Fly With Fire (5 page)

Most people were surprised to
find out she was the granddaughter of a Scottish Ironworker and a Mohawk woman.
She had been born in a small town a hundred miles north of Toronto where her
grandfather’s family had settled in his youth. Grandpa had gone to New York
looking for work and had met Gram who performed a trapeze act in a small circus
that traveled the border circuit. She was visiting her ironworker cousin in New
York City when she met Grandpa. Gram had given up the life for love and had
been disowned by her relatives. Mo’s parents had died in a car accident when
she was two years old. Her life, such as it was, was in Montreal. But she had
been on the road her entire life as Gram worked to support her after Grandpa
passed away. Gram had scraped together a living getting what gigs an aging
performer could get. They weren’t the best jobs, although she sometimes made
extra money coaching. Mo had been homeschooled on the road.

Beautiful as it was, Montreal
had never seemed like home any more than the small towns they’d traveled all
around Ontario had. Not since her grandmother had died. She smiled at the
thought of Gram up on the balance beam with her in her arms. She had taught her
to swing and tumble and climb as soon as she could walk. Her grandmother had
doted on her scrawny, shy granddaughter and taught her confidence in what her
body was capable of. She had also been a stern task master, strict and
unrelenting though not unkind. Her reverie was interrupted by Ling’s snore.
Might as well see what’s left of the free breakfast she thought picking up the
Chicago Tribune.

The Headline blared: “Feds
investigate Tyler; Mayor says advisors ‘kept him in the dark’ about questions
concerning city building inspectors. Patronage draws criticism from
Republicans.” Mo read on, Danish in hand. The restaurant was empty except for a
few stragglers looking for a late, quick bite. Typical hand in the till
politics, she thought looking around as if she had spoken aloud and expected a
response. Mayor Tyler. Her new best friend.

Zack was almost numb with
boredom so he let his mind wander to a beautiful trapeze artist many people
called the fire catcher. Out of his league, but man, she was something. 
With just a few minutes of contact she had gotten under his skin. But he
probably wouldn’t see her again. Oh if she showed at the Mayor’s party he might
get a glimpse of her. Might as well get her out of his head. Ray would have
said he’d been celibate for way too long. Too picky, Ray had been fond of
saying. And now he was paying the price. Ray would have teased him about it and
encouraged him to go for it, fears be damned. But Ray was dead and he had been
thrown the bone of the Mayor’s detail while circumstances were sorted out. He
tried to change both subjects on his mind.

The Mayor was arrogant and
sure of himself. He could be jovial and likable one moment and a storm most
people sought shelter from the next. Zack had decided to let the storm blow as
it would and didn’t blink when the mayor’s wind blew his way. It was a trait
Gerald Tyler both admired and found annoying. The mayor rambled on dictating
talking points to his staff for a speech in response to the latest the Feds
were throwing at him. How did the most investigated man in America sleep at
night? Zack wondered. He looked around the mayor’s office. The building was
Sunday quiet but the Mayor never stopped working. He could see the lake out the
corner window. The office smelled like leather and expensive cigars. There were
numerous awards and commendations on the walls. Dozens of photographs of His
Honor with politicians and celebrities. Zack glanced at the mayor who at one
time was almost his father in law. He could see the desktop photo of the mayor
with his wife and kids. Patricia, the oldest, had been too young, he knew. They
had both been too young. The phone buzzed, the secretary’s voice was ‘backa the
Yards’. “Chief’s here, your Honor.”

“Send him in.” Tyler shifted
his tie and sat, leaning back and droning a few last lines as the door opened
and Hugh Larson walked in.  The chief of police was a round man. Round of
body and round of face. His gut pressed against his uniform jacket. He puffed
his breaths. Zack found it hard to believe this man had once been the scourge
of organized crime and lived. “Hugh, you off the scotch again?” The chief put
up a hand. Bobby, get the chief some bubbly water.” He smiled a smile that
didn’t reach even the hinterlands of his eyes. The chief smiled in kind. “The
rest of you beat it. All a ya. Burnham, you stay.” Zack continued standing
straight up in his corner of the room thinking it was possible the Mayor might
be afraid of the rotund police chief. He wouldn’t be the first. “So what do I
owe the privilege of this visit to, on a Sunday, no less?”

