'I've got to go out, Betty,' he said. 'For a little while.'
'But Harvey…' she began.
He smiled and stepped forward to embrace her but stopped when he realized someone else was in the room. He turned to face Lieberman, who sat drinking coffee.
'If you're in a hurry,' said the detective, 'I'll go with you.'
'I'm… no. It can wait Just going into the office to take my mind off of things, take care of a problem the staff is having trouble with.'
Lieberman nodded and looked at Betty Franklin, who was definitely on the edge and about to fall after Rozier's indiscreet move.
'Good, then let's talk about the lineup mis morning.' said Lieberman.
Mean Streets
Lonny Wayne got off the Sheridan bus a stop before Irving Park and headed for Broadway. He wasn't sure where he was going, but he was heading south and the general direction of home.
A cop car had passed die bus just before Irving. Lonny had slid down in his seat, certain that an old black man pretending to read a newspaper was watching him. When the cop car passed, Lonny turned to face the man with the newspaper. The man kept his face in the paper. The bus wasn't crowded: three old women and the man with the paper.
Through the front window of the bus Lonny could see the cop car slowing up. Lonny pulled the cord and the bus eased up at the next corner. Lonny got up languidly, wanting to run, forcing himself to stay cool, standing in front of the fuckin' door the driver was taking forever to open.
Then it opened with a clack and he leaped off. As the bus pulled away, the old man with the newspaper looked down at him through the window with something that looked like pity.
Lonny hurried toward Broadway, the gun in his jacket pocket bumping against his side.
He'd walk back to the neighborhood, sixty blocks. Not get trapped on a bus or an el. Walk back and then… what? lago was dead for sure. Damn. A cop. Walks right in. Gun in his hand, shooting. And that motherfuck doctor. He's shooting. And lago, he's shooting. And the cop goes down and Dalbert screams. Lonny had leaped over the fallen, groaning cop with lago behind him. They'd gone down the stairs, tripping over each other. And then in the street, lago waving the gun. The damn car gone. And then the shot and lago was down.
Lonny wasn't sure who had shot lago. He had picked up the gun and ran down an alley. Shit, for all he knew Dalbert was dead too, or talking to the cops right now.
Lonny was no fool. He kept himself from running. Long way to go and thinking to do. Even if Dalbert was dead too, they'd find out the three of them had been friends. The doctor with the gun could identify him. And what about Reno, the drug dealer whose car they had stolen? He'd see the newspapers or the TV, see lago's name, figure out who took his wheels, got him messed up with a cop shooting, and he'd be after Lonny too, maybe quicker than the cops.
There was a Burger King across Broadway. Lonny crossed, went in, bought three cheeseburgers and a Coke and sat down where he could see the door.
He had less than three dollars left and nowhere to go, but he had a gun and not much to lose.
Lonny watched the door, telling himself mat the cops weren't going to come into every Taco Bell and Burger King, not for him, not for one black kid. He'd never seen cops doing that. There weren't enough cops. He had time, a little time.
He had to get out of the city. That's it. Out of the city, maybe to Atlanta, where his cousin Jackie lived. Tell nobody. Lonny shivered and chewed a dry burger, wondering what had happened to his saliva. Lonny had never been more than ten miles from the city limits of Chicago. Atlanta was as far as China, but he had to go, had to have some money. He'd call his mother, sister, tell them he was sorry, not tell them where he was going. Cops couldn't be there yet Not yet. He had time. Not to go home, but to call.
Then he remembered Skilly Parker, the bar on Forty-second. Skilly was trying to sell his car. That was a week-no, two weeks ago. Skilly hung out at the Ease Inn Bar. He wanted three hundred for the car, cash, a '72 Chevy with the miles rolled back, had papers and everything.
Three hundred cash.
Lonny couldn't finish his second burger. He left it and the unwrapped one on the table and got up.
'Clean your trash,' said a raggedy old white lady with a shopping bag on the table in front of her.
Lonny ignored her and went for the door. Shit, what did he have to lose? He had a gun. He had to get out of town. He needed money.
The rain was coming down again before he got a block from the Burger King. It wasn't much of a rain, but Lonny had a lot of walking to do in it. He pulled up the collar of his jacket and decided he would hold up the grocery store near the hospital, a little convenience stop for doctors, nurses, and clean-up people. Carryouts, some fruit, hot coffee. It was home turf. There were places to hide when he was done till he could move out of the city.
Lonny stopped at an outdoor phone booth, found a quarter, and looked up the number of the Ease Inn. About half of the pages were missing from the phone book, torn out. The right page of Es was still intact. A good sign. He dropped the quarter hi the slot and hit the buttons.
'Ease Inn,' came a man's voice.
'Skilly there?' asked Lonny.
'He's here. I'll get him.'
Lonny looked up and down the street, shifting his weight from one leg to the other. There weren't many black people around here but there were some inside the stores and restaurants he had passed.
'Skilly here,' came a nervous voice.
'Lonny, Lonny Wayne. Say, man, you still tryin' to sell the ol' Chevy?'
'Still tryin',' Skilly said. 'You buyin'?'
'How long you gonna be there?'
'Till you get here with three hundred bills, cash money.'
'What time's it now?'
'Little after one by the Bud Light clock over Howard's head,' said Skilly.
Lonny thought quickly. Shit. He'd take a chance on the subway, pick it up on Chicago Avenue.
'I'll be there with cash by four,' Lonny said. 'You have the car and the papers.'
'Will be,' said Skilly and hung up.
Lonny was wet and cold. He plunged his hands into his pockets and hurried down the street, covering the precious bouncing weapon to protect it from the rain.
A long walk and a short subway ride without incident and Lonny Wayne was back on his turf.
He arrived thirty minutes after the three black men with Spanish accents who were making the rounds of hangouts, bars, and fast-food joints looking for a brother named Lonny with a dark lightning scar through his right eyebrow.
Lieberman's eyes moved from Rozier to Betty Franklin and stayed with her. He had the feeling that if she had not stopped Harvey Rozier when he came into the living room and Rozier had not seen Lieberman, something… Lieberman knew the look of nervous guilt, but it wasn't on the face of Harvey Rozier. It belonged to Betty Franklin, who stood a few feet from Rozier, trying not to meet Lieberman's steady brown eyes.
Rozier and Betty Franklin? She was old enough to be his mother, and Rozier's murdered wife had been a beauty- not that Betty Franklin was a meesldte, but still… Kenneth Franklin was a dying man, a rich dying man. A motive definitely suggested itself.
'A few questions,' Lieberman said, standing. 'You must have the funeral to arrange, all kinds of things. I remember when my mother died. Had to take care of everything. My brother and me. My father was already gone.'
'I appreciate your empathy,' said Rozier. 'If Dana's body is released by the medical examiner and can be… prepared by the funeral home, the funeral will be tomorrow.'
Betty Franklin's eyes had closed when Harvey Rozier spoke. She wrung her hands, actually wrung her
