CHAPTER 14

THE CT SCAN hadn’t been a lot of fun. It wasn’t claustrophobia so much as the noise – loud, rhythmic clunking and banging while his head throbbed like an apocalyptic hangover. But worse was just lying there, not knowing what had happened.

Maybe the gun went off accidentally? But there had been two shots.

Were one or two of his best friends dead in an alley right now?

‘Mr Kern.’

‘Yeah.’ He opened his eyes. An Indian guy in a white coat stood in front of him. Weird. The guy looked younger than him. Alex pushed away his thoughts, struggled to focus. ‘Doc.’

‘How are you feeling?’

‘My head hurts.’

‘Any nausea?’

‘No.’

‘Numbness?’

‘I wish.’

‘Pain in your teeth? Double vision?’

‘Huh-uh.’

The man nodded, made a note on a clipboard. ‘Good. Well, the results are fine. No evidence of fracture or permanent damage. The blow hit just above the zygomatic arch, which protects some important nerves. Sort of like hitting your funny bone, how it shoots through your whole arm?’ He took out a pad and began to write. ‘I’m going to give you some Tylenol-3 for the pain. Don’t take any more than you really need.’

‘What about the cut?’

‘We stitched that when you arrived. You might have a little scar, nothing too dramatic.’

‘You did?’ He blinked. ‘I don’t remember.’

‘You have a mild concussion. That can affect your memory.’

‘Will it—’

‘Be permanent? You shouldn’t have trouble remembering things that happen from now on. If you do, come back immediately. Same with vision problems or severe pain.’

‘Come back? You’re saying I should go?’

‘You have insurance?’

‘I have child support instead.’

The man laughed. ‘Look, if you want, you can stay. But my advice? You’ll rest better at home, and it’s a lot cheaper.’

‘Rest? Am I allowed to sleep? I thought with a concussion …’

‘Depends on the level. You’ll be fine. In a couple of days or a week, follow up with your family practitioner.’ The man handed him a slip of paper. ‘Your prescription.’

After the doctor left, a nurse came in, helped him stand up, gave him his clothes, wallet, and cellphone. After he changed in the bathroom, she had him sit back down in a wheelchair. ‘I can walk,’ he said.

‘Policy,’ she said. ‘You have someone here?’

‘Someone?’

‘To take you home. You shouldn’t drive, sugar.’

‘I can call a cab, I guess.’

‘I got a better idea.’ The voice came from behind. Very gently, Alex turned his head to look.

The man in the chair wore a suit and tie. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with short hair trimmed to razor edge. Something about him made Alex immediately nervous. ‘My name is Peter Bradley. I’m a detective with the Chicago Police Department.’ His hand held out.

‘A detective?’ Alex shook the guy’s hand on reflex while his brain conjured images of the tip of the scissors an inch from his eye. For a moment, he thought about calling for the doctor, saying he sure felt some nausea now.

‘Do you remember what happened?’

‘Umm.’ His mouth was dry, his thoughts sticky. We robbed Johnny Love. Ian hit me too hard. Someone got shot, and I don’t know who. ‘There were men with guns.’

‘That’s right. I’d like to ask you a couple of questions. I can give you a ride at the same time.’

‘Do we have to do this now?’

‘Not if you’re not up to it. But the sooner we talk, the more likely we are to catch these guys,’ the detective said. He gave an apologetic shrug. ‘Since you need a lift anyway …’

You have nothing to hide. ‘OK, yeah, I guess. Sure.’

‘Good.’ Bradley stepped behind the chair, took the handles. ‘Don’t you hate this crap?’

‘What?’

‘This. Everybody so worried you’re going to sue. Cut your finger, leave in a wheelchair.’ The automatic doors whooshed open. The night was sticky after the hospital’s air conditioning. ‘Here you go.’

Alex put his hands on the armrests, stood up slowly. The motion sent a bolt of pain through his head. He wobbled for a moment, kept one hand on the arm of the chair.

‘You all right?’

‘Feel like I spent the night slamming tequila.’

The cop laughed. ‘Doctors say you’ll be fine. At least you probably got some good pills out of it, right?’ He gestured. ‘I’m over here. Where do you live?’

