Fly With Fire (14 page)

“Jesus Christ! Sorry. Ten seats!
Nicky! Wanna go see a show. Call Angela. Tell yer sister we’re all going to see
Circus du Ce.Les.Ti.al! Monday! No, I ain’t kiddin’! Have another beer, Ms.
Whitman, how ‘bout dessert?  Dinner’s on me!”

They walked down Jackson
across the bridge that spanned the Chicago River. She leaned over and looked at
the tour boats on the dark water. “Is this where that toilet thing happened?”
She referred to a rock band emptying their tour bus toilet over a tour boat. An
incident that had caused local, and national, outrage some years back.  

“No that was a few blocks
away. Jerks.” The sound of her laughter made him smile. The night was warm
enough and they were far enough from the lake that she didn’t need the denim
jacket she’d brought with her. She had had to stop making him thank her for the
tickets for his friend. It wasn’t that big a deal. Now she was feeling like he
was a little too in awe of her. They’d lost the even footing they’d attained
and he acted a little nervous. She was a star again and she didn’t want him to
look at her that way. For reasons she had not yet ascertained.

She looked up at the Sears
tower. It was unbelievably tall. The night was clear and she could see the top
of it. The bars of light around the observation deck were red. He had explained
about the city’s penchant for having a theme with lights on buildings in the
same color on their first drive into the city. Holidays, sports victories,
commemorations. People strolled, biked and rollerbladed. There were lots of
people out enjoying the warm, pleasant night. She thought of how she enjoyed
going for walks in Montreal when she was home. So many people going places,
doing things. She enjoyed seeing it, though she herself hardly ever went
anywhere. Save those walks.

“You want to go up?”

“Up?”

“Yeah, up in the Tower.”

“Why not?”

Up they went with other
people in the elevator. The observation deck was low lit so the view could be
seen more easily. And what a view it was. The entire city stretched out in its
blinking glory. The people below were like ants. The Navy Pier Ferris wheel was
minute. The tour boats on the lake were like tiny little toys that seemed to be
barely moving in the night. It was breath taking. They were a mile in the sky.

Zack popped four quarters
into a telescope fixed on a stand. “Look at this.”

She leaned and looked
through. “Wow.” She turned the telescope this way and that. Then angled it
toward the moon. “This is amazing! Aw!” It had stopped. Zack leaned close and
popped in four more quarters. She looked through it aiming it at the lake, the
other buildings, Navy Pier, until it stopped again. She walked around the
perimeter of the observation deck. There were alcoves of glass that hung off
the sides of what was called the sky deck. People were in each one looking straight
down through the glass at the streets below. Kids lay down and looked up at the
sky or faced down to the street. Mo smiled noting that they made snow angel
like motions as they lay on the glass. Flapping their wings. One emptied and
Zack went into it. He turned and held out his hand. She took it and could not
suppress her delight at the sensation of just being in the air hanging out over
the beautiful city with its brilliant lights.  “We can actually lay down
in it! I wonder how thick this glass is. She lay face down in her jeans. He
checked out the back of those jeans. Long legs and round curves. He noticed she
had a very round bottom for such an athletic person. She looked up at him over
her shoulder. He’d been caught and embarrassed he looked out toward the city
lights.

Down on the street she seemed
more at ease than he had seen her since the murder.  She smiled easily but
he knew the grief that was under the surface. She chatted and asked questions
about the city, its history and politics. He told her bits of history that he
knew. She said she remembered the name Burnham from ‘Devil in the White City’.
No relation. “I know from Dino that you went to high school here. Are you from
here originally?” she asked.

“Yep. Born and raised. So
you’re from Monteal? Originally?”

