SOUTHSIDE HUSTLE: a gripping action thriller full of suspense (25 page)

“It all makes sense now.” Trick tapped a finger to his temple. “That’s how they knew when I changed cars. When I got busted at the Hilton, I was driving the white Pontiac. It would have been in the police reports. Then at the funeral, they didn’t see the Pontiac and figured I was in the rental. All adds up.”

Frank looked up from jotting down details. “Hopefully, we’ll find these guys. Maybe get some charges on them, lock them up for a while.”

“I can’t get over all this. It’s ironic. You selling drugs.” Trick tried to suppress a grin. “I guess crime does pay?”

“I’ve got my scruples. I never planted drugs on anyone. Never took a bribe. Never lied in court against a defendant. Believe me, that shit goes on all the time.” Frank pointed to his shoulder. “I’ve been shot, stabbed, bitten and spit on. I even had a female perp falsely accuse me of sexual battery. Right or wrong, after putting my life on the line all these years, I’m walking away with something to show for it.” Frank sat back and folded his hands behind his head. “I made my last skim two weeks ago. Just waiting for my guy on the street to finish turning it into cash. Then I’m through. Walking away from everything.”

“The war on drugs is bullshit anyway.” Trick didn’t try to hide his scorn.

“I see this stuff up close every day.” Frank tapped an index finger on his desk. “It’s a sham. A war on people, not drugs. Locking up guys like you is a punishment but it does absolutely nothing to stop the flow of illegal drugs in this country. As soon as one dealer’s taken off the street there’s another ready to jump in and take over his customers. As long as there’s a demand for drugs and the supply is already in the country, it’s business as usual.”

“The way I look at it,” Trick replied, “drugs aren’t a sin, like rape, murder or theft. Things like that have always been wrong and always will be. Drugs are more of a political crime. At one time they put cocaine in Coca-Cola. For all we know it might be legal again one of these days.”

“Call me a hypocrite.” Frank shrugged. “I know what I did was wrong. But in the scheme of things, what I put back on the street is like a grain of sand on Oak Street Beach.”

“Agreed. When do we get the ball rolling?”

“I’ll stall but it won’t buy much time.” Frank’s voice had a slight growl. “The higher ups want results, reports, updates. You have to disappear. Now.”

“What about my son? I’d rather die than leave him.”

“You got to trust me here. I’ll watch after him. Where’s he staying?”

“I really don’t see that I have much choice,” Trick said, picking up the birth certificate again. “But … I believe what you’re telling me.” Trick jotted down Karen’s address and phone number. “Here,” he said, handing Frank her information, “Pat’s staying with this lady, Karen, temporarily.”

“Good. I’ll pick him up as soon as possible. Should be no more than a few days. You’re making the right choice. I won’t let you down. Call this Karen and tell her I’ll be by to pick him up.” Frank smiled and nodded. “You know … I respected the way you handled yourself the first time I put you away. No whining, bellyaching. You kept your mouth shut and did your bit like a man. If I’d have known you were my son, things would have been different. Something about you haunted me, couldn’t put my finger on it. It was your mother’s sad face looking back at me when you were taken out of the courtroom in cuffs back in 82.”

“Things are moving so fast. One minute my life is over, the next … things are looking up. Wow.” Trick rubbed his face. “Tell me more about Italy. I’ve never been there.”

“Oh, it’s beautiful where my place is. A lazy little paradise, not even a dot on the map. None of this ice and snow, below zero bullshit we got here. Fish and shrimp fresh out of the sea every day. I make a Lobster Fra Diavolo that’ll straighten your pubes.”

“Why would you do all this, stick your neck out, trust me?”

“You’re my flesh and blood. There hasn’t been a day I didn’t think about you, wonder where you were, how you turned out, what you looked like.” Frank’s voice softened. “I’ve been alone. Couldn’t trust anyone … considering what I’ve been doing. Couldn’t allow anyone to get too close. Guys on the force think I’m antisocial.”

“Yeah, see what you mean. Been the same for me.”

“We need to trust each other. You’re the only real family I have. You and Patrick. He looks like a great kid. Love to get to know him, be a real grandfather. After you disappear, I’m going to pull some strings, call in a couple favors and get myself appointed legal guardian of Pat. Then after I make my quick, surprise retirement, I’ll bring him out to Italy. You’ll be able to spend the rest of your life close to your son. But you won’t be able to come back to the states for a long, long time. Not until everyone forgets about you or dies off. At least until the statutes run out.”

“I don’t mind leaving as long I’m going to be with Pat. Now that Ginger’s gone,” Trick shook his head, “there’s nothing holding me here.”

“One more thing. How ‘bout I call you Pat? Can’t get used to that name … Trick. Besides, you’re starting a new life. You need a new name, a new last name too.”

