hearing the urinal
“Welcome to the Bird Cage Club,” he hacked. “Best views in the city.”
I stepped into a circular room, which must have been the dome of the building. The beams were constructed of the same black, spidery steel as the elevator. The round walls, which were all glass, displayed incredible views of the Loop and far beyond, all the way to the lake. A bar clad in black leather stood against a wall, but there was no other furniture. The floor was made of white octagon tiles, and besides a large, round, raised platform in the center of the room, it contained nothing but Knuckles and me.
Or so I thought.
I heard someone else clear his throat politely.
I looked over at a man with his back to me, and my heart punched my chest when he turned and smiled.
He had thick black hair and deep green eyes, skin the color of smooth copper, and thick black eyebrows that arced when he saw me. He was as tall as Max, with broad shoulders that fit perfectly into a tailored suit, and his smile was warm and confident. More surprisingly, he was barely older than me. There was something familiar about him and I couldn’t help myself, I said, “You. . look like that actor, from that movie. . he was a pirate, I think.”
“You too,” he said, inspecting me with the same intensity. “Not a pirate, I mean. No, you look just like. .”
“A young Sophia Loren,” Knuckles said, lighting a cigar. “I noticed it right off. Except maybe around the nose area. You got a little extra real estate there, kid.”
“Actually, you’re better looking than her,” he said with a smile, and my heart punched me again. “So you’re her? The Rispoli?”
“Sara Jane,” I said, my tongue feeling thick and dopey.
“Tyler,” he said, taking my hand. “Tyler Strozzini. Sorry to hear your dad is sick, but it’s cool to meet you.”
“What kind of an Italian kid is called Tyler?” Knuckles mumbled.
“This from a guy who derives his nickname from finger parts,” Tyler said, grinning. “The answer is, a kid who’s half Italian and half African American.” He turned to Knuckles and said, “That probably didn’t fly in your day, huh, old man?”
“The Outfit has always been an equal opportunity organization,” Knuckles said primly. “Except for broads, of course.”
“Sorry if I’m being rude,” I said. “But aren’t you a little young to be VP of Money for the Outfit
“I’m seventeen. How old are you?”
“Sixteen.”
“And yet here you are.” He smiled. “How did that happen?”
“Just. . odd circumstances,” I said.
“Same with me,” Tyler said. “My dad held both positions before me, and my grandfather before him. I knew I was next in line, I just didn’t think it would happen so soon. But then my parents were killed in a plane piloted by my dad. He was a really skilled flier, had logged thousands of hours. But, to use your term,” he said, shooting Knuckles a look that was unfiltered hatred, “they crashed under odd circumstances.”
“Real tragedy,” Knuckles murmured. “Then again, your old man was even slower paying my guys than you are.” He looked at his hands, whistling and inspecting his crusty old nails.
The bad blood between them was so thick that it smothered the conversation.
Tyler turned to the window to cool off, and Knuckles continued his cuticle exam.
I realized then that Tyler and I were members of an unusual and exclusive club-we were Outfit kids. Although I’d only recently learned of the organization, it was undeniable that the Outfit was woven into my personal history and DNA. Doug accepted the existence of the Outfit, and the reality of my surreal life, from a dramatic and historical perspective. But Tyler lived it. Yeah, he was cute-my heart did mini backflips when he looked at me with those green eyes-and if anyone could offer me guidance on how to live two separate lives, it was him. I would never tell anyone that my family was missing, the danger was simply too great, but if circumstances were different, Tyler was the one person who would understand what I was going through.
He broke the silence, saying, “So, your dad ever bring you up here?”
“Uh. . the Bird Cage Club, you mean? No. . he didn’t.”
“Kept it a secret, huh? Just like my old man used to do. . always held something back, just in case.” He grinned slyly, showing perfect teeth, and said, “Did you even know about it? Your great-grandfather Nunzio took a hundred-year lease on it from my great-grandfather. It’s not up for another ten years or so.”
I wondered then if my dad had even been aware of the lease; it was completely possible that Grandpa Enzo kept it from him, just like my dad had kept secrets from me. Or even that Nunzio had kept it from Enzo for some reason. I cleared my throat and said, “Not until he got sick and I stepped in as counselor-at-large. Then he told me everything about. . everything.”
Tyler grinned again, sadly instead of sly. “My dad never had a chance to tell me anything but the basics about the Outfit and our place in it. I didn’t even know we owned this building until after my parents died.”
“You own the entire building?”
Tyler nodded. “It was the original front for Money. My great-grandfather had the brilliant idea of letting the working people of Chicago launder the Outfit’s profits, so he opened currency exchanges all over the city. Filthy dollars were traded for sparkling new greenbacks, one utility bill, money order, and city sticker at a time.”
“There’s a currency exchange on every block,” I said.
“The money laundry was consolidated under StroBisCo in the seventies,” he said. “Currency exchanges are a still a rip-off, though.”
“Remember me, kids?” Knuckles said through a haze of smoke. “We gonna deal or not?”
“So where do you go to school?” Tyler asked.
“Fepinsky Prep. How about you?”
“Newton Minow Academy. I graduate next month.”
“Cool, you must be excited. Where are you going to college?”
“Hello? Anyone?” Knuckles said.
“Local. . University of Chicago. Majoring in economics,” Tyler said. “Gotta mind the family business.”
“Makes sense,” I said. “I haven’t even started thinking about college yet.”
“Do you want to go away?”
“Yeah, I think so.”
“Won’t your boyfriend be upset?” he asked, smiling again.
“What the hell’s going on here?” Knuckles demanded.
“Boyfriend?” I said, thinking of the dance where Max and I didn’t dance, of the movie we didn’t see together, and worst of all, how he called me his (ugh) friend on the phone at the Commodore Hotel. “I guess. . I’m not really seeing anyone. Officially,” I said.
“Me neither,” he said with a grin. “Not officially.”
“Enough!” Knuckles thundered, bringing down a catcher’s mitt on the edge of the Scamp hard enough to split metal. “Are we gonna resolve this thing or not?”
“What?” Tyler said, still looking at me. “Oh, you mean the payroll thing? Uh, what do you think, Sara Jane?”
I shrugged and said, “I think Knuckles is right. You should pay his guys.”
“Okay,” Tyler said. “I will.”
“Huh?” Knuckles said. “You will?”
Tyler turned to Knuckles and said, “The counselor-at-large says yes, so yes.”
And then we talked for a little while longer, Tyler explaining how the big round empty thing in the floor used to hold an enormous lightbulb that could be seen for miles from the top of the building, how the Bird Cage Club had
