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“In nineteen seventy-eight, she was a cocktail waitress in Chicago. She was Evelyn Spier then. Evie to her friends.” Onderdonk leaned on the counter.
Brody crossed his arms. “Evelyn Spier. Chicago. Got it.”
“I learned most of this from reviewing her file. When all this went down, I was still a punk kid. I talked to Alice a little about what happened, but she got defensive about it, a little elusive, and she painted herself as the victim.”
He lifted his chin and raised his eyebrows, an indication for Onderdonk to continue with his story.
“All right, Beau. Just relax. I don’t get to tell a story very often, and you’re already rushing me. Takes all the enjoyment right out of it.”
“You’re killing me, Ted.”
Onderdonk smiled. “So in seventy-eight, Evie was twenty-years-old and a real pretty thing.”
“How do you know? She’s old enough to be your mother.”
“I saw her picture in the file; that’s how. Back then, the drinking age for beer and wine was nineteen. Hard alcohol was twenty-one. The club where she worked let her serve it all. Now, where she was employed doesn’t matter, but what does is who took a shine to her. His name was Daniel O’Leary. Danny Boy to his friends. Officer O’Leary to everyone else.”
The big man clucked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “A cop.”
“A dirty cop.”
Brody’s eyebrows rose. “Ah, a useful one.”
Onderdonk rolled his eyes. “He was dirty in the wrong way.”
“There’s a right way?”
“When you’re in the hip pocket of the local don, it’s the wrong way. Too many things are going to come back to haunt you.”
Some books fell to the floor in the back of the store, and Onderdonk glanced toward the noise.
“The cat,” Brody said. “He doesn’t like how the books are color-coordinated.”
Onderdonk opened his mouth to say something then paused, considering what Brody said. He turned to look for the cat. Finally, the marshal continued. “The first time he ever saw her, Daniel O’Leary, thirty-one years-old, five foot ten, dark hair, and recently divorced, fell head over heels for the supposedly sweet and innocent Evie Spier.”
“Supposedly sweet and innocent?”
“I’ll get to that in a minute. I’m telling a story here.”
Brody apologetically lifted his hands.
“The two of them began a hot and heavy courtship, and before long they moved in together. It was the seventies, remember, and people did that sort of thing. Unfortunately for Danny Boy, nobody ever told him that he had a bad habit of talking in his sleep.”
Brody grimaced. “Not good.”
“You’re paying attention. So one night, Danny mumbled a guy’s name. For whatever reason, Evie was awake, and she heard it. She didn’t think anything of it. Until a couple of days later, the guy was gunned down in an alley. Evie read about it in the Tribune. It seems the police suspected it was a mob hit.
“If she were a different kind of girl, maybe Evie would have thought her cop boyfriend was a psychic or something, but Evie knew the score, including what a cop’s salary looked like. She realized Danny couldn’t afford to take her out as often as they went or to buy her nice dresses on that alone. Early on, she knew he was on the take, and she was okay with it. She wanted the better things in life, and, the way she figured it, you had to get a little dirty to get those things.”
“Smart girl.”
Onderdonk ignored Brody’s comment. “So Evie started sleeping a little lighter. She wanted to hear what Danny was going to let slip next in his sleep. A couple of nights later, she heard it. He mumbled something about a gambling joint down on the waterfront. In the morning, she checked the Tribune—nothing. The next day—nothing. On the third day, though, a suspected underground casino burned to the ground. The newspaper reported it as the fallout from a mob war that was brewing on the streets of Chicago.”
“It was probably a joint that wouldn’t get under the mob’s protection.”
“The investigating detectives had those same thoughts.”
Brody pursed his lips and squinted as he listened. He was enjoying Onderdonk’s tale of Evelyn Spier.
“Now,” the marshal said, “Evie Spier had big aspirations for a twenty-year-old. She didn’t want to be a cocktail waitress her whole life. She wanted to go someplace. As they used to say in those days, she was a smart broad.”
“Say it now, and you’re likely to get punched in the mouth.”
“I wouldn’t dare,” Onderdonk said. “Anyway, Evie figured there was an angle in it for her, so she got a couple of meatheads together.”
“She had guys?”
“Do you know any pretty girl that can’t pull some dunderheads to help her?”
“Good point,” Brody said with a half-hearted shrug. “But why didn’t she tell good ol’ Danny Boy he was talking in his sleep? You said she knew he was dirty, and that she was okay with it.”
Onderdonk stared at him like he was simple.
It took him a minute to figure it out. Finally, Brody said, “Because she already knew he wasn’t the one.”
“As I said, she was a smart broad.”
“Which you wouldn’t say in polite company.”
“Of course not. I’ve had the company’s sexual harassment training. Anyway, Evie figured she’d make a couple of scores off his pillow talk, dump him, and then she’d be set to find a new prince charming.”
“I see why you said she was supposedly sweet.”
“She assembled her little crew and told them to stand by for a call. It didn’t take long for Danny Boy to mumble his way into trouble. He mentioned another name, but this time it was a numbers house.”
