The Green Line (9 page)

“Oh! Wow! Nate, you’re married? And a baby?”

“Yes and yes. Now let’s catch up.”

She couldn’t resist. She had to eat after all. “Okay, Friday.”

ABBY
was just getting settled into work mode, with her mental checklist in overdrive when there was a knock on her open door.

“Hey, dollface.” Neil was already helping himself to a seat in her office and getting comfortable before she could respond. He leaned back and began propping his feet up on her desk. Abby shooed them off.

“Listen, Neil, I’ve got the Amro dep in the conference room in an hour, so I don’t have time—”

“Abby, Abby. This will just take a second.” And then he leaned forward like he had a secret to tell. “Word is you were escorted out of here by the police on Friday.”

Looking into his pointy face, she wondered how he had such an attractive and apparently normal girlfriend. Abby rolled her eyes. She knew this would happen.

“Hot date? Or maybe you’ve been a bad girl?” he said in his most provocative tone.

“Is there anything work-related that you need to discuss with me, Neil?”

He leaned back and settled in. “Of course, my lady. I just thought you might be interested in the status of our motion for that temporary restraining order.”

“Yes. Where does all of that stand?”

“We didn’t get it.”

“I knew that much.”

“So we just moved forward with filing the complaint and we’re hoping to fast-track it but of course these bastards just filed a motion to dismiss.”

“Seemed like there was easily a basis for a suit, from what I recall. Do you think they can get it kicked out?”

“No. I’m sure they don’t think so, either. They’re just stalling and trying to run up our client’s costs.”

“Of course.”

“Now here’s the good news. I just came from Peter’s office and he suggested that I ask you to take a stab at opposing counsel’s motion. Pull up his cited cases, see what we can do to chop up their brief.”

Abby grabbed a pen and paper. “Sure. What’s your time line?”

“Well, we need to get a draft response together by next week so we can discuss what we need with the client. How’s your schedule?”

“I’m busy, but I can make time. I’ll take a look at it tomorrow.”

“Great. Thanks, babe.” She didn’t even bother to cringe at the “babe.” She was used to it and it was the least of her problems right now. There was no way she could turn him down. She wasn’t even sure Peter had suggested bringing the work to her. Neil had a way of pawning off grunt work. But at this point it didn’t matter. She needed to get Peter back in her corner.

Neil’s five-foot-five frame stood to leave. He gestured to the flowers on his way out, now wilting in the vase, and teased like a fourth grader, “Nice flowers, Ms. Donovan. Perhaps they’re from Officer Friendly?”

“Ugh. Get out of here!”

He saluted her, like his mission was complete, and laughed aloud as he walked away.

Abby looked at the flowers. The water was starting to darken and a few petals had fallen to her desk. She couldn’t toss it.

She turned back to her mounds of files and the forty new e-mails and searched for Steve Prince’s number.

THREE
hours later, Abby had finished the deposition for Amro, talked to her pissed-off client, and successfully checked a few things off her to-do list. It felt good to lose herself in the tasks.

“Time for a pop-in?” Sarah queried from the door.

Abby knew she shouldn’t break her rhythm, but she couldn’t forget this was a big day. “Always for you, girlfriend. Come, sit. So, are you excited?”

Sarah sat on the edge of the chair. “Are you kidding—I’m freaking out. It’s my last day! Tomorrow, spa treatments with my sister and mom. Friday, we pick up the dress and check on the details, and then Saturday! I’ve been looking up things to do on the island all morning. I just don’t know if I’ll ever come home.”

“Please do. I couldn’t last a day here without you. Just having to be here two weeks without you is going to be a bear.”

“Come on. You mean that you won’t replace your lunch buddy immediately? Maybe Neil is free?”

“Ha ha. We had a nice little chat this morning. I’ve got to do some work with him—for Peter. He talks to me like I’m working for him. Anyway, I think I’ll be eating lunch at my desk until you come back to me.”

