Start Shooting

by Charlie Newton

  My phone rings—it’s Arleen. I turn away from Hahn and the nun and an iron-clad connection between my brother and White Flower Lý. I ask Arleen, “Are you okay? Sorry, Hahn grabbed the phone—”

  “Like I said, it’s been a tough weekend.”

  “Maybe we skip the picnic, go straight to the Bushmills.”

  Arleen says, “Leave your girlfriend out. I’m ready now.”

  “I’m at Cristo Rey. Was about to tell you I was with your pal, Sister Mary Margaret. Hold on a second, she wants to say hi. Then it’s you, me, and the hell with the rest of this.” I bump Hahn away, hand the phone to Sister Mary Margaret, and stand between her and Hahn.

  Hahn tries to get around me. “Gimme the phone. She has to talk to me.”

  The nun says, “Hi, it’s Mary.” The nun listens, her face tightening as she watches Hahn and me dancing. “No, I’ve never seen Ms. Hahn before.” Pause. “No, I haven’t discussed you other than to say—” Pause. “Child, if you’re involved—” The nun stops, listens again, nods, and hands me the phone.

  I walk down the hall, phone to my ear. Arleen says, “Why are you at Cristo Rey?”

  “Looking for Ruben, like I said—”

  “I’ll meet you, but not your friend.”

  Hahn motions for the phone, walks alongside me as I tell Arleen, “I don’t know what’s going on, but I can help. And I can stop Ruben without him getting killed. I’ll meet you wherever you want, alone, I promise. Let’s just you and me talk, okay? You and me. If it feels weird, we walk away. If not … if not, we fly away. Just like we always planned.”

  Silence, then: “North end of the Michigan Avenue Bridge. I’m running out of reasons to believe, Bobby. Be alone, don’t break my heart.”

  “Never happen.” I fold the phone shut when Hahn grabs for it.

  Hahn glares. “What do we know?”

  “You’re right, Ruben’s using Arleen.”

  “She fronting the blackmail?”

  “Don’t know, but she’s in, and she’s scared.”

  “We can save her.” Hahn stares hard at me. “I’m not kidding.”

  “Yeah. You’re all about saving.”

  “I am. Your problem’s that I don’t have your brother and his pals at the top of my list.”

  “You think you’re gonna kill Ruben, don’t you?”

  “ ’Cause he hung up on me a few minutes ago?”

  “You’re a bounty hunter. You hired Danny Vacco so you could shoot him. Ruben alive is the same kinda problem.”

  Hahn stares. “Your brother is one dangerous career criminal in a cop suit. But I don’t care if he shot Jesus. And even if I did, there’s a whole bunch of folks in line ahead of me.”

  “He’s going to prison. You aren’t killing him.”

  Hahn shrugs agreement, then points back at the Cristo Rey office. “CNN was on in there. An hour ago, a woman who matches Arleen’s description paid a homeless guy to toss an ‘empty vial with a green rubber cap’ at the 10K reviewing stand. Shattered—that means it broke—at Dr. Ota’s feet.”

  “It broke? How do we know it was empty?”

  Hahn grits her teeth. “We don’t.”

  SUNDAY, 5:30 PM

  The sidewalks on both sides of Michigan Avenue are jammed with concertgoers streaming south. Furukawa’s party in Millennium Park is expected to draw thousands. I call Ruben; his phone picks up but he doesn’t speak. “Ruben, you can’t do Furukawa—”

  Thirty feet ahead, two cops scan the crowd and focus my way. I duck into the street and the stalled traffic. “I know all about it, Ruben: the Hokkaido package, White Flower Lý. I’ve been to her apartment, to Cristo Rey. She has an altar—somebody tore the place apart, probably her.” My voice breaks. “She shot Jewboy, Ruben. Killed him dead. Buff’s dying in ICU. You gotta give her to me; give yourself up. Call Barlow. I’ll help you, but you gotta stop.”

  Silence.

  “Ruben? These people are innocent—” Ruben’s connection quits. The two uniforms stop a group with open beers. Behind them in the middle of the intersection, two more uniforms argue with a dented red Toyota they’re forcing onto Illinois with the rest of the traffic. I make the west curb, ease into the crowd, and use my phone to block my face. The red Toyota turns in front of me; Ruben’s number blinks in my hand … the combination hits me like a train.

