Random Victim (4 page)

“Want me to run down to supply and get us some phones, Sarge?” Smith asked.

“Good idea, Joe,” Ryan said. “And get us some beepers, radios, and a couple of cell phones, too.” He looked at Leal. “We gonna
need anything else?”

Leal shrugged. “I’m sure we’ll think of something when we need it.”

Ryan laughed and closed the door, taking the cigarette from behind his ear and quickly holding the flame of his lighter to
the end. He inhaled sharply, then let out a smoky breath along with a collective “Ahhhhh.” He looked over at Leal and smiled,
the cigarette still dangling from his mouth. “Look, I just want to get this up front so there’s no problem between me and
you. I didn’t ask to be in charge of this thing, and I know you got seniority.” He drew deeply on the cigarette again.

“Forget it. I’m just glad to be aboard.”

Ryan exhaled a heavy cloud of smoke and grinned.

“Great. How about we go for a drink? Just you and me. Today’s about cashed anyway.”

“Sounds good.”

Hart came in with the file and four copies. She gave one to Ryan and another to Leal. Ryan flipped through the pages as though
he was browsing a magazine.

“Jesus Christ, this is a lot of shit to sift through,” he said.

Hart stood about three feet away, conspicuously silent. Leal took time to assess her again. She had her jacket on now and
looked very angular. Beneath it, he knew, were the powerful muscles he’d seen earlier. He noticed she seemed sort of tentative,
especially around Ryan and him. Her saw her blink several times and realized Ryan’s cigarette was bothering her.

Let’s see if she asserts herself, he thought.

A dark shadow banged against the opaque glass of the door.

“That’s got to be Smith,” Ryan said. “Open it, will you?”

She moved to the door and opened it just as Smith stumbled forward, carrying a load of regular and cell phones as well as
four portable radios. Hart grabbed two of the portables in midair as they popped from Smith’s grasp.

“Thanks,” Smith said, moving to the desk and setting everything down clumsily. He pointed to his belt where four beepers were
clipped. “This be enough, Sarge?”

“As long as they work,” Ryan said. “I’ll take one of the radios you didn’t drop.”

In a few minutes they had the phones hooked up, the beepers and portables distributed, and the seating arrangement determined.
Ryan leaned back and lit another cigarette.

“Have to get an ashtray, too,” he said, looking around. “We could use a LEADS terminal, but, Hart, with your background you’ll
be in charge of running anything we need, okay?”

Hart nodded. Leal noticed her lips compress into a thin line.

She’s edgy, he thought. The cigarette? Or is it something more?

“Okay,” Ryan said, glancing at his watch. “It’s almost three. Let’s all knock off for today. You two,” he pointed at Smith
and Hart, “finish getting yourselves squared away. Get your radios, shoulder holsters, whatever you have to get. Then we’ll
all go over the file tonight, and meet here tomorrow at zero nine hundred for a strategy session. Got it?”

Smith said he did, then immediately went to one of the phones and began dialing. “My wife’s about ready to drop,” he said.
“Just want to check, see if there’s anything she needs.”

Ryan turned to Leal and smiled. “See you at Heaven’s Gate?”

“Okay,” Leal said, “fifteen minutes or so? I want to talk to my partner for a few.”

“Sure. It’ll save me from buying the first round.” Ryan slipped on his sports jacket. It was a brown weave that looked almost
a size too big for him. He took one final drag on his cigarette and then dropped it on the floor, crushing it under his shoe.
“Have to get some filing cabinets in here, too. We’ll have to lock up our reports so nothing walks. Joe, see to it before
you leave, okay?”

Smith waved an assent.

Hart stood, holding her file copy in both hands.

Leal tried to smile in a disarming fashion as he took out one of his business cards and scribbled some numbers on the back.

“These are my numbers,” he said, handing her the card. “Top one’s my beeper, second’s my cell phone, and the last one’s my
house.”

Hart glanced at it, then grabbed her purse and sorted through it.

“I don’t have any of my new cards yet,” she said. “But let me give you my home number.” She took out a gray-and-black business
card with a pair of barbells on the front. As she leaned over the desk Leal noted that her handwriting was clear and neat,
replete with all the typical feminine flourishes and loops. She wrote
Olivia Hart
along with a phone number.

Leal flipped the card over after she handed it to him.
The Body Center
was printed above the barbell design, with the address. Along the lower edge:
Rory H. Chalma,
Proprietor
.

