Black Angel

by Thomas Laird

  Far too dangerous. I have a wonderful memory. Total recall. I don’t need films or videos or tapes to help me replay what happened inside those two homes or inside the Milans’ house in Chicago.

  We lingered for a few hours inside all three sites. We enjoyed ourselves. Thomas and Brandon were covered in their victims’ blood, so they both showered inside the homes and even did their own laundry in the houses. All three families had wonderful facilities for our cleanup. We walked out of each place immaculate, as if we’d simply been on an early-morning visit to our own relatives.

  The images remain with me even today, here in this dreamscape, this morphine-induced teleplay that I’m watching right now.

  *

  “Hello, Helene.”

  “Hello, yourself.”

  “You married?”

  “You kidding? Three divorces.”

  “Kids?”

  “You striking up a conversation, Captain?”

  “I was in the Marines a long time ago.”

  “And you went over the hill, Jimmy told me.”

  “Jimmy a vet?”

  “Are you kidding? Does he appear to be retarded?”

  “Anti-military, right?”

  “No. He’s very patriotic—when it comes to turning a buck.”

  “My, what a cynical young woman you are.”

  “You trying to make nice with me?” she grins.

  “Sure. What’s it been? A week?”

  “Too long. You’re becoming a bore.”

  “I apologize.”

  “Not your fault, Captain. I’ve worked the psych ward before I got hired for my new position with Jimmy’s friends. See, you crazy bastards become repetitive after a while. You all try so hard to sound sane.”

  “You mean, you doubt my sanity?”

  “Oh, no. I know you’re out of your fucking mind.”

  “That’s very harsh, Helene.”

  “Save it, sweetie. I’ve still got the weasel-popper in my purse, and I still don’t like you any better.”

  “When do you think I’ll be able to leave?” I ask her.

  “You mean, before the FBI bursts in here and grabs you?”

  “You’re a very humorous and very pretty lady.”

  “They’re going to find you eventually, you know. Jimmy isn’t going to help you any more, but he might just kill you.… How do you know I’m not a hired assassin?” she smiles.

  “Why would you have waited this long, then?”

  “Good point. You’re almost as bright as you think you are.”

  “How bright is that, then?” I ask.

  “Bright enough to quit trying to snow me. I’ve been overwhelmed by men far slicker than you, darlin’.”

  I guess the battle has been lost, and as any competent battlefield commander knows, you take your losses and cut for higher ground. Helene has won the battle, but she hasn’t necessarily been victorious in the campaign.

  Not quite yet.

  34

  Mary Janecko has nerve problems in the foot Anderson skewered with his knife. She’ll likely have some difficulties with severe cold. There might be numbness in any weather, her doctor warned her after the surgery. She’ll be on extended leave for a few months, at least.

  I see her at Mercy Hospital, near the Loop. Her color is better than the first time I was here, which was the day after I heard she’d met up with Anderson in the flesh.

  “I have never been as frightened in my life, Will, and I’ve charged through a few doors hunting down fugitives. But he was in my apartment, Will, waiting to try and kill me. If I hadn’t heard my front door being picked, I would’ve taken a long time to die.”

  “I’m very sorry, Mary. I wish I’d been there to kill the son of a bitch for you.”

  “For us all,” she smiles.

  “Is there anything I can do for you?”

  Her face is white, almost ashen.

  “Come back.”

  “That, I can’t do. I’m sorry, Mary.”

  There is moisture clustering in her eyes, but she doesn’t cry.

  “I know. Actually, I’m happy for you. You found a serious woman. That’s what you were always looking for.”

  The dam breaks, and the droplets wander down her cheeks.

  “You’re a serious woman, too. Any man would be lucky to have you.”

  She smiles, even though she’s weeping.

  “That’s the kiss of death when a relationship goes south, Will. ‘Lucky to have you.’ ”

  “I didn’t mean…”

  “I know. I know.”

  She tears up. Today is the first time I can remember seeing her vulnerable. She was passionate in the bedroom, but she never allowed her emotions off the leash any other time. She was the consummate Fed always under control.

  “He came into my home. He’s trying to get at you through the people around you, so…”

  “I know, Mary. They’re all being watched.”

  Her eyebrows shoot upward, and she looks genuinely frightened.

  “Who the hell was watching me?”

  I hang my head because I’ve got nothing with which to assuage her anger. She ought to be pissed. Someone should have been keeping watch over her, her being an armed special agent or not. She was open to attack, and we should’ve had someone there. I feel personally responsible for an error in judgment that could’ve cost her life.

  “It’s my fault, Mary. I should have included you on the list I gave to Pearce.”

  “Out of sight, out of my mind, right, Will?”

  “You’ve never been out of my mind.”

  “Really?”

  “Really. I didn’t stop caring about you. I never stopped loving you, either. It just didn’t…”

  “I must sound like a whining little ass to you.”

  She tightens her face. Her lips become taut. I can see white lines at her cheekbones.

  “Stop it. Don’t be silly.”

  “I don’t usually get this way.”

  Her cheeks color deeply, now. I’ve caught her being vulnerable, and I know she’s very angry about it.

