SOUTHSIDE HUSTLE: a gripping action thriller full of suspense (24 page)

CHAPTER 47

Trick went to see the funeral director and requested that there not be a wake since Ginger had no close living relatives and only a handful of friends. Many of the people she thought were friends dropped her when he went to prison and they no longer lived in an expensive rented home and entertained.

The funeral was scheduled two days later. Trick wanted to get this nightmare behind him as soon as possible. It was bad enough that he found Ginger’s death almost unbearable; his main concern was for Pat. Losing a mother at such a young age could cripple a person emotionally. His son was going to need all the support he could get. But he didn’t know who Pat would get it from since he was facing a long prison sentence.

It was already a week and a half past the date he was supposed to pay the Mexicans $277,000 but he only had a fraction of it. After the police confiscated the $70,000 he brought to the Oak Lawn Hilton, he had less than $20,000 left. To bring the Mexicans such a small amount could lead to disaster. He needed time to sort things out but knew it was already too late.

***

“I’m so sorry for your loss,” Karen whispered, standing in her apartment doorway. “She was a good person and I’ll miss her.”

“Thank you. And thanks for watching Pat again.” Trick smiled at his son, who was putting his jacket on. “He likes you. I can tell.”

“Well, I like him too but I haven’t been able to look for work and babysit him at the same time.”

“Here’s a thousand bucks,” Trick said, holding out a handful of cash. “I need you to be available to watch him again in a couple days.”

“What? A thousand? No, that’s too much.”

“Take it,” Trick said, putting the money in her hand and closing her fingers around it. “I need someone I can trust right now. Now you don’t need to look for work just yet. Remember this, when he’s with you, it’s important that you have him in your sight at all times. You can’t let him play outside. Don’t ask why.”

Trick walked down the apartment building stairway with Pat in his arms, then looked out the window to survey the area before slowly opening the door to inspect further. He saw no sign of Starnes or the Mexicans and hurried to his rental car. Not knowing how many days he had left with his son, he drove to the Ritz Carlton Hotel adjacent to the Water Tower Place shopping mall on the Magnificent Mile in Chicago.

***

Feeling somewhat safe within the confines of the upscale establishment and the adjoining towering mall, Trick got a suite and spent the next couple days with his son, escaping from the world outside.

On their first night away, Trick sat next to Pat in a booth at the lavish, mahogany-paneled Ritz Carlton Dining Room, where he instructed his son how to properly eat his lobster bisque, what fork to use for his salad, and to quit purposely burping as loud as he could. Trick ordered a bottle of Dom Pérignon to go along with his filet mignon as though he might be having his last meal on death row. He slowly sipped the chilled champagne while talking to Pat and taking in the other patrons.

While sharing with Pat his towering concoction of chocolate cake, topped with a chocolate mold containing vanilla ice cream, covered in warm chocolate sauce and fresh whipped cream, Trick nodded hello to actor Richard Romanus, who was having dinner with a lady he presumed to be the man’s wife. “Always leave a good tip,” Trick advised Pat, counting out hundred-dollar bills, “even though you may never see the person again. It shows class and it’s good Karma.”

“What the heck is Karma?”

“Me and my big mouth.” Trick rubbed his forehead. “Karma is when if you do something bad to someone, something bad will happen to you sooner or later. If you do something good, you’ll be rewarded somehow.”

“Are you being rewarded for good things you did?”

“Hmm.” Trick thought about the good and bad things he did in his life. He liked to think of himself as a fair, compassionate person. He never stole anyone’s personal property, never cheated anyone, never went after another man’s wife, never hurt anyone that didn’t have it coming, never killed anyone. Not yet anyway. But there was the drug thing hanging over his head. Maybe Karma was kicking his ass for that.

Pat sat with his chin resting on his fists, searching his father’s face. Trick had to give his son some kind of answer. “The jury’s still out on that one, Pat.”

***

After a decent night’s sleep, room service breakfast and baths, father and son ventured out of their room again and into the city within a building. They walked around, travelled up and down escalators and elevators, played in toy stores and window shopped while working up an appetite.

