Closing the Circle (preview)

CLOSING THE CIRCLE Frank Zafiro Jim J. Wilsky

“The wheel is come full circle.”

William Shakespeare, King Lear, Act V, Scene 3

ONE Wendy She’s so beautiful, Wendy thought. The bitch.

Anika chuckled at something Richard said, covering her mouth and shooting him a mischievous look.

I don’t mean that, Wendy realized. She wondered how it was possible to feel so many different ways about one person. She stood behind the kitchen door, her conflicting emotions not really confused as much as each one vying for dominance.

Jealousy.

Admiration.

Joy. The bittersweet loss of what never was and now probably would never be.

Each of these emotions came at her in waves, washing over her as she stood outside the small dining room of the winery. It was late, and all the regular guests and tourists had long since departed, but a single couple still sat at a corner table sharing a bottle of sangiovese.

Wendy wished she were sitting at that table across from Richard Hightower, sharing wine. Wine was something that he loved almost as much as he’d loved his wife, Constanza. After Constanza’s death almost six years ago, it seemed to Wendy that wine then became what 3

Richard loved most in the world. It was as if his grief for his lost wife became his passion for the vineyard. He focused on it to the exclusion of everything else in life.

Including women.

Including Wendy.

Ten years was a long stretch in any job. Wendy had been loyal to Richard and Constanza. Even though rival wineries had tried to hire her away, she’d never even considered it. She believed in La Pradera as much as the Hightower family did. After Constanza died, her loyalty only increased.

She was in love with Richard, of course. Probably had been since that first year. How could she not be? He was handsome, generous, and loving. She never thought to express her secret affections to him while Constanza was alive, knowing he would always be faithful to his wife.

Even after Constanza died, Wendy was reluctant to tell him. She knew how deeply he grieved and although she thought she might be able to bring him some comfort, she didn’t want to risk destroying the close friendship they’d shared for so many years.

So she loved secretly, and she waited. And even now, she still wished she were the one sitting at that table with him, toasting the success of this year’s vintage, making him smile easily again after such a long period of grief.

Wendy looked through the small square window in the kitchen door and wished something else, too. She wanted to be the beautiful blonde woman sitting across from Richard, instead of Wendy -– the plain, diligent employee who was smart with numbers. No, she longed to be Anika -– the mysterious, confident, entrancing woman who seemed to have captured Richard’s heart.

She knew that many women in her position would hate Anika for that. After ten years of loyalty and 4

unrequited love, Wendy watched helplessly as Anika arrived on the scene and Richard fell for her. As much as she tried to at first, Wendy just couldn’t hate her, though.

For one thing, Anika made Richard happy. That was clear. She made him smile genuine smiles again. He had a spark in his eyes, one that Wendy hadn’t seen since Constanza died. That alone kept her from hating Anika.

But it was more than that. She’d been nice to Wendy, treating her like a best friend from the moment they’d met.

She even showed Wendy the beautiful diamond earrings that she’d inherited after her mother and father had been tragically killed in a car wreck less than a year ago.

Maybe that was part of why Anika was so good for Richard. Wendy knew how much he loved Constanza and how much he’d grieved for her, but Anika had been through something similar, even recently. Where Wendy understood Richard’s pain, Anika knew that pain for herself.

Wendy watched Anika through the kitchen door window. She admired how she smiled at Richard in a way that seemed to pour out her whole being through her eyes.

It was no wonder Richard loved her already. Wendy wished she could just be like her.

And maybe she could be. Hadn’t Anika said that she felt like Wendy was the sister she’d never had? Didn’t sisters help each other in that way? Sure, Wendy couldn’t hope to take Richard away from Anika; she wouldn’t want to. But maybe with Anika’s help, she could find her true love, too.

In the dining room, she saw Richard had poured the last of the bottle for Anika. Wendy turned away, smiling, and went to get the happy couple another sangiovese.

5

TWO John Expect the unexpected.

That was the mantra that Lieutenant Colonel Grayson used to preach almost daily, especially during live operations. Be unsurprised, be adaptive, and never surrender. He said those things so many times that at one point, the words had almost lost their meaning. It was just something the commander repeated and harped on. But over time, those tenets became a part of me. I didn’t realize how much so until those hairy moments when the bullets were flying or plans were unraveling.

But those were back in the days when unpleasant surprises could happen almost every day. Before I turned in my uniform. Not like today.

Not anymore.

My phone buzzed at the tee of the fourteenth hole. I glanced down at the screen. HAROLD YEATS, it read.

“You’re up, John,” Tim said. He stood next to Fred and the museum director we were all courting. Fred had just shanked his shot and was pouting about it.

I really hated golf.

“Gotta take this,” I said. “I’ll tee off last.”

6

Tim scowled. Mr. Everything-in-Order didn’t like to mess up the rotation.

I stepped away from the three of them and answered.

“This is John.”

“You finished schmoozing with our guest?” Yeats asked.

“Almost.”

“How’s it going?”

“Fred’s pouting. Tim’s a Nazi.”

“And our friend?”

“Winning.”

“Good. We could use the contract. He’s the director of seven museums. Two of them good-sized.”

“I know. You told me.”

“So I’m telling you again. It’s an important account, if we can land it.”

“Yeah, I know,” I repeated. “That’s why I’m here.”

“For an ex-military guy, you’ve got a serious insubordinate streak.”

“Insubordination is refusing orders. This is more like insolence.”

Yeats laughed. “Well, either way, make sure Fred doesn’t mess up this deal.”

“He’s too competitive.”

“All salesmen are. That’s what makes them good salesmen.”

“Sure,” I agreed. The thing was, I always figured high class insurance companies would have high class salesmen. Fred was an over-competitive crybaby who acted like a used car salesman.

“And when you’re done, come to my office. I’ve got a special assignment for you.”

Before I could ask what, he hung up.

7

“You believe in second chances?” Yeats asked, looking at me from behind his desk.

I shrugged. “Not for child molesters or communists.”

He smiled. “How about for insurance companies?”

“Don’t they fall somewhere in the middle of those two?”

“If you ask most Americans, yes.” Yeats turned up his hands. “But somehow, they all still buy insurance.”

“Even museums.”

“Thank God, even them.” Yeats slid open a desk drawer and removed a cigar. He offered it to me, but I shook my head. Yeats shrugged and snipped off the end.

“An insurance executive who smokes,” I observed.

“That’s got to be…what? Ironic?”

“Something.”

“It’s gotta be against the rules.”

Yeats fired up and puffed the cigar until he had a strong cherry on the end. Then he reached behind him and slid open the window.

“It is against the rules,” he said, smiling around another draw. “But some days, it’s good to be the boss.”

“Okay, then. What’s the second chance, boss?”

He slid open another desk drawer and removed a thick manila folder. Without a word, he pushed it across the desk to me.

I let it sit. “Can you give me the executive summary?”

He smiled knowingly. He was perfectly aware that I’d read that file from cover to cover, more than once. But I wanted to know more than what was in the file. I wanted to know what he was looking for. Usually, all he wanted was that the items get recovered. It didn’t necessarily matter how, or if it cost a little bit of grease to make it happen. In the end, there was a certain intangible value to having a particular painting hanging on the right wall in 8

the right museum. That, and reputation. The knowledge that we not only always pay the claim, but most times we got people’s shit back for them.

“You’re Irish, right?”

“I’m American.”

“Yes, but your family history is Irish?”

I shrugged. My last name is Pearse, which is not as Irish as O’Malley, but it’s pretty mick all the same. However, I couldn’t tell Yeats about my family history because I didn’t know the first thing about it. Growing up in an orphanage does that.

“Sure,” I finally allowed. “I’m Irish. So?” “So,” he said, around another large puff. “If some Irish princess had her jewels stolen, and someone could get them back, what do you suppose the Irish government would pay for that?”

I took a deep breath and let it out. I liked Yeats. He was a decent boss. He told the truth. He paid me fairly. He didn’t ask me uncomfortable questions. But goddamn if he didn’t take his sweet time getting to his point.

“The Irish don’t have royalty,” I said. “And I suppose whoever wants the jewels would pay what they’re worth.

