Fly With Fire (15 page)

Mo would snort with disgust
as she watched the news. Yet she seemed to hope that they would suddenly reveal
that the killer had been caught or some other relieving detail. Since Ling had
not been robbed, nothing taken from Mo’s or Ling’s room, there had been nothing
to leave a trail a comfortable several hundred miles away. No credit cards used
in Florida or Texas. No pocketbooks found in Minnesota. Was the killer a long
gone guest? A random opportunity taken advantage of. A stalker who had admired
Ling and found a way to get to her? An admirer of Mo’s. There were no sudden
epiphanies in the Greendale Police Department. Or none they’d informed her of.
Zack’s contentious relationship with the burly Al whose chip widened with each
conversation yielded nothing. Al would insinuate that Mo was still a person of
interest. He even posited that Linc and Mo had been in on it together. Zack
kept in touch with Harve who didn’t seem to be coming unhinged. He spoke often
with Vince Smith the hotel security chief. He wanted all bases covered in the
matter of Mo’s safety.

Zack reported to the Mayor’s
office daily even though he was now officially on leave. The union had urged
him to take leave and not use his vacation. After all, he had it coming with
Ray and all. He did his best to keep up with that investigation. The internal
investigations department had frozen him out. There had been news reports
stating suspicions that Ray had been dirty. These would send Zack’s fist onto
the bar. A stream of curses from his mouth for which he would apologize. Mo would
give him a beer or a cup of coffee and silently put her hand on his arm.

They fell into a routine of
common cause. Between work and grief they formed a companionship with an edge
of anxiety.  When it got too claustrophobic, one of them found a way it
lighten things up.

“I want to walk down Michigan
Avenue.” It was Monday morning.

“What?”

“I’ve taken the day off. I
want to walk down Michigan Avenue. Maybe shop.”

“The entire day?”

“I have to be back for
rehearsal. Don’t worry I’m not bailing on your friends. But we did two shows
yesterday to make up for lost time. I told Roddy and he agreed we are in fine
form and can afford not to work all day.”

“Roddy would agree with
anything you requested” Zack said with a laugh.

“I hope you didn’t wait for
me to go to the gym, it was nice to sleep in.” She pulled the drapes open and
breathed in as if the sash had been flung open allowing fresh air into the
hotel room. “So?”

“So? Oh. Well sure. Whatever
you want to do.”

“The always accommodating
Detective Burnham. I hope they’re paying you what you’re worth.”

“Roddy has made it the most
profitable busman’s holiday ever.” He thought how that sounded and looked at
her. “That’s not why I’m here.” He said quickly.

“Why then, Detective?” She
walked over to the coffee maker and poured a cup. “What an odd set of
circumstances brought you here. But you didn’t have to stay.”

“Roddy’s a hard man to say no
to.” He didn’t mention it was probably best if he stayed well away from the
investigation into Ray’s murder.

“Yes, he is.” Her gaze seemed
a little hard, her tone a little sharp. He wondered if she had become sick of
his constant presence. Or was he seeing a little of the diva come out. It
shouldn’t surprise him if it did, but she had so far had given no hint of it.

Mo looked at him and wondered
what it was that had been bugging her. He had been such a perfect gentleman.
And she felt they had become friends. But when she lay in bed the night before
she had touched herself and thought of him. Then she felt guilty. Not about the
orgasm but about Ling and allowing herself to be overcome by lust while her
murderer ran loose. While she knew it was unreasonable she was just a little
angry at him for it and looked for a way to blame him and maybe punish him a
little.  She wanted to see him want her a little. The furtive glances were
no longer enough. His professionalism is what had started to bug her. She
looked at his blameless face and mentally slapped herself for her pettiness.
She thought of the cloying Claude, the sheepish Misha. She thought of the men
who had tried to bed her because of her beauty, because of who she was. She
thought of the couple men she had bedded for lust and thought little more of.
There had not been relationships. Her work was too hard on relationships. The
couple times she had dated a guy more than a few times, the complaints started.
And she was nothing if not dedicated to her work.

She studied his ruggedly
handsome, but somehow gentle face. He had turned and looked out the window. His
brow a little hardened. A little hurt at her sharp tone. “Let’s get out of here
today. You must be sick of this. You can drop me off and do some stuff you need
to do. Go get some fresh clothes. I’m sure I’ll be perfectly safe on Michigan
Avenue.”

