Maxwell Street Blues (27 page)

I spent the next few minutes watching Punim gallop around the apartment, stop momentarily to groom and look around, only to dash off again. I reflected on the limb I had just crawled out on. I called Susie and told her I wanted to stop by within the hour. She didn’t object and didn’t sound surprised when I didn’t tell her why.

I pulled in front of Area B and saw Kalijero on the sidewalk halfway down the block, smoking a cigarette and looking preoccupied. I don’t think he even noticed I
parked about thirty yards from him. When I slammed the door, he glanced my way, took a deep drag, and flicked the butt into the street. He took his time walking back, avoiding eye contact until he reached me. I said, “How did Hauser react?”

“He said we should’ve used official informants while we had the chance. I kept reminding him you’re a Landau. We finally made a deal.”

“So you got the green light?”

“I said we made a deal.” Kalijero had such a pained, uncomfortable look, I thought he might cry.

“Just say it already!”

“What is it with you? Maybe if you had a wife and kid you wouldn’t be so careless with your life. You got a death wish? Is that it?”

“Hey, Jimmy, you got a family hiding somewhere nobody knows about? Are you going to tell me that you don’t get a secret thrill from risking your life sometimes?”

Kalijero frowned. “Fine. Give it to me.” I gave Kalijero a sealed envelope filled with ten Ben Franklins and my handwritten note. Kalijero turned around and whistled loudly using his thumb and index finger. I’ve always wanted to learn how to do that. A black Crown Vic with tinted windows appeared from the end of the block and stopped across the street from us. Kalijero walked to the driver’s side, handed the goods through the window, and leaned down to say something to the driver. Then the car sped off and Kalijero walked back to me. “Done,” he said.

“What’s next?”

Kalijero glanced at the concrete staircase in front of headquarters. “You wait for the phone to ring and a voice tells you the time.” Without any more comment, he started climbing the stairs.

He was halfway up when I shouted, “We’ll talk later. You can tell me about the deal.” He turned and stared at me a few moments before giving me a half-assed salute, the kind of hand gesture one used to acknowledge another person while getting the hell away from them.

57

From the diner, I could see Lisa working on a client. I crossed the street and entered Vagabond Boutique, where Susie stood with a customer in front of a full-length mirror. She was holding a red dress with white flowers to the customer’s neck and shoulders.
Several other garments were draped over a stuffed wingback chair. I sat on the edge of the display platform and stared out the window between a pearl-snap Western shirt and a pink button-up blouse. When the customer took a few of the dresses into the changing room, Susie walked over to me.

“I don’t think those shirts are your style,” she said. “I think you’d look better in a black rayon crepe blouse that just came in.”

I smiled and got right to the point. “I’m setting up a meeting with the fat comb-over guy.”

Susie had no immediate reaction. Then she said, “You’re meeting with a psychopath? Where?”

“Where my friend’s body was found—Snooky.”

“You never told me he was your friend.”

“A very good friend. I’m not sure why I didn’t mention this before.”

Susie took the remaining dresses off the chair and draped them over her arm. “It’s just you and this Voss guy, who happens to be
capable of anything
? And you’re telling me this in case you get—something happens?”

“I’ll be fine, but if something does happen—”

“I’ll take care of Punim. At least tell me the police know what you’re up to.”

“They know.”

She turned to me. “And?”

“It’s too complicated to explain right now. Picture a corruption/shit sandwich where police, politicians, and developers are fighting it out to see who takes the biggest bite.”

It was an ugly metaphor, but I guess it got through. “Can you at least tell me when the meeting is?”

“Tomorrow night sometime.”

I watched her rehang the dresses then walk to the center of the shop where she said something to her assistant. The she turned to me and said, “Well, good luck,” before disappearing into the back.

58

An early August evening on North Halsted Street, Chicago. I sat in the overstuffed chair, aware I had nothing to do but wait, but also conscious of having reached a symbolic
turning point.

I owed Knight a phone call. I kept it brief. I told him I expected the investigation to end soon. When I refused to reveal details, he responded with howls of protest. I assured him he’d get his story unless I wasn’t around to tell it. Then I hung up. He called back seconds later, but I let it go to voice mail.