‘Rogers Park.’

Bradley reached the car first, a pale blue Crown Vic. He unlocked the passenger-side door and held it open. Alex got in, his eyes scanning the radio mounted to the dash, the switches that controlled the sirens, the handle that moved the spotlight. Bradley climbed in the other side, fired up the engine. ‘Ever been in a police car before?’

‘Nope. Well, once. When I was a kid.’ He realized how that sounded, continued in a rush. ‘Got caught drinking a twelve-pack in an alley. The cop – the officer – put me in the back, drove me home.’

‘Ouch. He talk to your parents?’

‘No, he was cool. Just put the fear of God into me.’ He reached up and gingerly touched the side of his face, his fingers tracing cotton and tape. There was something about the cop that he liked, an easy manner. Under other circumstances, he seemed like a guy it would be fun to have a drink with.

Bradley signaled, then nosed into traffic, heading for Lake Shore Drive. ‘So. Tell me what happened.’ The headlights of other cars flared into stars.

Keep it simple. ‘I was in the back room with Johnny Lo— with Mr Loverin.’

A smile danced quick across Bradley’s lips. Alex continued. ‘Two men came in. They had guns and masks. They told us not to move. One of them was close to me, and I, I guess I took a swing at him. He hit me with the gun. After that, everything is fuzzy.’

‘You tried to punch one of them?’

‘I wasn’t really thinking.’

‘Did better than most. People usually just freeze up.’

‘Kind of wish I had.’

‘Did you recognize the men?’

‘No. Like I said, they had masks on.’

‘Anything distinctive about them?’

‘Guns.’

Bradley snorted. ‘Anything else? Scars, tattoos, heavy, tall? Anything about the clothing?’

A memory came, a time two years ago when he’d been mugged. How afterward he couldn’t remember a thing about what the man had looked like. It had been a strangely helpless feeling: all those hours lifting weights, all the standard male fantasies about what he would do, and in the moment, he’d done nothing at all – not even remember what the man looked like. ‘No. It’s weird, but I guess I didn’t really see them.’

‘What about their eyes? Anything unusual about them?’

‘Not that I remember.’

‘You didn’t notice if one had a black eye?’

Something in Alex went cold. ‘I’m not sure.’

‘What were you doing in the office?’

‘Mr Loverin asked me to come back.’

‘Why?’

‘I don’t know.’

Bradley merged onto the Drive, pressed the gas. There was a party going on in a Gold Coast penthouse, men and women crowding the windows, smoking on the balcony. ‘Tell me about Johnny Love.’

‘What about him?’

‘How long have you worked for him?’

‘About ten years. Well, at the bar that long. He bought it, I don’t know, six years ago?’

‘Did you work with him before?’

‘No.’

‘You never did anything for him, any side jobs?’

‘What kind of jobs?’

‘Anything at all.’

‘I never knew him until then.’ These questions were hitting closer to home than he wanted. He faked a grimace. ‘Look, Detective, I’m really hurting. Do you mind—’

‘Sure. Lean back, relax.’ Bradley moved a lane over, sped up. ‘I don’t want to wear you out.’

Alex felt an absurd surge of gratitude. ‘Thanks.’

They rolled through the night, high rises glowing on the left, their windows too bright and plentiful. Out Alex’s window, sailboats swayed in the harbor. ‘I’ve never been through anything like this before.’

‘You’re lucky. Things could have gone a lot worse.’

‘Is everybody OK?’

‘A bad guy got killed, but none of your co-workers were hurt.’ The cop stared forward as they rounded the curve, Lake Shore Drive merging into Hollywood. ‘Do you know how Johnny Love made his money?’

A bad guy. Mitch? Ian?

‘I heard rumors.’

‘Bad ones?’

‘I guess.’

‘So you don’t mind my asking, why stay?’

‘I needed the money. I’m divorced, got a daughter.’

‘You couldn’t find another job?’

‘Johnny was an OK boss. I figured maybe they were just rumors.’

The cop looked over, cocked an eyebrow.

