The Sons of Jude

by Brandt Dodson

Delgado took a seat opposite his employer’s motorized wheelchair. “We have a problem, sir.”

  The old man nodded slowly. A tube in his nose had replaced the mask and his eyes were bloodshot, the eyelids heavy.

  “This morning’s paper carries a significant story about us, and the Greens, and our liaison with the PD. If they make a connection, we could be looking at serious damage.” He paused to wait for a response from Vincent. When none came, he continued.

  “I believe that such a connection is unlikely and even more remote if they are seeking evidence that ties us to the operation. But I am concerned about Peter. He’s volatile and I fear he may make an attempt on this reporter or the officers involved, or may go to the cops and spill everything.”

  “Where is he?” Vincent mouthed silently.

  “In his condo. I have taken the liberty of stationing a couple of men outside the building. One in a car and another on foot. Regardless of the route Peter takes, they will be with him. They will keep me informed.”

  Vincent closed his eyes and nodded again.

  “I would like your permission to resolve the issue with Peter.”

  Vincent opened his eyes.

  “I don’t want to concern you with this sort of thing, but I do believe it is in our best interests and that time is closing down.” He paused, then continued, “And I’d like to erase the girl, Juanita. She’s the subject of the article and if she feels the need to go to the police, she could be a conduit to us. She certainly knows more than she should about Aaron and Peter and could use that as leverage. That would create problems for us.”

  Aaron? mouthed Vincent.

  Delgado glanced at the men stationed in the house. “Aaron will be hurt. It is possible we will have to sever our relationship with him too.”

  The old man closed his eyes and Delgado paused, allowing him time to assess the situation. It was deteriorating and any attempts by the hotheaded Peter to solve matters would only worsen the situation. He had been allowed to conduct his business on the side so long as he didn’t interfere with Vincent’s plans, and so long as he didn’t bring undue attention on himself. That had all changed with the murder of the girl at Navy Pier and the subsequent attack on the detective. delgado’s efforts to usher Juanita out of the city had been the least costly way of solving a problem that had been partially created by Peter. Repeated efforts to have Aaron rein in his son had not been fruitful and it would fall to Delgado to clean up the mess that others had created. But that was as it should be. After all, Vincent was near death and Delgado was the most likely to succeed him. The enforcer was best prepared to rally the organization after Vincent’s death and take it to new heights. That couldn’t happen with the old way of doing things and certainly not with the childish Peter hanging over their heads. He and the girl needed to be dealt with, and if the alderman had to be excised as well, so be it.

  The hiss of the oxygen and Vincent’s labored breathing overrode the crackling of the fire. But then the crime lord opened his eyes, and by doing so, gave delgado the green light.

  CHAPTER 69

  Christy arrived at the Chicago Star newsroom at half past ten. Clarence was already surrounded by suits, all of them looking toward her as she stepped off the elevator that fed directly into the room.

  “I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes,” Ted said, under his breath.

  “They wouldn’t fit.” She set her purse and coat on her desk and went directly to Demille’s office.

  “Have a seat, Ms. Lee,” said one of the men – a tall, thinly built man with white hair. He was Morgan Tower and he was standing casually next to Demille’s desk, hands in pockets. His poker face was tanned.

  She sat and crossed her legs.

  “Please tell us you enjoy working here,” he said, getting directly to the point.

  “I do.”

  “And you enjoy working with Mr. Demille?” Tower asked as the others stood passively watching her.

  “Yes.” She smiled at Clarence. He sat behind the desk keeping his eyes on her and a half-smile fixed on his face.

  “Then for the love of God, could you please tell us what you were thinking when you wrote that story in this morning’s paper?”

  She exhaled sharply and looked at Clarence. He gave her the best “might as well” shrug he could muster, and she opened up, telling Tower and the others, presumably his attorneys, everything she knew, including the visit from Campello that morning and his planned attempts to find Juanita.

  “If you have told me everything, Ms. Lee, it is likely that you have endangered this young woman’s life as well as exposing this paper to a significant number of lawsuits.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  His face remained stoic. “That’s it?”

  “I believe in what I’m doing, sir. This city is as corrupt as any in the country and more than most. The mob is in bed with politicians and the politicians are in bed with the cops, and that leaves the people out there,” she gestured to the cityscape outside Demille’s window, “caught in the middle.”

  “And you propose to fix all of that by endangering this Juanita Delaney and us?”

  “That was never my intention, sir.”

  He rolled his eyes. “The best-laid plans…”

  “What would you have done?” she asked him, turning the tables.

  “Me?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He grinned. “I would’ve done what you did, Ms. Lee.” His eyes narrowed and focused sharply on her. “If I was your age with nothing to lose. unfortunately, I have a great deal to lose and nothing to gain.”

  She glanced at Clarence again. The half-smile was still in place.

  “You’re toying with me, aren’t you?” She stood face to face with Tower. “’Cause if you are, the game’s over. If you’re not, I can quit and take my exceptional skills to a competitor and do my story on the Tower empire and how it’s unwilling to take a stand for the truth. I think the people of this city deserve that much.”