She probably needs some time
by herself. He made his translation.

Besides the occasional male,
visual probe, Mo felt anonymous and able to breathe as she walked the
‘Magnificent’ mile. They had snuck out of the hotel informing only Roddy so far
as Mo knew. What she didn’t know is he had arranged for a discreet tail on her
in the form of Janet Ben-Ghury, on loan from Vince Smith’s team. Mo had noticed
that Zack seemed to be making sure they weren’t followed. She felt a little
like she was in a movie. Two hours, speed dial, cop on every corner, and meet
at one. Zack’s law, she chuckled to herself. The day was incredible and she was
relieved to have some time by herself. Nothing more had happened and the
murderer more than likely a long ways away. But the unknown had a palpably
stifling quality that had made even breathing feel strained. She looked in
windows and watched people. She admired a dress or raised her eyebrows at a
hat. The styles on Michigan Avenue were a little too rich for her taste. A lot
of it had a Ladies Who Lunch quality about it. Brooks brothers shouted board
room. She found a happy note when she discovered Filene’s Basement and felt a
little more at home. Going out of business. What a shame. But the deals were
great.

Back on the street her phone
rang. Zack. “I’m still here. I have a new scarf. Where are you?”

“I just left my place. I’ve
got to drop stuff at the cleaner and stop by Tyler’s office. One still good?”
I’ll call for your location.  See that cop?”

“I see a cop.” She turned and
looked around.  “And one on a bike.”

“One on every corner. Be
good.”

“Now that you have this show
biz gig going how ‘bout some tickets? Think you can fix it for your chums to
see a show?” Merle Gleason stood by Zack’s desk with his hands in his pockets
and coffee stains on his shirt. His unkempt, hangdog looks belied a sharp
Holmesian mind with a bit of Freud thrown in. He was also as socially inept as
they came. Particularly with women.

“I don’t have that kind of
pull, Merle. I’m just security, for a couple weeks. Mayor’s idea. I kind of do
the same thing I’ve been doing in Tyler’s office except the people are much
nicer and I don’t worry about a knife in my back.”

“Their weapon of choice is an
undetermined blunt object from what I hear. I saw your client in the paper. If
I pulled that tour, I wouldn’t be wasting time here.” Merle slouched with what
he evidently thought was a ‘just one of the boys’ leer.

Zack looked at him and saw
the envy. “Merle, she’s a nice lady. She’s had something really bad happen. Her
best friend’s been murdered and they may have been after her. I wouldn’t have
ever thought I’d wind up in this job, even temporarily. But since I did, I’m
gonna do the job.  You guys have a laugh if you want to, but I hope while
you’re at it you find that punk who managed to get Ray’s gun away from him.”

“Look, Burham, no offense.”
Merle leaned in more closely. “I talked to Bull Shaughnessy about a Curtis
Lyons. He’s on that. Lyons had once been his stoolie. We collared a Jamal Smith
on a B and E. He said he had info on this Lyons. And Ray. He said Ray had been
boosting dealers with Lyon’s help. Lyons set up small timers to sell the stuff
that Ray had pinched. Had a couple runners who owed ‘im. He made a statement
and we turned it over to Bull at Internal. Presumably Bull will have a chat
with the DA’s office.

Zack’s face reddened, he
glared angrily at Merle. He turned from his desk toward the other detective,
towering over him. Merle shrunk back a little as Zack said, “Go on.”

“Hey, I’m just givin’ ya the
heads up on where this thing’s going. You didn’t hear it from me.” He looked
around and laughed out loud as if Zack had just told him a real zinger. “That’s
good, Burnham!” He lowered his voice again.  “Look man, this Jamal Smith
said one time Ray got real impatient about some dough a kid owed him. Said Ray
told you he was going to run to the florist for his wife’s birthday and left
you sitting at the Ashland Veiw Coffeeshop. He gave Lyons his gun and him told
to go scare the kid and get the dough. Smith said Ray was laughing about
getting flowers for his wife while having Lyons collect money to give his
girlfriend.”