Alex sighed. ‘Look, I hear you. You and my ex-wife think alike. I probably should have quit years ago. I just … never got around to it. I mean, I never saw anything that made me uncomfortable, so I ignored the rumors.’

‘Went along to get along.’

‘I guess. I kind of get through life by not thinking too hard about it.’

‘I hear you.’ Bradley nodded. ‘What’s your address?’

‘There’s a Walgreen’s at Western and Howard. Mind dropping me there? I need to get this prescription filled.’

‘Sure. I can wait.’

‘You don’t need to. I’m just a couple blocks.’ He tried to sound casual as he spoke, to hide the part of himself that was desperate to get out of the car, ASA-freaking-P. At least they were moving fast. Traffic was light. He had a weird memory, how when he’d first moved to Rogers Park he’d been surprised to hear sirens most every night. At first he’d thought it was cops – the neighborhood was rough around the edges – but before long he’d worked it out. It was the old folks’ homes that lined Ridge. Somebody was always dying.

‘What about the shots? Tell me what you remember.’

A bad guy got killed … ‘There were two. One a few minutes after they left. Then a pause, maybe thirty seconds or so – it’s hard to say, my time sense was screwed – and then another.’

‘Nothing after that?’

‘Sirens.’

The cop clicked his tongue against his lip. ‘Anything else?’

Alex paused. Tried to remember the scene, to envision it as if he had no greater knowledge. ‘I don’t think so. They were in jeans, work pants. Ski masks. The masks were black.’ Shook his head. ‘One minute I’m standing there, then the door bangs open, these guys come in yelling—’

‘What did they yell?’

‘Something like “Shut the fuck up, don’t move.” They were swinging guns around, and I just sort of reacted, went for one of them, and then …’ He shrugged.

Bradley pulled the car into the drugstore parking lot. He stopped outside the front door. ‘Could I see your driver’s license?’

‘My license?’ His back tensed. ‘Sure.’ He fumbled into his pants, pulled out his wallet, the chain rattling. Passed the ID to the cop.

‘This your current address?’

‘Yeah.’

Bradley scribbled it down in a pad he pulled from the dash. ‘How about a phone number?’

Alex gave it to him. ‘Do you think you’ll catch these guys?’

‘Sure.’

Ice slid down his sides. ‘Really?’

‘Why wouldn’t we?’ The cop looked at him curiously.

‘I don’t know. I just – well, I guess I’m just glad.’

Bradley nodded. ‘Positive you don’t want me to wait around for you? It’s no trouble.’

‘Really, it’s fine. You know how it is, these things can take a long time.’ The excuse sounding preposterous.

‘OK. I’ll be in touch if we need anything else. Meanwhile.’ Bradley pulled out a business card, passed it to Alex along with his license. ‘Just like on TV. Anything else occurs to you, don’t hesitate. Even if it seems small.’

‘OK.’ He reached for the door handle.

‘And, Mr Kern, a piece of advice?’

He hesitated, turned back. ‘Sure.’

‘Your ex-wife is right about this one. Might be time to start thinking about getting a new job.’

‘I’m going home.’

Jenn looked up, blinking away the alley. Funny thing, it wasn’t the violence she’d been replaying, the yelling and the fire. It was the part before, when the man pulled up behind their rental car. Those long moments, probably only two or three, when they’d been alone.

As the car headlights had splashed across her, she’d known what was coming. Not specifically, of course, but she’d been able to feel the weight of potential. And with it a chance, a slim and slippery chance to make things right. To change the future that was barreling toward them. A chance that depended on her being clever enough, quickly enough.

If only she had thought faster. All of this would be different.

‘Hello?’ Ian pulled keys from his front pocket. ‘I’m going home.’

From the couch, Mitch said, ‘Why?’

‘There’s nothing more we can do now, right? We just have to wait until tomorrow, talk with Alex. So I’m going to go take a shower and try to sleep.’

‘Is that smart?’ Jenn looked at Mitch.

‘What are you asking him for?’ Ian tossed his keys from hand to hand.

‘It’s fine,’ Mitch said. ‘It doesn’t matter if he waits here or there.’ He looked at Ian. ‘Just don’t do anything stupid.’

‘Like what?’

