At the City's Edge (33 page)

The plastic felt cool. Jason carried it to the bed. Set it down like a priest laying out his vestments.

The creases were still razor sharp. Ribbons hung on the left breast, above his marksmanship pin – sharpshooter, not expert,
which had bothered him as an NCO – and below the combat infantry badge. His sergeant’s chevrons were stitched on the sleeves.
Behind the jacket were two pale green oxfords, the trousers, and a black tie.

He hadn’t worn his Class A Dress Uniform since he’d walked out of the Administrative Discharge Board, the words ‘other than
honorable’ ringing in his ears, his mouth dry and craving bourbon. He’d finished his truncated deployment in BDUs, packed
his ruck, and hopped a plane to Kuwait, then Germany, then Atlanta, and finally Chicago. Only to arrive home and find the
same kind of war raging in his old neighborhood. The same murky alliances and lust for power, the same lies and obfuscations,
the regular people caught in the crossfire.

He ran his fingers along the fabric. It felt right. He’d gone in the closet intending to wear his suit. But what was a suit
to him?

After all, he didn’t have to be in the Army to be a soldier.

Jason knocked on the bathroom door and told Cruz he was going for food, then took the fire stairs to the
street. His uniform drew nods from the guys hanging out on the corner. He nodded back, walked past the payday loan place
to the Italian beef restaurant.

‘Two combos, wet and spicy.’

‘Fries?’

‘With cheese.’ The smell of grease set his stomach rumbling.

He took the bag of carryout, two cans of Coke, and an inch-thick stack of napkins back to his apartment. Moved the cereal
bowls to the sink, wiped the kitchen table, and set out the food. He thought about fixing a drink, decided he didn’t want
one. Couldn’t afford it, anyway – exhaustion had drained his limbs, and whiskey wouldn’t help. He heard the bathroom door
open, and then Cruz stepped out.

‘Holy shit,’ he said, his mouth hanging open.

‘Ruby came by while you were gone. You like?’ She wore a dress of thin fabric, black with scarlet roses. The material clung
to her, tracing the soft curve of her breasts, the swell of her pubic bone. Makeup concealed the bruise on her forehead, and
she wore her hair twirled up and held in place with something that looked like chopsticks, revealing a graceful neck and collarbone.

‘You look amazing.’

‘Thank you. You look pretty good yourself, soldier. Want to see the best part?’

‘That isn’t the best part?’

She held up a black clutch purse, smiled coquettishly, and withdrew the Glock 27.

He burst out laughing. ‘Come on. Let’s eat.’ He held a chair for her, and she sat demurely. The whole situation felt surreal,
a tiny time-out against a mad world, and he decided to enjoy the minutes they had. Sat beside her at his crummy kitchen table,
poured her a Coke as if it were wine. ‘We have several specials to night. First, Freedom Fries Velveeta: select portions of
potato lovingly boiled in two-day-old grease and smothered with yellow. I also recommend the combo, a Chicago classic: spicy
sausage nestled in a Kaiser roll, topped with two inches of Italian beef, dipped in au jus, and crowned with pickled hot peppers.
The use of fingers is advised.’

‘Mmmm,’ she said, reaching for her sandwich. ‘I love a man who knows how to treat a lady.’ She took a bite and chewed languorously,
her eyes fluttering closed. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever tasted anything this good in my life.’

‘It’s like camping. Everything tastes better if you have to work for it,’ he leaned forward to keep the hot grease off his
uniform.

‘I’ll keep that in mind next time I’m escaping a sinking Honda.’

They attacked the food, the two of them in formal dress eating junk food under fluorescent lights. He finished first, and
leaned back to watch her, her fingers shiny with grease, a smear of cheese on her lips. When she finished, she crumpled up
the wax paper, then set to sucking her fingers one at a time. ‘You know, this plan…’ She paused, took a sip of
Coke, holding the cup with her palms. ‘Well, it’s not a plan.’

‘More like a prayer,’ he agreed. ‘Got any better options?’

‘No. But even all cleaned up and looking fine, I’m not sure he won’t think we’re crazy.’

He shrugged, took a napkin and scrubbed his fingers. ‘Maybe. But we can tell the alderman exactly where to look. You said
he’s a good guy, tough on crime, big on his district. This should matter to him.’

‘If he believes us.’

