He'd lost at least twenty pounds, maybe more, and the blue Chicago PD uniform he'd always been so damn proud of seemed to hang on him. There were deep creases in his pants and a stain - mustard maybe? - on his tie. Even his shirt collar looked frayed, grubby. Dante knew nothing short of a crisis would convince Leo's wife, Rose, to let him out of the house like this.
He supposed this qualified.
“Leo.”
“Dante.” Leo blinked twice, his face ashen. “How the- what are you doing here?”
“Jesus, Leo.” Dante looked at him like he was crazy, shook his head. “What do you think I’m doing here?”
“Right, no, I mean of course I know what you're doing here.” Leo lifted his hands, palms out. “I just meant… how’d you get here so fast? I was gonna call you as soon as we knew something.”
“Somebody from the precinct called. Enzo must have my number listed as emergency contact. How is he?”
“He took one in the shoulder, one in the stomach, and one...” Leo swallowed, his voice wobbling, “one to the head.”
“How bad?”
“Bad enough.” Leo shook his head, looked away. “The shoulder was a through and through, and they got the one in his gut, but he's lost a lot of blood. They won't even try to get the last one, the one in his head, until he’s stabilized.”
Dante scrubbed his hands over his face, huffed out a breath and stood up tall. He had to keep it together, for Enzo’s sake. “What the Hell happened, Leo?”
“Nobody knows.” When Leo jerked his head towards a quiet corner, Dante followed him, lowered his voice. “An anonymous 911 call came in at 4:20 this afternoon. Caller said...” Leo let out a shaky breath. “The caller reported a body on Sherwood.”
“Sherwood?”
“In Xavier Heights.”
“I know where it is,” Dante snapped. Knew what it was, too. A fucking cesspool. “What I don't know is what a rookie was doing out there without backup. Where the Hell was his partner?”
“He... he wasn’t on duty.” Leo hesitated, not meeting Dante’s eyes. “As far as I know he’s never worked Xavier Heights.”
“But if he wasn't working...” Dante let the words trail away, his eyes narrowing. “What is it? What aren’t you telling me?”
“Dante, when the paramedics brought him in…” Leo swallowed hard. He looked like he might throw up, or cry. “They said he was carrying some cash. A lot of cash.”
“What's a lot?” Dante heard himself ask, knowing, somehow, that he wasn't going to like answer.
“Twenty-five thousand,” Leo whispered, then lowered his voice even more. “And about half a pound of Heroin.”
“No.” Adamant, Dante shook his head. “Uh uh. No way. You know him, Leo. He won’t even take an aspirin, there’s no way he’s involved with Heroin. There’s gotta be some other explanation.”
“Look, kid, you two haven't talked in awhile.” Leo lifted his shoulders while Dante paced back and forth in front of him. “Maybe he-”
“Maybe he what, Leo?” Dante snapped. “Maybe he changed? Yeah, I’m sure that’s it.” His voice was thick with sarcasm. “Maybe he woke up one morning and just decided to...” Dante waved his hand around, “be an entirely different person.”
“Sorry.” Leo winced.
“Forget it.” Dante shoved his hands back through his hair, linked his fingers behind his neck. “It’s not your fault. Is Internal Affairs involved yet?”
“Probably on their way now.” Leo lifted his narrow, dandruff-flecked shoulders.
“Of course they are.” Dante shook his head. “Because everything’s not fucked up enough already.”
* * * *
Harley smiled back over her shoulder at Murray, but she'd forgotten all about him by the time she turned around again. She walked past the nurse's station, past a rack stuffed with flyers about osteoporosis and deep vein thrombosis, a muted television that no one seemed to be watching.
She couldn't quite get close enough to distinguish the words the shabby, older cop and the hottie were saying, not without drawing undue attention to herself, but she could hear the steady, solemn buzz of their voices. More importantly, she could see them. Could see their weary faces, their fear, the desperation in their eyes. While she watched, the hottie paced back and forth - please be Dante Giancana, please be Dante Giancana - and the old guy shook his head and wrung his hands.