‘You know what.’ The way Mitch said it, that carefully measured tone, made her think he was talking about some specific thing.

Ian made a sound that was part sigh, part frustration. ‘I told you I was sorry.’

Mitch nodded. ‘OK.’

Jenn rubbed at her eyes, ran her hands through her hair, pulling it into an unbound ponytail and then dropping it to fall on her back. ‘All right.’ She pushed off the counter she’d been leaning against. ‘So we get together tomorrow morning.’

‘You hear from Alex, you’ll let me know?’

‘Of course.’

The three of them walked to the front door. Though there was comfort in hiding here, it was still strange having them in her apartment. Ten years of unsuccessful dating had made her want a sanctuary that was all hers. It was just an apartment, but she’d painted every wall and picked out every piece of furniture, from the thin-legged hall table to the plush rug beneath the bed.

‘You need a lift?’ Ian asked.

‘I’m going to stay in case Alex calls,’ Mitch said. ‘If that’s OK, I mean.’ He looked at her questioningly.

‘Sure,’ she said, realizing she was glad of it.

‘All right. See you tomorrow.’ Ian started down the steps. Jenn watched him go, Mitch beside her, the two of them standing like the hosts of a dinner party waving farewell to the last guests. When Ian was out of sight, she said, ‘What was all that about?’

‘What?’

‘You telling him not to do anything stupid.’

‘Oh.’ Mitch looked pained for a moment, then shrugged. ‘I guess you should know. He was high.’

‘High? When? Tonight?’

‘Yeah. Cocaine. That’s why he was so twitchy.’

‘You’ve got to be kidding me.’

He shook his head. ‘He told me he did it sometimes. I think that’s what his bathroom breaks are about. But I never thought he’d do it tonight. I about killed him.’

‘High. Jesus.’ She closed the door. They looked at each other for an awkward moment. ‘We aren’t very good at this, are we?’

‘At being criminals? No. But cut us some slack. It’s our first time.’

Their eyes met and held for a second, and then she started laughing, and he joined in. He had a good laugh, one of those that came deep and unself-conscious. His fed hers, and they kept at it longer than the joke deserved. It felt good. Pushed away the weight of what they had done, reminded her that no matter what, she was alive. That, in fact, she felt more than she could remember feeling in the last ten years. Like her father always said, any day above-ground counted as a good one. She said, ‘Vodka?’

‘Oh God yes.’

She led the way to the kitchen, flipped on the overheads, then pulled Smirnoff from the freezer, the bottle frosted white. Took down two glasses, dropped an ice cube in each, and poured generous doubles. ‘Cheers.’ The first swallow was sharp and cold and real, a pure physical sensation.

The air conditioning was on, and she was chilly in the dress, her flesh tight with goosebumps. Shopping for it had been fun. Playing the part in advance, life coming into focus, seeming to matter. Earlier in the afternoon, when she’d gotten dolled up, she’d stood in front of the mirror in her bedroom and liked what she saw. Not a woman in her thirties with a shit job and no plans. A heartbreaker femme fatale in a dress cut too low for a bra, gearing up for a robbery. She’d stood and stared, and then hiked the edge of the skirt up, hooked her thumbs in the waist of her panties and pulled them off. The feeling of air at the hinge of her thighs had been electric. Hundred-proof life.

‘I like your place,’ Mitch said.

‘Thanks.’ She took another sip of vodka. ‘Me too.’

He nodded, looked around. She could see him struggling for something to say. ‘Been here long?’

‘About five years. Before I moved here I’d been living with Brian – you never met him, did you? – and before that with some girlfriends. When things fell apart with Bry, I decided, enough; time to have my own space. Do things my way. You know?’

‘I guess.’

‘You don’t like living alone?’

‘It’s OK.’ He paused, shrugged. ‘Lonely sometimes.’

‘I know. But there’s a good kind of loneliness too. Where you realize that maybe you are alone, but that it’s better than being someone you’re not.’ Thinking back to Brian’s old apartment, the smell of cigarettes, him on the couch on weekend afternoons, goofy-haired, watching football. Something sweet in it at first. But somewhere along the line she’d realized that their present was their future, that Brian, nice as he was, would never change, never be anything else. That he didn’t want to. If he had his choice, it would be fifty more years of football Saturdays and Sunday-morning sex, of workday weeks and frozen pizza. Dropping dead within days of each other, shortly after a visit from the grandkids. It wasn’t long after that she started picking fights.

