The Green Line (10 page)

She watched him savor his martini, enjoying this little reunion. But then he had to go and turn the tables. “What about you?”

“Brown for undergrad, DePaul for law, now working at Simon & Dunn. Not much else to it.”

“I still can’t believe you did it in the first place. I know it’s been a long time, but I would have guessed you’d go to New York or L.A. or something—hit the big city.”

“This is a big city!” Abby smiled with justification.

“Oh, I know.” He continued to press. He wondered aloud about her school choices, her major, why she chose big-firm work, which firms she considered, her practice area. And, of course, he wanted to know about her love life, of which there were only charred remains.

It seemed pathetic to have nothing to share, so she told him stories of David, of their meeting in law school, and of their steamy affair that had begun almost by accident. She had chosen a study group that seemed the most focused, being older students, but it was there that she met David. She had assumed it would be a brief affair, but it ended up lasting for years.

It was fun to talk about him like this. He was the best person she knew. So she gave Nate some of the highlights, like how he was nothing like the other guys in law school. David had been twenty-seven when they were first-year students. He had spent years as a musician—he played the acoustic guitar and saxophone. He had tried to make a living at it, but after five years, two bands, and six waiter jobs, he had succumbed to the “grown-up world,” as he used to joke. He wasn’t sure what to do, but he was smart and had always done well in school. He enjoyed reading and writing and figured that he might actually be able to find an intellectually fulfilling career since he couldn’t seem to make the creative one work out.

Nate was nodding, laughing, and enjoying her tale. Abby could tell from his expression what he was thinking: This guy sounded perfect for little Abby. She needed to set him straight.

“But we broke up a while back and now he’s engaged to someone else. In fact, I have to see him and his bride-to-be at a wedding tomorrow night.”

“Oh God. Abby, I’m so sorry. The way you just spoke of him, I would have thought you’d be next to get married.”

“Yeah, well, timing is everything, and it just didn’t work out.”

That’s what she had been telling herself for months. Of course, she didn’t know what she was talking about, and it seemed like Nate could tell.

When Nate started reminiscing about Denny and “the good ol’ high school days,” Abby knew it was time to call it a night. The snow had started and they walked out to a fresh inch of powder already on the ground. They hugged on the sidewalk, promising to e-mail soon and keep closer contact, and she walked up the street to her place while he waited for the valet to retrieve his car.

Abby drafted deposition questions for the next couple of hours. By about ten o’clock, she needed a break. She looked outside at the tree branches now fully blanketed with snow. Wearing a baseball cap and heavy coat over her sweats, she ran around the corner to the liquor store that sold some snacks and ice cream. It felt pathetic to be making a run for ice cream at this hour, in this weather, and on a Friday night. The streets were alive and everyone seemed to be meeting new people, or hanging with friends, or having dates—acting like twenty-somethings. Most of Abby’s twenties, except when she had been with David, were spent like this. All she could think about right now was getting some ice cream. She settled on Häagen-Dazs—Chunky Monkey, of course. Tomorrow’s dress had an empire waist, so she could handle a little Chunk.

Coming out of the store, she glanced across the street at a police car, briefly wondering if she’d recognize the officer inside—she’d met a lot of policemen lately. The door of Johnny O’Hagan’s flew open and a couple walked out holding hands and stood momentarily under the light before turning away from her and heading south on Clark. They both had blond hair, pulled back. Like matching Barbie dolls.

The wind picked up and she pulled her coat tighter and walked home.

Abby settled on the couch with her ice cream and stared into the lit courtyard, watching the snow fall. She began drowning in a pool of images that kept coming at her—David and his fiancée, Nate and all that he represented, Ali, a dead woman—then, like a flash, she was back in that neighborhood, reliving her own fear, running down the street, bumping into that hooker, heading back to the bar, spotting that blond coming out.

“That guy!” Abby sat up, as if there was someone in the room listening to her. She stood and paced the floor, sorting through the images. She hadn’t told the police. She ran to her purse, grabbed the note with Officer Reilly’s number and called.

He answered after three rings. “Officer Reilly here.”

“Hello. I’m not sure you remember me. It’s Abigail Donovan. We met a week ago?”

“Oh yes, I remember you. How can I help you?”

“I was just sitting here thinking about that night, the night of the murder at Reggie’s, and I just remembered something. I saw a man leaving the bar as I turned up the street to Reggie’s.”

“Really? Did you get a good look at him?”

“Not really. He was about a block away. But I could tell that he was white because I saw light wavy hair.”

“Are you sure it was a man?”

“Yes. He was broad. He walked like a man. I’m sure it was a man. I’m guessing around six feet tall. That’s just a guess. But bigger than a woman, for sure.”

“Okay, well, I’ll update the file with this information. Thanks for calling, Ms. Donovan.”

“Wait. There’s more. I had bumped into a prostitute on the street a few minutes earlier. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before, but she was the same woman I found in the bathroom. I’m sure of it. I remember the skirt and the fishnets. Those red high heels. I had noticed the outfit when we bumped and that’s how I realized she was a prostitute. So, whoever I saw, he had to either have seen what happened to her or been her killer, right?”

“Well, that may be a big leap. But I’ll add this information to the files. I really appreciate you calling this in, Ms. Donovan. We rely on the watchful eye of the community in many cases.”

“Well, I just can’t believe I didn’t remember to tell you before.”

“It’s not surprising. It’s common to remember some details days and weeks after an event. After the shock goes away. Listen, I’m in the middle of something right now, but thanks again. Please call if you can remember anything else.”