  He grinned again. “I do too, Ms. Lee.” He gestured for her to have a seat and she sat again. “I am impressed by your story, but I’ll admit I was angry this morning.” He nodded to the men in the room. “I had our legal department go over the story and there are certainly some risks here, but I think you’re right and I think the time is right to tell the story. The people are sick of lawlessness and rioting. This town has seen too much of that kind of thing over the years and the one thing it needs from time to time is a good cleaning out. Your story just might do the trick.”

  Clarence smiled.

  “So, I can continue?”

  He nodded. “Yes. But I want you to understand there is a downside to all of this.”

  She braced herself.

  “If you make an untrue allegation, I will dismiss you and Mr. demille here. I am tolerant, but I am no patsy. I expect solid journalism without sensationalism and unsubstantiated rumors. Understood?”

  “Yes.”

  “And one more thing.”

  “Yes?”

  “Be careful, Ms. Lee.”

  CHAPTER 70

  Peter Green pulled out of the parking garage in his metallic-blue BMW M3 convertible. The top was up and he floored the pedal, speeding the roadster onto Lake Shore with no regard for anyone who might have been crossing in the car’s path. The stereo was at full tilt, playing the heavy metal music he preferred, and he drummed his fingers on the steering-wheel, bouncing his head to the tune.

  He drove south, glancing briefly to Lake Michigan on his left, which was as gray and colorless as the sky. The dense and choppy water lashed against the shore.

  He zoomed south to Randolph and turned right toward south Wacker. He followed the road north toward the river and to north Wacker Drive and the Chicago Star building. It was nearing noon and it was likely he would see the woman coming out of the building or the garage and he wanted to be there when she did. It was a gamble, but if he was right the payoff could be huge. If not, he would try again at another
time. He had researched her on Google and found an updated photo. She would not humiliate him again. No one would laugh at him. Everyone would know he had talent and could get things done.

  He drove as quickly as the dense traffic would allow, weaving between lanes and taking only minimal care to avoid other vehicles and pedestrians in the pursuit of his goal. They were inconsequential – just like the tramp on the boat who had started this whole messy affair. If she had only said “yes”, had only surrendered to him what she had undoubtedly given to men all over Chicago, she would be alive today and his business none the worse for wear. And that angered him. Trina hadn’t taken him seriously, even when he told her he would kill her if she resisted him. And what good did that do her? Was it better to be dead than to have been with him? Didn’t it make more sense to give in and live than to resist and die?

  He stopped at a traffic light one block from Wacker Drive. The Merchandise Mart was visible ahead, standing watch on the north bank of the river as it had for decades. Throngs of pedestrians, tourists and natives alike, milled past him, aware only of their own petty problems and locked in their own little worlds. He had better things to do. And if he could remove the woman from his life, he would be taken seriously. Maybe even by his father and the men who ran him. They would see that Peter Green was an astute businessman in his own right and a force which they would have to acknowledge.

  The light turned green and he floored the accelerator, nearly killing a young man who had been foolish enough to get caught mid-intersection.

  Peter turned right onto north Wacker. The Chicago Star was just ahead and there was a curbside opening, normally reserved for cabbies. He took the spot and parked the Beamer. His watch read ten minutes after twelve.

  They had followed Peter in an older-model Chevy, staying several car lengths behind. his driving had been erratic and it had been difficult at best to maintain a discreet distance while not losing him. But they managed to stay with the BMW, and followed him to Wacker Drive. He parked in front of the Chicago Star building, confirming their fears.

  The man driving the Chevy pulled alongside a cab that was parked curbside and then phoned Delgado. When he received confirmation, he let his passenger out of the car. The passenger – a tall, solidly built man with shaved head, jeans, and dirty tennis shoes – moved to the middle of the sidewalk and paused to light a cigarette. With his hand cupped around the smoke, the man kept his eyes on the BMW and its driver, puffing gently until the cigarette was fully lit. Shaking out the match, he tossed it to the ground, and nodded to the driver of the Chevy before he began walking east along the sidewalk, toward the M3 convertible. His hands were thrust into the pockets of his jacket.

  The driver of the Chevy revved the engine and searched the surrounding area with a nervous eye for the driver of the empty cab.

  Peter waited in the BMW for his prey to appear. Under his jacket, in a shoulder holster under his left arm, he was packing a .357 magnum with a 2-inch barrel. The large-bore handgun was loaded with high-velocity rounds and would ensure she would be taken down for good. He wanted to leave no room for error.

  He crouched down in the seat to better peer at the car’s rearview mirror and kept an eye on the revolving door. No sooner had he lowered himself, than he saw her coming through the entrance on her way to the sidewalk. She matched the photo he had seen on the internet, point for point. She was an attractive woman. She would have brought a premium on the open market.

  He pulled the revolver from its holster and pushed the button that lowered the passenger’s-side window.

  The man from the Chevy was less than twenty feet from the car when he saw the right-side window come down. He briefly paused, midstride, and then crouched to peer into the BMW through its rear window. Peter Green was looking toward the Star building and directly at a woman who was coming through the revolving doors.

  The man on the sidewalk pulled a Glock from the small of his back and motioned with his left arm for the driver of the Chevy to pull into traffic.

