“Talk to me.”
“Shit. You are a cop.”
“Nope. But I am helping out a friend.”
He hadn’t moved. It was clear he was listening now. I had his attention. I wasn’t sure how long I could hold it.
“Daniel Kirkland?”
“His mother, actually. Elijah is missing.”
“Shit.”
“Do you know him?”
“Elijah? Who doesn’t?”
“Is he a Ranger—I mean, part of the Machine?”
“He’s a baby,” Malcolm said.
“What about Daniel? Was he in any of the neighborhood gangs?”
“He’s gone. Some high and mighty school.” There was resentment in Malcolm’s voice, resentment I recognized.
I ran a hand over the railing’s stone surface. It was cool to the touch. “When did Daniel stop being your friend?”
Malcolm raised his head and his one-eyed gaze met mine. The movement was involuntary, his surprise obvious and impossible to hide. “We’re not friends.”
“Anymore. But you used to be.”
“He tell you that?”
“You did.”
“When?”
“Just now. The way you talked about him.”
“What kind of game is this?”
“It’s no game.” I folded my hands. “Grace Kirkland went to the cops for help finding Elijah. They told her that she shouldn’t worry—he was probably in a neighborhood gang and they’d arrest him soon enough.”
“Elijah? No way.”
“So she went to some black cops, friends of a friend. They said they couldn’t do much, not with all the things happening in Chicago right now.”
“Yeah?”
“Then she came to me.”
“What’re you, God?”
I smiled. “I’m a guy who gets things done. I got close today. I managed to sniff out Daniel.”
“That’s easy. He’s at Yale.” Another giveaway to the old friendship. Along with that deep bitterness.
“Actually, no. He’s in Lincoln Park.”
“Shit. What a dumb-ass.”
“Yeah.” I spoke softly. “My problem is that I can’t talk to him. I had one chance to get into that community and I blew it.”
“They let you in?”
“Not really.” I paused for effect. “They thought I was a cop.”
“No shit.”
“So, I was wondering if you could arrange a meeting with me and Daniel.”
“What do you want to meet with him for? You said he was surprised that Elijah’s missing.”
Interesting lead-in. “Are you surprised?”
Malcolm turned his head toward the other end of the block, away from me, away from his so-called friends. “Yeah. Elijah’s different, you know? Keeps to himself.”
“His mother says he’s a good student.”
“Sure. Him and Daniel. They’re smarter than everyone else.” That resentment again.
“How do you know that?”
“Grades. Daniel got some scholarship. He did good on that test too, the one they give to let you into college.”
“Did you take it?”
“Shit, no.”
I let the words hang between us for a moment. I recognized this. If I had left Jimmy alone in Memphis, he would have become like Malcolm. Bright, but unable to translate his intelligence into a viable skill, because his life got in the ways of his opportunities. If something happened to me, his life might still get in the way.
I made myself concentrate on Malcolm.
“So you have no idea how you could have done on that test.”
“Don’t patronize me, man.”
“I’m not,” I said. “I’m asking you to help me.”
“If I do this, what do I get out of it?”
Satisfaction wasn’t something a teenager wanted. Doing the right thing might get him in trouble. I sighed and said the only thing I could think of. “Money.”
“How much?”
I had no idea. I hadn’t asked for money from Grace Kirkland. I didn’t dare. I didn’t want people to know I had done this before. Any money was going to have to come out of my own pocket.
“Let’s do it by the hour,” I said. “You got a job?”
“Nope.”
“You do now.”
“How much an hour?”
“I’ll give you a dollar over minimum.”
“That all?”
“It’s all I can afford.”
“Fuck, man, I’m worth more than that.”
I smiled. “Yes, you are. But I’m paying you more than those guys are. They’re just using you and not very nicely either.”
“I go with you, and I can’t go back there.” He inclined his head toward the group who had moved away from the corner. They were back in their usual spot, and they didn’t seem to be paying attention anymore. Although, on occasion, one of them would sneak a look toward us.
“I know,” I said. He couldn’t go back anyway. Yesterday, Franklin and I had made him look weak. It would only be a matter of time before the gang turned on him completely.
“That’s gotta be worth something too.”
“Your life, maybe.”
He bowed his head, then shook it once as if he were arguing with himself. Trying to get his help was a long shot—kids his age were usually pretty established on their course—but he was clearly the new man in his group, and he was taking orders at an age when he should have been giving them. Either he’d lacked power for a long time, or he had finally given up and joined the gang.
I was gambling that he had joined because he didn’t know what else to do.
“So you pay me a handful of dollars, and I gotta move out of the neighborhood.”
“Maybe,” I said. “Or maybe you do a good enough job that when something else comes up, I hire you again.”
He clearly hadn’t expected that offer. I hadn’t expected to give it. But it was out now, and couldn’t be taken back.
“You’re shitting me.”
“No,” I said. “I believe in being paid for good work.”
“What if you don’t got no more work?”
“Then maybe you can find a regular job.”
He laughed. “Yeah, right. Like they’d hire someone like me.”
