We All Fall Down (17 page)

CHAPTER 45

I sat in a booth at the back of Fat Willy’s, sipped at some coffee, and watched my conscience chase my past around the room.

“You look like you just lost your best friend.” Rita Alvarez dumped her briefcase onto the opposite seat and slid in beside it.

“Hey, Rita.”

“Hey.”

The place was empty. A waitress hovered nearby with a menu. Rita ordered a pulled pork sandwich and waited until we were alone again.

“So, what’s the matter with you?”

“Nothing.”

“Looks like something.”

“Some days life sucks.”

“You think?” She pulled a bottle of water from her briefcase, uncapped it, and took a sip.

“I didn’t ask you here to listen to my problems, Rita.”

“I didn’t figure that.”

“You been working the West Side?”

“Feds got the whole place shut down. Reporters tripping over each other.”

“Camp Chicago, right?”

“That’s what they call it.”

“What do you know about what’s going on inside?”

“We know what they tell us.”

“Which is what?”

“There’s been some sort of biorelease. Not sure if it’s an attack or an accident. Got some sick people, maybe fifty dead. They’re hoping the thing’s contained.”

“What did you think of the mayor?”

“On TV?”

I nodded.

“Asshole.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” I said.

Rita’s sandwich came. She took a bite and wiped her mouth with a napkin. “Heaven.” The reporter took another sip of water. “Got a lot of stuff going on today, Michael.”

“This is worth your time.”

“I’m listening.”

“Off the record?”

I expected her to fight me tooth and nail, but Rita just nodded and chewed.

“I just came out of a quarantine zone on the West Side.”

She put down her sandwich. “Jesus.”

“I’m not infected.”

”I wasn’t worried about that.”

“You should be. They’re loading dead bodies onto L trains and shipping them out so they can be cremated.”

“You saw this?”

“I took a ride on one of the trains this morning. They’re also worried the thing might have caught a plane out of O’Hare.”

“How did you get out?”

“Rachel.”

Rita’s eyes flicked to the street. “Where is she?”

“She’s not part of this.”

I could see the reporter adding up bylines and headlines in her head.

“You can’t report any of it, Rita.”

“Let me explain why that’s not a good idea. In the long run—”

“I’m not finished. You know Matt Danielson?”

“The guy from Homeland?”

“Yesterday, he blew his brains out in my apartment. Left me with this.” I pulled out the address to the Korean’s grocery store and watched the reporter blanch. “It’s the same address you gave me on your hospital supply story.”

“I know what it is.”

The waitress came by to check on us. We waited until she left.

“I tried to call Rodriguez,” I said, “but couldn’t get him.”

“He’s down on the West Side. Working the perimeter, like the rest of the Chicago PD.” Rita pushed her plate away and leaned her forearms on the table. “All right, Michael, you got me. What does my dead Korean have to do with Homeland Security?”

“Vince and I found ten thousand body bags in Lee’s cellar.”

Rita tilted her head. “Why didn’t I hear about the bags earlier?”

“Because I didn’t know what it meant. You had a legman for the Outfit trailing you around town, and I don’t want to owe Rodriguez a girlfriend.”

“Fine, fine.” Like any good reporter, she knew better than to hold a grudge. Especially when there was nothing to be gained. “So, what does it mean?”

“Danielson thought the body bags were ordered by someone who knew about the release. Someone looking to make a quick buck. That’s why he gave me the address.”

Rita had her briefcase up on the table and two files open. “Nothing like that ever came through any of the county paperwork I’ve seen. Here, take a look.”

I shook my head. “I believe you. No one’s gonna buy ten thousand body bags and run it through a county contract. This was a side deal for Lee. Black market. Still, whoever ordered the bags must have known about the release.”

“Probably, but not necessarily.”

I took a sip of my coffee. “How do you feel about squeezing Rissman?”

Rita shook her head. “I told you. Rissman’s a small-time guy.”

“We know he’s dirty.”

“Dirty, yes. But there’s no way he’s hooked up in anything like this.”

“You sure?”

“I can’t see it. And if he is, what makes you think he’d roll over? Not based on what you’ve told me.”

The reporter was right. “We’re gonna need to dig a little, Rita.”

“Where?”

