Sleep Tight (10 page)

 

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Commander Arturo Mendoza slumped back in his chair and clasped his hands across his chest. “Please tell me you aren’t this goddamn stupid.”

Sam shrugged and sat down across the desk. “We’re not this goddamn stupid.”

Ed took the other chair.

Commander Mendoza didn’t appreciate the attempt to keep the meeting easy and quick. The bags under his eyes made it look he was peering out at them with a mixture of pity and resignation behind a mask that allowed no mercy. The rest of his face was frozen in permanent sour taste, as if he’d bitten into a rib and found that the bone had gone soft with rot. Only his narrow eyes showed any emotion.

The few photos and plaques on the wall in Mendoza’s office felt obligatory. Mendoza, in varying ages, with three different mayors. There were no family photographs. Only Mendoza getting awards, and frames around grim images of nature, the ghostly line of birch trees in fog, water dripping from a bright red leaf, the knuckled bones of roots that crept across the dirt in arteries and veins that split off like the circulatory system of a mammal.

In the twenty-six years that Sam had been a friend of the Mendoza family, he’d never seen any personal photographs in the office. He’d gotten drunk at every family barbecue, every first communion, every
quinceañera
, and most birthdays that seemed to come along in an endless stream. Mendoza had six children whom he loved dearly. With the exception of a few friends, Commander Mendoza preferred to keep a wide chasm between his working life and his family.

“I have been telling you for years,” Commander Mendoza said. “You need to listen to office politics. You need to know who’s who. It’s part of the job. Especially the way you two tend to irritate people. If you intend to relieve an officer of his suspect, who is already cuffed and in the backseat, I might add, you need to know who this officer’s pal is upstairs. This officer, Officer Falwell, he’s our deputy chief’s second cousin’s nephew or whatever. You needed to know this. But as usual, you couldn’t give a flying fuck, and you had to go and humiliate the man.”

“The man’s a pompous asshole in a uniform.” Sam couldn’t help himself. “Everybody—included our esteemed Officer Falwell—knows he was taking the suspect into rival gang territory and kicking him out. That’s not police work. That’s just cold-blooded. He deserved a little humiliation.”

“It
was
kinda funny,” Ed said.

“Officer Falwell failed to see the joke. Guess he took it personally.”

“It wasn’t so long ago we didn’t worry about some whining closet case,” Sam said. “Motherfucker wants to shove his real feelings back down deep inside and then take it out on folks, fuck him. You know I’m right. Be a man, and come out and admit it. He’d feel better.”

“Doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter what makes him an asshole. You pushed his buttons and he made you his number-one priority. Once he found out your name, he went straight to Wilson. And believe me, he’s got his head so far up Wilson’s ass, the deputy chief should go ahead and charge him rent. Yesterday, I had a short yet extremely loud conversation with Deputy Chief Wilson. He’s coming after you with both barrels this time. This is why you have suddenly found yourselves with clean desks and a workload that’s wide open.”

Ed and Sam said, “Aww, come on. Really?”

“Really. Everything has been dumped on Jackson and Ruiz. They were thrilled when I told them you two will be buying beers until those cases are closed.” Mendoza sat up and put his forearms on the desk. “I honestly don’t know this time. In the meantime, the union forbids me to park you at a desk somewhere and alphabetize parking tickets. So I will be sending you on official business missions. First off, you are going to escort a drunk homeless woman who caused a disturbance at City Hall this afternoon down to Twenty-sixth and California. On your way back, you are going to stop in Erickson’s Butcher and get me and the wife a couple of nice New York strips. And make sure you tell Jens it’s for me, not you two.”

 

 

Dr. Reischtal was sitting in one of the empty patient rooms, back to the window, facing a blue wall broken only by the bland image of stylized sailboats scattered across a bright sea, when he got the call. He had been listening to the faint sounds of equipment being dismantled and hauled out of the floor below. Air purifiers, medical supplies, and computers carried out. All those massive rolls of plastic, a one-millimeter membrane of protection against the god of chaos and unreason beyond his faith, were being loaded into white vans with an obscure health industry uniform company on the side.

His team had been monitoring the police radios, as well as a few reporters’ phones they had cloned. He was too busy trying not to focus on the systematic destruction of his wall of protection and he forgot about the phone. The sharp burst of noise made him flinch.

