steel’s your color. And keep it very short—that’s so very severe.” I never got it together enough to ask her what the hell that meant.
I was going to grow a beard, just to let it cover the bullet-scar. But it was a failure. The damn thing grew in black, streaked with red and white—called a lot more attention to my face than the scar would.
Michelle fixed that, too. She gave me some stuff that came in a tube like lipstick, but once on, it blended with my complexion. “One girl’s scar is another’s beauty mark,” she had explained. I never asked her what that meant, either. I’d heard enough when she said that I was lucky to have lost an eyebrow to the surgeon’s pre-op razor because it would grow back in neat and clean and men never pay attention to their eyebrows and they’re what set off the eyes and …
The outside sky was dark. Couldn’t get a clue about the weather. Checked my watch, the white-gold Rolex now. “It’s not ultra-ultra, like Patek Philippe or Piquet,” Michelle had counseled, “but it goes with the look. Yellow gold would be tacky, and stainless would be too down-market. This is perfect.”
I didn’t feel perfect, but it was time to go.
Clancy was in the lobby when I came down, chatting with the girl at the front desk. He took out a small notebook, wrote something down. I didn’t think it was a license number.
He strolled over to where I was standing, said, “You got a coat with you?”
“Just what you saw yesterday. It wouldn’t go with this.”
“Traveling light, huh?”
“Yep,” I said. Thinking of the twin to the Python that had totaled Dmitri, now taped inside the toilet tank in its waterproof wrap.
“Well, it’s no big deal. We’ll be indoors.”
I followed him outside, where he handed something to a guy in a hotel uniform. Whatever he handed him was wrapped in green.
The Lexus SUV that rolled up to where we were standing was green, too. At least, I’d call it green—Lexus probably calls it something like Rainforest Morning Mist Emerald. Clancy walked around to the driver’s side. I climbed into the front bucket seat.
“You’ve got a valid driver’s license?” he asked, as he pulled onto an eight-lane divided highway and hit the gas.
“New York,” I told him. Thinking how the photo wouldn’t exactly be a perfect match now.
“Good enough. This is the car you’re borrowing. I have to teach a class today. Turns out it’s right in Winnetka. You come along, get a chance to scope out the area, right?”
“Sure. What’s the tariff on the car?”
“There isn’t any. It’s a police impound, seized in a drug bust. It’s already been vacuumed and tagged. The plan is to use it as an undercover vehicle in a few weeks. The plates will trace right back to my department, so, if you get in a jackpot, tell the arresting officer to call up and ask for me. They’ll make you for a CI.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
“Well, you can’t cruise around the neighborhood you want in a Chevy. This one, nobody’ll notice.”
I made a sound to indicate I understood. He drove in silence for a bit, then said: “We’re on Lake Shore Drive. That’s Lake Michigan out there. When it’s on your right, you’re heading north.”
“I thought you were a Chicago cop,” I said.
“I am.”
“But you’re teaching a class in Winnetka?”
“Believe it or not, Winnetka’s still part of Cook County. We wouldn’t patrol there, of course, but it’s inside our jurisdiction for the classes.”
“What kind of classes?”
“It’s called Licensed for Life,” he said, a deep, rich vein of pride in his voice. “The idea is to give kids interactive information about drunk driving, try to save a few lives.”
“Does it work?”
“Well, I can tell you this, we taught thirteen hundred classes last year, all by request. And from the feedback we get from the kids, we believe they’re really taking it in. There’s no way to give you statistics, not yet. The program is
I was going to grow a beard, just to let it cover the bullet-scar. But it was a failure. The damn thing grew in black, streaked with red and white—called a lot more attention to my face than the scar would.
Michelle fixed that, too. She gave me some stuff that came in a tube like lipstick, but once on, it blended with my complexion. “One girl’s scar is another’s beauty mark,” she had explained. I never asked her what that meant, either. I’d heard enough when she said that I was lucky to have lost an eyebrow to the surgeon’s pre-op razor because it would grow back in neat and clean and men never pay attention to their eyebrows and they’re what set off the eyes and …
The outside sky was dark. Couldn’t get a clue about the weather. Checked my watch, the white-gold Rolex now. “It’s not ultra-ultra, like Patek Philippe or Piquet,” Michelle had counseled, “but it goes with the look. Yellow gold would be tacky, and stainless would be too down-market. This is perfect.”
I didn’t feel perfect, but it was time to go.
Clancy was in the lobby when I came down, chatting with the girl at the front desk. He took out a small notebook, wrote something down. I didn’t think it was a license number.
He strolled over to where I was standing, said, “You got a coat with you?”
“Just what you saw yesterday. It wouldn’t go with this.”
“Traveling light, huh?”
“Yep,” I said. Thinking of the twin to the Python that had totaled Dmitri, now taped inside the toilet tank in its waterproof wrap.
“Well, it’s no big deal. We’ll be indoors.”
I followed him outside, where he handed something to a guy in a hotel uniform. Whatever he handed him was wrapped in green.
The Lexus SUV that rolled up to where we were standing was green, too. At least, I’d call it green—Lexus probably calls it something like Rainforest Morning Mist Emerald. Clancy walked around to the driver’s side. I climbed into the front bucket seat.
“You’ve got a valid driver’s license?” he asked, as he pulled onto an eight-lane divided highway and hit the gas.
“New York,” I told him. Thinking how the photo wouldn’t exactly be a perfect match now.
“Good enough. This is the car you’re borrowing. I have to teach a class today. Turns out it’s right in Winnetka. You come along, get a chance to scope out the area, right?”
“Sure. What’s the tariff on the car?”
“There isn’t any. It’s a police impound, seized in a drug bust. It’s already been vacuumed and tagged. The plan is to use it as an undercover vehicle in a few weeks. The plates will trace right back to my department, so, if you get in a jackpot, tell the arresting officer to call up and ask for me. They’ll make you for a CI.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
“Well, you can’t cruise around the neighborhood you want in a Chevy. This one, nobody’ll notice.”
I made a sound to indicate I understood. He drove in silence for a bit, then said: “We’re on Lake Shore Drive. That’s Lake Michigan out there. When it’s on your right, you’re heading north.”
“I thought you were a Chicago cop,” I said.
“I am.”
“But you’re teaching a class in Winnetka?”
“Believe it or not, Winnetka’s still part of Cook County. We wouldn’t patrol there, of course, but it’s inside our jurisdiction for the classes.”
“What kind of classes?”
“It’s called Licensed for Life,” he said, a deep, rich vein of pride in his voice. “The idea is to give kids interactive information about drunk driving, try to save a few lives.”
“Does it work?”
“Well, I can tell you this, we taught thirteen hundred classes last year, all by request. And from the feedback we get from the kids, we believe they’re really taking it in. There’s no way to give you statistics, not yet. The program is
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