Precinct 11 - 01 - The Brotherhood (33 page)

“No,” Jack said.

Boone shook his head and the big man turned and left the building, leading Boone into the dim light.

Pascual scowled and pursed his lips. “Let’s call this whole thing off.”

“The visit?” Boone said.

“Everything. I’ll figure out another way to make amends. I’m not asking for much with everything I’ve got on the line. Now I mean it, Boone. Tell him to trust me or this is all over.”

“You heard him, Jack.”

“Who you working for, Boones?”

“You don’t have to remind me. It’s your call, Jack.”

“All right, put me on speaker.”

Boone hit the button.

“Mr. Candelario?”

“I’m here, and I’m not happy. All I’m asking—”

“I’m up to speed. Now, listen, we’re all in uncharted territory. Can you assure me that this is not going to become common practice? We’re not prepared to have our guy out of touch on a regular basis.”

“This will be the only time.”

“If I have your word on that and Drake can signal me every few minutes, I’m inclined to allow this.”

“Either that or I’m out,” Candelario said.

“No need to posture for me, sir.”

“You think I’m posturing? Try me. You think Boone’s not safe? Nobody’s in worse danger than me. Once this all goes down, I’m as good as dead and we all know it.”

“I’m going to show you some respect here, Mr. Candelario. And I look forward to meeting you one of these days, probably the middle of next month.”

“Me too. Thanks.”

Pascual locked up the building and cruised back down into the city to the Northwest Side. Boone was puzzled beyond words and eager to meet whoever it was the DiLoKi king wanted to introduce him to.

Moments later, Candelario pulled up in front of a ramshackle apartment building, drawing the attention of street people on two corners. Everybody in the neighborhood knew his car, of course, and heads were turning. Pascual jumped out and pulled his Ithaca 37 Stakeout from the trunk, tucking it in his waistband at the side. At that, everyone within a block found reasons to look or move the other way. Pascual nodded to Boone to follow, and they entered a graffiti-marred lobby.

They rode a cramped, dank elevator six floors, and when they emerged, Boone was overwhelmed with the odor of poverty. Food, garbage, alcohol, urine, mold, even animal smells. Wallpaper was peeling, paint was chipped, and graffiti had found its way even to these hallways. The moans of drunks, the shouts of lovers arguing, and the cries of babies filled the place.

Boone had not seen Pascual move so quickly. He followed him to the end of the hall, where the big man knocked quietly at a door and unlocked it. They were met by a Mexican woman who looked to be in her fifties. He kissed her and greeted her in Spanish.

“Hey,
querido
,” she said. “Who’s this?”

Pascual introduced Boone and said, “My
madre
and my son’s grandmother.”

“Your son?”

Pascual motioned Boone to follow. As they headed toward a back bedroom, Boone was struck by the difference between this flat and the rest of the building. First, it was quiet. He could hear nothing outside, telling him that the apartment had extra insulation. It was also clean and bright and stylishly appointed with nice furniture. Pascual had spared no expense to turn this into an oasis in the middle of an otherwise-horrible building.

“I don’t want to wake him,” Pascual said, “but I want you to see Jose. No other way to say it: his mother is a crack whore doing ten to twenty at Hopkins Park. Tell you the truth, I hardly knew her. In fact, I’ve probably talked to her three times. She’s got kids all over town. One of those who promises she’s using protection and then uses the kids to get welfare checks. I should have known.”

“And you didn’t use protection?”

“Gangbangers? Never, man. It’s beneath us. We’re geniuses, aren’t we?”

Pascual Candelario seemed to melt when he cracked open the bedroom door and caught sight of his son in the light from the hall. “Just turned six,” he said. “Come look.”

The boy was a luminescent shade of light chocolate with generous lips and long dark hair. “Ah, Jose,” Pascual breathed, and he bent low to kiss the boy’s cheek.

Jose stirred and squinted in the darkness. “Hi, Daddy,” he said, reaching with both hands.

Pascual shielded the boy’s view of Boone and said, “Back to sleep, big boy. Church tomorrow.”

Jose rolled over and went back to sleep as the men backed out of the room. “His mother’s never going to be part of his life?” Boone said.

Pascual shook his head. “Not if I have anything to do with it. She was a one-night stand and sent up just after he was born. Basically I paid her off, got her to give me full custody. The money’s waiting for her when she gets out. I don’t know what I’d do without my mother’s help.”

Boone had been texting numbers to Jack every few minutes to assure him he was okay. Now Pascual put an arm around him and drew him close. “I don’t want anybody knowing about Jose. You got it,
compadre
?”

Boone nodded.

“I know he’s beautiful and it’s a great story, but you got to honor me in this, man. Nobody.”

“I promise.”

“See, if something happens to me—and let’s be real, I’m gonna have the biggest price on my head of any rat in history—I don’t want anybody knowing I had a son. I’ll set it up to make sure he grows up safe. And you got to promise me you’ll protect my family from Villalobos.”

Boone had to think about that. Could that be part of the plan? Was PC’s son the CPD’s responsibility?

“If you even have a question about it, I’m out of this.”

“’Course. We’ll have to do that for you.”

“I need a guarantee.”

“I’m not the one who can guarantee it, but I can’t imagine—”

“Somebody’s gonna guarantee it, and soon. I mean before I go one more step on this deal.”

“I gotcha,” Boone said. “If this is a hurdle, the brass will let me know, and I’ll let you know.”

“It’s a nonnegotiable, Boone.”

“I heard you. Now did I hear you tell him he had church tomorrow? Where do you go?”

“I can’t go. You know that. Mama takes him. Come on, I’ll take you back.”

