waved hel o. Jumped in his car and was off. Wel, speak of the devil.”
True to his South Side roots, Denny was keeping an eye on the front window. There, through the curtain, was Jim Doherty, large as life, rol ing through the night and up the front walk. Denny pul ed the door open before Doherty had made it halfway to the stoop. I stepped out. My pal shook his head and laughed.
“Jesus H. Christ. Michael Kel y.” Doherty held out his hand, and I grasped it. The grip was rough and strong.
“You looking for me?” the retired cop said.
“Sort of,” I said. “How did you know?”
“I didn’t. Just thought I’d stop in and say hel o to these two. That your car?” Doherty jerked a thumb toward the street. I nodded. “These folks saw me at your door. Kind enough to help me track you down.”
Denny and Peg hopped around Jim Doherty like he was Irish royalty, if such a thing exists.
“Thanks for hauling him in here,” Doherty said.
Denny nodded. “Told him you’d be around, Jimmy.” The old woman moved aside to let Doherty into the house.
“No, no, Peg. Michael here is a busy man.” Doherty glanced my way. I nodded in agreement.
“I’m just going to take him over for a cup of tea and a chat. I’l come by tomorrow and we can catch up.” Jim winked at the couple and nudged me down the walk. I felt their eyes on my back as I moved away. Doherty swung his arms by his sides and laughed as we walked.
“Fuck’s sake, Kel y. You get inside that house, you’l be lucky to come out at al. I’m here.”
The ex-cop turned down his driveway, toward the back door. On the South Side, front doors were for first- time visitors. Everyday traffic knew better and went around back.
“You want some tea,” Doherty said and hung his coat on a hook in the kitchen. I shrugged. Doherty steered me toward a large table.
“Sit down. I got what you want in the other room.”
“You know why I’m here?”
Doherty used a match to light the stove and put on a kettle. “Course I know why you’re here. Now sit down. You’re making me nervous.”
CHAPTER 14
You look good, Michael.”
I hadn’t seen Jim Doherty in maybe five years, since the day he retired and we drank Guinness together at a pretty good Irish place cal ed Emmit’s. I’d meant to cal him. Even made notes for myself. But never got to it.
“Thanks, Jim. It’s been a while. How you doing?”
Doherty widened his eyes in mock surprise. The smile that fol owed wiped away my years of neglect.
“No complaints, actual y. In fact, retirement suits me pretty wel.”
Doherty waved a hand around the house. His bungalow was identical to his neighbors’, except this one didn’t feature a crucifix, or even JFK, on the wal. In fact, the whole house felt bare. No pictures, no paintings. Just a few shelves, heavy with books. Otherwise, only what was needed to live.
“I know,” he said, “it looks depressing. Some pots and pans and an old cop waiting to die. Right?”
I shook my head. Doherty, however, was never one to cut corners.
“Bul shit. That’s exactly what it looks like, because maybe that’s exactly what it is. And you know what? It’s not al that bad.”
My friend cast pale blue eyes into a future most of us try hard to ignore. His features seemed finer than I remembered; his skin, tissue thin and stretched tight over his skul.
“But you’re not here for that sad story, are you, Michael?” Doherty glanced at the thick brown files he’d placed on the table between us.
“You think I’m crazy?” I said.
He shrugged. “What’s crazy? In this game, you get hunches. Tel you the truth, I kind of thought the same thing myself.”
“Yeah?”
“Yup. First thing jumped in my head when I heard about the shootings in the Loop. Same date. Same place.” Doherty leaned in so I could hear the wheeze in his voice. “And I was there, Michael. Don’t forget that.”
He straightened his spine and stirred some sugar into his tea. “You got any other connections?”
“Actual y, I do.”
Doherty squeezed his eyes a fraction. He hadn’t joined the force until he was in his thirties and never made it past sergeant. Stil, the Irishman possessed a subtle thread of intel igence. The kind that made you wonder sometimes if you were playing checkers while he was quietly playing chess.
“I knew there had to be more,” Doherty said. “Said that to myself the minute I saw your face pop out of the house next door. I said, ‘That fucking Kel y. He’s running down those old streets again.’”
Doherty flipped open one of the files and thumbed through a stack of photos as he talked. The fingers were stil thick and hard. The hands of a cop. Retirement or no. “So what else do you got, son?”
“I was on the platform at Southport this morning,” I said.
“The first shooting?”
I nodded. “Chased the guy for a couple of blocks.”
“Didn’t catch him, I take it?”
“He caught me up in an al ey. Put a gun on me, but didn’t pul the trigger.”
Doherty put down the old photos and rubbed an index finger along his lower lip. “And you think he was laying for you?”
“I know he was. After the second shooting, he cal ed me.”
“The shooter cal ed you?”
“I’m thinking there’s two of them, but, yeah, one cal ed. Hit me on my cel phone.”
Doherty chuckled. “Fucking bal s. What did he say?”
“Bragged about the kil ings. Al that sort of bul shit. But he cal ed me by name and knew a little bit about me. Mentioned Homer.”
“Homer? As in Iliad and Odyssey Homer?”
“One and the same.”
The Irishman walked to the sink and considered his reflection in a window. “And you’re wondering if this could al tie into the old case?”
“That’s why I’m here, Jim.”
He poured some more hot water into his mug and sat down again with the files. “I always kept track of this one, Michael.”
“I know. You keep in touch with any of them?”
“Some are dead. Some just old. Their sons, daughters…” Doherty shrugged off a generation. “They don’t always feel it like they would have. You know what I mean?”
I nodded. There was no substitute for being there. “So you think there’s no connection?”
“I didn’t say that. There could be. Or maybe it’s just a coincidence. Maybe these guys are using you as some sort of decoy.”
“That’s what the feds think.”
“FBI?”
“They’re running the case. I met with them today.”
“What about Chicago PD?”
“They got a man at the table, but the feds are cal ing the shots.”
“Tread lightly, Michael.”
“I hear you. What does your gut say on the connection?”
“Honestly?” Doherty tickled his fingers across the files. “I think al of this bothers you more than you want to know. Always has, for some reason.”
