Fly With Fire (11 page)

“It’s a hundred and fifty
feet high, and let me tell you the wind up there is something. But the
view…come on!” He grabbed her arm and headed toward the Ferris wheel. There
were only a few couples and a family waiting as they approached the ticket
booth. Zack pulled out his wallet and gave the kid a ten. The wheel never
stopped but moved so slowly they could step into one of the cars with ease.
They began their ascent. Zack and Mo sat across from each other. He watched her
as she looked all around as they rose slowly into the air.

“One of these ever fallen
off?” She cried out.

“Not that I ever heard of.
Not afraid of heights are you?” She smiled a little smile and put her arms
around herself. Zack realized she just wore a short sleeved shirt while he wore
his suit jacket. The breeze was cooler the higher they went. It whistled
through the car. He pulled off his jacket which she resisted very little as he
draped it on her shoulders. He settled beside her as he did so. They looked at
the view of downtown, the skyline sparkling in the darkness. Mo stared and
hugged the jacket around more tightly.

“It’s beautiful, very
beautiful.” Mo said quietly. They sat in silence as the car rose. He leaned
looking out at the city. He was inches from her ear which he focused on, then
stared at with her entirely unaware. You’re beautiful, he thought. Very beautiful.
If he could have spent the evening tracing the curves and turns of that ear
with his fingertip he felt that all the tension of the past few weeks might
have been lifted. To just gently trace the form of it, his fingers barely
touching. Could he touch it so lightly she, perhaps, wouldn’t know? He shook
his head at his own silliness and that caught her attention. She looked at him
now, aware he had been looking at her. She smiled another quick, small smile
and turned to look at the view feeling guilty at the sensation spreading
through her. A heat that vibrated along her skin. She had goose bumps from the
chilly air but a flush of that heat rose up her neck and to her face.

Her voice wavered a little.
“Up here one would be hard pressed to think of that grimy side. But I guess
there’s always that, and we delude ourselves the best we can. Until it hits
home. I guess you see it every day. Is it hard to see the beauty here, seeing
what you see every day?”

Zack slumped internally, just
thinking about his job made him weary these days. He’d told himself many times
it was just the pressure of the last few months. “Sometimes.” He tried to
recover himself. “I do a necessary job. I try not to let it permeate everything
else. I work a lot of hours but it’s not all I do.” They watched the city
lights for a silent moment. Mo turned to look at the lake. It was black except
for the lights of a few optimistic boaters and the tour boats chugging a ways
from the lakefront. The lights on the Ferris wheel cast shadows as they blinked
on and off. She turned her attention again to the city lights as they reached
the highest point.

Zack found he didn’t know
what to say and Mo seemed content to watch in silence. He leaned back into the
shadows and studied her profile. He heard her sniffle and watched her raise a
hand to her eyes.  He pressed a hand on her arm. Mo turned and looked at
him. When the lights blinked on he could see her eyes were swollen with tears.
She turned her face away and gently drew her arm away as well. Zack let his
hand drop. He felt a tightening in his stomach. He wanted to put his arms
around her so badly. It wasn’t lust he felt he told himself. He was drawn to
her. Wanted to comfort her. Weren’t we all like children when we grieved?
Didn’t we all need to be held? Was he kidding himself?

He jumped off and held her
arm as if she wasn’t one of the world’s greatest trapeze artists. She landed so
they were toe to toe. “So, what else do you do Mr., Detective…?”

“Zack, remember, Ms.
Whitman?”

“Mo, Remember, Zack?” She
turned and walked on. She let out her breath. She felt like she had been
holding it for minutes. “So, Zack. What else do you do besides catch bad guys?”

“Get up, get dressed, eat.”
He felt his heart slow up and realized how fast it had been beating. So much
for his powers of observation. “You look cold; wanna head back to the car? She
pulled the jacket closer around her and nodded.

“Now you’re being evasive.”
She stopped and turned to him at the bottom of the ramp. People still strolled
on the pier. A tour boat was emptying out a small crowd, laughing, talking. She
tilted her head, “You run, and?”

