with. Each day, Earl eats a little more of my body. Each day, I try to prevent Earl from doing that. There's chemo, and radiation, and occasional surgery. And in the off-times, there's illegal drugs, pharmaceuticals, and alcohol.
Earl was winning.
Luckily, being a drug abuser has some excellent side benefits, such as not caring about anything, erasing all emotion, and helping to forget the past.
Just a few months ago I had a well paying job in the suburbs, a beautiful fiancee, and a life most would be envious of. Earl changed all that. Now, not even the roaches in my tenement building were envious of me.
I drank, and popped, and snorted, until the pain was gone. Until reality was gone. Until consciousness was gone.
Earl woke me up the next morning, gnawing at my left side with jagged, rabid teeth.
I peeled myself from the floor, stripped off the jeans and underwear I'd soiled, and climbed into a shower slick with mildew. I turned the water as hot as it would go, and the first blast came out rusty and stung my eyes. I had no soap, so I used shampoo to scrub my body. I didn't eat well, if I remembered to eat at all, and I could count the ribs on my hairless chest. I made a note to eat something today. Who would hire a thug that weighed ninety pounds?
After the shower I found some fresh jeans and a white t-shirt. I did a line, choked down three painkillers, and dug out an old Chicago phone book.
“Walker Insurance.”
“I had a couple questions about life insurance.”
“I'll transfer you to one of our agents.”
I took my cell over the fridge and listened to a Musak version of Guns N Roses while rummaging through the ice box. Nothing in there but frost.
“This is Brad, can I help you?”
“I'm thinking of taking out a life insurance policy on my wife. We live in a nice neighborhood, but she has this unrealistic fear—call it a phobia—of being raped and killed. I'm sure that would never happen, but do you have policies that cover that?”
“Accidental death includes murder, but not suicide.”
“And rape?”
“Well, I've heard of some countries like India and Africa that offer rape insurance, but there's nothing like that in the US. But if she's afraid of being attacked, a good life insurance policy can help bring some peace of mind.”
“What if she doesn't like the idea of insurance? Could I insure her without her knowing it?”
“For certain types of insurance, the person covered doesn't need to sign the policy. You can insure anyone you want. Would you like to schedule an appointment to talk about this further?”
I thought about asking him if he covered people dying of cancer, but I resisted and hung up. My next call was to the 26th District of the Chicago Police Department.
“Daniels.”
“Hi, Jack. It's Phineas Troutt.”
“Haven't seen you at the pool hall lately. What's up?”
“I need a favor. I'm looking for paper on a guy named Lyle Tibbits.”
“And I should help you because?”
“Because you're a friend. And because he owes me money. And because I probably won't live to see Christmas.”
Jack arrested me a few years back, but she'd been cool about it, and we had an on-again-off-again eight ball game on Monday nights. I'd missed a few lately, too stoned to leave my apartment. But I'd helped Jack out a few times, and she owed me, and she knew it.
“Let's see what Mr. Computer has to say. Lyle Tibbits. Prior arrest for—it looks like trafficking kiddie porn. Did a nickel's worth at Joliet. Paroled last year.”
“Anything about a wife or kids?”
“Nope.”
“Address?”
“Roscoe Village, on Belmont.”
She gave me the numbers, and I wrote them down.
“Nothing on Addison?”
“Nope.”
“Can you give me his vitals?”
Jack ran through his birth date, social security number, mother's maiden name, and some other choice info cops are privy to.
“You coming this Monday?” she asked when the litany ended. “I finally bought my own cue.”
“A Balabushka?”
“A custom stick on my salary? More like Wal-Mart.”
“I'll try to make it. Thanks, Jack.”
“Take care, Phin.”
I tucked the Glock into my pants, pocketed my set of master keys and a pair of S & W handcuffs, and hit the street. It was cool for July, in the low seventies, the sun screened by clouds or smog or both. I grabbed some sweet and sour chicken at a local shop, and then spent an hour at a place on Cermak filling out paperwork. When I finished, I hopped in a cab and took it to Roscoe Village.
Lyle's apartment had a security door, which I opened on the fourth try. One of my first acts as a criminal had been to rob a locksmith, earning me a set of sixty master keys. They opened ninety percent of the locks in the US. It was much easier than learning how to use picks and tension wrenches, which is something I didn't have the time to learn anyway.
The halls were empty, befitting midday. I found Lyle's apartment number and knocked twice, holding my pistol behind my back.
No answer.
I got through this door on the second try, set the security chain so no one could pop in on me, and began my search.
In the living room were six double DVD recorders, all which seemed to be running. In a box next to the TV were a hundred plastic clamshell boxes, and a spindle of blank recordable DVD-Rs. In the corner of the room were three digital camcorders and a PC. I powered up the computer, spent ten minutes trying to get his password, then gave up and turned it off.
The kitchen revealed a smorgasbord of junk food—he had enough sugar in here to put an elephant into a diabetic coma. On the counter, next to the phone, was a receipt for a glazier, the total more than five hundred bucks. Stuck to the fridge with a banana-shaped magnet was a picture of Lyle drinking a beer. I put the picture in my pocket.
In the bedroom, I found an extensive collection of porno DVDs. Bondage, watersports, S/M, D/s, extreme spanking, and even a kink new to me; latex vacuum mummification. All legal.
I found his illegal stuff in a padlocked trunk, in the back of the bedroom closet. The lock opened with the seventh key I tried.
Child porn. Movies with titles like “See Billy Cry” and “Maxie's Birthday Surprise.” Some of the covers had pictures.
I tried not to look.
There were also a few other illegal movies, along with a bag full of cash. Over twenty grand worth.
I took the money, locked the trunk back up, and left the apartment.
Satisfied that I knew who I was dealing with, I bided my time until 10pm.
Then I could finish the job.
#
As promised, Lyle had left the door open for me.
The house was dark and quiet, just like the neighborhood. I walked down Christiana and up the porch stairs without encountering a soul. Once inside, I locked the door behind me and held my breath, listening for sounds of
