The Car Bomb (The detroit im dying Trilogy, Book 1) (2 page)

From the Viper’s dash came a well-modulated radio voice belonging to a fellow he had shared drinks with 10 years ago in New York when he was thinking of taking the job at WNBC.

“
In the wake of that deadly riot in Los Angeles, four men have been arrested in the beating of truck driver Reginald Denny. And supporters of Texas billionaire Ross Perot say they’ve filed 200,000 signatures to place Perot on the Texas presidential ballot. And that’s Newsbreak for this hour.”

Frank tapped a button on the radio and Eric Clapton suddenly sang with his lilting guitar, “You Look Wonderful Tonight.”

At the Black Knight Inn he watched the valet boys running at the dinner hour. Three cars were queued in front of the Viper as he listened to Clapton finish and give way to a spot for McDonald’s. This he ended abruptly by punching the AM radio button and giving voice to an excited young news reporter who had fawned on him recently at a banquet:

“
I’m live at the scene of an apparent car-bombing that happened just minutes ago on Eliot Street on the city’s westside. Police are already on the scene...”

Frank moved up to the restaurant’s overhang. A kid in a polo shirt with the Black Knight logo and the name “Andy” scripted below snapped open the driver’s side door.

“
Hey, good evening, Mr. D. How...”

Frank raised his left hand off the wheel just high enough to shut the kid up.

“
According to one neighbor, a woman and her two children were in the car when it exploded.”

Frank put his hand down on the wheel. “Andy, you know where Eliot Street is? This side of town?”

“
No, I sure don’t, Mr. D.”

Frank grabbed a phone off the dash and punched in a number. “Just one second, Andy.” The kid nodded, and Frank said into the phone, “Neil, you got this car bombing on the westside?” After a pause: “Okay, good. I’ll check in later.” He got out of the car. “Andy, I’ll want the top up.”

“
You got it, Mr. D.”

With a lithe step Frank moved to the restaurant door. The Black Knight’s foyer was jammed tonight. He stepped slowly through the crowd with an occasional “Excuse me" and “Thanks so much." In his wake he left murmurs of surprise and whispers of his name. A man asked how he was doing. Frank glanced just long enough to be sure he didn’t know the guy. “Great. How about you?”

When Rosie, the petite 50-year-old hostess with a streaked hairdo, spotted him heading her way, she ignored the people talking to her and moved her huge smile directly to him. “Frank, you look beautiful, as usual.” With a hug and a kiss on the cheek, she slipped a proud, possessive arm around his waist and moved him through her patrons less privileged.

“
How you doin’, doll? Lookin’ pretty fine yourself.”

“
Ah, Frank, flattery will get you anything I’ve got.”

Leaving the foyer, Rosie led him past a long, dark-paneled bar. Halfway down, two heads were in a conspiratorial bow. They came up as Frank approached. One belonged to a small, slight man he despised as the town’s leading gossip, the other to a pudgy, well-known defense lawyer in a pinstriped suit with a red bow tie and suspenders. Frank hoped to slide by them unnoticed, but “Wee Willie” Barnes turned on his stool. “Hey, Frank, how they hangin’?”

Frank stopped. “I wouldn’t know, Wilbur. I haven’t been reading your column.”

Barnes deflected the venom with two innocent palms up. “Hey, big guy, I haven’t laid a glove on you lately.”

Frank in a quiet voice: “You little prick, if you didn’t have me to write about, that rag you work for would shit-can your ass in a heartbeat.”

On the next stool, Sam Dworkin, the flamboyant criminal mouthpiece, flashed an obscene grin. “Frank, you got this little guy all wrong. He was just saying how much he loves and admires your work.”

“
Letting him suck your fat cock, counselor?”

Frank rejoined Rosie and her big smile. She was already holding a Scotch. “Your usual libation?”

Frank took it. “Great. Sorry about that, Rosie.”

“
Oh, you know Wil’s problem.” She leaned close as they walked together and held up a hand with the thumb and forefinger about an inch apart.

Frank’s laugh was raucous. “Rosie, you’re bad.”

When Rosie delivered Frank to the prized Booth One with a commanding view of the room, trim, athletic Judge William O’Bryan had eyes only for his seatmate, a curvy blond in a low-cut blouse.