They knew each other, obviously, knew each other well. She reached into her bag for a pen and paper, scrawled a little note to remind herself to see if the two might be related. She considered sneaking a few pictures, even had her hand on her cellphone, but couldn't bring herself to risk it.
A tiny, silver-haired woman in scrubs brushed past her - a doctor, maybe? - stopped in the center of the room. “Giancana?” she called out, her voice surprisingly loud for such a little thing, her eyes scanning the crowd for a flash of recognition. “Family of Lorenzo Giancana?”
When the hottie slowly stood up - thank you, thank you - the doctor walked over in a brisk, no-nonsense manner, shook his hand. Harley watched the three of them talk, the woman gesturing with her hands, waving her slender arms in the process. Dante and the old guy nodded solemnly at whatever she was saying.
Then the doctor left, and the old guy leaned in, gave the hottie one of those one armed hugs that men seemed to be so fond of. When Dante scooped up the duffel bag at his feet and turned in her direction, she slid down in her chair. Shit, there was no way he could get to the elevator without walking right past her.
She made a desperate grab for a magazine from a nearby table, flipped it open, held it up in front of her face. Stayed that way, hidden behind an outdated golf magazine and holding her breath until she heard him pass.
Harley quickly tossed the magazine aside, gathered up her bag, followed him. Both elevators opened at the same time, and he stepped into the one on the left. Since riding down with him didn't seem like the best way to stay out of sight, she quickly got on the other.
Alone in her elevator, she shifted her weight from one foot to the other, cursed her shoes. No doubt about it, reconnaissance would be a lot easier without heels. When the elevator door slid open again, she walked out. Slowly, casually, like her heart didn’t feel like it was about to jump out of her chest.
She caught a glimpse of him going out the front door, followed him. The sidewalks were well lit, making it easy to stay thirty, thirty-five feet behind him and still see. One block, then two. She was just starting to think about slipping off her sandals and going barefoot when he ducked into a bar on the corner.
Harley hung around outside for a few minutes, then followed him inside.
Chapter 5
Arturo’s was nearly empty when Dante walked through the front door, just a handful of the staunchest regulars lined up at the bar. Old guys, for the most part. Grizzled, gray faces bent over their beers, heads down in companionable silence.
He’d grown up here, in this neighborhood, this bar. His mother used to send him to the market next door for milk or cigarettes. Sent him here, too, for that matter. Usually to drag his dad home when the old man had tipped back one to many after his shift. So yes, he remembered a few of these faces, if not their names.
He nodded to the pleasant ones, ignored the not-so-pleasant. Grabbed a stool at the end of the bar, fully intending to avoid conversation with either.
“Dante Giancana.” From behind the bar, a tough-looking guy with enormous biceps reached out a heavily tattooed arm to shake Dante’s hand, a slow smile spreading over his face. “Been too damn long, man. How you doing?”.
“Hanging in there, Manny. You?”
“I’m good.” Manny flashed a grin, nodded. “Real good. Me and Sonja made it legal.”
“So you finally wore her down.”
“Dripping water hollows out stone, not through force but through persistence.” When Dante lifted his eyebrows Manny laughed. “Dude, what can I say, my woman’s into poetry. Big Ovid fan.”
“Ovid, huh
?” Dante smiled wearily. “I'll keep that in mind.”
“Hey, I heard about Enzo.” Manny shook his Mr. Clean shaved head, ran a hand over his gray, ZZ Top-style beard. “Jesus, it’s like the whole fucking world’s gone crazy.”
“Tell me about it.”
“He was always such a good kid.”
Dante's eyes flashed. “Is such a good kid,” he snapped.
“Aw Christ,” Manny stammered, “of course is. I'm not - I didn’t mean-”
“I know.” With his exhaustion catching up with him, Dante shook his head, scrubbed a hand over his face. “It's okay. It’s just... been a really long night.”
“Let me get you a drink, man. It’s on the house.”
“Thanks. Whiskey, rocks.” While Manny poured, Dante leaned forward, planted his elbows on the bar. “Place looks the same.”
“Yeah well, come to find out, these guys don’t like change much.”
“I hear that.” Dante tipped his glass in Manny’s direction, took a swallow. “So does he come in much?”
