The Betrayal (18 page)

“And yet would it not affect your schedule if each driver were interrogated as he pulled up to the facility?”

Silence.

Jack said, “And we also have a no-tolerance policy on teachers parking on the street past the allowed hours.”

“But our parking lot is full, and the ones who do park on the street are gone within a half hour of the time limit.”

“Does that sound like zero-tolerance to you?”

Silence.

“Sir, can we get on the same page?”

“I'd like to,” the principal said.

“It's easy. I can leave the scrutiny of the bus drivers to the company. I can even look the other way when teachers park on the street a half hour later than the signs allow. And you can just pretend the suspension of the Eagle Scout never happened. No announcement, no apology, no explanation. He just shows up Tuesday, and if anyone squawks, you tell them that you have it under control. Because you do, don't you, sir?”

“Yes. Yes, I do.”

“Great talking with you.”

“And you, Deputy Chief Keller.”

The bank assistant manager looked wary when he welcomed Boone and Jack into his office. “Yet another officer I have not met,” he said, shaking Jack's hand. “This must be a much bigger caper than any of us imagined.”

“This should be the end of it,” Boone said as the man slid the copies of the currency serial numbers across the desk.

He handed them to Jack, who excused himself and stepped into the corner. Boone heard him on the phone with the Naperville chief of police.

“Think you guys can help with my son?” the executive said. “Your partner said he might have news for me.”

“Ask him.”

But the man didn't have to. Jack slipped his phone back into his pocket, flashed Boone a thumbs-up, and approached the man's desk. “Glad we could scratch each other's backs,” he said.

“Sir?”

“And I'm grateful you didn't ask me to fix a ticket or hassle a pesky neighbor. I don't do that kind of thing. But you hit a hot button with me on that zero-tolerance rule stuff. I mean, Lord knows they have their hands full and have to do something, but Eagle Scouts with pocketknives locked away ought to get some kind of consideration.”

“My feeling exactly.”

“It's over.”

“How so?”

“Tell your son not to talk about it or brag about it. But the suspension has been suspended.”

“Seriously?”

“Didn't I tell you I'd have a report for you? That's the report. He goes to school, doesn't miss a day, and when people ask what happened, he can say he doesn't really know. Because he doesn't. And he won't, will he?”

“If you say so.”

“I say so.”

“Thank you, Officers.”

“Now I know this likely disappoints you, sir,” Boone said. “But this is almost certainly the last time we'll be in here.”

The man smiled. “I'll miss you, but I'll get over it.”

23

Involving Fletch

Tuesday, February 9, 5:15 p.m.

“You're a pro, Boones,” Jack said as they returned to the car. “What you did yesterday—I got to tell you, that was just good, old-fashioned, shoe-leather police work.”

“Hardly satisfying.”

“It will be, when we get Pete before he gets to PC.”

“That's it in a nutshell, isn't it, Jack? But what's Pete waiting for? If he has people at the safe house, why not take out Pascual immediately?”

“He's got to make it look either justified or like an accident.”

“That doesn't have to take long. We've got to move.”

Keller nodded. “Doc Waldemarr was right, you know. I don't know who to trust but Fletcher Galloway.”

“Fletch made it pretty clear to me he wanted out,” Boone said. “Why would he want back in?”

“'Cause he's all cop, that's why. You know he was skeptical of Pete's crusade against Haeley.”

“He told me he wasn't buying it. He wouldn't say anything bad about Pete, and I don't think he suspected his motives, but it didn't feel right to him. He wanted to put it behind him.”

Jack pulled into traffic. “Can't let him do that. He may think he's gone, but if he has a rat in his old division, he'll want to help trap it and kill it.”

“Where we going, Jack? Or are you just driving so you can think?”

“To Fletch's, on the West Side. Don't know why. It's not like I'm gonna just show up at his door.” He handed Boone his cell phone. “I'd better call first. I got him on speed dial there. Hit it for me, will you, and put it on speaker. He won't mind.”

Fletch's home phone went to voice mail. “Hey, Fletch!” Jack said. “Boones and me are gonna be in your neighborhood tonight and were wondering if we could drop in and visit you. We'd love to see you.”

Within minutes, Galloway called. “You 'member I retired, right?”

“Hello to you too, boss.”

“Not boss anymore. Holy moley, Keller, didn't we just have cake the other day? That was my last supper.”

“So you don't even ever want to see us again?”

“'Course. But tonight I'm taking the wife to the Old Man and the Sea.”

