At the City's Edge (34 page)

The crowd was in that state of upscale levity born
of single malt before dinner and pinot noir during, and as Jason wound his way through, people smiled at him, nodded. A woman
raised a champagne flute in salute. He had chosen the uniform because it felt more natural than a suit, but he was starting
to wonder if the trade-off in visibility was worth it.

‘You’re a celebrity in that thing.’

‘Sure,’ Jason said. ‘Everybody loves a soldier. These folks just don’t like their sons to become one. You see him?’

‘No.’

Beside the swinging service doors was a dead zone. Jason stepped into it, scanned the room, an eye out for Billy. The crowd
was mostly white, with a handful of Hispanics and African Americans. Everyone was dressed the same, and for a moment it seemed
vaguely funny, all the world-makers in uniforms of their own. Then, through a break in the crowd, he spotted Washington, arms
up in preacher pose, talking to a good-looking black man with a broad smile. ‘Got him.’ He squinted. ‘And I think that’s the
alderman he’s with.’

As he started over, he felt his heart quicken, a lifting in his chest. His mouth was dry, his words gone. Everything he cared
about depended on the alderman believing them. Jason had an image of Billy splashing down in Lake Michigan, the way the kid
would always rocket to the surface in an explosion of bubbles, saying, ‘Again, again!’ He thrust that aside, too.

Washington saw him coming, and a shadow rippled over his face. He stopped in the middle of a sentence, one arm out like he
were holding a metaphor. ‘Jason.’ Not sounding happy to see him. His eyes flicked up and down Jason’s uniform. ‘I didn’t expect
you tonight.’

‘I didn’t either.’ Jason turned to face the alderman, suddenly unsure how to begin.

‘Ahh, Alderman Owens, this is Jason Palmer. He’s…’ Washington paused, ‘… an old friend of mine.’

The alderman hit him with a friendly grin. ‘What’s a respectable soldier doing hanging around with a reprobate like Washington?’
They shook, the man’s grip firm. ‘This is Daryl Thomas,’ he said, gesturing to the man beside him. ‘He’s my right hand and
my second in command.’

‘This is Officer Elena Cruz, with the Chicago Police Department.’ Saying her name felt like a risk, but he needed her to lend
credibility to what he had to say.

‘Officer Cruz,’ the alderman took her hand in that horizontal handshake. ‘It’s a plea sure.’ But something stirred in his
eyes, like he were trying to remember details he’d recently heard. ‘What brings you out tonight?’

A dozen approaches flashed through Jason’s mind, then vanished just as quickly. There was no strategy to follow here. He had
to just tell the truth, to tell it as fully as he knew how, and to pray that it was enough. ‘You do, sir.’

‘Oh?’

‘I need five minutes of your time.’

‘I’m always available to constituents, especially friends of Washington’s. Call the office tomorrow, ask for Daryl. He’ll
make sure you get set up with an appointment next week.’

‘I’m sorry, sir. I wasn’t clear.’ Jason straightened his shoulders and put his hands behind his back to stand at something
like attention. ‘I meant I need your time right now. This second.’

Washington put a hand on his shoulder. ‘Maybe this isn’t the best –’

‘Sir, this is a matter of life and death.’ Jason didn’t risk looking away from Owens, but his thoughts were on Washington.
Stick with me, old man. Trust me.

The alderman had the amiable hesitancy of a man expecting a punch line. ‘Life and death?’

‘Yes.’

Owens and his assistant shared a look. ‘I have to admit, I’m curious, Mr. Palmer. What’s this about?’

There it was. The simple question, and there was a simple answer to match, a simple, dirty answer. The one they’d discovered
in the basement of Michael’s ruined bar, in the darkness beneath the city. An explanation for everything: his brother’s murder,
the hunt for Billy, the gang war, all of it. An answer written in blood and shadow.

‘Money, sir. It’s about money.’ He paused. ‘It’s about men who are willing to do anything for money. And they’re doing it
in your district.’

‘Jason, what are you –’ Washington’s voice was thin and nervous.

‘I’m sorry.’ Jason turned to face his mentor. ‘I’m sorry to do this here, to night. And I know we’ve had our disagreements
lately, and I understand your side of things. But I’m looking you in the eye and I’m telling you,
this is the truth
. This is why Michael was murdered.’