“You know, that, different
stuff. I go camping sometimes, when I can. I read a bit. Take in a game
sometimes.”

“Date? You’re a single man.
You must date.” She tried to brush a blowing wisp of hair but her hands were
full of jacket so he brushed it behind her ear for her as if it were spun glass
which might break at the least pressure. She hitched her shoulder at the tickle
of it.

“Not so much.” They walked back
toward the parking lot, strolling leisurely. “I’ve been divorced about five
months. Between moving, all that, work, then Ray. I haven’t had a lot of time.
Tell you the truth, haven’t been that interested. I guess that’s what divorce
does for you. And my job. I tend to work long hours. It’s not always the most
convenient schedule. Women tend not to like it when you have to break dates.
You been married?”

“No.” She didn’t elaborate.

“Serious relationship?” She
had started the questions yet he couldn’t help but feel like he was intruding.

“No.”

“Well, what do you do when
you’re not flying through the air and catching fire?”

“There are other things to
do?” She laughed but it was nothing like the first night he’d met her. It was a
hollow laugh. The pleasure of true laughter would be suspended for a while. He
held her elbow as he unlocked the car door. An unnecessary but comforting
courtesy in her mind.

“This is a quiet
neighborhood, not much going on, though a little further south there’s some blues
clubs. They’re mostly for tourist these days. Crammed on the weekends.
Sometimes I stop in one during the week if there’s someone I like. Quieter
then. Fewer drunks. You a blues fan? Willie Dixon, Muddy Waters?” He hit the
button, the elevator started rising to the twelfth floor.

“I’ve heard of it.” She
looked at the elevator ceiling. “Rue Goldstein plays it on his guitar.”

“There’s some good places up
on the north side. Lots of tourists there too. I keep talking about something I
think you don’t have any interest in. Just making conversation.”

“I’m sorry, it’s just... I
like music. I’m not very familiar with blues. The blues. I’m a classical fan.
But I listen to pop sometimes. A little rock. Can’t be helped with the people I
work with.

Zack fit the key into his
door. “This is it. My bachelor pad.” He held the door and let her pass. “I’ll
just be a minute,” he said flipping a light switch. Mo waited looking around
the living room of his condo. The building was an interesting renovation of an
old factory building, but his condo lacked most of the features like large
beams and brick walls she had noticed in the hall. It was sparely furnished,
bland and largely unlived in looking. The Georgia O’Keefe caught her attention.
Nodding her approval of it she walked to the sliding glass door. She noticed it
was unlocked so she slid it open and stepped out. The pungent smell of
marijuana wafted over. She heard people shout as if at a ballgame from above. A
baby cried in the distance. “Look, there’s a woman on the cop’s terrace.” She
heard the low voice coming from her right and realized at the sight of the glow
of a hard puff, that was where the reefer smell came from. A couple terraces
over.

“Halleluiah for him, it’s
about time.” She heard a woman’s voice say.

“So which one are you?” Zach
stepped out onto the tiny terrace behind her. “Piano or violin? You’ve got good
hands, long fingers. I thought you might play.

“I played one and then the
other. I play piano occasionally, but mostly, being on the road so much, I’ve
given it up.” She turned to step inside but he took up too much space. They
looked at each other for a moment. Zach shook his head as if just coming to and
stepped inside so she could do the same. “You left your door unlocked, you
know. I would think a cop would know better.”

He had been so frustrated not
being able to see her. He had recovered from his brief fit of jealousy and now
realized his beloved had not been involved with the tall black man. He was
sorry for his mistake and could only hope they pinned the murder on Linc
Harris. Who no doubt deserved it. The cops seemed to buy his story. The big guy
had kind of frightened him but he stuck to his story and must have seemed
convincing. The security camera never saw him leave his room because someone
wasn’t paying attention to their job. Lucky him. Poor maintenance just wasn’t
acceptable. What if someone broke into his room? The big cop, Simpson, was
focused on Linc the dreadlocked Rastaman anyway. He certainly couldn’t afford
to go to jail when he just realized his true love was innocent.

