Violence (40 page)

“Oh, they checked-in a couple of hours ago.” The clerk answered.

“Tonight?” Crotty asked.

“Yeah, tonight.” The clerk replied.

“Gene, you there?” Crotty’s walkie-talkie crackled with a call from Max.

“I’m here, go ahead.” Crotty answered as he left the office and stood out of the rain under the shelter of the interior driveway eave with Peterson.

“I talked to the delivery kid…” Max reported. “…he didn’t take the order. He doesn’t know how it came in, whether it was over the phone or a walk-in. He said he thinks it was a hamburger and fries but he never looked in the bag. You want me to head over there and talk to whoever did take the order?”

“Hold off on that. Thanks.” Crotty clicked off, shaking his head, flicking a look at Anderson’s room.

Peterson just stared at him.

“I got a bad feeling.” Crotty muttered as he started heading across the lot with a steadily increasing pace, Peterson falling right in behind him.

Crotty led the way to the top of the staircase to Anderson’s room where Peterson took up a flanking position aside the door as Crotty stood in front of it and banged hard on the door with his fist. Crotty would have liked to kick the door in but he had to employ the “knock and talk” investigation technique because they didn’t have probable cause or a specific search warrant for Anderson’s premises. Police can come on to private property in a criminal inquiry and as long as they restrict their movements to areas that visitors would normally be expected to go, such as driveways or front stoops, any observations made from these points are not protected by the 4th Amendment’s “reasonable expectation of privacy.” It was Derek they had to be after right now (acting as a fugitive apprehension unit), with Anderson technically being treated as simply their link to him. Crotty sure didn’t want to screw up at this stage of the game and be tainted by the “fruit of the poisonous tree” which could lead to the suppression of “all evidence” collected from an investigation if it was found they performed an unconstitutional search.

“Noel Anderson!” Crotty shouted. “This is the police! We’d like to have a word with you if we may!”

Nothing.

“Mr. Anderson?” Crotty called again.

Still nothing. Then the door opened slowly, a crack at first.

Crotty and Peterson drew their guns out protectively.

The man inside the room cowered back from the door as he let it swing open fully. He stood there frightened in his Peruvian soccer t-shirt.

“Don’t shoot!” The man pleaded in a thick Spanish accent. It was Victor Sanchez, the ex-employee of Anderson’s who Anderson hired Ward to help with an immigration problem which Sanchez had several years ago.

Crotty and Peterson peered into the room past Victor where they saw the connecting door to the adjoining unit was sitting wide open.

CHAPTER 41

         A
nderson was there an hour and a half early outside of Wrigley Field at the junction of Clark & Addison Streets. He drove around the area searching everywhere for a sign of Derek or Jeannie.

Anderson hated having to leave his cell phone with Victor in case Jeannie escaped from Derek and needed to call him, but he left word with Victor that if that happened, he and Roman should help her with anything she needed. Anderson knew it would be a problem anyway having his own phone with him because if the authorities really want to know where someone is located, they can pinpoint just about anyone’s location within a few feet using the GPS information transmitted by their cell phone.

Anderson still had another cell phone on him although he turned it off and left it in the car per Derek’s instructions when he finally stood out on the corner to wait for Derek to contact him. Anderson always carried an extra pre-paid phone just in case Jeannie ever lost or misplaced the one he gave her. That was the phone he used to call Victor from the privacy of a service station washroom right after Ward gave him the lowdown at the auto pound on what to expect regarding Derek. Anderson didn’t want Crotty or Peterson to see him making a call and get suspicious when that call didn’t show up on his phone records. He figured the police would at least monitor his primary cell phone and pull the numbers of anyone he dialed.

Luckily, Victor was home when Anderson called and was happy to help. Anderson asked Victor how close he was to one of those party supply & costume warehouse places and that was where Victor was able to grab the wig and moustache on his way over to the Heart O’Mine. Anderson just had to stall driving over to the motel to give Victor and his family time to check-in before he, Anderson, arrived back there with Crotty and Peterson in tow. Anderson accomplished that by driving to Jeannie’s apartment yet again, checking it and waiting there for an hour or so. Anderson already knew the adjoining motel room next to his at the Heart O’Mine was vacant for Victor’s family to occupy because it was usually empty, and it wasn’t the weekend anymore, and johns and drug addicts don’t like to climb stairs.

