Текст книги "Sleep Tight"

Автор книги: Jeff Jacobson

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Текущая страница: 2 (всего у книги 30 страниц)

CHAPTER 3

7:39 PM

December 27

Airport security showed up first, cordoning the area off and hustling the witnesses to a series of rooms for statements. Then the paramedics hauled off the bleeding security guard. Chicago PD wasn’t long after, and soon customs flickered with popping flashbulbs. The FBI was informed, and two sleepy guys in blue suits showed up and looked like they expected somebody to bring them coffee. Another couple of guys in darker suits showed some official-looking credentials to get inside, but would neither confirm nor deny they were from the CIA. The boys from Homeland Security barged in and started barking orders. Nobody paid much attention. Some poor bastard from the FAA rushed around, looking lost and unable to answer any questions.

The word “terrorist” hung in the air like the gunpowder from Ed’s .38.

The bat had disappeared.

Once they’d given their statements to everybody, Ed and Sam sat back and enjoyed the circus. They knew damn well they were in for one hell of an ass-chewing from Commander Mendoza in the morning, but for now, it was fun to just watch the show as the various departments and agencies fought for jurisdiction. Apparently, the man had come from one of the more interesting countries in Eastern Europe, as far as the government was concerned. And no, they would only share information with the local Chicago cops if the situation demanded it, and only if they deemed the public health to be at risk.

But when three astronauts in blue plastic suits with the initials CDC stenciled in no-nonsense letters a foot high on their backs appeared at the top of the escalators, the arguing trickled into silence. The men from the CDC conferred briefly with the FBI agents, then moved on to investigate the body.

A squad of soldiers followed and formed a seven-man perimeter around the body. The rest took posts at various points throughout the room. They wore air filter masks, plastic covers over their fatigues, rubber boots sealed with duct tape, and surgical rubber gloves. Two more carried supplies for the guys in charge.

The FBI agents started moving everyone back. It wasn’t hard. All of the fight had gone out of the various agencies. It was clear that the CDC was now in charge, and nobody was protesting. Nobody wanted to go to war with the CDC.

Germs didn’t fight fair.

Once someone was dead, you could stop worrying. Get him somewhere cold where the medical guys could cut him open and figure out what killed him and you were good to go. But when that particular agency got involved . . . all bets were off. If you could catch some kind of god-awful flesh-rotting disease from a corpse, then nobody wanted to fuck around. Everybody started to look for excuses to get the hell out of there.

One of the FBI agents addressed the crowd. “Need your attention for a quick moment, folks, make sure everybody is up to speed. As of now, the body of the suspect will be handed off to the custody of the CDC.”

The guys from the CDC ignored all this and used long tongs to place the remaining bats in small jars with lids connected to a complicated air filtration machine. One stood back and instructed the others. His voice was inaudible as he leaned over the body. He stepped back and unfolded one of the thickest body bags Sam had ever seen.

“So we’d like to turn the scene over to them,” the FBI agent continued. “If we can have everyone file out in an orderly fashion, we’ll finish up the debriefing and a few other things in no time.”

Ed said out of the side of his mouth, “What ‘other things’?”

“My money’s on some kind of decontamination song and dance.”

They wandered over to the edge of the escalators and saw the CDC guys spraying everything down with foam that expanded over every surface with sea-green bubbles. Behind that was more air-filtration equipment. Buckets to step in. Collapsible rooms to march through.

“Fuck that. I paid sixty bucks for these shoes,” Ed said. “They ain’t hosing ’em down. And Carolina’s flight still hasn’t landed.”

“So much for your flowers.”

They walked away from the escalators. Sam acted like he was retrieving his briefcase, picking up a thin one abandoned in the shooting. He made a show of checking his watch as everyone crowded around the escalators. While he appeared to be merging into an organized line, he joined his partner in the far corner and they slipped through one of the employee-only doors.

CHAPTER 4

7:57 PM

December 27

Tommy Krazinsky kissed his daughter Grace good night, tucked the blanket tighter around her shoulders, and arranged Grace’s stuffed animals so they formed a protective wall around her. He made sure to slip her favorite, some kind of puppy with butterfly wings, under the blanket, so that Grace could cradle it in the crook of her small arm.

“I’d hate to forget Princess . . . who’s this again?”

“Princess Tianna Fuzzycakes, Daddy.” She watched him with a four-year-old’s solemn eyes.

“Of course. She’ll keep you safe, okay?”

