know what I mean.”
“Old?”
“Older than me. And that’s saying something.”
She took a bite anyway, chewed, and forced a smile. “Not bad.”
“Now I know you’re lying.”
“Thanks for today, Michael.”
A part of my brain noticed the switch to my first name and liked it. The rest of me took it in stride.
“For what?” I said.
“The subway. I think I told you before. It had to be unnerving.”
“I got used to it.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. Anyway, I know I can be a little short sometimes. But thanks again.”
She handed me back the candy bar and turned to walk away.
“Hey.”
She stopped.
“You want to get coffee? Not tonight, but, you know, some time?”
She nodded slowly, picking up my invitation and then gently putting it back down. “I can’t.”
“That’s fine.”
She held up a hand and circled closer. “I’d like to. But I can’t.”
“It’s okay.”
“I’m sort of… it’s bad timing.”
I wanted her to stop now. Wanted to find Rodriguez and get out of Dodge. Why did I get the goddamn candy bar, anyway?
“I see someone, too,” I said. “Well, not really. I see her, but she doesn’t see me. It’s complicated.”
She laughed, and that made everything a little better. “Always seems to be that way, doesn’t it?”
“Sometimes, yeah.”
“You have a card?”
I gave her the one with my home and business address. I wrote my cell number on the back. She slipped it into her pocket.
“I better get back. And thanks again.”
“Sure.”
She pushed through the doors and back into the ER. I was alone. Just me and the vending machines. I pulled the lever for a second Zagnut and put it in my pocket. Old, maybe, but they were still damn hard to find.
I wandered down the hallway in search of Rodriguez. I found him in the small room, holding the corner of a white sheet, staring down at a corpse.
“A friend?” I said.
“Not really.” Rodriguez let the sheet fall back over the dead man’s face.
“Who is it?”
“Cop named Donnie Quin. Been dead most of the day.”
“Why’s he still here?”
Rodriguez shrugged. We stepped away from the body and back into the corridor. The elevator beside us was a large one, used to carry freight and, at some point this evening, Donnie Quin to his appointment with the Cook County coroner.
“What’s bugging you?” I said.
“Couple of things. First, he was one of the dirty cops I was investigating.”
I looked back toward the large lump under the sheet. “Quin?”
“Met with him this morning. He helped me set up the drug drop for the Korean.”
“What did he die of?”
“That’s the other thing. They have no idea. First, they thought it was his ticker. But the doc told me that wasn’t it.”
“What were his symptoms?”
“EMTs said he was struggling to breathe. Burning up. By the time they got him here, he was gone.”
“Where did you meet this guy today?”
“On the West Side.”
“Where?”
“Couple of miles from here. A food mart just off Austin. Why?”
“Where was he before that?”
“K Town. I told him we were cutting out the Korean. He told the Fours. What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing. What did you say the cop’s first name was?”
“Donnie. Donnie Quin.”
“When are they sending him over to the morgue?”
“Don’t know. Listen, I gotta get back to the Korean’s store.”
“I’ll talk to you tomorrow, Vince.”
“Yeah, tomorrow.”
Rodriguez tapped me on the shoulder and left. I took a final look at the white sheet and toe tag. Then I left as well.
CHAPTER 21
Rachel had scrubbed any trace of herself from the apartment, right down to the shelf and a half of healthy food she’d kept in my fridge. The good news was that left more room for beer. I’d bought a four-pack of Half Acre tallboys and found a spot for them beside two different kinds of mustard. Then I popped one and walked back into the living room. I thought about calling, but knew I’d get her machine. As bad as I was with people these days, I was even worse with their machines. So I sat on the couch instead and looked at the spaces where her things used to be. Things I’d hardly noticed until they were gone. Spaces I’d need to get used to. It was past midnight when I turned out the lights, climbed into bed, and closed my eyes.
It was a soft day in Chicago. The sky was blue, the smell of fresh grass and dirt thick in my nostrils. I stretched my eyes across a long, patterned canvas of outfield. There were people dotted here and there, crouching forward, bare hands clamped on knees. Others idled along the foul lines in groups of two or three, chatting pleasantly and drinking beer.
I felt more than heard the crack of the bat. The ball, high and dark in the sky. Hit almost directly over my head. I ran, but couldn’t feel my legs underneath. The ball reached its apex and began to drop, seams spinning as it fell. I reached, careful to keep my hands wide, fingers straight, and caught it softly over my shoulder. Sixteen-inch softball. Simplest thing in the world. As long as you didn’t think about it. Or were dreaming.
I pulled up in three steps and turned to throw the ball back toward the infield. My mother was there, on the other side of an outfield fence I hadn’t noticed before. She clapped noiselessly but didn’t smile. I thought it was because she was ashamed of her teeth. Or maybe she was just ashamed. I tossed the ball in and followed.
By the time I got to the dirt skin of the infield, the players were gone. The air, slack. My brother stood near home plate, face and shoulders limned in shadow. I moved closer. Philip turned, lips creased in a yellow curl. I tried to scream, but my voice, like my mom’s, was gone. A cold hand held my heart until it shivered and stopped.
I sat straight up in my bed. The pup was balled up in the corner, tail wagging slowly, head flicking from me to the hallway. My alarm clock rolled over to 2:00 a.m. Someone was knocking at the front door.
I got up, found a bathrobe, and squeezed a look through the peephole. I thought about what I saw, then swung the door open.
“You change your mind about coffee?”
Ellen Brazile hugged herself and glanced at the apartment across the hall.
“Don’t worry,” I said and stepped aside. “He’s either out at a bar or dead drunk asleep.”
Ellen walked in. I sat her in the living room and switched on a lamp. Her long cheekbones looked like sculpted
