I was delighted over my new accommodations. The new place had a real good bonus feature - a service door to some old Chicago style hidden bootlegging underground passages. I stumbled upon by accident when ripping posters and other stuff they previous tenants had put up on the walls. It might have been a club in Capone’s days or just storage, but now it was my very secret place. The underground passage even had an access hatch to the sewers. I suddenly had a back door to the cables and wiring for the neighborhood. If I survived the coming two three days there would be time enough to find phone wires, backbone networks that I could hook into, but right now escape routes were the first thing on my mind. It would have to do just like it was. I did not have time to scout the sewers or the extent of the other passages right now. What I needed was a shower, some breakfast and information. The order of things didn’t matter much.

  I crawled off my bed space and headed for the improvised shower. I hadn’t had time to get a real bed, so I was sleeping on a mattress on the floor. I wasn’t going to pop up around my apartment again. I had gotten my clothes and guns and some equipment out and that would have to do. Bert the landlord would probably hold on to the rest until I showed up so that he could chew me out again. And the equipment I had to leave behind wasn’t easy to sell, so it would keep for a few days.

  The room smelled of detergent, soap and wet dust. It was a definite improvement from yesterday. That did not say much though and I knew it would take weeks to fix both floors. Everything was just peachy!

  At the moment, I hated every one and everything. I was never a morning person.

  I wasn’t sure about what to do next. Not that I’m a sitting-home-and-wait-for-death kind of guy, but I could not believe I had back myself so far into the corner that I had an open contract on my head. I should have gotten someone to mediate me leaving Dragon Security Inc and left it with that. It had gone too far for that now.

  To be honest, the whole situation was getting to me. Being on the run for four years had my nerves down to nothing. I was tired and angry. Before only my former colleagues and one or two amateurs had taken a shot at me. Most amateurs kept well away from professionals, but now the price was high enough for everyone with some connections and a gun would be shooting at me.

  I knew one thing for certain, and that was that someone had been tattling to Mike Sunderland about me. That one was probably Simon Burns. I wanted to kill him, but that was probably the worst thing I could do. Wilson would glue himself to me if Simon Burns went off the radar. Even though Wilson was really more of an annoyance than a problem, he could make my life miserable.

  Simon Burns, on the other hand, was a real problem. While he might not have anything directly to with my mess, I was pretty sure I would end up killing the bastard. But first, I needed to put the fear of God into him so that he wouldn’t carry tales anymore. About anyone, let alone me!

  Stand and fight wasn’t my only options. I could try and run again. Go to Seattle or maybe even Europe. But that would only buy me a year or two, if that. Now that Mike was had upped the ante, there wouldn’t be much time to gain anyway.

  And I was really tired of running.

  I lifted the shower head off its hook. I had removed the sink because I needed a smaller one. Otherwise the hall would be too narrow to shower in, comfortably that is. I had left the tap as it was, but the drain pipe of the sink was sticking out in such a wicked angle that I banged and scraped my leg almost every time I went past it. The pipe was too small to let the water drain through fast enough, so it had always flooded, and I didn’t know why the previous owners hadn’t just used the floor drain like I did. Now I only scraped my leg. I would have to saw it off as soon as I found a metal saw.

  All the walls were gray and beige. Dark gray at the lower third portion of the wall and beige on the upper two thirds. The thick glossy industrial paint would be hell to paint over. If I ever got to my DIY work. But laying some nice tiles on the raw concrete and perhaps grind away the mortar to expose the brick behind and it might become quite nice.

  I slipped out around. There was no change in the weather and the light fog that had settled on Chicago the last few days showed no sign of letting up. Those few glints of weather reports that I had caught showed no change in the weather in the next couple of days.

  I walked into the first Internet cafe I found. I paid for a hour, but I was pretty sure I wouldn’t need more than half an hour. It didn’t take me long to find the contract. It was posted all over newsgroups and sites for mercs and contract killers. The interesting thing was that it wouldn’t be active until midnight the day after, so someone held the contract until tomorrow when it would be open. It seemed a bit odd, but I wasn’t complaining. Better to have one party gunning for you instead of every idiot with a gun.