“What’s wrong with you?”
He held out his hands, then turned them over, indicating his dark skin. “That, and I don’t got my diploma. So they figure I’m no good, you know?”
“And you were setting out to prove them right?”
“Hey, man, you don’t know—”
“No, I don’t know.” Clearly it was a sore spot for him. Which meant it was important. I had guessed correctly. “But I do know that Bronzeville’s like the rest of Chicago. Who you know is important.”
“And who do you know?”
I smiled, thinking of Franklin. “I have a fat friend who seems to know everyone.”
Malcolm gazed at me in disbelief. “Why would he help me?”
“Because I asked him to.”
“He live in your pocket?”
“No. At the moment, I live in his. But we have an understanding, and he trusts me.”
Malcolm threaded his fingers together, then turned his hands inside out, stretching his arms and cracking his knuckles. “Your promises are vague, man.”
“Not the money.”
“It’s not enough.”
I sighed. Time to end the conversation. I wasn’t going to get any farther here. “It’s all I got.”
I stood up. My elbows were sore from leaning on the stone. I started to walk away.
“Hey! Wait!”
I stopped. Malcolm caught up to me. As he did, he shot a nervous glance at the boys near the corner. They were all watching now.
He had made his choice, and all of us knew it.
“Yeah?” I asked, pretending a disinterest that I didn’t feel.
“I’ll do it.”
“Good,” I
said, and kept walking. Malcolm had to hurry to keep up with me. He averted his eyes as we approached the group on the corner. He hadn’t been part of them long, and he wasn’t good at hiding his emotions. I’d have to remember that if I used him on anything else.
“Whatcha doin’, nigger?” One of the kids asked. “Doncha know that’s the Man?”
I felt Malcolm stiffen beside me. I didn’t say anything. This had to be his choice, all the way.
“Hey, idiot,” said another. “You know what happens to people who go with the Man?”
“You ain’t part of us no more.”
“Where you gonna sleep, bro? Huh? You think you can just walk out?”
That last almost caught me. But I didn’t look at them, nor did I say anything else. I kept walking and, to his credit, Malcolm kept up with me.
We went down the block to my car. I opened the driver’s door and indicated the other side. Malcolm got in quickly, then slid down as if he could hide from his former friends.
I got in, closed the door, and turned the key in the ignition, but I didn’t put the car in gear. “Last chance.”
“Just go.”
I shifted to drive and pulled out, glancing in my rearview mirror as I did. No tail yet. The boys were still watching us.
“You staying with them?” I asked.
“Ain’t none of your business, man.”
It felt like it was. I didn’t want to be responsible for making someone homeless, no matter how wretched his home was. But I wasn’t going to push it.
“So tell me what you know about Daniel?”
“Besides the fact he’s fucking prick?”
“Yeah.”
“You got the basics. Brains, luck. He got out, man.”
“And that makes him a prick?”
“No.” Malcolm looked out the passenger window. He didn’t seem ready to tell that story yet.
We were going east. I wanted to take Lake Shore. It was the quickest.
I checked the rearview. There were two possible tails: a beat-up white Ford that seemed to have too much horsepower for a car that decrepit, and a dark blue Oldsmobile that was trying too hard to seem inconspicuous. My money was on the Ford. It was nearly a block back. The Olds was two cars behind me, and occasionally it moved toward the left as if it were going to pass.
“What’s behind us?” Malcolm asked. Observant too.
“Don’t know yet,” I said.
“There’s a lot you don’t know.”
I nodded, and turned north on Lake Shore Drive. Night was falling and most of the cars had already turned their lights on. Bugs committed suicide on the windshield, leaving green goo as a reminder of their sacrifice.
The lake was deceptively smooth. Motorboats dotted the surface, their lights on. The sailboats had already returned to port.
Traffic was thin. The Olds and the Ford were still behind me. Neither seemed anxious to pass.
“Tell me about Elijah,” I said.
“He’s a little kid.”
“He’s fourteen, tall for his age. Straight-A student who works at the library, at least according to his mother.”
“How come you say it like that?”
“Like what?”
“‘At least according to his mother.’” His imitation of me was excellent. He even caught the accent.
“I don’t know Elijah,” I said. “I never met him, and I’ve only talked with you and his mother about him. Mothers usually don’t know their children real well—especially teenagers—so I hedge my bets a little. I figure she may be right and she may be wrong. I won’t decide until I’ve gotten more information.”
Malcolm leaned his head against the seat back. The darkness was growing. I had to wait until we passed under a streetlight before I could see his face. He appeared to be thinking about what I’d said.
“Elijah,” he said after a moment, “lived for Daniel.”
The past tense surprised me. “Lived?”
Malcolm shrugged. “Daniel moved.”
Leaving Elijah and Malcolm behind. I glanced in the rearview. The white Ford and blue Olds were side by side in the double lane, five cars back. We had nearly reached the Loop. I expected one of them to turn off soon.
“His mother said he was interested in the antiwar movement?”
“Yeah, Daniel’s always been political.”
“No, Elijah.”