Until tonight, Tommy had been able to stay with his daughter until she fell asleep on Sunday nights, but tonight was his first night at his new job. His best guess was that it would take just under an hour to get downtown. He didn’t own a car and would have to rely on Chicago’s rather unreliable public transportation. At least he didn’t have to catch a bus. Tommy could walk to the Red Line and catch an El straight downtown.

He was about to start work for the Department of Streets and Sanitation. Although he would normally start his shift at the division headquarters on the West Side, tonight he’d been summoned downtown.

He kissed Grace’s forehead again. “Sorry, baby. Daddy loves you, little one.” He kissed her forehead once more and stood. Shrugging into his coat, he said, “I’ll see you soon, okay? Don’t worry about anything. Daddy’s gonna fix it. I’ll straighten things out with Mommy. I promise.” He patted her bed and left before his voice cracked.

Mommy was Kimmy. Kimmy was Tommy’s ex-wife. They had been high school sweethearts. Their relationship had gone slowly but steadily south when Kimmy had finally discovered why men were so gosh darn nice to her.

Tommy had loved her before she had blossomed into a knockout: long black hair, the grin and eyes of an angel, and the body of a lustful demon. Her father had been a complete and utter drunken wreck, and she had fallen hard for the only boy who showed her kindness. Throughout high school, Tommy was the only man who had mattered in her life. In her mind, their lives were predestined. The two were going to spend their lives living in Bridgeport, barbecuing on weekends, cheering for the Sox, raising kids, attending St. Mary of Perpetual Help on West Thirty-second Street every Sunday and holiday, and pretty much living within the nexus of the Stevenson and Dan Ryan expressways for the rest of their lives.

That didn’t work out.

But by then, she’d already had Grace, and Tommy was sleeping on the couch. Four years later, she was living with Grace in a three-room flat in Wrigleyville. Her mom, Florence, owned the building, and lived downstairs.

While Tommy was able to spend weekends with Grace, he and Kimmy didn’t talk much if they could help it. Grace wasn’t in school yet, but Tommy could see a whole new set of issues clouding up on the horizon when that happened next year.

He gently closed Grace’s bedroom door. He stood for a moment in the middle of the long hall. The living room and front door in the shotgun apartment were off to the left. Kimmy was in the kitchen off to the right. Tommy knew better. He knew he should turn left and leave quietly.

But his daughter’s fear made him angry. He turned to the right.

“What do you want?” The words hit him before he’d stepped into the kitchen.

Tommy shook his head, held his palms up, like he was surrendering. “I don’t have time to argue. She’s four years old, for Chrissakes. Why in the hell would you tell her there’s goddamn monsters in the closet and under the bed?”

“You don’t have to take care of her five days a week. You don’t know what it’s like. She’s an angel, I’m sure, when she’s with you. She’s not like that here. No. Here, she won’t stay in her goddamn bed. You go be Father of the Year somewhere else. I’m her mom. I’ll take care of it. I’m sorry, but you don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.” She flipped the page of her magazine.

“I shoulda known better than—”

“You’re going to be late. Do you know what that means?”

Tommy nodded, slowly. He couldn’t resist getting the last word in and said, “Shoulda known better,” and left.

Tommy had had an assault charge filed against him last year.

Kimmy had taken Tommy to the mall, forcing him to buy new clothes. She sent him into a store, waiting with Grace in the food court. When Tommy got back, he found Kimmy openly flirting with a group of college dipshits. Grace was a few seats over, sitting next to some stranger, telling him what crayons to use in her coloring book.

Tommy immediately sensed some seriously unpleasant vibes from the guy. Tommy stepped up to the table and told Grace to go sit by her mother. Kimmy turned and finally noticed Grace sitting so close to the guy. She was as surprised as Tommy, but not anywhere near as angry. The college boys eventually figured out that the husband was pissed and faded back into the mall.

“Take Grace home,” Tommy said, never taking his eyes off the guy. “I’ll catch up later.”

The guy decided it was time to go as well and went to lift his food tray. Tommy slammed it back to the table. Sweet and sour chicken and white rice flew up and scattered across the table. Tommy leaned in close. “Do you know my wife? Do you know my daughter? Do you know me?”

“What are you, some kinda nut? Fuck you,” the guy said.

Tommy snatched the tray and jabbed it into the guy’s throat. The guy made a gagging noise and fell backwards. Tommy swung the tray over his head and bashed it into the guy’s face. He was still pounding the man when mall security showed up and tackled him.

The guy decided to push his luck and press charges. When it went to trial, the guy’s lawyer managed to show only the beating from the surveillance video, not how close he had been sitting to Grace, not where his hand may have been.