  I stumble into the glass of Walgreen’s storefront. I didn’t pass the polygraph because I did mention the Toyota—to Ruben, after dinner at the Levee Grill. From day one Ruben and Lý knew why Hahn and Lopez were in town. Ruben gave up the Toyota. My stomach heaves and I curl my face into the glass. My brother murdered Hahn’s girlfriend.

  The horror rush won’t stop. White Flower had a male accomplice when she shot Buff and Jewboy. Was it Ruben? My fucking brother? The undeniable possibility blurs my vision. Buff brought White Flower over; she called him the day after Ruben and Buff had a fistfight … she set Buff up to die. Her and Ruben.

  My knees buckle. On hands and knees, I stare at the concrete. Shoes and legs surge around me. I try to stand and two men help me up, asking if I’m okay. I nod and stagger for balance. For half a block, the revelers on Michigan Avenue carry me with them. I slide into a doorway and call Ruben again. Ruben’s phone picks up, but he doesn’t speak. Neither do I.

  In our silence I want to scream, want to cry, but do neither. Revelers stream past, loud and oblivious. I wait for Ruben to pull us back from the brink, to tell me something, anything that changes the facts. He doesn’t. I flip my phone shut. The click is so loud it rattles my spine.

  At the bridge I step out of the flow but not out of the crowd. I have a citywide out on me for murdering Danny Vacco. Add cop fears that one of their own may be a psycho child molester and standing at the north end of the Michigan Avenue bridge may get me shot. Adults and teenagers school past, some with samurai headbands, some with togas, some bare-chested, painted with Chicago and Olympic logos.

  I pat the pistol under my shirt—White Flower dies for Jewboy and Buff. Ruben goes to prison … and if Hahn can’t or won’t work her magic, I probably do, too. Hard to imagine America, the universe, going this bad, this fast.

  Arleen appears out of the crowd. Five foot seven wearing a ’40s dress and fragile smile. The universe improves. We’re ten feet apart. I saw her yesterday—one time in twenty-nine years that wasn’t an old photograph—and now she’s the only good thing I know. There’s a reason we’re back in each other’s lives. I feel it like baptism.

  Her eyes fan left of me, then right. She steps back. “Am I safe, Bobby?”

  “Knight in shining armor, remember?”

  She’s not sure. “Might take a lot of armor.” She looks spent but stunning—windblown blond hair, heroic green eyes. The girl you’ve been waiting all your life for, who could make you stupid and sappy and happy to tell your friends how it feels. I don’t want to ask, but I have to.

  “Was the vial empty?”

  ARLEEN BRENNAN

  I keep ten feet between us, stare at all the things that could go wrong, or right. Bobby’s not Ruben, not in his posture or clothes, not smiling, hoping to get laid when he’s done with dinner. He isn’t promising an audition if I … Bobby’s just looking at my eyes, waiting for a sign, trying to decide …

  “The green cap was already off when he gave it to me.”

  Bobby exhales and begins a smile he’s having trouble stopping.

  Twenty-nine years and one yesterday later I hear me say: “I want to kiss you once before … whatever happens, happens. Okay? I know it’s stupid, but that’s what I want.”

  He blinks but doesn’t move, then steps through the crowd between us, slides his hands into my hair, and kisses me on the lips. Not a movie kiss, not overwhelming passion, but a strong man who means it. My arms slow-circle the strength of his shoulders because that’s what I want them to do, then his neck as I press up from my toes. Our lips part and it’s … so strong I shiver and squeeze against him to hold on. He does the
same. His chest and my breasts are a thin layer of ’40s fabric apart. I shiver again. If we were alone I’d want to be naked, or crying, or both.

  SIREN.

  Bobby doesn’t let go. I press harder against him and don’t let go, either. It is a movie kiss, the best of my career. His eyes are wet; my eyes are wet. My lips brush his cheek. Four of my fingers slide into his belt. I breathe shallow and say, “Um, hi?”

  His left hand stays in my hair. “Hi.”

  We stay like that, feeling each other’s hearts beat, the heat of our skin, the trembles that—He kisses me again. I don’t startle or step back or care who’s watching.

  Bobby gently presses me to arm’s length, holding my shoulders, then bends his knees so our eyes are level. He says, “I know Ruben’s dirty. I know he’s going to prison. You’re not; I’ll protect you from him and his crew. Promise.”

