THURSDAY 7:43 P.M.

At the Screaming Queen Arms, Bert was still on duty with his head resting on his crossed arms. He awoke when I gave the bell a single, short ding.

He smiled at me. “My replacement can’t get here through the blizzard. I may be here until the snow melts in the spring.”

I said, “My guy still up there?”

The smile vanished. “I think so. Maybe.”

“What does that mean?”

He gulped. His eyes shifted.

I said, “Bert, you’ve known me for how long?”

“A while.”

“Who saved you from your parole officer?”

“You.”

“Who found out who was trying to frame you for murder when nobody else in town believed you?”

“You.”

I waited.

His eyes stopped shifting. He looked scared. “You’ve always been good to me.” He swallowed as loudly as Gollum then said, “They paid me a lot of money. They showed it to me in my checking account. I’ve never seen that many zeroes at one time.”

I waited some more. Silence, the detective’s secret weapon.

He looked away, then whispered, “The guy you brought in and some new guy have another room.”

“Somebody checked in after us?”

“No, they came in a few days ago.”

“The guy I was with?”

“Yeah.”

“And another guy?”

He nodded.

“Are they still here?”

“I don’t know. I keep falling asleep.”

What the fuck?

“Where is the other room?”

He gave me a key card and a separate room number.

One strain of corruption in Chicago politics admires the pol who can be bought and stays bought. Not sure where Bert fit on that spectrum right now. Maybe he was just a poor guy trying to make his life a little better, like the rest of us.

As I turned to go, Bert held out an arm. “There’s a different guy in the first room you and your buddy rented.” He gulped. “He was a big guy. He threatened me. I let him go to the first room. Vincek didn’t seem to care who went to that room.”

I was past confused and pissed to the point of stumped and furious.

First, I decided to try the original room that I’d rented with Vincek. More spies or terrorists or religious fundamentalists?

I checked my anger and frustration. I crept down the hall with my gun drawn. I slipped the key in the slot and banged the door open and dove to my left into the room. I came to my knees in the middle of the room.

I was staring at Magic Mike in a lumberjack outfit, tight jeans on a muscular frame, a flannel shirt with the cuffs rolled up once, tan work boots that would have been at home on any construction site. He was sitting in the chair. He gave me a bemused look.

I said, “Who the hell are you?”

He said, “Vincek is gone.”

I eyed the quite vacant corners of the room, the open door to the uninhabited washroom. I said, “I can see that. Did you take him?”

“Gone before I got here.”

“Who are you with?”

He pulled out ID and showed it to me. It was a New York driver’s license, and a New York Times employee ID. Both said he was Nelson Weisman.

“You’re the reporter for the New York Times.”

“And you’re the detective, and you read the article.”

“What do you want with Vincek?”

“Let me think. I’m a reporter. What do you think I’m after? A story. A headline.”

“What do various government agencies want with him?”

“Depends on the agency, the day of the week, the hour. You’ve had contact with him.”

“And how do you know that? For that matter, how do you know who I am?”

“Chatter on the government sites.”

“You’ve hacked into National Security Agency stuff?”

“When I need to.”

“Why haven’t they arrested you?” While talking, I divested myself of my outer gear and sat on the bed. I kept my gun six inches from my hand on the bed. Weisman didn’t display a weapon.

“I’m a reporter with sources. I might or might not be useful to whoever wishes to fight over me.”

“But you got here.”

“Ahhh. Well, see, your client may be a computer genius, but he’s not too bright.”

I said, “He made a phone call.”

“Yep.”

“Why aren’t the Feds here?”

“I’m not sure, but I assume after they get done fighting over who should make an attack on this place, they will be. Plus, the storm has fucked things up something fierce. I was on the last plane that landed before they shut down O’Hare.”

“What the hell does Vincek know?”

“He didn’t tell you?”

“He claimed to know about plots by various groups within the government, outside the government, data on various agencies that would make Edward Snowden envious.”

“Some of what he told you might be true. Some not.”

“How does anyone find out which is which?”

Weisman shrugged. “I just follow the next fact. Do you know where he is?”

“For all I know, he’s unconscious in the nearest snow drift.” If he didn’t know about the other room, I wasn’t about to tell him. “Who did he call?”

“That’s the thing. It was either a very brilliant call or a very stupid call. It was from here, as if he wanted to be caught. It pinged around the globe and no one is sure where it landed.”

“Is he a terrorist?”

“I can’t tell. Maybe a saint. Maybe not.”

