Krieger?”
He grinned. “I’m allergic to ‘em. Cats too.”
Stone passed the puny ficus on his way out. There was something fundamentally wrong with people who didn’t respect life, he thought. It cost nothing to water a plant.
***
When he got back to the station, Stone called Ann Heller and Barbara Michaelson, both members of CEASE and vocal participants at the hearings. While he got an earful on why Northview didn’t need more development, he didn’t get anything new on the vandalism. He wrote up a report for the chief before going home. It was time to move on.
Chapter Ten
Except for the Chevy that once sprouted out of the wall, Lincoln Avenue hadn’t changed much. Before the Academy, Georgia went to DePaul and lived on Seminary. Now, inching her way through rush hour traffic, she passed the same restaurants and stores, though some had been gentrified with fake gas lamps and wrought iron. But the front end of the Chevy had disappeared, along with the Blues place underneath. Too bad. A car dangling twenty feet above the sidewalk was way cooler than the Thai restaurant that replaced it.
She parked and stopped into Satchell’s, a hetero bar with polished oak, soft lights, and a dartboard in the back. She slid into a seat at the bar and ordered a glass of wine. The bartender, a beefy blond with a roving eye and a thick neck told her the bookstore had moved up to Foster and Clark years ago. Feeling suddenly old, she drained her glass.
She’d met Rabbi Altman at the synagogue at three. Although she’d been raised Catholic and went to parish school, she didn’t have much of a relationship with Christ.
In fact, she’d always thought Catholics had the corner on rules until she learned that observant Jews had over six hundred of their own. Today she and the rabbi had talked about giving up family traditions like Christmas and Easter. Georgia thought back to her Christmases as a child. Her parents would take her to Church, give her a few presents, and booze it up for the rest of the day. What was there to miss?
She looked up at the clock. Six-thirty. Enough time for another drink. She drummed her fingers on the bar, making sure each tapped the surface an equal number of times. Had to keep things even.
She thought she remembered a gay bar that used to be on Diversey. The Bullet Lounge. When she asked the bartender if it was still around, he tipped his head to the side.
“You too?”
She didn’t say anything.
He gave her the once-over, then sighed. “It’s a few blocks west.”
Georgia gathered her bag, dropped a twenty on the bar, and headed over.
***
It was still early, but The Bullet was in full swing. It wasn’t a big place, and at least a dozen couples, all of them women, were eating and drinking at tables and booths. A few single women sat at the bar. Georgia made her way to the far end, slipped between two empty stools, and ordered a glass of wine. The lights were low, and a jukebox blared out a Patsy Cline number.
She’d only had a few sips when someone climbed onto a stool beside her. Georgia snuck a glance. A slim attractive woman with curly black hair, she looked tall and vaguely exotic—a young version of Cher. The woman ordered a Goose Island longneck, and when it came, took a long pull. Then she set it down and turned to Georgia.
“You’re new here.”
Georgia nodded.
“I’m Clark. Clark Addison. Where you from?”
“Up north.”
Clark waited. When Georgia didn’t say anything more, she said, “Well, that clears things up.”
Georgia turned to her. “I’m not here—for pleasure.”
Clark looked her over. “Pleasure’s overrated.”
Georgia felt an uneasy twinge. “Uh… you don’t understand. I’m—I’m a cop.”
Clark looked puzzled for a moment. Then a smile came over her. “Everyone’s gotta start someplace.”
Georgia picked up her wine. “I’m on a job.”
Clark’s eyebrows went up, and she took another pull off her beer. “I see.” She
He grinned. “I’m allergic to ‘em. Cats too.”
Stone passed the puny ficus on his way out. There was something fundamentally wrong with people who didn’t respect life, he thought. It cost nothing to water a plant.
***
When he got back to the station, Stone called Ann Heller and Barbara Michaelson, both members of CEASE and vocal participants at the hearings. While he got an earful on why Northview didn’t need more development, he didn’t get anything new on the vandalism. He wrote up a report for the chief before going home. It was time to move on.
Chapter Ten
Except for the Chevy that once sprouted out of the wall, Lincoln Avenue hadn’t changed much. Before the Academy, Georgia went to DePaul and lived on Seminary. Now, inching her way through rush hour traffic, she passed the same restaurants and stores, though some had been gentrified with fake gas lamps and wrought iron. But the front end of the Chevy had disappeared, along with the Blues place underneath. Too bad. A car dangling twenty feet above the sidewalk was way cooler than the Thai restaurant that replaced it.
She parked and stopped into Satchell’s, a hetero bar with polished oak, soft lights, and a dartboard in the back. She slid into a seat at the bar and ordered a glass of wine. The bartender, a beefy blond with a roving eye and a thick neck told her the bookstore had moved up to Foster and Clark years ago. Feeling suddenly old, she drained her glass.
She’d met Rabbi Altman at the synagogue at three. Although she’d been raised Catholic and went to parish school, she didn’t have much of a relationship with Christ.
In fact, she’d always thought Catholics had the corner on rules until she learned that observant Jews had over six hundred of their own. Today she and the rabbi had talked about giving up family traditions like Christmas and Easter. Georgia thought back to her Christmases as a child. Her parents would take her to Church, give her a few presents, and booze it up for the rest of the day. What was there to miss?
She looked up at the clock. Six-thirty. Enough time for another drink. She drummed her fingers on the bar, making sure each tapped the surface an equal number of times. Had to keep things even.
She thought she remembered a gay bar that used to be on Diversey. The Bullet Lounge. When she asked the bartender if it was still around, he tipped his head to the side.
“You too?”
She didn’t say anything.
He gave her the once-over, then sighed. “It’s a few blocks west.”
Georgia gathered her bag, dropped a twenty on the bar, and headed over.
***
It was still early, but The Bullet was in full swing. It wasn’t a big place, and at least a dozen couples, all of them women, were eating and drinking at tables and booths. A few single women sat at the bar. Georgia made her way to the far end, slipped between two empty stools, and ordered a glass of wine. The lights were low, and a jukebox blared out a Patsy Cline number.
She’d only had a few sips when someone climbed onto a stool beside her. Georgia snuck a glance. A slim attractive woman with curly black hair, she looked tall and vaguely exotic—a young version of Cher. The woman ordered a Goose Island longneck, and when it came, took a long pull. Then she set it down and turned to Georgia.
“You’re new here.”
Georgia nodded.
“I’m Clark. Clark Addison. Where you from?”
“Up north.”
Clark waited. When Georgia didn’t say anything more, she said, “Well, that clears things up.”
Georgia turned to her. “I’m not here—for pleasure.”
Clark looked her over. “Pleasure’s overrated.”
Georgia felt an uneasy twinge. “Uh… you don’t understand. I’m—I’m a cop.”
Clark looked puzzled for a moment. Then a smile came over her. “Everyone’s gotta start someplace.”
Georgia picked up her wine. “I’m on a job.”
Clark’s eyebrows went up, and she took another pull off her beer. “I see.” She
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