Tommy was found guilty, and since he had no previous record of any consequence, he had to perform a few hundred hours of community service. But the blot on his record prohibited him from gaining any kind of custody. He only got to see Grace on the weekends and that was only because Kimmy wanted some time to herself.

Sometimes Tommy wondered if he’d ever find anybody else, maybe get married again someday, but he tried not to dwell on it. He knew a part of him would never be able to let go of Kimmy completely. He didn’t like it, but wasn’t going to kid himself. If she ever woke up and realized that he had always been the only one for her, he’d take her back in a heartbeat, no matter what she had said or done.

Still, he didn’t think that was likely. He knew she’d moved on, even if she did still show him affection once in a while. But that affection was probably closer to pity, like the feeling a supermodel might get when she sees a puppy in the rain.

Tommy kicked at the thin layer of slush as he headed for the Addison El stop. At least the snow was keeping most people inside. Tommy hated Wrigleyville. The muscleheads who crowded the sidewalks, the entire frat-house-row feel, the fake lovable losers posturing. And the whole upper-class thing irritated him.

He hurried across the street, dodging cabs and SUVs. It wasn’t much of a storm, but you never knew when a little snow could throw the CTA into chaos. The last thing he needed was to be late.

Tonight especially. Kimmy had arranged the whole thing. When Tommy had finally found out that she was seeing some mover and shaker down at City Hall, the wheels had already been set in motion, and he could either remain quiet like a good little cog or get ground up in the machine, crushed by the merciless juggernaut of Chicago politics.

So, for his daughter, he kept quiet. He was determined to be a good little cog, even if it killed him.

CHAPTER 5

9:04 PM

December 27

Ed and Sam marched through the blowing snow, looking for an unlocked door. If Ed was mad about his shoes, he didn’t say anything. To complain about the weather would go against all code of ethics if you grew up in the Midwest. You joked about the conditions, sure, loved to brag about it, of course, but you never, ever whined about it. The worse the weather got, the more superior you could feel over the punks in New York and the space cadet pussies in L.A.

They finally gave up and started out to the runways to flag down one of the luggage carriers. They flashed their badges. The woman didn’t even take off her ear protection, just jerked her head and the empty line of luggage cars she was towing. Ed and Sam hopped on. Ed’s phone beeped. He checked it and said, “Well, it’s official. This night has gone to shit. Carolina’s flight was cancelled. She won’t be in until tomorrow. Maybe.”

Sam shrugged. “Guess we should head for home. Get a good night’s sleep, be fresh for all the paperwork in the morning.”

They cracked up.

The baggage handlers showed them how to find their way through the winding conveyer belts and out into the terminal. The place was full of bright lights and plenty of law enforcement. Most of the local cops were in charge of keeping the reporters out of the terminal. They slipped under the yellow tape and found their Crown Vic blocked by a dizzying array of police cruisers, somber government sedans, and tech vans.

Sam shook his head. “Moses himself couldn’t part all that shit.”

“We need new wheels, that’s for damn sure.”

They hiked out in the snow again, until they found a young cop standing in front of his cruiser, diverting traffic into the parking garages, where drivers would be forced back onto the O’Hare Expressway, heading back into the city.

“Officer . . .” Sam squinted at the cop’s badge. “Reid? I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news for you. My partner and I have an emergency, and we need this car. Immediately. You will continue your assignment, and you’re doing fine work, by the way, but when you are relieved, you will take our car back to Division One. Eleventh Street, you understand?”

“But . . .” The cop looked like he’d been ordered to suck his thumb in front of all the traffic.

“You questioning orders? Seriously?” Sam glared at Ed. “Can you fucking believe this?” He turned back to the cop, getting uncomfortably close. “You mean to tell me you’re actually going to interfere with superior officers when they are attempting to deal with an honest-to-God homicide emergency?”

“Son,” Ed said patiently, long accustomed to playing the good cop. “Do yourself a favor. Turn your keys over to this man. You do not want to piss him off.”

Officer Reid thought about it for a few more seconds and said, “The keys are in the ignition.” Ed climbed into the driver’s seat while Sam stretched out in the passenger’s. The cop tapped on the driver’s window. Ed hit the button and the window slid down. Officer Reid leaned in, trying to be as intimidating as possible, like he had pulled them over for some traffic violation. “You can’t just take a cruiser whenever you feel like it. I’m calling this in.”

“You better,” Ed said. “You damn well better follow procedure.” He sent the window back up, hit the lights and the siren too just for the hell of it, and sent cars scattering as they tore off down the crowded highway.

