Chicago Blue: A Red Riley Adventure Read online

  I went to my closet and shoved my backup uniform, my bathing suit, and some socks and underwear into my backpack. Somewhere in the bottom of my closet was a pair of old sneakers that I wanted for working out, but I’d be damned if I could find them. I had just gotten down on my knees when I heard the front door click open.

  Without thinking, I rolled forward into the closet, pulling the backpack with me, and covering myself with dirty clothes that were heaped on the floor. Fortunately, I had not turned on any lights. There was nothing to give away my presence in the apartment, and the shadows of the dark closet were deep. I crouched in stillness, controlling my breath while slowly slipping my hand into the backpack to retrieve my pistol.

  Footsteps from hard shoes echoed through the kitchen. There were no voices, but I heard the unintelligible static of a police radio. A sound I knew well.

  I remained motionless as the officer moved into the bedroom, though something was poking uncomfortably into my rear end. I held the Baretta tightly in my hand, willing the man or woman to move along.

  The radio squawked again, and a woman’s voice responded from just a few feet away, near the foot of the bed.

  “Copy. There’s nothing here... The door was unlocked, so I think she likely came and went… I don’t know, maybe she needed her toothbrush... Okay, I’ll tell him and come right down.”

  Whew. I heard her footsteps cross the kitchen and then I heard my front door shut. I exhaled and then extricated myself from the dirty clothes. The thing that had been sticking into my butt was one of my missing sneakers. I found the other one and put them both in the backpack, slung it over one shoulder and headed out.

  I crossed the carpeted living room and entered the kitchen, where a male police officer was sitting at my kitchen table, idly thumbing through information on his phone.

  I gasped out loud, and his head jerked up from the screen, his jaw dropping in surprise.

  “Riley!” he shouted, and started to rise, but I had already brought my hand up, pointing my gun directly at his chest.

  “Freeze!” I shouted at him, and he did.

  He was no one I recognized, but the force has about 12,000 officers, and my apartment wasn’t in my precinct, so that was unsurprising. He wasn’t that tall, but from his chest and arms I could tell he was someone who frequented the gym. It was common for a lot of the guys to spend an hour before or after shift working out. They start doing it to balance out all the bad food we eat on duty, then it becomes a habit and a vanity.

  He started to lower his hands below the table, but I gave him a look that told him I knew that move, and he instead put both hands palm down on the table, where I could see them. I nodded my approval.

  “Riley, you—“

  “Stop. Just, shush a minute. I need to think.”

  “That’s obvious.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It’s just that I told McKinnon there was no way you would come back here, but he insisted on check-ins every four hours. I guess you are dumber than most criminal masterminds.”

  Everyone’s a critic.

  “Listen, Jerkwater. I’m not a criminal mastermind—“

  He gave a sarcastic snort which I ignored. I began backing away from him toward the door.

  “I’m just a cop like you and I’m going to walk out of here right now and skip past the whole ‘Give yourself up’ conversation to the part where you had no choice to let me go.”

  My backward walking skills evidently needed some work, because instead of the hallway to the door, I backed into the little table that holds my sunglasses, phone charger, and a bowl of loose change.

  He seized the moment and jumped to his feet, flipping the kitchen table up and at me. My gun discharged almost without my knowledge, splintering the table top as I jumped back out of the way. He leapt at me over the upended table, but his foot caught on its edge and he fell heavily unto his hands and knees. I took a strong forward step and snap-kicked him in his face as hard as I could. He howled and instinctively grabbed his nose with one hand. I swept his supporting arm and he fell unto his shoulder, rolling onto his back. I stayed four or five steps back and kept the Baretta trained on him.

  We both flinched as his radio burst into life, a frantic voice shouting. The gunshot would have officers here in seconds. His partner probably wasn’t even to the ground floor yet. I had to get out of there, but for some reason I was too furious to move.

