Two Steak Taco Combos and a Pair of Sig Sauers Read online

  “We think Ricky might have better luck. You have his number?”

  “Absolutely. We called him yesterday evening and he’s been beside himself, but he didn’t know what to do.”

  Liam copied the number down on his palm, thanked her and then dialed it.

  “Hello? CB radio, tell me it’s you and you’ve got hold of a cell phone with an international number.”

  “Sorry, Ricky, it’s not Cathy Beth. Liam McCullough. Aidan and I are at O’Hare and we need your help.”

  “I am on you like white on rice, brother. What can I do?”

  He gave Liam his address, which he wrote on his palm as well. Good thing he had big hands. “We’ll be there as soon as we can. We want to send you out on West Wilson Street to ask questions.”

  “I know just how to dress. See you in a few.”

  Liam worried about that. Would a drag queen really be able to get information out of Chicago immigrants? Maybe if he pretended to be RuPaul. It seemed like everyone in the universe watched that show.

  Aidan approached with the car paperwork. “I pulled some more cash out of our US account. A thousand. We can get another grand tomorrow if we need it.”

  “Let’s hope that’s enough for the special we need to order tonight.”

  They hurried through the terminal to the rental car shuttle, and the blast of cold air hit Liam with a punch. This was why they lived on the Riviera, he thought. They couldn’t speak because of all the other passengers around, but Liam needed to think anyway.

  First, pick up Ricky. Learn all they could about the Gedir family. Search for traces of Cathy Beth. Pick up a trail, rescue her and return her to her family.

  Easy peasy.

  When they reached the lot, they piled their bags in the back and Aidan put Ricky’s address into the GPS.

  As they got close, Aidan called the number from Liam’s phone. “Honey child, I am almost ready,” Ricky said.

  “Ricky, it’s Aidan. We’ll be at your location in about five minutes. Who should we look for?”

  “The man with a plan. You’ll see what I mean.” Then he hung up.

  “At least he has a plan, even if we don’t,” Aidan said.

  “I don’t like involving civilians,” Liam grumbled.

  “And what are we? I don’t have a badge, last time I looked. Though I did have a sheriff’s costume for Halloween one year.”

  “You know what I mean. We’re professionals with training in weapons, tactics, and offensive driving. Ricky’s a drag…oh.”

  He stopped as they pulled up in front of a weathered high rise. Ricky Johnson stood out front, looking as normal as they’d ever seen him, in khaki slacks and a blue oxford-cloth button-down shirt under a heavy down parka. He had a clipboard in his hand.

  “Everybody talks to the man with the clipboard.” He emphasized the flatness of his vowels as he added, “I’m from the city planning department and I’d like to get your opinion on the transit-friendly housing initiative.”

  As they drove, Ricky said, “I have another friend who works at the Asistencia. I had her break into Jamillah Gedir’s file and pull out everything she could find. I just forwarded it to you.”

  The Gedir family lived on a tree-lined block of West Wilson Street of what had once been single-family homes which had been broken up into apartments. Liam pulled up at the corner of North Karlov and parked. “Y’all wait here,” Ricky said, in an exaggerated southern accent. “But no funny bidness. You never know who’s watching through windows.”

  “That’s what we’re hoping for,” Liam said.

  Ricky hopped out of the car and Liam turned to his phone, as Aidan did. In silence, they read the data that Cathy Beth had left out of her report.

  Ahmed Gedir had been picked up several times on drunk and disorderly charges within the first few years of his life in the US, but because no one in the tight-knit Somali community was willing to press charges, he had a clean record. He had turned his life around after discovering that Barkhado was still alive, and had dedicated himself to earning enough money to bring her and their daughters to join him. For a long time he worked as a day laborer, joining the queue at the intersection of Milwaukee and Belmont Avenues, a known location for contractors looking for short-term employees.