“That fifty-year-old movie?”

“It's a restaurant! You know what kind of seafood I like, don't you?”

“You only told me this one a hundred and forty times.”

“Seafood.”

“That's as funny as it's ever been.”

“I know when you're mocking me, Keller.”

“Chief, we need to see you tonight. What time you getting back?”

“Thought it was a social call.”

“It is. And a little more.”

“After my bedtime is when I'm getting home. Now I'm just starting to get used to not setting an alarm clock. Can't this wait, Jack, really?”

“It can't, Fletch. I'm sorry.”

“Just don't make me come and meet you somewhere. Going out with the wife is my agenda for the evening. If you want to come over after she's in bed, I can give you till midnight. That work for you guys?”

“Yes, sir. You want to just call me when the coast is clear?”

“Good idea. Figure around ten. I like to watch the news, but one of my sons taught me how to tape it.”

“You're gonna be dangerous, Chief.”

“I'm already dangerous, and you know it.”

“We're heading your way; is there a good place for us to eat?”

“What're you looking for? And don't tell me seafood. I don't want to run into you at the Old Man and the Sea.”

“Boones looks like he's about to keel over, so I'm guessing heavy, greasy, and American.”

Boone had to admit that sounded pretty good just then.

“Rollo's on South Ashland. You know it?”

“Pilsen area?”

“Yeah, but this is steaks, chops, one of those sports bars.”

“We'll find it and wait for your call. Have a nice time yourself.”

“Oh, I plan to. At least I did. Now I got to put up with you two yahoos in the middle of the night.”

Boone checked in with Haeley but was careful not to get into specifics. On the other hand, he wanted to encourage her. “I can't tell you much,” he said, “but let me just say, you're going to be
very
happy.”

“That sounds good.”

She didn't sound convinced. “Better than good,” he said. “I've got to try to reach Zappolo tonight. But first I need to talk with your mother.”

“About what?”

“Car stuff.”

When Mrs. Lamonica came on, Boone filled her in on what had happened and assured her that her car was already as good as new.

“That's too bad,” she said. “I meant to tell you that if anything happened to it, I would just have to take yours.”

“Maybe we can still work that out,” he said.

“You think I'm kidding.”

“Actually, you sound serious, ma'am.”

“I am. Now this damage wasn't caused by somebody who was after you, was it?”

“No way to tell for sure. Let's just treat it as vandalism, why don't we? Reported, dealt with, covered by insurance.”

“So, ready to be traded for yours.”

Boone laughed. “When you're ready to look at the Blue Book and work out a deal, we'll talk.”

Haeley's mother put her daughter back on.

“I've been thinking more about MCC. With my mother here with Max—”

“Haeley, I told you you'd be happy. Do you think I'd say something like that if I thought there was still a chance that you would wind up back in jail?”

“What're you saying?”

“I'm saying I can't go into details, but you're not going back, all right? That's a guarantee.”

“You can't make promises like that.”

“I just did.”

“I've never wanted to believe you more than I do right this minute, Boone.”

“I don't know what I have to do to convince you, Hael.”

She sighed. “I've learned there's no such animal as a sure thing.”

“Wow,” Boone said. “That's depressing.”

“I'll tell you what's depressing, love. Jail. Whatever you do, don't get me started.”

“Haeley, listen—”

“I really don't want to talk about it, Boone, and I mean it. See you tomorrow?”

“I hope so.”

“What does that mean?”

“Things are breaking in the case. I'll update you as I can.”

“Mm-hm.”

Boone wished she trusted him so she could sleep well. But he knew better.

Traffic was stop and go all the way to the West Side, and by the time Jack pulled into the parking lot of Rollo's Sports Bar, it was the middle of the evening. The place looked jammed to overflowing. The lot showed over a dozen sports cars, hinting at the average age—and income—of the clientele. People waited in the lobby, but more huddled outside.

Jack found one of the few remaining parking spots at the far end of the lot. “I've never been shy about using the badge to get a table.”

“We're in no hurry.”

“I'm not in a hurry to stand out in the cold either, Boones. Though the polar ice cap might be preferable to this overheated crate.”

“I'll go put our name in,” Boone said. “Wait here.”

Boone made his way through the parking lot, noticing decals reading CWCC in the back windows of many of the hot cars. He hadn't realized how close they must be to Chicago West Community College. The football coach there attended Francisco Sosa's church. Boone had even gotten him to give a few tips to a boys' class there.