I should’ve been tired and hungry, but my adrenaline levels were too high to experience either sensation. I closed my eyes and thought of Voss. How did such a psycho gain such power within legitimate circles of municipal government? I guess it was a stupid question for someone whose great-grandfather shared a headline with Al Capone.

I channel-surfed the rest of the evening. The phone rang around midnight. “Ten
P.M.
tomorrow,” Voss’s creepy voice said and hung up. Knowing that a time had been set brought a strange feeling of relief.

* * *

The next morning I phoned Susie and told her about the ten o’clock meeting. “Thanks for letting me know,” she said.

“I’m going to stop by the shop and see if Lisa’s acting different, like she knows something’s up.”

“You think she’s in on it with the nutcase?”

I paused. “It’s possible. I don’t know what to think anymore.”

I entered Taudrey Tats just after nine in the morning. There were no customers inside, understandable for that hour, but I was surprised Lisa was nowhere in sight. I shouted her name and waited. From the back, I heard shuffling and the sound of furniture moving. Then Lisa appeared looking as spry and unburdened as the day I met her. “Well, hello,” she said. “What brings you to these parts?”

Given her bizarre personality, I should not have been surprised at her reaction. “I wasn’t happy how our last meeting ended. And now that my ribs have started to mend, I thought maybe it was time to mend fences.”

She giggled while taking drawings off the display rack. “You have such a way with words. I wish I was clever that way. But I have the
visual
artist’s mind.”

I decided to test the waters. “Any more folks stop by claiming to be cops?”

She didn’t respond but stayed focused on several drawings laid out on a table. Sounding as though it were an afterthought, she said, “By the way, do you still think I’m
a murderer?”

“I never said you were a murderer.”

She stepped out from behind the table, walked directly up to me, and trained her big black eyes on my smaller, browner ones. “You implied it.”

I had forgotten how enticing she was. I felt as if I was the one who had explaining to do. “Your story wasn’t adding up, and I called you on it.” I stepped backward, toward the front of the shop.

“Well, you stopped by and said hello,” she said. “You did your good deed.”

My impression was she had no idea of this evening’s planned get-together with Voss. I walked toward the front and told her it was nice seeing her. As I reached for the door, she said, “Remember what Snooky told me. ‘Every relationship is allowed either one secret or one lie.’ ”

I recalled her mentioning this alleged statement during our first meeting. “Well,” I said as I walked out, “he never said that to me. He always told me the truth.”

59

It was interesting how different the world looked about thirteen hours before a moment of truth. Everyone I passed on the street gave off a unique vibe broadcasting something about who they were. A glance, a short stare, or toggling eyeballs paired with a faint smile or pursed lips created an incalculable number of emotional subtleties. Suddenly this world was truly fascinating.

I called Kalijero. “Ten tonight,” I said. “At Maxwell and Halsted.”

“I’ll be over around seven to put on the transmitter, test it out, and go over things.”

When Kalijero didn’t hang up, I said, “You got something else you want to say? Like everything’s going to work out great?”

“Anything can happen. And you have zero experience at this.”

“I know what I’m getting into—”

“Hauser sees you as a no-risk freebie. A throwaway. Civilians think they want to play cop and wear a wire. Then the family wants to sue if something bad happens. But if a Landau gets killed, so what? No jury’s gonna say a Landau didn’t know what he was getting into.”

“Jimmy—”

“The only risk is if we screw it up. Then it’s my ass.”

“What do you mean, your—” Kalijero hung up.

I walked the neighborhood a little longer. I felt tired, like I’d been up all night. It was about ten-thirty when I got back to my recliner. I sat with a notebook and pen, retracing my steps from the morning Dad showed up. I should have been taking daily notes as Frownie had taught me. But viewing the investigation from its end point presented a clearer view of the most relevant facts regarding Snooky’s murder and Voss’s guilt. It would be someone else’s job to hack away at all the peripheral rot. My Glock .40 was essential. Being heavily armed with facts was equally vital.