“That’s bullshit, Ray didn’t
have a girlfriend. Ray wasn’t dirty, what kind of a setup is this?” He could
have smashed his desk to pieces. He contained himself and eyed Merle. Where
does this Jamal Smith fit in?”

“He’s Lyon’s cousin and a
small time thief. He said Lyon’s tried to recruit him but he didn’t like Ray.
Didn’t trust ‘im. Said a dirty cop was more likely to kill ya than a hopped up
armed robber. Zack, he said Ray worked a kid over so bad Lyons threatened to
quit. But he was afraid of Ray. Said Ray was desperate enough for money to
kill.” Merle shoved his hands in his pockets, leaned in real close. “Rosalie
Villareal, 1783 Paulina, third floor. Yeah, take it easy Burnham!” Merle
shuffled off whistling.

It occurred to Zack that he
didn’t usually notice the smell of sweat, urine and vomit with a fixative of
pine based cleaner that permeated his precinct house. Suddenly it overwhelmed
him. He dropped down in his chair and felt his stomach roil. Ray…No, it can’t
be true. This is a fucking set up. Someone’s dirty and their trying to dump
their laundry pile at Ray’s feet.  Could Bull Shaughnessy have something
he needs to hide up someone else’s skirt? Who’s this Jamal? This Lyon’s had had
a cozy relationship with Bull in the past. Bull was sure dragging out the
investigation into Ray’s murder. He remembered the day a few months before that
he and Ray had stopped at one of their usual spots for coffee. Ray was saying,
“Shit, forgot Marge’s birthday. I’m dead meat. Look, I’m gonna run down to
Ashland florist and cop some rose’s. Marge’s favorite. Be back in twenty.” Ray
didn’t return with roses. “Oh. Had ‘em delivered. She’ll be real surprised that
way. She’ll even think I remembered before today!”

Zack glanced at his watch
after pulling a couple hundred from the ATM machine. He put it in an envelope
and sealed it using his tongue to wet the glue. Had to make it quick. He’d called
Tyler’s office and found the Mayor out with a sigh of relief. He left an update
into the Greendale investigation with one of Tyler’s obsequious cronies. 1783
Paulina was in a part of the southwest side that had gotten into the rehab boom
and had managed to sell itself as an up and coming family neighborhood. A lot
of the buildings had gone condo and sat renovated in move in condition. With
the economy taking a dive, the pool of easy credit buyers had dried up.

During the real estate salad
days the endemic gang element had darted clandestinely out from under the edges
of the carpet it had been furiously swept under. Now they practically owned the
streets again. Zack looked at the young men in muscle shirts sitting on the
steps of the building. The street was busy. Kids played while their mothers or
big sisters watched. An old man selling food from a wagon (unlicensed, Zack
thought) was hawking his wares in Spanish. A Spanish music radio station blared
from a jacked up seventies Chevy Camaro parked across the street. The building
was a three story forties brick job that had been converted. A huge sign
advertised the first floor at a reduced price. Zack glanced down the For Sale
sign lined street. Not the rehab heyday it once was, Zack thought.

He got out of the car and
walked toward the building. One of the young men stood up in the middle of the
first step making him eye level with the detective. “You looking to buy?” he
asked with a Northern Mexican accent. Zack flashed his badge. “I mean you
interested in the condo. It’s my brother’s building. We were cleaning up the
unit. Some punks broke in, you here about that? My brother called the cops and
said he got the brush off. You gonna take a report?”

“Sorry, kid, it’s not my
call. Rosalie Villareal, she still on the third floor?” Zack nodded upward.

“Yeah, she still up there.
Hopefully not for long.” One of the other young men reacted to the name and
started pulling his wife beater out at the nipples making feminine pouty faces.
Jesting in Spanish ensued amongst them.

“She doesn’t own the condo?”
Zack thought the kid seemed pretty straight up.

“Hard times, man. My brother
owner financed it to some boyfriend of hers. A cop. Married I heard. Cop got
killed in the line. Now Rosalie can’t make the payments. But she told Herman,
my bro, she got something in the works. Some money coming in soon. We figure
new friend, know what I mean. She’s got a lot of friends, but no one that’s got
the dinero to make the mortgage. Now you know. I haven’t seen her come out today.”