He took a stairwell down to
the basement. This time of night there wasn’t anyone around. He’d guessed as
much. He looked around and pressed the button to call the elevator that went to
the presidential suite. Too bad he hadn’t had the opportunity to lift the key
from the housekeeper who handled that suite. They had questioned him endlessly.
Rude assholes. He had not known what was going on with her the whole time. She
had been tucked away in the presidential suite with her own personal bodyguard.
What was that all about? How could he step in as the hero if she had some cop
around all the time? And Roddy. Was she doing him? Roddy was a small man. Why
Roddy and not him? He sniffed around her constantly despite being married to
the biggest whore around. Just ask anybody. He chuckled to himself.

The elevator arrived with a
gentle thud and the usual ping. Now to hold it for just a minute. If he stopped
it for too long it would set off an alarm. He had to be careful about the
prints again. Couldn’t be too careful about that.  He pulled out a rod
that he had hidden in his sleeve. To it he had attached a long red silk strip
of fabric. The metal rod telescoped. A handy feature that could be used for all
kinds of nifty things. He knocked the trap door at the top of the elevator open
by extending the rod completely and locking it. He hit the open button just in
time. He jammed the rod quickly into the open door and almost in the same move
crouched with the silken ribbon of fabric looped around his gloved middle
finger. He blasted himself toward the trap door and grabbed the edges of the
opening. He was up and in and yanking on the red fabric just as the door was
starting to bounce squeezing the rod then jerking back a little. In a few
seconds it would have set off the alarm. With a yank the rod was released, the
door closed, and the trap door in place before the door opened on the first
floor.

All he had to do was wait to
see her and try to find out what was the deal with the cop. He could wait all
night if he had to. He rode up and down as if on a particularly tiresome
carnival ride. He carried a small flashlight and looked around when no one was
on the elevator. He heard the voices of different people getting on and off the
various floors. There was a small gap he could see through. He had to be
careful. It was dark on top of the elevator, but damn it was amazing how often
people killed time looking up when there was nothing to see.

After about forty five
minutes he hit the jackpot. It was her. She was talking to the cop. Laughing
even. With a cop? Where could they have gone? Maybe back to the police station.
He’d been told she’d gone out with her escort. That’s what that idiot behind
the desk had said. Her escort. Were they still questioning her? Maybe she’d
gone to see Linc. Maybe they’ll fry him he thought with a smirk. What was she
wearing? It looked like a man’s jacket. That wasn’t her style. It was huge on
her. Had to be his. Nice. Now the cop was moving in on her. Playing the
gentleman, giving her his jacket. He watched them stand there. He was talking
about some guy named Willie Dixon. Who was he? A suspect? He didn’t care who
got hung. He just hoped this cop wasn’t going to try to put the moves on her.
It would be the cop’s tough luck if he did. The elevator stopped. The doors
opened to the presidential suite. He watched her go in with the cop.

He could have pounded his
fist with frustration. He turned on the flashlight to look around. This was the
top floor. Luckily there was a raised structure over the elevator shaft. Was
there a way to watch from there? He saw the ladder of steel bars that went up
to a steel door. The roof over the elevator was assembled from riveted steel
plates that formed a sort of geodesic dome. The steel door was locked with an
electronic lock. An alarm would go off if he touched it. Well, there were other
ways onto that roof. There had to be a way to watch.

Zack had Mo wait in the
elevator while he cleared the rooms. He gave her the all clear and put his gun
on the coffee table. He tossed his bag on the bed in his room while she went to
the bar and entered the code for vodka. She was windblown and pink faced from
the drive back up Lake Shore Drive. She had loved the drive along the city’s
edge and despite the cool night had insisted on having her window down. Zack
had pointed out some features and knew quite a bit about the various building.
The crown on top of one in the design of the architect’s wife’s engagement
ring. Why the lights of the same primary color were featured on a number of the
buildings. “It’s not all gangsters and serial killers,” he had pointed out.