  The money was deposited with neutral third part – the mob. Not much to do about that. The mob played by the rules, even when they played dirty. But that was only true if you were mob. Otherwise all bets were off. They had been at it for so long that they didn’t know how to act any other way. This was particularly true for Chicago, since they thought they were the original American mob. Capone and all that.

  There were some good news in this though. Contracts like this wasn’t confidential. So I could find out who held the primary contract and perhaps some information if they were in a good mood. I had plenty of contacts , so it wouldn’t be too hard to get information.

  I knew who Chicago’s top capo was, or Capo Crimini. Of the four Nitti, Auippa, DiFronzo, and Andriacci, it was Nitti that held the reins. Not many knew that. Everyone thought it was Lombardo leading from behind the scenes, but he and Andriacci were playing fronts for Nitti. Andriacci didn’t have the support needed to rule the Chicago Families, also called Outfit. Lombardo was only a Capo di Capi Re, an honoured, and actually retired, capo. He played the front to keep Chicago Crime Commission and others from seeing the real picture.

  The Outfit was not as racist as the rest of the mob, but Italians was preferred even here. And there would never be a non-Italian top capo in Chicago. They would rather die. It had something to do with cooperation between areas as well. A non-Italian capo couldn’t do as much business with the New York mob. They would loose out on the business between the regions, and that was several tens of million dollars a year. The Outfit would do almost anything to keep those revenues.

  The New York mob still set the pace for the Italian-American Mafia. They were the first with real influence and they have kept it that way. Maybe that was why they were so old fashioned. I really don’t know why organized crime always tends to get set in their ways. They are almost always racist and always rant about the “good ol’ days.” One exception to that rule – the Russian Mafia. They are scary sons of bitches with the highest percentage of psychos in organized crime with little or no regard for bystanders and outsiders. They pride themselves with their violent streak and always respond the same to every threat; war. Everyone stays as far away as possible from them. Not that the Tongs or the others allow the Russian mob to poach on their territories, but the are kept just as far enough as they can without showing weakness.

  I thanked the gods that the contract on my life wasn’t posted with the Tongs or the Yakuza. Even though I have some connections there, they wouldn’t give any other information but the contract holder – if that – and my contacts wasn’t that well placed.

  I didn’t like the Tongs, but that was like saying that getting shot wasn’t fun. Most of my past dealings with the Tongs had been hostile. The three times they had gone after my client, it had been a close thing. Every time I ended up spending weeks in the hospital. But I hadn’t lost a client yet.

  No one posted money with the Russians, so there was no need to consider them. But they would be gunning for me as soon as the time limit hit. No-one really wanted anything to do with them. Even if everyone despised them, they were big enough to hold their own. The Russians usually wouldn’t consider backing off. In most cases it just escalated until the other party went away. Or died. Lives were cheap to the Russian mob.

  I had already paid for my time, so I just left the Internet café. Out in the foggy streets people were scuttling to their destinations hugging their jackets close. It was miserable outdoors, and most tried to stay inside. The fog and the moist air chilled me to the bone.

  The first thing on the agenda was to find out who the hell held my contract. The second would be to tag them before they bagged me.

  Getting the information might not be hard per se, but doing it in a way that wouldn’t send red flags through every law enforcement agency was more difficult. I had several prepaid SIM cards. Some US, some European, some South American. I had enough SIM cards to last me a very long time, and if I needed to contact known contacts it would give me an advantage. I had a smart phone with special communications software that allowed me to scramble my messages if I wanted. The only problem with that was that anyone I communicated with that would have to have the same software and my key to decode it. Only four people to date had my key. Bernie was not one of them.

  Bernard Nardi, who never wanted to be called anything other than Nardi or Nardi Jr, was the son of Silvio Nardi one of the richest and most influential Capo Crimini, or Mafia Don, in the US. Bernie’s father was the head of the Arizona mob, which the feds believed not to exist. Oh boy, were they wrong or what.