Why don’t you tell me what’s going on?”

Yeats leaned back in his chair. “Golf makes you cranky.”

I shrugged again. He might be right on that count.

“Here’s the deal,” he said. “About fifteen years ago, a museum in Philadelphia sold the display rights to a set of royal Hungarian jewels to a sister museum in Chicago. But once the courier landed in Chicago, he got picked off on his way to the museum.”

“Professionals?”

“Of the local variety, yes. They made off with the necklace and the earrings. The cops in Chicago figured out 9

who the stick up guys were and started roping them in.

They recovered the necklace and rolled one of the crew into informing on the other two. But they never found the earrings.”

“So we paid off on the earrings.”

“Of course.”

“How much?”

“A little less than three hundred thousand.”

I raised my eyebrows. That was a painful payout today, but fifteen years ago, it must have been a pretty big hit for a mid-sized insurance company to take.

Yeats nodded. “Yeah. It hurt, but what are you going to do? We always pay legitimate claims.”

“Of course.”

“So that was fifteen years ago. Nothing happens for all this time. Then, all of a sudden, I get a call from Chicago PD’s Internal Affairs Division. They got a guy on their watch list who had some suspicious computer activity. So they pull him in and—” “Let me guess. It’s about the diamond heist from fifteen years ago.”

“Exactly. This sergeant is looking up all kinds of information on that case, and there’s no reason in the world he should be. The IAD investigators bring him in and they work on him. At first, he denied everything, but after they confronted him with the computer records, he caved.”

“Didn’t hold up well under interrogation, huh?”

“It was my understanding that they had some other things to hang over his head that helped the process along.

In any event, he finally admits that he accessed all of the information for an ex-cop named Mick Sawyer.”

“There’s an Irishman for you.”

10

“No lie. Now, the thing about Mr. Sawyer is that he was the son of one of the original stick up men, Garnett Sawyer.”

I thought about that. “So sonny boy is looking into one of dear old da’s heists?”

“Exactly. And our sergeant friend tells IAD that the reason is because Mick has a line on the missing diamond earrings.”

I nodded. “Interesting.”

“That’s not all. Not by half.”

“No?” “Nope.” He drew deep on the cigar and let out a long breath of smoke. “Turns out dad died in prison right about the time this guy Mick is asking the sarge about the diamonds. And then a few days later, it’s Mick who turns up dead, too.”

“Murdered?”

“Shot twice through the heart in a hotel room.”

“Sounds like a country song,” I said.

“You want to guess who was with him in that room?”

“Jimmy Hoffa?”

Yeats shook his head.

“Amelia Earhart?”

He snorted at that. “You’re not even trying here.”

“Okay, a real guess then. Some hooker?”

“Strike three,” Yeats said. “It was his brother.”

“His brother?”

Yeats nodded. “His brother. Also found deader than disco, a bullet in the head.” He chuckled. “It’s like a Quentin Tarantino soap opera, huh?”

“Something like that, yeah. What’s the brother’s story?”

“He was an ex-con. CPD said he’d been working as muscle for the Polish mob in Chicago. He just got out of prison himself a few days before the dad died in the can.”

11

“So two dead brothers in a hotel room and no diamonds?”

“Right.”

“Sounds like the sergeant double-crossed them or something.”

“It’d be nice if it were that easy,” Yeats said. “But patrol cops found the bodies when they were still pretty fresh, and the sergeant had the best alibi any cop could hope for.”

I thought about it for a moment. Then I smiled knowingly. “He was being interviewed by IAD when it happened.”

“Exactly.”

“So we don’t know who killed the two brothers?”

“No.” “Or where the diamonds are?”

“That’s why we’re having this conversation.” He puffed smoke at me and waited.

I considered it. This sounded like a mess, and most leads were probably already cold. But I was salaried, so I’d run down whatever case Yeats asked me to. And things had been slow, so this was way better than babysitting Fred and Tim while they schmoozed clients.

“Do the cops have any suspects?” I asked.

“A few. I don’t know how solid any of them are, but it’s all in the file.”

“What is the recovery worth?”

“Our expert puts the value of the diamonds themselves at one point three million dollars.”

I let out a low whistle. The one percent finder’s fee on that was thirteen thousand. “Nice.”

“It gets nicer. We contacted the Hungarian government.

Turns out the jewels belonged to a duchess who is somewhere in the family tree of their current president.

12

Getting the diamonds back has some significant cultural value to them.”

“How significant?”

“Triple.”

“Triple?” That was almost four million dollars. Forty grand to me and a huge infusion of cash for the company.

“Triple,” Yeats repeated. He took another draw on his cigar. “So how soon can you leave for Chicago?”

Expect the unexpected, I thought.

13

THREE Andros I have never whistled a tune in my life or done a happy little dance when no one was watching. I will not start now. I don’t display my emotions or put on shows of feeling. It is not for me. There is no benefit, no need, no time for that.

I swipe at the mirror, stick my chin up, and turn my head to the left. The straight razor is new, and it glides effortlessly up my neck and over my jaw. I shave each and every morning, precisely at six a.m., no matter what I’m doing or where I am.

Rinsing the razor off, I raise my eyes and stare at myself. The corners of my mouth lift just a little. A small controlled smile appears. It is the best I can do.

It’s true, though. I am very happy.

Last night, I had dinner with the boss at his favorite restaurant, Staropolska. I’ve never had such fine food. The service was impeccable. They scurried about, back and forth, as they took care of our table. The owner shook our hands on the way out. They knew who we were.

I will never forget this dinner. We had eaten together many times, of course, but not formally like that.

Afterward, I drove us back to the new estate, north of the city. It has a stone wall that encircles the property and an iron gate at the entrance. Tomas, one of the last of the 14

old guard for the Dudek family, waved at me as we slowed to a stop. The gate opened, and we drove up the lane. There are more men around these days than before, and an expensive alarm system has been installed too. It is now a very secure place.

We pulled into the four-car garage, and he began to get out but then stopped. He looked back at me.

“Andros, did you like dinner or not? I mean, what the fuck? You never say a damn thing, good or bad.” He was grinning at me.

“Mr. Dudek, it was spectacular. I thank you for this invitation.”

He stared at me, still smiling and shaking his head.

“There was a reason for tonight. You deserve it, but you also deserve a promotion. I’m going to start paying you a lot more money.”

That moment had been awkward for me. I owe Patrik Dudek everything; he doesn’t owe me. I came from nothing and nowhere. I was born in Tresna, a small rural town in southern Poland. Years ago, he arranged with my uncle for me to come over to U.S. He has always treated me fairly, and I live well.

“Mr. Dudek. Please. There is no need for this.”

“You’re officially number two in charge.”

I just stared at him then.

“Not just my number one man or my personal bodyguard or my main guy. No. You are now the number two man in our organization. Period.” He got out of the car, and I followed quickly. I was in shock.

He came around the car then and gave me a hug. “You should be proud. Do me proud now. Continue to serve me and this organization like you always have, and we’ll all be very successful.”

15

I jerk back to now. The mirror is completely steamed over. I blink twice and realize the hot water is still running.

Enough of this day dreaming. I’m acting like a fool.

Shutting the faucet off hard, I yank a clean towel off the rack with a snap.

I put on my watch and see that it’s almost six twenty. I need to move. I’m always downstairs by six thirty.

Always. He never wants anything until eight or so, but I don’t like rushing. I like to have the coffee and breakfast ready for our morning meeting.

Dressing quickly in a pressed blue dress shirt and slacks, I put on my shoulder holster last and grab my sports jacket off a hanger as I head out the bedroom door.

I pass through the large open foyer area with shiny black and white floor tiles, then by the big front doors. The wide curving staircase is on my left, and out of the corner of my eye, I see movement on the rail up there.

I snap a quick look and Patrik Dudek is looking down at me. He takes a slow sip of coffee. The coffee I always bring him every morning. He’s up very early this morning.

Very.

This is not good.

“Andros, meet me in the study. I’ll be down there in a second.” Another sip. “And hey, relax a little bit. You’re management now.”

