“Fuck. Where is it?”
“Upstairs.”
“Take it with you. And dump it.”
“How about my prints and blood on the floor?”
“Not a problem.”
“I’m getting the feeling there’s not gonna be much of an investigation here?”
“It’s gangbangers on the West Side,” Rodriguez said. “We’ll put our heads together and come up with something.”
“Why not just pull in Marcus?”
“Because we have twenty-plus kilos of cop dope out there, and an undercover drug operation I’d like to think isn’t totally blown.”
I pulled out another one of the body bags. It was made of heavy plastic, with a black zipper down the side. “What are the chances of keeping this part of it quiet?”
“The bags?”
“Just keep it out of the press for a day or two.”
Rodriguez thought about it, then shrugged. “No one’s gonna give a fuck anyway. What are you thinking?”
“Dunno. Just seems a little strange. How about we not tell Rita either?”
“I’m good with that.”
I ignored the tinge of defensiveness in my friend’s voice. “Thanks, Vince. I just want to check on a couple of things before I fill her in.”
“Fine. Now get out of here. And take the gun with you.”
I walked back upstairs alone. The dead people were still there. Just warming to the idea of eternity. I left by the door I came in. My car was the only one on the street.
CHAPTER 20
I sat on a gurney and looked over the innards of the Cook County ER. According to Theresa Jackson, it had been a pretty typical night at the Knife and Gun Club, which translated to a handful of gunshot wounds, a couple of stabbings, three sexual assaults, and two gang members who tried to smuggle a gun into an examining room a half hour ago so they could finish off a rival they’d shot up earlier in the evening.
Silver casters rattled on a metal rail to my left as Nurse Jackson pulled back a dark green curtain.
“Enjoying the view?”
“How do you do this every night?”
“Going on twelve years.”
“Why?”
“Honestly? I grew up less than a mile from here. Seems like it’s the right thing. Besides, this is one of the best trauma centers in the country.”
“You mean one of the busiest.”
“Looks like a sausage factory ’cuz that’s what it is. Only the good ones can handle it.”
She gave me a bottle of pills and clipped an X-ray up on a light board.
“How do you know Rodriguez?” I said.
“He didn’t tell you?”
I shook my head.
“Good for him. See that?” She pointed to one of my ribs on the X-ray.
I didn’t see anything but nodded anyway. “Broken?”
“Hairline fracture. I had one of the residents take a look to verify.”
“Twelve years in here, I believe you.”
“That’s nice. Now you want to tell me who shot you?”
“You figured that out, huh?”
“The bullet wound gave it away.” Theresa swept a hand around the room. “Was it anyone in here?”
I shook my head.
“Good.” She pulled the X-ray down and handed it to me. “A souvenir. Keep your side taped, and take your pills.”
“How long?”
“Before you heal?”
“Before it stops hurting every time I breathe?”
“Take the pills. You should be able to move around without a lot of pain as soon as they kick in.”
“Thanks.”
“Tell Rodriguez he owes me.”
“You can tell him yourself.”
The detective had just pushed through the doors and was walking our way. Theresa crossed one arm over the other and cocked her hip.
“Has he been behaving?” Rodriguez said.
“You’re the one who needs to show a little manners.”
“I owe you?”
“Damn straight, Mr. Detective.”
“Got a girl now, T.”
“Actually, I was hoping for a younger brother.”
“Ouch. What did she do to you, Kelly?”
“He’s fine,” Theresa said. “Just get him out of here before admissions asks where his chart is.”
“Thanks, T.”
“Take your pills, Mr. Kelly. And quit running around with your detective friend here. Or at least learn to shoot first.” Theresa Jackson walked off across the ER.
“What’s her deal?” I said.
“You don’t want to know.”
“Okay.”
“She was raped a half mile from here. Damn, must have been three years ago now.”
On the other side of the room, Theresa was taking a patient’s blood pressure. The kid in the bed was laughing, flirting, trying to catch her eye.
“She was walking home from this place,” Rodriguez said. “Actually, she was headed out on a date. Wearing those skinny jeans women wear.”
“Skinny jeans?”
“I never heard of them either. Until this case. But you’ve seen them before. Tight jeans.”
“What’s that got to do with anything?”
“That’s what the rapist pleaded at trial. ‘Skinny jeans defense,’ the Trib called it.”
“I remember something like that.”
“He claimed the jeans were so tight, he couldn’t have taken them off without her help.”
“Did it work?”
“Might have. Except two people saw him drag her by the hair into an alley. Didn’t do anything about it. But at least they testified. And then there was the broken nose and fractured cheekbone. Skinny jeans defense didn’t go down so well with the jury when that all came in.”
“Yeah?”
“Theresa got up on the stand and said if she could, she’d hire someone to do to him what he did to her. Then she’d cut his heart out and watch it stop beating in her hand. Jury believed her, too.”
“Where’s the guy?” I said.
“Pulled sixty years in Stateville. Lasted six months. They force-fed him a bottle of Clorox and dropped him
