It took a few rings before I realized someone was calling my cell phone. “Sheila was all over it,” Johnny Bonds said. “Ready?”
“Hang on,” I said then walked outside Taudrey Tats. “Go ahead.”
Johnny gave me Tate’s address in Evanston. The Escalade belonged to a Jacob Mildish who lived on the South Side, and in that moment I recognized my mistake in assuming the “Milly” from Snooky’s notebook was female. With Chance and Milly now accounted for, only Devil and Butch remained. In the Oak Park Victorian lived Daniel Baron. The name sounded familiar, but I couldn’t place it.
“And the LJI1158? Your boy would be the scofflaw king if somebody wasn’t voiding his tickets.”
“Parking tickets are for little people,” I said.
“He likes parking in Lakeview.”
“Wrigleyville? Really?”
“I said Lakeview. Only yuppie scum call it Wrigleyville.”
“Fine. Which streets?”
“Racine and Addison area,” Johnny said. “He likes to park in loading zones and handicapped-parking-only spaces. Jeez, what an asshole.”
“Weekdays? Weekends?”
“Mostly weekends. There are a ton of restaurants and bars in that area. They’re probably calling in the complaints. Especially Sundays between eight and ten P.M.”
“So he parks after eight, which means he leaves his house no earlier than seven-thirty. Johnny, have I told you I love you?”
“I didn’t hear that. And you don’t remember where you got this info.”
“What info?” I said then hung up.
16
My joy wore off an hour later when I saw Kalijero sitting on the stoop to my building.
“Where’s Rent-a-Goon?”
“I’m alone. What the fuck happened to your eye?”
“I got slugged.”
“With what? A fist wouldn’t do that much damage.”
“Of course you wouldn’t know anything about this.”
Kalijero forced himself to speak calmly. “Okay, now let’s take a fucking time-out. I know you think I’m a scumbag, but you’ve got it wrong. You would know if I cracked you one. We’d be face-to-face. None of that ambush crap. And why would I? I got nothing against you. Yeah, you piss me off, but only because you won’t give me a chance. And if you had put my old man in the joint, I’d probably hate you, too …” Kalijero wore front-pleated gray slacks and a black oxford cloth shirt with gray pinstripes. His mahogany shoes had braided detailing and tassels. He was really trying to win my love.
“Did you get all dressed up for me?” I said. Kalijero closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “You’re too easy, Jimmy,” I said. “But I’ll make a deal. You tell me the real reason you’re so interested in this case—and I mean no bullshit—and I’ll give you everything I got.” Well, maybe not everything.
Kalijero crossed his arms and looked at me. “Upstairs,” he said, and I considered making a crack about having to kiss me first but held back.
Punim greeted us at the door, hissed at my guest, then darted away. Kalijero sat in the recliner and looked around. His struggle not to make a smart-ass comment was obvious. He declined my offer of carrot juice.
“All right, then, Jimmy, spill it,” I said.
Kalijero hesitated and then said, “I was running a little business on the side. All cash. Snooky was helping me hide the money.”
I nodded, waited for more, and when I realized that was it, I said, “Nope. You’re holding back.”
“That’s what I got! I swear that’s all there is.”
“What was the job? How much were you making? And who else are you protecting?”
“What difference does it make—”
“Goddamn it! Either give me everything or get out.”
Kalijero closed his eyes and started rubbing his chin as if enduring excruciating pain. Then he said, “I started moonlighting as a bouncer at a strip club out by the airport. I pulled in an extra 2K a week. Then I had the idea of promoting the place to the high rollers on layovers. I started chauffeuring them from the gate to the club. For one price, they could get all the drinks and tail they wanted in a back room. I got a cut for each trick. One day a deputy superintendent walks in with a few commanders and some other brass—all wearing plainclothes. They’re all looking at me with big grins. Asked me about group rates. I figure they better get a good price or I’ll be working there full-time. So now they’re getting all the ass they want for free in exchange for security. Word gets out there’s a safe place for action. Every cop convention starts coming through Chicago. Then firefighters. The money starts rolling in. I’m getting ten to twelve grand a week. What do I do with it? Stick it in the mattress? I get hold of Snooky, and like magic he’s got the whole trail covered. Then Snooky gets clipped. There’s talk of diaries, ledgers, whatever record-keeping these guys have. The pressure from the top is killing me.”