“North of Toronto, but we
moved around. I was raised by my grandmother. My parents were killed, in an
accident. I don’t remember. My grandmother was Mohawk and grew up in a
traveling circus. Virtually a slave. Story was she ran away with my Scottish
grandfather whose family had settled in Ontario. Gram had gone to New York
hoping to break into one of the bigger circuses. They didn’t have much use for
a short Indian woman back then despite her skill. Grandpa was an iron worker.
You may have heard there are many Mohawk iron workers and Gram was related to
some who were friendly with Grandpa. He married Gram and whisked her back to
Ontario and was a carpenter there. Gram taught kids tumbling and stuff. Things
were good for them ‘til my parents died. They were missionaries. They had me
and went to Africa. Before they could get me they died in an accident. Car
accident. Grandpa died a couple years later. Gram always said his heart broke
when he lost his only child. Then Gram and I were on our own. It was tough. But
we had each other. I’m sorry I don’t know why I’m telling you this.”

“It’s okay. It’s interesting.
One of the things I love about Chicago is there are so many people from so many
other places. Makes for great food, great music, great stories. I’m sorry about
your parents. So did you learn what you do from your grandmother?” Zack guided
her around a corner towards his car.

Mo breathed a deep breath and
swept a stray hair behind her ear. The wind picked it up again immediately.
“Yeah. I grew up learning and performing. She was strict about everything. I
think she was always afraid about my future. Her parents died when she was
young. She wound up with relatives in the circus. They were not kind. She
didn’t want me left unable to fend for myself. Gram could seem hard but she
loved me. She wanted me to be disciplined. She wanted me to me successful and
able to take care of myself. Same with school, she home schooled me and was
very strict. She basically learned with me since she wasn’t very educated. I
guess the way she’d grown up, being beaten if she made a mistake, working all
day, practicing all the time, influenced her view of child rearing.”

Zack stopped and looked at
her. “She beat you?”

“No. Never. But she scared
the shit out of me with the sheer force of her personality. I lived in terror
of not living up to her standards. Well, she did have a way of twisting my ear
occasionally. She was very loving too. It was just the two of us. Both families
had disowned my grandparents. I guess at the time their marriage was frowned
on.” Mo reached over as if to twist Zack’s ear. He winced as if wounded and
laughed.

“But you knew she loved you,”
He touched her shoulder then let his hand drop.

“My favorite memory is how at
night, after all the work and all the discipline she would hold me on her lap
and tell me stories about when she was in the circus as a kid. Sometimes about
Grandpa or my father growing up. Then she would brush my hair and stroke my
neck and tell me some day I would be famous. I would be beautiful and happy and
have everything she’d never had.  Well, at least I’m making a living.”

“I think she was right.” Zack
wanted to tell her she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. She was
becoming famous. He couldn’t speak to happy. He’d landed in her life during a
difficult time. “Hey, so is it true that Mohawks have no fear of heights, Ms.
Whitman?”

“My Scottish grandfather was
the ironworker, Mr. Burnham. I do believe I’m being stereotyped. Is it true the
Irish run Chicago?” They both laughed lightly.

“I’m only part Irish, on my
mother’s side.” He knew she was a person in grief and fear. He respectfully
tried not to think of the sparkle in her eyes, her small, full mouth and her
long, lustrous hair in its windblown braid. He opened the car door and assisted
her in with a shy smile. They were just a few minutes into their journey north
on Lakeshore Drive when Zack took a sudden turn and found a parking spot by
putting a police sign on the window of his car.

Buckingham fountain spewed
its pastel streams to the amusement of tourists and lovers alike. Lights from
beneath the fountain shone up and shimmered through the cascades of water. Kids
ran in the overspray laughing and squealing. Some older kids sat on the edge
and played as if to push each other or dive in themselves. They were averted by
the rough bark of a cop on a horse. They walked the perimeter enjoying the
changing lights of the fountain. People were everywhere taking in the mild
evening.

“What about you, Zack? You have
family here. What about your folks? Your Mom’s family was Irish and your Dad…”

“My parents are dead.” Zack
stated this fact without emotion.