Washington stared at him appraisingly. The moment stretched, and Jason found himself aware of tiny details, the mismatched
angles of hairs in Washington’s mustache, the smell of cooling steak permeating the room, the chamber music barely audible
under the crush of conversation. The older man hesitated, then nodded slowly.

‘Murdered?’ Owens spoke softly. ‘Sergeant Palmer, if this is some sort of joke, I’m going to be very disappointed.’

‘Sir, believe me when I tell you that I’ve never been more serious in my life.’

The alderman nodded, the motion businesslike and sure. ‘Then you best go ahead.’

Jason took a breath. Words were all he had, but they such a small thing when set against blood. And the debt of blood here
ran higher than he could say.

‘A few days ago, my brother was murdered in your ward.’ He raised a hand to forestall sympathy. ‘Two men came to the bar he
owned. They were looking for something, and when he wouldn’t give it to them, they killed him.’

‘What were they looking for?’

‘Do you live in Crenwood, sir?’

The alderman looked cagey at the change of subject. ‘Yes. Halsted and Sixty-first. Aldermen have to live in their districts.’

‘There’s an El station near there.’

‘About two blocks south. What does this have to do with –’

‘I grew up on the south side, but I had a few friends who lived on the north. I’d ride the El up to see them, and it was like
going to Oz.’ He remembered staring at all the clean, bright buildings. No graffiti, no gangs. ‘My friends’ parents liked
living in the city because they were close to work, restaurants, shops, you know. All the usual reasons. After I left, I’d
always wonder why Crenwood looked so different.’

‘The north side tends to be college-educated, with white-collar jobs and higher house hold income. That means better schools,
more business, more community resources.’ The alderman shook his head sadly. ‘It makes sense, but can you imagine a world
where the
lower
income neighborhoods got more support and better schools?’

Jason smiled. Felt himself liking this guy. ‘That’d be a better world than this one. Because I agree – those are the neighborhoods
where people want to live. I’m not an expert, but as I understand it, that’s why when it became popular to live in the city
again, people chose neighborhoods like Lincoln Park and Old Town. And when they got crowded and prices
went up, folks started to push further out, into Wicker Park and Lakeview and Andersonville. Neighborhoods that were still
rough around the edges, where they could afford a flat or a carriage house, a place to raise their children. Developers came
in, and then retail, and everything got nice and safe. Now the same thing is happening in Bridgeport and Rogers Park.’

‘Gentrification is a thorny issue.’ He sounded bored.

‘But it’s an opportunity, too, right? The trick is being ahead of the game. You need to buy before the neighborhood hits.
If you really want to make money, you do it somewhere other people weren’t even looking.’

‘I suppose.’ Owens glanced at his watch.

‘Mr. Alderman,’ Daryl Thomas nudged his boss. ‘You should probably work the room before people start to leave.’

Cruz looked at Thomas with her eyes narrowed, but Jason didn’t have time to wonder what it meant. ‘Sir, wait –’

‘Sergeant Palmer.’ Owens put a hand on his shoulder. ‘I assure you, this is a problem I’ve put a
lot
of thought into. And I’d love to hear your take on it. But why don’t we talk another time, when we can really roll up our
sleeves?’

‘Because if you don’t listen right now we may not live to see you again.’

Owens paused, stared over the edge of rimless glasses. ‘That’s a little melodramatic, isn’t it?’

‘Ask my brother.’ Jason spoke softly.

The alderman’s smile curdled. ‘Sergeant, I’m sincerely sorry for your loss, but I’m not sure where this is going. Are you
saying your brother was killed because of some sort of real estate scheme?’

‘Yes. And not just him.’ He took a breath, then launched into it. ‘Sir, someone is using every means possible to lower property
values in Crenwood so they can buy it up against its eventual gentrification.’

Owens gave him a long look. His eyes searched Jason’s.

Then he broke into laughter.

‘I’m serious, sir.’

‘So am I.’ Owens chuckled. ‘This is
Crenwood
you’re talking about. Do you know how low property values are already?’

‘I do.’ Cruz spoke firmly. ‘Sir, I’ve worked Crenwood for a dozen years. It was always poor, but it used to be a solid neighborhood
of working families. Now it’s a war zone. And honest people who wouldn’t have dreamed of selling a decade ago are taking fifty
cents on the dollar.’