“Mr. Dudek, I…” “Hey.” He stares down at me. No smile. “Patrik. You call me Patrik. You ain’t a fucking soldier no more, Andros, so stop acting like one. Michael’s in the kitchen.

Get some coffee from him. Tell him what you want to eat.

He’s not as good a cook as you were, but he’s getting there.”

“Yes, sir. I mean, Patrik. I’ll be in your study. Of course.”

16

He lets out a short bark of a laugh and then disappears from the railing.

I continue to stare at the spot where he had been standing. This is going to take some getting used to. I cannot allow myself to abuse this, though. No one will be cooking for me.

Quickly, I say hi to Mike in the kitchen, pour a cup of coffee, and head to the study. I’m not there five minutes before Patrik walks in. He folds his hands together on the desk and starts talking.

“First of all, this whole promotion thing is important.

You have to move yourself up, too. In my eyes and all the others who work for us, you are battle tested ten times over.”

I start to thank him, but he holds a finger up.

“You have displayed unquestioned loyalty to me and forged a fierce, ruthless reputation with those who are aligned against us. Most importantly to me though, despite the warrior prowess, it turns out that you’re a very intelligent man. Cunning, in fact.”

He stops talking, raises his eyebrows, and opens his hands outward, gesturing to me.

“Patrik, I am understanding of what you are saying about my role in the organization. I will lead and portray myself as I should. I put the highest value on your opinion of me. Respectfully, though, I will lead all the others, but never you. I will always follow you.”

“You have always been the right guy for me and for us.

By the end of the day, everyone will know, by the way.

You’ll go nowhere without Jan.” “Jan is a good man. Don’t we need him running things downstate?”

“Michael is taking over for us down there. His kitchen duty was temporary work.”

17

“Patrik, I’ll be fine. This will stretch our resources.”

“You’ll go nowhere without Jan,” Patrik repeats. “Got it?”

“Understood.”

“He’s on his way here right now.”

He stood up and walked to a large window overlooking the acreage in back of the house.

“Okay, Andros, I know I just promoted you but I need you to complete one last thing in your old role. A thing you have been so proficient at in the past. I’m sending you on a personal mission.”

“Of course, whatever you need.” I stand up slowly, but I am prepared for whatever this is.

“Remember a few weeks ago when we were all watching that poker championship on the television? The poker tournament being held in the Las Vegas casino?”

“Yes, I recall this.” I remember seeing Ania Kozak in the crowd. The little kurwa was on the arm of some famous American card player. We had all cursed her.

“Well, it got me thinking about things. A lot of things.

You know, I never did like how she just walked away from everything I did for her. Job, car, money, hooked her up with Jerzy…who was crazy about her. There was no respect, no nothing.”

“I would agree, Patrik. She is trouble and ungrateful.”

I had always thought that about her from the very beginning. I knew a girl just like her when I was younger and foolish with matters of the heart. Zofia was her name, beautiful and spirited. This girl had me, way before I had her. She also had my best friend Karl before she moved on.

When I met Ania at Ambrozy’s that first time, I saw something familiar, something hidden deep. She was like another Zofia. It was all there to see, in her eyes, if you could fight past all the rest that she offered.

18

“Well, I think she’s the reason Jerzy is dead.” Patrik takes a drink of coffee and shakes his head back and forth ruefully. “I mean, sure, I had to walk away from Jerzy, but I didn’t want him fuckin’ killed.”

I remember the night the two had said goodbye. I know of the soft spot he had for Jerzy. I liked him too. He was a tough guy no one messed with. A loner with no real allies, but he wanted it that way. He had been very good at what he did.

“I’ve had our guys on the street, talking to some people.

Cops we know, people who work at the hotel where Jerzy was killed and other people too. There are people who just always seem to know things.”

“Was she there? At the hotel?”

“Well, if it wasn’t her it was a twin sister she don’t have. I think the little suka might have even killed Jerzy herself.” His voice is getting louder. “Killed him and took the money I paid Jerzy.” Patrik’s back is still to me as he gazes out the window.

There is a long silent pause and then finally Patrik turns around to face me. His face is red.

“I want her dead.”

I nod at him with no reservations. It would be good. It isn’t always that way, but when someone deserves it, the job is good, it is easy.

“I want her dead,” Patrik repeats and slams his fist into his palm. ”For the simple fact that she just walked away from me like she did. Just on principle alone. She took from me and didn’t pay anything back. I think she was taking cash out of the club, too, but I can’t prove it.”

“When do you want this done?”

He isn’t listening to me, though. He stares at the far wall with a growing anger and just keeps talking.

19

“I paid that money to Jerzy for what he did for me.

Now Jerzy is dead, and I think she killed him. That means she’s got my money.” He looks at me with eyes ablaze now. “MY fuckin’ money!”

He seems spent but I wait just a little longer. He just stares at me.

“Patrik, just say when and this is done.”

“I want you to handle this. Only you. Jan will be with you, though.”

“Of course. I will handle it.”

“I have a few business associates I know in Vegas who will help you get on her trail. That’s where you start.”

“Don’t worry. This will be taken care of, Patrik. That I can promise to you.”

He smiles at me now. Like a switch has been thrown. It always amazes me how fast his moods can change. He walks over to his desk, opens a drawer, and pulls out a large yellow envelope with a tie clasp.

“There are names and numbers of the Vegas guys in here and some serious travel money too. The money is only for you and Jan. The guys in Vegas have been taken care of already. They’ll help you with everything from information to guns. You need more cash, you call me.”

He hands me the envelope, and it has some weight to it.

“You call me anytime, day or night. Keep in touch. I wanna know what’s going on.”

I nod at him and stand.

He points at the envelope again. “You’re already booked on a United flight out of O’Hare at four thirty this afternoon. First class, too.” He smiles at that. “Rental car is booked, everything is all set.”

He sits down hard and sighs heavily.

“I’ll pack my bag now,” I say. “Jan is coming soon though, eh?”

20

“Yeah, he’ll be here soon. Pack light, though. You can buy shit when you get there. Don’t check a bag. The Vegas boys are saying they think she might have left town already, or getting ready to, so you might not be there long.” He paused and took a sip of coffee. “She’s had a car this whole time, and she hasn’t taken a flight yet.”

“Okay. These Vegas associates are friendly to us then?”

He shrugs. “You know how that goes. There’s a limit to everything, right? But yeah, for the most part. I know they got a good line on her. They’ve been kinda watching her since I called them. Hey, whatever, you’ll know how to play this. That’s why I’m sending you.”

I nod at him again and turn for the door. I have hours to spare, but I want to be ready way ahead of time.

“Oh Andros, hey. I almost forgot. Two more things.”

“Yes?” I look back at him.

“They think she has some stolen merchandise with her, too.”

“Merchandise?”

“Diamonds. Some kind of stolen jewelry. I’ll let you know when I find out more.”

“I see.”

“Those are mine, too.” This kind of smile is his most dangerous.

“I understand, consider it done.”

“Last thing. Very, very important, too. When you kill her, I want proof afterward. A picture of the body, a lock of that pretty gold hair, something.

“This is not a problem.” Picturing my old girlfriend, I smile back at him and mean what I say.

21

FOUR John I landed in Chicago and took a cab straight to the Central Precinct. I had called ahead from the airport, so Lieutenant Rick Turner was waiting for me by the front desk.

Turner was thin, almost gaunt, with sharp, angular features. He reminded me of soldiers I’d served with who looked as if they might not be able to hold up a wet mop but could do a forced march with an eighty-pound rucksack while barely breaking a sweat.

He handed me a visitor’s ID card with a metal clip on it and said, “Follow me,” as he turned on his heel.

I put on the badge as I followed him. “I appreciate you letting me review your file,” I said, trying to make nice.

Turner grunted.

“I know it’s not standard,” I said.

Turner cast me a glance over his shoulder, then shrugged. “What’s standard about dirty cops? Besides, your boss is a friend of my boss. Makes for the spirit of cooperation.”

And that’s not dirty at all, I thought, but I didn’t say a word. Somehow, I didn’t think Chicago Internal Affairs investigators had a high opinion of irony, especially at their own expense.