“No problem. That nickname came to me when I was a thirteen-year-old punk. Seemed cool at the time but that’s not who I am now, not who I want to be.” Trick leaned forward and smiled. “There’s something I got to know. Are we Irish?”

“My father,” Frank made the sign of the cross and continued, “was from Ireland, born in County Cork. My mother was full-blooded Italian, her maiden name was Siciliano. Your birth mother was Irish and Dutch, a little French too, I think.”

“Damn. After all these years I’m starting to feel like I know who I am. Like I have roots.”

“That’s great, but now we have to uproot you, replant those roots across the Atlantic.” Frank leaned forward and stretched his hands out across the desk. “You need to disappear until I’m ready to smuggle you out of the country.”

“God, I dread being separated from Pat. I’ve been away from him so long as it is.”

“This is the best possible outcome for your situation. If everything works out the way I planned, we’ll meet you out there in about three or four weeks.” Frank smiled and winked. “Let’s tie up any loose ends right now. I want you to go straight to a safe house I got set up. Don’t stop anywhere for anything. You can get new clothes in Italy.”

“My Pontiac’s parked at Midway, in the long-term lot. Here.” Trick pulled the parking stub from his pocket and handed it to Frank. “I’ve been driving a rental from Hertz I picked up at Midway. It’s back at Duke’s Drive-In, where your guys picked me up.”

“I’ll take care of the vehicles. What else?”

“I got some money and a revolver stashed behind a mirror in the bedroom wall of a condo. Bottom left hand side. There’s some things in the top right drawer of the dresser, title to the Pontiac, some pictures and stuff.”

“Here.” Frank pushed a pad of paper and pen toward Trick. “Write down the address.”

“The key’s on here,” Trick said, handing over his key ring.

Frank jotted something down on a memo pad and slid it across the desk. He unlocked his drawer and retrieved a set of keys. “There’s a dark blue Bonneville in the parking lot. When you walk out of here, avoid making eye contact with anyone. That bar on the southwest corner of 135th and Harlem, leave the Bonneville there with the keys locked in the car, under the mat. Call for a cab but don’t use your real name. Have them drop you off at Paddy Bs on 143rd in Orland. Don’t go in. Walk straight to that address. It’s right down the street. You’ll be safe there for a while. There’s food, a new toothbrush and stuff, everything you’ll need for a few days. Don’t answer the door for anyone but me. Don’t answer the phone. Don’t even open the drapes,” Frank said, handing Trick the keys.

“Gotcha.” Trick stood and put his hand out. “Thanks. You’re saving my life here.”

“You’re so much like me, a loner.” Frank clenched Trick’s hand. “Maybe it’s not too late for guys like us to learn.”

“I got a feeling we will.”

CHAPTER 50

Driving to the safe house, Trick pulled his jacket open and looked at the title to Ginger’s new LeBaron sticking out of his pocket. He thought about Pat cooped up in Karen’s apartment and how it could be a month until he saw him again, providing he was able to get out of the country safely. He desperately wanted to say goodbye in person and reassure Pat that he could trust Frank and that it would be alright to leave with him. He thought about Frank’s orders not to stop anywhere, then glanced at the title again.

Approaching 135th Street on Ridgeland Avenue, at the last second he turned left instead of right. Continuing east, Trick spotted Starnes and Moogie getting into the orange pickup in the parking lot of the White Hen Pantry. They recognized him, hopped in and squealed out after him. The pickup passed a school bus and sped up to catch him. Scrambling for ideas, Trick turned right onto Cicero Avenue and weighed his options.

Seeing Starnes fly around the corner in pursuit, Trick sped up, just making the yellow light at 137th Street, but then slowed down as he passed the Crestwood Police Station. Through his rearview mirror he saw Starnes hesitate at the light, then go through while it was still red.

Trick saw the sign for the El-Dorado, got an idea, and pulled into the parking lot. As he was getting out of his car near the front entrance, Starnes barreled in right after him, screeching to a stop, throwing gravel and dust in the air.

Hurrying into the restaurant, Trick was greeted by the hostess. “How many?” she asked with a toothy smile.

“Oh, just one,” Trick answered in a controlled voice, trying to appear nonchalant as his heart raced. “But I have to use the bathroom first.”

Trick headed to the rear of the restaurant but instead of turning right to the bathroom, he walked through the swinging half-doors leading into the kitchen. He heard a man with a Greek accent call after him, “Hey! Where you going?”

Trick nodded to a cook who was working over the flaming grill, dripping facial sweat onto the sizzling steaks and burgers. He bumped into another cook who was carrying a tray of chicken breasts. The tray, along with the cutlets, crashed to the grimy, grease-smudged floor with a loud bang. The cook at the grill, shrouded in steam and smoke, raised a cleaver and hollered, “What you doing in here,
vlacas
?” Trick pushed the cook in front of him to the side, stepped over the spoiled food and dashed out the back door, running fast as he could toward the apartment complex to the west. As soon as he reached the first tree, he hid behind it and surveyed the area behind him. A gray bunny scurried out from the bush next to him and across an area of dried mud. Trick gasped when a hawk swooped down, snatched the tiny animal and carried it off. He never heard a rabbit make a sound before but the future meal of the hawk emitted a high-pitched squeal that made Trick feel queasy.

