Precinct 11 - 01 - The Brotherhood (23 page)

But when the day was over, it was as if his lights went out. He and Wade did not socialize outside the office, as Pete was a family man. And Jack had a new live-in girlfriend who seemed to monopolize his off-duty time. So Boone spent his late afternoons and evenings working out, studying, and watching TV.

Mostly he was in a funk, feeling sorry for himself. Sleep was so elusive that he was tempted to resort to wine again. But Boone had spent so much time and energy working out and eating right, he found himself in the best shape of his life and didn’t want to do anything to jeopardize that.

He was still trying to pray, but his pleas disgusted him. It seemed all he did was ask for relief or something else for himself. He wanted rest, peace, something to look forward to besides the job. Boone was not looking outward, as Pastor Sosa kept encouraging. “You’re not going to be happy until you’re doing something for somebody else,” Francisco had texted him.

The pastor was still inviting him to church and encouraging him to go somewhere, if not Community Life. He also sent him Scripture references occasionally, and strangely, Boone found himself actually looking forward to them. One night as he sat watching another inane late show, he muted the TV and looked up Sosa’s latest verse, Matthew 11:28:

Come to Me, all you who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.

Boone was glad he was sitting when he read that familiar verse. It washed over him with such power and left him with such longing that he felt he might collapse under it. It was all he could do to keep from weeping, and then he wondered, why not? Who was there to see if he cried? “I’m coming to you, God. I’m laboring and heavy laden, and I need rest. Tell me where to find it.”

He finally turned off the TV and stumbled to bed, only to lie there staring at the ceiling and realizing that the answer to yet another prayer was no. Either that, or he was looking in the wrong place for rest. By now he thought the pain of his loss should have dulled, and at times perhaps it did. But deep in the night it was often as sharp as ever, and all he could do was bury his face in his pillow and scream and sob. He wanted Nikki and Josh back with such fierceness that he wondered if life was worth living. And people said time was supposed to heal all wounds.

Some evenings Boone wondered if he should take Francisco Sosa up on the free counseling offered at Community Life. But every morning was a new start for him, and he eagerly dressed and headed for the office. Boone was intrigued by the fact that Haeley Lamonica was cordial and sometimes friendly, but never overtly so. She kept the photo of her son closer to her and not showing as she had in the past, and while Boone was tempted to ask if that was for his benefit, he didn’t pursue it.

He was also struck by the number of times other police personnel—in fact just about anyone in the building for any reason—seemed to flirt with Haeley. Every time, she just sighed and hesitated, ignoring them as Garrett Fox had reported. She responded only to those who were clearly inappropriate, and her tone indicated a warning that she would not put up with harassment.

To one senior executive who mentioned what he’d like to do with her after hours, Haeley said, “If you’ll forgive me for declining, I’ll forgive you for suggesting it.”

“Come on! I know you’re single and would appreciate a man of experience.”

“And I see you’re married.”

“But not dead.”

“No, but unemployed if you say one more thing I can report to Human Resources.”

When the man huffed off, Boone emerged. “Impressive.”

Haeley snorted and shook her head. “I only play tough. That stuff makes me quake.”

“You really shut him down.”

“I have a lot of experience.”

“Sorry.”

“Comes with the territory.”

“Would you even know how to respond if someone asked you out and you
wanted
to see him?”

She squinted. “Don’t start. Please. After all these months of barely speaking to me . . .”

He smiled. “Don’t jump to conclusions.”

“Don’t flatter myself, you mean?”

“I didn’t say that; you did.”

“How about those Chicago Bears, eh?” Haeley said, and they both laughed.

Keller and Wade spent much of the day working with Boone either in a conference room or on the street, keeping an eye on the gangs. Of course there was no hiding a so-called unmarked squad car with three suit-clad men in it.

It didn’t matter which of the big three street gangs’ territories they ventured into—the Gangster Disciples, the Vice Lords, or the Latin Kings—the members immediately busied themselves looking the other way when the police officers rolled into view.

The Disciples had become the largest of the three factions, and they consisted of more than thirty thousand blacks in the Englewood area on the South Side. The Jewish Star of David and the upturned pitchfork were their symbols. All over their neighborhoods, graffiti read, “All Is One,” and “What Up G?”

