Crossroads, Part Four

We managed a few hours of sleep after the cops left. They took my statement, and Rachel’s. They didn’t tell us we were crazy, or dreaming. But they clearly thought they were wasting their time.

            Despite the coffee I managed to sleep until 8 a.m. Rachel twitched between the sheets, but she didn’t wake up as I took a quick shower and changed into fresh clothes. I poured my cereal, made fresh coffee, and checked out the news.

            BIZARRE HEIST AT MACY’S DEPARTMENT STORE ran the top headline.

            “A gang of thieves stole several thousand dollars’ worth of jewelry, including watches, rings, necklaces, and a silver letter opener worth $10,000,” was the story’s lead. The breathless reporter went on to write that Chicago Police, acting on an anonymous tip, showed up moments after the heist apparently went down. One security guard was wounded from a gunshot, but expected to recover.

            “I don’t know how they got in,” another security guard was quoted as saying. “Everything was locked. We take this very seriously.”

            My phone buzzed. Schaffer. “Good morning, detective—”

            “Screw that. We missed them by a few minutes.” Schaffer’s voice was hoarse. “I read the statement you made last night. Now tell me again. Everything.”

            I gulped some coffee and went through it all again—leaving out the part about me and Rachel being naked during Stepan’s visit. “He said it was a mob boss who lives in a penthouse downtown.”

            Schaffer grunted. “That’s got to be Henry Caldrone. Lives in the Hancock. Not exactly the penthouse, but a pretty nice place, the whole floor. We’ll have to warn him.”

            Great. “How will you explain it?”

            “I won’t. You will.”

I’ve confronted vampires, demons, and giant ninja chickens. A mob boss? I was nervous, but not as terrified as I expected.

            Schaffer stood at the door. I perched on a black leather couch, Rachel beside me.

She’d insisted on coming. “I’ve never met an Outfit guy before. This should be a nice change of pace.”

            Henry Caldrone was in his sixties, with steel gray hair and thick knuckles. He wore a gray cashmere sweater and Italian loafers. A young guy with black hair and a coal-black blazer sat a table behind him, playing games on his phone. Bodyguard? Probably. He glanced up once to check out Rachel, then went back to his phone.

A young woman in a very short skirt poured drinks. It was 11:30 in the morning.

            We were in the main living room of his apartment, which took up three-quarters of a high floor in the Hancock, the second-tallest building in Chicago after the Sears Tower—sorry, the Willis Tower now. Outside the window, waves on Lake Michigan rolled between sailboats on the white water.

            “Okay.” Caldrone sipped his scotch. “What’s going on? You know I’m always ready to cooperate with law enforcement.”

            Schaffer managed to keep a straight face. “We’ve been informed of a credible threat on your life. Probably late tonight or early tomorrow morning. We’re advising you to relocate someplace safe—”

            “Threat? From who?” He laughed. “I’m perfectly safe here, detective.”

            Schaffer sighed. “Jurgen?”

            I took a sip from the glass of water the young woman had poured. A slice of lemon gave it some tang. “My name’s Tom Jurgen, Mr. Caldrone. I’m a private detective. A man named Stepan Milos told me that two people, Ray Glick and Errol Jewell, plan to murder you tonight. It’s some kind of a contract hit. Here’s the thing . . .”

I took another gulp of water. “Stepan can get in anywhere. He can create a crossroads—which means he can teleport anywhere. They’re holding him and his girlfriend hostage. He robbed Rick’s Flaming Ribs two nights ago, and Macy’s last night. They can get in and out everywhere. You’re not safe here.”

            I’d looked up Caldrone before coming here. He’d been implicated in 23 murders, but never indicted, let alone convicted. Other Outfit leaders had gone to jail, but he was still standing—maybe the last one.

            But other groups were always jockeying for power. The street gangs, the Russian mob, and even some of the up-and-coming members of the Outfit, which wasn’t dead yet, and probably never would be. Where’s Mack Bolan when you need him?

            I waited for Caldrone’s laugh. Instead he took another sip of scotch and set his glass down. The young woman immediately poured more.

            Caldrone crossed his arms. “I have lots of enemies. That happens when you’re a successful businessman. But I;m not going anywhere. I didn’t get here by running away.”

            Schaffer rolled his eyes. “If you’re determined to stay, I can offer you police protection—”

            “Oh, god, yes!” Now Caldrone laughed. “Bring them all. But remember that I have legal firearms here, and I’m going to protect myself. Michael?”

            The guy at the table stood up. “Yeah, Henry? Oh.” He pulled his blazer open—revealing a handgun in a shoulder holster.

            Schaffer stiffened. “I guess that’s your right. As long as we check his license for concealed carry. But he can’t just start shooting when our people are in the room.”

            “I’m a taxpayer. I expect protection.” Caldrone leaned forward. “Who is trying to kill me?”

            He was looking at me. I shook my head. “Glick and Jewell. I don’t know who hired them, and Stepan doesn’t know either. I’m only trying to help him, and his girlfriend. And you.”

            He smiled. “I’m grateful, Mr. Jurgen.”

            Michael sat down again. Schaffer relaxed. A little.

            Caldrone leaned back. “Bring your police, Detective Schaffer. I don’t want to die. But, as a favor . . .” He trained his eyes on me again, like a cat deciding whether a mouse was worth chasing. “I want you here too.”

            “Uhh . . .” I looked at Rachel. “Sure.”

            She kicked my ankle.

            “I’ll pay for your time, of course.” Caldrone smiled. “You’re a businessman, just like me.”

            Not just like him. But what could I say? “Thank you, sir.”

            “We’ll see you tonight, Mr. Caldrone. Thanks for your cooperation.” Schaffer patted my shoulder. “Let’s go.”

            In the elevator Rachel punched my ribs. “Are you crazy? You’re going to stake out a murder? I don’t even know you.”

            “You don’t really have to show up, Jurgen.” Schaffer watched the numbers descend over the door. “It’s against policy, anyway.”

            “I know.” I rubbed my side. “But I took the job—”

            “You haven’t even cashed her check!”

            “Yeah, but I was hired to find Stepan. Maybe this is the best way to do that.” I shrugged. “And then I can cash Jody’s check.”

            “And Caldrone’s check?” She shivered. “What was with that chick in the miniskirt, anyway? And don’t tell me you weren’t checking out her legs.”

            They were nice legs. “I’ll donate his check to charity.”

            “If you get out of it alive.” She looked up. We were close to the ground floor.

            I nodded. “I’ll sign it over to you the minute I get it.”

            “Fine.” The elevator doors opened. “Good thing you made leftovers yesterday.”