Calumet City (42 page)

"I…I can’t."

"Got to. Lotta people you care about go down if you don’t."

"I can’t."

"Gimme the gun; we walk out proud. Together."

Every pore is burning. I can’t surrender; now, here, later. I just can’t—The ghost at my ear says yes you can. I hear Cisco move; this place will be flooded with cops any second. God says trust me in Sonny’s voice.

He has to say it twice. And louder.

I let the Airweight slide into Sonny’s palm. Sonny steps back and without showing it to the window, pockets the pistol. "Kit Carson’s out there, he and his ASA buddy wanna make the big play for the cameras. We walk out, me in front, if Kit says shit, he goes to the dentist."

I look at Sonny, then Cisco, then the flashing lights. I’m about to be blinded in the cameras. Then locked in state or federal handcuffs—the beginning of living Calumet City all over again. All of it. Surrender. Confinement. Saliva.

"What about my son?"

"You saved his ass, what else you need to do?"

"I need to…know, to…"

"Patti, the kid’s a fucking adult. He can take it. Once you lawyer-up, you tell the story, loud. Kit and the G and these other assholes will run for the fucking exits. You do that, you walk."

"No." I shove at him.

Sonny drives me back and flat, and tells my ear: "Moens says she can front-page their asses. Splatter ’em all, including the Ayatollah."

"Not John. I won’t tell it."

"Yeah you will, ’cause I’ll tell the little Northside fuck what happened if you don’t. Ask your boy if he wants the woman who saved his ass to die in prison."

"No!" I lurch at Sonny’s chest, slug at his kidneys—

Sonny smothers my hand. "If he’s worth a shit, what do you think he’ll say?
Let her die? I don’t care?
" Sonny pins my head with his chin. "I ain’t lettin’ it happen, Patti. If that means you and me got no shot, then that’s what it means."

"I trusted you, goddamnit. Don’t."

"Too late, your kid’s out there in a squad, gonna ID you for the fire. For the stiffs."

"John’s out there?" I try to look out the window but can’t move. "Does he know?
Does
he?"

"You gonna do right or do I knock your ass out?"

"Does he know!"

Sonny’s chest expands into mine and the longest silence I can remember. "No. Not yet."

I slip and squirm and stomp at Sonny’s shoe. "Don’t you tell him. Don’t."

Pots and pans clang in the kitchen. Cisco shouts, "Let her alone." This has to be the G coming for their prize. Tracy’s voice adds to the commotion, out of place and getting louder. Then she’s at my inside shoulder, away from the window.

"Hey, fly half."

I can’t move to look at her but can smell the perfume.

"You Southside girls can throw a party; this guy bothering you?"

Sonny’s chest hiccups, maybe a choke or a laugh without sound.

"Do
not
tell them, Tracy. Not about John."

"Honey, we have a deal."

"Bullshit. Don’t tell. I ain’t kidding. I’m warning you—"

"You’re warning me?" Tracy’s tone leaps to anger. "Pinned against a wall by a gorilla and you’re warning me? I saved you every way a woman could. I gave you my friendship; you used it for firewood. I risked my career, hell,
my life—way
past what we agreed—and you
still
haven’t said thanks."

"Don’t tell. Not now, not ever, not—"

"If I’m not printing this story—
like we agreed
—why’d I do all that?"

I fight against Sonny’s bulk.

"Why, Patti?"

"I don’t know why, but you aren’t writing it."

"In some other universe I’m not. Tell me where that universe is and maybe we make a new deal."

Sonny’s too strong to move; my knee lands on his thigh instead of his balls and I get slammed hard into the wall. I can hear, but it’s hard to breathe. Tracy says,

"For God’s sake, Patti, wake up. This is real here, we can beat ’em; I know how."

"Not…with…John." I twist my head from under Sonny’s chin and catch Tracy’s eyes. She jolts, either at my dark circles and tears or the panting breath I can’t catch. Patti Black, victim.

Tracy cuts to the window, scanning lights and people I can’t see. The perfect lips purse, then peel back, and she blinks twice. She nods to an unspoken decision and leans closer to my face. "You don’t look good. No way I’d go on camera if I were you."

From deep in his throat Sonny Barrett, gunfighter, says: "Fuck ’em. She’s going out the front door, with me. Fuck the cameras…and anybody else."