Trick and Pat strolled through the expansive twelfth-floor hotel lobby and stopped to toss coins into the fountain while Tina Turner, nearby, signed autographs for an enthusiastic, young couple. They had a light lunch at the Ritz Carlton Café, where Pat slowly opened up about school, his friends and favorite toys. Trick tried to recall what it was like being a five-year-old. He couldn’t remember friends and toys. Instead, he remembered being punished at school and at home.

After taking the elevator down to the movie theater on the sixth floor, Trick was glad to see a film listed on the marquis featuring his favorite actor, Clint Eastwood. Trick bought two tickets, a box of Sno-Caps to share and walked hand-in-hand into the darkened movie house with the aroma of buttered popcorn heavy in the air.

***

The night before the funeral arrived too soon and Trick knew what he had to do. What he dreaded worse than going to prison. “Pat.” He lay on his side in bed next to his son. “We have to do something tomorrow that’s going to be very, very hard. It’s one of those things you have to do even though you don’t want to.”

“Like getting a shot?”

“Yes. But a lot worse. So, I just want you to be prepared.” Trick touched Pat’s concerned face. “Your mother is gone.”

“You mean like my hamster?”

“Yes. Like that. But I don’t know if hamsters go to heaven.”

“Mommy said,” Pat cried as he spoke, “my hamster was in heaven.”

“Well, Mommy knows more about that stuff than I do.”

“I hate it! I hate it!” Pat punched his pillow again and again. “I prayed over and over for Mommy to get better and it didn’t work! I’m never going to pray again!”

“Pat, you can’t give up on hope.” Trick rubbed his son’s back. “When you give up on hope, you lose an important part of yourself.”

“God didn’t help me,” Pat managed between sobs. “It’s all a fake.”

“We can’t always get the things we pray for. Sometimes we just don’t understand God’s plan.” Trick pulled Pat close. “Just remember, Mommy’s no longer sick. She’s never going to suffer again. She’s in a better place now.”

Pat pulled away and rolled onto his stomach, his back rising up and down as he bawled.

CHAPTER 48

Trick turned his trenchcoat collar up. The Indian summer was over. Early November brought the seasonably cool wind, fog and rain.

As the pastor finished his eulogy to the handful of people standing graveside, Pat asked, “Daddy, how can Mommy be in there and be in Heaven too?”

Trick felt a cold breeze blow across his sensitive unbandaged finger. “Only God knows.”

“If she’s under the ground won’t it be harder for her to fly to Heaven?”

“I don’t know, Pat. Maybe we should pray for wisdom.” Holding Pat’s hand, Trick watched the coffin being lowered into the ground not far from the cemetery road. He recalled one of his favorite songs as a boy and quoted low, almost in a whisper, “And when the angels ask me to recall, the thrill of them all. I will tell them I remember you.”

Trick knelt on the wet grass and did his best to console his son who now wept against him. Directly in his line of view, Trick saw the four Mexicans. They were looking straight at him, sitting and leaning on his car. He stood, held Pat’s hand with his left and put his right hand into the inside pocket of his coat to grip the .357 Magnum. It puzzled him how they knew what kind of car he was driving now. Knowing he couldn’t walk out of the cemetery, he just stood there trying to figure his next move.

“Daddy, how come those guys are on your car?” Pat whimpered and wiped tears on his sleeve. “Are they your friends?”

“No, Pat. Those guys are definitely not my friends.”

“Are we going to just stand here?”

“I’m not …” Trick stopped midsentence when he saw a car with municipal plates drive up slowly.

The window went down revealing Detective Frank Murray. “Halloran. I want to talk to you.” Frank parked and got out. He noticed the Latino gang getting off Trick’s car and walking toward their own vehicle. He pointed his chin in their direction and asked, “Something I should know about?”

“No,” Trick answered, knowing that any information he revealed about the situation would incriminate him even further. Relieved to see them getting in their Oldsmobile and driving away, Trick continued, “What are
you
doing here?”

“I came to pay my respects and let you know we should talk about your case. I might be able to help.”

“No, thanks. I know what you got in mind. You want me to turn rat, become state’s evidence against people I know.” Trick brushed past Frank. “Not going to happen.”

“Don’t say no until you’ve heard what I have to say.”

“I already know that tune and I don’t sing it. I’m not a canary.”