If Kalijero was acting, he sure had me convinced. I almost felt sorry for the guy.
“There was a book. All nicknames. My dad looked through it and found only four he didn’t know. Snooky never mentioned a cop being a client, and he told me everything.”
He didn’t tell me everything, but so what?
“But you don’t know for sure.”
I shrugged. “Who knows anything for sure? What’s the name of this strip joint?”
With a straight face Kalijero said, “O’Hare’s Tailspin. Okay, Landau, your turn. What do you got?”
“I’ve got Chancellor Tate lying to me—”
“The university chancellor?”
“Yeah, you know him?”
“He was a guest at Tailspin. VIP treatment. I was told to make sure he got the youngest-looking girl.”
“He lied to me and he lied to his own daughter about knowing Snooky. And I’ve got some guy named Jacob Mildish meeting with Tate. Ever heard of him?”
“Have I heard of him? Seventh district rep. Twenty-five years at least. Connected out the ass. A ruthless, power-hungry son of a bitch.”
“Tate met with Mildish immediately after he lied to me. And then a guy named Baron also joined the meeting. Any idea—”
“Construction big shot. He got the redevelopment contract for Maxwell Street. Mildish worries me. A conspiracy theorist’s wet dream. A real dark-side kind of guy. Who’s Tate’s daughter?”
“The tattoo girl. The one you questioned.”
Kalijero looked as if I had just spoken Swahili. “What tattoo girl? I haven’t questioned anybody.”
I studied Jimmy’s face. “The day you and that goon were following me and you told me I was too cocky. You didn’t stop by Taudrey Tats and question Audrey?”
“Who the fuck is Audrey? And what do you mean following you? I hung out and waited till you got back.”
We silently processed this new implication until Kalijero said, “What did that cop look like?”
Audrey answered on the first ring.
“You know it’s rude to get a phone call in the middle of a conversation and just walk away,” she said. “Especially considering you had just asked me to dinner.”
I apologized then asked her to describe the cop who visited her shop. Out loud I repeated, “Short, fat face, fleshy lips, creepy voice,” and watched the blood drain from Kalijero’s face.
17
“Voss,” Kalijero said. “Internal Affairs. He’s watching you.” Kalijero paced back and forth like those tortured tigers at the Lincoln Park Zoo. “He must’ve seen us at Snooky’s house and then followed you to the tattoo girl …”
“Jimmy, get a grip. Snooky only used aliases, and Audrey would’ve told me if he had info on a dirty cop. And I got no use for Internal Affairs assholes.”
“Twenty-five years I’ve been busting my ass as a cop. For what?”
He bordered on pitiful. “Baron gave fifty grand to Snooky between March and July before it was split between the chancellor and the Honorable Mildish. Guess who got a huge contract from the university?”<
br />
Kalijero didn’t respond, just stared into the middle distance until he said, “Fuck it!” and, “Watch your back, Landau.” Then he walked out.
I didn’t get it. Internal Affairs wasn’t going to find any book fingering Kalijero by name. The guys upstairs were sure as hell going to keep their yaps shut. There was probably more going on than Kalijero was telling me, but at that point I had too much on the plate in front of me to care.
I called Audrey again, ostensibly to make sure she accepted my apology for rude behavior and that our dinner date was still on. I also asked, “Did Snooky ever mention people in construction?”
Audrey thought for a moment. “Is that the same as a developer?”
“Sometimes.”
“There was Uncle Bug-Bear the developer,” Audrey said. “Snooky used to say, ‘Got a check from my Uncle Bug-Bear. I just love my Uncle Bug-Bear.’ ”
Audrey was a little girl again as she confirmed for me another alias from Snooky’s notebook. In the world of Audrey’s giggling, Snooky was just a pleasant memory, an old pal who made her laugh, an actor in her favorite show that starred Chancellor Tate as Chance, the Honorable Jacob Mildish as Milly, and Baron Construction as the Devil.
