Read A Bad Night's Sleep for Free Online Page A

kind of thing that could define the department and the city for years.” He stared at me again. “This is straightforward undercover work but a cop can’t do it. The guys in the group would be too suspicious, especially right now. But you—they’ll know you’re independent, and after the Southshore shootings they’ll think you’re gutsy enough to make this kind of move.” He said it with a smile but I knew better.
    “I’m already tied to the deaths of two of them,” I said. “Why would they want to talk to me?”
    “Trust me, they want to talk. You’re the only one who saw them at Southshore. They need to find out what you know. My guess is they’ll pick you up off the street for a conversation and you can make your case for partnering with them. If not, you get in touch with them yourself, tell them you’ve dug them up as part of your investigation and you’re interested in making a deal. Your job as a detective is gone, you need an income, you’re impressed by the work they do, etcetera.”
    “They’ll kill me.”
    “Probably not. They could use a guy like you.”
    “I walk in, disasters happen.”
    He nodded. “It’s a talent.”
    “What does Detective Chroler think about this?” I asked.
    “She’s signed on,” he said. “You’ll never hear from her again.” He gave me a long stare. “What do you think?”
    “What’s in it for me?”
    “Your life back. Chroler takes her thumb off the top of your head. The department leaves you alone. You get to live on your own terms again.”
    If I pulled off the job, I would have a chance at redeeming myself. The Department of Professional Regulation might even let me keep my detective’s license. “I think I’ll go fishing,” I said.
    He looked at me long again, then smiled. “That’s what I would do if I were you.”
    I smiled too. “No, you wouldn’t. You could be lounging on a beach right now, expenses paid by the city. You could milk your injury for six months or a year before coming back, no questions asked. But you’re working twelve-hour days if I know you, worrying Eileen because you won’t take it easy.”
    We smiled at each other for awhile, eyes on each other’s eyes, neither of us blinking.
    Then I said, “Did you tell a Tribune reporter I’m dirty?”
    He blinked. “Never.”
    I nodded, waited for him to blink again. He didn’t. I said, “You want to bring Eileen to my house for dinner?”
    He seemed to pull into himself. He said, “When this is over, okay?”

 
    SIX
    I TOLD BILL I would find my own way home.
    A five-minute walk from the front of the station would take me to the Velvet Lounge on Cermak Road, shouldered between a Vietnamese manicure business and Baba’s Restaurant, the only place in the city advertising FAMOUS STEAK & LEMONADE. You would never guess from the clean redbrick building housing the Velvet Lounge that inside you could hear the raunchiest jazz in Chicago. The music wouldn’t start for another two hours. But the Velvet Lounge also poured a tall shot. That was enough for me.
    When I left the station a white Honda SUV with tinted windows idled at the curb. A shiver ran down my back. I fought it off. Chicago had to have thousands of white Honda SUVs. I was crazy to think this was the same one that had tailed me when I got out of jail.
    I crossed the street, turned south, walked toward Cermak. Two men got out of the SUV and followed me on the other side. One wore a camouflage jacket, the other black. The guy in black had short, receding dark hair. The guy in camouflage wore a gray wool skullcap, though I figured he had hair that matched the other guy’s.
    I sped up.
    They sped up.
    I could run but I figured they could run faster.
    The evening wind came from the south. If you looked for its tail, maybe you would find it in a quiet Florida fishing village. But it stung cold. The passing headlights were cold. On November evenings like this in Chicago everything was cold.
    I kept to the east side of