The Third Rail by Michael Harvey Page A
Authors: Michael Harvey
Tags: Fiction, General, Suspense, Mystery & Detective, Crime, Private Investigators, Hard-Boiled, Chicago (Ill.), Criminal snipers
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if I'd known how scarce a childhood commodity it would turn out to be
.
As it was, I moved past the thin man without touching him and took a seat two rows closer to the front. Just across from the woman and her friend, face muffled in the folds of his coat. The conductor had returned to the back of the car, eyes closed, head against the window, bouncing lightly to the tune of train and track. And that was how we sat as our train approached a sharp bend at the corner of Lake and Wabash
.
CHAPTER 15
J im Doherty and I pieced through the past for an hour, maybe more. At a little after ten, I headed back to the North Side, my friend's files in hand. I eased my key into the lock and cracked open the front door to my flat. Didn't make a sound. Didn't matter a bit. She was there, waiting on the other side, wagging her entire body in a spasm of greeting. I dropped to a knee and scooped Maggie up. The springer spaniel was a year old, but still seemed like no weight at all. She licked my face where she could find it and then scrambled out of my arms. I stepped back and watched as a blur of liver, gold, and white sprinted once, twice, three times around the living room, leaped to the couch, and stopped dead still, staring at me, tongue out, panting lightly, body wag still in full flower. I crouched so I was eye level with the pup and feinted like I was going to make a run at her. She offered a head fake to my left and tore off to the right, into the kitchen. I heard the clatter of claws on tile and then a slide and thump into what I suspected was the refrigerator. A second later, Maggie was back in the living room, bearing down on me at full speed. I dropped to a knee and caught her in midleap. She curled into my chest and almost immediately settled. I found a seat onthe couch. Five minutes later, the pup was asleep. I sat that way for a half hour. The best half hour of my day. Then I moved lightly. Maggie opened her eyes and stretched. She jumped down to the floor, shook herself once, twice, and wagged her tail, looking up at me, wondering what was for dinner.
DINNER WAS a cheeseburger and a cold can of beer. I steamed some spinach to make myself feel better. Then I gave most of it to the dog. She didn't like it, either. I put a call in to Rachel Swenson's cell phone, but got her voice mail and left a message. My favorite judge still had her own place on the Gold Coast, but spent a good part of the week at my apartment. It felt good to have her here, to see her clothes strewn around the bedroom, my bathroom cluttered with atomizers and smoothers, exfoliants and lotions, peelers and masks. I didn't know what most of it was for, but it didn't matter. Between Rachel and the pup, my apartment was full. And the emptiness I never really knew existed, gone. Or at least put away for a while.
I found the pup's leash and took her for a quick tour of the neighborhood. Then I settled in at my desk and powered up my Mac. The CTA shootings dominated Google's news page. I searched for my name, but didn't get a hit in any of the articles. Good. I shut down the link and sat in the dark, watching the wind batter my front windows. Outside, the night offered an inky canvas on which to replay the day's events: a woman dropping to the hard boards of the Southport L, surprise scratched all over her face; an alley, tunneling through the black and filling up with snow; a tangle of footprints andthe fat hole of a .40-cal pressed to my head. Slipping underneath was the electric silk of the voice on my cell phone, one that called me by name, one I couldn't place. I closed my eyes and let the images play. Pretty soon I started to nod off, the pup close by, readily following my lead.
CHAPTER 16
F ive miles south, Nelson rolled to a stop underneath a cement overpass near the corner of Jefferson and Congress. A twist of snow blew across the hood of his Impala and dissolved into cold smoke. Overhead, the Eisenhower hummed with the whine and thump of rubber on
.
As it was, I moved past the thin man without touching him and took a seat two rows closer to the front. Just across from the woman and her friend, face muffled in the folds of his coat. The conductor had returned to the back of the car, eyes closed, head against the window, bouncing lightly to the tune of train and track. And that was how we sat as our train approached a sharp bend at the corner of Lake and Wabash
.
CHAPTER 15
J im Doherty and I pieced through the past for an hour, maybe more. At a little after ten, I headed back to the North Side, my friend's files in hand. I eased my key into the lock and cracked open the front door to my flat. Didn't make a sound. Didn't matter a bit. She was there, waiting on the other side, wagging her entire body in a spasm of greeting. I dropped to a knee and scooped Maggie up. The springer spaniel was a year old, but still seemed like no weight at all. She licked my face where she could find it and then scrambled out of my arms. I stepped back and watched as a blur of liver, gold, and white sprinted once, twice, three times around the living room, leaped to the couch, and stopped dead still, staring at me, tongue out, panting lightly, body wag still in full flower. I crouched so I was eye level with the pup and feinted like I was going to make a run at her. She offered a head fake to my left and tore off to the right, into the kitchen. I heard the clatter of claws on tile and then a slide and thump into what I suspected was the refrigerator. A second later, Maggie was back in the living room, bearing down on me at full speed. I dropped to a knee and caught her in midleap. She curled into my chest and almost immediately settled. I found a seat onthe couch. Five minutes later, the pup was asleep. I sat that way for a half hour. The best half hour of my day. Then I moved lightly. Maggie opened her eyes and stretched. She jumped down to the floor, shook herself once, twice, and wagged her tail, looking up at me, wondering what was for dinner.
DINNER WAS a cheeseburger and a cold can of beer. I steamed some spinach to make myself feel better. Then I gave most of it to the dog. She didn't like it, either. I put a call in to Rachel Swenson's cell phone, but got her voice mail and left a message. My favorite judge still had her own place on the Gold Coast, but spent a good part of the week at my apartment. It felt good to have her here, to see her clothes strewn around the bedroom, my bathroom cluttered with atomizers and smoothers, exfoliants and lotions, peelers and masks. I didn't know what most of it was for, but it didn't matter. Between Rachel and the pup, my apartment was full. And the emptiness I never really knew existed, gone. Or at least put away for a while.
I found the pup's leash and took her for a quick tour of the neighborhood. Then I settled in at my desk and powered up my Mac. The CTA shootings dominated Google's news page. I searched for my name, but didn't get a hit in any of the articles. Good. I shut down the link and sat in the dark, watching the wind batter my front windows. Outside, the night offered an inky canvas on which to replay the day's events: a woman dropping to the hard boards of the Southport L, surprise scratched all over her face; an alley, tunneling through the black and filling up with snow; a tangle of footprints andthe fat hole of a .40-cal pressed to my head. Slipping underneath was the electric silk of the voice on my cell phone, one that called me by name, one I couldn't place. I closed my eyes and let the images play. Pretty soon I started to nod off, the pup close by, readily following my lead.
CHAPTER 16
F ive miles south, Nelson rolled to a stop underneath a cement overpass near the corner of Jefferson and Congress. A twist of snow blew across the hood of his Impala and dissolved into cold smoke. Overhead, the Eisenhower hummed with the whine and thump of rubber on
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