The Underground Detective: A Novel of Chicago Streets

by Thomas Laird

“Don’t play dumb with me, Mangan. I’m not amused.”

  “I still haven’t grasped exactly what it is you want.”

  “I want you to catch that little prick in a hurry or find someone else to lean on. You’re taking his old man down with him. Do you understand?”

  “You think we’re dragging our asses on this one?”

  “I want results, Detective. Just like the rest of the city. I want justice for those dead girls, no matter what they did with their lives.”

  Justin’s hand comes off his lips. I can see his eyes boring in on Vronski. So I try to end this little joust before my new partner wades into the offal.

  “That’s what we want, too, Alderman. And I have no desire to cause the Lieutenant Governor any problems. I’m not political, Mr. Vronski. But if you think I’m not the man for this case, maybe you really should talk to the mayor, and then he can talk to the Commander and then he—“

  “All right. I’m done. You heard what I said. Ray Toliver doesn’t deserve to get pulled under along with that miserable son of a bitch he sired. I’m done, then. You two officers have a nice lunch.”

  He rises from the table. I notice now that his white hair is razor cut. Had to be a stylist. He’s short in stature—maybe five feet six. And he’s a wiry little shit. He’s maybe fifteen years my senior, but he looks tanned and healthy. I’m sure the tan came from one of our local beaches, not the Cayman Islands or Bermuda.

  He walks away, and within ten feet of us, he’s waving at someone else and smiling, and he goes to some other guy’s table and begins glad-handing another possible voter.

  After Fatso’s, Justin and I drive back to Headquarters. We’re in city traffic, so it takes the better part of a half hour to go just a few miles. We get halted by every stoplight.

  “That was really brave, the way you talked to that guy. Not very bright, but brave,” Justin tells me.

  “What’s he gonna do? Not invite me to his birthday party?”

  “You know what he can do.”

  I look over to him, and I grin.

  “You start worrying about what these kind of weasels can do to you, and you might as well resign right away. Once they start telling me to lay off someone in a homicide investigation, then you can occupy my spot on your way to the top, Detective Grant.”

  “I’m just saying you could’ve been more tactical in the way you talked to him. That’s all I’m saying.”

  The blocks crawl by as we approach yet another red light on Monroe Street. It’s an overcast day, so it’s becoming more like fall as the days recede.

  “If you wanted a politician for a partner, you came to the wrong address, Justin.”

  “I’m not saying that, either. I just don’t think you need to antagonize people who can do you great harm.”

  I look over at him again. He’s doing the driving. That’s what junior partners are for.

  “Look, Danny. You got a rep. It came out in big bold print in that article the guy in the Times wrote. Vronski isn’t going to mess with someone in the spotlight, and you’re there, now. He might come back at you when you’re not in the limelight anymore. That’s all I’m saying. You have to look out for yourself.”

  I find it strange that I’m getting the brunt of these words of wisdom. Surviving used to be all that I cared about. Getting home. Getting back to my life and back to The World. And now I’m being re-educated by Justin Grant, a Homicide for just six months.

  “Thanks, Justin. I appreciate your concern for my welfare.”

  “He didn’t tell you to lay off Franklin Toliver. He asked you to be gentle with Raymond Toliver.”

  “I know, Justin. I was right there. With you.”

  “Look, Danny, I don’t mean to tell you your job. I just don’t want to see you throw your life away on account of that cracker, Vronski.”

  I look at Justin carefully. He looks back at me, and then his eyes go to the landscape sweeping past him on the driver’s side window.

  “I shouldn’t have called him that. I’m really not a racist.”

  “I never thought you were,” I tell him.

  He looks back out at the road and we come upon yet another red light. I’m wondering if we’ll ever arrive at Headquarters.

  “Just look out for your own self,” he says, finally.

  And then the light turns green.

  Lila has overcome the flu, but her blood count remains a problem. The doctor has her on vitamins and an iron rich diet. She’s been warned to stop smoking altogether, also.

  “I can’t drink any alcohol. They don’t want my blood any thinner,” she tells me at her place when I visit on a Friday night.

  “You can live without it. You don’t drink much, anyhow,” I tell her.

  She sits in her recliner and I’m back on her couch again, as if I’m her audience. I sure don’t feel like her lover anymore, and I’m wondering if I’m even her friend, lately.

  “Danny?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I think it would be better if we weren’t partners, anymore.”

  I sit there, stunned. She’s sitting on that recliner with a red, white and blue afghan thrown over her from the waist down.

  “What in Christ’s name brought all this on?”

  She sits up and drops her feet to the floor.

  “I’ve been thinking about all this for a long time. I’ve got nothing to do lately but sit around and think about things. I think it would be better for both of us if we stopped seeing so much of each other.”

  Again, I’m baffled. I didn’t see any of this coming on.

  “Did I do something to you, Lila?”

  “No. It isn’t that. Look. I love you, but I think we need some time and distance, and I think it would be better for us on the job if we worked with other people. You get along with this guy Justin, don’t you?”

  “Yeah, but I get along with you much better. At least I thought I did.”

  “I don’t want you pissed at me. I really do love you, and if we’re going to have a relationship some—“

  “If?”