“I’m getting a lot of calls
from the press and from the council. They want to know why I hadn’t already
looked into the building inspector thing before it became a federal case. Now
it’s all in the papers and reporters are nosing around in my business as well.
 Can’t you put a lid on this thing? Fire the building commissioner? They
can’t expect you to keep track of every trash collector and pencil pusher your
department heads hire but shit Gerry, get this tamped down.”

“They know it’s not your job
to keep tabs on me. They’re just turning up the heat. I promise you, the
Construction Association is pushin’ this thing. It’s part of their union
busting agenda. If your house is clean? No sweat. I’ll keep tabs on my own
house. Put your cousin Joey on leave until it all blows over.”

“He don’t deserve that. He
worked his way up, I never lifted a finger. And don’t talk to me about unions.
Jesus H. Christ, Gerry, they’re the bane of my existence. You know how many
slackers we got out there collecting disability while starting businesses and
whole new careers? Or layin’ around lubricating themselves so they can squeeze
themselves down the sewer pipe to Hell? Fucking unions. I’ll be calling in the
Feds myself if it gets any worse.” Chief Larson snorted indignantly and gulped
his sparkling water. He narrowed his eyes at Zack. “The bullet in Ray Pollack
definitely came from his own damn service revolver.”

“This ain’t the time or
place.” The Mayor drummed his fingers. “I know it looks bad, but we gotta stand
behind our boys. I’ll keep this cretin in my house for the time being.” He
thrust a thumb in Zack’s direction.  “You get this sorted out so he can get
back to work. I don’t need him gettin’ in my way.”

“He must be an honest cop
after all. How’s it feel to play asswipe to your almost father in law,
Burnham?” He laughed himself into a wheeze. “I mean it, Gerald. I want the
press to stop breathing down my neck. I’ll back up my own, but not if they’re
dirty.” He looked meaningfully at Zack, who officially didn’t hear a thing.

Lifting the key had been easy
enough. Neutralizing the camera on 14 East a little more time consuming. The
maid’s outfit had been easy enough to come by. He’d seen it for himself, she
was doing the guy. He’d seen him coming out of her room. Big runner he. Looks
like Rasta was really getting his exercise by banging the woman that was meant
to be his. He hoped she was still there. He’d be in before she knew it. She was
probably still in bed wondering who else she could fuck.

He shouldn’t have been
shocked at seeing Linc come out of her room. Too bad he had to take the time to
cover himself. It had taken him a few minutes to go to his room and change into
the maid get up. Make it quick. But he hesitated wondering if his desire for
her would interfere. No, she’s a whore. She’s broken his heart. Now, outside
the room, he listened. Fell asleep after Mr. Rasta. He twisted his mouth with angered
determination and shoved the key in. The light turned green. He turned the
knob.

Zack parked his car down
Indiana and walked past where the Veteran’s Museum stood. A big moving truck
had been blocking the entry to the small lot of his building. George Travers
waved out the window as he posted a sign calling on protesters for a sit in in
Washington D.C. He was a grizzled looking man with long gray hair and a red
bandana around his head. Zack waved back and headed for the service elevator of
his building. Just about to put the key in, the door burst open with an
avalanche of tiny, white dogs barking and yanking at their leashes, pulling
their walker right into him. Zack managed to avoid being tangled. “You walking
them or are they walking you?”

She laughed. She was a looker
he thought. An actress? Yeah. “You gonna arrest me for assaulting an officer?”
She flirted with her blue eyes while the dogs yanked. She wore a black T-shirt
with no bra. Jesus they were nice. Her neck length, big but softly curled hair
was very Marilyn Monroe. Cherisse. Yeah, Cherisse.

“I’m gonna let you off with a
warning this time.” He winked then squatted down and petted Mrs. Powecki’s
bichons. They nipped jealously at one another. Four dogs. The dog walker needed
the work no doubt, but Mrs. Powecki must be crazy.  