Leaving the cozy beauty of the flat Pascual provided for his son and his mother and heading back into the squalor of the rest of the building gave Boone a chill that stayed with him for the ride back to the rendezvous spot. He also felt renewed rage and a deep resentment he couldn’t yet understand.

“What’s your plan, PC? How are you going to get all the principals together to pull this thing off next month?”

“It’s not gonna look like something I dreamed up. Graziano sent me a message when he knew I was getting out of Stateville and said we had to get together as soon as I could do it. I saw him two days after I got out. He told me the Outfit had stayed out of the drug business for too long, and he wanted in. I told him no, that we had a monopoly on it in the city and that there was plenty of stuff for him and his people to be involved with that we didn’t want to touch—like the rackets and the unions.

“He said, ‘What if I told you that I have direct contact with a new South American cartel that wants to work through us?’ I told him I was listening. He said these guys from South America had everything in place—a way to get cocaine in, get it processed and packaged, and get it delivered to him. All he needed was a market, and he knew we had that. Graziano wanted to know how much cocaine he should order, how many drop-offs we could handle, and how much junk in each. When I told him, his eyes got huge. He started swearin’ and carrying on and asking if I was pulling his chain. I told him I wasn’t. He could see the gigantic dollar signs, man.”

“How much money are we talking about, PC?”

“Tens of millions a year. Right away he starts figuring it up and telling me how there’s way more than enough in this for everybody, and I tell him, ‘Just hold on and slow down, chief.’ He hates when I call him names, but I can tell it reminds him I’m not scared of him and he can quit his little intimidation games. I’ll be the one calling the shots.”

“So what’d you tell him?”

“That it would take time and that I would have to talk to the rest of the leadership. I told him they would want to meet him, see if they could trust him, spell out all the details. I said we had to make sure we had the right security, enough muscle, enough mules, and that the market could really handle what I thought it could. He could hardly stand still. I think the Outfit has fallen on really hard times, and he sees this as a way of getting back to what it used to be.”

“No doubt. So where does it stand now?”

“He’s callin’ me every day, bro. I keep telling him we’re close, so he should keep the cartel warm, and that once we have everything organized, we’ll all get together and get acquainted and settle on the details. Now you gotta tell me something, Boone. If I do get all these guys together and get them talking about who does what in this big new drug wave for Chicago, is that enough to put them all away?”

“It’s conspiracy to commit a felony, sure. And with the numbers you’re talking about, if you can get them to say this while we’re monitoring it and then you’re prepared to testify to it all, it’s a slam dunk.”

“I can do better than that,” Pascual said. “I can testify to conversations I’ve had with every person who’ll be there that day—conversations where we talked about killing people. It’ll make this new South American thing look like nothing.”

“The more the better,” Boone said. “And if you can get something on Jazzy Villalobos, that would help too.”

“I got so much on him, he’ll never see another day of freedom. But it’s got to be the right place and time.”

“What does he know about this deal with the other heads and Graziano?”

“He loves the idea. I told him he would be in charge of the DiLoKi while I’m away at the meeting and out of contact.”

“But he doesn’t know where?”

PC shook his head. “I told him I didn’t even know, that I was meeting Graziano somewhere and going with him.”

“Perfect.”

20

Preparation

Boone tossed and
TURNED
all night, angry that a person like Pascual Candelario got to have a beautiful son. How did he deserve a healthy child? PC had become a father at least three years before coming to faith and just before he was sent to Stateville. The murderer of twenty-three people and a top leader in one of the most violent gangs in the country was something Boone only used to be—a father. What kind of sense did that make?

It agitated him so that he couldn’t pray, couldn’t read, couldn’t sleep, couldn’t do anything. Worse, it made him forget something important. He realized what it was when he showed up bleary-eyed at North Beach Fellowship in the morning. Max was his usual charming self, making Boone feel special but also making him miss Josh all the more.

Haeley, however, was distant and cold, barely cordial. Fortunately Boone found a few minutes in which to talk before the service, and he went on the offensive. “Obviously something is wrong, so talk to me.”

“You don’t owe me anything, Boone. I don’t know why I expect anything.”

“Don’t make me guess. I’m not a game player, and I don’t think you are. Get it on the table so I can deal with it.”

“I was worried about you,” she said. “Okay? Was it too much to ask that I would at least find a message this morning telling me you got home safe last night?”

Boone smacked himself in the forehead. “No excuse,” he said. “It was a stressful night; that’s all I can say.”

“I left you a message. You couldn’t respond so I wouldn’t be tempted to call Jack this morning?”

“Please tell me you didn’t, Haeley! It’s one thing that you know what’s going on because of what you’re exposed to in the office. But there was no way you would have any knowledge of last night unless I told you.”

“I didn’t call him, Boone. I’m just saying . . .”

“I didn’t even check my phone this morning. I was running late and—”

“Is that smart with all that’s going on?”

“I have a boss, Haeley. I don’t need you in that role too.”

Boone had never been good at apologizing, and now he had not only fallen way short of that, but he had also stopped her cold. He could see the resignation on her face when she sat with Max in her lap. Boone sat next to her but felt the ice and wished he had taken the hint and just sat somewhere else.

Boone looked forward to relief from the awkwardness when she would leave with the kids. But after the singing, Max ran off with the others, and there Boone and Haeley sat. He felt conspicuous and wrong as he realized this was Haeley’s Sunday off from both singing and working with the youngsters.

Being so sleep deprived had made him even more emotional during the singing, so he was close to weeping again when the pastor began to speak. And what should he choose as his subject, of all things? If God is good and all-powerful, why is there evil and suffering in the world? The only comfort Boone got from the message was that this guy seemed to agree entirely with Francisco Sosa’s take on the subject.