“Don’t be stupid. You missed your appointment with your parole officer ten days ago. They can revoke your bond for that. Hit you with a parole violation any day now, any hour.” Frank yelled at Trick’s back as he walked away, “Come in and talk. Talking’s not going to hurt you. You got that boy to worry about. And don’t even think about disappearing. I got a tail on you, twenty-four-seven!”

As they approached the rental car, Pat asked, “Why don’t you wanna talk to that man?”

“He wants me to do something I don’t want to do, something dangerous, against my principles.”

Buckling his son in the front passenger seat, Pat said, “I’ve got a principal. His name’s Mr. Pitlik.”

“That’s nice,” Trick answered, not paying attention. He shot Frank a dirty look, got in and drove away.

CHAPTER 49

“Get your hands off me,” Trick said to the two Oak Lawn Police officers escorting him into Frank Murray’s office. He shook his arms free and glared at Frank sitting behind his desk. “I told you, Murray, I got nothing to say.”

“You want us to stick around?” one officer asked Frank as he took handcuffs off Trick.

“No. You guys can go.” Frank waved his hand toward the door. “Thanks for bringing him in. And close the door behind you.”

“Patrick ‘Trick’ Halloran. You’re really a piece of work.” Frank pointed at the chair across from his desk. “Sit down.”

“I’ll stand.” Trick squinted at Frank. “I won’t be staying.”

Frank stood and shouted, “I said, sit the fuck down! You’re not going anywhere until I say so. You cocky fuck, I could have you locked up right now. I’ve had a tail on you this last week.” Frank eased back into his chair. “Been a bad boy.”

Trick plopped into the metal folding chair. “Those assholes had it coming.”

“Joker and Bob. I don’t give a fiddler’s fuck what you did to those bottom feeders. This isn’t about any of that shit. We have more important things to talk about.” Frank pointed a ballpoint pen at Trick. “You’re in a world of trouble. That Oak Lawn Hilton bust is a second offense. You’re looking at twelve easy, could be twenty-five with my recommendation. Work with us. I can get your sentence cut in half. Otherwise you’ll be a stranger to that beautiful boy of yours. By the time you get out, he’ll hardly remember you, be calling someone else daddy.”

“I can’t do it.” Trick hung his head. “I’m not made like that. I did the crime. I’ll do the time.”

“You stubborn son-of-a … I can really turn the screws if I want. Get you assigned to one of the roughest joints in Illinois. I’m not fuckin’ around. You don’t have till tomorrow to think about it. Help me set up someone bigger or you’re going away for a long time.” Frank stood, walked to the door and turned the handle. “Give me an answer right now. The offer comes off the table if I walk out this door, and you go straight back to County.”

“You don’t give a damn what happens to me … just trying to help yourself. You care if someone I set up comes after me to settle the score? Who’s going to protect my son after I’ve testified in open court?”

Frank stood in the open doorway. “What if I arrange it so you don’t have to appear in court, work behind the scenes?”

“No way. These guys aren’t stupid. You think they can’t figure out who the traitor is? I’m not a rat. Do what you got to do.”

Frank closed the door and sat back down. His face softened. “I don’t want you to turn rat. I hate rats … have no respect for some scumbag who knowingly breaks the law and gets away with it by sending someone else to prison in his place.”

“What’re you trying to pull now? Reverse psychology? Going to be my buddy?”

“You notice anything familiar about me?”

“What? So you look a little like Clint Eastwood.” Trick smirked and looked away. “Not as tall.”

“I’m going to take a big chance with you, tell you some things I hope I don’t regret.” Frank leaned forward, clenched his fingers tight, tapping his thumbs together. “I just found out, by accident. Swear to God. About two-and-a-half weeks ago, running a background check on you. One thing led to another. Seemed like a lot of coincidences, too many, so I dug further.”

“What’re you getting at?”

“What are the odds? Maybe if I had been around … you wouldn’t, you know … turn out like you did, on the wrong side of the law.”

Trick got an uneasy feeling in his stomach. “What in the hell …?”

“I’m your father.”

Trick’s head flinched back. “Bullshit.”

“I realize this is a lot to take in.” Frank tugged at the knot in his tie, pulling it down a couple inches, then unbuttoned the collar of his white dress shirt. “I was young, fifteen, so was she. Neither of us had any say in what happened to you.”

