A Time for Secrets (21 page)

I tried not to smirk. Trading barbs with Sugar was more fun than I’d had in a long time. Meanwhile, Mrs. Finnegan obligingly began to list her husband’s accomplishments. He did a lot with the park and keeping business in the neighborhood vibrant. She blushed a little when she mentioned the easily-defeated gay rights ordinance. “We have so many of them in the neighborhood, I suppose it’s only fair…speak of the devil—”

I turned to see Alderman Thomas Finnegan walking over to us. He was a man of sixty-something, and though he was neatly groomed with his white hair trimmed and carefully combed, his teeth well taken care of and his weight within reason, he managed to look like a man who’d lived hard and had begun to pay a price for it. Around his nose, tiny red veins had burst, and his eyes were cloudy.

Sugar greeted the Alderman and began to introduce me, but I interrupted her. “I’m Nick Nowak. I’m a private detective, but I think you know that.”

I held out my hand, but he didn’t take it. He was too busy acting confused. “Are you one of my constituents?” he asked.

“As a matter of fact I am, but that’s neither here nor there.”

“We’ve met, though. I’m sorry I’ve forgotten you, I meet so many people—”

“We’ve never met.”

“Well, I can hardly be expected to remember people I haven’t met, now can I?” He tried to pass it off as a joke, but it fell flat. “Wait a minute. Nowak. I think I know your family. I was on the job with them. Goodness, every other Polack police officer is a relative of yours, aren’t they?”

I decided to get down to business. “I came to tell you I’m not giving up and that I have three witnesses. Three.”

I was stretching things, but he didn’t need to know that. He stared at me for a moment, and I saw the mean, unpleasant man underneath the veneer. And then just as quickly that man was gone.

“Are you a Republican?” he asked, then turned to Sugar. “They can’t get elected in this town, but they sure do like to cause trouble.”

“I can assure you Alderman Finnegan, he’s a dubious character, but hardly a Republican.”

“Darling, we should really mingle,” Fay Finnegan said, astute enough to know the conversation wasn’t going to improve. And with a steady hand, she led the Alderman away.

The minute they were out of earshot, Sugar turned to me and asked, “He was our target wasn’t he? Exactly what is it you’re not giving up?”

“You don’t mind if I leave, do you? You’ll be fine here on your own.”

“Oh no you don’t,” she said. “You’re far more interesting than anyone in this room.”

With that, we walked out of the Art Institute and wandered Michigan Avenue until we found Sugar’s limo. As the driver pulled away from the curb, Sugar said, “There’s a bottle of champagne in that little refrigerator. Be a dear and open it.”

I popped open the box refrigerator and took out the bottle. I was unwrapping the foil top when she said, “Now, you didn’t answer my question. What are you not giving up? And three witnesses? Is he cheating on his wife? I could hardly blame him though, she is a little…lackluster.”

“Is he a friend of yours?” I asked.

“Only when he’s fundraising. Then we’re bosom buddies.” Then she added, “You know he’s running for mayor. Is that what this is about? I hear he’s decided your people are important voting bloc.”

I popped the cork and Sugar held out two glasses to be filled.

“My people? Sugar, it’s a sexuality, not a separate country.”

“Oh darling, I’ve been to a gay bar. If that’s not a separate country I don’t know what is. They even made me show my passport at the door.”

Some bars did make women show extra identification. Leather bars or a bar with a backroom wouldn’t have welcomed her. At Paradise Isle, though, I let women like Sugar in all the time. Well, provided they were accompanied. I wondered for a moment where she’d gone.

“So, tell me, what is this all about?” she asked.

“You know I’m not going to tell you, Sugar.”

“Let me try to guess, then,” she said happily. “He’s done something illegal, hasn’t he?”

“What makes you think that?”

“He’s a politician. They’re always doing something illegal. He’s done something illegal, and you’re trying to prove it. You’re having trouble, but you’re not giving up. Am I close?”

“Dangerously. We should change the subject.” Her glass was only half
empty, but I poured her some more champagne in hopes of distracting her.

“All right, I’ll give up, but I’ll tell you one thing. Thomas Finnegan will never get another dime from me.”

“It isn’t justice, but it’s a start.”

