Fly With Fire (31 page)

Tuesday morning the
Impressionist lovers lined up in a light rain with umbrellas in front of the
Museum. Mo had art books in her apartment but she was not well schooled in the
genre. Zack was no connoisseur but he’d seen the exhibit and knew what he
liked. While he enjoyed the impressionists, the early moderns were more his
style. He’d always wanted a good framed print of Hopper’s “Nighthawks. He liked
Pollack. When they left the main exhibit he steered her toward that section of
the museum. She liked the Hopper but told him clearly he could have the rest.
She was all about Monet now that she’d seen the real deal. And Cassatt. Yeah,
she definitely had to have a Cassatt. A print anyway. When they left the museum
the rain had passed leaving behind a brilliantly clear day. They decided to
have lunch on the beach and found themselves at Oat Street beach at the little
outdoor café. It adjoined a souvenir stand selling hats, towels, bikinis and
Chicago memorabilia.

“In Chicago there’s a law…”
Zack held up the plastic mustard bottle. “No ketchup allowed on your hot dog.
Not for a true Chicagoan.”

“That’s ridiculous. Everyone
loves ketchup.” She’d had to ask for it specifically as there was none on the
table. What do they do, lock you up or does the vendor carry a baseball bat?”
She laughed. Her dog was packed. Like a true Chicagoan his had mustard, relish
and onion. “What a beautiful day. You know the winds not bad today. I didn’t
even bring a bathing suit to Chicago. I never thought I’d be on the beach.”

“Don’t you ever swim in the
hotel pools?”

“I don’t usually. Either too
many people to really swim or I get bothered too much.” She took a big bite.

  “You want to hang out
on the beach?” He pointed at the stand.

He’d tried to pay for the
bikini but she wouldn’t let him. He’d been paying for food and cabs. She’d had
slapped her card down while he was still trying to get his wallet out. Now she
came out of the bathroom in a blue and white bikini and made his jaw drop. She
wore the flip flops she’d bought. They were green as the stand had been out of
blue. The Sox cap was black, grey and white. “I’m a real style buster, I know.”
He laughed as she reached for the beach towel. It was graced with the Chicago
skyline and said “Home Sweet Home.” Zack was glad he’d worn shorts and sandals.
They walked to the water’s edge and dropped the towel, kicking off their shoes.
Mo put a toe in the water while watching Zack’s muscled torso as he pulled off
his pullover shirt. He waded in. He turned and reached for her. “Maybe just lay
in the sun,” she decided.

By God she had him so hot
with her wisps of hair blowing if he had to cool off she was going to cool off
with him. In a few steps he swept her into his arms and carried her laughing
and struggling into the surf. He dropped into the water with her as she
shrieked. She broke away and splashed hard in revenge. He finally got her
wrists and pulled her close. Her mouth opened as the warmth of his body soothed
her shiver. His tongue warmed her all the way to her curling toes. Zack ran his
hands down to her hips and pulled her close. “Uh.” Her body jerked a little.
He’d hit the bruise.

“Sorry.” Mo accepted his
apology with a press of her own tongue. She lured him deeper until he was
totally lost in the kiss. He hadn’t cut his hair since he’d gone on leave to
guard her. She ran her fingers through it, closing her eyes, losing herself as
well.

They lay close on the beach
towel. Maybe they should have gotten another but then it wouldn’t be as cozy,
she thought. Zack had worried about her white, delicate looking skin. She
assured him she wasn’t the burner he thought she might be. Her Native American
blood seemed to help in that area. Which was a good thing, he thought, when he
woke up red chested with stinging skin. He tended to burn even his already
somewhat tanned skin.

“There, there,” Mo soothed as
she rubbed lotion on him and looked at him in the bathroom mirror. “Must be the
Irish.” They had just washed the sand completely off each other making sure to
be as thorough as hands and lips and tongues could be. Zack had been sure she
had some in deep places he explored rigorously and repeatedly using everything
in his arsenal before he was satisfied she was sand free. He looked at her
strong lovely body; well, one could never be too thorough. He’d better check
one last time.

