Gold Coast Blues (12 page)

“So what’s your day job?”

“I give readings. You know, the psychic stuff you think is bullshit.”

“You make a
living
at this bullshit?”

“I earn enough. And maybe I have money—which would be none of your business. Now make up your mind, do you want me to go away or not?”

I studied Amy’s face for no other reason than the pleasure of it. Without a headband, her curly black hair parted naturally over her forehead, framing large dark eyes and a lovely brown face. “If you had said I didn’t know enough about
Eddie,
the guy who hired me, I would’ve had no choice but to admit you were right.”

Feeling validated, Amy smiled. “Maybe it would be worth going back East to see what you can find out.”

“Yeah, I should go, like tomorrow.” I don’t think Amy believed me. “I even suggested to Eddie I should talk to some of Tanya’s friends. But he didn’t like that idea and told me so. In fact, he damn near threatened me.”

“Your own client threatened you?”

“He apologized later with an envelope full of cash—so I accepted his apology.”

Amy frowned. “So now he’s okay with you poking around back East?”

“I don’t know and I’m not going to ask. By the way, do you like cats?”

Chapter 20

Having held the status of “neighborhood dive” throughout most of its existence, Anagnostou’s Taverna now carried the
cool
mystique for having resisted the pressures of gentrification, remaining not the least bit trendy. The respect was such that younger folks of the professional class only cautiously patronized Anagnostou’s Taverna, out of deference for the regulars old enough to remember Greektown having as many transient hotels as gyro stands.

Kalijero’s retirement had facilitated his speedy entrance into this elite club and I found him sitting at the bar evidently telling a long, involved story to the bartender, who seemed quite amused. Gracing the wall behind the bar, a sunny Greek landscape needed touch-up paint. When the bartender noticed my approach, his amusement vanished.

Kalijero turned to me. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Looking for you.” I introduced myself to the bartender and offered my hand. He walked away. “Recent charm school graduate?” I asked Kalijero.

“What do you want?” he answered.

“I’m going to Jersey. I want to talk to that guy Cooper. The dirty cop.”

Kalijero gulped down the last of his beer, put the glass down, shook his head a few times, then he mumbled something.

“Oh, c’mon, Jimmy! Why do you have to be like this?”

“You’re gonna get yourself killed, Landau. It’s one thing to snoop around where people know you. But go strolling into someone else’s territory, acting like the cocky prick you are, and you’re dead. It’s that simple.”

“I just want to talk to him! He sent Eddie to see you and you referred Eddie to me. It makes sense I should want to talk to him.”

“Nothing makes sense in that world. You mention my name and he’ll say he doesn’t know who I am, because he doesn’t know who you are.”

“Then I’ll tell him Eddie Byrne hired me. I’ll give him Eddie’s number so he can call and check. Holy shit, I’m trying to help them find Tanya—one of their own.”

Kalijero started laughing and shaking his head again. “If Eddie’s here to look for that broad, then she’s probably involved in their operation. He didn’t come out here just to find some girl—you should’ve figured that out by now. You’re a dipshit romantic.”

“Maybe you’re right. But you know what, Jimmy? I’m going to Irvington, and I’m going to get as much info as I can, and if I get killed in the process, well, then that’s just the way the cliché was written.”

“So I’m supposed to
help
you get killed? Why not drink yourself to death like everyone else?”

“You used contacts to find out how dirty Cooper had become—”

“He’s a cop, Landau. Go to his precinct and ask to speak to him.”

I leaned back against the bar and looked at the molded rendering of a Greek temple hanging on one of the walls. Other walls were adorned with fake columns in the classical Greek style. Yellowing photos of Athens filled the area between the columns.

“Yeah, Jimmy, I knew I could just go to the precinct—”

“But you thought I could make it easier for you. You thought I might call up my old
pal
and have him meet you somewhere for a ginger ale.”

“So what if I did? What’s wrong with that?”

Kalijero didn’t respond. I stood there for several more minutes, refusing to believe he was content to let the conversation end on such a sour note. His anger was palpable, and probably as mysterious to him as it was to me. I thought about asking him what he was so pissed off about but decided to walk away. Just as I made a move, Kalijero chimed in with his own suggestion that I leave. I followed his advice, happy to let him think my departure was his idea.