* * *
I drove to the Kennedy Expressway and headed south to the Eisenhower, then back to Oak Park where I stopped in front of Baron’s house. I stepped onto the porch carrying a folder of photographs and stared at the stained glass surrounding the massive front door. The doorbell chimed in the stately manner you would expect, and soon I heard the sharp sound of heels on hardwood until the door opened and a girl about sixteen with short hair dyed blue and a metal loop through her nose looked at me. I introduced myself and asked if her dad was home. She turned and shouted that “someone” was here to see him. To my surprise, he shouted back to show me in.
I followed the girl through a couple of large rooms to a short hallway that led to a smaller room set up for viewing the sixty-inch plasma television mounted on the wall. Baron sat in an armchair watching a baseball game. The girl pointed to her father and walked away.
I knocked lightly on the oak paneling. Baron turned to me, hit the mute button on the remote, and told me to have a seat on the small sofa opposite his chair.
I introduced myself and asked if we could discuss Snooky. He looked at me and said, “Would you believe this used to be the butler’s room?”
“That’s fascinating. Any idea why Snooky was murdered?”
Baron sighed and then shook his head. “He was a good man. I liked him. And he knew his stuff—”
“You gave Snooky tens of thousands over a five-month period. Care to tell me what it was for?”
Baron looked at me squinty-eyed and said, “You’re pretty cocky for a young guy. You stroll into my house and start asking personal questions. I’m not surprised you’re walking around with that shiner.”
“You didn’t have to let me in. You always let strangers into your house?” I took out the photographs of Baron meeting with Mildish and Tate and spread them out on the glass table between us. Baron glanced at them.
“So what do you want?” Baron said. “Get to the point and stop the tough guy crap.”
“I don’t give a damn where you got your money or what you did with it. All I care about is finding Snooky’s killer. And at investigator school they teach us to follow the money. Right now I’m thinking someone pulled some strings so Baron Construction got the university expansion contract. And I’m thinking that Snooky laundered money that was then kicked back as payment for the string-pullers.”
Baron rose from his chair, walked to a small liquor cabinet, and poured himself a drink. I declined his offer. After sitting back down, he took a sip and said, “Ever study fluid mechanics? Money always takes the path of least resistance. In Chicago, that path is especially slimy. And there is no less resistant path than through a politician. As a student of local history, I seem to recall some characters with the name Landau who understood this principle quite well.”
“Why is Snooky dead?” I said.
“I don’t know,” Baron said. “When I said I liked the guy, I meant it. He understood the system. He knew to keep his mouth shut.” Baron started shaking his head. “I don’t know,” he said again. “He didn’t deserve this. Somebody fucked up.”
“What do Tate and Mildish say?”
“They say they don’t know.”
“Do you believe them?”
Baron stared at me for a few seconds and said, “Mildish is the boss. Me and Tate don’t know shit. Mildish knows more than he’ll ever tell either of us.”
“What was that little meeting out front about?”
“About an investigator dropping in for a visit. You got those two bent, that’s for sure.”
Baron seemed awfully relaxed for someone who could be implicated in murder and bribing government officials. But maybe I was being naïve.
“I want you to set up a meeting for me with Tate and Mildish,” I said. “Somewhere public.” I gave Baron my cell phone number. “And if I find out you’ve been jerking me around, I’ll have the auditor general crawling up your ass.”
18
I was tired and my eye socket throbbed. I chopped up some organ meat and dropped it into Punim’s bowl, the sound of which brought her running to the bloody scene. Then I popped some acetaminophen and stretched out on the couch with an ice pack over my eye. There was still some lingering daylight at eight-thirty, but my body told me to let the recent events percolate awhile in an unconscious state. And to be perfectly honest, something about the image of myself crashed on the couch after a successful day of sleuthing was irresistible.