22

“You been doing this long?” I asked him instead.

“Long enough,” Turner said. He swiped his badge at a reader next to a door marked ‘Internal Affairs Personnel Only – No Exceptions.’ “Maybe too long,” he added quietly as he held the door open for me.

I walked through. We headed down a short wide corridor that further opened up into a bullpen. Eight or nine desks were situated around the open area, some of them solo, others butted up to each other, face to face.

Three or four were occupied. Turner led me to one.

“Inspector?”

The man at the desk had closely cropped white hair and a starched white shirt with a dark blue tie. When he glanced up from the file he was viewing and saw me, he closed the file and put it into a desk drawer, locking it.

Then he grabbed another file from the desk and stood up.

“This way,” he said. He had the build and manner of ex-military. I figured Marines. And an officer, too, not enlisted.

We went through another door and down another hallway. I remained silent. If this was how they wanted to play it, that was their call. Some cops welcome insurance investigators with some professional camaraderie, others with an air of superiority. A few, apparently Chicago PD among them, just endure them.

The Inspector stopped at a door, swiped his card and held it open for me. I walked in, expecting a table with a file on it. Instead, I stood in an observation room. Through the pane of one-way glass, I saw another man in the next room. His fat face was tightened in a scowl, but even without the attitude, I’d have pegged him as a cop. And the Italian features didn’t leave much room for doubt which cop.

23

“The Deputy Chief said to make Sergeant Molinari available for you to interview,” the Inspector said.

It was more than I expected. But Yeats and the Chicago Deputy Chief went way back, so I shouldn’t have been surprised. If the Chicago DC came visiting in Washington, Yeats would have pulled strings to get him an afterhours walk through the Smithsonian. Way of the world.

The Inspector was staring at me, so I said, “That’d be fine. Thank you.”

The Inspector held out the file to me. “You’ll want to take this in with you. He won’t respect you if you’re not carrying a file.”

I smiled and took the file. “Thanks.”

The Inspector nodded.

What I wanted to do was sit down and go through the file again, even though I was pretty certain it was the same original that yielded the copy Yeats already gave me. Still, it would have been nice to give it one more pass, just in case. But that wouldn’t do. Not with Inspector Stare-at-Me standing there.

Talk about respect.

“Lead on,” I said.

He pursed his lips slightly, and a flicker of annoyance passed over his features, but he suppressed it quickly enough.

I gave him a smile.

Forget the Marines. He was Navy. Maybe even Coast Guard.

The Inspector led me back out into the hallway. A few steps down was the door to the interrogation room. The Inspector raised his hand to swipe his card, but I stopped him.

“Have you interviewed him yet?” I asked.

24

He gave me a look of cool disdain. “What do you think is in that file?” he asked. Then he added, “Sir.” “No, I mean have you interviewed him? You, personally.”

The Inspector nodded. “Yes.” “Good,” I said. “When you swing the door open, let him see you.”

“Why?” “And don’t react to anything I say,” I told him, taking the visitor’s badge off and putting it in my jacket pocket.

He stood staring at me for a long moment.

I motioned toward the door. “Go ahead,” I said. “Swipe the thingy. And make sure he sees you.”

The Inspector regarded me for another moment or two and then swiped his card over the reader. The lock mechanism clicked, and he pushed the door open.

Sergeant Molinari looked up. His gaze paused at the inspector and swung toward me.

I brushed past the Inspector, striding into the room. I dropped the file onto the table across from Molinari and took off my jacket. Then I glanced over my shoulder.

“You can go, Inspector,” I said in a dismissive tone.

He gawked at me momentarily, but I turned away. I draped my jacket over the chair back and pulled out the chair. Then I sat down facing Molinari. He was still looking over my shoulder at the Inspector, so I followed his gaze, feigning confusion. When I saw the Inspector still standing there, taken aback, I said, “Now, Inspector.”

The Inspector’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he otherwise kept a neutral expression. Without a word, he nodded brusquely, turned, and left the room.

As soon as the door clicked shut behind him, I muttered, “Pinhead asshole.” Then I turned to Molinari.

He gave me a curious look but said nothing.

25

I folded my hands on the table in front of me. “Do you know who I am, Sergeant?”

“The fuck I care?” he asked. His voice was raspy and tired, but the Chicago Italian accent cut through both.

“I think you do care,” I said. “Or, at least, you should.”

“You’re not CPD,” he said. “So I ain’t got to say shit to you.”

I raised my eyebrows slightly, nodding my head.

“That’s right. I’m not Chicago’s finest.” I jerked a thumb toward the door. “Or their worst. No, I’m something different.”

Molinari’s gaze bored into me. I stared back at him, calm and patient. Molinari’s eyes held some measure of intelligence, but more of it was pure cunning. The man was street smart. He’d probably been a hell of a cop at some point, too.

“Mister,” he said, “I don’t care if you’re the fairy fucking godfather. I got nothing to say to you.”

“If I was the godfather, I’d make you an offer you couldn’t refuse.”

“I want my lawyer,” he said.

“This isn’t like that.”

“Call. My. Motherfucking. Lawyer.”

I shook my head. “You don’t have a right to a lawyer, Al.” He paused slightly at the sound of his name. Then he shrugged it off. “We aren’t friends, asshole,” he said.

“Don’t call me Al.” “I wasn’t hoping for friendship, to be honest with you.”

I tapped a finger on the file. “I’m not even going to offer you any help on this problem here. Because like I said, this isn’t like that.”

“Law-yer.”

26

“But you’ll help me,” I said. “Just the same, you’ll help me.”

“Why the fuck would I do that?”

I smiled. “Because you are in a corner, Al. Because you’ve got no way out. And because I’m an outsider, sitting here by the good grace of your Deputy Chief of Operations. You know him?” I raised my eyebrows. “He a nice guy?”

Molinari didn’t respond.

“No?” I shrugged. “I didn’t figure so. So the deal here is pretty simple. Whatever you did in there,” I tapped the file again, “you carry that water. That’s on you. But if you don’t talk to me, then that’s on the Deputy Ops. It’s extra.

And I believe, Sergeant Molinari, that the proverbial shit in this equation will roll downhill. So whatever you’ve got now, it will get worse.”

Molinari frowned. “How do I know you’re for real?”

I furrowed my brow. “Can just anyone waltz in here and boss inspectors around? Is CPD that lame ass of an organization?”

He considered me for another moment. He swallowed and wiped the sweat from his upper lip. “I’m not saying anything that puts me in a worse jackpot,” he finally said.

I smiled.

We danced around for a little bit. I asked him questions, and he tried to feed me bullshit. Not all of it was bullshit, just some. He was testing me, and when I took his truth and kicked back his lies, he figured out I knew what I was talking about. Somewhere around a half hour in, he surrendered. I’d seen fifteen-year olds last longer, under worse pressure. But what did I care? I wasn’t there to learn respect for dirty cops.

27

“So after you accessed all the data and pieced the story together, you took it to Mick Sawyer,” I said.

He nodded. “Yeah. Met him at a diner and gave him the whole rundown.”

“And his reaction was?”

“He was surprised,” Molinari answered. “I don’t think he knew what they were worth, the diamonds.”

“Anything else?”

Molinari paused, then shook his head. “No.” “You’re lying.”

“Fuck you,” he said, but without much conviction.

I didn’t reply. I sat and waited. And waited some more.

It was an old interrogation ploy. Let the silence sit there, and the other guy will eventually fill it. The beauty of the technique was that even if someone knew it was a ploy, it still worked.

Molinari was stubborn, though. He made it a full thirty seconds before he gave in. “All right, so I asked him for a taste. We discussed how much. There was some disagreement, but after a little while, we came to an understanding.”

“How much?”

He shrugged. “Ten large.”

I let out a low whistle. “For running down a few computer entries? Pretty good wage.”

“You know what those earrings are worth?” Molinari asked me.

“As a matter of fact,” I said, “I do.” More than you know.

“Then you know ten grand was just a taste. Like I said.”

“But you never got that taste, did you?”

“No,” Molinari said. “But you know about that, too.”