  Tears dribble my cheeks. Bobby hugs me to him. The tears don’t stop, may never stop. He brushes them away, kisses me again, and hugs tighter. His heart is strong against my chest. He tells my ear, “We’re gonna be okay. You’re not in trouble. Nobody steals your dream. Not gonna happen.”

  I can smell the river at the bridge and semi-whisper, “Think I better sit down.”

  OFFICER BOBBY VARGAS

  I slip us around the Wrigley Building’s south half onto the Water Street promenade. A strip of shade runs underneath the sky bridge and that’s where we sit with our backs to the wall. I hold both her hands and wait. Our legs touch from hip to knee. She trembles in the heat and doesn’t speak.

  “I have to find Ruben. If you can help me, I can stop him. Just help me find him before his scam gets any worse.”

  Arleen removes her hands from mine, wipes her eyes, and scans Water Street. “It’s bad, Bobby.”

  “Yeah, it is. But Ruben’s scam isn’t how you and I finish. We’re going to happy ever after. Got the script in my pocket.”

  Arleen almost smiles. She touches my face and watches my eyes, then takes a deep breath. “The Furukawa people don’t think it’s a scam.”

  “Why? What do you know?”

  “Ruben made me give them a sample of something. The woman I gave it to was very careful with it. She said they’d test it and if it was real, they’d pay Ruben and Robbie what they’re asking.”

  “When.”

  “Tonight. By seven o’clock.”

  “And you … have to front the trade?”

  She nods. “Ruben got me involved on a lie. The situation went bad in a hurry, and I was trapped. If I don’t keep helping him, he turns me in …”

  “For what?”

  “It’s bad.”

  “I don’t care. Help me find Ruben before he can continue and I’ll forgive you anything. So will Chicago, the feds, and anyone with sense.”

  Arleen stares at our shoes. “Friday, I was delivering a message for Ruben on Lawrence Avenue. It was part of the lie Ruben tricked me into. Robbie Steffen drove up and shot a man to death. That makes me an accessory to murder and a witness Robbie Steffen can’t leave alive.”

  Unfortunately, she’s right. The ASA will roll her to testify against Robbie. If she can prove Ruben tricked her, the ASA will promise to cut her loose after the trial. But Robbie won’t.

  “Ruben said he could square me with Robbie. I believed Ruben and went to Greektown yesterday. But it was setup to get Robbie and me killed, to pacify the Koreans.” Arleen stands. I pull her back. She squeezes her temples. “I might’ve shot one of the Koreans.”

  “You? Do they know it was you?”

  “The Korean shot Robbie, then tried to kill me. I think I shot him. Twice.”

  I grab her hands. They’re trembling. “Self-defense—have to convince the ASA you weren’t a willing participant, then testify against Ruben and Robbie. Not easy, but with right pub and a good lawyer you could walk.”

  “Maybe, but I won’t walk from Toddy Pete. He won’t let me put his son in prison. Forever.”

  I point at the crowds heading south to the concert. “Toddy Pete won’t let Robbie torch the Olympic rebid, either. Way too much at stake.” I squeeze her hands. “Arleen, look at me. Do the Koreans know it was you in the alley?”

  “I don’t think so, not yet. But I’m dead if Ruben tells them. And he will if I don’t finish with Furukawa.”

  She tries to stand again and I hold her down.

  “Bobby, all … all I want is the Shubert; even if I can’t have it. I want to win once, for Coleen and me. Just once.”

  “And you can; we can spin this. I know we can; a hero actress who goes undercover and saves a city. The Herald will front-page it.”

  Arleen starts a smile that she stops. “Robbie and the Koreans won’t let me—”

  “I carried your picture for twelve years. I only stopped because it was wearing out.” I squeeze her hands again. “No one hurts you while I’m alive. Not the Koreans, not Robbie. No one.”

  ARLEEN BRENNAN

  I concentrate on Bobby’s brown eyes; not a spec of bad in them, just boyish promise surrounded by a man’s resolve. He means to save us. Who knows if he can, but he means to, and right now that’s our happily ever after. I lean forward and kiss him on the lips. And that feels like happily ever after for real.

  I dig out my phone and hit Redial on Ruben’s number, dry swallow, then hold the phone so Bobby can hear.

  Ruben answers. “Niña, a homeless man? Beautiful, I gotta say. Threw a strike.”

