Final Breath

the bartender.

He turned toward Sydney and shook his head.

'So--you don't know him?' Sydney asked. 'Or he doesn't work here anymore.'

'I knew him,' the bartender grunted. 'And he doesn't work here anymore. He's dead.'

Sydney feigned surprise. 'My God, how did he die?'

'Stupidity,' the heavyset man grumbled.

The blonde slapped the edge of the bar. 'Hah! You're a real shit, Phil.'

Ignoring her, the bartender stared at Sydney. 'Want to start a tab?'

'I'm not sure yet,' she said.

A few stools down, the blonde cleared her throat. 'What's your name, honey?'

Sydney hesitated. 'I'm--Sharon.' She worked up a little smile.

The woman slid off her bar stool and took her drink over to where Sydney sat. 'I'm Aurora. I was a good friend of Polly's.' She raised her glass. 'God rest his soul. Somebody shot him two weeks ago.'

'Oh, no,' Sydney murmured. 'That's horrible.'

'How did you know Polly?' she asked.

'Um, I came in here a few nights some months back. My mom lives in the area, and she was sick. I remember Polly was really sweet and helped cheer me up. He didn't get fresh or anything. He was just nice. Anyway, my mom's real sick again, and I came here, hoping to see Polly. Do they--um, do they know who killed him?'

Aurora tilted her head to one side and gazed at her for a moment. Sydney wasn't sure if Polly's friend believed her or not.

'Phil?' Aurora called, not breaking eye contact with Sydney. 'Phil, honey, start a tab for her, and put a Seven and Seven on it. Okay?' She smiled at Sydney. 'Okay?'

Sydney nodded.

'Let's go sit where we can talk,' Aurora said. She grabbed her drink and sauntered toward a booth.

Sydney followed her, and slipped into the booth with her Old Style Light. The brown Naugahyde cushioned seat had black duct tape on one corner. The table was overly lacquered, and decorated with cigarette burn marks and an unlit hurricane lamp.

'So--did they catch whoever killed Polly?' Sydney asked.

Frowning, Aurora shook her head.

'Do they have any clue who shot him?' Sydney pressed.

'Well, his pals here at Anthony's have their own theories,' she said, draining the rest of her glass. 'Polly was sweet. But he also pissed off the wrong people. So--it could have been a mob hit. That's the popular theory around here. But some of us think it's the cops who killed him. He was--'

Aurora fell silent as the stocky, goateed bartender came by with her Seven and 7. He set it on the table and took her empty glass.

'Thanks, Phil, you're a peach,' she said, not really looking at him. Then Aurora waited until he was back behind the bar. She pushed her colored blond hair back behind her ears. 'Polly was a snitch. But of course, you probably already knew that.'

Sydney stared at the woman and shook her head. 'I don't understand--'

'He was a snitch, a police informant,' Aurora whispered. 'He gave them information about drug deals and small-time jobs, and they gave him money.'

'Oh, I see,' Sydney replied numbly. 'A snitch, of course.' She figured that must have been how Joe had been acquainted with him. Even the newspaper article said Polly was 'well known to Chicago Police.'

Aurora sipped her Seven and 7. 'That's a sweet story about how you met Polly,' she said. 'Did you just make it up on the spur of the moment? Or did you dream it up on your way here?'

'What?'

Aurora leaned back in the booth and smiled. 'You're name isn't Sharon. You're Sydney Jordan, and I recognized you the minute you walked into this dump. You're married to a cop, aren't you?'

Sydney took a minute before she could answer. 'Yes, that's right,' she said, finally.

'So--what the hell are you doing here, Sydney? And please don't try to tell me you're doing a Movers & Shakers story on Polly, because you don't profile fuck-ups on that show. And sweet as Polly could be, he was a major fuck-up. Did your husband send you here?'

Sydney shook her head, then gulped down some beer. 'Joe doesn't even know I'm here. You--you're right about Polly being an unlikely subject for Movers & Shakers. The truth is, he called my house twice, and when I read about his murder, it really disturbed me. The newspaper article made him out to be this shiftless ex-con with a drug problem. They more or less indicated he got what was coming to him. But I thought about this guy, Polly, who sounded so nice on the phone, and I wondered what happens to the friends of someone like him. Okay, so he had a criminal record, and he had some troubles--he also had friends, didn't he? I'm sure Polly made a difference in the world and touched several people's lives in a positive way. I know my husband felt bad about his death. He didn't know Polly very well, but suggested--if I wanted to do a story about Polly--I should talk to some of his friends. So--here I am.'

With one elbow on the table and her chin in her hand, Aurora sat across from her and stared. Sydney wasn't sure if she believed a word of this. 'What does your husband say about him?' Aurora asked.

'Joe and I have a rule. Neither one of us can talk about our work at home. Besides, Joe didn't know Polly very well. At least, that's what he said.' Sydney waited to see if Aurora would contradict her.

Aurora uttered a sad little laugh. 'Well, I can tell you Polly was good to his cat. It's this half-deaf, half-blind, old bag of bones named Simon. I inherited the thing, lucky me. Is that the kind of shit you're looking for?'

Sydney nodded. So Joe didn't know Polly very well, thank God. 'Yes, little human touches like that,' she said. 'And of course, I'd like to include something about the work he did for the police. Without Polly's help, they probably wouldn't have been able to crack several important cases. Am I right?'

'Yeah,' Aurora replied over her Seven and 7. 'In fact, I figured it was his part in that drug bust at the pier three weeks ago that got him killed.'

'What drug bust?' Sydney asked.

'Huh, you weren't shitting me earlier,' Aurora said. 'You and your old man really don't talk about his work. It happened about three weeks ago. A couple of small-timers were moving some cocaine at Fort Jackson Pier when the cops arrived. The two schmucks ended up burning to death in their RV, along with most of the stuff--or so the cops claimed. Polly was the snitch on the deal. He told me there was up to half a million worth of coke involved. The four cops who pulled off the raid recovered something like thirteen thousand dollars' worth, and claimed the rest went up in smoke. I think the newspapers estimated forty-some-odd thousand went poof, but that's bullshit. And Polly knew it.' Aurora sipped her drink, then gave her a wary sidelong glance. 'So--this is all news to you?'

Sydney nodded.

'Well, honey, then this must be news to you as well. Your husband was one of the four cops who pulled off this drug bust--though I'd call it a heist.'

Sydney shook her head. 'My husband would never get involved in anything like that. Joe's a good guy. He's an honest cop. He--'

'Huh, Polly used to think so, too,' Aurora said, cutting her off. 'He knew these guys were after him, these hit men. Polly wasn't sure if it was payback from someone connected to those two schmucks who fried in their RV or if the cops had hired these guys to shut him up permanently. Whoever it was, Polly knew he was a dead man. I've never seen him so sick with worry. He called your husband at least six times, begging for help.'

'But I didn't think he knew Joe very well,' Sydney said.

'Not very,' Aurora agreed. 'Polly never snitched for your husband. For the Fort Jackson Pier deal, he dealt with one of the other cops. But Polly knew your husband. He knew Joe McCloud's reputation as a good guy who went out of his way to help people in trouble.' Aurora drained the rest of her glass and loudly set it down on the table. 'Well, your nice-guy hero-husband didn't lift a fucking finger to help Polly. He let him down--and he let him die.'

Sydney squirmed in the booth seat. 'Why are you telling me this?'

'Because I don't believe a goddamn thing you've told me--except the fact that Polly called your house, and