“I do,” I said. “But I want to hear it from you.”

Molinari sighed. “Ball breaker.”

I waited.

28

He scratched the stubble on his fat chin, then shrugged.

“The fuck I care? It’s all in the file.” He leaned forward. “I gave him the names of Jimmy Kerrigan and Speedo Mullins. Gar Sawyer’s running buddies. I figured they’d have some kind of a line on the jewels.”

“Did they?”

He shrugged. “I dunno.” He pointed toward the one way glass. “These assholes have kept me pretty much in the dark. I know Mick’s dead, though, so he musta got close to them diamonds.”

“You don’t know anything else?”

“Nope.”

“Something that isn’t in here?” I tapped the file.

He shook his head, then stopped. “Maybe,” he said.

“What is it?”

He coughed. It was a thick, phlegm-filled sound. He wiped his mouth after. “I been thinking, while we’re sitting here.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“What about?”

“About how I don’t really see how the Deputy Ops can fuck me any worse than I’m already fucked. When this goes to a trial board, the review panel will eat me alive over it. He can’t stop that, and since firing me is the worst they can do, he can’t make it any worse, either.”

“You think so?”

“I do. So here’s where this leaves us, you and me.”

Molinari leaned forward and looked at me intensely. “You gotta do something for me if you want something extra.”

“What do you want?”

“No charges,” he said. “You get the Deputy Ops to make the DA decline charges.”

I shook my head. “I can’t promise you that.”

29

“Then fuck off.”

I stared at him. “Sergeant, I can’t promise you that I’ll make the Deputy Ops make the DA do or not do something. That’s too many people removed.”

“If it’s important enough, you can.”

“No,” I said. “I can’t.” I paused, then went on. “But I sure as hell can tell the Deputy Ops that he should strongly recommend to the DA that he file corruption charges against you. I imagine he’s predisposed toward that, anyway.”

Molinari snorted. “If you can push it one way, you can push the other.”

“It doesn’t work that way. One direction is easy. It’s a political winner. The other way is risky.”

“Since when is standing up for cops a risk?”

“Since the cop in question was dirty.”

He glared at me. “You know what? Fuck you.”

I forced myself to smile. “What else do you know?

What isn’t in this file?”

“You deaf? I’m done.”

Yes, you are, you fat fuck. Done like a three-course dinner.

I rose from my chair. “You know what they say in prison, sergeant? About fat men, such as yourself?”

“Bite me.”

“No,” I said. “That’s not it. They say the bigger the cushion, the better the pushin’.”

Al scoffed. “I ain’t going to prison. And even if I do, they’ll put me in ‘keep separate’ status.”

I raised my eyebrows and stared at him, saying nothing.

He stared back. Realization seeped into his expression.

“No way, man. That’s fucked up.”

I gave a little shrug. “I think a little jail time is a foregone conclusion, sergeant. The only real question is how long and what kind of time.” I let that sink in for a 30

moment and then added, “Those are the kinds of things that really come down to judgment calls, don’t you think?

The kinds of things high ranking police commanders might even discuss with judges over a round of golf?”

His lips moved but he didn’t say anything. Then he snapped his mouth shut and turned away from me.

I stood for several seconds and then headed for the door. As I reached out to knock on it, his voice came from behind me, defeated.

“Wait.”

31

FIVE Andros “Man, oh man, I love this place. Bet it’s been eight, ten years since I was here last and boy, has it changed.”

I look over at him. “It’s too hot, Jan. Poland and Chicago are better for me. The heat is relentless here.” I look out the car window and see that sun is almost down, but the heat has not gone away. “This must be Hell. We will be baked alive.”

He glances over at me, grins, and shakes his head. His eyes go back to the road as we exit the airport and merge onto I-15.

“Turn up the air there, big guy. We’ll survive.” He reaches across and pats my shoulder. “You know this Magnum casino we’re going to first? It wasn’t even here the last time I was. I think we need to be very thorough in our search. If we rush it, we might miss something.” He smiles at me again.

I stare at him. “We will be thorough, and we will track her down, and then we’ll kill her. We will miss nothing, bring back what is ours, and do everything I swore to Patrik we would do.”

“You’re not following me, Andros. I’m just saying it might take two, maybe three days to talk to everybody and gather all the information. I’m thinking I’ll take the casino, and you take everywhere else in town.” He slowed our 32

rental down a little as a shiny black Jaguar changed lanes in front of us.

I continue to look at him. He amuses me. “Ahh, I see.

You’re right, I wasn’t following you. That’s my fault for expecting you to be fully committed to me and the Dudeks. A professional. Trustworthy…and disciplined.”

“Ouch.”

Actually, he is all of those things.

“So wait, you find those admirable traits?”

“Admirable, yes. But sadly, they are missing in you, Jan.” I give him a slow shake of my head “See, now that hurt, Andros. Hurt me.”

“Tropicana Avenue next exit, the sign says.”

“Andros, thanks but I got this, really. Don’t sweat the small stuff anymore. You are the guy now.”

“Yes, yes. You just drive, and I’ll do what I want to do.

As you say, I am the guy.”

I have always liked Jan Nowicki. Maybe because he’s my opposite in many ways. Like black and white, we are different. He’s loose and casual, too relaxed and smooth, but - make no mistake - very efficient and extremely effective as well. I’ve heard the stories about how he ran the drug trade for us in southern Illinois. The people who misjudged him or tested him are dead, or wish they were. I could not have a better second man.

“So you are stuck with me now. You will miss the drug business, or no?” I look over at him as he drives smoothly in the heavy traffic.

With his sunglasses and a tan he never seems to lose, Jan Nowicki looks good. He always looks good. This one never seems to be in trouble or nervous. Not a care in the world.

“Nah, not really. Change is good. Besides, it’s getting pretty crazy with drugs these days, and my number is 33

probably about up. I’d also like to see forty, if you know what I mean.”

His father worked many years for Ambrozy Dudek, and so Jan has continued that arrangement with Patrik.

Like father, like son, as they say.

As are almost everyone else who works in Patrik’s family, he is of Polish blood, too, but he’s an American all the way. Being a fourth generation Pole, he has no accent.

“Here it is.” I look at the directions and point at the exit.

Jan doesn’t say anything this time, just nods quickly, and eases onto the exit ramp.

As we approach, the lights of the Las Vegas strip are an amazing show. Yet, I don’t like it for some reason. This place does not feel right for me. Maybe because I’m not a gambler, maybe something else.

“Just look at it, Andros.” Jan holds a palm out to the windshield and repeats, “Man, I love this place.”

I don’t reply.

Nevertheless, as we enter, I’m amazed. This place, this Magnum Casino, is an opulent palace. All gold, glitter and lights. Marble is everywhere, and everything is clean and shiny. I stand for a moment and look around, then Jan touches my elbow and points to the elevators off the main lobby.

As we enter a bar called the Aces and Eights, I see our man before he sees us. He told us on the phone that he’d be wearing a white dress shirt and dark pants, sitting at a corner table either alone or with a redheaded girl.

Paul Severns finally looks up from the girl he’s talking to and watches us approach. He’s at least fifty, with big rings and a big watch, and is most likely a man who is all show. A showboat. That’s my impression.

34

He rises from the table, although it actually doesn’t look that way, since he’s very short. The girl, young and beautiful, can only be half his age, at most. Maybe early twenties. She smiles up at us from her chair.

“Andro, Jan?” he says, sticking out his hand reluctantly.

His hand is small and cold as I shake it.

“It’s not even nine o’clock yet, boys. The night is young.

You’re a little early, aren’t you?”

“Yes, we are early. My name is Andros. You need to pronounce the s. Andros. This is my associate, Jan.” “Mr. Severns,” Jan says and nods at him. He stays where he is, just behind and off my left shoulder.

Ignoring Jan, Severns looks up at me with a painful smile.

“Why, of course. Andros with an s. Yes, of course.” The smile starts to fade on his face. He looks at his watch.

Severns puffs his chest out and says, “You know, as a matter of fact, you’re way too early. Period.”

“We need to talk now.”