  Bernie, which you didn’t call him to his face if you wanted to stay in one piece, would help if it didn’t endanger the Family. Capital F, there. The big family. He was also a…not friend exactly, but as close as someone in his position could be a friend to anyone not on the inside.

  Look at it this way, Bernard Nardi was crown prince of sorts and his father’s empire was based on violence, extortion, and other illegal activities. He was schooled in running this empire from the age of ten, so it wasn’t much of a childhood for him. That made him see reality a bit askew and his reflexes and responses weren’t altogether sane. Still, he was a friend, of sorts.

  I looked up Bernie’s home number in my address book and pressed dial. It cracked a bit before going through. He answered after two signals. “Nardi.”

  “Hello, Nardi. How’s life?” I chuckled bitterly. I might be an optimist, but my present circumstances even got to me. “I need a contact.”

  “Maria!” He sounded pleased to hear my voice. Well saving someone’s life tended to make you welcome, even if it was your job. “You’re still alive?!”

  “For the moment, Nardi. For the moment. I need to talk to someone high up with the locals. A Capo Bastone or any of the old-timers would be great, but I could settle for some Consigliere if he’s held in high regard and is really trustworthy.” I sighed. “I will settle for DiFronzo if that’s impossible.”

  “Nothing is impossible,” Bernie laughed. “Uncle Nitti may be busy, but I think I can get you a meeting with Johnny Nivo.”

  “That would be Johnny the Knife?” I must have sounded funny, because Bernie laughed even harder.

  “Johnny is not so bad, Maria, and he is Capo Bastone.”

  John “Johnny the Knife” Nivo was the Outfit’s top enforcer. Johnny was well known and feared by everyone, and I mean everyone. He was a former Marine with ten years of mercenary business, and fifteen years as a hit man and enforcer behind him. He was a man who could take almost anyone apart, and those he couldn’t, he just shot. And I was probably going to meet him. If just ten percent of what I knew about him was true, he was one scary bastard.

  I didn’t really look forward to a meeting like that, but I would have to get some information. I knew I couldn’t continue to run around both blind and deaf. I needed some intelligence to start with. I certainly didn’t want Johnny Nivo as an information source, because I could never repay such a debt. What little I could get from him, I would have to reciprocate in some way if I lived.

  “Not so bad? Nardi, you’re a laugh. I don’t think there’s anyone more dangerous in the organisation than Johnny the Knife. Some might be better in specifics, but he plays the whole field. It’s one scary mother!”

  Bernie laughed even harder. “I have to tell him that. That you called him an 'it'!”

  “Keep it under wraps until after my eventual meeting with him. Please!” I damn well hoped Johnny Nivo had a sense of humor. “Do you know anything I should know, Nardi? If you can tell me that is.”

  Bernie sighed. There was no laughter in his voice now. “We’re not going to try and collect. Maria. NY says it out of respect for your parents. Freelancers are off the hook, though, so you’re not home free.”

  “As if I was without them.” I said sarcastically.

  “True. You’re not family, but you’re an associate. That gives you some protection, but not sanctuary. There won’t be a war over you, but you will be missed. If you die that is.” I could almost hear Bernie’s shrug.

  I did not want sanctuary with the mob. The price would be way too high.

  I continued to walk north on North Richmond Street. If Bernie had had any sense of humor where his name was concerned, I would have walked to North Bernard Street and told him so. “I’m honored that my parents were held in such high regard.”

  The funny thing was that I did feel honored. Whatever fault my crazy fathers had, they were well liked by more than the mob. I won’t say they were decent people, not in the way people use it for law-abiding and middle-class morals, but they were loyal friends and loving parents. I never doubted that Lou and Poitr loved me. I never for one minute doubted they would do anything for me to be happy. And whatever you can say about my childhood, it wasn’t boring. Not one minute of it.

  “So,” I continued, “can you get me a meeting? Preferably with Uncle Nitti, but…” I let my voice trail.

  “Sure.” Bernie continued to give instructions on how to contact Johnny Nivo.

  “Anything else?”

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  “Yeah, the feds will probably be listening in, so keep it low, okay? I’d hate you to make a fool out of me. Especially to Johnny. Got it!”