With no sign of Starnes and Moogie, he continued running in the direction of Leonard Drive. He cut between the buildings, continued west three blocks, and went around to the front entrance of Karen’s apartment.

“Please be home,” Trick panted. He frantically pushed the intercom button watching for Starnes’ pickup.

“Who is it?” The garbled voice came through the slotted metal plate next to the vertical row of buttons.

“It’s me, Patrick Halloran,” he answered, putting his mouth close to the intercom, then stepping back from under the awning so Karen could see him. Grabbing the handle and pulling the door open the second he heard the buzzer, Trick flew up the stairs two at a time.

Karen opened the door with a wild look in her eyes. “I hope this means you’re here to take your son, for good. Ever since you told me not to let him out of my sight I’ve been freaking out.”

“Uh … no, I’m sorry. I can’t take Pat right now. Where is he? I need to talk to him for a few minutes.”

“He’s taking his after-school nap.” Karen motioned toward the bedroom. “Look, how long do you expect me to take of care him? I took my car in. It’s got a cracked engine block. The money you gave me didn’t last long; I was behind on my bills. I seriously need to find a job. If you don’t take him with you now, I’m calling the police and have them come pick him up.”

“No, no, please. A man by the name Frank Murray is going to contact you. He’s a cop, a detective, you can trust him. I gave him your number. He’s going to come by and take Pat off your hands. I promise. Just a few more days.” Trick reached into his pocket and pulled out the title for the LeBaron. “Ginger signed and dated the title to her car in the hospital last time I saw her. I want you to have it. Go ahead and take it to the currency exchange and have it transferred into your name. I think Ginger would be happy it went to you for taking care of Pat.”

Karen’s hand moved slowly toward the title, then snatched it. “I can’t believe it. I love that car.”

“I want you to drive Pat to and from school. Don’t let him take the bus. Now I need a little time alone with him.” Trick glanced out the picture window, thankfully seeing no sign of Starnes and Moogie. “Call me a cab. Tell them it’s for Patrick Murray.”

Trick walked into the dimly lit bedroom, knelt next to the bed and gently shook his son. “Pat, I have to talk to you.”

Pat sat up and scratched his ear. “What is it, Daddy?”

“I’m sorry, but I have to go away for a while.”

“You promised you weren’t going to leave me again.” The disappointment on Pat’s face pained him.

“It won’t be as long as last time.” Trick put his hands on his son’s cheeks. “Maybe just a month, that’s about thirty days.”

“Mommy’s gone,” Pat’s voice broke between sobs, “and now you’re leaving me too.”

“The last thing I want to do is leave you but I have to. I just have to.” Pat’s little body shook as he cried. Trick took him in his arms and patted his back. “I’m sorry it has to be like this. Please don’t cry.”

“I hate you. You’re a liar.” Pat pulled away and repeatedly punched Trick’s chest.

“Please try and understand.” Trick grabbed Pat’s fists. “It won’t be long. I’ll see you before your birthday. I promise.”

“You’re a bad daddy,” Pat whimpered.

“Please don’t say that, pal. Please.” Trick pulled Pat’s hands close to him. “There is nothing in the world more important to me than you. I’d do anything to protect you.”

Pat looked away with tears in his eyes.

“I have to go now, but before I do, there’s something important I have to ask you.”

“What?” Pat looked at him with watery, red eyes.

“If anyone asks about me, don’t tell them what I said about seeing you in a month. Can you keep our secret? It’s real important.”

“Yeah.” Pat nodded, his lower lip quivering. “I can keep a secret better than anyone. I know you weren’t in college. You were really in jail and I never told anyone.” Pat wiped his cheek with the back of his hand. “I didn’t even tell Mommy I knew.”

“Oh, Pat. I’m so sorry.” Trick thought of the emotional hell he went through at Pat’s age and wanted so much better for his son. He remembered being close to six-years-old and pulling a chair up to the refrigerator at one of his foster homes to get a popsicle without getting permission. His foster mother caught him and slapped him so hard that he fell from the chair to the floor, dislocating his shoulder. The foster father heard the commotion and stomped in. He pulled shirtless Trick to his feet and shoved the shoulder back in place. “Quit crying, ya baby,” he yelled in Trick’s face with beer and cigarette breath. “Next time ya ask first.”

“I’ll do my best to give you a good life when we’re together again.” Trick brushed back Pat’s blond locks with his fingers. “A very nice man is going to come by in a few days and take you on a trip. His name is Frank. You can trust him.”