  “I know, Mary.”

  “It’s not very professional, my behavior, is it.”

  As soon as she looked defenseless, she commands herself to get it under control. Now her brows are raised determinedly. She will not allow me to see her appear weak.

  “Cut it out. You’re just as human as the next federal agent.”

  She grins.

  “You have a way.… You just have a way.”

  “This is really going to sound lame.”

  “What is?” she asks.

  “I’d really, truly, like to be your friend.”

  She looks up at me and the tears gather once again.

  “Don’t cry anymore, for crissake,” I laugh.

  She laughs with me.

  “Okay. Friends with a homicide detective?”

  She sniffles, but her face lightens up just slightly.

  “Friends with me, Mary. Just with me.”

  “Like that movie—can a man and a woman be just friends?”

  “Why the hell not?”

  She wells up again, and the facial cloud bursts.

  “Why’re you always so goddamned sweet, Will?”

  “You deserve better than I gave.”

  “You underestimate yourself, buster.”

  Then she takes my hand and squeezes it tightly.

  “Catch that miserable bastard. That’s my first request of you, buddy-boy.”

  “Done,” I tell her.

  She looks at me with just a slight edge of suspicion in her lovely eyes.

  *

  The FBI frowns on their people being assaulted and stuck with knives. They send out six agents from the dark recesses of Quantico. All six are specialists with series murderers. They are all profilers as well as experienced field agents. They’re housed at the Loop office, and Pearce has informed us that we’re to extend all courtesies to them.

  And Pete Donat
o has returned to Chicago. He’s in civvies, as NCIS people usually are. He looks like one of Mary Janecko’s FBI brethren. Gray suit but no paunch. The haircut is absolutely GI.

  I re-introduce him to Jack Clemons.

  “Glad for any help we can get,” Jack tells my one-time partner at the Navy cops.

  “I’ll try to stay out of your way.… He’s become as high profile as you can get, and the only way he could get more altitude is flying into the stratosphere. Benjamin Anderson has now achieved superstar status,” Pete tells us.

  “I want someone to finally figure out why he ordered the rapes, in the previous killings, I mean,” Jack asks suddenly.

  “He’s not the typical pedophile, and he never joined in,” I answer. “Thomas and Brandon did the girls to achieve power. The usual shit for these guys. But I don’t think any shrink we’ve talked to about them thinks they’re genuine, by-the- numbers, kiddie rapists. The kids are being done to let the families see just how helpless they all are in the presence of Anderson and his dynamic asshole duo. At least that’s my best guess. I could be wrong, as the old joke goes.”

  “I don’t think you’re in error,” Pete tells us. “We’ve been through the misdirection with the oil business. It was the first tie that we suspected until we remembered that all those Kuwaitis in that area are in the oil business. Then Anderson just continued the feint here in Chicago. He was playing us like he was playing Carl and Philip. He supplied them with motive, the way Hitler provided the Reich with the fantasy about the Jews owning everything. Unite with a negative cause. That’s what the Little Corporal did, and it worked for a while.

  “And then Benjamin went south of the border and continued his bullshit smokescreen with a couple of Mexican nationalists who were dying to become true believers. Benjamin Anderson’s greatest talent is to locate fanatics of any hue to band together for his own purposes. He paints them a patriotic picture with all this savagery, and Genghis Khan rides again. And these fucking computers make the distances go away. He had people on both coasts doing his bidding. Dracula just had to rely on close-quarters mesmerism.”

  Jack looks down on his own hands. He’s sitting across from me, as Donato is, in my cubicle here near the Loop.

  “So now we think we understand the prick, but it doesn’t make him any closer to the gallows pole.”

  Pete watches my Chicago partner, but he never blinks at either of us.

  *

  Hannah wants to take me out to dinner. We go to Rinaldi’s on Cermak. It’s one of the best Italian eateries in the city. I don’t know how she was able to swing reservations, but she accomplished it.

  The place has the traditional red-and-white checkered table cloths with the wine bottles atop each squared table.

  I get the fettuccini, and Hannah goes for the linguini Alfredo. The food comes quickly, and it’s as good as advertised.

  “I’ve got some news for you.”

  “What?” I ask.

  “You might find it a bit disconcerting.”

  “You’re pregnant.”

  She looks shocked that I’ve guessed her major announcement.

  “I didn’t know we were trying,” I apologize.

  “I’m on borrowed time, Will Koehn,” she frowns.

  “Stop the older woman routine. Women are having kids a lot later than you.”

  She displays her calming smile. Hannah puts me at ease with the warmth she glows at me. She summons all that balmy comfort whenever she feels like it.

  “You’re really sure?”

  “Yes,” she smiles.

  I get up and move next to her on her side of the booth.

  “Don’t cry.”

  “Hormones. Shut up, Will.”

  She laughs to show me she’s not really angry.

  “Want to move the date up?” she asks.

  “Sure.”

  “When?”

  “Tonight,” I answer.

  “Where?”

  “Vegas,” I smile.