And anybody else
means Sonny has reached his line in the sand. Not only are his career and pension over, he’s gonna go to prison for me, a terrified little girl in a sundress. Because of me. Because I won’t—

"All right," Tracy tells Sonny and my cheek, "I’ll do it—no John, not a word. But I write whatever your lawyer and I decide has to be written for you to beat this. And before you bitch, you need to know that if you back out—
again
—I’ll tell the whole thing. All of it."

I hear her but there’s too much adrenaline and not enough air. This is it if I agree; I’ll be naked out in the lights. Everybody will know.

"Yes or no, Patti? Now."

I stare at her eyes and don’t see the lie, don’t see the career-at-all-costs town house owner. "What about your—?"

"I’ll win the Pulitzer later."

"You’d do that?"

"If you never,
ever
mention it, especially to me."

Sonny’s heart is ramping with mine. He really does mean to save me, regardless of what Tracy says. This is that moment at the school dance that I never had, the boy I wanted asking me in spite of how I look. This boy—this big, huge Irish man—wants Patricia Black, even though he knows I’m crippled, even though he knows my history will cripple him too. His heart beating honest against my cheek decides for me.

"Okay."

Sonny leans back, gripping my shoulders. He stares but doesn’t speak, making sure I’m in for real, not prepping to go stupid. Surprise softens his face. Caused by the tiny smile in mine, the hint of girlish in the tears and eyelash flutter. Tracy interrupts our first date.

"The quicker we go, the fewer feds."

Cisco agrees from behind her; Sonny says, "Cisco. Hop out front. Tell ’em we’re going to the alley. They bring the kid around back, he does the ID, then
you and me
are taking her uptown."

"Th, the G…G won’t like that."

"Fuck ’em. Tell ’em I said Ruby Ridge."

"Da—damn, Sonny—"

"Tell ’em."

I can feel the power in Sonny’s body, the mass of it readying for battle. It’s another first-time "girl" moment that feels…good, instead of clammy and threatening. It’s humid in here; I’m sorta dizzy…and, man, my arms hurt.

"…all right?"

"Huh?" Sonny has me by the upper arms, nose to nose.

"Are you all right?"

"Yeah." I blink and swallow and glance. "I think."

Cisco comes back in and whispers to Sonny. He listens, looking at the window, then turns to me.

"Get ready. Cisco says they’re doing the ID in here—it’ll be CPD pimping you for the condo fire. You be cool, let me and Cisco play it."

I don’t answer; don’t have an answer for facing my son this way. Any way.

"Say yes, Patti."

"O…kay."

Sonny straightens me up, steps behind my shoulder, and grabs a handful of belt. The front door adds commotion and John walks through, shouldered by two uniforms, followed by the Watch Commander from 21. The four of them stop at fifteen feet. My son looks into my eyes for the first time since he was a day old. John doesn’t grin, frown, or blink. Only the splattered chairs separate us. Sonny’s holding me up. I don’t have enough air.

"She in here?" The Watch Commander takes charge.

John scans the room and its wreckage, then fakes a smile in my direction. "Uh, hi."

Ghetto instincts tell me to duck; my son just said "hi" to me with my eyes open. I need to run. The window’s full of lights and there’s nowhere left to run. I avoid John’s eyes, then can’t help but look. He’s…grown-up. And so close.
So right there
. I wish…I wish for a way—

"So that’s her, the one?" The Watch Commander hard-eyes me.

"Could be, I think." John checks me out the way a guy would a girl. "But, you know, the woman last night was covered in soot, had on a bra, flames all over, the other one shooting—"

"Take your time, kid." The Watch Commander was once Sonny’s partner. He and I know each other fifteen years and he hasn’t smiled an inch. He’s a boss now.

John shrugs. "Could be her."

Cisco hides a smile and it hits me. This ID is a trap. I glance at the window. The ASA’s apeshit and being restrained by uniforms. I check the Watch Commander, still dead serious. My son doesn’t get it, but I do. His ID, even if it had been solid, is useless. No lineup. The Watch Commander just gave me my birthday present.

John shifts his weight. He doesn’t know he’s standing by his father’s old chair, IDing his mother. He has no idea that a monster was his father, that the tabloids will swallow him whole if I tell. More lights flash outside, blue and red and white, but John’s eyes don’t leave me. I want to touch…but I’m paralyzed. Another squad arrives, then another. I hear Eric Jackson yell, then see him lean in at Kit Carson now backed by two uniforms. My crew is buying me and Sonny time even though they know IAD will crucify them.