“Oh. Sorry.” Mo felt a bit of
a wall go up. But walls could be climbed. “Got any brothers or sisters? Any other
family?” Mo’s back teeth clenched a little as she noticed his wary visage
return. She felt guilty but decided to try to draw him out anyway. “Come on
Zack, you know all about me now.”

Zack stared toward the top of
the fountain for a moment. “I became a cop like Dad. I have a sister in Toledo.
She’s sort of…We don’t keep in touch. I’ve got a few relatives around. Guess
we’re not a close family. Cops tend to let cops be family. But there always
disillusion, just like in real families I guess. You wanna get a drink?” He was
shutting down the topic. She didn’t push.

 “Not tonight, but
thanks so much for showing me some of your city. A lot of notions have been
dispelled.”

“I noticed you were reading ‘Devil
in the White City’.  Another book about the city’s lurid side.”

“About it’s amazing history
too. I think you’ll understand why I can’t finish it right now. Though I do
like the history of how the world’s fair transformed Chicago. I guess when I’ve
thought of Chicago I’ve always thought of gangsters. And gun molls. ‘You dirty
rat!’” She pretended to aim a gun deepening her voice. “Edward G. Robinson type
stuff. I never even thought about coming downtown the last time I was here.”

“That’s odd if only because
I’d assume most women wouldn’t be able to wait to hit Michigan.” He feared that
sounded sexist and regretted it. She didn’t seem to notice.

“I’ve never been a big
shopper. Not that I don’t like to occasionally, but it’s not something I have a
lot of time for.”

“Well, you should try to hit
Michigan while you’re here.”

“I’ll ask my bodyguard if he
can arrange it. It’s an early morning, Zack. Mind if we go?” They walked to the
car, Zack concealing his regret their evening was coming to an end.

It was seven thirty in the
morning and Mo was running on the treadmill watching the early morning news.
She had almost snuck out until she was faced with him gun in hand coming out of
his room. Light sleeper. He was in shorts and a tee shirt in two minutes. He lifted
weights on the other side of the gym, glancing at his charge every now and
again in the mirror. She sipped coffee from a water bottle. She didn’t like
drinking out of plastic but one had to make compromises. This was her routine,
she told him, and she had been off of it. Up at six thirty. Make coffee. Gym
for at least an hour. Pilates in room, one hour. More coffee and a light
breakfast. At the coliseum at nine thirty to ten. Practice, fitting, production
meeting, late lunch. A quick nap if time allowed. Rehearsal. She explained that
practice and rehearsal was not the same thing. He compared her schedule to
basic training. She figured that was about right. She let up a little on
weekends. There was often some social thing she felt obligated to attend. So
she might sleep in. A little. Mondays were normally off, but the schedule had
been thrown off. Roddy encouraged the performers to rest their muscles. Some
did, some didn’t. Mo usually put in a few hours of practice. What could Roddy
say? He worked every day himself.

She worked on her core
muscles while Zack showered. She handed him another cup of coffee when he came
into the living room in sweatpants. There were beads of moisture in his hair.
She glanced over him and away. He sucked in his stomach a little feeling he
wasn’t as firm as he used to be though most people would have thought him
exceedingly fit. Now next to this almost super human, he felt a little flabby
and scolded himself to do more not to become the donut eating lard ass so many
cops somehow let themselves become. Even the fittest, the toughest, could
become obese if they didn’t watch it. Years of riding around, desk work, stake
outs and poor diets took their toll. Compared to Claude or even Misha, he saw
his body as far from perfect. He decided to work on that as he watched Mo
stretch.

There had been no progress in
the investigation and a small band of press was still camped out on the
periphery of the hotel parking lot. There had been lots of speculation that it
had to have been a hotel staffer. An Ecuadorian janitor had been questioned
when it was found he could not account for his whereabouts at the time of the
murder. The married woman he was having a liaison with denied having been with
him until video tape busted the adulterers. Mo thought it was ridiculous that
they should lose their jobs. Zack countered it was a matter of honesty and
safety of the guests. Would she like to think the staff was using her bed every
time she walked out the door?