They lolled on the sofa
listening to Morphine. Mo thought the sultry sounds just right as she breathed
in and let go a deep exhalation; her body like putty in his hands. Zack held
her head against his stomach. His fingers never got enough of the feel of her
silky hair. He was breathless and sated as he had never been.

“Zack, you’re Dad was a cop
too? Right?” She nestled.

“Mmmhmm.” He didn’t
elaborate.

“Well, you never talk about
your family. Your Dad. Or Mom for that matter. I know they passed away. You
just never…”

“Not much to say. How ‘bout I
order in. You like Greek? You want to go out later?”

Mo knew the topic was closed.
But her curiosity lingered.  Let him put it out there on his own. “Greek’s
good. I wouldn’t mind staying in and relaxing if that suits you. So you still
want to go on that tour? I want to see everything. I want to go down in that
coal shaft at the… the…”

“Museum of Science and
Industry. Of course I want to go. We haven’t gotten to the Planetarium yet
either. He swept a hand along her long, defined stomach then nudged her up a
bit to reach for the phone. “Tomorrow, I’m cooking dinner. You can take that as
a threat or a promise.”

“So Gram clocked the guy
right between the eyes. That ended that job but I was so proud of her. She
protected me. Stood up for me. We wound up living in her VW bus for six months
until she got work with a carnival. I did my school work by lantern light. But
I didn’t care. She was hard on me but I knew she loved me. This is good. You
seem to know where to get all the good food.”

“I like to eat.” Zack forked
in a mouthful.

“Don’t I know it,” Mo looked
up at him with a mischievous smile.

“You have a dirty mind, Ms.
Whitman. How’d I get so lucky? Your grandmother sounds like hell of a woman.
Dirty bastard should have been arrested. I’m glad he didn’t have a chance to…”

“He didn’t.”  Mo toed
his ankle with a sly look. “She was hell of a woman. What’s for dessert?”

Curtis Lyons was pissed. He
had absolutely refused to say a word. He had held out for more than three days and
still he sat. Bull should have gotten him out by now to his way of thinking. He
couldn’t co-operate with that namby pamby public defender. What’s a hold up
compared to cop killing. They find out who he is and he’ll be lucky to make it
till morning. Why didn’t Bull send in a real lawyer? He’s the one with the most
to lose and by god if he doesn’t get him out they’re all going to need earplugs
when Brother C gets to singing. He might be the only inmate in the City of
Chicago without his prints on file. They think they’ll ID him from prints the
jokes on them. At least Bull had taken care of his file.

He’d never gone in for the
armed robberies or other notoriously high apprehension crimes. He’d never taken
money for a drug deal. He had been extremely careful, and lucky. Bull had taken
care of his petty theft record back when Ray was just getting started. He could
hold out a little longer. Until Bull got him the kind of lawyer who could get
him the hell out of here! It didn’t occur to him that Bull would have to
identify him to get him out. Or that Bull might be just fine with him taking
the rap for Ray.

What had he been thinking?
Shit, he wasn’t gonna shoot that girl. He was just trying to make sure he
didn’t get shot. Mother that knocked him to the ground was a cop. Go figure,
cop right outside the door. He still hurt like hell. Son bitch yanked his
shoulder out. His back was killing him. All he’d wanted was some food and to
get the hell outta town. The beach in Indiana, that’s where he should be. Not
locked up because that mother Bull was too busy moving in on Rosalie to take
care of business. Ray was a nasty mother, but he always took care of business.

Curtis heard a racket and
from the loud oaths and clanging figured another stoned or drunk ass was gonna
be tossed in a cell. Not with him he hoped.

“Shut up, Jamal.” He heard
the guard say.

“Shit.” Couldn’t be but
Curtis sat on the bunk with his head low. He recognized Jamal Smith’s voice.
Drunk again. Probably had some smoke on ‘em. He dipped his head lower.

“Hey! Hey Curtis! Curtis.
What the fuck, man! Yo, bro? What you doing? It’s me. Jamal. You high?” Jamal
went on and on as the cop steered him to a cell. “What you doing, man? That’s
my cousin. Curtis. What?”

“You know that man?” the
guard stopped in front of Curtis’ cell.