“Wait a minute.” Trick waved his hands away. “This is all too fucking weird. You got some proof of this?”

Frank lifted the edge of his desk mat and held up a large manila envelope. He leaned forward and handed it to Trick. “Here.”

Trick opened the envelope and removed a birth certificate.

While Trick looked it over, Frank continued, “I pulled some strings. Being a cop has … let’s say … privileges. I was able to track down and open sealed documents. There’s no doubt in my mind. I’m surprised I didn’t see it written on your face. You look a lot like her … my old girlfriend, the one who gave birth to you. Yeah, a little like me too.”

“So you’re trying to tell me this is real.” Trick scrutinized the yellowed sheet of paper. “It hasn’t been doctored in some way?”

“Of course it’s real. You think I’d go to the trouble of creating a false document. What for? To convince you I’m your father when I’m not? I spent years looking for you but always ran into a dead end. But after I looked into your background …”

“OK, let’s say I’m buying this act. Who is she … my mother, this Priscilla Grannon?”

“She was a nice kid. Died in a car accident about eight years ago. Black ice on the road. Hit by a truck. No one’s fault really. Neither of them should have been out that morning. She was heading to work at her real-estate office. Sorry.”

“Just for the hell of it, let’s say I believe you. Did you have much contact with her?”

“No. After our parents found out she was pregnant, they broke us up. Sent her to live with an aunt in Michigan and was forced to give you up. She stayed out there, graduated high school, all that. I went looking for her when I was about your age. Found her living in Saginaw, married with a couple kids. We spoke one time. It was hard, painful for both of us. She had a son and daughter that she loved very much but said you were never out of her thoughts. She kept saying, ‘It wasn’t fair, it wasn’t fair.’ Neither of us knew how to find you back then. That’s the way it was set up.”

“So you’re saying I got a half-brother and sister?”

“Um hm. You got family out there you never knew about. The rate you’re going, you’ll never meet them either.”

“I’m having a hard time swallowing all this. Some thief by the name Krupnik claimed he was my father too.”

“Stanley Krupnik? About fifty years old, six-foot, dark hair?”

“Yeah.” Trick’s eyes widened. “That’s the guy.”

“That’s not his real name, by the way. We have him in custody. Picked him up trying to run a confidence scam on an undercover officer.”

“He stole a gold watch from me and a lot of cash.”

“We have his belongings in holding. We did retrieve a lot of cash from his car. And I remember a solid gold watch.”

“That stuff’s mine.” Trick pointed a thumb at his chest.

“Any inscription on the watch?”

“Yeah, there’s an inscription,
To Patrick, May you always obey the Golden Rule, Pop
. Got the watch from one of my foster fathers. What about the money?”

“If what you say is true, I’ll get your watch back.” Frank wagged a finger. “But, unless you can prove that cash is yours somehow, forget about it.”

“What now? I got to go away? Be separated from my boy again?”

“I might be able to fix things. You know, you’re really not a bad guy. Just in a bad business. You have a reputation … never used drugs. That true?”

“Yeah, never touched the stuff. I was in it for the money.”

“All that’s over now.” Frank waved a hand. “For good this time, I hope.”

“Definitely. I thought I was through when I got out of the joint. But I’m in a tight spot. Owe some rough sons-a-bitches a lot of dough. If I don’t come up with it, something real bad could happen to my son.”

“Let me see if I can take care of that.” Frank folded his fingers together. “Who do you owe and how much?”

“You kidding me?”

“Does it look like I’m kidding? Give me the score.”

“All right.” Trick leaned forward and put his hands on the edge of the desk. “First, there’s a guy by the name Edward Starnes. I owe him $40,000 for a kilo he fronted me and another $30,000 for bonding me out. He’s charging me ten-percent interest.”

“I know of him. We’ve been after this character for some time. So far, everyone’s been afraid to testify against him. Where’s he live?”

“The Ishnala section of Palos Heights. Usually drives an orange 53 Chevy pickup, real nice, all restored. Got a guy that works for him called Moogie. Don’t know his real name. I think he might come from Decatur like Starnes. Carries a piece, collects for him … screwy mother, nobody to fuck with.”