  Now that was a clear warning. “Got it.”

  “Take care, Maria Anna Smith. I’ll pray for you. You know when the number changes, if you need to talk.“

  Bernie hung up before I could answer. He would probably go to church and pray for me right away. I never really understood how he explained to himself his deep faith with what he was and did. It wasn’t just tradition for Bernie. He truly believed and he prayed for at least one hour a day. If he had sinned, he would spend several hours doing penance. It wouldn’t stop him from doing it again, but he did penance for it at least. In a way he was one of the most scary people I had ever met.

  I turned around and retraced my steps, continually scanning everything. I increased my pace headed for Palmer Square Park. Not much of a park, but enough one to let you spot someone trying to catch up before the other end. After ten minutes I reached the park and headed for the more dense part. Anyone following on foot would have to increase the pace or take the chance of loosing me on the other side. I had a good view of cars going as well since the park was so narrow. When I turned again and headed west I spotted Wilson’s car driving slowly at the next street and two plain-clothes detectives on foot. The two detectives whom I never seen before were headed my way.

  They were both Hispanic and both looked exactly like plain-clothes officers. They couldn’t’ be anything else. They wore chinos and sport jackets. And the most telling sign of all; comfortable shoes. The kind of shoes you can run through most weathers and still be quite comfortable. It wasn’t coordinated attire exactly, but it was close. To be honest it was the clothes and the combination of how they were scanning the park that made it easy to spot them. They were cops, alright. But were they good cops? Well, I didn’t think Wilson was on the take, but I didn’t know anything about these guys.

  They spotted me and headed straight for me. One called it in. Probably to Wilson. I suddenly got an urge to start running the other way, just for the hell of it, but I doubted that Wilson would see the humor in it.

  I saw Wilson’s car pull over and stop. Slick, if you don’t know what to look for. I decided to spare them the inconvenience of flashing their badges. “Detectives,” I said as I stepped up to them. “So Wilson wants to talk to me?”

  “If you’ll come this way.” One of them answered. The other looked angry. Maybe he didn’t like being spotted

  “I saw his car,” I said and headed toward the parked car.

  “You don’t miss much, do you?” The sulking one said. He had a whining voice to go with his sulking attitude. I took a dislike to him at once. He seemed like one of those guys who never see anything positive in anything. All they want to do is whine and complain. Unfortunately they inflict their view on anyone within hearing-distance.

  “No. Not much.” I decided not to elaborate. If I had let them, I think they would have frog-marched me to the car like some idiot. I wasn’t packing anything but knives at the moment. Since I couldn’t carry concealed in the city, I tried to break the law as seldom as possible. Today was a good day to be law-abiding. Wilson would love to have me brought up on charges for anything.

  I walked straight to the car, not even looking at the detectives flanking me. If they thought they could make me nervous, they were wrong. They only made me mad.

  I slipped into the backseat of Wilson’s car and the two new detectives were started to get in on either side of me.

  “Please,” I chided. “If one of you sits up front, we’ll all be more comfortable. I hate sitting in the middle. Not enough room for the legs, you know, even for one as short as me.” Wilson nodded and the sulky got in the front seat. “So? To what do I owe this Honor, Detective Wilson?”

  Wilson turned as much as he could. “I heard a rumor.”

  “Ah! A rumor. And then you thought of me? You shouldn’t have!” I batted my eyelashes at him. It was hard be serious when a grown man was sitting twisted like that. Especially since he was so damn tall.

  Wilson was doing his best to crowd me and it irritated me. I knew sarcasm was not his strong suit but I thought if I spread it real thick maybe he would get it. I knew he would get angry pretty soon. I knew I would have.

  “Come on, Maria,” Wilson snapped.

  “Am I not respectful enough, Wilson? You want to tell me what rumor you heard, arrest me or let me go?” I guess my voice told him that I wasn’t amused. “Spit it out, Wilson, or go away. I don’t play. Especially not this game. So?”

  “There’s a price on your head.” Wilson said.

  It’s funny; when you call someone’s bluff they usually try and act like it had never happened. Wilson was like that. He didn’t miss a beat changing tone and attitude.