He snatched it. “Yes.”

“Sir, this is Audio Specialist Castle. Sir, we’re hearing some chatter about a rat loose in City Hall.”

“And?”

“Sir, that’s all we’re hearing right now. No other details right now. If the police are talking, they’re doing it with an unknown broadcast device.”

“Check Streets and Sanitation.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Keep me posted, Audio Specialist Castle.”

Dr. Reischtal hit E
ND
C
ALL
and immediately hit S
ERGEANT
R
EAVES
.

“Yes, sir.”

“We may have a situation relevant to our concerns occurring right now in City Hall. I would like an initial report, but quiet. A confirmation is all we need at this moment before proceeding further.”

“Yes, sir.”

Dr. Reischtal was silent for a moment. “And tell them to freeze the withdrawal. The next person that removes any object from this hospital will be taking blood samples of dying pigs in Nigeria. Make that understood.”

 

“Don’t they have, like, exterminators or something like that for this?”

“Shit, who do you think we are? You’re looking at two of the finest rat exterminators in the city of Chicago.”

“I’m looking at a couple of jagoffs,” Tommy said, thinking of the equipment in the back. Along with the usual protective clothing and heavy-duty flashlights, extermination bags, and Tommy’s aluminum baseball bat, this time they had long poles, four feet long, with choke ties at the end, a cage, evidence bags, evidence tags, and fishing nets, instead of the bait and traps. “I’m used to picking up dead ones.”

Don used the van’s size to crowd out cabs as he turned north onto LaSalle as the light turned yellow. The cab drivers didn’t like it, and weren’t shy about hitting their horns before ultimately backing off. The van was a clearly marked city vehicle and therefore if it was damaged in any way, whoever hit the van had to face the city of Chicago in traffic court.

Tommy enjoyed Don’s casual command of traffic; he could never drive with that much aggression, but it was fun when he was in the passenger seat.

Don parked out in front and put the yellow flashers on. They took their time getting equipment ready, because, as Don always pointed out, they weren’t getting paid by the hour, and they had to match expectations established by the rest of their union brothers and sisters. Tommy pretended they were a couple of Ghostbusters as they headed inside.

A young, attractive woman met them inside and introduced herself as Tonya Shaw, a member of the public relations department. “Captain Harold Garnes is waiting downstairs. He’s head of building security.” She smiled a lot, her smooth caramel skin contrasting with teeth the color of fresh cream.

They followed her through the center of the building, along a cool marble floor and under a Baroque white ceiling that looked to Tommy like nothing more than white scoops of frosting.

“Wow.” Don nudged Tommy. “A captain. Sounds serious. This rat, he carrying any weapons? Want to make sure we’re prepared.”

Tonya laughed, too quickly, and moved at almost a trot as she led them downstairs. Her heels trickled down the escalator with the grace of a tap dancer. The sound bounced around in the tight space like machine-gun fire. Don and Tommy couldn’t help but admire the grace in such a tight skirt and followed at a slower speed.

At the bottom, the steel bars and clanking exit turnstiles of the Blue Line Washington Station waited off to the right. Except for a speck of a man on the left-hand wall who looked like he’d been behind that pile of newspapers and magazines since Daley Senior had taught those hippies an important life lesson, the place was empty.

“Where is everybody?” Don asked, his voice echoing around the relative quiet and glaring fluorescent lights.

“Captain Garnes has cordoned off the area. We don’t want anyone getting bit, now do we?” She laughed again.

Definitely nervous, Tommy thought.

Don knew it too. “It’s a good thing you move so fast in those heels,” he said. “These rats, you never know where they might go. Quick too. Squirt around like they was flying.”

“Captain Garnes is right here,” Tonya said, stopping and gesturing at the cops down the hall as if the two Streets and Sans guys had just won a prize.

Captain Garnes looked like somebody had stuck a mustache and eyebrows on a bullet to try and give it a personality. Officer Nabor waited listlessly behind his boss along with several other cops. “It’s down there,” Captain Garnes said and didn’t bother with introductions. That was all.