For no reason but to have something to say, she said, ‘You know one of my favorite things? Some days I’ll come home, pour a drink, and climb into bed with a couple of magazines. Not real magazines, Newsweek or anything. I mean junk. Celebrity baby magazines. And I’ll lay there in bed and drink and catch up on what crazy thing Britney Spears has done lately.’

He laughed. ‘Really?’

‘Yeah. I don’t take it seriously. I mean, I like to check out the clothes and stuff, but that’s sort of an excuse. I know it’s silly, looking at the lives of these people I’ll never meet, don’t even want to. I just kind of get a kick out of being a voyeur.’

‘Nothing wrong with that.’ He took a swallow. ‘I actually know what you mean. Sometimes when I’m on break at the hotel, I’ll go up to the second floor of the lobby, where there’s this big balcony. Lean over and watch people.’

‘Watch them what?’

‘Just … watch them. Twice-divorced sales executives hitting on each other in the lounge. Tourists with cameras asking directions to Navy Pier. Couples that have been together so long they don’t talk, don’t seem to need to. If you watch long enough, you start to see that everybody looks like they’re missing something. Like we all lost something and we’re all looking for it.’

‘True love?’

He laughed. ‘I read a poem once, had a line that went something like, “the heart asks more than life can give.” I think it’s that, really. We all want everything. But we’d settle for a sense that things matter. That there’s more to it than just getting up in the morning and making it through a day.’

‘Do you see anybody who has that?’

‘Not very many.’

‘But some.’

‘Yeah. Some.’

Their eyes met and then slid apart. Without warning, an image hit, the blast of light spitting from Mitch’s hand, the way it seemed like it was the light that hit the man on the ground, that punched him in the heart and brought a dark circle to blossom on his shirt.

She set her drink down, covered her face with her hands. Her heart ached like something was trying to push it through her ribs. She pressed her palms against her cheeks, dug her nails into her forehead.

‘Hey,’ he said, his voice soft. She heard the click of his glass against the counter, and then he had his hands on her shoulders. The warmth felt good.

‘Oh God.’ She opened her hands, was surprised to see him close, ducking his head down to look up at her, concern on his face. Her voice came out tremulous. ‘What did we do?’

‘What we had to.’

‘How are you able to stand there and say that? I mean, you … you …’

Something happened in his eyes, a withdrawal and then a return, like a sea creature nearly surfacing before vanishing into the dark. He breathed through his nostrils. ‘I did it for you.’

‘We can’t take this back. We did this, and we can’t take it back.’

‘It’s what we wanted.’

‘Not this.’ Even as she said it, she heard a voice inside her, asking, Are you sure? If you could go back a week, to the life before, the one where nothing really mattered, where you kept everything at a distance – would you?

Yes, she thought. I would. I think.

‘Come here,’ he said. He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her. She stood stiff at first, but it felt really good to have someone holding her. There was a comfort that drove away part of the horror. Jenn slid her arms under his, around his back, and buried her face in his chest. Her eyes were closed, and she could smell him, a faint hint of sweat. Her nose was running and her eyes were wet.

‘It’s OK.’ His voice was soft. ‘We’ll make it OK. I promise.’

She gave a hollow half laugh, then sniffed, stepped back. Wiped her nose with the back of her hand. ‘God, I feel like such an idiot. Some adventuress I turned out to be.’

‘Don’t.’

‘I just’ – she picked her drink up, took a long pull – ‘I didn’t tell you this before, but when I was in the alley, that guy, he and I talked for a couple of minutes.’

‘You talked? What did you say?’ The fluorescent lights heightened the contrast between his pale skin and dark hair.

‘I was trying to get rid of him. At first I just figured he was a normal person, and asked him to move his car. But when I realized who he was … My mind was just … I was trying to figure out what to do, how to get rid of him. Finally I threatened to scream rape, and that started to work, but you guys came out.’ She shook her head. ‘I screwed up.’

