20
I WAS HEADING HOME from Obel’s Gourmet Market with my hands full of groceries, humming a Bruno Mars tune I couldn’t get out of my head. I had decided to treat myself to a sirloin tip roast cooked in a medley of carrots, potatoes, and celery. I had gotten the recipe from Barefoot Contessa on the Food Network. The wine was already back at home chilling. For dessert I was going to warm up a small apple pie I had taken home the other night courtesy of Penny Packer’s chef.
I was only a couple of blocks away from my building when I spotted the vehicle out of the corner of my eye. It was a black SUV with large shiny wheels, and it was moving very slowly. I picked up my pace a little, and it did the same. When I was stopped at the light at the corner of Grand and North McClurg Court, it sped up and pulled over. Two of the doors swung open, and two men in matching black sweatpants and hoodies descended upon me. They weren’t as big as the two from my first encounter with Ice’s security detail, but I could see the bulges of their muscles.
“Get the hell in the car,” the tallest one said. His head was shaved clean, and he was wearing black aviator sunglasses. Very provocative. I was frightened enough to cry.
“You really need to learn some manners,” I said. “People tend to respond better when you speak to them nicely.”
“You don’t have your sidekick with you today, wiseass,” the other guy said. “Now let’s see how tough you are.”
I didn’t have my gun either. But that was fine too. It was still an unfair fight. They had only two. I set my bag of groceries carefully on the ground. After this brief interruption I was still planning on cooking a wonderful dinner.
A short woman with wet curly brown hair was standing on the sidewalk with a bulldog on one of those retractable leashes. I heard her gasp and say, “Oh my God, Harry. We need to get home right away.”
The biggest one was smart enough to take off his shades. He was the first to reach me. He took a big windup and threw a right hook that my blind uncle in Mississippi could’ve seen a mile away and my ninety-year-old grandmother could’ve slipped under. I ducked and rolled and came up with a quick left jab to the center of his chest, just underneath where his ribs met. A doctor friend of mine once told me this was the home of the diaphragm, the body’s breathing muscle. Hit it hard enough and the diaphragm spasmed, and breathing became extremely difficult. The guy, however, took the first blow rather nicely, but when I connected with my right in the same spot, that was enough to bend him over. I kneed him in the ribs, and that was enough to put him down.
By the time I turned around, the second goon was already winding up with his left. I took a half step back, and he just grazed my shoulder. No damage, just a little sting. I threw a kick that connected with his flank just above his right kidney. I rolled under a second wild punch and drove my elbow as hard as I could into his groin. No more punches today. It was rather difficult preparing a Michelin-starred meal with broken fingers. The goon backed up into the street with his hands covering his crotch and his eyes squeezed tightly. I was hoping he would say something to test the theory that blows to the genitalia had a way of lightening the voice. My own little experiment.
I calmly walked over to pick up my bag of groceries. The woman with the bulldog was already across the street watching with a look of horror on her face and her hand over her mouth.
“Okay, show-off,” a deep voice said. I turned to find the driver, a short, wide man with a small Afro, standing next to the car with an enormous gun pointed at me. It looked like a Desert Eagle .45 Long Colt, one of the biggest pistols on the street. “Ice would like you to join us for a little ride.”
“But of course,” I said, walking toward him. I handed him my grocery bag. “Don’t crush the groceries. Special dinner I’m making tonight. Feel free to stop by.”
I got into the back of the SUV. The two goons had collected themselves and followed in behind me, mumbling incoherently.
Ice was seated in the third row by himself. I couldn’t make out much other than his silhouette. He had his hat tipped to the side and was smoking a cigar. He waited for the car to pull away before he spoke.
“Nice work out there,” he said calmly.
“Wasn’t a fair fight,” I said. “There was only two of them, and they only outweighed me by some four hundred pounds.”
“Cocky bastard,” Ice said. “I want to hire you.”
The driver rolled us slowly through my neighborhood. We were now riding along the Chicago River. The water was full of ugly boats crammed with overeager tourists and their digital cameras.
“Thanks for the offer, but unfortunately, I don’t work for the nefarious,” I said.
“What the fuck?” one of the guys said from the front seat. “We gonna always need a damn dictionary to communicate with this muthafuckah? Speak some goddamn English for once.”
“Easy, Flex,” Ice said. His voice remained even. “I’ll pay whatever your rate is plus twenty-five percent.”
“Why do you need me when you’ve got the dynamic duo?”
“I don’t need muscle,” Ice said. “I need some detective work.”
“My forte,” I said. “But what would I be detecting?”
“I want to find out who killed my nephew.” He paused for a second as if gathering his thoughts. “Then I’m going to rip their body apart limb by