Crotty and Peterson found out soon enough that Victor Sanchez didn’t know anything about Anderson’s whereabouts. Victor willingly went “downtown” for more questioning after Anderson was able to give them all the slip. Crotty hoped the menacing environment of the stationhouse might loosen Victor’s tongue but all Victor knew was that Anderson was going to drop his wife and child off somewhere and give them cab fare to get home and he, Victor, was just watching Anderson’s room.

Max and Doyle also went and talked to the help at Taste-T Burger who confirmed that a guy (who resembled the mug shot of Derek) bought a couple of burgers and orders of fries and asked them to deliver the second “cheeseburger deluxe order” to the Heart O’Mine, and “yeah, he could have stuffed a note in the bag” but they “never saw it.”

So Anderson was on his own now. He wanted it that way but he felt vulnerable standing alone on the corner in front of the darkened stadium. Derek was smart about picking this spot for him to wait. It was a wide-open, exposed, unprotected space where you couldn’t even park or idle in your car for a few minutes without getting towed or eventually having a cop car roll by to move you along. The closest parking was several hundred yards away and that’s where he had to temporarily stow Roman’s Ford Expedition after he had Roman meet him to switch cars in case Crotty put Victor’s Chevy Cobalt on a watch list.

The Chicago Cubs baseball team was out of town on an early season road trip but the neighborhood haunts were still hopping on the streets that extended away from the ballpark. Anderson got to his position about ten minutes ahead of time leaving no chance he would miss Derek. It had stopped raining. He watched the ex-suburbanite just-out-of-college kids stumble drunk from bars on their way back to their first apartments, easy targets for the stick-up artists who periodically made forays from the not-so-nice areas of the city. He thought about how these “children” had no idea how dangerous the world could be.

Anderson also briefly reflected on how Tristan right now would only be five years and a couple of commencements from this scene and how she would have begged him to save the “safety speech” when she moved into her first flat with some other girls. Karen would have told him to give her “the speech” anyway.

But these were the things he had to sift from his senses.

He had to maintain complete focus.

It was now nearly midnight. Where was Derek?

Anderson looked everywhere.

In every direction.

Where would he come from?

Did Derek just want to shoot him? Maybe. Unlikely, if he could get money.

Would Derek want to take him to an ATM? But that would only net Derek $300 dollars, the limit of what can be withdrawn per day from an automated teller. Again, unlikely.

Anderson had three thousand dollars on him. Would that placate Derek? Buy him off? Probably not.

Anderson looked at his watch. Midnight. Where the hell is he!!!

Anderson could barely breathe now. He threw glances all over. He tossed a look over his shoulder, past the neon-lit Wrigley Field main entrance marquee, into the darkened confines of the stadium. Could Derek have gained entry there?

Blaring car horns made Anderson snap his gaze back directly in front of him to the intersection where motorists cursed one another after cutting each other off. Their “fuck you(s)” and motherfucker(s)” were flint for fiery road rage but thankfully fell like idle boasts as they went their separate ways.

A bicyclist came out of nowhere and streaked by in front of him.

An “Out Of Service” municipal bus churned exhaust as it rumbled round the corner past him.

The bustle of barreling traffic from every which way stirred up mist from the dampened pavement.

There were screams across the street from inebriated coeds startled by a hiding male friend.

It was a few minutes after midnight when a towel wrapped with duct tape was heaved out of a passing car window and landed at Anderson’s feet. It happened so fast, Anderson didn’t have time to think whether it was a bomb, a prank or what it was because it was
humming with a ringtone
within seconds.

Anderson went down on a knee and extracted the ringing cell phone from inside the bundle. He had to locate the accept button on the handset of the cheap $10 pre-paid phone but quickly found it and answered fast.

“Yeah?!!” Anderson yelled into the mouthpiece as he peered at the receding tail lights of the vehicle from which the package must have been thrown. Was it Derek driving? Had to be. Could it be Jeannie’s Impala? Probably. Looked like it. It was a few seconds before Derek spoke.

