“I asked the same thing,” she said. “He just told me he was ‘going south.’ If I had to guess, I’d say it was someplace in the islands.” She got a faraway look in her eyes. “Like, one time we went down to this Club Med place in the Caribbean. It was so awesome. You didn’t even need to wear a suit on the beach. It was sooooo cool.”
Leal and Hart looked at each other.
“Maybe they’ll send us down there to pick him up for extradition,” he said.
“Be a good chance to work on our tans,” she said.
“It’s Over,” the caption under Sheriff Donald O’Hara’s picture proclaimed in the newspaper. The headline had more succinctly summed up his concession speech:
O’HARA: IT’S AN HONOR TO HAVE SERVED.
“Despite having solved the Miriam Walker murder case, as he said he would, incumbent Donald O’Hara went down in flames election day, the victim of the spiraling scandal within the ranks of the Cook County Sheriff’s Police Department.”
But in the same edition, one quasi-sympathetic editorial asked another pointed question: “Will Michael Shay be any better?”
Leal pondered this and other such imponderables as he folded the paper under his arm and flashed his badge at the security guard. The guard grunted and let them by. He and Sharon proceeded backstage at the Rosemont convention center where the contestants were pumping up for the Women’s National Bodybuilding Championships.
“You don’t think O’Hara lost because of that commercial I was in, do you?” Leal asked. His hand was now in a more flexible cast, and the sling, reserved for only rare occasions, was in Sharon’s purse.
“Of course not. You and Hart looked very distinguished. If anything, it forestalled the inevitable.”
They walked down the back hallway to a room that was being used as a staging area. Inside, muscular women flexed and pumped with various weights while their trainers applied copious layers of baby oil.
Some were already posing in front of the large mirrors that had been hung on the walls. Others sat on benches doing concentration curls. Leal saw Hart in the corner, her big biceps muscles dancing under her taut sandy-colored skin as she waved at them. Rory Chalma was on his knees, rubbing both hands over her back.
“Hi,” Hart said. “Thanks for coming.”
“We wouldn’t miss it,” Leal said, watching Rory reach around to apply more baby oil over Hart’s rippled abdominal muscles, and thought it was too bad he couldn’t appreciate the unique opportunities of a job like that.
“Do you think this looks okay?” Hart said, pointing to her black posing bikini.
“More than okay,” Leal said, and felt Sharon slap him playfully.
“It looks great, Ollie,” Sharon said. “And so do you.”
“Yeah, you’ll knock ’em dead,” Leal said.
“Not if you don’t start pumping up,” Chalma said.
“Okay,” Hart said. “In a minute, Rory.” She looked at them and smiled crookedly. “I’ll get nervous if you watch me pump.”
Leal nodded. “We’ll be in the third row. Good luck, kid.”
“Thanks. I’d hug you both but I don’t want to cover you with baby oil and instant tanning dye.” Rory’s hands moved around the inside of her thighs. “We’ll have ice cream after the contest,” Hart called as they were leaving. “My treat.”
In the hallway Sharon snared his left arm and brought it around her waist.
“I still think this women’s bodybuilding is a little too much,” she said.
“Yeah, but she’s one helluva a good partner,” he said.
“And do you think Sergeant-In-Charge Ryan will let you two go on working together?”
“He’d better,” Leal said, grinning, “Or I’ll have Ollie kick his butt.”
She smiled and leaned her head on his shoulder as they walked. They were coming to the end of the corridor, and the big ballroom was filled with howling fans already screaming and cheering some of the preliminary lighter-weight competitors who were on the stage. Leal saw Sharon looking at them going through the motions of the posedown and shaking her head.
“Well, Hart does look fantastic, in a muscular sort of way,” she said. “Do you think she’ll win the contest?”
“I don’t know,” he said as they continued toward their seats. “But she’ll always be a champion to me.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Every writer has a list of people he wishes to acknowledge, and the problem is you can never thank them all. But, to name a few…
First, I’d like to thank Joseph Wambaugh. It was reading his book, The New Centurions, so many years ago that first steered me toward the Military Police and then into civilian law enforcement. I owe you one, Joe. Thanks.
My former teachers, from Miss Rehak ripping up my story in front of the class in sixth grade, to my undergrad days at NIU learning the basics from Mary Sue Scriber, James McNiece, and Orville Baker, to my second undergrad experience at Moraine Valley Community College refining my writing (and my Spanish) under Len Jellema and Rolando Arocha, to the final polishing in grad school at Columbia College studying under Patricia Pinianski, Shawn Shifflett, and Patty McNair…and all the rest who are too numerous to mention here, I humbly thank you all. As the saying goes, if you’re reading this, thank a teacher.
And as the other saying goes, if you’re reading it in English, thank our military. I’d like to extend that to all the protectors, civilian and military, who stand watch, whether in foreign lands or on our soil…Who stand together or walk alone…Who are out there on that thin line that separates civilization from chaos…Who do their best to keep evil away from innocence, thus allowing society to sleep blissfully at night…Who are ready to lay down their lives in the protection of others.
I can say that I’ve met some of the finest people I’ve ever known while spending the majority of my adult life in uniform (both civilian and military). I am honored to have stood beside them.
It is to all of these people, and so many more, that this book is truly dedicated.
PRAISE FOR MICHAEL A. BLACK AND A KILLING FROST!
“[Black], a long-time Chicago area police officer, brings the same inside knowledge of police investigations and politics readers get from Joseph Wambaugh.”
—Sara Paretsky
“Mike Black breathes new life—and rare authenticity —into the classic American PI genre. If you like your action hard-boiled and unrelenting, you can’t go wrong with Ron Shade.”
—Andrew Vacchs
“[An] intriguing first mystery.…Essential for fans of hard-boiled detective fiction.”
—Library Journal
“Black’s novel rings with the authenticity of an author who is also a full-time Chicago-area policeman. His strong character development and ability to build suspense will hook readers’ interest—and leave them eager for the next installment in what promises to be an engaging series.”
—Booklist
“[An] assured debut in the classic hard-boiled tradition.”
—Publishers Weekly
“A brawny debut, so foursquare in its characters and prose that you can hardly wait till Shade finally gets to put those kick boxing skills to use.”
––Kirkus
Other Leisure books by Michael A. Black:
A KILLING FROST
Copyright
A LEISURE BOOK®
April 2008
Dorchester Publishing Co., Inc.
200 Madison Avenue
New York, NY 10016
Copyright © 2008 by Michael A. Black
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now
known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
E-ISBN 13: 978-1-4285-0375-5
The name “Leisure Books” and the stylized “L” with design are trademarks of Dorchester Publishing Co., Inc.
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Visit us on the web at www.dorchesterpub.com.
Random Victim Page 30