“That’s the place where I work out,” Hart said quickly. “If I’m not at home, you can usually catch me there.”

I’ll bet, Leal thought, pocketing the card.

“This looks like an Alsip exchange,” he said.

“Right,” she said.

“I live in Blue Island,” he said. “Maybe we can carpool sometime since we’ll be working together.”

“Yeah, sure. And come by the gym to work out if you want,” she said. “I know Rory, ah, the owner, real good.”

A boyfriend? Leal wondered. She was beginning to seem more feminine to him now, not that her sexuality really mattered as
long as she knew what she was doing.

“I thought you worked out here?” he asked. “You looked like you were pretty much at home in that gym when I saw you earlier.”

“I do, well, at least I used to,” she said. “I’m…I was the aerobics instructor here, in charge of physical training.”

Leal raised his eyebrows.

Smith hung up the phone and stood.

“Guess I need to run by supply and see about them filing cabinets,” he said, smiling as he brushed past them.

“Wait,” Hart said. “I’ll go with you.” She turned to Leal, smiling up at him as she held the file to her chest like a schoolgirl.
“Well, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Right,” Leal said. “Tomorrow.”

He watched the two of them walking briskly down the hall toward supply as he locked the office, the muscles of Hart’s well-developed
butt snaking powerfully under the brown fabric of her skirt.

Here I am stuck on a high-profile task force to investigate an unsolved homicide that just may decide the election, he thought.
And I got Brice in charge and an ex-aerobics instructor for my partner.

Suddenly he wasn’t feeling all that lucky. Maybe that drink in Heaven would be just what the doctor ordered.

CHAPTER SIX

Heaven’s Gate

Ryan was already on his second drink when Leal arrived. The bar, Heaven’s Gate, was practically empty, except for the usual
group of hardcore regulars who seemed to begin their drinking as soon as the place opened. Most were retired from the railroad
or steel industries, but a good portion of them, Leal figured, were ex-coppers, too. Not a pretty thought, he considered as
the smoky, boozy air enveloped him. A cigarette haze hung over the stool where Ryan was sitting. He raised two fingers at
Leal.

The bar itself was made of dark mahogany with a heavy polyurethane coating layered over the top. Suspended between the wood
below and the top of the plastic was an asymmetrical arrangement of several thousand pennies. The result was not unlike one
of those glass paperweights with suspended trinkets, bugs, or designs inside. Other than the “pennies from heaven” bar top,
the rest of the tavern was pretty typical: a mirrored backdrop on the wall opposite the bar; rows of bottles, like old soldiers,
lining the adjacent edge in solitary silence; some old-style pinball machines dinged away in a corner, accompanied by some
video poker players; subdued conversations punctuated by an occasional hacking laugh, and the ubiquitous clouds of wispy smoke.

Sliding onto the red vinyl stool next to Ryan, Leal ordered a beer. Ryan drained the bourbon and water in front of him and
signaled the bartender, a heavyset guy named Al, to hit him again. Al’s hair looked a little too thick to be natural. And
the shade didn’t quite match his bushy eyebrows and the dark mustache that curved down on either side of his mouth like a
winding snake. His teeth flashed brightly as he set the two glasses on the bar, then poured Leal’s beer into the stein. Leal
tossed some bills on the bar.

“That all you’re having?” Ryan asked, squinting at him. “A beer?”

“Yeah, I got a long drive.”

“Yeah, me, too. But my girlfriend’s driving. She’s gonna meet me here.” He grinned and took a careful sip.

“She work around here?” Leal asked, picking up his stein. The beer tasted cold and good. He felt the carbonation sweep down
to his stomach as he licked the foam off his mustache.

“Actually, she works at HQ. Personnel.” He started to take another sip, but then set his drink down and took out his cigarettes
instead. “That’s how I knew about the seniority thing. I checked out everybody’s files once I found out I was going to this
task force.”

“That’s handy,” Leal said, looking at Ryan over the edge of the stein.

“So, like I said, I hope there’s no hard feelings about Brice putting me in charge and all.”

“No problem,” Leal said. “I came here today figuring I was getting bounced back to patrol.”

Ryan stuck a cigarette between his lips and smiled.

“Yeah, I heard about you telling off old Dark Gable,” he said. He held the flame of his lighter to the cigarette, contorting
his mouth as he did so. Then he exhaled a copious breath of smoke. “You got balls, I’ll say that, man.”