“Thought it was long overdue you and I sat down, face to face, without all the goddamn lawyers between us.” Lee leaned back, crossing his alligator-skin dress shoes on the corner of his desk and lacing his fingers behind his head. He had a face chiseled for politics. Strong. Handsome. Reassuring. Tonight he wore his concerned, caring look. “Wanted to make sure you understood how this deal works.”

Tommy knew how the deal worked.

Lee didn’t wait for Tommy. “You grew up here. You know how things happen in this city. You’re either scratching somebody’s back or you’re out on your ass.”

Tommy nodded, let his gaze wander around Lee’s office. Cornelius Shea, “Lee” to friends and enemies alike, was the youngest commissioner of Streets and Sanitation in the history of the city of Chicago. He had enough muscle to snag an office on the second-to-top floor of City Hall. A large photograph of Lee and then Mayor Daley Jr. hung directly behind his desk. More photos of Lee shaking hands with VIPs were hung around the opulent office. Most citizens wouldn’t have gotten this far, and Tommy understood why Lee hadn’t taken down the pictures of himself with former Illinois governors, considering three out of the last four were currently behind bars for corruption. Lee preferred instead to conduct press conferences out in front, with City Hall itself serving as a dramatic backdrop, or give interviews as he walked the streets of one of the quieter neighborhoods, proving he was just a man of the people.

And of course, he had a framed print of goddamned Wrigley Field at night. It figured.

Lee arched one thick black eyebrow. “You hearing me, or is this some kinda big joke to you?”

“I hear you.”

“I sure as hell hope so. You play by my rules, everybody’s happy. You got yourself a cushy job until you retire and get to be a dad to your little girl. Fuck it up, and I promise you you’ll never see her again. Hell, you’ll be lucky you don’t end up in prison. Your job is to keep me happy. That’s all you gotta worry about. And keeping me happy means steering clear of any goddamn nosy social workers, or anybody else that gets curious, especially any cock-sucking reporters.”

He lit a cigarette, blew smoke at the ceiling. He was dressed in a tux, with the bow tie rakishly open and hanging on either side of the unbuttoned collar. He probably thought he looked like James Bond after a casual night gambling in Monaco. There was some heavy-duty charity dinner with all the heavyweights in town at the brand-spanking-new Serenity Hotel, with proceeds supposedly going to help needy children. Maybe get his picture in the Trib’s RedEye.

The boys with the real power, and the true recipients of most of the money, wouldn’t show up in the paper. They wouldn’t get within ten feet of a camera.

Politics in Chicago.

Lee took another drag. Tommy guessed that the city ban on indoor smoking in public buildings didn’t apply to this particular office. “Shit. It’s not a bad deal, when you stop and think about it. Let’s cut through the bullshit. A piece of ass like Kimmy . . . fuck me, you didn’t think she’d stick with you forever, did you? Jesus Christ. I hope not. No friggin’ way. Hell, I can’t believe she stuck with you for this long.”

Tommy had been shocked when a whole army of lawyers accompanied Kimmy to the divorce proceedings. He’d figured they’d sign some papers, agree to share custody of Grace, and it would be all simple and clean. He hadn’t even thought to bring a lawyer.

It hadn’t taken long for Tommy to get a queasy feeling, like he was the only one at a party who didn’t know anybody and all the guests were starting to lick their lips and look at him like he was going to be the main course for dinner. It had been obvious that the lawyers and the judge were all good friends and golfing buddies. There had been no one else in the courtroom, so they hadn’t even tried to pretend.

The judge had awarded Kimmy sole custody of Grace, and hit Tommy with an absurdly high child-support bill. There was no way he could afford to pay, not with his old job. Everybody knew this, and Tommy felt stupid for not figuring out the deal sooner. Not a day later, a job offer had come through, an offer to work for the City of Chicago, as an employee for the Department of Streets and Sanitation. His salary had seemed suspiciously high, until he’d realized that most of his pay would be taken out for child support and various other contributions to the union and the city.

“So.” Lee stubbed out his cigarette. “I’m going to assume we have an understanding.”

“Sure.”

“Then I suggest you get moving. Don’t want to be late clocking in your first night.”

Tommy stood and headed for the door.

“I hope we don’t need to talk ever again.” Lee said. “Fact is, I don’t want to look at you. Makes me a little sick, thinking about you and Kimmy. Tell Ray down at the desk I said you didn’t have to sign out. Let’s keep this meeting off the books.”