  Three years before, he had been hired by a fellow Somali who ran a small home renovation business named Rogers Park Contractors. Ahmed carried loads, cleaned up, and painted walls. A supervisor at the Asistencia had contacted his boss and gotten a rave review, that he was a hard worker, no trouble. Ahmed was known to have a bad temper with Jamillah, who he felt had become too Americanized for him.

  Jamillah and Fawzia were students at the Albany Park Multicultural Academy. Fazwia was quiet and studious, but Jamillah was rebellious, and it was only through Cathy Beth’s intervention that she hadn’t been kicked out.

  It took Ricky nearly an hour to finish his neighborhood canvass, but when he returned he had good news. “I found an old woman who lives down the block who witnessed Ahmed hustle CB and the girl into his car. She’s pretty sure he had a gun.”

  “How is that good news?” Liam grumbled.

  “Because he had a gun and didn’t use it.” Aidan looked at Liam, and at the same time, both said, “Taco truck.”

  “Excuse me?” Ricky said. “This is not the time to be thinking about food.”

  “Do you know if Gedir is in the house now?” Liam asked.

  “I don’t,” Ricky said. “I have never met the people so I thought it was best that I stay anonymous and not contact them directly.”

  “Good point.” Liam turned to Aidan. “Is there an outdoor store nearby?”

  Aidan began searching. “The closest store for our purposes is REI on Eastman Street.” He put the address into the GPS. “Eighteen minutes via I-90.”

  Liam turned around to face Ricky. “Mind if we leave you here on surveillance? You’ll fit in this neighborhood a lot better than we will.”

  “Already established,” Ricky said. “You have a picture of Mr. Gedir?”

  “Good question,” Aidan said. “A very old one, from the time of his last arrest about twelve years ago. I’ll text it to you.”

  “Great. I’ll keep my eye out for a Black man in this neighborhood.”

  “Preferably one leaving the Gedir household,” Aidan said. “We should be back within the hour.”

  Ricky hopped out, and Aidan got them onto the I-90. “I figure you’ll need a grappling hook, a long rope, and a pair of climbing boots with treads,” Aidan said.

  “You aren’t worried about me climbing?”

  “Liam. You fell off a ladder once. Two years ago. There’s no reason why you can’t do this.” Aidan turned to look at him. “You can do this, can’t you?”

  “I can.”

  They pulled into the store shortly before closing time, but because they split up they were able to meet at the register just as the announcement was made. Liam had found boots that fit him, and Aidan had the rest of the gear they needed.

  When they returned to Albany Park, they left the rental car a block from the Gedir house and walked. Ricky stepped out of the shadows and intercepted them. “Oh, you don’t look conspicuous at all. Two white guys carrying climbing gear.”

  “This the kind of neighborhood where they call the cops easily?” Liam asked.

  “Not if they want to survive.”

  “Then we’ll be fine.”

  The Gedirs lived on the second floor of a brick three-story apartment building. Ricky had already been in the lobby and established that the Gedirs lived in rooms that faced the back, so they moved quietly through the darkness to the rear of the building.

  Liam threaded the rope through the metal loop on the back of the grappling hook, and then practiced a couple of loops to get a feel for it. Then with one smooth move, he tossed it up toward the branch of an oak tree that reached out over the roof. The grappling hook caught, slipped, t
hen settled into place.

  He handed the two loose ends of the rope to Aidan, who knotted them into a harness around Liam’s waist, beneath his parka. The hook was secured against the tree branch by the tension in the line.

  Liam had already put on the boots in the store. He tightened up his parka, pulled on the brand-new gloves, and stuck a tiny but powerful flashlight in his mouth. From the number of lit windows above him he doubted he’d need it, but better to be prepared than have to come down and climb up again.

  He wrapped his big hands around the rope and began to climb. It was funny how an old skill came back to you so easily, he thought, as he went hand over hand up the rope. He had performed drills like this so often in the SEALs that it was all muscle memory. As the top of his head neared the second story, he shifted around so that he could peer into a window.

  Darkness.

  “What he doin’ up there?”

  The voice below was shrill and elderly, probably a woman’s.