No secret’s safe from his girlfriend’s prying eyes, I guess, Leal thought.

“You’ve obviously read all about my dirty laundry,” Leal said. “Now tell me about the rest of our crew.”

“Okay. Smith put his time in at the jail. Took the sheriff police test about a year and a half ago and went on the street.
He’s made some good busts—dope, a couple of guns, but nothing really spectacular. Been on the street about fifteen months,
tops.” Ryan paused to belch slightly. He took another drag on his cigarette. “By all accounts he seems to be a good kid, but
like most shines, he’s slow upstairs.” He tapped his temple with an index finger. “Probably need some help with the paperwork,
but he should work out okay.”

Like most shines, Leal reflected ironically, thinking how Johnny DeWayne’s professionalism and quick thinking had made the
life-and-death difference that night by the factory.

“And Hart?”

Ryan chuckled deeply, picking up his drink for another sip before talking. “She’s twenty-eight, divorced, no kids, worked
in the jail and in communications.”

“Yeah, and how much street time she got?”

Ryan held up his left hand and made an O with his index finger and thumb.

“Huh?” asked Leal.

Ryan nodded. “Yep. Zilch.”

“Then how the hell does she rate a position in a task force like this?”

Ryan shrugged and finished off the rest of his drink. He held up two fingers toward Al again, then turned to Leal. “You want
another one?”

Leal nodded and drained his stein.

Ryan took a long drag on his cigarette and blew the smoke up toward the ceiling.

“I was asking myself that same question,” he said. “I figure that it’s one of two possibilities.” His voice rose, emphasizing
the middle syllables of the last word. The slurring was becoming more noticeable in his speech. “Either Miss Hart is one hell
of a fuck for some sugar daddy in a high place, which, from the looks of her, ain’t likely—I got her figured for a dyke myself.”

Leal grunted noncommittally.

“Or,” Ryan continued, holding up his finger in an exaggerated gesture, “they’re setting us up.”

“What do you mean?”

Al brought their new drinks, scooped up the bills that Leal had left on the bar, and slapped the change down.

Ryan took another sip and licked his lips.

Jesus, this guy’s gotta be a stone alkie as well as a racist, Leal thought. I wonder how he feels about somebody who’s half-Mexican?

“You know anything about this fucking case?” Ryan asked, taking one more drag before stubbing out his cigarette.

“Not much. Lady judge disappeared about six months ago. Discovered her body in a pond recently, stuffed in some kind of trunk.
Never found her car anywhere. Shay made the incident into a campaign issue, saying it pointed to O’Hara’s incompetence.”

“You got it,” Ryan said. “This fucking case is colder than Chicago in January. No way we’ll solve it. Ain’t gonna happen.”
He hunched forward, so close that Leal could smell the booze on the other man’s conspiratorial whisper. “But that’s just it.
They expect us to fall on our faces on this one. We’re getting set up to get hung out to dry, Leal. You, me, and the two inexperienced
tokens they’ve thrown us in with. That’s why you got the broad and I got the dog.”

Leal leaned back slightly. “Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

“Shit. And maybe we’ll figure out who killed Jimmy Hoffa, too.” Ryan took a more substantial slug of his new drink, and began
fumbling in his pocket for his smokes again. “But we gotta try, right?” He stuck another cigarette between his lips. “Yeah,
sometimes you just gotta take a shot. Go for the gold, you know?”

“Yeah, I hear you.”

Leal glanced at his watch. It was almost four. It’s been a day of surprises, he thought. Might as well go for the gold myself.

“Look, Ryan—”

“Call me Tom, Francis.”

“Okay, Tom,” Leal said, standing up. “And it’s Francisco, or Frank. I got to make a call. Be back in a minute.”

Ryan nodded his head toward the drinks on the bar. “Okay. I’ll hold your place for you.”

Leal grabbed some of the change off the bar and headed toward the pay phones by the washrooms. A bleary-eyed guy stumbled
out of the men’s room as Leal brushed by him in the narrow hallway. He searched his notebook list of phone numbers, deposited
the coins, and dialed. After several transfers she finally came on the line.

“ASA Devain.”

“Ms. Devain, it’s Sergeant Frank Leal. I was at the grand jury with you this morning.”

After a pause, she said, “Right. What can I do for you, Sergeant?”