  “You shouldn’t believe all you hear, Wilson.”

  “This is from a good source. I think it’s true. And,” Wilson switched to his Reasonable-Detective voice, “I think you’re in deep trouble and you need someone to pull you out.”

  I started laughing. Wilson had no idea of what he was talking about and he was treating me, again, like I was a newbie. He just couldn’t accept that I had been around and that I knew exactly what he was trying to do. “Now, Wilson, one could almost believe that. It would have worked if I was fifteen years old and have never had anything to do with the police.”

  Wilson glared at me. “Well, I think perhaps I’ll have to take you downtown then. To clear some things up. You know how chaotic things can be in an investigation.”

  My voice turned frozen-helium and I made my face go blank. If he wanted to play hardball, I was up for it. “You already got my statement, and I have nothing to add. If you want me downtown you’ll have to talk to my lawyer. You have nothing on me as it is, and if you try and force it you’ll have even less. And I’ll miss our little conversations.” I knew Wilson was trying to wear me down. It was not working. “I don’t do spur-of-the-moment meetings with the police. Make an appointment. If you want anything you’ll have to talk with my lawyer first. His name is Peter Criss and here is his card.”

  It’s always good to have your lawyer’s card with you. You never know when you’ll have need of it. And his firm also handles my insurances, so he is two creeps in one packet.

  “I’m trying to save your life, Maria,” Wilson complained.

  “You know that I don’t play. Acting sympathetic will not get you anywhere. And we don’t know each other enough for you to call me Maria. I have been indulgent, but my patience is at an end.“ I looked at Wilson with a ironic look “Don’t try so much, Detective Wilson, it’s not your problem and I doubt it will be your problem even if you’re right.”

  “Murder is my problem, Ms Smith, I’m a homicide detective. But it’s nice that you admit I’m right.”

  I shook my head. “The operative word is ‘if’, Wilson. It’s a figure of speech and not an admission. Maybe I should have said ‘even if you may turn out to be right,’ but you would have construed that as and admission as well. It doesn’t matter what I say, you’ve already decided what is going on and nothing I say will change that.”

  “You’re a fucking liar!” Wilson snapped.

  “I don’t have to give you shit, Wilson!” I gave Wilson a hard smile. “You have heard all I am willing to say. If I see you again, you’d better have a warrant or cleared it with my lawyer first or I’ll sue for a harassment and get a restraining order.”

  “You’re a suspect in an ongoing investigation. You can try, Ms Smith, but I doubt you’ll succeed.” Wilson was working up to a threat. His voice was getting lower and there was a distinct gleam in his eye.

  “So?” I asked just to see what he would try.

  “Maybe OCTF and the Feds would like to know that you’re a suspect in a murder case. I’m pretty sure Marc 'Bobby' Theissen didn’t have an accident. A stolen car doesn’t fly off an overpass by itself and hit someone like that. Too convenient. So someone wanted him dead. And he tried to kill you and that means you have a motive.”

  “You’re reaching. And OCTF and the Feds already know, Wilson. I certain that they already know, because they're not that thick. No doubt you told them already and they told you to go slow. I’d bet that this is all because you think I will cave if you push me. I must say that they are smarter than you, Wilson. I’m no newbie running around scared of my own shadow and waving a gun. Whatever you see in me, Detective Wilson, you’re confusing me with someone else. Drop it or I’m gonna’ file that complaint!”

  “If it isn’t me it’ll be someone else, because there are no other leads.” Wilson was pushing me into a corner again. “You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

  “Perhaps not. But it might just work, Detective Wilson. And it won’t tie me up as much as it would you. And the next Detective might be a little more polite. Not to mention smarter.” The other two detectives were tensing up. “You guys take it easy, unless you’d like to be included in the complaint.” I turned back to Wilson. “You have nothing and you know it. If you push it you’ll have even less. You know this, Wilson. I have no priors, not even a parking ticket. OCTF have a dossier, other agencies has dossiers, but I have never – never – been convicted of anything illegal, so back the hell off!“

  Wilson turned his gray eyes on me. They were cold and distant. Not that I cared. Not about him being angry, anyway. “This is usually how guilty people act, in case you didn’t know.”