Sarah returned the conversation to the wedding. “Do you know what you’re wearing?”

“Actually, I haven’t decided, but I’ve got a pretty good selection at home.”

Abby had been to eight weddings in the last two years. It seemed everyone she knew was getting married. Even thinking about why she had so many dresses led her to think of David, which made her want to think of other things. She turned the focus back to Sarah.

“I’m so excited to see you in your dress and see this shindig in action. It’s going to be spectacular. Your mom really knows how to throw a party.”

Sarah laughed. “I know she’s a little over the top, but hopefully, we only do this once, right?”

“Yeah, I just hope I get to say hello to you. With four hundred guests, you might be tough to spot!”

“Well, you know that at least two hundred of those people will be over fifty. Just keep the visual for the young ’uns. And of course, I’ll be in the big white dress! You’ll see a few cool people from the firm who you can hang with.”

“Got it. I’m kidding, you know. It sounds like a fairy tale. I couldn’t be happier for you guys.”

“Thanks, babe!” Funny how it sounded so much better when Sarah said it. “Now you can still change your mind if you want to bring a date.”

Abby tried to speak, but Sarah held up her hand, ready to defend herself. “I just think it would be nice to have a built-in dance partner.”

“It’s not necessary. And really, what am I going to do, hire an escort?”

“That would be hot!”

“Yeah, right. I promise not to break down and cry or cause some scene with David and his girlfriend. Excuse me—fiancée.”

Sarah smiled. “Are you going to talk to him?”

“I don’t know. I think I won’t make a point of it. I don’t want to make them uncomfortable. But if they approach me, I’ll be very sweet, of course.”

“Well, back to work.” Sarah stood to go. “Have you eaten lunch yet?”

Abby checked her watch. It was one o’clock. “No. Let’s meet in the lobby in thirty minutes.”

Working another thirty minutes now was easier said than done. The image of David standing at the front of that church next to Rick on Saturday was fixed in her head. It had been five months, but still, she wondered every day if she could have held onto him. She was not looking forward to this wedding.

NINE

WITH
hands in pockets and a black knit cap pulled down over his ears, Marcus walked the littered sidewalks for ten blocks through bitter cold over to Carter’s BBQ on Madison, just a few blocks west of the United Center. He looked forward to the snow. They were predicting six to eight inches over the weekend. At least then the grime and trash would be covered for a while. The neighborhood would even look peaceful.

Carter’s was a good place for the neighborhood scoop. Regulars hung out the way they used to at barber shops. The typical crowd was there, bullshitting the day away. Marcus grabbed a plate of wings and took a seat at an open table.

“Sup, Marcus?” It was Darnel, seated at the next table.

“Hey brutha.” Marcus reached over for the required fist bump.

Darnel waved around the room like this was his party. “Marcus, you met these muthefuckas yet?” Everyone in the room smiled.

“I met a lot of muthefuckas lately, but none of these,” Marcus offered.

“Hey, muthefuckas, this is Marcus. Moved here from New York last spring.” Marcus gave them each a simple nod. “That’s Rickie, Tomboy, Fat D, Mikey.” Each of the men nodded as his name was called.

“Fat D, huh?” Marcus offered with a smile. The man was about six feet tall and 150 pounds.

“It’s ironic,” Darnel offered with a proud nod, like he had created that one.

“So, Marcus,” Tomboy began, “I got a cousin in New York. Where you live?”

“Queens.”

“Oh. My boy Tyron’s in Harlem. Guess you wouldn’t know him.”

“Oh yeah, Tyron. I love that dude!”

“You shittin’ me?”

Marcus held up a finger so he could finish the wing. He had their attention. He dropped the bones on the plate. “Yeah.” They all broke out in wild laughter and Marcus licked his fingers.

Darnel threw his napkin at Tomboy. “You dumbshit. ’Course he don’t know your cousin. New York’s fuckin’ huge.”

“So why’d you come to Chicago, Marcus?” Rickie asked.

