“Yeah,” Speedo said. The word came out almost as a sigh.
Jerzy’s eyes narrowed. “You’ve been trying, haven’t you?”
Speedo nodded, resigned. “Every Friday. The guy at the bank is convinced I’m Gar’s cousin and I just don’t have a good memory.”
“Bullshit.”
He shrugged. “Bankers aren’t the smartest motherfuckers on this planet, kid.”
“So you don’t know the password?”
“If I knew the password, I’d be in Barbados right now.”
We all three fell silent for a few moments. I stared at Speedo. Best as I could figure, he was telling the truth. After a while, Jerzy pointed a thick finger at Speedo. “If I find out one thing you’ve told us today is a lie, I’ll come back here and finish this. You get me?”
Speedo nodded. “I get it.”
“I mean it,” Jerzy said. “I’ll take a week to kill you. I’ll take my fucking time.”
“I said I get it.” Now he did sigh. “The account is there. If you know the password, the earrings are yours.”
Jerzy nodded, then turned and left the office. I followed him.
Outside the bar, he took a deep breath and let it out. “Whattaya think, Hero?”
“He’s telling the truth.”
“No shit. I mean about this account. What’s the password?”
“I have no clue.”
Jerzy scratched his cheek, contemplating. Then he said, “Look, I got some other business to take care of. Let’s think this through and figure out what password the old man might’ve used or who might know it. We can meet for breakfast and make a plan.”
“Sounds good.”
He pointed his meaty finger at me this time. “Don’t you go to that fucking bank without me.”
“You, either.”
He smiled. “As long as we both agree.”
“We agree.”
“Well, then I’ll see you tomorrow. There’s a diner a few blocks away from that bank. Piccolo’s or something like that. Get there early enough to get a corner booth.”
I’ll get there when I get there, I thought, but I nodded.
Jerzy nodded back. He turned on his heel and headed toward the train stop. I followed, but not too close.
We were both thinking.
TWENTY-ONE
Jerzy
By the time we get back to Union Station, it’s like four thirty in the afternoon already. Mick and I split up as soon we step off the train. He’s sick of me and I’m sure as hell sick of his ass.
”Hey,” he says.
I’m already walking away and checking things out. It’s crowded as hell in here right now and I just want to get to the car.
I stop and turn. “What?”
“Nine o’clock at the diner, Piccolo’s or whatever it is? The diner, then we both go to the bank. Are we square on that?”
“Christ, Hero. Yes, I got it, yes. Okay? So, see you then, huh?” I’m casually looking around but I got to get out of here now. Too many damn people.
“Well, all right. Be thinking on that password, too.” He’s still giving me that prying cop look. I think he knows something else is going on with me and its driving him nuts not knowing what it is.
“Yeah, okay, sweetheart. Love ya. Mean it.” I give him my best fuck you smile and walk away.
I make my way to the station parking lot quickly. Once I get in the rental car, I realize I don’t have any solid plan until tomorrow morning. One thing’s for sure, though. I need to stay low, somewhere safe. I’m beat to shit after the last two days and need a place I can relax a little. The Hilton at O’Hare is supposed to be for the final jump off and I don’t want to waste it, but I’ll use it if I have to.
First things first, though. I do a routine check of my gun, clip and the extra clip I always carry in my jacket. Then I pull out my cell phone. It’s been off since I met up with Mick and we did the ‘come to Jesus’ meetings with Speedo and Jimmy. Seven missed calls, four of them are numbers I don’t recognize, two from Patrik and one from Ania.
The four numbers I don’t know didn’t leave any messages, just hang-ups, but those are messages in their own way. All are Chicago area codes and all are trouble. I never get that many calls in one afternoon. The Russians have got my number somehow.
There are three voicemails though, two from Patrik and one from Ania.
I give the stray people walking around the parking lot a quick glance. Look at parked cars, too. Nothing catches my eye.
I start out with Patrik’s two voicemails.
“My brat, it is me. Hope you are okay. Call me, but only from your cell. We must meet and talk. There have been developments in our investment venture and you will need to deal strictly with our East Coast business.
“Our competition is everywhere and they are focusing everything on three major marketing areas now; New York, New Jersey and Boston. They also have recently hired a former employee of ours. Despite all of this we are handling things well. They are making bad decisions, acting without strategy.
“I have sent my Tato and some others on a well deserved vacation and they are fine. Business is good but it is a very busy time. Many needs and priorities but I think in the end, we will have a good year.
“I know you are very busy, too, but call me soon. As soon as you can, eh?”
His voice sounded bad, like he had aged ten years. Tired, worried and stressed, big time.
The next message from him, that came in an hour later was shorter and to the point.
“Don’t call me. Instead, meet me at my Uncle’s house where we used to skip school all the time. I think you will remember this house well, because you will remember Brygida, eh?”
I heard him give a sigh and then a quiet laugh.
“It must be tonight at seven thirty, sharp. In the last few days there have been many personnel changes. Some have gone on to work elsewhere and some others have taken an early retirement. Talk only to me and if I’m not there, leave.”
Patrik is getting pretty good at this coded language bullshit. I think he’s worried about the Feds with their little wiretaps too. I delete both of his voicemails and look slowly around the garage again. There is absolutely nothing going on out there, just a bunch of assholes walking around. I gotta get going though. It’s just one of those gut feelings I get and I always listen to my gut.
His uncle Teodor’s house had been the place we always used to meet up, once upon a time. Patrik’s uncle and aunt worked full time all day, every day, and Patrik had a key. It was a little row house in Wicker Park and we had the place all to ourselves during the day. Well, us and the older girl who lived next door. She was like eighteen or some shit and we had been, what? Maybe fourteen, fifteen at most? She was the first for me and it hadn’t been just a one-time thing, you know? So, oh yeah, I remember Brygida.
Wicker Park was then, and still is today I guess, the fucking heart of Chicago Polonia, just northwest of the old Polish Triangle. The house is on Ellen Street, quiet and safe, ten or twelve blocks northwest of Ambrozy’s.
I look at the time on my phone and it’s about five thirty. Good shape on time. I’m dragging ass, though, big time. Might get over there a little early and just hang, watch things. I got no better offer than Patrik’s right now, anyway.
Starting the car and lighting up a smoke, I listen to Ania’s voicemail before backing out.
“Jerzy, hey, me. I uh, I hope you’re doing okay. Patrik told me there is a lot of trouble going on right now and that you’re in the middle of it. He also told me you probably wouldn’t be around for a while. He wouldn’t say much else. But I don’t want to talk to Patrik, anyway. I want to talk to you. I want to see you. Call me. I don’t do this alone thing very good.”
There was a long pause, like she wanted to say something more, but then she just signed off with a sexy, “Want you now. Call me…”
And I do call her, because I don’t know how much time I’ll have tonight or where I’ll be and what I’ll be doing. I get her voicemail, though, and leave her a quick message. I’m half disappointed and half glad I don’t reach her. Don’t ask me how to explain that, but that’s exactly how I feel.