‘Getting worse is in the nature of things.’ But the alderman stroked at his chin, his eyes narrowed. ‘Who are these alleged
people?’

Jason grimaced. ‘We know some of them, sir, but not all of them. We’ve been over legal documents, real estate contracts, shipping
manifests, documentation of holding companies. There weren’t any personal names, but there was plenty to trace everything
back
to a source. That’s what the men who killed him were looking for.’ He didn’t mention that they didn’t have the evidence anymore.
One step at a time. Get the guy onboard, then he could tell the whole story. ‘And they came after us, too.’

‘What happened?’

‘They ran our car into the river.’ He kept his gaze level.

‘Ran your car –’

‘Into the river. Off the Thirty-fifth Street bridge. That’s how Officer Cruz cut her head.’ He gestured, and she pulled her
bangs aside to show the bruise, still visible under makeup. ‘We can take you there if you’d like, show you where we went over.’

The alderman hesitated. ‘You said these people are using every means to drive prices down. What does that mean?’ Jason felt
a thrill of hope. The alderman had said
these
people, not these
alleged
people.

‘Mr. Alderman, what I’m about to tell you sounds far-fetched,’ Cruz said, her voice soft but steady. ‘Sir, the people behind
this are fostering a gang war in Crenwood. They’re keeping the Gangster Disciples and the Latin Saints at each other’s throats.
Then they’re torching specific properties and laying the blame at the gangs’ feet. And to make sure that the war stays hot,
they’re arming both sides. Last night we watched two of these men sell submachine guns to a group of Latin Saints.’

‘Submachine guns?’ The alderman’s eyes widened. A faint sheen of sweat lit his brow. ‘Who was selling them? Who are you talking
about?’

Cruz hesitated. Jason met her eyes, thinking,
Moment of truth
.

‘One of them was an arms dealer named Anthony DiRisio,’ Cruz said, speaking slowly. ‘And the other was a police sergeant named
Tom Galway.’

The alderman stared at her open-mouthed. The noise of the party continued, but it felt far away. Jason’s fingers tingled,
and spiders climbed his spine. He could see every face in the room. Rich men with sagging bellies, taut-skinned women wearing
jewelry that cost more than he’d made in a year of soldiering, all talking and laughing and making deals in slow motion, a
twisting dance of flesh and intent.

‘This doesn’t make any sense.’ Owens looked back and forth between them.

‘It does if you’re the right kind of person. If you’re rich and want to get richer and don’t care about the people in your
way.’

‘But why Crenwood? With the gangs, the violence, the blight, we’re hardly the next Lincoln Park.’

‘Not the next, no. But Chicago is getting full. People keep moving in from the suburbs, and the hot new area to buy keeps
pushing outward. It’s mostly gone north, but that can’t last forever. Besides, there’s another reason.’ Jason saw someone
move in his peripheral vision, spun in time to see two men embrace, slapping each other on the back. Jumping at shadows. ‘It’s
why I asked where you live.’

Owens squinted at him, his hand stroking his chin. ‘The El.’

‘Exactly. All the places I’ve mentioned, the ones that gentrified, they were on the train lines. Like those friends I used
to visit. Their parents wanted to live in the city, but it’s a pain to drive to work. Traffic is brutal and parking is expensive.
So people want property along the mass transit lines. And once all the neighborhoods on the northbound trains are too expensive
or too far –’

‘The South Side will start to look like prime real estate. And if someone had pushed property values low enough to buy a lot
of land, especially around the trains, they’d make a heap of money.’ The alderman turned to look out the window. The lights
of Navy Pier burned parti-colored, the edges shimmering where they met the water. He folded his hands behind his back and
stood straight, staring into the night.

‘If what you’re saying it true, then a lot of innocent people are being hurt.’ Owens turned back around. ‘And if it’s not,
you’re asking me to commit political suicide. Accuse a CPD sergeant of arming gangbangers? Start digging into real estate
records for the whole ward, hounding investors, maybe even donors?’ He shook his head. ‘I’d be making enemies I couldn’t possibly
take on.’

Jason’s pulse beat his forehead as he watched the alderman make up his mind. And why not? Who were they to him? Nothing but
strangers with wild theories.

‘Sir –’ He opened his mouth, willing the words to come. Not sure what they could possibly be, what could make a difference.
Realizing that if he didn’t say
the right thing, right now, he was going to fail Michael one final time.