“You said Lee spread the hospital supply work out among a few small companies, but you couldn’t find the money behind it?”

“That’s right.”

“Push a little harder. Creditors, lenders. Mention your investigation. If you have to, tell them there might be a connection to the pathogen release. See if anyone gets nervous.”

“That’s a pretty hard push.”

“You want the story or not?”

“Of course I want the story. I just don’t think any of this is connected  … ”

“Don’t think. Just follow the information. First thing we learn in PI school.”

“You can really be a jerk sometimes.”

“Will you do it?”

“I’ll make some calls.”

“When?”

“I’ve got a story to file today. I’ll hit it tomorrow morning.”

“Good.”

“If it does turn out to be anything  … ”

“The story’s yours.”

“Including the drugs.”

“You’re gonna have to talk to Vince about that.”

Rita stood up. “I’ll call you.”

I touched the back of her hand. “There’s one more thing we need to consider.”

“What’s that?”

“I like to think of it as a shortcut.”

Rita sighed and sat back down.

CHAPTER 46

The girl in the yellow dress smiled at me from under her umbrella. I smiled back. Beside her, blue letters stretched across the sloped pitch of a white roof:

MORTON SALT

WHEN IT RAINS IT POURS

Morton’s processing shed took up a good chunk of the thirteen hundred block of North Elston Avenue. Tracks ran out on either side, and silver railcars stood on sidings, their hoppers filled with salt. I put the girl with the umbrella in my rearview mirror and turned off Elston onto Blackhawk Street. Rita Alvarez hadn’t said a word on the ride over.

“You okay?”

“No.”

“What’s the problem?”

“Tell me how this works again.”

“The way I see it?”

She glanced over. “Is there any other?”

“The Korean needed muscle. No way he runs all that dope in and out of the West Side without it.”

“That’s how he kept the Fours in line?”

“For a while, yeah, that’s what I’m guessing.”

“Guessing?”

“We’ll know soon enough.”

I pulled Rita’s car into a long, narrow lot. It ran north along the Chicago River, shielded from traffic by the hulking Morton Salt plant. There were a couple of truck rigs parked there, a long metal shed, and, in the exact middle of the lot, a black Cadillac. The vehicle’s windows were tinted, its engine running.

Chili Davis was the first to exit. The little man had a large shiner and a chip the size of Napoleon on his shoulder. Chili wanted to even the score by putting a bullet in me. Or maybe three.

The next guy who got out wasn’t so complex. Or small. His name was Johnny Apple. Johnny killed people using a gun, his bare hands, and the occasional Hefty bag. Vinny DeLuca liked to save Johnny for intimate jobs. When only the best would do.

Himself came last. The only remaining link to Alphonse Capone was folded up in a black coat and flat cap. In the small space between the two, a thick round cigar chugged a steady stream of white smoke.

Johnny and Chili stopped about ten feet from us and flared to either side. DeLuca dropped the cigar to the ground and stepped on it with the toe of his shoe.

“Hate those things.” He looked out at Rita from under the brim of his cap and stretched a smile across his face. “Vincent DeLuca.”

I felt Rita’s skin crawl right off her bones and run down Blackhawk. But the reporter hung tough and offered her hand.

“Rita Alvarez.”

DeLuca pressed lips the color of slate to the back of Rita’s hand. “Kelly says we have something to talk about. For me, it’s a chance to meet my favorite reporter in the city. The best, right, Chili?”

Chili Davis was keeping the burn on me, his finger on the trigger of the .40-cal he had in his pocket.

“He doesn’t say much.” DeLuca laughed and looked at Johnny Apple, who laughed. “You and Chili, Kelly. What are we going to do?”

“I told you. It wasn’t anything personal.”

DeLuca nodded and gestured. Chili came forward, and the old man tucked an arm in his. “I explained this to Chili. Now it’s over.”

Chili extended a hand. I didn’t believe any of it but shook anyway. DeLuca seemed happy. “Good. Now we can talk.”

“It’s about a Korean named Jae Lee,” I said.

Black eyes flattened to blacker slits in the afternoon gray.

“He was peddling dope on the West Side,” I said. “I’m thinking you were acting as his muscle. Maybe running the whole operation through him.”