  “What the hell is wrong with you!?” I shouted at him. I was holding my gun with both hands now, and they were shaking hard, the barrel bobbing around but still pointed firmly at him. He held his nose with both hands, blood flowing out around them. “I could have killed you!” I continued, in a rage now. “Are you freaking crazy?!”

  He just moaned, and then the radio burst to life again, breaking me from my trance, and I turned and ran from the apartment. I rushed down the hallway and past the stairwell, heading for the other stairwell at the far end, assuming there wouldn’t be enough police on hand yet to secure the entire building. As I ran, I tucked the pistol into the back of my black jeans, below the bottom of the backpack, which was bouncing against my back as I ran.

  I sprinted down four of the five floors and then burst through the door and down another long hall. I skidded to a stop in front of 204, and pulled my keys from my pocket, fumbling until I found Mrs. Lowicki’s. When she went to Arizona to visit her sister, Mrs. Gatwick from next door would walk her dog and water her plants, but she always left me a key as well, just in case. I eased the door shut quietly behind me and turned to find Gizmo, her crazy three-legged dog, staring up at me. I bent down and gave him a quick pat, and then moved quickly to the back bedroom of the apartment. The dog followed me, curious, but he didn’t bark. The windows here overlooked the alley behind the apartment building, and I quickly opened the window and the screen and tossed my backpack out. I lowered myself down until the drop was only about ten feet and let go, cushioning my landing with my knees and managing not to break my ankle.

  The alley was deserted, and as I ran I could hear my own voice pounding in my head with each step: “Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!”

  Fourteen

  We ate Chinese food glumly, watching the evening news. I was all over it. Fugitive cop, assaulting a police officer. Now believed to still be in the city. My photo. They had managed to find a decent picture of me from a squad softball game we did for charity a few years ago. Apparently they had decided that it was bad for optics to keep showing my police portrait, in which I am clearly wearing a Chicago Police uniform. I turned down the sound after they repeated the same information for the fourth time.

  “What,” said Ruby in a slow, disgusted voice, “could you possibly have been thinking?”

  “Needed a bathing suit,” I said in a dull voice, my mouth full of lo mein.

  “Honestly, you spent three thousand dollars on designer clothes, but you couldn’t buy a bathing suit?”

  “You know how hard it is to get one that fits right!? Once you find the right one, you hold on to it.”

  “I’ve got a question,” interjected Martin, who was still watching the news.

  “Nike. Red,” I answered. “I’m hoping for a sponsorship or for product placement when they make a movie about this.”

  “That wasn’t my question,” he said. He got up to bring his plate to the sink, stopping to grimace at the milk stain I had left on his friend’s carpet. I don’t know what he was upset about. I was pretty sure I’d be able to get that out. “If our villain is from some outside company, how are we ever going to find them?”

  “I know. This would be so much easier if it were Farnham, or Valerie Archer. There could be a dozen different tech companies wanting to horn in on their business, and we are talking billions of dollars. With a ‘B’ billions. I’m sure there are plenty of people willing to commit a few murders to get a bigger piece of that.”

  “Not only that,” added Marty, “but it doesn’t even have to be
a telecommunications company. There is so much consolidation now, it could be a hardware company, or a cloud storage company, or a big bank for that matter, wanting an opportunity to enter the field.”

  “Great,” said Ruby. “I feel so much better now. Optimistic. I think we need to focus on getting you out of the city, out of the country even.”

  “But I need to figure this out.”

  “Do you? Look at me,” Ruby said in a stern voice. “I was interrogated twice last week. They know we are friends.”

  I gasped. Of course they had, that made perfect sense. Martin looked concerned.

  “What if they are following you, Auntie?”

  “They’re not,” said Ruby calmly. “I made sure.”

  “You made sure?”

  “Trust me, Marty. I know how to lose a tail,” she said in such a deadpan voice that I burst out laughing.

  “I do,” she said, looking hurt. “But, my point is, you are their best lead, and you have no lead. Eventually, they will find you. Or worse, the killers will find you!”

  I sighed and looked at myself, once again being featured on the television.