“Look Andros, I got a tight schedule I have to keep.

Can’t you just get something to eat and give me a little time here?”

“No.” He just stares at me.

“No.” I say a second time.

He breaks off the look and his eyes go over to the girl.

“Well. Okay. I’ll move the meeting up, since this is a favor being done by my boss and for Patrik.”

I don’t like this little man, but he’s going to help us, so I will tolerate his arrogance.

“Adriane, dear. Give me a minute or two here,” He points a playful finger at her, “But don’t you go far now.

We're not done yet, not by a long shot.”

“Sure, Paulie, no problem.” She smiles and gets up.

35

He pulls the girl close and kisses her too hard. “Fifteen minutes, sweetheart, twenty minutes tops. This won’t take long.” He whispers something in her ear. Something I think he does for our benefit, as much as hers.

Giving us all a little wave, she leaves.

He watches her walk away and shakes his head back and forth. “So, gentlemen, life is good, huh?” He lifts a chin in the direction of where the girl had headed. “And I mean like real good.”

I’m tired of this man already and don’t reply. I look at him and pull a chair out but I don’t sit down.

His face hardens. I remind myself that while this little worm is not dangerous, there are some who work with him who most assuredly are. He also knows Patrik and I cannot damage that connection, whatever it may be. We have just finished a war. We don’t need another one yet.

“We will not need much of your precious time. Can we begin?” I gesture at the table and force a smile.

We all sit down.

“Drinks?” He starts to wave a waitress over.

“No, no drinks.”

“You talk for your partner, too, Andros?”

Jan smiles at me but still doesn’t say anything as he looks around the room.

“You have some information that we need. Information you’ve already been paid for. We flew a long way here.

You are supposedly in a hurry and so very, very busy. We are, too.”

He waves the waitress over anyway and orders a Scotch on the rocks. His cellphone beeps, and he holds up a finger to me so he can check a text message. He stares at the little screen and scrolls around on it for too long.

“The information. Right now.”

He holds up both hands in surrender.

36

“Sure, sure. Jesus, relax, okay? This ain’t Chicago.”

“Here you go, Paulie.” The waitress appears out of nowhere with his drink and sets it in front of him.

He doesn’t even look up or acknowledge her. Instead, he takes a big sip and starts talking right away. No more pissing around or posturing.

“When Patrik called Mr. DeMarco, me and another guy were told to start looking for her, find her, and follow her around.”

“Ania Kozak, correct?” I ask him, just to make sure.

“Well, yeah. She was going by Annie here, but yes. She hooked up with two different guys, same time, and was playing them both. A local card player named Casey Brunnell and a poker pro, Cord Needham, who was in town for a tournament. Evidently, before we started tailing her, she had lost a bundle of cash to the pro somehow. She had a room here at the Magnum but then got bumped out because of a scene her and Brunnell caused at a table. So she went over to the Riv and got a room there. What the exact con or grift was, we don’t know for sure. But there was a lot of money involved and a lot of poker getting played.”

He stops, looks at us both and takes another drink.

“You following so far?”

Jan and I don’t say anything yet because he is finally telling us something and we don’t want to stop him.

“Okay, so like I said, while she was doing Brunnell, she was also tagging Cord Needham. We’re sure of that. We saw her alone with both of them. She would go into the hotel rooms with one or the other and not come back out.”

He smiles, nods at me, then glances at Jan and keeps talking. “Those boys didn’t have a clue about the twotiming from what we could tell. Finally, there was a big challenge game right here about a week ago between 37

Brunnell and Needham. Private suite, the whole bit. A bartender that was in the room, he’s a guy of ours, called me as soon as it was over. Brunnell won the game. I don’t think it mattered, though. She came out with the money, you know? Hey, personally I think she would have won either way, if you know what I mean. She is one hot little number I want to tell you…and smart. Very smart.”

I ask him my first question. “She came out with the money. What do you mean? Exactly.”

“Just what I said. We watched her come downstairs alone with the head of security afterwards. We know for sure there was a money exchange made in his office because my other guy sees a security guard go in, too.

When they come out, she’s carrying a Magnum bag, and the security guy is escorting her to the front doors. I’m already hanging by the valet stand, and I give the kid my card when I see them coming. She had used a valet, too, when I followed her here, so I knew I was good.”

“How much did she walk away with?” I am worried he will stop talking.

“Don’t know the exact amount. The bartender said some of the hands that went down were big, though.

Maybe not the end of the world for Needham, but it was awful big money for a hard luck journeyman player like Brunnell.”

“Okay, yeah. Damn, she was a little snake, huh?” Jan is also doing his best to keep him going. “Then what, Paul?”

“I’m in my car and pull up and around the curve a little. Out of the way and all. I’m watching the rear view the whole time, right? About five minutes later, she goes by real slow in her red Miata. She heads north. Our other guy waited in the lobby for Brunnell to come down. I called him and told him to drop off Needham at that point.

He was out of this for us anyway.”

38

Jan cut in. “So where’d she and Brunnell go after she left the Magnum?”

“I’m getting there, okay?” Severns takes another sip of his scotch. “Well, they didn’t leave together, that’s for sure.

My guy calls me about twenty minutes later when Brunnell finally comes down. Annie didn’t go back to her room at the Riv right away though. I followed her to a pawn shop a little ways off the north end of the strip. On the corner, next to a big bank of all things. Perry’s Pawn.

She obviously went in there to buy something back. I mean, you don’t just win a bunch of money and then go pawn something, right? She was moving quick, too.”

“So when did Ania and this Brunnell guy finally meet up?” Jan asks, leaning back and finding a waitress with his eyes. Nods at her and points at Severns, who’s looking at me now.

“Never did.” Severns drains his drink and sets it down.

“She goes back to the Riv and comes back out with a roller bag in, like, ten minutes. She pulls out, I follow again, and away we go.”

“She blew him off then, right? Took the money and bolted. Screwed them both but Brunnell especially,” Jan says.

“Well as it happened, it probably worked out much, much worse for Casey Brunnell. All I can or will say about that is he shows up at the pawn shop about a half an hour after her with my associate following him. A very wellknown guy in this town - someone you would never want to have on your bad side - shows up with two muscle types. They go in, too.” He pauses and seems to consider stopping there.

“Go on.” I prompt him, but not too hard.

“I’m going. So, after they get in there, my guy who’s parked across the street hears what he thinks is a gunshot 39

or a boom. There’s nobody else in the shop because it’s still pretty early in the morning, so he sits tight. He sees one of the muscle lock the front door from the inside and flip the Open sign on the door to Closed. A half hour goes by.

Nothing. Another half hour, nothing. Nobody goes in, nobody goes out. ” Severns holds his glass up about shoulder high and waves it around. I’m sure he thinks the waitress who’s at another table was just waiting for him. She finally sees Severns and keeps talking to the other party, but she smiles at Jan. “So, my guy at the pawn finally calls me and asks what should he do? Something is going down. I tell him to break it off because the game has changed. Brunnell is out of the picture just like Needham, and it’s all about her now. I’m heading south on I-15 by this time, and I’m following her little red sports car. Still had the Illinois plates, by the way.”

“What are those plate numbers, Mr. Severns? Surely you know that after having followed her for several days?”

Jan leans in closer.

“Donnie has them. He’s the detail guy.”

“Donnie?”

“My associate. So anyway, we come up on a town southwest of here called Jean, and little Annie just zips right on by. West on 15. All the way, baby. I mean, hey, doesn’t take a genius. She’s going to L.A., no doubt in my mind. There just isn’t a whole lot else that way before L.A. except desert. It’s a frickin’ five-hour drive though. I give Mr. DeMarco a call direct and ask him what he wants me to do. He says fuck it, Severns, just turn around and come back. So I did. The end.”

“She was heading in the direction of L.A. when you pulled off?”

40

“Look, Andros, that’s it. I got better things than this to do right now, remember?” He nods over at the bar.

“Besides, there is more - a helluva lot more. It turned out this thing had a lot of legs to it. You’re only being told what has to do with the little slut you’re chasing. There are some local angles to it too. But they’re our angles. Things that have to do with here and us. Not you, Chicago, or little Annie.”