  “Electrical problems,” Ricky said, in his smoothest bureaucratic tone. Liam could almost see him brandishing his clipboard. “Ladder truck’s broken and the city refuses to fix it. You know how they don’t care about these neighborhoods where poor folks live.”

  The lit window was six feet to the left, and he crab-walked over there, hoping the rope would hold. He moved up so that he could get a good sideways look in the window without revealing himself.

  “I don’t like it,” the woman said. “I’m gonna call the police.”

  “Look up there, ma’am,” Ricky said. “That’s a white man up on that ladder. You think the police going to arrest a white electrical worker just trying to do his job?”

  Liam tuned out the argument below and looked carefully into the window. A dark-skinned man, woman and girl sat at the kitchen table, the remains of a meal before them. The man was arguing with the girl in a language Liam did not understand. But when the man stood up angrily and pointed, he got the message.

  So did the girl, who pushed her chair back and walked from the room.

  Liam lowered himself down the rope. Ricky was still arguing with a white-haired woman in a down parka and Mickey Mouse furry slippers. “Loose electrical wire around the second-floor window, sir,” he said to Ricky. “All fixed now.”

  “See?” Ricky motioned up with his thumb. “All fixed.”

  The woman grumbled, but she turned around and trudged back to her house across the street.

  “What did you see?” Aidan asked, as he undid the rope from the harness.

  “Family at dinner. Looks like Ahmed had an argument with Fawzia and sent her to her room.”

  Liam took both ends of the rope from Aidan, tugged on one end, and let the hook fall free. “What do we do now?” Ricky asked.

  “We wait,” Liam said. “If Gedir is keeping Jamillah hostage somewhere until he can get her the surgery on Sunday, he’s going to have to go over there sometime.”

  He knew he sounded too harsh, but he hated walking into any operation blind. And this was more than blind—this was hogtied with cloth stuffed in your ears, too.

  “We’re frustrated,” Aidan said. “I’m afraid we don’t have anything else to do but wait until Mr. Gedir leads us somewhere, or the police find Cathy Beth’s car.”

  “I could use a hero,” Ricky said.

  “Brother, so could I,” Liam said. For a moment, he was tired of being the leader, of being responsible not only for his team but for two young women who were out there somewhere in the cold, in the dark, frightened for their lives.

  “I’ll take your orders,” Ricky said. “There’s a shop two blocks down.”

  For a moment Liam was confused, until he said, “Hoagies.”

  “Sorry, we’re Jersey boys,” Aidan said. “You had us confused for a minute.”

  Ricky left, and Aidan turned the heat in the car up a notch. “Going to get cold tonight. Below freezing, for sure.”

  “Good thing you packed our heavy coats.” Liam felt in his pocket. “Gloves, too. You’re a smart boy.”

  “I learned from the best.”

  Ricky returned a half-hour later with a bag of sandwiches, chips and sodas, and they ate in silence until Ricky asked, “You do this kind of thing all the time?”

  “We try and get involved early enough to prevent this kind of situation,” Aidan said. “But yeah, we do get into a fair bit of trouble.”

  “I like the kind of shorthand you have with each other. I want to find that someday.”

  Liam surprised himself by saying, “You will. Give it time.” Usually he left the romantic thoughts to his husband. Another way in which they’d come to think alike after nine years together.

  People came and went along the street, but there was no movement from the apartment house where the Gedirs lived. They spent a long time in meditative silence, until Aidan said, “You should take Ricky with you to the taco truck.”

  “Ricky’s a civilian, Aidan. We’ve been over that.”

  “You’re going to the South Side of Chicago.” Aidan twisted around to look at Ricky in the back seat. “You think Liam will blend in there?”

  Ricky laughed. “Not at all. But he knows how to take care of himself.”

  “Exactly. So I think he should stand point while you go up to the taco truck.”

  “What the hell taco truck you talking about?” Ricky asked. “Is that some kind of code?”

  “Aidan and I are both licensed to carry weapons in France,” Liam said. “And we’re both very well-trained. It pains me to admit but Aidan actually has better aim than I do.”

