head. “My guess is, in less than a week, one of the gang members would inform on you.”
Monroe smiled. “It works already on a small scale. The key is to deal only with the leaders. They’ve got as much to lose as anyone and they’re a hell of a lot smarter than you’d think.”
I eyed the remaining piece of chicken, a wing. “What’s this got to do with me?”
Monroe stabbed the wing, lifted it to his plate. “We need a guy who knows his way around the city and can pull a trigger if he needs to. Someone who’s fearless enough to go out and collect money when it’s slow coming in. We figure that a guy who’s willing to shoot a man in a uniform might be good at this kind of work. You interested?”
Fearless? Me? “I want to talk to Earl Johnson.”
His head snapped back at that. “What do you know about Earl?”
“Probably a hell of a lot more than you want me to know,” I said. “Anyway, I know he’s the one who makes the decisions.”
He smiled again, and I hoped I’d made him think that I’d been looking into the group before the night at Southshore. “He’s not here now. I’m making the offer.”
I said, “How much of that hundred thousand a week do I get?”
Monroe laughed. “There’s no hundred thousand. Not yet. That’s what we’re working toward.”
“How much?” I said.
“An equal share of anything you’re involved in.”
I gestured at the cheap furniture. “No offense, but you’re not exactly a poster boy for the riches you imply you’re getting.”
Monroe smiled like he was talking to someone of limited imagination. “I’ve got four years before mandatory retirement. Same thing for some of the other guys, give or take a couple years. Why would I do anything to call attention to myself? You know where I’m going in four years? Arizona—a little town outside Flagstaff. I’ve got the piece of property and I’ve got the architect plans. Slate floors. Redwood beams in all the rooms. Swimming pool. The works.”
It sounded like his version of my little fishing village, but maybe he would have the money to buy the dream. I looked at Finley. I put him around thirty-five, more than twenty-five years away from Monroe’s dream. “You already bankrolling your retirement too?”
He tilted his head and drained the last of a Heineken. “I’m not waiting for mandatory. I’m having fun along the way.”
“Yeah?”
He exchanged glances with Raj.
“You want to see?”
I don’t know if I nodded but the other three pushed their chairs back from the table.
“Let’s go,” said Monroe.
EIGHT
WE DROVE NORTH ON Michigan Avenue, Finley at the wheel, Monroe beside him, Raj in the back with me. The night was cold and windy. Shop windows glittered under the streetlights—jewelry stores, a high-end toy store, restaurants. When Michigan ended, we continued up the lakefront to a high-rise facing Oak Street Beach. Finley turned across the oncoming lane, drove the SUV onto the circular driveway in front of the building, and slowed to a stop.
A valet, who’d been standing under a heat lamp outside the building, jogged to the car and opened the doors. “Good evening, Mr. Monroe,” he said, then greeted Raj and Finley by name. He nodded to me.
The big glass doors had brass handles and a doorman in gloves to use them. He also greeted Monroe, Finley, and Raj by name.
A large oriental rug covered most of the lobby floor. Leather sofas and easy chairs were arranged in a circle around a large dark-wood table. On the center of the table stood a tall vase with flowers and ferns fountaining out of the top. A crystal chandelier hung over the table. The room looked like a fine place to wait for a limousine.
A uniformed elevator operator stood by the elevator. He wished us a good evening. He didn’t need to ask where to take us.
At the top floor, the elevator door opened to a lounge lighted by blue-tinted bulbs. A red neon sign hanging on the facing wall said THE SPA CLUB.
Monroe smiled. “It works already on a small scale. The key is to deal only with the leaders. They’ve got as much to lose as anyone and they’re a hell of a lot smarter than you’d think.”
I eyed the remaining piece of chicken, a wing. “What’s this got to do with me?”
Monroe stabbed the wing, lifted it to his plate. “We need a guy who knows his way around the city and can pull a trigger if he needs to. Someone who’s fearless enough to go out and collect money when it’s slow coming in. We figure that a guy who’s willing to shoot a man in a uniform might be good at this kind of work. You interested?”
Fearless? Me? “I want to talk to Earl Johnson.”
His head snapped back at that. “What do you know about Earl?”
“Probably a hell of a lot more than you want me to know,” I said. “Anyway, I know he’s the one who makes the decisions.”
He smiled again, and I hoped I’d made him think that I’d been looking into the group before the night at Southshore. “He’s not here now. I’m making the offer.”
I said, “How much of that hundred thousand a week do I get?”
Monroe laughed. “There’s no hundred thousand. Not yet. That’s what we’re working toward.”
“How much?” I said.
“An equal share of anything you’re involved in.”
I gestured at the cheap furniture. “No offense, but you’re not exactly a poster boy for the riches you imply you’re getting.”
Monroe smiled like he was talking to someone of limited imagination. “I’ve got four years before mandatory retirement. Same thing for some of the other guys, give or take a couple years. Why would I do anything to call attention to myself? You know where I’m going in four years? Arizona—a little town outside Flagstaff. I’ve got the piece of property and I’ve got the architect plans. Slate floors. Redwood beams in all the rooms. Swimming pool. The works.”
It sounded like his version of my little fishing village, but maybe he would have the money to buy the dream. I looked at Finley. I put him around thirty-five, more than twenty-five years away from Monroe’s dream. “You already bankrolling your retirement too?”
He tilted his head and drained the last of a Heineken. “I’m not waiting for mandatory. I’m having fun along the way.”
“Yeah?”
He exchanged glances with Raj.
“You want to see?”
I don’t know if I nodded but the other three pushed their chairs back from the table.
“Let’s go,” said Monroe.
EIGHT
WE DROVE NORTH ON Michigan Avenue, Finley at the wheel, Monroe beside him, Raj in the back with me. The night was cold and windy. Shop windows glittered under the streetlights—jewelry stores, a high-end toy store, restaurants. When Michigan ended, we continued up the lakefront to a high-rise facing Oak Street Beach. Finley turned across the oncoming lane, drove the SUV onto the circular driveway in front of the building, and slowed to a stop.
A valet, who’d been standing under a heat lamp outside the building, jogged to the car and opened the doors. “Good evening, Mr. Monroe,” he said, then greeted Raj and Finley by name. He nodded to me.
The big glass doors had brass handles and a doorman in gloves to use them. He also greeted Monroe, Finley, and Raj by name.
A large oriental rug covered most of the lobby floor. Leather sofas and easy chairs were arranged in a circle around a large dark-wood table. On the center of the table stood a tall vase with flowers and ferns fountaining out of the top. A crystal chandelier hung over the table. The room looked like a fine place to wait for a limousine.
A uniformed elevator operator stood by the elevator. He wished us a good evening. He didn’t need to ask where to take us.
At the top floor, the elevator door opened to a lounge lighted by blue-tinted bulbs. A red neon sign hanging on the facing wall said THE SPA CLUB.
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