Afternoon melted into evening. A cold front moved through the area, sparking a fast-moving thunderstorm that left behind cooler air and a pleasant easterly breeze off the lake. Kalijero showed up at seven carrying a small cardboard box from which he took a square recording device the size of a Triscuit cracker. He had me take my shirt off, taped the device into the groove of my breastbone, then gave me an earpiece.

“Wait here.” Kalijero made a move to leave.

“Where’re you going?”

“Where do you think? To my car, so we can test it out.”

“You mean there’s no one else working with you?”

“Bingo.”

Kalijero sat in his car in the loading zone across the street and we practiced using the miracle of digital technology.

“Hey, Jimmy—”

“Don’t shout! Just talk normal, like I’m in the room.”

“Why does Frownie hate you so much?” Kalijero’s mumbling in Greek came through loud and clear. “I’m just curious—”

“Shut up and focus on Voss!”

For the remainder of the test I spoke only when requested. After Kalijero was satisfied, he came back up. “By nine o’clock,” Kalijero said, taking over my recliner, “I want you in that block strolling around, testing the sound just like we’re doing now.”

“How much do you need to arrest him?”

Kalijero thought about it longer than I liked. “Confessions with details, showing premeditation, rationalization. You said you can get him talking about how great he is. Prove it.”

“When he walks away from me, you nab him.”

“No. We can arrest him anytime if we get a recorded confession. But if it gets ugly between you two, I’m coming in. Then you gotta think about getting down, behind
some crap. Anything can happen—”

“What do you mean ugly? If he pulls a gun?”

“Remember this morning when I talked about the risk of screwing it up? For example, if I go in before we get the info to bust him, then Voss knows we’ve been watching him and starts covering his ass. Plus he’s got plenty of favors to call in.”

“What if I shoot in self-defense?”

“You better make damn sure you can prove it.”

Neither of us spoke for a while. Then I said, “I don’t want you coming in unless we can put that son of a bitch in prison. I don’t care if the microphone blows up. Got it?”

Kalijero got up from the recliner, looked at me, then shook his head in disgust. Before walking to the door he said, “I’m doing this alone because this whole operation is off the record. That’s the deal I made with Hauser. If we can’t nail Voss with his own words, I’ll stay away and just monitor things from afar. But just so you know, if shots are fired, I’m moving in.”

* * *

I put on my linen sport jacket, clipped a pen to the breast pocket, and shoved a high-capacity magazine into the Glock. In a side pocket, I put Snooky’s notebook. In the other pocket, I dropped a glass vial, a book of matches, and two four-ounce cans of lighter fluid.

At nine o’clock I parked on West Liberty Street. Just a hint of daylight remained in the western sky, although the university’s new mega-wattage streetlamps created a stark contrast of light and shadow. I walked a block to Halsted then headed north to Maxwell where I noticed that a chain-link fence now completely surrounded the block. A fire-damaged three-flat from the 1880s was the only building left standing. At nine-fifteen I stood in front of the gate near the bandstand and debris pile. The site was not locked. Nobody worried about junk getting stolen. Maybe it was the chaotic pattern of shadow and light, but the pile of rubble where Snooky’s body once lay looked taller and pointier than I remembered. About eight feet to the left of the rubble was a steel drum into which I emptied both cans of lighter fluid. Tossing the empty containers aside, I reached up to the top of the heap and put Snooky’s journal on a piece of drywall. The neighborhood was quiet. The only activity came from the next block where a hot dog stand served its world famous Polish sausage and bone-in pork chop sandwiches. Kalijero barked through my earpiece, scaring the crap of me.

“Start walking around the block,” he said. “Say something every ten feet.”

“Where are you?”

“Don’t worry. Get walking.”

Trusting Kalijero seemed like a good idea, so I walked and whispered until I had circled the block, returning to the gate around nine-forty. Kalijero told me to stay put and shut up.

The time spent waiting for Voss was torture. I didn’t know which raced faster, my mind or my heart. At nine-fifty, Kalijero’s voice startled me again by announcing Voss’s impending arrival. A strange feeling of calm now replaced my anxiety. A minute later I saw Voss’s lumbering figure approach. He wore an open raincoat with one hand buried in his pocket, where I assumed he held a gun.