  The car separated from its double-parked position and began to creep alongside the BMW.

  The hit man charged toward the convertible as effortlessly and quietly as he could. He did not look at the pedestrians on the sidewalk, or at the passing vehicles on Wacker, or even at Christy. He kept his eye trained on Peter Green and the convertible’s open window.

  Peter cocked the hammer and called out to Christy.

  She turned her head in his direction.

  The tall man reached through the open window of the Beamer and thrust his pistol inside. Without saying a word, he fired four shots and then tossed the weapon into the car where it landed on the lifeless body of Peter Green.

  CHAPTER 71

  The open attack on Christy gave Campello pause. Peter Green was dead. Whoever killed him had probably not done it to protect the reporter. Instead, they were rolling up the rug to protect their own interests. That meant Juanita, Gloria, the Polanskis, Christy and Campello himself were potential targets. They knew too much and that was something the forces arrayed against them could not tolerate.

  They met at Campello’s apartment without Andy and his wife, who were being scrutinized by the press. Reporters from all over the Midwest were gathered in front of their home with TV cameras, microphones and radio equipment, making it impossible for anyone to get in or out without all of Chicago knowing.

  Campello gathered the crew together in the living-room and began to lay out the scenario as well as a possible way out.

  “We’ve got to get you three to safety,” he said to Christy and Juanita, who was holding her baby.

  Christy shook her head. “The attack on me was isolated. It was Peter being stupid.”

  “You’re a liability to the crew that hit Peter,” he said.

  “I don’t think so. Think about it, Frank. I’m the reporter who wrote the article. Any attack on me is an attack on an open press. They – whoever they are – aren’t that stupid. They could’ve let Peter finish the job and then taken him out at another time. But they didn’t. They stopped him.”

  “But you know too much,” he said, while the others watched the give and take like spectators at a Chicago Bulls game.

  “They’re the real targets of this,” she said, nodding toward the others.

  “Agreed. But I couldn’t concentrate on them if I thought you were still out there, an open target for whoever might want to draw them out.”

  She smiled. “You’re sweet. You really are. But I can take care of myself.”

  “I’m a cop,” he said. “I’m not sweet. And I know you can take care of yourself. But not against people like these. Especially when you can’t see them coming.”

  “I don’t know as much as they think,” Christy said. “And what little they think I know can be eliminated by eliminating her.” She nodded toward Juanita who sat wide-eyed with Clarissa on her lap. “It’s more important to protect her and let me stay on the job.”

  “She has a point, detective,” Gloria said. “If we can get out of town, she can go to work on the other end.”

  Campello shook his head. “It’s no good. They’d use her as leverage against me – us – and that would put her in danger.”

  “It’s a chance we’ll have to take,” she said.

  “We don’t have to take any chances at all,”

  Campello said. Christy looked at him, dumbfounded. “Yes we do. These people,” she gestured to the others, “have put a lot on the line trusting us. We can’t leave them now.”

  She had him. He knew it. And so did she.

  “If we leave town, where will you be?” he asked.

  “Here.”

  He shook his head. “If this is going to work, I need to know you’re safe.”

  She paused to think. “Maybe Andy could—”

  Campello shook his head. “Andy can’t stay in town. He’s being too closely watched. If anything, he’s going to have to go with me or stay put. If he sticks his head outside the door,
someone will see it. If he were protecting you, he’d be no protection at all. He’s got his hands full trying to avoid being a target himself. And then there’s his family. He can’t watch them and you.”

  “Frank, I don’t need protection,” she said. The others shifted uncomfortably.

  “You take protection or this doesn’t fly. We end it right here.”

  She attempted a stare-down, but this time he had her. “OK, OK,” she sighed. “Do you have a suggestion?”

  “For now, you stay with Demille at the office. You trust him?”

  “Completely.”

  “Then stay at the Star building. They have a shower there, right? Kitchen facilities?”

  She started to speak.

  “We don’t know who we can trust, Christy. I don’t know him. But you do so I’ll go with your instinct on this. I may have someone else, and I’ll call you to let you know if I can get it arranged. But for now, on short notice, stay with Demille.”

  She looked at the others, searching their eyes for support of her position. She found none. “OK, OK, I can go along with that if Clarence will.”

  Campello spread his hands. “He does, or it’s over and they win.”

  “They’re not going to win this one, Frank. They may have control of the city and the police, but they don’t control me. They don’t win this one!”

  CHAPTER 72

  Andy Polanski liked the plan. It was the first time he’d felt useful since getting arrested. In fact, since going public with his allegations against Caine and dorchester. After hanging up from Campello, he told his wife everything.

  “I don’t like it, Andy,” Jenny said. “It’s risky and it separates us.” They were upstairs in the bedroom. Polanski had two suitcases opened on the bed.

  “Everything I’ve done has been risky,” he said. “But God has always provided for us. This may be another case of His provision.”

  “Going into hiding?”

  “Didn’t david have to go into hiding even though he had already been anointed as King?” He put both hands on her shoulders and looked intently into her eyes. “This is better than sitting around, don’t you think?”