—

Before heading out, I called in an order to Tasty Harmony. Despite Kalijero’s bitterness, the Taverna had put me in a sentimental mood, which was why I decided to take Halsted Street all the way home. For those vulnerable to bouts of nostalgia, the old storefronts and façades of this storied street evoked romantic images of the poor, huddled masses playing out gritty urban fables, all while showing what it was really like to live in the big bad city. If Chicago had a heart, its aorta was Halsted, running south from Grace Street all the way to the Little Calumet River.

A white bag with my Bigboy Burger waited at the front door. Once inside, I ate at my computer while checking the hundreds of flights to Newark. Why would so many people want to go to Newark? A ten-thirty departure the next morning sounded good. A few more mouse clicks and a cheap motel off the highway became my accommodation. I called Amy.

“You weren’t kidding when you said you were going tomorrow,” she said.

“It was your idea too. Now you want to talk me out of it?”

“No, no. I just—”

“Fine. Then come over and meet Punim. I can show you where everything is.”

I left the door ajar and swept up a few months of fur balls from corners and under tables. Amy had sounded different, I thought, as I pushed the dark fluff into a dustpan. A half hour later, footsteps padded up the stairs. She appeared in the doorway wearing faded hip-hugging jeans and a gray open blazer over a black scoop-neck T-shirt. A faint smell of roses followed her in.

“I love the open floor plan.”

“Have a seat,” I said, and walked to the bedroom where Punim lay on a window hammock awash in sunshine. I shouted, “You did say you liked cats, right?” No response.

Disturbing a comatose cat steeped in the warmth of a fleece bed could be risky. Disturbing a female cat with Punim’s personality was just a bad idea. Nevertheless, I slipped my hands under shoulder and hip and carefully lifted her. A subdued growl resonated in my palms, becoming clearly audible by the time I returned to the front room. Amy sat on the couch, hands folded in her lap. She said nothing as I laid Punim on the opposite end of the couch, presenting her as one might offer a sacred relic.

I said, “Let’s see if she wakes up on her own.”

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

“Punim and I have been together—”

“No! The trip to New Jersey! Are you sure you know what you’re getting into?”

“Of course not.”

She paused. “I hope I didn’t push you into something. We are, I think, kind of friends, and I just want to make sure whatever you’re doing—you would’ve done whether you met me or not.”

Punim lifted her head, looked around, yawned, stretched. Then she got to her feet and walked toward Amy. I said, “Just act totally comfortable, like you own the place—she can smell fear.”

Amy said, “Who am I to tell people what to do? You know what I mean? What the hell do I know anyway?”

“Here she comes.”

Punim sniffed Amy’s knee, climbed into her lap, then relaxed to Amy’s slender fingers stroking her. The tender scene stunned me.

“Jules, are you listening to me?”

Deep breath. “I was already planning on going to New Jersey. I would be going back East regardless of whether or not you spotted me in the alley and wondered if I might be a ghost. You are absolved from any responsibility or liability regarding any harm that may come my way.”

I walked into the kitchen and told Amy the litter was in a bag under the sink. From the fridge, I took out a plastic container and held it up. “Give her a heart or a liver or a kidney in the morning. The same in the late afternoon or evening. If they’re small, give her two.”

“Raw organs?”

“You ever see a wild cat cooking its food?”

Amy blinked a few times, then turned her attention back to her lap. Gently, she scratched Punim’s head and then stroked the length of her spine, letting Punim’s tail slide between her fingers before repeating the motion. On the few occasions visitors had attempted similar interaction with Punim, the aftermath included loud cursing and a drop or two of blood. Perhaps Amy’s effect on Punim lent credibility to her claim of psychic powers. Maybe she really had a gift. Punim would know, after all.

I sat at the opposite end of the couch and watched awhile longer. “Are you two talking about me?”

Amy didn’t look at me, but I thought I detected the beginnings of a grin. “Do you think all that cash Eddie gave you might be—”

“Time out. I don’t know this Amy. Suddenly, you really
care
about me?”

