Nobody's Angel (25 page)

I closed my eyes and listened as the Mexican told his story. He'd been tooling along Kedzie Avenue earlier in the evening when he'd dropped a lit cigarette. He'd reached down to pick it up and the next thing he knew he was sitting right in the middle of a 7-Eleven, the wheels on his car still spinning, plastic eggs loaded with pantyhose bouncing all over the hood.

"I'm trying to get the thing in reverse and this chick reaches in and jerks the key right out. You believe that shit?" the kid asked. "Bitch didn't even work there. Then she runs out the store and hides till the cops show up. Fuckin' people ought to mind their own fuckin' business, man."

"Just another reason not to smoke," the black guy let him know.

"The fucking idiot cops," I said. "They see me beating the shit out of the guy and that's it. I'm the bad guy. Not a brain between the two of 'em. Christ, they wouldn't listen to a word I said."

"That's right," the Mexican chimed in, "they don't hear a thing. I told 'em I just stopped in to get a six-pack but "

"My man, you are exactly right," the black guy agreed. "Exactly. The cop asks me what I'm doing in that apartment. 'I'm looking for my dog,' I say. 'What's this dog's name?' cop wants to know. 'Josephine,' I tell him.

" 'Josephine,' he starts calling. 'Here, Josephine. Here, Josephine.' He turns to me, 'No Josephine here.'

" 'Hell, I know that,' I say. 'What would she be doing here? She's waiting for me back at Vandalia.' " He chuckled softly.

Normally I might have laughed, too. But I wasn't in a laughing mood. How many cabdrivers had Billy-boy killed, and how many more would he have a shot at now that they'd let him go?

I heard someone shouting out in the hallway.  "Miles," the voice called. "Edwin Miles."

I stood up.

"That you?" the black guy said.

"It's me," I said warily, and I worked my way towards the front of the cell.

"Miles," the voice shouted again. "Edwin Miles."

The turnkey was standing there with a sheet of paper in his hand. Hagarty and Foster were right behind him.

"I'm Eddie Miles," I said.

"This your guy?" the turnkey asked.

"That's our hero," Hagarty said.

The turnkey unlocked the cell. "Alright Mr. Miles," he said, "time to go."

"Come on, jailbird," Hagarty said, and he grinned from ear to ear.

I just stood there. "What's so goddamn funny?" I asked.

"A can of mace against an automatic," Foster said, "you don't think that's funny?"

Somebody pushed me from behind. "Come on, man," a voice said. "You're out. Get the fuck out."

"You're already a legend," Hagarty said as I stumbled into the hallway.

"But they let him go," I said.

"Relax," Hagarty said, "he's sitting upstairs."

"You got him?"

Hagarty nodded.

"They wouldn't listen to me," I said.

"What you get for interrupting policemen when they're eating," Foster told me. "Why didn't you just bring him straight here and skip that whole pancake house routine?"

I followed them out to the parking lot.

"I'll bet money he's the guy killed Lenny," I said.

"No need, he already confessed," Hagarty let me know. "Plus that guy on Goethe." He pronounced it go-thee. "And another guy from about a year and a half ago, and two guys in Vegas."

"Vegas?" I said.

"That's where he started," Hagarty said. "He busted out at the crap tables one night and the only way he could think to get back in the game was to take out a cab."

"Had the guy drive him out to the desert and popped him," Foster said.

"Only problem was, an hour later he's broke again," Hagarty went on. "But the next cab was the charm. He put a little streak together and made it home a winner. From then on, every time things got a little tight, he'd go find himself a taxicab."

Hagarty unlocked an unmarked car and held the rear door for me. "Where we going?" I asked.

"Thought we'd give you a ride back to your cab," Hagarty said. "Maybe buy you a cup of coffee, ask a couple of questions. It's crowded as hell upstairs."

"The weekend rush," Foster said as Hagarty pulled away.

Nobody said anything for a while. I looked in all the store windows we passed, something I seldom had a chance to do.

"I'll tell you," I said after a while, "when I saw him get in that ambulance, I thought he was gone for good."

"Guy's so dumb," Foster said. "He was sitting in the emergency room waiting his turn with all the other losers."

"He's got this little bump on his nose," Hagarty laughed, "but Billy's convinced it's broken and he's not going anywhere till he sees a doctor."

"That's really his name?" I asked.

"William Lincoln Calloway," Foster said.

"Why would he give me his real name?"

"You weren't gonna be around to tell anybody," Foster said.

Somebody had straightened out my cab. It was still blocking the crosswalk but it was off the sidewalk. Hagarty made a U-turn and pulled up behind it. Foster opened the door so I could get out. I walked up and pulled a parking ticket off the windshield.

