'I can't.'
'I could do it for twenty grand. You got twenty grand?'
'Yes.'
'Groovy. Let me whack the guy. Tell the cops he forced you to help him, and they'll let you go. You could be back at work and getting it on with dear, departed Aunt Sally in a day or two.'
'I can't.'
'Whatever, man. You're the one who's gonna get iced.'
There was no talking for over a minute. Only Rushlo's off-key humming.
'What if . . . what if I said yes?'
'Half the money up front, the other half when it's over.'
'How?'
'Cash. You talk to your lawyer, have him deliver it to me.'
'And what if you can't do it?'
'I can do it. Trust me.'
'He's a big guy.'
'Size don't matter if you aim for the head. What's the pig's name?'
I noticed I was holding my breath.
'Hey man, if you want me to kill the guy, I got to know his name.'
'It's Barry.'
Herb and I looked at each other. There was only one Barry we knew on the job. I tried to make it fit, to picture the cop on my team as the one responsible for these atrocities.
'Barry what? Barry Houdini? Barry Flintstone? Barry Manilow? You gotta give me more than that.'
Fuller had access to my office, and to Colin Andrews's phone. Fuller was angry I passed him over for promotion. Fuller kept butting into this investigation, offering to help.
'I don't want to say any more. I can't say any more. I'm sorry.'
'You already said too much, you little squealer.' McGlade's tone had become harsh, menacing. 'Barry knew you'd try something. He sent me to take care of you.'
Rushlo made a sound somewhere between a gasp and a yelp.
'Leave me alone!'
'Barry can't afford to keep you around.'
'I'm sorry! Tell him I'm sorry!'
'Tell who you're sorry?'
'Fuller! Tell him I'd never betray him.'
'Get him out of there,' I told Herb, the phone already in my hand. We needed to find Barry Fuller, fast.
Before anyone else died.
Chapter 18
Barry Fuller cruises Irving Park Road. He's off duty, dressed in civvies and driving his SUV.
His headache is explosive.
The morning began on a bad note. Holly, his bitch of a wife, had some stupid complaint about the living room curtains. He told her, several times, to buy new curtains if she hated these, but she couldn't shut her goddamn mouth and kept yapping and yapping and finally he had to leave because if he didn't he would have gutted her right there.
He needs a substitute, fast. Normally, he'd drop in the station and use the computer to locate a neighborhood hooker. But the pain is so bad he's practically blind with it, and he needs relief ASAP.
Luckily, the streets are littered with disposables.
He tails a jogger for a block. Blonde, nice ass. She blends into the crowd, and he loses her.
Another woman. Business suit. High heels. He idles alongside, visualizing how to grab her. She walks into a coffee shop.
Fuller fidgets in his seat, sweating even though the air is cranked to the max. He turns down an alley, searching, scanning . . .
Finding.
She's walking out the rear door to her apartment building. Twenty-something, wearing flip-flops and a large T- shirt over bikini bottoms, a towel on her shoulder. Planning on walking to Oak Street Beach, just a few blocks away.
He guns the engine and hits her from behind.
She bounces off the front bumper, skids along the pavement face-first. Fuller jams the truck into park, jumps out.
