Fractured by Wendy Byrne Page B

case.
    â€œThen wait until I get off around eleven.”
    â€œBut I’d like to catch them around dinner. I’m stopping at the sandwich shop to entice them with food and hope for a little cooperation.”
    â€œI’ll see who’s in the area and have them swing by.”
    â€œPerfect. But if they could keep a low profile, I would appreciate it.”
    He grumbled something under his breath. “I’ll see what I can do.”
    * * *
    The darkness and girders below Wacker Drive lent an eerie backdrop as she drove through the quagmire. Even when the sun was out, light barely made it to this underground street. At night it was downright creepy.
    It wasn’t a large area. To circle the perimeter didn’t take long. But distinguishing Leo from a whole cast of other homeless men while circling the area in a car was impossible. There were too many hiding places, too many dark areas and too many cardboard houses sheltering people from the elements.
    She glanced around but didn’t see a squad. Then again, she’d told Landry to ask them to keep a low profile. Maybe that’s just what they were doing.
    She exited the car, fingered the handkerchief in her pocket for luck, felt for the gun at the center of her back for assurance, zippered her leather coat and took off on foot. The place smelled of car exhaust, oil, grease, urine and garbage. She trudged on, letting her black boots slide along the pavement.
    A fine mist had filtered in from the nearby river, giving the already damp place another dimension of chill. People milled about, either in groups or alone. Most of those on their own were busy setting up their ‘residences’ for the evening. Some were mumbling incoherently or singing while doing their task, some were quiet and reserved and minding their own business so as to not attract attention.
    Somebody, she couldn’t tell if they were male or female, was sleeping under some layers of cardboard. Not feeling especially adventurous yet, she slipped past, choosing to look closer at the small group keeping warm by a trash can fire.
    â€œI’m looking for Leo.” She held out sandwiches to the five people standing around. They hesitated for a second before allowing self-preservation to supersede caution and grabbing at the offering. “Anybody see him tonight?”
    â€œNope.” A toothless man in an old Army coat took a bite of sandwich.
    â€œHow about Annie? Anybody see her?”
    They looked at each other, then deferred to the obvious leader, the man in the Army coat. “You a cop?”
    No use denying it. The people making up the underbelly of most cities could spot a cop a mile away even when she dressed in jeans, a red Gap V-neck sweater and short leather coat, like tonight.
    â€œYes, but I’m not here on official business. I only need some information.” She gulped. “I’m willing to pay for it.” It felt a little corrupt offering money to people who were desperate for it.
    Nobody responded at first. But through some unspoken language she didn’t totally recognize, she began to attract attention from the stragglers nearby. Several others in the vicinity started to converge, maybe out of curiosity, maybe something else. Some of them carried pieces of wood, which could be for tossing into the trashcan fire, or alternately used as weapons. Odds were most of these people had a weapon of some sort. They had to. It was self-preservation.
    She wasn’t afraid of street people, but there was an overwhelming mob mentality that came into play at times like these. She wouldn’t think twice about talking to a gangbanger one-on-one, but a group was a totally different scenario. One bad apple was enough to sway the whole crowd in a very bad or good direction. Right now she didn’t feel all that optimistic, even if most of this group probably weren’t hardened criminals. They might be petty thieves, mentally unbalanced and