“Enzo? Sure.” Manny frowned, tried to remember. “Every couple days. He was in... yesterday? Two days ago?”
“Alone?”
“Yeah.” Manny nodded, moved down the bar to replace an empty beer bottle. “Stopped in for a beer after his shift.”
“He seem worried about anything? Upset?”
“No.” Manny shook his head, sure of his answer. “To tell you the truth, it was busy that night. We didn’t really have much of a chance to talk.”
Dante took another swallow of whiskey. “So any...” Dante lifted his shoulders, “changes in his behavior? New friends?”
Manny smoothed a hand over his beard, considering. “I know he’d been hanging out at Roxi’s some.”
“Roxi’s?”
“That old strip club out on North Halstedt. They reopened a year or so back. Sonja’s cousin Chablis dances there.” When Dante frowned, Manny added, “Chablis Avery, from St. Michael’s.” The parochial school they’d all attended as kids.
“Sure, I remember her. She was a year or so behind us. Really big...” Dante grinned, lifted his eyebrows, held both hands out in front of his chest.
“Yep. That’d be her.” Manny laughed quietly, filled a bowl with pretzels, slid it in front of Dante. “Kid’s over twenty-one, Dante. Seems harmless enough.”
“You’re right.” Dante downed the last of the whiskey in his glass. “Guess he grew up while I was gone.”
“So you gonna stick around for a while?”
“Yeah. At least until the kid gets back on his feet.” Dante refused to consider that he might not. “I was thinking I’d stay at Enzo's place.”
“Sounds good. You gonna need me to let you in?” Manny leaned down to dig around under the bar. “I think the boss's got a spare key around here somewhere. You know, for emergencies.”
“Nah, I'm good.”
“Okay. Let me know if you need anything. And tell the kid we're pullin' for him, will ya?”
“Thanks.”
A blonde climbed up onto the stool two seats down and leaned in Dante’s direction, her long, pretty fingers reaching for the bowl of pretzels. “You mind?” she asked, her voice low and throaty.
Dante lifted his eyebrows at Manny for a second, then slid the bowl in her direction. “Knock yourself out.”
She was what Dante thought of as ice princess blond. Tall, if the long, bare legs folded around the bar stool were any indication, and slim. Elegant. Not, he knew from experience, Arturo's usual clientele.
Before Manny could ask what she wanted, she smiled up at him, just the slightest pull at the corner of her mouth, said, “Can I get a Guinness?”
“Coming right up.” Manny retrieved a long neck bottle, put it and a glass on a napkin in front of her.
She murmured a quiet thanks before she swiveled her stool so her knees were angled in Dante's direction. When she crossed her legs, her skirt rode up a little higher on her thighs.
Dante had to remind himself that she wasn't his type. That he preferred his women lush, voluptuous, with soft, ample curves. Like cotton candy, soft and sweet and easily forgotten. This one looked more... complicated than that. Even so, she had his attention. Every other man in the place’s, too.
She tipped her head back and took a swallow of beer - from the bottle, another surprise - before she leveled those odd, gray-green eyes at his. She didn't really seem like the type to be hitting on some stranger in a bar, but he couldn’t help but notice that she maintained eye contact for a second or two longer than was necessary.
It was distracting. Which was probably why it took a minute for him to notice her mouth, which was technically a little too wide, or her lips, which were almost too full for her face. By the time he did she was smiling at him, exposing the little gap between her otherwise perfect front teeth, and he was wishing she was coming on to him.
And under the circumstances, didn't that make him a total asshole.
“Quiet around here,” she said.
“Usually is.” Dante lifted his shoulders. “Or was, anyway.”
“You from around here?” Harley asked, absently picking at the label on her beer.
“Not any more.” Dante lifted his glass to get Manny's attention, then tipped it towards Harley’s beer. “How about you? You need another one?”
“No. No, I’m good. I'm Harley, by the way.” she said. “Harley Greer.”
Dante lifted his eyebrows. “Kind of an unusual name, isn't it?”
“Very.” She nodded, the corners of her mouth lifting in a grin. “Made my teen years... interesting, to say the least.”