  *

  We call her sister to watch the girls. We’ve got twenty-four hours to get this thing done. I call Pete and Jack and let them know I’ll be taking a little personal time—about twelve hours. I’ve got the time stored up from all the overtime I’ve put in on Anderson et al, so Pearce hands me his blessings.

  Hannah calls the girls after she calls her sister to go babysit. The girls are thrilled and want to fly out to Las Vegas with us, but Hannah explains we’re too rushed, so the kids agree they shouldn’t tag along with us. They’re too happy for us to throw a shit fit.

  *

  I buy our bands in Vegas. We pick out the least vulgar chapel to get married in, and the service is over in fifteen minutes. I promise her a church wedding in June to come through with the wedding we’d planned, and she agrees.

  We stay at the MGM, but we don’t have time to gamble. There’s only enough time to consummate the marriage, again, and then we’re back on the plane to Chicago, sixteen hours later.

  *

  We make out aboard the Southwest jet, and we get blushes from the female flight attendants. It doesn’t slow us down, though, and I ask Hannah if she’d like to join the mile high club. She slaps my cheek playfully, and I begin kissing her again.

  *

  The newlywed husband is back on the job ten hours later, doing a twelve with Clemons and assisted by Pete Donato and the six FBI guys. We have a major confab in the Captain’s office.

  “Anything at all new and startling?” Pearce asks us all.

  The FBI crew just stares. Six males and no females. All suits, and three have the required paunch and all have the near-crewcuts.

  “Same place we got stalled at three days ago,” Pearce complains.

  “We have nearly exhausted all of our sources,” Special Agent Franco throws in.

  “What about your street rats, Jack?” Pearce asks.

  “I think he’s back with the Italians,” Pete Donato counters before Jack can answer.

  “Why’s that?” Pearce wants to know.

  “His crispy-fried daddy was tight with the goombahs, with the Outfit. Will and I think that book that was missing from the safe might have been a righteous ‘book of lists.’ ”

  “Well?” Pearce asks. “What the fuck are you waiting for? Squeeze our swarthy friends by the balls and win their fucking hearts.”

  *

  The “squeeze” begins immediately after the big meeting in Pearce’s office. The FBI and our own people start dragging in anyone with a connection to Jimmy Zagnarelli. They haul Jimmy Z in again as well. The idea is to make everyone in his crew very uncomfortable with the notion of aiding and abetting.

  “The fuck is this guy?” Jimmy Z asks in our interrogation room downtown.

  “I’m Peter Donato. I work for the NCIS.”

  “You’re a swabbie in a fuckin’ suit,” Jimmy counters.

  Pete never answers.

  Zagnarelli’s lawyer is present, naturally.

  “Nice suit,” Jack tells the counselor. I don’t recognize this mouthpiece for the wiseguys. New player.

  “This meeting is bordering on true harassment,” the attorney protests.

  He’s young, maybe thirty-five. Gentlemen’s Quarterly good looks. Dark, slicked-back hair. No facial hair. Looks like he works out regularly in some club.

  “This meeting is beyond that border and I don’t give a shit,” I tell Zagnarelli and his man.

  “Pardon me?” the cover-boy mouthman asks.

  “Fuck off, Counselor,” Jack says in a bored drawl.

  “You charge Mister Zagnarelli or you release him.”

  “Are you through with the rote shit?” I ask him.

  He doesn’t reply, this time. He’s getting better at this game. A fast learner.

  “We know you’re in contact with Benjamin Anderson. Don’t bother denying it. And when we squeeze the right guy in your outfit, your crew, we’re coming back for you. End of conversation,” I announce to them all. I get up from my chair an
d leave the interrogation room. Jack and Pete look over their shoulders at me as I depart.

  “The fuck was that all about?” Zagnarelli says out loud as I’m out the door.

  35

  Helene is warming toward me. It takes just a week. We’re holed up together here outside the city, so when we get tired of cable TV and magazines and the radio and newspapers, we wind up talking in spite of her grave reservations about me. I try to tell her the rap on me is bogus and that the only reason I’m in trouble is because of my recently departed father—foster father, that is.

  “So you’re just a victim of circumstance,” she grins slyly.

  “You don’t believe me.”

  “You can knock off the con-job. I’ve heard better, on several occasions.”

  “And you don’t mind being cooped up with a serial killer?”

  “Most of Zagnarelli’s crew come under that category.”

  “So you don’t have a moral problem, tending to a bad guy like me?”

  “Not really. Would I be here if I did?”

  “But you still have that .22 in your handbag.”

  “Always,” she smiles again.

  “I could really use a massage—on the good shoulder, I mean.”

  “Long as you stay seated. Long as you don’t try to get cute. Because I’ll shoot you, honey, and I won’t even blink.”

  “You’re a hard woman, Helene.”

  “Not so hard. Just cautious. It comes with the territory.”

  “I understand.… And why would I ever want to hurt you?”

  “Why would you want to hurt all those other people?”

  “Now there’s a good question.”

  “I read about the little girls.”

  “The other two men I was with got out of control. You may not believe this, but I tried to stop them.”

  “All three times?”

  “You’ve done your homework, Helene.”