“Maybe you should tell us those angles and other things too?” Jan suggests.

“And maybe that ain’t part of the deal between my boss and yours.”

“Fair enough. What about this pawn shop? Did your associate leave without seeing anything more?”

“Ask him, Jan. You’re having some lunch at the Mirage with him tomorrow. One o’clock sharp. There’s about eight restaurants in that casino. He’ll be at the Paradise Café. Donnie will give you anything else that he’s allowed to, and he’ll also set you up with a a few more little things that you might need on this road trip.”

“Can we see him tonight?” I don’t want to wait until tomorrow.

“No, Andros, you can’t. He’s taking care of something for Mr. Demarco tonight. And now, boys, I’m done. Enjoy yourself a little, for cryin’ out loud.”

Then he gets up and walks away.

“What a little jagoff.” Jan laughs and looks over at me.

“I hope Patrik didn’t pay too much for that information.”

“Yes, I would agree. A pompous little ass.”

“Time you want to meet in the morning, boss?”

“Eight. We’ll have breakfast and discuss this further.

Patrik has us in rooms under our names on the eighth floor. Across the hall from each other. Let’s check in. I must call Patrik and update him.”

41

“Mind if I try to get some valuable information at the craps table?”

I look at him for a long second. “Okay, but just remember why we’re here. ” “Hey, call me if you need anything. Seriously.”

“I won’t need you. Now, go give your money away, but be ready in the morning. I’ll call you at eight.”

42

SIX John “How’d it go with CPD?” Yeats asked me.

I switched the cell phone to my other ear and scratched my cheek. My fingertips raked over the day’s worth of stubble. I’d need to shave again before I headed out for the next set of interviews.

“Not great,” I told Yeats. “But not horrible.”

“My guy came through, then?”

“Yes,” I said. “IAD didn’t exactly roll out the red carpet, but they gave me complete access.”

“Best you can hope for from cheese-eaters,” Yeats said.

I smiled. His days as a cop showed through sometimes.

How he got to be a major in a metropolitan city like Baltimore and still have contempt for the internal affairs process is beyond me, but I guess it comes down to one simple fact.

No one likes a rat.

Of course, any investigator needs people to be exactly that. Sometimes the trick of a good investigator wasn’t turning up clues but learning how to make someone feel good about informing on someone else. Making them feel they’re doing a civic duty or something else righteous instead of what was usually a bald-faced case of ratting someone else out.

43

“Those cheese-eaters gave me Sergeant Alberto Molinari,” I said. “Pretty much on a silver platter.”

“And he gave you…?”

I flipped open my notebook, even though I didn’t really need to. “Speedo Mullins and Jimmy Kerrigan, for starters.”

“Who are…?”

“They were partners to old man Sawyer. Accomplices on the diamond heist. According to Molinari, one of them double-crossed the other two. He put the kid, Mick, onto them.”

“Sounds promising.”

“Maybe. I’ll hit them tonight, after I get a sandwich.”

“Anything else?”

“Not really, at least, not from the sergeant. But the IAD lieutenant gave me some background on both brothers.”

“Is it relevant? Do I need to hear it?”

“Not all of it. But one piece is interesting. The other brother, Jerzy? He was muscle for the Polish mob here in Chicago. Might be that he did a hit on one of the Russians right about the same time as this diamond recovery project was going on with the two brothers.”

“Didn’t they just have some kind of beef there? The Polacks and the Russkies?”

“Yeah, the IAD guy said it was short but bloody. By the time local organized crime was onto it, it was over. And the feds…” “…won’t catch wind of it until next year.” Yeats chuckled on the other end of the phone.

“That’s about what the IAD guys said, yeah.”

“Well, you go ask the FBI’s organized crime division, and they’ll tell you that they actually predicted it a week in advance and just couldn’t share sensitive information with the local yokels.”

44

Chicago wasn’t exactly yokel, but I took his point. There were always multiple sides to a story. “Well, that muddied the waters a bit when it came to the homicide investigation of the Sawyer brothers. No one could be sure if it wasn’t part of the Polish/Russian war or if it was over the diamonds, or what.”

“Could be either. Are you telling me some guy named Boris probably has our relic?”

“I don’t know. I’ve got a meeting later tonight with a homicide detective who worked the case. We’ll see.”

“Well, sounds like some good progress, John. Give me a call in a day or two for another update.”

“Roger that, boss.”

He clicked off. I slid the thin phone into my shirt pocket, and headed out for that sandwich.

Jimmy Kerrigan was the easiest to find. He had an apartment near Comiskey Park, at the corner of Pershing and Wells. The area looked like the ‘hood to me. Trash strewn everywhere – not even the motion of vehicle or foot traffic pushed it aside. Graffiti was the rule, not the exception. Boarded up doors and windows in some apartments and cold hard eyes coming at me through the doors and windows of others. I’ve been in far worse, in this country and others. Even so, I missed the reassuring weight of a .45 on my hip.

I found Kerrigan’s building and headed up the stairs to 4B. The odor of rat shit and people piss filled the stairwell and the hallways. On the second floor, a two-year old pushed a plastic toy truck down the hallway. There were no adults in sight, and all the apartment doors were closed. His diaper sagged and swayed as he waddled away from me.

Unbelievable.

45

You can’t save the world, I thought, followed by another of Colonel Grayson’s frequent admonitions. Focus on the mission.

I reached 4B and rapped on the cheap wooden door.

There was no answer. I knocked again, a little louder. Still no answer. When I banged on the door a third time, the sound was loud enough for them to hear me down on the first floor.

“What the fuck?” A voice yelled from within. “No answer means go the fuck away. I ain’t interested!”

“Jimmy Kerrigan?” I asked.

“Not here.”

“Well, maybe you can get paid, instead,” I said.

There was a pause. Then he said in a wary tone, “Paid how? And don’t bullshit me.”

“I need some information, and I’ll pay for it.”

“Fuck you. I ain’t a rat.”

I smiled. “Yeah, well, the guy I have questions about is dead, so it ain’t about being a rat.”

Another pause. Then the door cracked open. A silver security chain hung across the crack. The top of Jimmy Kerrigan’s head barely made it that high. His short cropped red hair was gone almost to grey. He had a pinched-in face, a long nose and virtually no chin.

The worst thing about him was his eyes - angry, distrustful, and full of defeat. Jimmy Kerrigan was like the dog that had the shit knocked out of it for years. But life teaches us that when you feel sorry enough for the mutt to give it some food or affection, you get bitten for your trouble.

“Who?” he demanded, his voice sounding a little nasally without the door between us.

“Who am I?” I asked him.

46

“I don’t give a fuck who you are,” he snapped. “Who I got to talk about?”

“Oh.” I reached into my pocket and pulled out my money clip. I counted off five twenties and held them up in the air. Kerrigan eyed the cash greedily. “Just so you know I’m serious,” I told him.

“You flash that shit in this neighborhood, serious is the kind of trouble you’ll get,” he told me, but his tone was distracted. I could see the wheels already grinding behind his eyes. He was wondering how much he’d be willing to tell and about who for that amount of cash.

I peeled off one twenty and held it out to him, just inside the crack of the doorway. He reached up warily at first and snatched it out of my hand.

I figured he might slam the door and call it a victory at that point, but he’d seen the other eighty bucks, so he stayed in the game.

“Who?” he repeated.

“Two whos,” I said. “Mick and Jerzy Sawyer.”

Jimmy Kerrigan laughed then. It was an unpleasant, grating sound. There was no real mirth in it, even though he seemed to be enjoying it. “Those dead motherfuckers?

You bet. Ask away.”

“Can I come in?”

He shook his head. “Here’s fine.”

I shrugged. “Fine. I’m guessing Mick or Jerzy paid you a visit a while back?”

He nodded. “They both did.”

“They were together?”

“Yeah.”

“And how’d that conversation go?”

“Like shit,” Kerrigan said. “I got my ass kicked by the Polack. He busted open my door and everything.”

“What’d he want?”