My son glances at the window. He’s not sharing my tidal wave of emotion. His eyes are calm, deep black, and forever; and don’t say what’s inside. I search for Roland Ganz seething under the beautiful face.
Please don’t let Roland be there. Please.

John’s surrounded by cops and confusion, but his hands are quiet. Not a speck of Roland Ganz in the hands. He reexamines the wreck of me. No expression; we’re strangers, two passersby in Chinatown. Tears stream down my cheeks. He doesn’t understand where this leads. I check a last time for any trace of Roland Ganz…John stays; Roland isn’t here.

Tracy whispers, "C’mon, fly half, you can do this."

But, but…

But in her voice and John’s eyes I see that it’s possible…for him. He doesn’t have to know. I never named Roland as the father, not in the maternity ward, not at the adoption agency. No one but me and Roland knows that for sure.
That could be the bargain, couldn’t it?
My one, sanity-sparing gift to a kid who someday will be sideswiped by his parentage, a side trip he didn’t know was realer than horror movies.

In that bargain I catch a whiff of hope—it’s not Thursday night at the animal shelter in South Holland, all the abandoned animals don’t have to die tomorrow when the killers come. I remember hope. It’s the feeling I had when I’d set the animals free.

The Watch Commander taps John’s shoulder and points him at the door. John looks relieved and should, then says to me, "If it was you last night, I’d like to do more than just say thanks. If not," he nods at my tears and circumstances, "good luck with this. Maybe get some professional help."

Sonny flexes all over; Tracy hugs me hard at his shoulder.

I say the only words I’ve spoken to my son since his birth, "I’ll do that."

And he turns to leave. Gone forever is best, but I want him to stay, to love me, to understand. To turn right now, grin big, and say:
"Bye, Mom, be back for dinner."
But he doesn’t; he just leaves, silhouetted in a blast of flashes out front.

The sunbrites splash the window and its paper lanterns. Sonny steps him and me a pace closer to the door, eyes still hard from where his head and guts have been, then softens a bit when he looks at my eyes.

"Proud, now, Patti. Magnificent Seven. You one of us."

I wipe at the tears, see Tracy quit her cell phone and prep to own the stage, then Cisco jumping ahead to run interference. Tracy follows Cisco and tells Sonny:

"Give me three minutes to do my stand-up—I’ll bury the alderman’s case first, then the U.S. Attorney’s. Bait ’em both for tomorrow’s front page."

Sonny nods, teeth bared.

"Don’t let Patti say a word. My article’s the only person telling the story. Cindy Bourland, that’s Patti’s lawyer, she’s on her way. Here’s her mobile; as soon as you know where Patti’s going, call. Cindy’ll be there when you get there. She’s a bunch tougher than she looks, Sonny. Let her handle the legal stuff."

I’m listening like we’re talking about someone else.

Tracy retreats to me and kisses my cheek, hard like she’s mad and happy, like we won a match we shouldn’t have. "You owe me forever."

The Pink Panther walks out and Chinatown ignites. I can see Sonny’s reflection at the edge of the window. My reflection’s next to him, shoulder-to-shoulder. My reflection’s turning, like the pretty girls do when they want a boy’s attention. I have a face…

And I have a man with his arm around my waist. "We going on a date, you and me?"

Sonny Barrett, gunfighter, actually blushes. "Maybe after we get out of prison, if the GDs don’t kill you first."

I smile back; first at him, then at Tracy owning the cameras, then at the window: me, Patti Black, with a boyfriend and a pretty girl’s reflection. No way you could figure that.

Writers

Don McQuinn, Denny Banahan, and Easy Ed Stackler. Without these three fellows and five years of their mentoring,
Calumet City
wouldn’t have happened. And after every agent in two countries said no, Simon Lipskar said yes.

Cops

Patti Black, Denny Banahan, and Matty Rzepecki. Matty Rzepecki is the most fearsome man I’ve ever met; he taught me how to behave in the street. Denny Banahan introduced me to Patti Black and taught me everything I know about cops in Chicago. Patti Black walked me through hell and showed me you can survive it.

Friends

Brian Rodgers, Sharon and Doug Bennett, Beth Steffen, Billy Thompson, Jim Barlow, Holly Kennedy, James "Sears Tower" Levy, and Bill Owens. They read and reread every manuscript, and critiqued and stayed with me when I told them they were full of shit.