“Justice? I wonder if you know where you live, Mr. Nowak.”

“Chicago’s a tough town. I know that, but if no one—”

“I’m not talking about Chicago, I’m talking about the whole damn country. If you know your history, the country was founded by a bunch of ex-cons and a whole passel of religious fanatics. Now how do you expect justice when that’s what you start with?”

“There were a few brilliant thinkers thrown into the mix.”

“Yes, and what they did was set the whole thing up so the crooks and wackos could thrive. Freedom of speech, pish-posh. Why, I think eighty percent of Americans would trade their freedom of speech for a brand new Oldsmobile Cutlass in heartbeat.”

“That’s a sad way to look at things, Sugar.”

“I’m a sad woman, or didn’t you notice?” She played the comment off for a moment or two, but then she dissolved into a fit of giggles.

The limo pulled up in front of my place. “If you’d ever like to bat for the other team, you just let me know,” Sugar said
;
obviously she’d had too much champagne.

“I’m a one team kind of guy.”

“That’s a shame.”

“You’re a beautiful woman, Sugar. I’m sure you can get any man you want.”

“The thing I miss most about being poor is that men wanted to fuck me. Now that I have a hundred million dollars, men only want to marry me.”

I chuckled. “We all have our crosses to bear.”

“We do indeed,” she said. Then she whispered, “Of course, there is one special man. I’m drunk, otherwise I would never tell you a thing like that.”

She obviously wanted to tell me, so I asked, “What’s he like?”

“You met him,” she said with a pleased little giggle.

“I did.”

“On the stairs.”

“We didn’t meet any single—oh, I see.”

“Sam McCorkle, the very tall man with the anemic, unhappy looking wife.”

I vaguely remembered an older man with a square jaw and the kind of looks that could have landed him in a Marshall Fields ad selling cardigans for Father’s Day.

“Handsome,” I told Sugar.

“Isn’t he? The first time we were…together, he told me he’d never leave his wife. I think I fell in love right then. He has political ambitions.”

“He’s in politics?”

“Not exactly. He’s in real estate.”

“I assume you don’t mean he’s an agent.”

She giggled. “No, he’s not a real estate agent. He pulls together the funding. One single person can’t pay for a one-hundred story building.”

“And that’s going to set him up for a career in politics?”

She smiled like the cat who ate the canary, “The mayor adores tall buildings.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

When I woke up the next morning, Harker was sitting on the bed Indian-style with all the city’s newspapers spread out in front of him. The night had been hot and most of the bedding was on the floor. I was naked and sporting a morning woody. My first thought was how to get Harker to put down the newspaper and pay attention to my dick. The thought didn’t last for long.

“His name is Arthur Lyons. He’s twenty-five. He lives in Marquette Park.” Marquette Park was a suburb on the south side near the Bridgeport neighborhood I grew up in. Marquette Park was turning black like most of the south side, but there were still a lot of Lithuanians. There were some grand old cathedrals down that way dating back to the years when the Polish Catholics tried to outdo the Lithuanian Catholics and vice versa.

“Is he black or Lithuanian?” I asked.

“Black.”

“What else does it say?” I asked.

“His alibi is that he was at a showing of
E.T
. at the Congress Theatre. Doesn’t have a ticket stub, and since the movie’s been out for weeks, he could have picked up the plot any time.”

“If he lives in Marquette Park, why is he going to the movies in Logan Square?”

“He was probably on a date with one of the gentleman he met via his personal ad.”

Something clicked for me, and I blushed for having missed it. “He’s a hustler, isn’t he? He says he wants to meet older men because they have more money. He’s using the personals to get clients.”

“And he was with a client when Meek and Taber were killed, so unless the client comes forward, he has no alibi.”

“And if the client does come forward, he’ll be discouraged from testifying by the CPD, won’t he?” I sat up, my hard
-
on now a memory. “I can’t let this poor guy go to prison for two murders.”

“He’s not going to prison. They won’t be able to put together enough evidence.”

“The Chicago Police have never put an innocent black man in prison?” I asked.

“Point taken.”

“I have to do something.”

“No, you don’t Nick. It’s not up to you to save everyone.”

“I’m not trying to save everyone. I’m just trying to save this one guy.”