“That’s Curtis. Yo, Curtis!
Put me in with Curtis, man.”

“Sure. Curtis got a last
name?” The guard Iooked at the man who was just about folded in on himself.

“He gotta last name? Hear
that Curtis? He asks you gotta last name. Lyons. Rooaarr! Lyons. Ain’t that
some shit? What chu doin’ in here, cuz?”

The phone was ringing and
groggy, Zack reached out with some confusion. The ring of the phone was like an
unwelcomed alarm clock. His mind raced out of dreams as he disentangled himself
from Mo. Somehow they’d made it to the bed after a round on the living room
carpet. Zack’s home cooked meal of grilled chicken and vegetables had been
topped off with epic calorie burning sex.  Half asleep they’d been and yet
had found the energy to make mayhem of the sheets once they’d made it to bed.
He rubbed his face and took the call. His eyes widened as he looked at Mo who
didn’t stir.

“Wake up Burnham; they got
Lyons down at Central. Al’s voice was deep and businesslike. “Lyon’s won’t talk
but I’ve got intel says Bull’s meeting a plane in Joliet. Moving into the big
time. I’ll be downstairs in thirty five. Leave the girl. She’s safest there.”
Zack looked at the portable phone as if it were a statue come to life. With a
look at Mo’s sprawled body, he climbed carefully out of bed.

“Yep, boosting losers just
ain’t enough anymore.” Al steered the Crown Victoria a few cars behind a white
Sprinter in the early morning rush. Interstate 55 got busier as they neared
Chicago. It was almost at a standstill by the time they got off at a hundred
and twenty seventh street; cutting east toward the industrial complexes on the
lake. The stacks came into view as they got closer, spewing smoke into the air.
Not one of the tourist attractions, Zack thought.

They had managed to keep an
eye on Bull as he met the plane with the van and a driver neither of them knew.
Watching from a distance with binoculars, they saw crates unloaded from the
small plane into the van. Al reached into his car and handed Zack a video
camera. “You probably know how to operate that thing. They must‘ve flashed
badges at the bohunks,” grunted Al with derision.

“We’re gonna need back up,”
Zack went to dial his phone.

“I’m not in the mood for
friendly fire, Burnham; you know he’s got people on the payroll. Who can we
trust? This is too big.”

“We can’t go in alone. I’m
not supposed to be anywhere near this.” Just the same Zack snapped his phone
shut.

“Who’s going to investigate
who’s investigating you? How do we know Larson himself isn’t involved? Real handy
you get shot receiving vast amounts of heroin. Handier still we both just
disappear. Unhinged father, suspected crooked cop. Who’s gonna look too hard?”

“Look, I’m on suspension and
you’re out of your jurisdiction. Any bust we’re able to make won’t stick. We’ve
got to get someone else on this.” Zack looked at Al’s profile watching the big
man drive with a bland expression on his face.

“I figured you’d be
squeamish. Being a ‘by the book’ kinda guy. Just to ease your bleeding heart
I’ve made some arrangements. Bet your one of those liberals who thinks drugs
should be legalized. That we should just keep junkies in the hospital and feed
‘em whatever they want.”

“Yeah, I am one of those
liberals. But you’re twisting it around to suit your biases. You don’t like big
government but you sure always pressed for more money for law enforcement.
Think about how much money is spent on drug interdiction when what we really
need to do is treat addiction. That’s why I didn’t go into narcotics when I was
asked. I was more interested in finding killers than arresting people for their
weaknesses. Besides Al, look around. How many people here don’t want to escape?
One way or another.” They were heading through some of the most drug and crime
infested areas on Chicago’s southeast side.

“There are better ways to
escape. I not interested in the user. I’m interested in the people who use them
and keep them trapped in addiction for profit. Users get caught in the net. I
worked Narco. Before Homicide. But those users were as likely as not trying to
bring more business in for their supplier. You know drug dealing is a pyramid
business. Sure we want the tip but we have to destroy the foundation. We came
from opposite sides of the tracks in the same blue collar hood. We didn’t resort
to drugs ‘cause we didn’t live uptown.” Al still had his cop driving down. He
made a quick turn, but hung back, with the Sprinter just in view.