“Well, I know this may seem kind of abrupt, but I remembered that you said you were getting transferred…” He felt the
awkward silence as he searched for the right words. “And I didn’t know how to get a hold of you after today.” More silence.
“So I was just wondering if you’d like to maybe go out for a drink or dinner or something.”

After another pause, her voice came back to him. “Well, I don’t know. I’m kind of beat tonight…”

“Oh, okay. Where did you say you were getting transferred?”

“Felony Review. And I don’t have my new voice mail number yet,” she said. “So where did you end up? Back in uniform?”

“No, actually I kind of lucked out. I got assigned to a special task force. We’ll be working the Walker case. You familiar
with it?”

“Yeah, sure. I knew her slightly.” She paused again, then said, “Why don’t I give you my home number. Maybe we can make it
another time.” Leal scribbled the number down in his notebook as she repeated it for him. “But like I said, I’ll be on call
a lot, and I’m not sure what my hours are going to be.”

“Okay.”

“So give me a call sometime and maybe we can set something up. And congratulations on your new assignment.”

“Thanks,” he said. “If you’re up tonight check out the news. We had a televised press conference today. Maybe you’ll see us.”

“Great. I’ll have to try to remember to look for it. I’ve got to go, so maybe I’ll talk to you again sometime.” Her voice
sounded less than enthusiastic.

That went real well, Leal thought, chastising himself for dropping the ball as he hung up the phone. He went into the washroom,
urinated, and returned to the bar.

“What’s the matter? You look like somebody just killed your dog,” Ryan said.

“Yeah, I kind of struck out with a babe I met this morning at the Criminal Courts building.”

“Oh? Anybody I’d know?”

This asshole seems to know everybody, Leal thought.

“A state’s attorney. She prepped me for the grand jury.”

“Not Sharon Divine?” Ryan asked, his upper lip curling into a salacious grin.

“I think it’s Devain.”

“Yeah, but I say Divine. She is a good-looking woman. But, listen, Frankie, you’d better be careful messing around with a
chick like that. You don’t know how much mileage she’s got on her. Might have AIDS or something. If she had as many pricks
sticking out of her as she’s had stuck in her, she’d probably look like a porcupine.”

Leal was finding himself growing very tired of Ryan and his stupid comments. Figuring that he’d gotten just about everything
he needed from this meeting, he tossed a few bucks on the bar for a tip.

“I got to get going,” he said.

“Aww, come on, Frankie. Stick around, at least till the rush hour is over. I’ll buy the next round if you want.”

Leal shook his head and stood up.

“No thanks,” he said. “And the name’s Frank.”

Leal left the bar feeling a bit more light-headed than two beers called for; then he realized that he hadn’t eaten all day.
He pulled into the first fast food place he came to, a Burger King, and got a Whopper, fries, and a large coffee. Ryan had
been right about the rush hour, so Leal ate slowly and watched the cars passing before him under the darkening canopy of the
late summer sky.

I wonder if she was just brushing me off? he mused, thinking about his telephone conversation. But, hey, she did give me her
home number. And she’d taken off her jacket this morning. What was that other than an invitation for me to check her out?

Then he realized that the beer must be fueling his logic as the memory of the stuffiness of the small State’s Attorney’s office
came floating back to him. Hell, he’d felt uncomfortable in his sports coat this morning, too. But still, he wasn’t ready
to accept defeat in this matter just yet.

I’ll call her tomorrow sometime, he thought.

The coffee had grown cold under the neglect of his ruminations. He went for a free refill, and thought about his new assignment
with assholes Ryan and Brice leading the charge. Certainly Sean must have had something to do with me getting selected, Leal
thought. But Brice must have agreed to it somehow. So was Ryan’s setup theory right? Was the plan to toss two inexperienced
cops, one apparently functional alcoholic, and one hot-tempered asshole who told off a judge, into the fray in case O’Hara
needed some quick scapegoats? Maybe that was why Brice had disregarded the seniority factor and put Ryan in charge…
I had my reservations about that guy Leal
, he could almost hear Brice’s raspy voice saying.

But there was a flip side: first of all, he hadn’t been switched back to uniform. And second, if they did a thorough job and
maybe got some good leads, they could come out looking professional even if O’Hara didn’t win. And last, if they somehow got
lucky, and managed to solve this one, they’d be able to write their own tickets, no matter who won the goddamn election.