“And Ronald Meek and Vernon Taber and some actor from the fifties and every other person who’s ever shown up in your office. Not to mention Ross and Brian and me. You have to stop trying to save people. It doesn’t work.”

“It’s a little early in the day for psychoanalysis,” I said, resentment oozing off me like sweat.

“Save yourself, Nick. It’s the best anyone can do.”

“Fuck you. You don’t operate that way and you know it. Why do you want me to be like that?”

“Because you’re going to get yourself killed.”

That made me wonder if he’d figured out where I went the night before. “I promise. I won’t get myself killed,” I said. “Besides, I thought you were helping me. Did you find any of those guys alive?”

“Yeah, I found one.”

“What’s his name?”

“I’m gonna talk to him later on,” he said sheepishly.

“I need to get out of this, but you’re going to jump in?”

“You care too much. It’ll make you sloppy.”

I bristled at that but couldn’t deny that it might be true. It was also easy to see that Harker was feeling good enough to want to do something. I wanted to interview the witness myself, but it seemed cruel to fight him over it.

I mumbled, “Then I’ll be careful,” bounced off the bed, and headed off to take a shower.

A half an hour later, I sat in my office with a Styrofoam cup full of coffee and a bear claw. I poked around the office and pounded my way through a couple of reports for Peterson/Palmer. My hope was that if I distracted myself with other work
,
inspiration would strike and I’d know which way to go next. Around one o’clock I got a sour feeling in my stomach that I figured was probably hunger. I decided to take myself out to a diner a couple blocks south on Clark. I could have walked home and had lunch with Harker and his mother, but I knew I’d spend the whole time wanting to grill Harker about his witness, and I should probably give him the whole day to come up with something.

I walked out of my office and locked the door. When I turned around I saw a gray, faded man standing there. He smiled at me and said, “I was afraid to knock. Isn’t that fucking stupid?”

It was my father. I probably hadn’t seen him in three years. He looked smaller, as though time had shrunk him.

“What do you want?” I asked.

“I want to talk to you.”

“So talk.”

“You don’t want to make this a little easier on an old man?” he asked.

I didn’t reply.

He sighed heavily and began, “Maybe we haven’t done right by you. Maybe we should have been a little…different, I guess. The world is changing, and I suppose we gotta change with it. You know?”

My heart was doing a gymnastics routine in my chest, but I tried to be as still as possible. I wasn’t sure whether to trust what he was saying or not. I waited to see if he’d lower the boom.

“Anyway, the lady mayor’s gonna be history soon, and the people coming up, well, they’re gonna need someone like you. You could get back on the job, Nicky. They’re talking about some kind of fag relations thing. You know, you’d be the person the fags talk to when they got troubles. Since you’re one of them.”

I think my mouth fell open. “You’re offering me a job?”

“Yeah, I’m offering you a job.” He licked his lips, his mouth obviously dry with nerves. “And you can come home, too. For holidays and things. Your mother would like to see you.”

“Can I bring my lover?”

He was quiet. “One thing at a time, son.”

Could I really go home? See my family? Be a policeman again? Was that possible? But what was the price? My father hadn’t exactly said.

“Finnegan sent you.”

“He’s gonna be the next mayor. Richie’s not going to run. So, it’s a done deal.” Not a single vote had been cast, the primary was still months off, but I didn’t doubt him. “You’d be smart to say yes.”

“A man was murdered. Beaten to death in an alley while his friends watched. A little more than a week ago, two of those friends were shot in the back of the head because they were ready to talk about it. I don’t want to think about things like that going unpunished.”

“That man shouldn’t have been around children.”

“Do you know something I don’t?” I asked.

“I know he was a fag, and fags shouldn’t be around kids. And them other two was blackmailers. Way I see it, justice got done.”

“So if I get beat to death sometime it’s a-okay with you?”

“No, it’s—you don’t mess with kids, do you?”

“No, I don’t mess with kids and neither did Bill Maker.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Yeah, I do.”

He looked confused. There seemed to be a part of him, a small part,
that
believed in me, in my basic goodness, and yet, a bigger part simply did not.

“I’m gonna give you until tomorrow morning. You think about it. You accept the offer.”