A gust of wind rumbled across the lot. Johnny Apple’s voice rumbled with it. “What makes you think that?”

“Lee never could have held down that territory without someone like the Outfit as backup. When Rita started sniffing around the Korean, you got worried she was on to your operation. Why else put a tail on her?”

Johnny looked at Rita. Rita looked at me. DeLuca stared at the crushed remains of the cigar at his feet.

“What do you want?” Apple said.

“The Korean’s dead. But I think you know that. The last shipment of drugs he was supposed to take is also gone. I’m thinking you know that as well.”

“Who killed the Korean?” Apple said.

“You mean who took your dope? I don’t know the answer to that.”

“We’re ignoring Ms. Alvarez.” It was DeLuca, checking back into the conversation with a smile meant to lubricate.

“Rita’s not doing a story on your drug operation,” I said. “At least she wasn’t as of this morning.”

“She was talking to Lee,” Apple said.

“The Korean was running a side business.”

I glanced over at Rita, who stepped up.

“Mr. Lee was acting as a middleman,” she said. “He would get no-bid contracts for medical supplies through a contact in City Hall and funnel them to a number of small companies. Lee delivered the supplies through his own trucking company and took a cut on both ends.”

“And why do we care about this?” Apple said.

I ignored Johnny this time and waited on his boss.

“We care,” DeLuca said, “because there is something larger at play. Something that Mr. Kelly believes is more important than anything we’ve discussed so far. Something we need to know about.”

Vinny DeLuca was old but hadn’t lost a step. Which was a good thing to know.

“We have information,” I said, “that ties the Korean and his trucking company into what’s going on over on the West Side.”

Johnny Apple’s hand went under his coat, and he looked up in the sky, as if choppers were about to descend on all of us. DeLuca put a light touch on his bodyguard’s arm.

“Chili, go take a walk.” DeLuca spoke without looking behind him. Chili turned and walked back to the car. “Go ahead, Mr. Kelly.”

I told him about Danielson. About the note with Lee’s address on it, and Silver Line Trucking. I left out the mayor. DeLuca waited.

“I was in the Korean’s cellar,” I said, “before the fences went up. Found a few thousand body bags inside.” I nodded toward Rita. “If there’s a connection to the pathogen release, Rita’s gonna run the story.”

“And, in the process, implicate us as working with some sort of terrorists?” DeLuca raised an eyebrow.

I could feel Johnny move again, drifting a little wider, getting some shooting room, no doubt.

“Perhaps not directly  … ”

“But it would be inevitable,” DeLuca said.

“Unless she took steps to keep you out of it, probably.”

Now we had gotten to it. The old man seemed almost relieved. “What’s your proposition, Kelly?”

“You tell us what you know about the Korean. We keep the drug angle, and your involvement, out of this entire thing.”

“What makes you think I know anything about Mr. Lee? And especially his side business?”

“Because you know everything about everyone you do business with. And you wouldn’t be here if you didn’t have some information.”

DeLuca seemed to ponder that, until a second thought struck him.

“How about this? We shoot you both. Could have you at the bottom of the river within the hour and be home for a nice bowl of minestrone.”

I waved my hand once over my head. A car horn beeped from the salt yards behind me.

“Rodriguez?” DeLuca said.

I nodded.

“Tell him to come in. It’s getting cold out here.” The old man bundled his coat close around him, walked back to his car, and climbed inside. The Cadillac pulled away, toward the corrugated shed at the very back of the lot.

CHAPTER 47

We reconvened just inside the front door. Chili hit a switch, and a single fixture dropped a blue bowl of light onto a table with five chairs.

“Sit down,” DeLuca said.

I took a seat beside Rita. Rodriguez sat across from us.

“This is where we keep excess merchandise from our various business interests.” DeLuca gestured to the stacks of crates and boxes piled up in the shadows. “All completely legit, Detective.”

Rodriguez didn’t respond. A heavy rifle with a scope was resting on the table between his arms. I could hear movement around us. Chili ducked back in with an espresso in a brown cup and saucer. DeLuca took a sip and rubbed his lips together.

“Our arrangement with the Korean,” the old man said.

“What about it?” I said.

“We need to be made whole.”