Malcolm frowned. “He parroted whatever Daniel said. I didn’t think he cared much otherwise, you know?”
I did know and I thought it fascinating that Malcolm knew as well. Maybe his decision to join me had less to do with my powers of persuasion than the fact that Elijah was the one who was missing.
“So, if you were Elijah, where would you go?”
“If I was Elijah, I’d be home, reading.” Surprisingly there was no bitterness in Malcolm’s voice. Reading was what he expected Elijah to do.
“What about drugs?”
Malcolm stiffened. He thought I was asking about him. I pretended not to notice. “What about them?”
“Do you think Elijah uses or maybe runs them for one of the neighborhood gangs?”
“Elijah?”
“Yes.”
“Hell, no.”
“Why not?”
“He doesn’t want to mess up his mind.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.” The word was emphatic. There had clearly been more than one conversation on this topic.
We’d gone over the Chicago River and were heading toward the Gold Coast. I resisted the urge to glance at Laura’s building as we passed, to see if there were lights on her floor.
Instead, I looked in the rearview mirror again. Only the white Ford remained, nearly ten cars back now. I looked ahead of me to see if the blue Olds had passed me and I had somehow missed it. That was an old tailing trick that sometimes worked.
There was no Olds immediately in front of me, but it could have been lost in the sea of taillights farther up. Although, if it was, it would have a hard time knowing when I turned.
I slipped behind a large gray Cadillac just to be safe.
I nearly missed the LaSalle Drive exit. I took a quick right past the beach and then a left under Lake Shore. I was driving too fast. I eased off the accelerator and let the car move through the south part of Lincoln Park on its own momentum.
Cars were parked on either side of the road, some haphazardly. Many were vans covered in stickers and bumper stickers, most of them big yellow flowers or with pithy phrases like “Make Love Not War.”
The large afternoon crowd had left the park. Those who remained were clustered around two bonfires. Smoke trailed through my open window, along with voices singing “Blowing in the Wind.” The faint sounds of flute and bongo drums floated after it.
Malcolm stared as if he had never seen anything like it. His gaze also caught the cop cars parked haphazardly on Clark Street. The cops still guarded the entrance to the park, watching the people inside.
Behind me, the white Ford appeared. It had no other car to hide behind now. Finally, I had my man.
I took LaSalle to Clark and Clark to North, two rapid turns that the Ford had to follow or lose me. Then I turned into an alley just off North Avenue and parked beneath a fire escape. The white Ford drove by slowly, as if he were looking for me.
Malcolm had turned toward me. “Now what?”
I told him about my visit earlier, and the fact that Daniel had called shortly thereafter. “Find him,” I said, “and bring him to the car.”
“Find him? He could be anywhere.”
“He’s around here. I probably got real close this afternoon. The building I went into is over there.” I pointed.
“You’re not going to do anything to him, are you?”
I smiled. Malcolm was just as involved as I thought he was. “I’m going to talk to him. You can stay with him, if you’re worried about it, and he doesn’t have to get into the car.”
“What are you going to do while
I look?”
“Wait,” I said. “There’s not much more I can do.”
“I’ll hurry,” Malcolm said.
“It’s better if you take your time.”
He frowned at me.
“You’ll have more of a chance of finding him.”
Malcolm nodded and let himself out. I waited until he’d been gone for five minutes before I got out of the car. I locked it, stuck my keys in my pocket, and headed toward North Avenue. I knew I’d be back before he was.
The street was mostly empty. A longhaired person—I couldn’t tell if it was a boy or a girl—was sleeping on the sidewalk in front of the building I had been in that afternoon. Someone sang an old Beach Boys song loudly and off-key. In one of the apartments above the street, a pale light streamed through an orange-and-red tie-dye curtain.
More police gathered near the church, apparently making plans to patrol the park. A group of motorcycles rode by—twenty-five or more—their engines loud in the quiet night.
The white Ford was parked in front of a brownstone across the street. At first glance, the car seemed empty, but the windows were down and there was still a bit of fog on the windshield.
I crossed the street, careful to walk as quietly as I could. The motorcycle engines covered me. As I got closer to the white Ford, I could see something in the front seat. I walked up alongside it.
A man was slumped in the seat, a hat pulled down over his face. He was slouched too awkwardly to be sleeping. He had seen me and was hiding.
With one hand, I yanked open the driver’s door. The man reached under the seat, probably for a gun.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” I said. “There are police all over this neighborhood and they’re nervous tonight. You know what nervous police officers do, don’t you?”
The man looked up at me then. The streetlight illuminated his face.
I took a step back.
He was white.
EIGHT
“WHAT DO YOU WANT?” He did a credible job of sounding scared. I might have bought it, too, if he hadn’t reached under the seat for a weapon before he confronted me.
“You were following me. You want to tell me why?”
“I wasn’t following anyone. I live here.”
“Really?” I kept my voice low. “Is that why you drove around North Avenue twice, slowing the last time as you looked into the alleys?”
Smoke-Filled Rooms: A Smokey Dalton Novel Page 13