  She watches me, but she doesn’t start up again. She sits there looking at me as if she’s convincing me telepathically.

  “What do you mean, if?” I ask again.

  “You know the chance we were taking by getting involved when we were partners.”

  “Were? I never thought we stopped being together.”

  “You’re making this—“

  I get up from her couch.

  “Okay. I’ll request that Justin sticks with me as my permanent partner. All you have to do is put it in writing, whenever you come back.”

  I head toward the door, and I’m waiting for her to stop me, to call out my name, but the door is closed behind me, and I’m headed out of here.

  25

  October is the finest month of the twelve. It usually offers the best weather, up until Halloween. The cold usually triumphs over an Indian summer by the time the Day of the Dead arrives. Dia del muerto. All Saints is November one, I think I remember. Since I’m becoming a practicing Catholic again, even though Kelly’s not with me at mass anymore because she’s at school, I ought to remember Holy Days. At Trinity High School, where I went, we celebrated all the Holy Days, and we had at least one mass per month that was an all-school celebration of the Eucharist. You didn’t get out of church, even if you weren’t a Catholic or even if you didn’t practice the faith but paid the tuition. It was what they called mandatory.

  On the first Sunday in October, my aloneness really sets in on me. Kelly’s at Northern until the Thanksgiving break. (A makeup with Michael seems to be in the offing, the last time I talked to her—last Wednesday, I think.) I haven’t heard from Lila since I walked out of her apartment. And our two major redline cases remain in scarlet.

  Justin is doing fine as a partner. We get on well, but it’s not the same without Lila. It never will be the same without her. I should call her on the phone and at least make the attempt to clear the air between
us, but that would feel like capitulation to me, somehow, and I still can’t think what I did to bring all that on, with her.

  Women are mysteries beyond my grasp, even though I’ve heard their cryptic qualities stated better than I just did. I couldn’t follow why Mary dumped me and Kelly. I never abused my ex physically or mentally or psychologically, that I can recall. We never had any drop down brawls of the verbal/oral kind when we were together. Our fights were more of the silent, brooding type. She sometimes wouldn’t talk to me for days.

  I’m still seeing Dr. Fernandez. I’m not on a first name basis with her—I’d love to call her Arlene sometime soon, but I know it’s all very professional with her as far as I’m concerned. And I’m still in love with Lila and probably always will be.

  I still love Mary. I never stopped. I don’t stop caring about people, but some of them have no problem cutting me out of their concerns, Mary being the number one culprit, here. It’s beyond my ken why human beings can simply stop loving someone once the process begins, but apparently a lot of folks have no difficulty turning their emotions on and off.

  Dr. Fernandez looks her beautiful best again today. Regardless of how I feel for Lila, I really want to make contact with the doc’s pink lips. I’d like to feel my hands on her shoulders, on the small of her back. I’d like to break up that authoritarian gaze she aims at me and replace it with some really nasty, get-down desire.

  I sit in the same straight-backed chair I always do when I keep my appointments with her. She sits behind her desk, not six feet away from me, but she might as well be in the Ukraine, as far as my getting any closer to her goes. I suppose I’m transferring all my lust at my therapist because Lila won’t have anything to do with me.

  I’ve told Dr. Fernandez about Lila because what I say to her stays in confidence. She can suggest that the Department put me on leave for health reasons, and she can also suggest that they can me, outright, if she thinks I’m unfit. There is a whole list of steps to get me thrown off the force, however. It’s not as easy as you might think. I do have some rights. And I don’t think she thinks I’m some kind of menace to myself or to the people of the City of Chicago, though.

  “How are you doing, Detective Mangan?”

  She won’t call me Danny. It’s all very above board, in here.

  “I’m as deep in the shit as I’ve ever been.”

  I explain to her about what happened with Lila.

  “And why do you think she wants to discontinue your professional relationship as well as your personal relationship?”

  It hurts just to hear her say it out loud.

  “She told me I was never open, with her. I guess that would be why.”

  “Are you open with her, Detective?”

  “I’m more open than I am with anyone else, I suppose.”

  “Why would she think you’re withholding on her, then?”

  I have to avert my eyes from the psychiatrist.

  “Do you look away when you’re talking to her, too?” she asks.

  “I’m sorry. I guess I do, sometimes.”

  She looks at her perfectly painted fingernails. This time they’re colored a deep red, and it contrasts with the slight blush of her lips.

  “We need to talk about your mother and father.”

  “I’ve been through all that before with you, haven’t I?”

  “You don’t like to talk about either one.”

  “No. I don’t.”

  “Is it because of your mother’s alcoholism, Danny?”

  She shocks me with the use of my given name. I watch her intently.

  “I guess that has something to do with it.”

  “You guess?”

  “Okay, it has a lot to do with it.”

  “How can it hurt to bring all this out since it’s been so long since they both passed away?”

  “I don’t like to dwell.”

  “You do like to carry burdens on yourself.”