"We'll take care of that," Hagarty said. He pulled it out of my hand and handed it to Foster, who dropped it into a file folder.

I tried the door but it was locked.

"I got 'em," Foster said. He searched through the folder for a moment then handed me the keys.

"Evidence guys had to tear the seat up a little," Hagarty said, but the interior of the cab wasn't too bad. There was some blood on a back window. The bullets had gone into the front seat over on the passenger side. The holes had been enlarged and some of the stuffing pulled out. It was nothing that a little duct tape wouldn't cure. But I could already hear Irv whining.

Billy's beaded seat cushion was sitting on the dashboard, still rolled and tied with a string. "This is his," I said as I pulled it out.

"Keep it as a souvenir," Hagarty shrugged.

I shook my head. "I'd always be wondering where he got it."

Foster took it, locked it in the trunk of their car, then we all walked inside. It was a quarter to three and the place was starting to fill with the early bar rush.

Clair gave me a big hug. "You okay, Eddie?"

"I'm great," I said. "Thanks for getting these guys."

Ken Willis, Ace, Fat Wally and the rookie were at the roundtable. I waved and motioned that I would be over in a while. Fat Wally started to applaud. After a moment Ace and Willis stood up and joined in. The rookie beamed. I took a little bow before settling into a side table. The drunks didn't know what the hell was going on.

"My fans," I said as I sat down.

"Hey, you deserve it," Hagarty said. "Took balls."

"I kept seeing that picture of Lenny," I remembered.

"Now if Billy was a better shot," Foster said, "we'd be down at the morgue right now going through your pockets, talking about what a fool you'd been."

"What's going to happen to him?" I asked.

"Firing squad, we're hoping," Foster said. "Maybe a hanging."

"Something barbaric," Hagarty said. "You can't go killing stagecoach drivers out West. He'd probably get life here, and even if the judge did decide to zap him, it'd take years. But we figure Nevada's gonna pull his chain. They got two guys on the way right now, including a Lieutenant." Suddenly he sounded like John Wayne. "They don't take too kindly to folks messing with their citizens out thataway."

Clair poured coffee all around. Foster ordered a piece of cherry pie. Hagarty lit a cigarette.

"It's kind of funny it was a white guy," I said after the pie arrived.

Hagarty shrugged. "Your friend's just as dead."

"I know," I said. "But here you've got every cabdriver in town passing up black passengers and staying out of certain neighborhoods. It's just kind of funny."

Hagarty shrugged again. "I wouldn't get too careless, I was you."

Foster was working his way through the pie. He mumbled in agreement.

"You ever find that van?" I asked.

Hagarty shook his head and smiled. "The shit you put us through," he said.

"What?" I asked.

"The guy goes dumpster diving at Fulton Market," he said. "That's why he kept driving by that whore."

"Dumpster diving?" I asked.

"Spoiled meat. Meat scraps," Hagarty said. "Whatever the packing houses dump. He's got a little route. We were afraid to ask where he sells the stuff."

"You should have seen the back of that van," Foster said.

"Evidence guys are never gonna forgive us."

"And while we were wading through that shit," Foster said, "the real guy was down in Peoria doing another whore."

"Peoria?"

"He's finally snapped," Foster said. "It's just a matter of time now."

"Three girls in a week," Hagarty shook his head.

"Way out of his cycle," Foster said.

"Three?" I asked.

Hagarty nodded. "Where's that picture?"

Foster started digging around in his file folder. "Here," he said after a moment, and he slid an eight-by-ten across the tabletop.

"Ever see her before?" Hagarty asked.

"Oh, Jesus," I said. It was a picture of a young black girl. There was no expression on her face, but the pigtails and a lonely blue ribbon let me know who she was. There was nothing at all behind those eyes.

"Yes?" Hagarty asked. Foster had his notebook open, pen in hand.

"The other night," I whispered, and I pushed the picture away.

"You're sure it's her?" Hagarty asked.

I nodded my head. "When did you  When did you  You know."

They knew. "A couple hours after you called," Hagarty said. "Factory out on Goose Island. Truck driver found her in a loading dock."

"Did he " I started but then I couldn't finish. I dropped my head into my hands.

After a while I lifted my head and everything was still the same. There were the cops and the cabdrivers, and the drunks heading home from their Saturday night.

Across the street there was an old stone church with a big cross set on a high steeple. It must have really been something when they'd set that cross in place. I wondered how many men it had taken. There must have been a big crowd down below. I wondered if they'd all truly believed, if they'd all really been saved.

Clair came by and topped the coffees. "Just for the record," Foster said and he held the photo up, "you're telling us this is the girl you saw getting into a van early Friday morning?"

"I didn't see her get in," I said. "She was just leaning in the window."