  Bobby winces at the voice. I shrug, sorry, and say, “I’m out, Ruben, leave me alone.”

  “Almost. Just one more errand and you can have your Shubert role. Everyone gets paid, all is forgiven.”

  “Can’t. Have to be at the Shubert at eight o’clock—”

  “Yeah, I talked to Sarah. No problem. We’ll be all done by then.”

  “Leave Sarah alone. I mean it. And stay away from the Shubert. I’m out, Ruben. Over. Done.”

  “Niña, don’t go stupid on me now, not this close to the finish. Santa Monica and Lawrence Avenue just a phone call away.”

  Bobby taps my knee and mouths Santa Monica?

  I stammer, losing my place.

  “We don’t want that pier in Santa Monica coming back, ruining everything.”

  Chicago fades to Santa Monica, the vengeful nightmare apparition cornering me on the pier. Lightning behind me; nowhere to run; years of little-girl horror packaged into one final assault. I scream: “Get away from me!” An arm grabs my shoulder. A phone yells in my ear. I blink back to Chicago, to crowds, faces staring, to heat searing my skin and Ruben’s voice in my ear. Bobby squeezes me to him. I tell the phone, “Money. I want part of the money.”

  Silence.

  I hang up, embarrassed, flushed at all memories, thoughts of … Bobby stares deep in my eyes. Looking for the pier? The man on it? Bobby touches the heat in my face.

  “I don’t want a dime; don’t know why I said that. I want the Shubert, then I want this to end.”

  “Me, too.” Bobby half smiles, cracked and friendly, but crushed by his gangster-monster brother. “When Ruben calls back, fight for money—be an actress, play it like a part—but agree to whatever will put you and him together.”

  My phone rings.

  Bobby finishes with “And I’ll take it from there.”

  I answer the phone. Ruben says, “So, chica, we in business now? How much you think you need to outrun Santa Monica?”

  I channel Lilly Dillon in The Grifters. “Threaten me one more time, Ruben, and I’m calling the U.S. attorney.”

  Silence. Then: “Why? How much of my money do you want?”

  Bobby mouths, Five million.

  My eyes go wide. Bobby nods. I say, “Five million.”

  “Don’t think so, chica.”

  “Then you and your partners get another front man. Or face the Japanese yourself.”

  “The Japs runnin’ scared right now; little jumpy after that vial hit their man. But they’re good with you. We’ll give you a hundred K�
�fuck it, two-fifty, cash—”

  “Make it two million or I hang up and call Toddy Pete, tell him you’re behind his only son being shot, and you’re the maniac screwing up the biggest move of T.P.’s career.”

  “No Shubert for you.”

  “Like you’ll let me have it? You’re a bottomless pit, Ruben. Pay me and I disappear. Or in the next ten minutes I bury you with Toddy Pete. Period. End of offer.” I hang up, quit playing Lilly Dillon, and semi-fall back into Bobby’s shoulder.

  Bobby’s gone pale listening to his brother, but builds me a smile. “That was good. Ruben will believe you want the money.”

  “I want the Shubert. Ruben’s not taking the Shubert unless he kills me.”

  Bobby grips my arm. “I love Ruben, but Ruben’s going to prison. I’ll make peace with that before we see him. And I’ll make him kill me before he hurts you.” Bobby swallows and pats my arm. “He won’t do that. I’m his brother; he won’t hurt me.”

  I stare, don’t tell Bobby that I think Ruben is a sociopath who wouldn’t think twice about killing his little brother and eating him.

  “What about Agent Hahn?”

  “She’s a problem. A wild card. But she has to be part of the solution … to be sure Furukawa’s … mess is cleaned up.”

  I scan the crowd on Water Street. “Do we trust her?”

  “No. Tania Hahn’s a private contractor, a bounty hunter with CIA credentials. She and her folks are who were packaging me as a child molester.”

  I pull away, not sure I heard that.

  Bobby says, “So she could leverage me. To get to Ruben and Robbie and my sergeant.”

  “We’re betting our lives on someone who’d do that?”

  Bobby nods. “Hahn has resources.”

  “So does the devil, but we wouldn’t trust—”

  “I can’t let her kill Ruben, I don’t care what he’s done. And I think she suspects Ruben gave up the Toyota that killed her girlfriend.”