‘It sounds like you did fine. It was us that screwed things up.’

‘No, but see, I had the chance. If I’d thought faster, he wouldn’t have been there. I mean, my part in this whole thing was small, and I should have been able to handle – I should have been able to help. But when it came down to it, I didn’t do anything.’

‘Wait a second. You stood there and talked to this guy, right?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Knowing that he was a drug dealer with a gun. You managed to stand straight, talk to him, and cover our backs. Try to get rid of him. In an alley. Looking’ – he gestured up and down her body – ‘like that.’

‘Yeah, but—’

‘Sounds to me like you were pretty brave.’

The words caught her by surprise. She raised her head to look at him, expecting a teasing smile, the kind of look Alex might wear, playful from a distance. Instead Mitch looked back with perfect sincerity, his eyes wide and steady.

Without thinking, she went up on tiptoes to kiss his cheek. His skin was rough with blue-black stubble, and she could smell the remnants of his aftershave. She felt him tense, even though she was barely touching him, like every muscle in his body clenched at once. She froze, then started to lean back. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘No.’ He put a hand on her arm, his touch gentle. His face was inches from hers, close enough that it was hard to focus. She could see him wrestling with something. In a bare whisper, he said, ‘Jenn …’

No one had ever put so much weight into her name. Coming from his lips the single syllable seemed like sweet sad music, something lonely and haunting that she wanted to have, to be, and then he put his other hand on the side of her head, the palm against her cheek, fingers in her hair, and he kissed her lips.

For a moment she stood too stunned to react. A thousand thoughts flickered and danced across her mind, a collection of do’s and don’ts, worry and excitement and fear and the lingering adrenaline of what they had done, that pounding sense of living on the ragged edge of now. And with it the pain of that existence, the fear of it, and the thought that distraction was fine, was what she needed. Then the simplest thought in the world hit, an old and familiar one that said simply, a boy you care about is kissing you. Kiss back.

So she did.

It was awkward for a moment, that first-kiss sensation stronger than usual, but then their tongues touched, gently, tentative, his fingers moving in her hair, and it felt good, so good, to be in the moment, to not feel anything but this. She slid her arms to his side, his back, feeling his body beneath, and suddenly they were locked hard, their bodies thrust together, his belt buckle jamming into her stomach, his hand moving from her hair to her neck. Trailing down her back, fingers touching lightly. Reaching the small of her back and then hesitating, like he was asking permission.

She broke the kiss, a little dizzy. Paused. Asked herself what she was doing, if this was wise. Then remembered the version of herself she’d seen in the mirror that afternoon, the woman who wasn’t afraid of anything, the one who would take the world for all it could give her. How free that had felt. How much better than the standard, everyday Jennifer.

She slid her hand on top of his. Then, looking him in the eyes, slowly pushed his hand down to her ass.

He moaned, almost a whimper, and squeezed, fingers gripping her flesh, digging in, and then it was happening, the two of them tearing into each other, ravenous, electric. She had a faint flash of surprise as she realized that he was a good kisser, soft and firm at once. His beard stubble ground against her upper lip. He stepped into her and she moved with him like they were dancing, let him guide her back against the refrigerator, never breaking the kiss.

His hands found the straps of her dress and slid them down her shoulders. Her nipples hardened in the cold air as the fabric eased past her breasts, her stomach. Caught at the swell of her hips for a breathless moment, and then slipped to pool at her feet. It was intoxicating, the surprise and heat of it, standing naked in her kitchen with this friend, this stranger, pressing against her.

He broke the kiss slowly, letting her lip slide from his mouth, and stepped back. His eyes drank her, top to bottom to top. ‘God, you’re beautiful,’ he said. ‘You’re so beautiful.’

She raised her lips as he leaned in to kiss her, only he moved lower, his breath hot against the skin of her neck, his tongue darting and quick. He kissed the hollow of her throat, and then the space between her breasts. Ran his tongue down the flat of her belly, lower and lower, until he knelt in front of her on the tile floor. Like an act of worship, she thought, and then his tongue moved lower still, and she stopped thinking.