‘If he believes us.’ He tossed the napkin in the garbage, leaned back in his chair. Had the flashing urge to suggest they
call the whole thing off, spend the night in bed instead. Not even sex, he realized, feeling the aches in his body. Just sleeping.
‘Speaking of crazy, some day, we get through this, I might do something elsecrazy.’

‘What’s that?’

He smiled. ‘Ask you on a date.’

Their timeout was over.

Jason could feel it in his chest. Breathing was a conscious activity, something he had to remember to do. What ever cosmic
force had conspired to give them a few stolen moments of peace and animal comfort, it had moved on.

The Swissôtel was a fifty-story glass triangle wedged between the Chicago River and Lake Michigan. It was above his pay grade,
but he’d heard it was nice: panoramic views, modern décor, a pent house pool. None of which mattered a damn to him right now.

What did matter were the three squad cars parked in the front circle, twenty feet away from them.

‘What did you expect?’ Cruz asked. ‘It’s not just the alderman. This is a two-hundred-dollar-a-plate benefit. These people
are the aristocracy. Helping the unwashed is one thing; eating with them is another.’

‘Where will the cops be?’

Cruz stared out the windshield of their borrowed car, a Taurus with a bad case of the shakes and a yellow-ribbon bumper sticker
that read,
I support empty gestures
.

‘Uniforms in the lobby, probably a few plainclothes upstairs.’

Jason nodded, energy speeding his pulse, sharpening his vision. ‘Look, last chance. This is the only way I can see to get
Billy free of this. I have to do it. But you don’t.’

Cruz leaned over and kissed him, a soft play of lips, more comfort than sex. When she broke the kiss, she kept a hand against
his cheek, her eyes close. For a moment they shared a look. Then she said, ‘Game on, soldier.’

Game on.

He got out of the car, closed the door. Tension shivered up his spine, but he kept his face calm and smiling. A valet took
the keys in trade for a ticket Cruz tucked in her purse. Jason straightened his uniform with a gentle tug, then extended his
arm. Together they walked into the lobby.

The décor was Upscale American Hotel: muted paisley carpet, polished mahogany, yellow light rising from brass sconces. Artfully
arranged couches in beige and gray, occupied by guests in expensive shoes. An attractive blonde concierge stood at one end
of a marble counter.

Three cops stood at the other end.

They wore Chicago-blue over tactical bulletproof vests, the hardware making them barrel-chested. Radios, cuffs, ammo cases,
and key chains all hung on their belts, but all Jason could see was the sidearm each carried. He stopped inside the door,
turned sideways, his body blocking their view of her. ‘You know those guys?’

She snuck a furtive look past his shoulder. ‘No.’

He nodded, his eyes scanning the lobby. Trying to look like the kind of man who belonged at a charity dinner. The son of a
prominent businessman, just pausing to talk to his date. There were two more cops standing by the enclosed fireplace near
the entrance.

Cops in front, cops behind. He could feel his heart in his throat, even as he reminded himself that there was no way they
were the target. The cops had to be routine security, just assuring that an event attended by a political figure went off
smoothly: no wackos, no former employees with a grudge. All Jason had to do was keep cool.

His eyes fell on a brass stanchion with a sign atop it:

‘Okay,’ Jason said, and started walking. Cruz fell in alongside him, her arm still tucked through his. ‘What we’re doing here
is hiding in plain sight.’

‘Right.’

‘No one will be looking for us here.’

‘Right.’

‘We’re just going to stroll past them.’

‘Right.’

Jason’s muscles were tense as he moved. The smile plastered on his face felt forced, the same rigid skeleton expression he
had in snapshots. The cops were
calm, but not lax. Their eyes watched the crowd. The tallest, a jowly guy with a mustache, looked at Jason.

Run,
his body screamed.
Do it now.

Instead he made himself flash a bare nod, then turned to look at Cruz. Said, ‘I hope we aren’t too late for dinner. I’m starving.’

She didn’t miss a beat. ‘I’m sure they’ll have something. I just hope we have a better table this time than last.’

‘Do you think the alderman will still be there?’

‘Oh, I hope so. I’d really like to meet him.’

They came close enough to smell the aftershave on one of them, something lemony and cheap. Jason concentrated on lifting his
feet and putting them down, on his inane conversation with Cruz.