“Just needed a change.” He focused on the food.

Darnel was glad to fill them in. “He was there when the Towers came down.”

Fat D spoke up. “No shit. You see that happen, Marcus?”

“Yep.” Marcus didn’t offer more and they left it alone.

The bells on the door chimed as the front door was pushed open. A white man, late thirties, dressed in business clothes, walked in and surveyed the room with confidence. He went to the counter and addressed the fry cook by name, like they were old friends, and ordered a platter to go.

Darnel looked at Marcus, nodded toward the man, and mouthed
cop
.

Marcus looked him over. He had the right air, all swagger, no fear, but the clothes weren’t typical of the undercover look. They were too polished.

The room fell silent and they all waited for the white man to leave. The man smiled, nodded at them, and left.

“Watch out for that one, Marcus,” Darnel began.

Marcus turned and watched the man through the glass front. He got in a Mercedes parked illegally out front.

“Yeah, why’s that?”

Mikey was quick to join in. “Crooked as they come, that’s what I hear.”

Tomboy stuffed a bunch of fries in his mouth and garbled, “Johnny told me that he jumped him two weeks ago.” There had to be thirty fries in there. It was disgusting. He put up his index finger for a moment to chew, wiped his face and continued. “Pulled the gun, acted like he was going to arrest him. Johnny was carrying big that day. He was on his way to Darrel’s place.”

The others chimed in with a knowing “Shit.”

Tomboy continued. “Grabbed his entire wad and the stuff. Five large and three pounds.”

“Five hundred bucks?” said Fat D.

“No, dumbshit. Five thousand.”

“So, I guess I gotta worry about cops here too, eh?” Marcus offered.

They each added their own version of “Hell yeah.”

Rickie continued. “Some of ’um act like we their fuckin’ ATM machines. Just pat you down, take your cash, and move the fuck on. Who gonna stop ’um?”

Marcus didn’t respond.

Fat D offered his bit to the group. “Jenny said she saw that dude with Delia before.”

“Who’s Delia?” Marcus asked.

“You ’member last Monday they pulled a body outta Reggie’s?”

Marcus nodded.

“That was Delia.”

· · ·

WHEN
Nate called on Friday morning to confirm dinner, Abby suggested they meet at Mia Francesca on Clark at six o’clock. With snow coming, she wanted to be close to home. Plus, she had work to do. The Prince Industries case was heating up. She had to prepare for next week’s depositions and deal with all the discovery that had come in from the Dalcon Laboratories case.

They ordered cocktails and an appetizer while Abby learned that Nate had married just two years earlier to a fellow lawyer, a woman he met at school. His wife was on maternity leave for six months. He shared a picture from his wallet. She looked like the girl next door: shoulder-length straight brown hair, an Abercrombie T-shirt, a lovely smile, and not even a hint of sorrow or sarcasm. A perfect match for him. Abby couldn’t believe it. She and Nate were only two years apart, but he seemed so adult. It sounded as if his life had been going according to plan. Great education, great job, great girl, and now, a beautiful baby. If he didn’t remind her so much of Denny, she would have hated him.

Nate grabbed the bread, smearing it through the olive oil and parmesan. “I can’t believe we’ve both been in Chicago for all these years. Both lawyers and we never connected.”

Abby just grinned and nodded in agreement.

“If I had known you lived in Chicago, Abby, I would have insisted you come to the wedding!”

“I would have loved to see that.” She looked at her menu then, hoping he didn’t sense the false sincerity. Until now, Chicago had been a great escape from all reminders of her childhood.

The dinner was entirely enjoyable while she grilled Nate for information on his life. She found out that he lived up on the North Shore in Wilmette, in an old house, built in 1927, with a view of the lake. She laughed at the swanky address, since he’d gone into public aid work, and he joked back that it was nice to have a rich wife. Actually, he explained, she had chosen the big firm route like Abby, but she’d also lost her parents years ago and they left her some money.