“You think he could win?”
Janet snickered. “Going up against Wilson? Please. Barack Obama is one thing. He was only running for president. Kincaid wants to be mayor.”
“In Chicago.”
“Exactly. Wilson’s got all the big money and unions in his back pocket. And if, by some miracle, Kincaid doesn’t run out of cash, then they’ll get nasty.”
“How so?”
“I don’t know for sure, but Johnny hinted that they were working on some stuff. He had that little glitter in his eye.”
I took another look at Chicago’s would-be savior. To Mitchell Kincaid’s left was his security aide. Large and young, muscled and black. It was a face that bothered me, one I thought I recognized. Or maybe it was just the simmering anger that seemed so familiar.
“Let’s see what else is on,” Janet said, and plucked the remote from my hand. She ran through some channels and settled on Letterman. “You like Dave?”
“He’s okay.” I looked at a small clock on the wall. It was coming up on eleven o’clock. “But I gotta go.”
“I told you, Johnny won’t be back tonight.”
“That’s not really the point.”
Janet held up a hand. “He gets a room downtown. Takes a change of clothes and goes right to work in the morning.” She turned the hand over, palm facing up, and looked back at the tube. “So what else is new?”
“You think he’s got a girl down there?”
Janet kept her eyes on Letterman and shrugged. I thought about the brunette at City Hall. The perfume and the curves.
“Sorry,” I said.
“Doesn’t matter.” Janet smiled brightly at the flat screen. “Really doesn’t. Just don’t worry about running out of here. At least because of him.”
She turned up the volume on the TV. Enough to drive our conversation into early retirement. I leaned back into the couch. It was soft. Dave was funny. He had Billy Crystal on. I liked Billy Crystal. Reminded me of a throwback sort of comedian. Didn’t need to get into the bathroom to get a laugh. Class.
I took another sip of my wine. Janet laughed at a joke and I relaxed some more. Pretty soon my feet were up on the couch. Then I stretched out.
I WOKE UP in a hurry, four hours later. The house was dark. The house was quiet. It was three-thirty in the morning. There was a pillow under my head and a blanket over the rest of me. I was alone and apparently tucked in for the night.
I knew Woods was going straight to work in the morning. Still, it was better to leave. Just in case a Papa Bear named Johnny decided to come trundling home. I told myself I’d just rest my eyes for another thirty seconds. Then I leaned back into the pillow. Very white. Very soft.
CHAPTER 28
S unlight cut across the living room, found my eyelids, and pried them open. For a moment, I wondered where I was. Then I sat up and remembered. I swore at myself in as many ways as I could think of. That took a while. After that, I crept quietly to the front windows. It was just starting to lighten. The block was still and empty. I walked into the kitchen, turned on the tap, and ran some cold water over my face. I thought about scribbling a note for Janet. Then I thought about Taylor stumbling on it. Even better, Janet’s husband. Maybe a note wasn’t such a good idea.
I went out the back door, found my car at the end of the block, and slid behind the wheel. So far, so good. I looked in the rearview mirror and saw the face of Johnny Woods, smiling back.
“Have fun, Kelly?”
I ducked and heard the crack of safety glass. A black tire iron had gashed my windshield. Woods was halfway into the front seat, trying to pry it free. Fortunately, he wasn’t having much luck. I scooted a bit lower to the floor as Woods swung a paw south, hoping to catch some part of my anatomy. After that, he abandoned the tire iron completely and came after me, face first.
A proper head butt is akin to a work of art. The head should be held forward and low. You want to aim anywhere below the brow: eyes, cheeks, teeth. Nose is best. Lovely pop and hurts like hell. Johnny Woods was no exception. Blood all over the front seat and a moment’s peace for yours truly.
I got my hand on the driver’s latch and opened the door. Woods had one hand on my leg, the other still pressed to his proboscis. That was pretty much how we got out of the car, sprawled on the corner of Kirkwood and Hiawatha.
I scrambled to my feet as Woods swung again. Missed by a lot. He was still bleeding pretty hard, breathing even more so. Johnny might have been a fighter in his day, but that was a long time and a lot of doughnuts ago. I held my fists on either side of my head, elbows in and tight to the ribs. I didn’t try to turn or move. Just stood there and let Woods come. At first, he was tentative. A couple of swings I caught up high off my shoulders. When he saw he wasn’t getting hit, Woods got a lot bolder. Began stepping into his shots. Rights, then lefts. He was windmilling, losing most of his power on the way in, each swing punctuated with “fucker” or “motherfucker.” I ducked and weaved a bit. Woods telegraphed his punches, and they were easy to pick off. I caught some with my forearms. The body shots I let in. Allowed them to bury in my side and ribs. He could hear me grunt as they landed. I think Johnny enjoyed that. I didn’t blame him. From his point of view, I had just spent the night with his wife.
After twenty seconds or so, Woods realized something. Fighting is hard work, even when you aren’t getting hit. Sixty seconds in, he was pawing more than punching. Thirty seconds after that, he was done. Woods hadn’t really hurt me. Maybe a tweaked rib or two, but nothing more than a light spar. Johnny, on the other hand, was spent.
I put out a hand and pushed against the soft body. Woods fell back against my car, slipped down the side, and nuzzled up to the grille. Leaking oil in more than a few spots and looking at me over his shoulder. Still trying to swear but not getting the words entirely right. He was pissed. Just too tired to do much more about it.
“Take it easy, Woods. You can take another run when you get your breath back.”
Johnny took my advice and sat back against the bumper. I leaned against a tree and waited. Part of me wished he could actually hit, make it worth my while to hit back. But that part wasn’t going to make Johnny Woods any tougher, any more or less of a man than he already was. Besides, the guy spent his spare time beating up women. He was lucky I didn’t take a swing or three just for fun. He’d have more than a busted nose to worry about.
“Fucking tough guy, huh, Kelly?”
“Not tough. Just trained. If you don’t know how to do it, hitting people can be a hard job.”
“You enjoy tagging my wife.”
“Let it go, Woods.”
“I don’t fucking think so.”
“I do.”
I dropped to a knee and got close enough so even Johnny would understand.
“Your wife’s got a face full of pain. And it’s not the first time. She’s been documenting every beating you put on her. Now she’s going to take her little girl and get the fuck away from you. And you know what? You’re gonna let her go. You know why?”
I held two fingers close to his face.
“Two reasons. First, ’cause if you try to stop her, she goes public. One press conference, and the mayor dumps you quicker than the sack of steaming horseshit you actually are. Second reason is even simpler. I don’t like cowards. And I especially don’t like cowards who beat up women. Anything from you, anything at all, and I find you. No matter when, no matter where. I find you and I beat you till you beg for the gun. And that’s when you get it. I
