it?"
"You tell me," Rodriguez said.
I tried to hide behind a smile that was too quick for its own good. My friend the detective was having none of it.
"Been two months since you went out to L.A. Haven't seen you. Talked to you. Nobody's seen you, except Rachel."
"People get busy."
"Yeah, well, that's fine. But I still need to know you're okay for this."
"You think L.A.'s gonna keep me from the job?"
"I'm not saying that."
"Then what are you saying." I felt the screws tighten in my voice, the pressure build behind my eyes.
"Your father passed. You went out to L.A. to pick up his ashes and came back empty-handed."
"For a guy who doesn't know much, you're pretty well informed."
"Losing your dad can be rough, Kelly."
"Yeah, he was a real fucking prize."
"I lost mine when I was fourteen."
I'd known Rodriguez for four years, but didn't know that. Never thought to ask.
"I'm sorry to hear that," I said and looked across the car. The detective's face was rutted by memory and his voice grew large in the small space between us.
"He worked the swing shift at U.S. Steel. One night he was coming out of the plant. Had the key in the car door when a squad car hit the corner on two wheels, chasing a kid in a hot box. The kid's car bounced my dad off the side of a Buick. Cracked his head open.
"By the time I got to the ER, the docs had done what they could, which wasn't much. He couldn't talk 'cuz of the tubes, and that was probably just about right. But he took my hand and we sat there, waiting. Didn't take too long, either. Eyes filled up with that look. Fucking head went over. And just that quick, my old man was gone."
Rodriguez snapped his fingers, a dry sound, and shrugged.
"Who wants to cry at fourteen, right? But, goddamn, if I didn't sit down on the floor of that hospital and do exactly that. I didn't know my dad. Never got a good word out of him, or even a kick in the ass. But he was my dad. And I cried. And it was the right thing to do."
Rodriguez was finished then, and we both listened to the weather. There was a storm boiling over the lake, and the wind was rising around us.
"I'm okay for the job," I said and hunted for the hint of desperation in my voice.
Rodriguez nodded. "I believe you. But it's still gonna come. Sooner or later. Just because it's your dad. And that's how that is. Now get the fuck out of here and get some sleep."
I slipped out of the detective's car and watched it roll into the night. Then I walked down Eddy to Lakewood. My building was painted in strips of hard streetlight. The hawk was rattling garbage cans in an alley and banging a wooden sign against the side of a tavern. I bundled myself into a doorway and considered calling it a day. I was tired and wanted nothing more than to crawl into an early bed. Lately, however, there'd been no percentage in sleep.
MY CAR WAS parked a half block from Wrigley Field. The Friendly Confines were dark, save for a red neon scrawl atop the main gate, touting regular season tickets, a bargain at a hundred bucks a pop. I turned the car around and drove west. At a stop sign, I pulled out my cell and punched in a number.
"Mr. Kelly?"
"You ever say hello, Hubert?"
"Hello, Mr. Kelly."
"Call me Michael."
"I'd prefer Mr. Kelly, if that's all right."
"How you doing?"
"Okay."
"You still with the county?"
I had met Hubert Russell at the Cook County Bureau of Land Records. He helped me with some library research on the Chicago fire. Then the twenty-something cyberhacker went virtual to help me catch a killer.
"Nah, I left there a few months ago."
"'Cuz of me?"
"Heck, no. I told you. I wanted out of there, so I left."
"Good. Listen, you got a couple of minutes to talk?"
"Right now?"
"Tomorrow morning."
"Have anything to do with all the stuff going down today?"
"How'd you guess?"
There was a pause. "Where do you want to meet?"
"How about Filter over on Milwaukee? Maybe early? Eight a.m.?"
"See you there."
"And Hubert?"
"Yeah?"
"Bring your