  “This would have killed my dad,” I said morosely.

  “I’m sure he’d be very proud of you, Red,” said Marty.

  “Don’t call me, Red.”

  “He was a police officer?”

  “Yeah. For thirty years. From a family of criminals. His brother Patrick spent a lot of time in jail. His brother Nicholas was a high-powered business person, in various businesses, none of which my father approved of.”

  “He must have been happy you became a cop!” said Marty brightly.

  “He died before that,” I said. “It would not have been happy. He wanted more than anything for me to become a lawyer. That was his gift to me when I started college,” I added, pointing to the leather bag on the floor in the corner. “But after he had his heart attack, and with Mom already at Highland Acres, I don’t know. I couldn’t do the school work. My heart wasn’t in it.”

  “I’m sorry, honey,” said Ruby.

  I sprang off the couch and sang, in my best Sinatra voice: “Regrets! I’ve had a few…”

  They both stared at me.

  “Just trying to lighten the mood,” I grinned and looked again at the silent talking heads on the news. “They have no idea where I am,” I said, distractedly.

  “Thank goodness for that,” said Ruby. Then she saw the look on my face. “What is it?

  “I have another tremendously bad idea…”

  Fifteen

  There was a fight about the gun. First there was a fight about the plan, which I admit was full of holes and left too much to chance. Then, there was a fight about the gun. I refused to bring my Baretta. Ruby went ballistic.

  “Are you out of your mind?”

  “This is nonnegotiable, Ruby.”

  “These people are not fucking around, pardon my Czech,” Ruby spat in a quiet voice. The cupcake shop we were sitting in was mostly empty, but still, language.

  “Have you ever fired your gun in the line of duty?” I asked.

  “No,” she admitted.

  “I almost killed a cop,” I whispered. “First by accident, then on purpose. If he’d come at me again, I would have shot him in the chest.”

  “They are trying to kill you,” she said evenly.

  “He wasn’t. He was just a cop, like us.”

  “Yes, but in this case, you’ve invited everyone to the party, haven’t you? If your plan works, those men in black are going to be here, and they want you dead.”

  “I know,” I grimaced, and almost lost my appetite for the vanilla strawberry cupcake sitting in front of me. Almost. “But that’s why I want the police there as well. They won’t go shooting everybody if the cops are there. Not me, not any other innocent bystanders.”

  Ruby shook her head. “This is going to be a giant cluster.”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence,” I smirked.

  She stood up. “You know it’s just because I can’t be there that I’m so upset.”

  “You can’t, you—”

  “I know, I know. Plus, I run way too slowly,” she said, shaking her cane.

  “We’ve got to go, the place will be empty by now.” I shoved a last piece of cupcake in my mouth and headed out the door.

  So, my batshit crazy plan. I didn’t know who the bad guys were, or where they were. They could be anyone. They knew who I was, but they didn’t know where I was. And, most importantly, they didn’t know what I looked like now. So, all I had to do is let them know where and when I was going to be in public, and then be hiding when they showed up. Identify them, follow them, get whatever information we could get. Easy, right?

  Ruby wasn’t so sure. One minute she was convinced they wouldn’t take the bait. Next minute she was convinced there would be a hundred of them, they’d recognize me right away, and I’d be slaughtered. Her reasons for it being a bad idea kept changing, but her underlying unease remained.

  That’s where the cops came in. I assumed our mystery men were no friend of the police, so we would make sure they showed up as well.

  We chose a chic little hair salon on East Walton, not far from where I’d had my recent adventure at The Drake. It was a busy street on a Friday afternoon, and that would hopefully work in our favor. I walked to the salon and entered. Two women were cleaning up their workstations. I set down my bag on the counter and said, “Hi. I’m Katrin, from Lakeshore Media.”

  They greeted me, and showed me around the place. I took a light meter out of my bag and held it up every now and then.

  “I love your hair,” said one of them, whose hair was also a bright red. “Who does it?”