“Won’t the Feds be suspicious when they get here and find you?”

“Suspicious of what? I’m a reporter following a story. A lead, I may add, which they gave me.”

“You don’t think maybe they’re using you?”

“I think we all may be being used.”

“How so?”

“I have suspicions about the case in New York.”

“Huh?” I was tired. I needed sleep. I remembered how warm and good it had felt next to Danny early this morning. I shook myself. Outside the one window, I could see the wind was still blowing the snow horizontally.

Weisman said, “See, I can’t tell if Vincek and his pal helped create the plot or plots as in manufacture one or many of them, or helped uncover the plot or plots, or are in fact plotting a terrorist act themselves. These guys could be crooks or saviors.” He quoted the old line. “If you’re not part of the solution, you’re part of the problem. I just can’t tell which part of the solution or problem they are.”

“If the Feds want to talk to them, the Feds must know something.”

“I think the Feds are clueless. The thing is, terrorist plots have gotten stopped, so Vincek and his crowd can’t be all bad. Unless Vincek and his buddies are the ones who are being foiled. But Vincek et.al. seem to get way more information than they should.”

“Where did you get your information?” I asked.

“Sources.”

“Bullshit. I’m not the government trying to destroy any First Amendment rights. We could trade information.”

“It was one of the gay geeks.”

“When was this?”

“A little over two years ago.”

“He came to you?”

“The short, skinny one. Out of the blue.”

“Are any of them big and robust? They’re all skinny. What did he tell you?”

“The same as you were told. Plots and planning by various government agencies and various terror groups.”

“You weren’t suspicious?”

“I was. My usual sources in the government wouldn’t give me shit.”

“Or couldn’t. Maybe they just don’t know.”

“Maybe.”

“What was your source’s name?”

“He said it was Blake.”

“Said it was?”

“I can’t prove it.”

“So one of them was a traitor to the others?”

“At first I thought so.”

“What was his motive?”

“Said he was jealous. Said they were a hotbed of male polyamory.”

I asked, “Were they?”

“He didn’t bring me vats of cum from various unknown males. How would he prove it? That’s what he told me. Jealousy is not unheard of in any group.”

“Was his information good?”

“About the terrorist cell that went on trial? Yeah. The members of the terrorist cell got convicted, but when Blake gave information, he couldn’t hide who all his buddies were. The Feds were on to Vincek and his crowd. Or they let the Feds get on to some of them.”

I asked, “Why haven’t they been caught?”

“These guys are way smart, better than any I’ve ever seen.”

“So what do you do now?”

“Same as you. Go out in the middle of a goddamn blizzard and look for them.”

“Where do you start?”

He said, “The good witch was right. It’s always best to begin at the beginning.”

“How’d you find this place?”

“Like I said, I got chatter on the Internet, but I’m not sure who put it there or maybe planted it. I had to follow leads. You’ve heard about the Homan Avenue place which is supposed to be a Chicago police Black Ops site?”

I nodded.

“I think it might be fake, but I can’t get in. I haven’t found the real one yet.”

“I don’t know of anyone who has gotten in.” I didn’t tell him that I knew it wasn’t the Chicago police department’s rendition site. I asked, “How did you or anyone know they were in Chicago?”

“I can’t reveal my sources.”

“But your sources must know things. So these guys thought they were invulnerable.”

“People take terrorism very seriously.”

“Do you know someone who takes it frivolously? What kind of fatuous crack is that? Everything beyond frivolous is national security related? Bullshit.” I sighed. “Vincek told me the government is after him and various criminal elements trying to get revenge. That Blake might have died tonight.”

Weisman sat forward. “You’re kidding?”

I shrugged. “There was no body at the county morgue or at the scene.” I stood up. “Everybody wants Vincek. I wonder if he ever imagined he’d be this popular.”

“You’re not going to wait for him here?” Weisman asked. He spread his legs wide. High up on his studly pants, I saw an enticing bulge. What was it with all these guys? Not that I would have been opposed under normal circumstances. He had that intelligent, lumberjack vibe down pat. I chose to pass.

I said, “You’re here so this is covered.”

“You want me to call you?”

I smiled. “Would you?”

“Probably not.”

I walked out.

I waited at the entrance to the stairs to see if he’d try to follow. When he didn’t, I took the stairs to the top floor, waited there then walked back down to the lobby, then took the elevator to the floor below where the second room was, then walked up the last flight of stairs. Nobody followed me.