47

Kerrigan’s eyes flicked to the cash in my hand. I sighed and peeled off another twenty. He took it a little more calmly than the first one.

“How about this, pal? You tell me what you think it was about, and if you know, I’ll confirm it.”

I thought about that. I already didn’t like getting jerked around or playing the slot machine variety of interrogation with this midget with an attitude, but I figured I could afford to play it nice for now. If it came down to it, I could always boot his door and try something different.

“I think it was about the diamonds,” I said.

Kerrigan’s face softened a little. He nodded. “Yeah, you’re right. How do you know that?”

“You want to know that, give me back one of those twenties.”

He laughed again, but this one sounded a little more real. Not that he thought it was funny, but I think he respected the ball busting.

“Okay, so, yeah. It was the diamonds. What else you wanna know?”

I held out another bill. He took it.

“I know that between you, Speedo, and Gar Sawyer, someone screwed the other two over. Was it you?”

He scowled. “Hell, no. I always played it straight. Well, most of the time. And always with Gar. That son of a bitch would gut you just for thinking about cutting into his take.”

“So was it him?”

“Uh-uh,” Kerrigan said. “It was Speedo. Fucking piece of shit either ran to the cops or he got popped and sang his way out of it.”

“Speedo’s the rat?”

“Rat is right.”

I considered that. “Did he have the diamonds?”

48

“How the fuck should I know?”

I shrugged. “So maybe you don’t know. But what do you think?”

He held out his hand. I laid a twenty in it. “I think that if Speedo had those diamonds, he’d never have stayed in Chicago and run that shitty little bar of his. That’s what I think.”

I nodded but didn’t reply.

After a few moments, he added, “I’ll tell you what else I think. I think Gar Sawyer had those diamonds all along. I think he hid them somewheres before he got grabbed up by the cops. I think he sent those dumb bastard sons of his on a wild goose chase.”

“Did the Sawyer brothers ever find those diamonds?”

He shrugged. “Again, how the fuck should I know? If they did, they didn’t get to enjoy them long. Both those fucks turned up deader than a tent peg a few days later.”

“I know.”

“So don’t pay me for that part.” He grinned darkly at me with brown teeth. “You’re looking for the diamonds, too, huh?”

“I’m trying to recover them, yeah.”

“Recover?” He snorted. “Nice word. Well, good fucking luck.”

“What do you think Speedo Mullins is going to tell me about the diamonds and who’s a rat?” I asked.

Kerrigan smiled slyly and motioned with his thumb and forefinger. I gave him the final twenty dollar bill. He stuffed it in his pocket. “Speedo Mullins isn’t going to say shit. You know why?”

I did then, but I had to play out the string. “No.” “I’ll tell you why. Because that rat fuck piece of shit is dead. So he ain’t got much to say on this or any other topic.”

49

Detective Eddie Stilch met me at a bar called Aces Up. I expected it to be a cop bar, but I knew that was wrong as soon as I walked in. This was the kind of bar that existed in every city. It was always located in a part of town most people just called “down there.” Poor lighting, stale smells, and a fifty-year old prostitute with way too much optimism sitting at one end of the bar.

I took a booth at the other end of the bar and waited.

Stilch arrived ten minutes later. He sat down without a greeting and signaled the bartender. I didn’t bother putting out my hand for a shake.

When the bartender arrived, he ordered two shots and a Michelob and motioned to me. “He’s paying.”

The bartender looked at me. “Light beer,” I said.

“Whatever’s on tap.”

Stilch and I sat in silence for a few moments. He stared at me, and I returned the favor. He was a thin man, with features that looked as if they’d been carved out of stone. If I hadn’t known he was a cop, I’d have pegged him as an addict. Only his hard, clear eyes set him apart.

“Look,” he finally said. “I don’t know you, right?”

“I’m John Pearse.”

“Yeah, that’s great. You got a name. What I mean is I don’t know you. But I got a call from the DC, and he vouched for you. Said you used to be military, and you’re good people.”

I nodded. The truth was, the Deputy Chief didn’t know me any more than I knew Stilch, perhaps less. But he could vouch for Yeats, who vouched for me, and that was the way the world worked.

“I don’t much give a shit what the DC thinks of you, either, truth be told,” Stilch said. “But I was Navy before I 50

was with the cops, and I learned early on about the chain of command, so here the fuck I am, right?”

“I appreciate it.”

Stilch shrugged.

The bartender returned with our order. Stilch didn’t even wait for the guy to leave before he threw back one of the shots and placed it back on the bartender’s tray.

I let my beer sit.

The bartender hovered, and I realized this wasn’t the kind of place where he’d run a tab. I pulled some cash from my pocket and dropped it on his tray next to Stilch’s empty shot glass.

Stilch waited until the bartender walked away, then he started unceremoniously. “Two vics, in a hotel room. Both shot in the head.”

“The Sawyer brothers,” I observed.

“No shit.” Stilch took a slug of his beer. “We found no luggage of any kind. Both were fully dressed, but when patrol cops arrived, the bathroom was still steamed up like someone had been in the shower or the bathtub.”

“So someone else was there.”

“Like I said, no shit. It wasn’t a murder-suicide, right?”

I blinked. As much as I would like to crack this asshole across the jaw, I needed to hear what he had. “So who did it?”

Stilch shrugged. “Head shots, close range? We figured an execution off a drug rip. It made sense. But when we got the hit on Jerzy Sawyer and our organized crime people got involved, it started to look like maybe this was part of the Russian/Polish flare-up. So we worked that angle, too.”

“Was it?”

“Oh, our super heroes in OC thought so. They figured this was retaliation by the Russkies for the hit on Bogdan 51

Skansi.” He switched to his shot glass and downed it. He grimaced and then grinned at me. “But then a lowly homicide detective came across a piece of evidence that blew their theory.”

He reached inside his jacket, withdrew a 5x7 photo, and laid it on the table in front of me. It was obviously from a security camera. The black and white shot was a little grainy but not bad. It showed a beautiful blond woman striding through the lobby with a paper grocery bag in her hand.

I looked up at Stilch. “So?” He smiled. “So, that bag?” He tapped the photo. “It’s the same bag Jerzy Sawyer walked in with when he checked in.”

“It’s a grocery bag,” I said. “Could be –“ “Yeah, it could,” Stilch said. “But when I showed this photo to the OC guys, they about shit themselves with surprise.” He tapped the photo again. “That little mink?

Her name is Ania Kozak. She worked at a bar called Ambrozy’s, over in Polish Town. You know Ambrozy’s?”

“No.” “It’s the world fucking headquarters for Patrik Dudek.

He’s pretty much the Polish version of Don Corleone here in Chicago.”

I thought about that. “So it wasn’t the Russians.”

“Nope. Not unless this little twat was some kind of double agent. See, she not only worked the bar, but according to OC, she was banging Jerzy Sawyer the last week of his life.”

I considered that. “I take it she hasn’t shown up since?”

He shook his head. “In the wind. But our guys don’t think she went back to Dudek, either. They think she’s a solo operator. She fucked them all over.”

52

“What’s in that grocery bag?” I asked, though I was pretty sure I knew.

But Stilch only shrugged. “No one knows. But you gotta figure it’s cash, right?”

I took a drink of my beer. It tasted watery and warm.

“You’ve got warrants for this Kozak woman?”

Stilch nodded. “As far as that goes, yeah.”

“And no clue where she is?”

“One of three places,” Stilch said.

I looked at him and waited.

He counted off on his fingers. “Underground here in Chicago. Under the ground here in Chicago. Some other fucking place.”

Stilch let me keep the photograph of Ania Kozak. I scanned it and emailed it to Yeats. I asked to see what his tech guys could do with it, and I told him I would check out Ambrozy’s in the morning. Then I sat in my hotel room and stared at the grainy picture for a long while.

This woman, this Ania, had a coldness to her. And an air of confidence. She walked through that lobby knowing full well that everyone was noticing her and that no one would stop her.

I wondered where she went. Somehow, I didn’t think it was underground or under the ground. She was somewhere else, and she was something else.

Thanks for reading this free preview of Closing the Circle. We hope you’ll give the rest of the novel a try!

53