the sheet fall back over the dead man’s face.
“Who is it?”
“Cop named Donnie Quin. Been dead most of the day.”
“Why’s he still here?”
Rodriguez shrugged. We stepped away from the body and back into the corridor. The elevator beside us was a large one, used to carry freight and, at some point this evening, Donnie Quin to his appointment with the Cook County coroner.
“What’s bugging you?” I said.
“Couple of things. First, he was one of the dirty cops I was investigating.”
I looked back toward the large lump under the sheet. “Quin?”
“Met with him this morning. He helped me set up the drug drop for the Korean.”
“What did he die of?”
“That’s the other thing. They have no idea. First, they thought it was his ticker. But the doc told me that wasn’t it.”
“What were his symptoms?”
“EMTs said he was struggling to breathe. Burning up. By the time they got him here, he was gone.”
“Where did you meet this guy today?”
“On the West Side.”
“Where?”
“Couple of miles from here. A food mart just off Austin. Why?”
“Where was he before that?”
“K Town. I told him we were cutting out the Korean. He told the Fours. What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing. What did you say the cop’s first name was?”
“Donnie. Donnie Quin.”
“When are they sending him over to the morgue?”
“Don’t know. Listen, I gotta get back to the Korean’s store.”
“I’ll talk to you tomorrow, Vince.”
“Yeah, tomorrow.”
Rodriguez tapped me on the shoulder and left. I took a final look at the white sheet and toe tag. Then I left as well.
CHAPTER 21
Rachel had scrubbed any trace of herself from the apartment, right down to the shelf and a half of healthy food she’d kept in my fridge. The good news was that left more room for beer. I’d bought a four-pack of Half Acre tallboys and found a spot for them beside two different kinds of mustard. Then I popped one and walked back into the living room. I thought about calling, but knew I’d get her machine. As bad as I was with people these days, I was even worse with their machines. So I sat on the couch instead and looked at the spaces where her things used to be. Things I’d hardly noticed until they were gone. Spaces I’d need to get used to. It was past midnight when I turned out the lights, climbed into bed, and closed my eyes.
It was a soft day in Chicago. The sky was blue, the smell of fresh grass and dirt thick in my nostrils. I stretched my eyes across a long, patterned canvas of outfield. There were people dotted here and there, crouching forward, bare hands clamped on knees. Others idled along the foul lines in groups of two or three, chatting pleasantly and drinking beer .
I felt more than heard the crack of the bat. The ball, high and dark in the sky. Hit almost directly over my head. I ran, but couldn’t feel my legs underneath. The ball reached its apex and began to drop, seams spinning as it fell. I reached, careful to keep my hands wide, fingers straight, and caught it softly over my shoulder. Sixteen-inch softball. Simplest thing in the world. As long as you didn’t think about it. Or were dreaming .
I pulled up in three steps and turned to throw the ball back toward the infield. My mother was there, on the other side of an outfield fence I hadn’t noticed before. She clapped noiselessly but didn’t smile. I thought it was because she was ashamed of her teeth. Or maybe she was just ashamed. I tossed the ball in and followed .
By the time I got to the dirt skin of the infield, the players were gone. The air, slack. My brother stood near home plate, face and shoulders limned in shadow. I moved closer. Philip turned, lips creased in a yellow curl. I tried to scream, but my voice, like my mom’s, was gone. A cold hand held my heart until it shivered and stopped .
I sat straight up in my bed. The pup was balled up in the corner, tail wagging slowly, head flicking from me to the hallway. My
“Who is it?”
“Cop named Donnie Quin. Been dead most of the day.”
“Why’s he still here?”
Rodriguez shrugged. We stepped away from the body and back into the corridor. The elevator beside us was a large one, used to carry freight and, at some point this evening, Donnie Quin to his appointment with the Cook County coroner.
“What’s bugging you?” I said.
“Couple of things. First, he was one of the dirty cops I was investigating.”
I looked back toward the large lump under the sheet. “Quin?”
“Met with him this morning. He helped me set up the drug drop for the Korean.”
“What did he die of?”
“That’s the other thing. They have no idea. First, they thought it was his ticker. But the doc told me that wasn’t it.”
“What were his symptoms?”
“EMTs said he was struggling to breathe. Burning up. By the time they got him here, he was gone.”
“Where did you meet this guy today?”
“On the West Side.”
“Where?”
“Couple of miles from here. A food mart just off Austin. Why?”
“Where was he before that?”
“K Town. I told him we were cutting out the Korean. He told the Fours. What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing. What did you say the cop’s first name was?”
“Donnie. Donnie Quin.”
“When are they sending him over to the morgue?”
“Don’t know. Listen, I gotta get back to the Korean’s store.”
“I’ll talk to you tomorrow, Vince.”
“Yeah, tomorrow.”
Rodriguez tapped me on the shoulder and left. I took a final look at the white sheet and toe tag. Then I left as well.
CHAPTER 21
Rachel had scrubbed any trace of herself from the apartment, right down to the shelf and a half of healthy food she’d kept in my fridge. The good news was that left more room for beer. I’d bought a four-pack of Half Acre tallboys and found a spot for them beside two different kinds of mustard. Then I popped one and walked back into the living room. I thought about calling, but knew I’d get her machine. As bad as I was with people these days, I was even worse with their machines. So I sat on the couch instead and looked at the spaces where her things used to be. Things I’d hardly noticed until they were gone. Spaces I’d need to get used to. It was past midnight when I turned out the lights, climbed into bed, and closed my eyes.
It was a soft day in Chicago. The sky was blue, the smell of fresh grass and dirt thick in my nostrils. I stretched my eyes across a long, patterned canvas of outfield. There were people dotted here and there, crouching forward, bare hands clamped on knees. Others idled along the foul lines in groups of two or three, chatting pleasantly and drinking beer .
I felt more than heard the crack of the bat. The ball, high and dark in the sky. Hit almost directly over my head. I ran, but couldn’t feel my legs underneath. The ball reached its apex and began to drop, seams spinning as it fell. I reached, careful to keep my hands wide, fingers straight, and caught it softly over my shoulder. Sixteen-inch softball. Simplest thing in the world. As long as you didn’t think about it. Or were dreaming .
I pulled up in three steps and turned to throw the ball back toward the infield. My mother was there, on the other side of an outfield fence I hadn’t noticed before. She clapped noiselessly but didn’t smile. I thought it was because she was ashamed of her teeth. Or maybe she was just ashamed. I tossed the ball in and followed .
By the time I got to the dirt skin of the infield, the players were gone. The air, slack. My brother stood near home plate, face and shoulders limned in shadow. I moved closer. Philip turned, lips creased in a yellow curl. I tried to scream, but my voice, like my mom’s, was gone. A cold hand held my heart until it shivered and stopped .
I sat straight up in my bed. The pup was balled up in the corner, tail wagging slowly, head flicking from me to the hallway. My
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