She hung up the phone.
“He thinks that’s a big leap?” Abby wondered aloud. “That guy came out and a few minutes later I found a dead body. There was no one else there. That’s not a big leap!” Her stomach turned. She didn’t know if it was from the pint of ice cream, now in her belly, or the idea that she had been so close to a murderer.

TEN

TRIP
paid his bar tab, finished off his martini, and checked his watch. It was time. Tonight he’d hit Englewood where there was always a good supply of kids on street corners. He took Halsted south a few miles from downtown to Sixty-Third Street, took a right, and slowed down. His windshield wipers were on low, just enough to clear the giant snowflakes that were quickly building up around him. The flakes on the ground reflected the street lamps creating an aura of light. He watched the street activity. The soft glow and blanket of snow failed to create any serenity on the streets. It was eleven o’clock and the punks were out in full force. Perfect timing.

He pulled over to the curb near a group at the corner, hit the button for the passenger-side window to come down, and waited. He knew the signals. So did they. He watched as the boys looked at his car, at the tinted windows. This kind of car always meant one of two things: a visit from a boss or a good customer. Within a moment, the obvious young leader approached the window and leaned in. He couldn’t have been more than fifteen, but the strut went a long way.

The boy bent down to look in the window. “Sweet ride.”

Trip smiled. Everyone loved a Mercedes. “Thanks.”

“Can I help you with something, mister?”

“I’m sure you can,” Trip responded.

“What’s your pleasure?”

“Coke. How much you got?”

“How much you need?”

“A lot more than you’re carrying right now.”

“Well, how ’bout I sell you a taste and if you’re happy with my product, we can go from there?”

“You’re a good business man. I like that.” Trip cleared a jacket from off the passenger seat. “Hop in.”

The boy looked around, unsure what to do.

Trip continued. “This street’s too busy. Let’s not make a deal right here. I’ll drive around the corner and buy a sample.”

That was enough for the boy. He got in and pulled his black hood back off his head revealing the tattoo on the side of his neck—the letters
B
and
D
and a six-point star. Black Disciples. Trip smirked at the boy’s subtle message.

As they pulled away, Trip watched as the boy’s friends tried fruitlessly to see into the car. He drove a few blocks further, turned right onto a side street, and pulled over. They were surrounded by run-down two-flats.

The boy pulled out a sandwich-sized baggy with several little baggies inside of it.

“That’s it?” Trip had to laugh.

“It’s been a busy day, what can I say?”

“How much?”

“Fifty bucks.”

“Let me try first.” Trip stuck his pinky finger in the bag, scooped a tiny amount into his nail, and snorted.

“Good stuff, right?”

“Yeah, that’ll do. Now, here’s a hundred dollars. Where’d you get this?”

The boy stammered.

“I need a lot. I told you that.” He flashed a stack of hundred-dollar bills at the kid. It looked like thousands. “Now, you bring me to your supplier, and I give you another hundred. And he probably gives you a promotion for bringing in the business.” They both smiled.

The boy instructed Trip to continue north to Sixtieth Street, take a left, and pull over in front of an apartment building. Trip then followed him up the stairs to the second floor and down the beaten-up hallway.

The boy knocked on door number 212 and yelled out, “It’s Billy! Come on, let me in!”

The chain unhooked and the door slowly opened.
Wheel of Fortune
was on in the background.

The boy stood between Trip and the man. “Hey bro, I brought you a customer.”

The man, maybe twenty-two, wearing an undershirt and boxers, pulled the boy in by his head. His bare arm revealed his own version of
B
and
D
and the six-point star.

“Get out of the fuckin’ hallway.”

Trip entered without invitation and shut the door behind him.

“What the fuck is this?” The man gestured to Trip but focused on Billy.

Trip began scanning the room. It was typical of the neighborhood—in need of paint, repairs, air freshener.

“If I may? Your young worker here sold me a bit of cocaine and as I explained, I need a lot more. Apparently, you’re the man who can handle my needs.” Trip reached for his inside coat pocket, but the man grabbed his arm before he could and twisted it up behind his back. Trip winced. It would snap if pushed any farther.

The man’s face was inches from Trip’s. “Who the fuck are you? I don’t know you. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Billy started in to foster the deal. “It’s cool, Jake. He’s not a cop or anything. I saw his car—jacked-up Mercedes. He’s got a lot of cash. Show him.” The man held Trip’s arm tightly. Billy waited for Trip to help create the trust.

Trip stood perfectly still and remained calm. “Billy’s right.” He offered his available hand to the man. “I’m Trip, by the way.”

The man looked at him and ignored the hand. Trip just smiled and continued. He knew how to turn this around. “Listen, I work the North Shore. Lots of rich high school kids. Big market. My old source has dried up and I saw your boy here and thought he could bring me to a decision-maker. Someone I might be able to work with.”

The man didn’t budge. “I don’t know what the fuck you talkin’ ’bout.”

Trip continued. “I have cash. On me. Now, you could just rob me and throw me out of here, or we could actually do some repeat business.”

The man released him. “How much?”

Trip slowly reached into his pocket again and pulled out a stack of hundreds and handed them to the man.

The man leafed through the stack to confirm.

Trip was making progress. “I need a few pounds to start. Can you handle it?”

“Well, well, well!” The man’s tone had turned. “Let’s just hold on a second.” He turned Trip back toward the front door and pushed his hands against the wall. “Let’s just be sure here.” He patted around Trip’s chest, his pants, his crotch.

Trip squirmed slightly and offered a small giggle like he was being tickled. “Hey now, let’s keep this professional.”

The man stopped and pushed Trip toward the couch. “Have a seat.” He tossed the roll of bills onto the table and hit the mute button on the remote control. “Let’s see what we can do here.”