She pulled at the dogs
holding all the leashes in one hand and pulled her Lolita sunglasses down over
her eyes, pursing her lips. He had a vision of her practicing that look in the
mirror. Well, I guess an actress has to rehearse. “I’m more than willing to pay
my dept to society, Detective. How’s Gerry?”

The man sure did get around.
Oh that’s right, a great patron of the arts. “Ger…I mean His Honor is just
fine.”

“Well, see ya around detective.
Come see my new play. I’m a desk clerk. I’ve only got one line but there will
be some important people coming to see it. Byeee!” She swung her hips and
looked back over her shoulder with a seductive smile. They want to see more
than what you look like behind a desk, he thought as he pushed the elevator
button.

Thank God it was Sunday and
he’d done the day shift. His double shift the day before was telling on him. He
looked forward to sticking a couple dogs on the terrace grill, breaking open a
Hamms, and watching the preseason game. He dumped his shoulder holster,
revolver and wallet on the plain thrift store dresser. He threw his suit on the
bed and made a mental note to hit the cleaners in the morning. He was looking
forward to having Monday off. Instead of turning on the air conditioner he
opened the sliding glass door to catch the cool lake breeze. If he looked real
hard he could see what was left of his little slice of lake view. A new
building was going up that would obscure it completely. A controversial subject
his fellow tenants seemed to feel he could do something about.

His simple condo consisted of
a living room, bedroom, galley kitchen and bathroom. No pictures hung on the
walls except for one Georgia O’Keefe lithograph; his most prized possession
though it was a gift from his ex-wife in happier times. The blinds that came
with the condo were still in place after a year. He’d never bothered with new
window treatments. The carpet throughout was too bland to even be offensive. He
looked around and once again promised himself he’d make something of the place
when he found time. He had his eye on a few things to liven up the place. But
money and time were two things he didn’t have enough of.

He stepped out on the minute
terrace to light the tiny grill. He thought he’d unpack a few boxes while he
listened to the game. He stretched in the breeze and waved at the young couple
on their terrace a couple doors over. They ignored his boxers and he ignored
the smell of their quickly concealed joint. He thought of the actress wondering
if it wasn’t about time he picked up the pace on his dating life. Then he
reminded himself that it wasn’t exactly the best time with the investigation
into Ray’s murder. Zack thought about how long he’d been alone. He felt and
ignored a twinge. But he wasn’t thinking about the actress, he was thinking
about a tall, black haired beauty who knew how to fly. He had caught himself
foolishly thinking of her throughout the day. Was he just taken with her act?
She’d seemed like an entirely different person up close. He fiddled with his
tiny grill and finally got it lit. That woman wasn’t afraid of fire but she
didn’t come off like a prima donna. He was too humble to believe her asking if
he danced meant she might have been interested. He didn’t lack confidence with
women but it was of a realistic sort. It was the quiet sort. He wasn’t the
swaggering type.

He grabbed the Hamms and
opened the package of hot dogs with a paring knife. The beer was ice cold and
he chugged a few swallows before putting it down to take the dogs to the grill.
The couple had gone inside. No one else was out enjoying the late summer
evening. While his hot dogs cooked he held his beer and clicked on the TV to
check the time for the game. A news bulletin showing Greendale Coliseum in the
background filled the screen. “Tragedy has stricken the popular La Cirque du
Celestial. A woman who was a major figure in the show has been murdered in her
hotel room. The bludgeoned body of the woman, whose name has not yet been
released, was found this afternoon by a hotel maid.”

“Fuck.” Zack went over to the
grill and shut it off. He swallowed the rest of the beer as he grabbed his
pants. Just as he zipped up his cell phone rang.

It being the Mayor’s night to
have dinner with his family, he held a brief press conference to extend his
condolences and promise assistance to the Greendale police. Then he went back
to his corned beef. Why he wanted Zack to go out to Greendale was beyond him
but his first reaction had been to go anyway.  He’d feared for the
beautiful star of the show he’d met the night before and who’d teased at his
mind ever since. He was relieved to find out the victim was not Monica Whitman.
But the victim had been found in her room. “Holy shit, what’s up with that?”