Don eventually nodded, and they continued along the hallway. Every door was closed, with the exception of the last door on the left. Tommy turned back to see Tonya and the policemen watching from a safe distance. He kept going, shining the flashlight under benches and plants, and feeling stupider by the second.

The last room opened into two long rows of cubicles. Tommy kneeled in the aisle and peered under the chairs and desks of the first pair of cubicles. No rat.

“Fuck this,” Don said, and kicked one of the chairs down the aisle. It crashed into a cubicle wall and ricocheted across into more chairs. Nothing else moved. “It’s not in here,” he said in disgust. “We’re gonna be here all night.”

Tommy edged forward, still searching.

In the next to last cubicle, they found the rat curled into a tight ball in the corner. Don prodded the rat with the pole, but that was just a formality. He put on a rubber glove that went halfway to his elbow. Holding the tail, Don raised it and they gazed at it skeptically. It didn’t look like most of the dead rats they had seen. Wild rats aren’t much more than skin and bones to begin with, but this one was so emaciated it made them feel hungry just looking at it. The lips were peeled back in a grimace, exposing formidable teeth. Flecks of white froth were dotted along the gums and eyes.

“Fucked if I know,” Don said finally. “We’re done. Let’s go get a beer.” He’d fallen off the wagon for the third time that summer. He smiled around the rat. “Let’s go see if I can’t make Tonya move any quicker.”

Neither saw the bug crawl from the rat and work its way up Don’s glove.

 

 

Dr. Reischtal grew impatient. The phone had been silent for too long. He wanted to pace, but knew it could be seen as a weakness if anyone came in. He considered the possibilities of a sick rat. Perhaps he had been sitting in the center of this city for these long months, waiting for the occurrence of a virus outbreak among the wrong species.

He was tired of waiting. Tired of avoiding the potential for failure, that his conviction that this would be at least one of the final battles for his world was wrong. Tired of this stealthy battle with the enemy.

He called Audio Specialist Castle. “Any further information regarding the rodent in City Hall?”

“I have three confirmations that a homeless woman released a rat inside City Hall.”

“Any logical reason why?”

“One report indicates that the woman may have wanted to display the rat for the mayor. No further explanation was available.”

Dr. Reischtal hung up and called Sergeant Reaves again. “I want three men. One City of Chicago vehicle, equipped with two animal-remains kits, and appropriate identification, waiting out in one minute. Any vehicle will be fine. We’re only going five blocks.”

 

 

Don had it all planned out. He hid the rat behind his thigh as they walked up. When he got within ten feet he was going to hold it up and say, “Hey, does this rat match the description of the suspect?”

Instead, the rat twitched, then came violently alive. It thrashed and curled like a scorpion’s tail, trying to slash Don’s hand and arm with its oversized teeth.

Don flung the rat down. It thumped on the floor and immediately launched itself at his boots. It swarmed up his foot and clawed at his jeans. Don kicked and launched the rat forward. It slid about ten feet, incisors frantically clicking as it found purchase and scrabbled forward, its claws echoing the teeth as they scraped at the marble.

It ignored Tonya and the policemen and darted at Don again. This time, Tommy stepped in front of it. He pulled his aluminum bat out of the sling on his back as his feet found their sweet spot. He brought his hands down almost leisurely, the bat swinging in slow motion behind him. Until time sped up. The barrel whipped down and connected with the front shoulders of the rat the way a freight train connects with a stalled VW Bug.

The rat slapped into the wall with a soft crunch and a smear of red. The ballplayer in Tommy was still very much alive, as he elegantly followed through with the swing, eventually letting the right hand fall away, ending in the pose that had made Kimmy fall in love with him as she watched from the bleachers their sophomore year.

“You can put it on the board.... YES!” Don roared, mimicking the Sox play-by-play man Hawk Harrelson. He slapped Tommy on the back. He yelled down at Tonya and the policemen, “We weren’t kidding when we said we don’t fuck around.” He hung his arm over Tommy’s shoulders as they looked down at the rat. He called back to the group, “Uh, yeah. Clean-up on aisle fourteen. You’re gonna need a big sponge and a bucket to clean this shit up.”

Instead of Captain Garnes or Tonya though, they heard an icy voice behind them. “Do you realize that you’ve just destroyed an extremely valuable scientific specimen?”