Rosie interrupted, “I think you two boys know each other?” The judge reluctantly tore his gaze away.

Frank shook his hand. “Ah, your highness, and who’s this lovely creature?” She was already dipping low to get up, further revealing a red lacy item and much of its contents.

“
Frank, this is Kim. Kim, Frank DeFauw.”

Kim took Frank’s hand in both of hers. “Oh, I’m a big fan.”

Frank brought her right hand to his lips. “How nice, darling. You have taste.”

Kim giggled with a curtsey. “Why thank you, kind sir.”

The judge put a hand firmly on her rump. “Frank, Kim’s gotta run. She’s late for her class in quantum physics.”

Frank raised an eyebrow at the blond. “In grad school, are you, Kim?”

Another giggle. “Oh, you know Billy. He’s a big kidder.”

Frank nodded. “Oh, yes, I know Billy. Nice meeting you, Kim.”

She smiled at Frank and winked at the judge. “Call me later?”

“
Of course,” said the judge.

Both men watched as she walked off. Then Frank sat in the booth. “Tell me something. When she’s coming, does she call you ‘Billy,’ or do you insist on ‘your honor’?”

“
Frankie, this is strictly Platonic.”

“
Billy, where do you find these bonbons?”

The twinkle in his old pal’s eye told Frank the judge loved this exchange. “Man, with your cameras in my courtroom, I have to beat them off with a stick.”

“
Must be the black robe. Like those coeds so nuts about the good fathers back in high school, they wanted to give ‘em all blowjobs.”

The judge nodded with a self-satisfied look on his sharp features. “So what’s in the news?”

Frank took a swig from the Scotch. “Same old shit. Coming here, though, I caught something about a car bombing.”

“
Really? Who the hell uses car bombs any more?”

“
Those crazy Chaldeans. Except this wasn’t a Chaldean neighborhood. Westside, they said, maybe not that far from here, actually. I almost left you here to cover it.”

The judge’s creased brow was serious. “Anybody hurt?”

“
A woman and two kids were in the car.”

“
Jesus!” William O’Bryan shook his head, then drained the last of his drink. He waved two fingers at the bartender.

“
Yeah, probably a mistake.”

“
I guess.”

“
Yeah,” said Frank, “I almost got the old urge. Sometimes I think I was happier 20 years ago, when I was doin’ what that radio kid does, runnin’ all over town covering breaking stuff, getting it before anybody else. A big bloody rush, and I was pretty good at it.”

Frank knew what was coming now. Despite all the mockery and kidding, their long history dictated a brief but heartfelt reassurance on correct life choices.

The judge on cue: “Well, you’re pretty good at what you do now, and you’re a lot richer and more famous. By the way, nice wrap on the Bill Hart conviction last week.”

“
Oh, thanks. Yeah, Christ, old Chief Hart salting away taxpayer millions while his narco guys have to go into their own pockets for 50 bucks to pay their snitches.”

“
God, the corruption is rampant in this town. And Coleman still calls him a good man and a good cop.”

“
Yes, our mayor is nothing if not loyal to his pals.”

As usual, the silence that followed lasted no more than a second or two before the judge opened a new subject. “So, the book, how’s that coming?”

“
It’s coming. I think I’ve talked to half the Belgians in this town. I’m up early most mornings writing, unless I was prowling the night before. So how about you? What’s new? I mean beside Kim. Any scuttlebutt?”

“
Well, let’s see. Oh, I hear our crusading county prosecutor is about to resign.”

This interested Frank. “Gant? Why would he do that? He’s only been in there a year.”

“
I don’t know. Maybe problems at home.”

A waiter brought two more drinks and was followed by a pretty young woman with fine black hair and green eyes. She was holding a pen and a slip of paper. With a nervous smile: “Frank, I hope I’m not bothering you. I just had to ask for your autograph.”

In a quick, gallant move, Frank was up from the booth and took the young woman’s soft, warm hand. “No bother at all, darling. And your name is?”

“
Patty O’Conner? I’m just one of your biggest fans.”

“
Well, Patty, sit here for a minute next to Judge William O’Bryan. Better known to his friends as Honorable Billy.” Frank ushered her into the booth between the judge and himself.

Smiling at the judge, Patty sat and said, “Well, I told Larry this would only take a sec. He thinks it’s for my mother. But it’s really for myself.”