As Boone maneuvered through the crowd outside and waiting inside the door, many said, “Long wait, pal. And already pretty raucous in there.”

He nodded and kept moving till he reached the hostess podium and put in his name. The young woman looked harried. The noise was deafening, and older patrons didn't appear happy.

“Community college football team,” she explained. “Guess they just had their post-season awards ceremony and they came here to get tanked. People are complaining, but there's like forty of 'em, and they're throwing stuff. I don't know what to do.”

“Call the cops. How many of these college guys are old enough to drink anyway?”

“We card 'em, but maybe they've got fake IDs. Anyway, it would take the cops forever to get here this time of night. I think we're okay if it doesn't get any worse.”

As if on cue, glass shattered. Someone had thrown a beer mug over the bartender's head, and the rest of the footballers laughed hysterically. Other customers were leaving, some without even pretending to pay.

The people outside pressed in to see what was going on, and the people trying to get out had to push their way through. And now the football players appeared to be playing keep-away with beer mugs. Every few seconds one would crash to the floor.

“Who's in charge of those guys?” Boone said. “Any coaches here from CWCC?”

“Nobody,” the hostess said. “The players just all came in here after practice, I think. Almost all at the same time.”

The people rushing out finally turned the tide, and those waiting began to leave too.

“There goes our business,” the girl said.

Boone knew Jack would be in soon after seeing people running out. He pulled out his phone and quickly searched his contacts, finding Coach Newt Joseph's number.

“Hey, Coach, I don't know if you remember me, but I'm Boone Drake and we used to go to the same—”

“Sure, Boone. Worked with your boys. I've seen you a lot in the news lately.”

Boone filled him in on what was happening. “Your guys got a reason to be letting their hair down tonight?”

“I just left 'em after celebrating their season. They were all going out to eat together. Sounded innocent enough. I'm on my way. Give me ten minutes.”

Soon the place was empty except for the football team, and they seemed to be feeling no pain. Running, throwing, laughing, yelling, breaking things. The manager kept bellowing that he was going to call the police, but they laughed him off.

Jack finally showed. “What . . . ? What do you want to do, Boones?”

“I called the coach. Wait for him unless it gets worse?”

“What're we gonna do, draw down on forty guys?”

“Don't tempt me,” Boone said.

A few minutes later the team had organized an impromptu scrimmage and were tackling each other in puddles of booze. The manager was still yelling, but the footballers found pool cues and were winging them at him, making him duck.

Finally Boone advanced, flashing his badge and shouting, “Chicago Police Department!”

“What're you gonna do, gimp? Cuff us all?”

“We might!” Jack said.

“All two of you? Bring it on!”

Just when it looked like the whole team was going to advance on the cops, the team suddenly fell silent. The kids froze. Boone turned to see Coach Joseph behind him. He edged between the cops and stood with his arms folded, surveying the scene.

“Single file,” he said quietly, and the team immediately fell into queue. “Out,” he said, and they began slowly filing past him, heads down. “My office tomorrow morning, 7:00,” he said as the first passed. “My office, 7:10,” he said to the next. “My office, 7:20. My office, 7:30 . . .”

When the last kid made his way out, the coach turned to Boone. “Thanks for calling me,” he said just above a whisper. He apologized to the hostess and asked to see the manager. “Be sure and send me a bill,” he said, pulling his business card from his wallet.

“We're covered by insurance,” the man said.

“Don't even file the claim. My guys will pay every last cent, and you'll be getting in-person apologies from them too.”

“Okay then, if you insist.”

“I do. And if you want to estimate how much business you lost because of this, I'll make sure they cover that too.”

“That would be hard to—”

“You know what a normal night brings in. Just be reasonable with me, and we'll get it taken care of.”

They shook hands, and the coach approached the cops. “I'd really appreciate it if CWCC was not mentioned in any report.”

“Report of what?” Jack said. “What happened?”

The coach nodded. “Thanks.”

“You get tired of coaching, I got a job for you,” Jack said. “No kiddin'. Wouldn't he make a great cop, Boones?”

“The best. Command the respect of forty kids without raising your voice? You can't teach that.”

“What good is it if my influence works only when I'm present?” Newt said.

“Anyway, good job, Coach.”

“True test will be Saturday when I try to figure out which of these guys deserves to be on the field.”

“Judging by what you just pulled off,” Jack said, “I have a feeling you'll figure it out. Hey, can we buy you dinner? We're about to sit down, and it looks like we'll be their only business for a while.”