“I’m nobody to fuck with. I belong to the toughest gang in the United States … the police. We got guns and make the rules.” Frank pushed a pen and pad of paper toward Trick. “Write down his address.”

“You’d really do this for me?”

“That and a lot more. I’m the only thing standing between you and prison. The higher-ups want you back in now. You violated your parole when you got busted at the Hilton and again when you didn’t show up at your parole officer’s. I convinced everyone you’re working with me to set up bigger people. I lied, told them I needed you on the streets for a little while.”

“Well, I guess I should say thanks for that. It’s allowed me time with my son and to bury Ginger. It was important that I was there for Pat during that. Thank you.”

“
Prego
.” Frank nodded. “Only problem with all this is, I put my reputation on the line for you. When they find out you’re not cooperating, I’m through as a detective.”

“Well I … sorry if I fucked up your life. Don’t know what to say.”

“Doesn’t really matter. Either way, I’m through. What I’m going to tell you now is of the strictest confidence. I need to know that I can trust you.”

“I never had anyone go out on a limb for me. No one. If you’re being straight with me, I’d never betray your trust. My word’s my bond.”

“Understand, this information could really get me in dutch, big time.” Frank squinted. “I’ve been making some moves of my own. Skimming coke from the evidence room the last few years. Replacing it with cut after it’s been tested. Got a guy who moves it for me. I protect him. Far as the force knows, he’s just my snitch.” Frank spread his hands out. “I bought a boat, a nice one, and a little seaside hotel with a bar and a ten-table restaurant on the southern coast of Italy. Got a local lady over there, Maria, runs things for me. I’m putting in my papers, retiring. Haven’t talked about it with anyone but you so far.”

“I’d never say anything to anyone. What good would it do me to betray you? You’re offering to help.” Trick shook his head. “You sell coke and get rewarded. I sell coke and go to prison. Well, no one ever promised me life was going to be fair. While you’re out there enjoying the good life, I’ll be rotting away in some cage.”

“Not if I can help it. I know a guy … can set you up with a new identity, passport, everything. I might be able to smuggle you out of the country and over to Italy.” Frank put his right palm to his chest. “I’ll personally watch out for your boy until you see him again. He’s my flesh and blood too.”

“Holy fuck. That would be unbelievable.” Trick couldn’t contain his excitement. “I better tell you everything. I found a bag that was thrown from a car on 55 about a month ago. It had drugs and a lot of money in it, two-hundred-and-eighty-five-thou. I paid off a debt to Starnes by giving him the three kilos that was in the bag. Remember those Latino guys, the ones hanging on my car at the funeral?”

“Yeah. I took notice. They looked out of place.”

“I don’t know who the hell they are or where they’re from but they showed up saying the bag belonged to them. They took all the dough that was left, but they’re leaning on me heavy to pay them back for the missing drugs. I don’t know how they found me.” Trick leaned back and rubbed his temples. “Unless maybe there was a second car following behind on 55 and they saw my car on the side of the road where the bag was thrown, or saw me with the bag getting in my car. Something like that. Only thing I can think of.”

“If that’s the way it went down and these guys are affiliated with one of the larger street gangs, all they’d need is a license plate to track you down. It’s not like the old days; gangs have infiltrated the Chicago Police Department. Get the picture?”

“Yeah, sure.” Trick raised his eyebrows and nodded. “Someone on the inside could have run my plate. Then they cased me.”

“Tell me everything you can about these guys.”

“I only saw them four times, including one time they chased me in traffic. They’re always in the same car, that coffee-colored Olds you saw at the funeral. The guy that seems to be in charge is the short, stocky one. Black shiny hair slicked straight back like the old gangster movies. The big guy’s face is pockmarked, always wears a leather Bulls jacket. The other two are obviously brothers, maybe twins, average height and build, rough looking. Oh yeah, the Olds, it’s got fog lights and a Mexican flag sticker on the back bumper.”

“Surprised you don’t have a whole gang after you.”

“Unless … unless these four are doing something on the side. Keeping it from the gang so they don’t have to split it up or pay tribute to the leaders. That would explain why it’s only those four.”

“Could be.” Frank nodded in approval. “Good thinking. I’ll have the surrounding area police keep an eye out for these guys.”