over at him. “When I got there Thursday night Mr. Feinstein had left this message at the hotel to join them for his office party. God, was that neat. We were in this real tall build ing in the heart of Manhattan, with these huge glass windows overlooking all the lights of the city. New York is endless.”

  She went on to explain how well the interview went the next day. “Everyone was so nice. I felt totally comfortable. They told me the work I’ve done in the State’s Attorney’s office was a big plus.”

  Uh-oh. Sounds like all systems are go for a relocation, he thought.

  “But afterward one of the junior partners, a guy named Tim Fenner, invited me to dinner and the Letterman Show.” Her tone seemed to change a bit.

  A little mist was collecting on the windshield, and Leal flicked on the wipers.

  “How’d you like it?” was all he could muster.

  “Oh, that part was great. David Letterman is so funny. He’s just like he is on TV, only better.” She took a deep breath. “Things started to get a little bit strained on the way back to the hotel.”

  “Strained?”

  “Yeah, you know, friendly little pats on the arm in the taxi. Then he began touching my leg, insisted on seeing me all the way up to my room—‘New York’s a dangerous place, you know.’ And then the asshole really started pawing me in the elevator. Finally, I had to tell him to cool it or I’d call hotel security.”

  Leal felt his knuckles turning white as he gripped the steering wheel.

  “He got real insulted and said, ‘What’s the matter, honey? Don’t you want the job?’ Oooh, I hate it when some drunken idiot who’s all hands calls me ‘honey.’ ”

  “So what did you do?”

  She laughed. “I told him to go do to himself what he wanted to do to me,” she said. “Only not exactly in those terms. You should have seen Mr. Lady-killer’s face then. I swear, he should go practice those expressions in a mirror.”

  “Swift, decisive, direct,” Leal said, smiling. “Good qualities for a lawyer. So does this mean you’ll be staying for a while?”

  “Well, I’m certainly going to tell Steve Megally about it,” she said. “I was so shaken that I had them put me in a new room. I mean, I want to get to the top of my profession, but not by sleeping with the boss.”

  “Sounds like it was a pretty rough trip in a lot of ways,” Leal said, still wondering what her final decision would be.

  “Oh, there were some good things,” she said. “Remind me to tell you about them sometime. But right now, all I want to do is grab something to eat, go home, and hop into a nice hot tub.”

  He nodded, making the turn into the restaurant. She reached over and squeezed his arm.

  “And I want you to scrub my back, okay?” she said.

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  Name Games

  It was early Sunday morning when Leal’s beeper went off the first time. The intrusive alarm woke him immediately, and he struggled to extricate himself from Sharon and the sheet in which they’d become entangled. Then he had to stumble around the bedroom looking for his pants. The beeper, which was still attached to his belt, had transformed into a periodic chirp by the time he pressed the button and stared at the unfamiliar number.

  “Oh, God, what time is it?” Sharon asked, pulling a pillow over her head.

  “Quarter after six,” Leal said, wondering who the fuck would be calling him at this hour on a Sunday morning. He punched in the numbers on his cell phone. Joe Smith answered on the first ring.

  “Sarge? I’m sorry to bug you this early, man, but it finally happened.”

  Leal rubbed his eyes. “Slow down, Joe. What happened?”

  “The baby, Sarge. Just about an hour ago. Took us damn near the whole night, but, man, was it worth it. I got me a son.”

  “Hey, that’s great, Joe. You decided on a name yet?”

  “Helena wants to call him Joe Junior, but I’m leaning toward Matthew Harold.”

  “They both sound good to me,” Leal said. He eased himself back into bed next to Sharon, who was now lying on her side smoking a cigarette as the conversation came to a close.

  “One of the guys on my team,” he said, hanging up the phone. “His wife just had their baby.”

  She nodded slowly, her hand propping up her head, and the sheet barely covering the fullness of her breasts.

  “Must be nice, having the time for kids,” she said, blowing the smoke up and away from him.

  He’d already told her about his daughters and his unhappy first marriage. The look she was giving him now worried him. Was she starting to think along those lines?

  “You look deep in thought,” he said.

  “Just thinking.”

  “About having kids?”

  “Yeah,” she said, taking another drag on the cigarette
and then reaching to stub it out. “But I’m not ready to get pregnant at this point in my life.”

  He heaved an exaggerated sigh of relief, hoping to make her smile, but instead she stared him straight in the eye.

  “But that doesn’t mean that I’m not up for a bit more practicing, though,” she said with a sly smile.

  At late breakfast Sharon mentioned that she was going to her parents’ house for dinner and that he was welcome to come along if he wanted. Then, when she later asked when she was going to get to see his place, he really began to wonder how much Smith’s phone call that morning had affected her.

  Sounds like she’s ready to set up house, he thought. And that was a good thing, wasn’t it?

  Changing the subject, he mentioned that the arrival of the baby would start Smith’s two-week vacation.

  “He’s been planning it for a while now,” Leal said. “But we’re getting that asshole Murphy to replace him.”

  “Ugh,” Sharon said. “I’ve had the misfortune of meeting him a few times. What a pig.”

  “Yeah, Brice wanted him to replace Hart when she got hurt, but I told them no way.”

  “Oh, that’s right,” Sharon said. “How’s she doing?”

  “Good,” Leal said. “Or I guess I should say, as well as could be expected considering the trauma. She’s worried about the scarring and how it’ll affect her bodybuilding.”

  “She’s lucky to have someone like you to support her,” Sharon said, squeezing his arm.

  After helping her clean up the dishes, Leal went back to his house, remembering the cleaning that he’d started and needed to finish. Stacks of dirty dishes waited for him in his kitchen sink. But he spent most of the ride thinking about Sharon and how much she meant to him. But liking her was one thing. Meeting her family was another, and not something he looked forward to at this stage in their relationship. Too much like meeting the girl’s dad on a teenage date. The looks, the scrutiny, the false smiles… He could certainly think of a better way to spend a Sunday afternoon.

  His reprieve came at two fifteen. His beeper went off again and this time it was headquarters. When he called in, the communication personnel told him that there’d been a response to his type-three on Martin Walker.