Then they were past, and he took a deep breath. The air was cool and clean. He cocked his eyebrows at Cruz, shook his head
barely. They’d made it. He led her toward a bank of elevators, the doors shining like they were polished twice a day. With
a soft tone, one opened in front of them.

‘Hey.’ The voice came from behind, gruff and loud.

Cruz tightened the grip on his arm. He kept walking, fighting to keep the pace steady.

‘Hey! Hey you.’

The elevator slid shut in front of them. Jason’s throat felt swollen as he turned around. The tall cop stood behind him, one
hand resting on the butt of his gun. Jason thought he might be able to jump him, get a punch in and make a run. Kevlar did
nothing against
a fist. He started to speak, lost it. Coughed, then made himself say, ‘Yes?’

The man stepped closer. He had thin brown hair and wore the lemon aftershave. His fingers tapped on his sidearm. He looked
at Cruz, then back to Jason. Narrowed his eyes slightly.

Then he said, ‘I just want to thank you for what you’re doing,’ and extended his hand. For a second Jason didn’t understand
what he meant, how this cop he’d never seen before could possibly know what they were doing.

Then he remembered the uniform. Relief flowed through him like warm water. ‘Thank you, Officer. That means a lot to me.’ He
took the cop’s hand, shook it firmly.

‘Are you back for long?’

‘For good, I think.’

‘I’m glad to hear it.’ The man hesitated. ‘No matter how you feel about the war, we all owe you guys a debt. The country said
go and you went. You’ve made us very proud.’

Jason felt a surge of absurd gratitude. ‘Thank you.’

‘Anyhow, don’t mean to keep you folks.’ Another ding sounded, and a different elevator opened. The man raised an arm to hold
it open, and gestured them in like a doorman. ‘Have a good night.’

‘You too, Officer.’ Jason pressed the button for 43. He could feel one eyelid wanting to twitch in a nervous tic, and rubbed
at it. As the doors closed, Cruz
slumped against the back wall of the elevator. ‘Jesus. Thought we’d had it there.’

Jason nodded, flexing his shoulders to release the tension. Modest beeps marked floors as the elevator rose. ‘You said there
will be more upstairs?’

‘Probably.’

‘Will they know you?’

‘Doubt it. I know a lot of the tactical guys in Area One, but the Loop is Area Four. But –’

‘You were on TV. I know.’ He shook his head. ‘We’ll keep it quick and low profile. Just get in, find Washington and the alderman,
go from there. Simple.’

Cruz looked as dubious as he felt.
Sure. Just waltz past plainclothes cops, convince a guy who thinks I’m suffering post-traumatic stress to extend his voucher
to the most important politician in the room, then convince the alderman, without a shred of evidence, to undertake a crusade
that will set the city on fire.

Simple.

Jason pushed the thoughts from his mind. Replaced them with an image of goofing off in Lake Michigan, he and Mikey linking
arms in a cradle for Billy to stand in, counting three, two, one, and then heaving together, the boy arcing a dozen feet,
his legs bicycling, water trailing prismatic behind whoops of joy.

The elevator doors slid open. Jason counted three, two, one, and stepped out.

The buzz of conversation hit first, a hundred voices talking and laughing. A short hallway opened to a banquet room dotted
with circular tables. White
linen, half-empty wine glasses, bright floral centerpieces. Beyond burned the lights of Navy Pier, the Ferris wheel turning
in slow circles.

Ronald stood out in the crowd, towering above millionaires that looked at him with the frosted smiles of zoo-goers dubious
about the security of the cages. Jason caught his eye, and the big man moved to meet them. His tux pants were two inches too
short, and the fabric strained over his biceps. ‘Thought y’all were going over to that bar.’

‘We did.’

‘Get what you need?’

‘Yes and no.’ He grimaced. ‘Mostly no. How’s Billy?’

‘Good. Last I saw, little man had discovered the buffet.’

Jason’s head snapped fast. ‘He’s
here
?’

Ronald shrugged. ‘You axed me to keep an eye on him. Where’s he gonna be safer – in a roomful of rich white folks, or alone
back at the house?’

For Jason’s money, Billy would be safest locked in a small room with armed guards outside it, but he saw the point. ‘Yeah,
all right. How ’bout Washington? You know where he is?’

‘Holdin’ court, I expect.’

‘Thanks,’ Jason said. ‘When this is all over, I hope you’ll let me buy you a beer.’

The big man shrugged. ‘You can buy me two, you want to.’