  “Guns and tacos. I don’t make the connection.”

  “Joey sent us instructions to pick up guns from a taco truck in Fuller Park after ten o’clock.”

  “You know Fuller Park is a neighborhood, right?” Ricky asked.

  “I did not know that,” Liam said.

  “All the more reason to take Ricky with you,” Aidan said. “See that pair of two-story houses over there?” He pointed across from the apartment building. “I can huddle down in between there and be warm enough while you’re gone. If Gedir comes out I’ll call you.”

  Liam frowned. Aidan was right, though he didn’t like leaving his partner alone and unarmed in a potentially dangerous neighborhood. “Don’t do anything stupid, all right?”

  “No promises.” Aidan kissed Liam on the cheek. “If you have a choice on the menu I’ll take a nine-millimeter.”

  Then he got out of the car and though Liam watched him walk, once he had settled in behind the shrubs he was invisible.

  Ricky got into the front seat beside Liam, who said, “Direct me to Fuller Park.”

  “Back on I-90 south. I’ll get you better directions as we get close.”

  The streets of Chicago’s South Side were surprisingly lively to Liam, that late at night. The temperature was still hovering above freezing, and young men in hoodies and watch caps gathered in front of closed storefronts, sharing joints and bottles of malt liquor.

  They cruised slowly down South Wells Street in the shadow of the elevated highway, which had cut through these neighborhoods like a bloody knife, plowing under homes and businesses, destroying any sense of cohesion. He’d seen it in dozens of cities around the country, hell, around the world. The rich people needed a highway to connect their jobs in the city to their homes in the suburbs. So what if poor folks got in the way?

  They drove past a red-brick factory enclosed in barbed wire, protecting whatever was worth stealing inside. Tall city housing units, distinguished by their uniformity and the odor of despair that cut through the winter air. No food trucks anywhere.

  “You sure he said Fuller Park?” Ricky leaned forward to look through the windshield.

  “He did. Maybe the truck moves around.”

  “Maybe. Police department coming up at Wentworth. Make a right and then another and we’ll run up and down these streets.”

  The rented
SUV drew attention as they cruised slowly down one street after another. Young men stopped their pick-up basketball game on a padlocked court at the back of a public school when they passed, and their malevolence washed over Liam like a dirty wave. He was glad he’d left Aidan behind, glad he had the dark-skinned bulk and street smarts of Ricky Johnson beside him instead.

  Not that Aidan couldn’t get out of a jam—he’d demonstrated that on many occasions. But Ricky had been right—you needed a dark man to roam these dark avenues.

  When they finally found it, the truck was tucked in where one of the side streets dead-ended at the railroad yard. It looked worse than the roach coaches Liam remembered from his youth, catering to the college students in New Brunswick, and he realized how far he was from that college town, which had seemed rough to a teenager with a Catholic school education.

  And yet one tough neighborhood was like another, in the end. Full of desperate people either trying to survive or trying to get out.

  “You want me to place the order?” Ricky asked.

  Liam had been thinking about that as they drove. Ricky fit into the area better, but Liam had no idea how well he thought on his feet. “No, you come with me, stand a couple of feet behind me.”

  “Like I’m the bodyguard,” Ricky said with delight.

  Liam sighed. “Like you’re the bodyguard. Keep your eyes open for anyone who might be trouble.”

  “Police?”

  “Always a possibility. If this truck is known to deal in weapons they could have it staked out. But I’m more worried about an opportunistic street thug. Or more than one.”

  They sat in the SUV with the engine ticking for a couple of minutes, as the cold air seeped in through the windows and joints. When nobody approached them or stirred out of the shadows, Liam popped his door open. “Let’s go.”

  Tinny music was playing from inside the truck, something that sounded country but with Mexican lyrics and an accordion in the background. A broad-shouldered white guy with a bald head and a dirty apron stood at the counter.

  “Looking for Jessie,” Liam said.

  The man shook his head. “Jessie’s not here.”