  “It must be your personality, Detective Wilson. I don’t like being threatened. And I sure as hell don’t like being manipulated! Are we clear on this? I. Don’t. Play. Period.” I was loosing my temper again.

  “Then don’t! Give us what you got. We can help you.” Wilson had gone back to pleading.

  “Don’t take this wrong, you couldn’t help me with anything even if you wanted to. And I’m not sure you want to, other than as a means to solving the case. Helping me would come a distant second. Give it up, Wilson. You’re chasing shadows.” Quite substantial shadows, but if I gave him anything I would be deader than Jimmy Hoffa. “Again, back off, Detective, before I file a complaint.”

  “It won’t help you!” Wilson repeated angrily.

  “Perhaps, but I have enough contacts to annoy the hell out of you. It’ll sure keep you busy for a while. Here’s a little tip for free Wilson; I’m not a forgiving person, so if you get on the wrong side of me, I’ll never speak to you again. Not one word. Are we done here?” I hated to sound like a broken record.

  Wilson glared again, still not scaring anyone. “No. I need your current address. Your landlord told me to tell you that he will not return your stuff unless you pay for the repairs. He told me you moved out.”

  I smiled thinly. “Take it up with my lawyer. Since I have not officially moved out yet, my old address is my current address. Good day, Detective.”

  I slipped out of the car and no one protested. The two new detectives would probably try and follow me. I would take the take them for a stroll and loose them somewhere along the way. Before the Blue Line station if possible. I had no use of a hidey-hole that the cops knew of. It was like having an unlisted number and then print it on fliers that you pass out at the mall. In other words useless.

  I had to lose my tail. There is nothing more obvious than someone being shadowed by the police. It not that they necessarily bad at tailing, but they are so focused on their mark that they forget there are others around. So you stand out if you are being tailed by the police. And I could do with less attention from the Chicago PD, not to mention not being painted with a big bull’s-eye on my back, or the equivalent. Johnny Nivo wouldn’t be exactly thrilled if I showed up with a tail. Wilson was getting on my nerves. And that was exactly what he wanted.

  Getting angry didn’t make me sloppy, it made me obstinate. It also made me very careful. People who provoke you usually have something in mind, and it might not be what you think. Wilson might very well have thought up something that would land my ass in jail if he pulled it off. And that was something I couldn’t afford.

  I dialled the number Bernie had given me and connected my headset. While it rang, I set a brisk pace out of the park. I turned north and started to zick-zack between houses and walked through narrow alleyways. I jumped a few fences and did my best to give my tail a workout.

  The weather was damp, cold, and still foggy. It would make everything easier. Having fog stayed for this long was odd. It had been foggy for three days straight was almost unheard of. It was like it was waiting for something.

  As soon as I reached the first really cluttered passage between the houses i took off at a sprint.

  I had to call the number a second time, before anyone answered. “Andersen Construction. How may I help you?” The voice that answered was pleasant. It is a bit tacky for a mob enforcer to run a construction company, but Johnny Nivo was actually a trained carpenter, before he joined the Marines. After that he started up his business, but everyone knew he never really did much carpentry, but the business did well. Imagine that!

  That it was all a front was well known, but no-one had caught him red-handed.

  At least he did no heavy construction work, thank god. That would have been a bit too much.

  It wasn’t the regular office number, but more of an emergency number for certain people. Certain people didn’t really include me, but with the right reference it would probably be okay. I certainly hoped so anyway.

  “Hi, I need to speak to Matt. I can be reached at this number for another ten-fifteen minutes. After that I will have to call you again. As for who gave me the number you can see that by the last two digits.”

  “Someone will call you back momentarily.” The voice returned in the same calm a pleasant voice.

  “Thank you,” I said and hung up.

  I had already lost the two detectives following me, but I wasn’t a hundred percent sure that no one else was trailing me. I went on the northbound train and walked two carts and then walked out again. When I slipped in behind a billboard near the exit, the phone rang.