“I’ll tell you what’s up, G,” Pete Wade told Boone. “These guys pull in more than nine figures a year.”

“You’re not serious.”

“As a heart attack. They’re bigger than the Vice Lords, though the Lords have been around longer. The Lords have about twenty thousand members in the Lawndale area. You believe that? They started as a little club more than fifty years ago at the Illinois State Training Center in St. Charles.”

Boone saw all kinds of graffiti symbols on the West Side for the Lords, including the initials VL, a pyramid, dice, a bunny head, a crescent moon, and a top hat with gloves and a cane. The Vice Lords had gained control of their neighborhood when they appeared to turn over a new leaf in the 1970s and became community leaders. They were given federal grants to run a center for youth and job-training classes. “When the grants were rescinded,” Wade said, “the Vice Lords reverted to their old ways.”

Even the so-called smallest of the three leading gangs, the Latin Kings—made up primarily of Puerto Ricans and Mexicans—numbered nearly twenty thousand members. Their symbols—expressed in graffiti all over the Southeast Side and Humboldt Park—included crowns, stars, a cross, a lion’s head, five dots, and their initials.

“These neighborhoods and their gangs freak you out, Drake?” Pete Wade said, swinging around in his seat as they headed back to headquarters late one Friday afternoon. Keller was driving with Boone in the backseat.

“Sure. Give me the creeps. You couldn’t pay me enough to venture in there alone. But give me the right tools and backup, and you couldn’t pay me enough to stay away.”

“That’s as it should be. Now it’s quiz time. See if you’ve been studying. Where are we on Chicago Outfit and how do they interact with the gangbangers?”

“Well, let’s see. It’s been one disaster after another for the last two decades for the Outfit. Worst came earlier this decade when a bunch of Mob bosses and their associates, including three made guys, were indicted. They’re down from six street crews to four and some say as few as three. They’re still big in loan sharking, debt collecting, extortion, and street taxes, but the old days of making a lot of money from vice and gambling are gone. Too much of that has been legalized, and it’s cut into their action. They still lend to casino gamblers the bank won’t touch, and the vigorish on those loans is exorbitant.”

“Good,” Wade said. “How big is the Outfit now, compared to what it was?”

“Around a hundred made guys and associates, down from about four-fifty twenty years ago.”

“Uh-huh, and in your opinion, from what you’ve read and we’ve taught you, what’s the biggest organized crime threat to the city of Chicago?”

These were softballs, Boone thought. Clearly something else was coming, once he had established that he had all this down. “Well, seeing as how the Chicago Crime Commission figures there have been around eleven hundred Mob hits in the last century, and the last one was more than twenty years ago, while the street gangs—who monopolize the drug trafficking—have murdered about two thousand in the last decade, I think it’s obvious. We still have to stay atop the Outfit, with all its ties to the unions and embezzling and all that. But the street gangs are clearly worse.”

Pete Wade settled back, facing the road. “Jack,” he said, “I think the boy is ready for the next step.”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t you think he’s ready for the assignment?”

Keller shrugged. “In due time.”

Pete held up both hands. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to be premature. And it wasn’t my place.”

Jack laughed. “I just want to wait till we’re back in the office. I want to see the look on his face.”

Whatever this assignment was, Boone was eager to get it. But when they got back to the office, the workday was nearly over. Haeley had her son in a chair next to her desk. Apparently she had persuaded him to be both quiet and still, as having him sit there was a privilege she couldn’t afford to lose.

Keller retired to his office with Wade, while Boone stalled in his own office, waiting to be summoned. As he tidied up and stacked files, he heard Keller emerge and instruct Haeley to set a meeting for the three of them Monday morning. Why did it always have to be this way? If there was one thing Boone no longer looked forward to, it was a weekend with nothing to do.

Boone was pulling on his trench coat when Haeley poked her head in to tell him of the meeting. He thanked her and made a show of jotting it down when Max scooted away from his mother and ran to him. He reached up with both hands, and Boone froze.