“Illegal betting?”
“Uh-huh, right. The place was disguised as a taxi company. Her crew knocked it over before her boyfriend and his buddies could do it. It worked like a charm, too, and she got a fat roll of cash out of it. She hid the money at her mother’s house and began thinking about doing the next job. In her mind, how could the mob get upset if they were only lending a hand, right?”
“They were helpers is what they were.”
Onderdonk chuckled. “Except when Officer Daniel O’Leary came home that night, he was more than a little agitated. He wouldn’t tell Evie what was wrong. He kept it bottled up inside. It was temporary though. He soon got drunk, smacked her around, which was normal, by the way. I don’t think I told you that.”
“You didn’t tell me that. That seems like an important detail in this story.”
“Yeah, Danny would get drunk occasionally and take out his frustrations on Evie.”
“Another reason why she would realize he wasn’t the one.”
“You would hope,” the lawman said. “Anyway, when he woke up the next morning Danny Boy apologized for what he did—”
“Of course.”
“—and he went back to work, protecting and serving the great city of Chicago. Evie returned to slinging drinks, presumably with heavy makeup to disguise a black eye. Everything was back to normal.”
“Until the next time he mumbled in his sleep,” Brody added.
“Now, you’re playing along with the rhythm,” Onderdonk said. “Except the next time Danny mumbled in his sleep, it was about killing a man. Evie was smart enough to ignore it. There was no money for her in that type of job. Her crew just wanted to knock over places that the mob wanted robbed. She felt that was a safe scam.”
“There’s no safe scam with the mob.”
“Prophetic words. Evie was sleeping light, listening for anything that could lead her to another score, when she finally heard something. The boyfriend mentioned a dry cleaner. It wasn’t much to go on, but she knew it had to be another numbers joint.
“Evie was so excited she could hardly contain herself. In the morning, she called her boys. They found the dry cleaner Danny Boy mentioned and hit it fast, completely cleaning it out.”
“Was it a betting parlor?” Brody asked.
Onderdonk nodded slowly. “It was, for sure. The haul was bigger than the first. Evie’s cut was so big she figured she could grab the money from her mom’s house and take off. Leave Daniel O’Leary and his drunken hands behind. Maybe go out to sunny California and start a new life.”
Brody moved off the stool and put his hands on the counter. “By the look on your face, Ted, I see this is where her story goes bad.”
“The numbers house they hit—”
“—was Danny Boy’s employer. It was a mob joint, wasn’t it?”
“Nothing was supposed to happen to it. When Danny Boy came home after the dry cleaner was robbed, it was a whole different kind of agitated. He didn’t drink, he didn’t talk, and he didn’t even hit her. He was quiet and withdrawn. She asked what was wrong, and he told her it was the job and to leave him alone while he figured out his problem. She did, of course, and gave him a wide berth.” Onderdonk drummed his fingers on the counter. “Evie knew exactly why Danny was angry. She didn’t need a road map, but she wasn’t freaking out. No one knew it was her crew. She figured they had been smart. They wore masks, and no one spoke more than they had to during the heist. Also, no one was supposed to spend the money they took either. Everything would be okay if they just played it all by the book.”
Brody shook his head. “Only somebody didn’t play it by the book.” He’d been through this with some of his old crew—guys who couldn’t keep their greed and selfishness in check.
Onderdonk’s smile was crooked. “About a week went by, and Evie wasn’t even trying to sleep light anymore. Now, she couldn’t even nap when Danny Boy was around. She was afraid. She lay in bed and listened to him snore all night long. Then she heard him mutter a name, a name she knew well.”
“Hers?”
Onderdonk shook his head. “One of her boys.”
“Ah.”
“The mob had discovered her boys were involved with the robbery and were sicking Danny Boy on him. Evie knew it would only be a matter of time until she was discovered. And if she was found out, she knew she was dead. Evie lay in bed that night thinking it through.”
“She couldn’t call the cops,” Brody said.
“Right,” the lawman agreed. “Her boyfriend was dirty, and since he wasn’t doing the jobs by himself, maybe there were more dirty cops in the department.”
“And if she went to the police,” Brody said, “she would have to admit what she’d done.”
“Exactly. If she went down to the local precinct, Evie was pretty sure she’d never make it home. She couldn’t run. Oh, she had the money, but if the mob knew it was her, they would never stop looking. You know how it is. The money would run out soon enough, and there would always be someone affiliated with the mob who would find her. She was smart. She knew how things worked.”
“If she were smart,” Brody said, “she wouldn’t have ripped off the mob.”
The lawman ignored his comment. “When she got out of bed that morning, she only saw one solution.”
“I was wrong,” Brody said. “This is the part where her story goes bad.”
Onderdonk pointed a finger and thumb at the big man and clicked his tongue, firing his pretend gun. “That morning, after Officer Daniel O’Leary put on his uniform and went to work, Evelyn Spier slipped into her best dress and walked into the local office of the FBI.”