Fire Sale

Not everyone in the room knew who Bron was, but one of the women, a

“What did you use to hold the acid when you put Diego’s stereo out of commission?” I asked Andrés.

“Just a metal fu

“So Josie knew how you’d damaged Diego’s stereo,” I said slowly, thinking through the network of co

Had Freddy gone to Bron, knowing-from Julia, I suppose, Julia who would have heard it from Josie-that Bron had a shop in his house? Or had Bron gone to Freddy to help plant the dish? Either April knew about the soap dish brouhaha and had mentioned it to her father, or when Bron explained what he needed Freddy remembered the soap dish. It all sort of made sense in a horrible way.

“What I don’t understand is why they did it at all?” I continued out loud. “What would-”

I broke off, remembering Aunt Jacqui’s dazzling smile: we never, never renegotiate contracts. And her malicious smirk when she a

“You have to tell me what was troubling Billy the Kid about his family,” I said abruptly to the pastor. “It’s too important now for you to keep it secret.”

“It wasn’t this,” Andrés objected. “If Billy told me they were burning down Frank Zamar’s plant, believe me, I would not have kept that a secret.”

He gave a sad smile. “Billy knew I was working with Frank Zamar-he knew our attempt to sell sheets through our churches here in South Chicago -he knew that failed. But Billy himself went back to his aunt, to his father and grandfather, to try to get them to renegotiate the contract with Fly the Flag. They were-like rocks, unmoving. This caused him great grief. And then he found in the records, the faxes that came from overseas, that they had already arranged with a shop in Nicaragua to make these towels and sheets, on a production schedule where the workers will be paid nine cents for every sheet or towel they make.

“Billy went to read a report on this factory and found a disturbing situation, that people must work seventy hours a week, with no overtime, no holidays, one short break for lunch. So he said it was time for Nicaraguan workers to have rights, to have a union, and he would go to the directors and tell them this if the family did not reconsider. His grandfather loves Billy greatly. When he saw how upset his grandchild was, he said, before they turned to Nicaragua they would wait a month and see how Frank Zamar did.”

“And then Frank Zamar’s plant burned down. How convenient. And Bron Czernin is dead.” I laughed a little wildly.

I didn’t see the whole picture but enough of it. Bron thought he could put the bite on the Bysens-he had done their dirty work, now they should pay for April’s surgery. Only they had killed him instead. Or Grobian had killed him. All I needed was Billy and Freddy. And a little proof.

“You really don’t know where Billy is?” I asked Andrés.

His dark eyes were worried. “I have no idea, Missus Detective.”

He shut his eyes and started to pray, softly, under his breath. The women at the door eyed him with sympathy and a certain awe and began humming softly, a hymn to provide him support and company. After three or four minutes, Andrés sat up. His old authority sat on his shoulders again. He a

“Maybe they are hiding in a building, a garage, renting an apartment under a false name. You need to ask everyone, talk to everyone, find these children. And when you do, you tell me at once. And if you ca

41 Punk, Cornered Like a Rat

I walked slowly back to my car. One thing I had to do without delay was to call Conrad Rawlings at the Fourth District and report Freddy’s role in the fire at Fly the Flag. I’d been keeping my cell phone off today. I’d checked in with Amy a couple of times, but I’d used the phone in the faculty lounge at Bertha Palmer when I’d had to call my clients. But now it didn’t matter if someone was tracking me, and saw I was in South Chicago. In fact, if they were paying enough attention to me to listen in on my cell phone calls, me reporting what I knew to the police would keep them from bothering me further.

To my surprise, it was only seven-thirty. The emotions and exertions I’d just gone through made me think a whole evening had passed. I called down to the Fourth District, determined to hand Freddy over to the cops-Conrad would see what a good, cooperative PI I was. When I found I’d just missed him, I felt deflated.

The operator at the Fourth District didn’t seem excited by my report of news about the arson at Fly the Flag. I finally got her to transfer me to a detective, a junior officer who went through the motions of taking my name and Freddy’s name, but his assurance that they’d look into it sounded like one of those three common lies in the English language-he didn’t even ask how to spell my name, which he couldn’t pronounce, and he only took my phone number because I insisted on giving it to him.

When we’d finished, I hesitated a moment, then hit Conrad’s home number-through all my changes and upgrades in mobile phones, I’d kept it on my speed dial, position four, following my office, my answering service, and Lotty. He wasn’t in, but I left a detailed message on his machine. He might be a

I flexed my shoulders, sore from the tensions of the afternoon. I was still tired, too, from Monday night’s jaunt. So many of my brother and sister PIs seem to get beaten up, thrown in the slammer, or hungover, without needing to rest afterward. I looked at my face in the rearview mirror; true, the light was bad, but I looked pale.

I called Mary A

“It’s all right, Victoria, I’m fine, just a little tired. Maybe you don’t need to stop here tonight.”

“Mary A

“My neighbor’s here, Victoria; she picked up the phone while I was in the bathroom, but I guess she didn’t say anything. I’m going back to bed now.”

There was something in her voice that was making me uneasy. “I need to stop to see April Czernin; I’ll be heading north in about forty-five minutes. I’d like to drop in just for a minute, leave you some groceries and maybe see you if you’re still up-I won’t wake you if you’re asleep. You did give me keys, you know.”

“Oh, Victoria, you always were an obstinate, persistent pest. If you must come, I guess I can stand it, but if you’re going to be later than forty-five minutes call so that I don’t stay up for you.”

“You guess you can stand it?” I repeated, hurt both by the words and her exasperated tone. “I thought-”

I broke off midsentence, remembering that she was ill, that pain made people react in uncharacteristic ways. My own mother, who had waited up nights for my father, occupying both herself and me with music, cooking, books-we read Giova