bust your teeth open with the butt, put the barrel in until it hits the back of your throat, and pull the trigger. Last thing you see is my face. You got it?”
He didn’t say anything. Just sat there, looking at the ground, wiping at the blood as it dripped off his face.
“Take a look at me, Woods.”
He did.
“Just give me a reason. I won’t think twice about it, and I won’t miss a minute’s sleep afterward. You understand?”
Woods nodded. Once, twice, three times. Then he paused. First it was the lower lip. After that, the chin began to tremble. He jammed his eyes into his fists, sniffled, and sobbed. The pity party had started. Looked like it was going to take a while so I stood up and considered my ruined windshield. A mom walked by with her kid. Probably heading off to school. I smiled. The two of them took a look at us and kept walking.
“Why did she have to do that?” Woods spoke with an aftertaste of sorrow that was as self-serving as it was considerable.
“Do what, Johnny?”
“You know what.”
Woods didn’t care about my threats. And he certainly didn’t care about his wife’s bruises. It was the role of cuckold that Woods couldn’t stomach. The idea that his wife would take another man. In his own house, even. Cowards, especially ones who prey on women and kids, always have the biggest egos. The mayor’s man was no exception. Just the latest and sorriest example.
There was a steadier trickle of cars coming down the block now. A few more people on the street. Most of them were noticing us. Some talking. I knew it was just a matter of time before the police showed up.
“Nothing happened with your wife, Woods. She hired me because she wants to be rid of you. We were talking last night and it got late. I slept on your couch. Believe me or don’t, I don’t much give a damn. Now get in the car.”
I got behind the wheel. Woods probably figured he wasn’t making the greatest impression on his neighbors and found his way to the passenger door. The glass was spidered halfway across my side, but I could see well enough. We drove to a White Hen. I bought a bag of ice, a bottle of water, cotton, and bandages.
“Here, clean yourself up.”
Woods washed off the blood. I took out a handkerchief and wrapped up some ice.
“Press this on your face. Keep the swelling down.”
Woods took the compress and swung the rearview mirror his way.
“How’s it look?” he said.
I swung the rearview mirror back.
“Your nose is fucked, so forget about it. Unless you want to go to the hospital and have it set.”
Woods had the ice on the side of his cheek and shook his head.
“Good idea,” I said. “Leave it the way it is. If you want to breathe better, they can break it and reset it later.”
Johnny rolled an eyeball my way. Guess he didn’t like the idea of rebreaking a part of his face.
“Relax,” I said. “I had my nose busted six or seven times. Never went to the hospital. Not a big deal.”
Woods pulled the compress away and felt his face. Carefully. Then he put the ice back in place and leaned back against the headrest. I turned on the radio. Woods decided he wanted to talk some more.
“Where’d you learn to fight, Kelly?”
“We didn’t fight.”
“How do you figure that?”
“You fought. I didn’t throw a punch.”
“That’s what I mean. Man kicks my ass without throwing a punch. Tells me he knows how to fight. Where did you learn?”
“Here and there,” I said. “Growing up.”
“You fight for fun?”
“Never fun. Not if you know how to do it. It’s work. And it’s mean. And it’s for keeps.”
“Which means what?”
“Which means it’s usually for money.”
“So you’re a pro?”
I glanced at the edge of my reflection in the driver’s side mirror. “Used to be,” I said.
“So I didn’t have a chance.”
I looked across the car and shrugged. “Fighting’s like anything else. You go up against a man at his profession and you’re probably going to lose. You may get lucky. More likely you get your head busted in.”
I clenched and unclenched my fist, settled it back against the steering wheel.
“Moral of the story,” I said. “Know who you’re fighting. And don’t raise your hands unless you’re willing to go all the way.”
Woods didn’t say much after that, which was okay with me. I turned up the volume on the radio. Mike amp; Mike was on ESPN. Talking about how they bickered off air like an old married couple. Then they proceeded to bicker about that for half a minute, just like an old married couple. I kept waiting for them to talk about sports. Just a mention. In passing, even. I looked over at Woods.
“This sound like sports radio to you?”
He didn’t answer. After a few minutes, I gave up and turned it off. Then I started up the car as Woods spoke again.
“So what have you found out, Kelly?”
I turned off the car. “About what?”
Woods’ face looked better now, cleaner. He laid a bandage across the bridge of his nose and smoothed it down with his fingers as he talked.
“The thing on Hudson Street. What we talked about in my office the other day. What have you found out?”
His voice had softened and carried a subtle edge. The cuckold was gone. In his place, the mayor’s fixer. Inside his comfort zone. The world of Chicago politics. Leverage and power. Shadows, bluff, deceit. That was okay. My investigation into Bryant’s murder thus far had turned up nothing more than nickels and dimes. I needed someone with some expertise. Someone who could turn my loose change into real money. Someone who might be scared enough to talk.
“I know about the Chicago Fire,” I said. “I know the mayor’s great-great-grandfather probably started it. Helped along by the guy who ran the Chicago Times.”
Woods yawned at my initial bombshell, stretched his arms, and cracked his knuckles. Then he craned his neck from side to side and resettled in his seat.
“Sounds like a good movie to me, Kelly. Got any proof?”
“Property records. Tying John Julius Wilson to the land. Maybe along with Charles Hume.”
I thought the names might bother Woods. I was wrong.
“It’s not a crime to own property. That all you got?”
“I also know about the Sheehan’s,” I said.
Woods flinched at the book’s mention. Just a single movement along the left side of his upper lip. But it was enough.
“I know you went to the house on Hudson to get the book, and I know Allen Bryant was killed for it.”
“I told you, Kelly. I had nothing to do with Bryant. He was dead when I got there.”
“What about the book, Woods? Was that gone too?”
Whatever bluff the mayor’s guy had been hoping to play was crumbling pretty quick. I was getting dangerously close to some version of the truth, and Woods needed to get his side out.
“I told them this was a bad idea,” he said, and shook his head. “I fucking told them.”
“Told who?” I said.
Woods’ fingers were as overweight as fingers could be. One wore a gold wedding band. Another had a Claddagh ring squeezed onto it. He looked at them for a long time. Didn’t see anything he liked and looked back at