“I’m a human being, Jules. If I detested you I would never have bothered talking to you again.”

“I prefer someone look at me when she says she doesn’t detest me.” She ignored my request. “She doesn’t detest me! It must be love.”

“Why are you so sarcastic?”

“You told me quite clearly not to call you for any reason other than my investigation.”

“So you’re either professional or romantic? There’s nothing in between?”

“Okay. I’m glad you like me enough not to detest me. I’m glad you like me enough to be concerned.”

Amy turned to me and smiled. Then she lifted Punim off her lap, stood, and softly laid her back down on the couch. “I have to go. Tomorrow afternoon, I’ll start coming to take care of her.”

I followed her to the door and thanked her for cat sitting. “Oh, here,” I said taking the extra key off a nail behind the door. She closed her hand over the key, briefly engaging my fingers, then made the slightest gesture to leave before abruptly reversing course to kiss me warmly on the cheek. By the time her lips retreated from my face, my hand had found the small of her back. I pulled her tightly against me. Our mouths fastened, tongues explored, and loins gnashed with that erotic fire humans held fast until such moments.

As quickly as it began, so it also ended with Amy pushing me away. “No!” she said. “This can’t happen.” She walked to the top of the landing. “I’m sorry, Jules. Be careful over there and don’t worry about Punim.” I watched, stunned, as she disappeared down the stairs.

I hated mixed messages.

Chapter 21

I had never been to the East Coast, and the iconic Manhattan skyline sparked a bit of excitement as the plane taxied on the runway in Newark. The feeling faded when my rented Ford Focus merged onto the Garden State Parkway, where the adjoining communities sprawled in patterns identical to any metropolitan area east of the Mississippi. At the Irvington exit, I caught a glimpse of my motel but continued into town. It didn’t take long before another iconic image came to mind, one of urban decay. Abandoned buildings, broken windows, trash piles, shuttered shops, and gang graffiti gave Eddie’s hometown a stunned, post-apocalyptic quality.

Here and there, I found reminders of civilization. On Springfield Avenue, outposts of major banks serviced the public on the same block as deserted warehouses, bars, strip joints, wig shops, nail salons, rent-to-own furniture outlets, and discount beauty-aid stores. And after discovering pockets of tidy communities proudly displaying the Stars and Stripes in their fight to maintain working-class respectability, I sensed a defiant entrepreneurial spirit still remained, representing a flicker of optimism within this forsaken piece of New Jersey.

I stuck to the major arteries, pulling over occasionally to peek down side streets, all of which looked equally depressing. By chance, I found the municipal building that housed police headquarters. I had planned on visiting the building the following morning, but remembered Frownie’s advice to never put off an opportunity. After parking my Ford, I wondered if declining the extra insurance had been a mistake.

The sergeant behind the desk appeared absorbed in paperwork, but as I approached an officer, whose silver nametag read “Trujillo,” he looked up, smiled warmly, and asked how he could help me. Above his name, the word “Valor” was written.

“I’d like to talk to Detective Cooper,” I said.

Trujillo hesitated then leaned on his elbows. His eyes were now distant black dots under a furrowed brow. “May I ask what this is regarding?”

“I’m trying to locate someone.”

“Someone in trouble?”

“I’m a private investigator.”

“I could help you with missing persons.”

“Thank you, but I’d rather talk to Detective Cooper first.”

“I’ve been in this community a long time. I know a lot of people.”

“Officer Cooper knows my client.”

The sergeant’s eyes bounced around my face. “Detective Cooper works out of a different location.” Trujillo wrote something on the back of an envelope and handed it to me. “Here’s the address. Do you know how to get there?” I shook my head. He took the envelope back and started sketching a map on the other side. “This neighborhood should be okay in the daytime. You can park in the area and walk. At night, only park in front of the building. If there’s no space in front, leave and come back during the day.”

After I thanked him and turned to leave, Trujillo said, “How well do you know Detective Cooper?”

“I hear he appreciates things that hold their value,” I said and walked out, confident Trujillo’s expression had not changed.

—