“I didn’t take your dope, Vinny.”

He held up a hand, as if to quiet a petulant child. “I was talking to the detective.”

“What is it you think I can do?” Rodriguez said.

“You provided the Korean with his product in the first place. It’s simply a matter of replacing what was lost.”

I watched a small vein pulse in Rodriguez’s temple and felt Rita’s cold heartbeat in the seat next to me.

“How long have you known?” the detective said.

DeLuca picked up his coffee cup, thought better of it, and put the cup down with a quiet clink. “Three months, give or take. We knew the Korean was burned but figured it might take a while to play out.”

“And meanwhile there was still business to be done,” I said.

“Always business to be done. Now, are you ready to hear my proposal?”

“I don’t care about your drug business, Vinny. And I don’t think Detective Rodriguez has any interest in replacing your lost product.”

DeLuca held out his hand. “Let me see your address.”

I pushed it across the table. DeLuca rubbed it flat.

“We had two men watching the Korean’s store that day. They went inside just before you got there, Kelly. Lee was dead. As you know, the dope was already gone. My men saw the body bags. Left them where they were and took off.” DeLuca pushed the address back toward my side of the table. “Now, we want to do our part.”

“And what would your part be?”

“You think I like these raghead cocksuckers attacking this city?” A sip of espresso. “I don’t.”

“You sound like our mayor.”

“Maybe I am.” DeLuca liked that and took another sip.

“If you want to help, get me a lead on who Lee was selling the bags to,” I said.

“Not that easy.”

“What do you want?”

The old man rubbed one ancient hand over the other. “Let’s make it clean between us. You help me. I give you a picture of the man you’re looking for.”

I sat up. “A picture?”

DeLuca nodded.

“What’s it gonna cost?” Rodriguez said.

“Another shipment out of the police lockup. Johnny will tell you how much. Delivered into the quarantine zone. We can’t get in there until fuck knows when. And no one has any product.”

“Business goes on,” I said.

“Addicts gotta have their fix.” DeLuca tapped Rodriguez on the forearm. “You get the product. Deliver it to the West Side. And  … ” DeLuca held up a misshapen digit. “Give us a one-year grace period to sell in K Town. No more undercover stings. No more busts.”

“Can’t do it,” Rodriguez said.

“Sure you can, Detective. First of all, we’re only gonna sell to niggers and addicts, two groups of people your bosses wish were fucking dead anyway. Second, you’ve been looking the other way across half the city as it is. Like I said, no schoolkids, no rich suburban fucks getting their blow off the corner. None of that shit. Just feeding dope into the sewer.”

“How do we know your information is any good?” I said.

“You don’t like what we have, we don’t do business together.” DeLuca drained his cup and stretched. “I’m gonna go outside and take a walk. You call your bosses. Let me know if I can help make Kelly here a hero.”

Footsteps followed him back into the darkness. A door opened somewhere, a rectangle of light flashing for a moment, and then we were alone. Rodriguez swore softly under his breath.

“Can’t do this, Kelly.”

“How many dead so far on the West Side, Vince?”

“They haven’t given us a number.”

“I was down at Cook County Hospital. They got ’em stacked up in the hallways. Bringing in refrigerated vans to store all the bodies until they can burn ’em.”

Rodriguez glanced at his girlfriend, who was smoking a cigarette and staring at the light drifting overhead.

I dug out my cell and slid it across the table. “I’ll take the drugs in.”

“And then we all look the other way for a year?” Rodriguez said.

Rita leaned in. “DeLuca’s right. Gangs have had carte blanche to sell down there forever. So what’s the difference?”

“The difference is I’m a cop, Rita.”

“Your brothers in blue are the ones providing the dope, for Chrissakes.” She stood, her chair scraping violently along the cement floor. “These are lives we’re talking about, Vince. Thousands of people, maybe, piled up dead. And you’re gonna sit by and watch? For what? The honor of the badge? Please. Swallow your pride and help Michael if you can.”

Rita walked off. Rodriguez and I watched her lit cigarette pace back and forth in the darkness.

“You’re a real pain in my ass, Kelly.”

“She’s right and you know it.”

Rodriguez sighed. “Motherfucker.” Then he picked up my cell and dialed.