“Max, no! Come here!”

But the boy stood there, looking puzzled, still reaching. Boone finally welcomed him into his arms, not prepared for the wave of emotion the little body evoked. He bit his lip and looked away as Max laid his cheek on Boone’s shoulder.

Haeley quickly pulled the boy away. “I’m so sorry, Boone. Forgive me.”

“It’s all right,” he managed, feeling his face flush. “Hey, listen, you got plans for dinner?”

Haeley gave him a look. “Don’t do this. You don’t have to, and I’d rather you not be like everybody else. Trying to get a sitter on a Friday night—”

“No, I meant you guys, you two, both of you.”

She hesitated. “Are you sure?”

“Nothing fancy. Maybe pizza.”

“Well, okay. I guess. Max, you want pizza?”

“Pizza!”

“That’s a yes.”

They walked to a place nearby, and as they sat waiting for their food, Max climbed into Boone’s lap. “Max!” Haeley said, looking mortified.

“Nah, it’s all right,” Boone said, putting his hand on the boy’s back to steady him. So many memories. Such pain. He was impressed that this seemed natural for Max. He played with stuff on the table, ignoring Boone.

“He doesn’t do that with most people,” Haeley said. “Despite being a day care kid, he’s kind of clingy.”

“Maybe because of that, huh?”

“Maybe. I hate leaving him every day, I can tell you that.”

“No family nearby?”

She shook her head. “Deep South.”

“I don’t hear any accent.”

“We’re from Michigan, but when my parents retired, they moved to South Carolina.”

“Does his dad get to see him?”

Haeley exhaled loudly through pursed lips. “There’s no dad in the picture.”

“And you don’t want to talk about it. No problem.”

“Ah, I don’t mind. I was stupid, a bad judge of character. Away from God, you know?”

Boone nodded. He knew, all right.

“I let him move in,” she said, “supported him for a while. The day he found out I was pregnant, he was out of there. Haven’t seen him since.”

“You ever hear from him?”

“Oh, sure. I know where he is. Works at a casino in Indiana. Last time I heard from him it was just him telling me not to expect a dime, that the baby was my
fault
, and that he didn’t feel any responsibility.”

“Quality guy.”

“My poor choice. Pushed me back to my faith, though, I’ll tell you that.”

“That’s good then, I guess.”

She fell silent when their food came. She made Max sit next to her, and Boone enjoyed watching her with him, making sure the pizza was placed far enough from him so he wouldn’t burn himself. She looked expectantly at Boone.

He smiled. “Dig in.”

“Max is used to praying before a meal,” she said. “Want to do the honors?”

“Uh, no, go ahead.”

She held Max’s hand and he reached for Boone’s.

“Dear God, thank you for this food and for a new friend. In Jesus’ name, amen.”

“Amen!” Max said, smiling.

How nice that she had been quiet and not showy so Boone didn’t have to feel embarrassed, except that he had declined to pray. Haeley didn’t eat much, then seemed to study Boone, making him feel self-conscious.

“What?” he said.

“You ever feel unforgiven, even though you know better?”

“Humph. When I feel unforgiven, I know I deserve to.”

“Come on. You a new Christian or what?”

He briefly told her his history.

“So,” she said, “like me, you were raised in church, and like I say, you know better. I knew better than to live with a guy too, but while I really came clean about it and asked forgiveness, there are times when I don’t feel forgiven.”

Boone wanted to tell her that he was having trouble forgiving God, but it seemed way too personal this early in their friendship. “I’m no saint,” he said. “I use language I never used and never thought I would use before I became a cop.”

“I don’t know how Christian officers can avoid that, with what they hear from criminals and their fellow officers every day.”

“Yeah, but it’s no excuse.”

“So then you do know we’re forgiven even if we don’t feel it,” she said.

“I should.”

“You would if you were hearing it every week in church. I bet that’s what your pastor what’s-his-name preaches.”

“Francisco Sosa? Yeah. It is. Far as I can remember.”

“Shame on you, Boone. You’ve got to get back to church.”

He was surprised he could take this, but she was so easy to talk to. “I know.”

“But?”

“Lots of reasons.”