When I opened my eyes again, the subtle hues of daylight confirmed that I had spent the entire night on the couch. Punim sat on the coffee table staring at me, and when I sat up, she darted to the kitchen and waited next to her bowl. I showered and then we ate breakfast together. Halfway through my bowl of oatmeal, the cell phone rang. “Noon,” Baron said, “in front of the Melrose diner.”
“Are they gonna buy lunch?”
Baron hung up.
* * *
It was a busy restaurant on a busy street, about as public as you can get. I arrived ten minutes early and watched from the dry-cleaning joint across the street. Noon came and went without any sign of Tate or Mildish, and it occurred to me that they, too, were watching the front of the restaurant from another location. My inclination was to give in and be the first to show, but before I could act, a foul odor accosted me, and a raspy voice suggested I not turn around. I felt something hard press into my lower spine while a skinny tentacle reached under my jacket and relieved me of my Colt.
“If that’s your dick, you’re pretty damned tall,” I said. It was supposedly a gay neighborhood, after all.
“Look, fucker,” the voice said. “I don’t want to hurt you, but I’m getting a hundred bucks to walk you to that black limo next to the diner. If I have to shoot you, they’ll give me two hundred.” The stink was indescribable.
“How about I give you two hundred bucks to walk away? But I’d like my gun back.”
I assumed Shit Breath was thinking about it until he said, “I’m gonna put my arm around your shoulder, and we’re gonna walk like a happy couple. The whole time this gun will be under my shirt sticking into your side.” While crossing the street, I realized that my ghoulish-looking eye—complemented by my new pal—made me look like just another junkie.
A rear passenger door swung open and waiting for me in the backseat of the refrigerated Cadillac limousine was the Honorable Jacob Mildish—not a bad ride on a rep’s salary. Great-Granddad would’ve been impressed. Shit Breath gave me a shove and closed the door. A tinted partition separated us from the front seat where the driver lowered his window and handed the meth-head a hundred-dollar bill before driving away.
“I apologize for that,” Mildish said. “I hope he wasn’t too rude.”
Mildish had one of those chubby baby faces th
at looked downright cartoonish on a man I guessed to be around sixty.
“He threatened to kill me, that’s all. And he stole my fully licensed handgun.”
“Good god, I’m sorry. I offered him a hundred dollars to get you to come over to the car. It’s too darn hot to stand outside. It was Tate’s idea to meet here.” Then Mildish leaned toward me and said, “How’s that eye healing? Tate told me about it so I’d be sure to recognize you.”
Because the lore behind the Mildish myth included a hardscrabble upbringing as the son of an iron- and steelworker, I found his grandfatherly manner and aristocratic accent puzzling. “Where is Tate?”
“He’s too upset. I told him he’ll drop dead if he doesn’t relax.”
“I see, so what’re you gonna do, dump my body somewhere?” I was half serious.
Mildish recoiled as if a cobra had shimmied out of my collar. “You’ve got the wrong idea, Mr. Landau. I’m a businessman.”
“You’re a politician.”
“Politics is just an aspect of business. I’d be surprised if you didn’t know this concept inside and out—given your family history. Either way, accept this fact and your chosen profession will be easier to master.”
“Terrific. Who killed Snooky and why?”
“We know it doesn’t look good—”
“You mean it looks like Snooky was killed to cover the path leading to kickbacks you and Tate got from the developer who won the university expansion contract? What happened, Your Honor, somebody panic?”
“We don’t know who killed Mr. Snook or why. He was completely trustworthy, an expert launderer. Why would we want him dead? That would be a terrible business decision.”
We sat in silence. Small shivers began racing through me, and I thought I might have entered stage-one hypothermia. If only to take my mind off the cold, I said, “You can’t think of any reason someone would want Snooky dead?”
Mildish took a deep breath and rotated his fat body to face me. “Mr. Landau, I have racked my brains over this, and I can’t think of a single reason why someone would do this. Could it have just been a random act of violence?”
Maxwell Street Blues Page 6