Sitting again, Frank nodded at a young man glowering at them from a nearby table. “And Larry is your boyfriend sitting over there looking green?”

Patty stared at Frank for a second, her mouth open slightly. “You are
so
perceptive. He’s so jealous it drives me crazy sometimes.”

Frank said, “Jealousy can be a terrible thing, Patty.”

“
Oh, damn! He’s coming over here.” She closed her eyes for a moment. As if none of this would happen if she didn’t watch. “Now there’s going to be trouble.”

Larry was stocky, maybe a one-time high school linebacker now sprawling into his mid-twenties. As he approached, Frank gave him a big smile and offered his hand.

“
Hey, Larry, how you doin’? Patty here’s been telling us all about you.”

Larry ignored Frank’s hand. “I’ll bet. Com’on, Patty, we’re getting out of here.”

Frank shook a weary head at the judge, disappointed with the young guy. “Now, Larry, have some manners. Patty just wants an autograph, and I’ll be happy to oblige.”

Larry said, “Look, slimeball, you may impress some people, but not me. So just stuff it. Patty, I said com’on.”

Frank got up to let Patty out of the booth. “Hey, Larry, nobody wants any trouble here. Patty’s free to leave any time she wants.”

Hoping promptness would save the moment, Patty slid quickly over the smooth brown leather of the booth. Larry extended an arm to move Frank back, and Frank shoved it away. Larry threw a wild right. Frank ducked and chopped a short powerful blow to the solar plexus. Larry sat on the floor.

Patty screamed, and conversation in the room stopped for a few seconds, then resumed much louder. Two young men in bussing uniforms appeared quickly, pulled Larry to his feet, his face beet red. As they ushered him out, Patty began to follow, then quickly moved back to the table and placed the slip of paper and the pen in front of Frank.

“
I’m so sorry, Frank.”

“
No problem.” He scribbled: “To Patty, with affection. Frank DeFauw.”

“
Thanks so much, Frank.” Patty hesitated, wanting this moment to last.

“
Don’t mention it. Now you better go take care of your guy.” Frank nodded at the glowering young man standing with Rosie in the foyer.

Patty smiled sadly and walked away. Frank turned to the patrons at a nearby table. “Sorry, folks, just one of my overzealous fans.”

He got nervous laughter and scattered applause.

In a small edit room in the news department at WTEM-TV, Dennis Clark, a 26-year-old producer in a shirt and tie, sat with an editor named Eddie. With 10 years and about 75 pounds on Dennis and much less hair, Eddie wore a green plaid shirt and thick glasses. They were both glued to a monitor as Eddie played and replayed some grainy home video of a car exploding.

Dennis said, “Oh, Christ, this is hard to watch.”

Eddie’s opinion was, “Awesome, man.” After running the tape back at triple speed, he played it forward in slow motion. “See, they musta put it next to the gas tank. The back end goes first.”

Distracted, Dennis said, “Yeah, I wonder how much of this we should use.”

Eddie had no doubts. “All of it, man. This is the hottest shit I’ve seen in a long time.”

“
Yeah, but Christ, watching a mother and her two kids get blown up and burned alive.”

Eddie dealt easily with sensitive issues. “So you do a warning—whatta you call those things? A disclaimer. You know, ‘This may be too much for the kids, so maybe you should send them out of the room.’ That always gets more people to watch.”

Dennis sounded dubious. “Yeah, right.”

At the edit room door Frank appeared, his hair disheveled, face haggard, tie askew, French cuffed sleeves rolled up on powerful forearms and the odor of alcohol and cigarette smoke already filling the closet-sized room.

Knowing Frank’s scent at this hour, Eddie did not look up. “Hey, Frank, look at this.”

“
Eddie, I hear you got something hot.”

“
The hottest, man. Watch this.”

On the monitor the car exploded one more time. Frank was stunned. “Good god!”

Finally, Dennis had an idea on how to do this. “Run it back, Ed, to where the little kid is trying to stand on his head. I think we’ll take it from there.”

Frank: “Where’d we get this?”

Dennis: “The guy called us. He’s shooting his daughter and her prom date, and it all happens right in front of him.”

“
We got it exclusive?”

“
Yep, even the cops didn’t have it until we made this dub and gave them the original. The guy wants to be on with you, Frank, live from his living room.”