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“I’m off tonight.” Her eyes still closed. “Let’s go out.”
“I’m meeting Patrick.”
“Again?”
“He’s like my brother, Kar.” He couldn’t keep the tone out of his voice.
She opened her eyes then, her hands up in her hair. “I’m sorry. It’s just…”
“I understand, babe.” He put his hands on her waist, resting them on the thin ridge of her pelvic bone. “Don’t worry.”
He kissed her, her small breasts firm against his chest. She ran a hand down his back. Her fingertips sent electric shivers through his groin. Reluctantly, he pulled away, breaking the kiss. “I still have to make it to the office. Rain check?”
She smiled. “Any time.”
The Iron Crown was a copy of a replica of a pub, but not too bad for all that. Da
Da
They just hadn’t realized the world would roar back.
Evan had landed in Stateville Maximum Security. The Jimmy brothers were serving twenty in Glades, some Florida bank job gone wrong. Marty Frisk had walked into a liquor store with an empty pistol; both barrels of the owner’s sawed-off turned out to be loaded. Those who hadn’t been busted or killed mostly still lived the life, and Da
Patrick was different. After his mother passed – cancer – his dad had concentrated on drinking himself to death. Most things in life he’d failed at, but at this he turned out to be a natural. Faced with seeing another Irish kid from the neighborhood end up bouncing through foster homes at sixteen, Da
And they’d thanked the old man by getting busted stealing a car two years later.
Da
“Hands on the bar, son.”
“Patrick. That one never gets old.”
“You’re already losing your instincts. Lose your sense of humor, too, you may as well take up golf with the rest of the North Side fairies.”
Da
“You passed twice on your bike before you parked. Came in the side door, stopped to bullshit the girls at the corner table. Your wallet’s in your back right pocket. And after everything I told you, you still carry a blade in your boot.”
Patrick’s smile had faded. “How?”
Da
Patrick threw his head back and howled, then settled on the bar stool and finger-combed his black hair. Over a long-sleeve thermal he wore a threadbare T-shirt advertising a defunct bowling alley. The bartender poured Jameson’s into their glasses without taking his eyes from the classifieds, then moved to the other end of the bar.
“I got a good one tonight.”
Patrick always had a story.
He’d been cruising in his low-loader, looking for just the right car. BMWs and Mercedes, they were too likely to have LoJack. Hondas were good, Explorers, your midrange Fords. And if you were smart, you’d pick one parked illegally. Two inches into a fire lane. Expired meter. Just a little cover.
“So I’m in the West Loop, where they’re building all those fake warehouses for yuppies.”
“Lofts, Patrick. We call them lofts.”
“I bet you love them, folks paying four hundred grand for a house with no walls. Anyway, it’s a good spot, decent cars, not too many people. And there’s a GTO, you know the one with the V-8?”
Straight as he was these days, the thought still made Da
“So I’ve got it half loaded, the alarm has shut off now that it’s hit the tow angle, and all of a sudden, ru
“Fuck you.”
“I don’t have the car locked down yet, and I don’t want to just dump my truck. Worse, I see the guy’s got a cell phone, he’s talking into it as he runs.”
Da
“No shit. Maybe he’s calling the cops, right? But I figure okay, stay cool. Pop the guy hard enough to drop him, lock down the car, drive away.” Patrick paused, reached for his shot.
“And?”
He laughed. “Just as I’m about to hit him, he yells that his car’s getting towed and hangs up. So I hold off and stand there staring at him. Guy barely looks at me, just asks what the problem is. I tell him he was sticking into the alley.” He laughed again, lifting the glass to his nose to smell the whiskey. “And then this joe, type of asshole who thinks he knows all the angles, you know what he does?”
Da
“He takes out his wallet, asks can we settle it right here.”
“No kidding.” Laughing now.
“Man offers me fifty bucks to lower the car I was in the process of stealing from him.”
“What did you say?”
“I said a hundred.” Patrick gri
They had a couple of rounds and then went down the street for a steak. It should have been a good night, but something was throwing Da
After they finished – Da
“How ’bout another round?” Patrick smiled. “I gotta tell you about this girl I hooked up with last week.”
“Next time, Romeo. Which reminds me, Karen wants you to come over for di
Patrick groaned. “And the friend she invites, social worker or librarian?”
“Both, probably.”
“With a face like a boot, but the sex drive of a jumped-up gerbil. The last one chased me to Lakeshore, waving her panties over her head and neighing.”
“All right, all right,” Da
“I’m go
Old instincts tightened Da
Patrick looked up at him, the joking in his eyes replaced by something more serious, like he was watching for a reaction. “Evan McGa
Da
“Chief?” Patrick looked at him quizzically.
“Yeah.” He forced a smile. “How is he?”
Patrick shrugged. “Haven’t seen him myself. Just heard he was around, asking questions.”
“I thought he was doing twelve years.”