On my way to the house in Wicker Park, the traffic is shit, so I keep thinking about Ania. Her voicemail had been tense, a little pissed off and really sexed up, all at the same time.
That was good, though. I like it when a woman goes nuts without me being there, all that sexual tension shit. Makes the hooking back up all that much better. It would also make skipping out of town an easier proposition for me to offer up to her.
I’ll tell her the right things. Come with me, babe. I need you in my life. I can’t stand us being apart. I was nothin’ before I met you. All of that good shit. She’ll look at me with those ice blue eyes and follow me in a heartbeat.
Problem is, I won’t just be saying that shit to be saying it. I’ll mean it. Hey, is she a great in bed? The best ever. Is she easy on the eyes, don’t talk too much and great to show around? Yes, she’s all that shit, all that and more. It’s the more part that has me hooked. Hell, I need her as much as she needs me and that is a first ever feeling.
In a way, she’s as dangerous for me as the Russians are right now, just a different flavor. But it’s always like that with women. Difference is, I finally found one that’s worth it.
While I’m thinking all this shit, I almost miss my exit and have to do a quick move one lane over, and then another. I cut off some fucker in a Hummer and he gives me the horn, but hey, that’s everyday shit in Chicago. At the light I turn onto Milwaukee Avenue and I can feel it right away. And what I’m feelin’ ain’t good.
Okay, it’s time to stop daydreaming here, dickhead. Pay some attention.
This is my old stomping grounds, my turf, but it’s no man’s land now. A week ago, I could’ve walked down this street like a Polish prince but there’s a war going on now. It also don’t help that there ain’t really that much real estate in between the Russian and Polack neighborhoods.
I haven’t seen a paper or listened to the news at all but there’s no doubt our hit on old man Skansi and his old lady has blown things up. Patrik will give me the line score, but I can imagine things have been hopping since. It’s in the air all right. Like I said, you can tell things are tight.
Down a couple blocks, on my left, I drive by two marked police cruisers sitting in an empty parking lot. Driver side to driver side, like they do. As I pass, I don’t need to look at them to know they’re looking at me, or at the car, or both. This rental had been a good idea. It might just save my ass.
Two blocks more and I turn onto North Paulina. I’m a street away. I look at my watch and it’s like a quarter to seven already. Like I said, the traffic was shitty getting here and it slowed me down. The sun is already down and it’s definitely getting dark now.
I drive up on the dark house on Ellen Street and realize that old uncle Teodor has got to be dead by now. Hell, he was almost sixty back then and the poor bastard was still laying brick. If he ain’t dead, he’s sure as shit drooling on his pajamas in an old folk’s home. His wife was older than he was, so I’m sure she’s checked out.
About half the houses on the street have lights on, inside and out. I cruise by slowly. These are the typical neat little two and three story brick houses. All lined up in a row. You see them everywhere in the city. Postage stamp yards and little black iron fences. A fucking nightmare for a guy like me to ever live in, but for the immigrants who came here once upon a time, it was heaven on earth.
I can also tell that this section of the neighborhood has turned into a trendy ass little area over the years. Still Polacks around here and all, but they got money now. They’re softer and spoiled. I’m sure they like to have long meaningful conversations with their neighbors over glasses of good wine. Nice cars with blond wives from fucking Iowa or some shit. A far stretch from the tough shits before them who fought, cheated, worked, sweat and scratched for everything these little pukes were now enjoying.
It’s quiet, hardly any traffic and not any kids. I drive around a couple of blocks for a few minutes more, check my gun, check it again and then circle back onto Ellen Street.
I’ll have to park on the street like everybody else so I find a place about six houses away on the other side of the street. Last thing I want to do is park right the hell in front. I don’t waste any time turning the car off. My watch says ten after. I lean back, smoke and wait. It’s getting much darker now and the old fashioned globe streetlights flicker on. I’m looking at the rearview mirrors as much as I’m looking at Uncle Teodor’s old house up ahead. I smoke and wait some more.
It’s time and as I walk up the sidewalk past the other houses, I’m thinking about why Patrik needs to see me so bad. Why wouldn’t he want to stay away from me instead? He’s got plenty of problems as it is.
Part of me just wants to accept it for what it probably is, an old buddy trying to help another one out. I got made and he knows I’m in trouble.
Another part of me wonders, though. I told him I wouldn’t be coming back for a long time. I mean, we’re square money wise and he don’t owe me a thing. So, are we really that tight, or what the fuck?
I guess we’ll see, because like I said, I got nowhere better to go right now. When I reach his uncle’s house, both my hands are in my jacket pockets, my right one has the Beretta.
I notice that there is a street light right in front of the house next door. It’s out. Chance? Maybe, but the rest of them are all on, up and down the street.
The iron gate squeaks a little as it opens and closes. I take it nice and slow up the brick steps then onto the dark porch. There’s still no lights on inside that I can see. I can’t find a doorbell either so I knock soft, twice.
I’m standing sideways, so I can do the parrot eyes on the door and the street.
Nothing. All quiet. No traffic, no walkers.
I reach, knock again and then in the distance I see headlights sweep the end of the block. The car is headed down the street slow, towards me. I check with my thumb and make sure the gun’s safety is off. I’m ready to party if that’s what happens.
I knock again real quick, then kind of use one of the porch pillars as a block. It’s dark as hell, but I’m not taking anything for granted tonight. The car goes under a light about four houses down and it looks like a silver Lexus. It glides by at about ten miles an hour but it doesn’t slow down either. I watch the taillights until whoever it is turns onto Hermitage Avenue at the end of the block.
I put an ear to the door trying to pick something up. Nothing, I don’t hear a damn thing. I pull my gun out now and hold it straight down along my leg, reaching for the knob with my free hand.
Then from nowhere comes, “Mister Jerzy.” Low and quiet but it gives me a jolt anyway.
Crouching down out of instinct, I pivot to the side and go to a knee but I can’t see him. I know the accent and deep voice, coming from the side of the porch. Hey, crew cut was a damn good man in the park, but tonight, who knows?
“It is Andros,” he whispers hoarsely. “No problems.”
I’ve got the gun on where I think he is but I don’t say anything.
I see him now as he stands up real slow from the bushes lining the porch on the left. I have a porch rail to jump over on my right or we can just shoot each other, right here, right now. I quickly decide against both. I mean, what the fuck, if he had wanted to shoot me I’d be dead already.
“Like I said before, big guy, just Jerzy okay? None of that mister shit.” I watch the large dark shape of Andros as he walks around the porch rail and up the steps.
He’s holding what looks like a Mossberg 500, pistol grip and he has a shoulder holster on too. Dressed in a black sweatshirt and dark pants, I can barely see him.