  “I don’t know what you—“

  “Yes, you do. You’re a tough guy, aren’t you. Dependent on no one. Then you began to depend on Mary and she left you, just like both your parents did. They died on you. Now your daughter has gone off to begin her life and you feel a sense of betrayal even though you understand that all children have to leave their parents eventually. And Lila has betrayed you by refusing to enter into any kind of serious relationship. She wouldn’t move in with you.

  “And I’m doing way too much talking, Danny, but it gets very frustrating to watch you evade me, every time you come in here. Are you afraid that all this is a sign of weakness, the therapy, I mean?”

  “My parents didn’t believe in taking your problems to anyone else, not the personal kind, anyway.”

  “Yeah? Well that was then and this is now, no? And since when did you do as your mother and father did? Did they want you to join the Army?”

  “They wanted me to go to college right out of high school.”

  “So you joined up when no one else was enlisting. You didn’t wait for the draft. You hauled ass into the recruiter all on your own and then you joined up with the most elite fighting force you could sign up with. Isn’t that right?”

  “You want me to say that I did all that to spite my parents?”

  “Didn’t you?”

  “I joined the Rangers because I wanted to see what I really had. I told you all that before.”

  “You had a death wish. Don’t you still?”

  “Are you kidding? I don’t want to die.”

  “I know. I just said it to see how you’d react. Sorry.”

  “So you’re pushing my buttons to see what turns on.”

  She smiles. She watches me with a slight grin.

  “I don’t know how else to move you to react. React with any kind of emotion. You’re the stoic’s stoic, Detective. Lila’s right: You never let your guard down. You didn’t come from abusive parents. They were simply frail and human, and so are you, but you’re damned if you’ll let anyone know it. It’s your little secret. You’re not perfect. Welcome to the human race. You’re not some super-warrior. That’s only what they trained you to be, and you weren’t going to let them down. They made you a killer, but you doubted the reasons for the killing and kept your feelings suppressed. You kept them hidden, and you’re still doing it, Danny, even with the people you care deeply about.”

  I smile back at her.

  “I thought you were supposed to ask me how I felt about this and that. You know, you do the asking and I do the bringing up out of the depths of my soul.”

  “I gave you the ‘B’ version. If I waited for you to tell me, we’d both be senior citizens by the time you confessed what’s going on inside you.”

  “I confess I’d like to know if you’re married.”

  “No.”

  “Seeing anyone?”

  “Let’s get back to you.”

  “How about I change therapists so I can start seeing you up close and personal?”

  “That’s very tempting, but sorry, I don’t go out with men who’re on the rebound.”

  “Can’t get anything past this goal keeper.”

  “You want Lila back?”

  The smirk leaves my lips.

  “You know I do.”

  “You going to stop hitting on me?”

  “When have I ever done that before?”

  She stares at me insistently.

  “Who says it’d be on the rebound?”

  “I do. You love Lila. Or were you lying to me?”

  “I never—“

  “I know, Danny. You never do anything that weak.”

  “Tell me how you really feel about me.”

  “You don’t want to know, do you?”

  “Sure. Fire away.”

  “We talk in strict confidence in this room. Does that include what I say to you?”

  “Now you got me all worked up.”

  “You’re an attractive man. But you’re hooked on Lila and you’re transferring all th
at emotion onto me. It’s common for patients to do that with their therapists, especially if the psychologist is of the opposite gender.”

  “So I’m typical, then?”

  “Only with this supposed lust you have for your doctor.”

  “I’m striking out here, ain’t I.”

  She nods and smiles.

  “I gave it a shot.”

  She laughs and keeps her eyes trained on mine. She won’t waver.

  “Tell me about your mom.”

  So I tell her how she embarrassed me when I tried to bring friends home. I tell Dr. Fernandez how my school friends could smell the vodka on her even though vodka used to be called the businessman’s booze because it wasn’t supposed to leave an odor on you. I tell her how my friends would watch her stagger—only slightly—around the house. And then I explain how I just stopped having my buddies and girlfriends into the house altogether.

  She nods as if she really understands me.

  “What about your father?”

  I explain about his experience in World War II, how I grew up thinking I could never be that brave. I tell her how I was terrified that I was a coward and that I could never match up to him. He got to fight in a “Good War,” and I was stuck with Vietnam.

  She nods again as I unload all this old baggage I’ve been saving up for forty years.

  And then I tell her I loved both of my parents. I never held anything against them. My mother had a weakness, sure, but she never missed making a dinner or keeping my clothes clean. She loved me completely. She never held back. It was just that she couldn’t stop with her addiction.

  And then my daughter comes along, and it’s as if I passed something terrible on to Kelly, something I never really had to deal with. I drank, but I didn’t have to, the way my mother did. Yet whatever Kelly’s addictions are and were, I have to look to myself as their source.

  “That’s not necessarily true or fair,” Fernandez interrupts me. “People are equipped with free will. They make their own choices. Good parents have screwed up offspring, and it works in reverse, sometimes.”

  “If it’s mine, I can bear it.”

  “What if it isn’t your fault? None of it. What if Mary chose to leave you, all on her own? What if Kelly began purging at her own desire? What if Lila left because there was something inside her, all her very own, that decided to head out away from you? Why does it always have to land on you, Danny? Why are you always your own worst punching bag?”