  “Martin,” I replied simply. Then I ostentatiously looked at the clock on the wall.

  “Oh,” said the other one, who was taller and quite a bit older than the redhead. “Are you sure we can’t stay and watch? It’s so exiting!”

  “I’m afraid not. Mr. Arnesto is quite particular, but you have my assurance, nothing will be damaged. We won’t even move anything, he wants it just as it is.”

  She swelled with pride. “Ok then, we’ll be back in two hours,” she said, picking up her hand bag.

  “Great,” I said with a cheerful smile. “When you come back we can talk about getting you a set of the finished shoot. For your own promotional use.”

  I closed the door behind them. Out of my bag I took a sign that said, “Appointment Only,” and hung it on the door. I didn’t want any innocent bystanders, just in case things went wild.

  I walked over to one of the hairdresser’s stations and caught myself in the mirror. My vivid red hair had a bit of gel in it, and the sides were freshly shaved. With Ruby’s help I had removed my stiches, and the flop of hair concealed the scar. I wore black cat glasses and I had dangly earrings in each ear, about six jangly bracelets on each wrist, and a clip on nose ring. I was wearing my leather pants (finally!!) and a white tank top that showed the fake dragon tattoo I had applied on the back of my shoulder. I know, right? I turned to see how the leather pants looked from behind. They looked great.

  My Doc Martens sounded loud on the floor as I crossed back to the front door to keep a lookout for big black SUV’s.

  The day after explaining my plan, Martin used a fake online persona to hire Gil Arnesto to do a fashion shoot at the Zaza Salon. It had to be that salon, because the editor he worked for had come across it one day and simply loved it. (This next bit, in the movie of my life, will be an excellent montage. I’m hoping for Bruno Mars.)

  Ruby picked up a new cell phone for me in Evanston, programmed with my old number. It seemed certain that they had used my phone to follow me when they first hunted me down on Lake Shore Drive and tried to kill me. Ruby thought it was unlikely they would still be monitoring that number, but Martin thought certain that they would. I turned the phone on and called the Zaza Salon, making an appointment for Friday afternoon. “Could I please have my long hair dy
ed bright blue?” Sure I could. As soon as the call was over, I pulled the card from the phone and hopped on the “L” and got out of that part of town. Half an hour later, I got off the train, leaving the sim card behind, and looked for a payphone. I gotta say, payphones seem to be a thing of the past. I could only think of one, and it was a dozen blocks away in an Osco. I finally found one in a hotel lobby and called the Zaza to cancel my appointment.

  Martin had converted some Bitcoin into a certified check that was used as a down payment for Arnesto. I delivered it in the guise of an intern for Fashion Couture magazine. Arnesto contacted the salon and made arrangements to use the space, uninterrupted, for two hours on Friday afternoon.

  I opened the front door just slightly so that I could get an angle that let me look all the way down to Michigan Ave. I turned and looked the other way to make sure Marty was in place, on the sidewalk just across from the cupcake place, tourist camera at the ready. He appeared to be taking pictures of pigeons on the rooftops.

  I turned back the other direction just in time to see a black SUV with tinted windows racing up the street toward me. I broke out in a cold sweat, ducking back into the shop and rushing to the phone on the back counter.

  “911, what’s your emergency?”

  “I’m at the hairdressers on Walton,” I whispered hurriedly. “There’s a woman having her hair dyed blue. I’m sure it’s the woman from the news, with the bombs.”

  “Is she—“ I slammed the phone down and stepped to the nearest workstation as the SUV pulled up directly across the street in an illegal spot. Man, these guys were jerks, I thought. They didn’t even put their flashers on.

  Three men in dark suits and sunglasses sprung from the vehicle. They were all about the same size, and had the exact same short haircut, but while two of them had dark hair, one of them was a blonde. They crossed the street toward me. I snatched up a can of hairspray in one hand and a glass container filled with combs in a blue liquid in the other, turning toward the mirror as they burst through the door.