  “Smith,” I answered while I watched the station. Professionals usually didn’t try anything in public, unless they were desperate and it wasn’t amateur night yet. Not that I would take more chances than I had to.

  “This is Matt. Who are you?” It wasn’t Matt. Not that it mattered. Funny, not?

  “Maria Smith. Is this a safe line?”

  “As safe as it can be.” The voice responded. That meant I had to be careful.

  “I need some information on some work. I’m not sure if it is something salvageable or if it is a write-off. I’d prefer to hear it from your chairman or your CEO. If that’s not possible, I’d prefer a highly regarded consultant. And I need it relatively fast,” I said. Tacky code words that fooled no one, but no one named no one forgotten, it was as safe as I could make it. Safer for me because of those who might be listening in.

  “Do you understand what you’re asking?” The voice asked quite sharply.

  “Yes. You know who gave me the number.” I guess I would be a bit miffed in his situation as well.

  “Yes, we did check that. We’ll see.” It wasn’t a threat just a simple statement. “Where can I reach you the next twenty minutes?”

  “This number will hold for that, but not much longer. It’s as safe as anything. You can text me the location and requirements. Or call me if you prefer that.” It was possible to listen in if they were prepared, but then they could just as well tap the other end. It was probable that they were tapping it, but there were ways around that. But since no names were named or anything that could traced back to anyone in particular, all that could be said were that I was keeping the wrong company.

  Later I would probably have a long complicated car ride around town, playing cat and mouse with the Feds or whoever.

  Thinking about it, it did seem a bit strange that I had more in common with the mob and people of questionable reputation. I had more morals and ethics than most of them, but I think it was because the ones I socialized with were people who did not fool themselves about who and what they were. Neither were they blind to how the world worked.

  Of course there are a lot of assholes as well. It’s not like I’m trying to promote a crime career here. It’s a hard world with hard people and little pity and empathy. Remember that. Few will cry if you get your bones broken or get offed in some alley. The police will be after you and the average Joe will look at you with disgust. Few who doesn’t owe you a favor will help you and even fewer will see you as a person. Most won’t even try to treat you in accordance with the law, because they know you are a criminal and they believe you wouldn’t treat them with any respect. This is a world where your life expectancy is short, violent, and cruel. You don’t want to know the average lifespan here. And it is all about money and power just like in the ordinary world. Only people with little or nothing to loose take this path. Never try and tell me that I promote crime. But remember as well that there are good bad guys and bad bad guys.

  And me? I just touch their world and walk in it, because it is a world I know and that I am comfortable in. Does that make me one of them? I don’t think so, but in the eyes of many cops or other people it does. It is a stigma having most of your friends on the wrong side of the law. Especially with the Police. Wilson was an exception, but he was a patronizing bastard with some serious guilt issues that he had transferred onto me. That was annoying as hell, but there seemed to be nothing I could do about it.

  Thinking about Wilson made me angry again. It seemed I couldn’t get rid of him, no matter how I tried. The man was like a pit bull with his jaws locked.

  The “normal” world isn’t as normal as you believe it is. Your neighbor might cheat with his taxes. Or if he finds a wallet, he’ll keep the money and throw away the wallet. Some might even try and use the credit cards. Other people drive under the influence to work or when they drop off their kids at school. Some run a red light or never tell when they get too much change in return. Most would think these are trivial things, but if everyone did them, what would the world be like? How many kids haven’t died because of drunk drivers already? How many poor won’t get the help they need because of people cheating with their taxes? It isn’t as cut and dried as one might think. As it is, too many do these things already. Most people are decent though, but don’t think for a minute that normal people is a large majority, because they aren’t.

  I jumped off the train at Addison and directly south. I had about an hour’s walk to my apartment, when I started out, but I didn’t get far before the phone rang.

  “Where are you now,” a voice asked as soon as I answered. It wasn’t the same voice as before.

  “Near Addison train stop, “ I answered.

  There was a short pause. “Be right outside the north-east exit in five minutes!” That was an order, not a request.

  “I will.” There wasn’t much more to say.