“Yeah? Try being named Dante Giancana.” He looked over at her, didn’t even realize he’d been holding his breath until the air hissed back out through his teeth. There was no vague sense of awareness, no flash of recognition. She didn’t know who he was.
“Giancana?” Harley looked up for a second when Manny came back with Dante’s drink, wrinkled her nose. “Like the mobster?”
“See.” Dante pushed his empty out of the way, took a drink from its replacement, allowed himself a little smile. “Harley's not so bad after all, is it?”
“To us.” She lifted her bottle. “Living proof that what doesn't kill you, makes you stronger.”
“I will drink to that.” Dante downed the last of his drink, nodded to Manny at the other end of the bar. Stood up and left some cash on the bar.
“You're not leaving, are you?” She flipped her hair back over her shoulder and he got a whiff of her perfume. Something subtle and clean, elegant. It made his mouth water.
“Yeah. It’s been a long night.”
“Sure you don't want one more for the road?”
He told himself he wasn't tempted, but that was bullshit. What he wasn't, at least tonight, was ass enough to act on it. “Thanks anyway.”
Harley didn’t turn around, but she watched Dante leave in the mirror behind the bar. Frowned at her own reflection while she considered her options.
Following him from the hospital had seemed like a good idea, but in hindsight? Probably not so much. Following him into this bar? Now that had been flat-out crazy.
At this point, she was at a complete loss as to how to segue from small talk over drinks to can I quote you on that. Somehow so tell us, Mr Hottie, care to speculate on your brother’s unexpected foray into drugs? seemed a little weak.
She shook her head, finishing the last of her beer as Manny came back to scoop up Dante's empties, the cash he'd left on the bar. He looked around, asked, “Dante go up already?”
“Up?”
“Upstairs. His brother’s got a place over the bar. He’s gonna be staying there, least for awhile.” He rubbed his palms together, smiled wearily. “So, can I get you another Guinness?”
“No thanks.” She smiled, shook her head. “I think I’m good.”
Chapter 6
Dante reached up over his head, dragging his fingers along the top of the door jam
b for Enzo's spare key. Their father used to do the same thing at the apartment on 12th, where they lived when Dante was a kid. Pop would have been the first to tell somebody else it wasn't a good idea, but a lot of old school cops were that way. Do what I say, not what I do. Like the rules didn't apply to them, somehow.
“Thanks kid,” Dante muttered when he found it. “Don't mind if I do.” He swiped his dusty fingers on his jeans, unlocked the door and went inside. Felt around for the light, switched it on.
He’d never been inside before, but it was about what he’d expected. Small. Living/dining room combo, a closet-sized kitchen, tiny bedroom, even tinier bathroom. And clean, cleaner than you'd expect from a kid living on his own.
There was a spoon in the sink, along with a mug and a bowl, but other than the coffee maker and a toaster, the counters were clear. He’d had breakfast - cereal, maybe? coffee? - rinsed his dishes before he left for his shift.
Dante opened the refrigerator door, peered inside. Six pack of beer on the top shelf, ketchup and mustard, a jar of pickles. A carton of leftover Chinese food that, when opened, smelled relatively fresh. On the bottom shelf, low-fat yogurt and diet pop. And Jesus, he shook his head in disgust, was that soy milk?
The furniture was mismatched and ugly, a sofa and a recliner, an end table between them. A twenty-seven inch television and a DVD player tucked into one of those cheap, some-assembly-required stands.
The walls were bare except for a couple of framed photos. One he recognized of his own Police Academy graduation, with him in his crisp navy uniform, his arm around thirteen year old Enzo's shoulder, the kid looking up at him like he hung the moon or something. Another he’d never seen of his brother and Leo and Leo's wife Rose at Enzo's graduation. Lorenzo in his own dress blues, a grin on his face, dimples flashing.
Their folks were already gone by then, their mother when Enzo was seven, their father the kid’s senior year in high school. He, on the other hand, had been in St. Louis, no more than a five hour drive from Chicago, but couldn’t be bothered to come home for the ceremony. Not, he recalled, his finest hour.
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