“Hey, buddy! How’s it hangin’?” Derek’s slithery voice finally oozed over the clear connection. “Did you follow my instructions?”

“There’s no cops!” Anderson urgently replied into the phone. “Let me talk to her!”

“You didn’t bring any fuckin’ phones, didya? I know cops can follow that shit if they want to.” Derek snarled suspiciously.

“There’s no cops and no phones! Now let me talk to her!” Anderson erupted.

“Who?” Derek asked calmly, pausing briefly for effect, before adding, “Oh, you mean Jeannie?”

Anderson could barely control his rage at hearing Jeannie’s name being spoken with smarmy intimacy by Derek. Anderson stood up and continued to stare in the direction the car possibly containing Derek (and Jeannie) went but the lights now seemed to mix with other vehicles in the distance.

Derek pulled the Impala slowly around a far corner and parked, peering back towards the intersection where Anderson stood at Clark and Addison. He was glad Anderson hadn’t confided or decided to work in partnership with the cops. He didn’t think Anderson would include the police but, just in case, Derek had his Browning pistol ready on the car seat and was prepared to jump in the back seat if the cops had stormed the car whereupon he would have yanked down the backrest cushion and carried out a quick murder-suicide by popping a couple rounds in Jeannie before turning the gun on himself or at the very least kill Jeannie before he then engaged in a shootout with police that resulted in a “suicide by cop” ending to his own life.

Yes, Jeannie was tied-up in the trunk of the Impala right now: blindfolded, bound and gagged. She was safe for now though very uncomfortable and frightened. Hyperventilating didn’t help her situation but she had ample air, as the average trunk holds 12 hours of oxygen if kept out of the sun. That was how Derek was able to wait for her in the parking lot behind Rave where the surrounding buildings blocked out most of the sunlight. Derek had learned all about rear seat assemblies and how to access the interior of a car via the trunk from time spent working in a body shop along with previous prison vocational studies. The Impala and Jeannie were easy takedowns.

However, like Anderson, Derek worried now about license plate recognition and had already gone out to the local harness horseracing track and swapped plates with a similar Impala in the parking lot. It didn’t take long to find one and he would chance it the owner wouldn’t discover the switch or be spotted by a patrol car that was actually equipped with the cameras and software to scan plates. (Crotty had found Jeannie’s registration and put her car on a “hot list” as he did with Victor’s Chevy Cobalt after Anderson’s getaway. So it was prudent for Anderson to have switched cars with Roman. Actually, Crotty had run all the plates of the vehicles parked in the Heart O’Mine lot even before Anderson pulled the switch on him, but there was nothing in any of that information that would have helped Crotty make the connection between Victor and Anderson.)

Still, Derek was erring on the side of caution switching plates and knew he needn’t worry because, while there are upwards of 20,000 integrated surveillance cameras in and about Chicago, very few “eyes in the sky” provide instant matches that result in immediate arrests, and as far as being spotted by a patrol car, which was unlikely, he didn’t plan on being on the streets much after this meeting with Anderson.

Anderson just wished now he had put one of those GPS real-time trackers in Jeannie’s Impala, like Ward had mentioned to him regarding the possibility of planting such a device in Ruben and Gabriel’s cars: the same devices people now put in their children’s backpacks, or Alzheimer’s patients or dementia-sufferers wear in their shoes. He didn’t want to appear crazy and Jeannie might have thought he was too controlling. He should have done it without asking her. Anderson hated “what ifs.” Thoughts of regret were a luxury he couldn’t afford.

“She’s tied up right now.” Derek gloated.

“Is she alive?!!!” Anderson howled, his voice shaded with real desperation.

Derek smiled at this. He loved being in control, it was like no other feeling in the world.

“How could we do business if she wasn’t?” Derek answered evenly.

“What do you want?” Anderson shot back.

“It’s a simple request.” Derek answered again as if he was in no hurry. “I just want fifty thousand dollars.”

“Fine, you got it.” Anderson quickly agreed.

“That was fast.” Derek responded, surprised by the speed of Anderson’s reply. “Maybe I should ask for a hundred.”