Gold Coast Blues (33 page)

Tanya crawled to Eddie and fell over him, sobbing. I stayed on the floor, watching. Two male agents wearing navy blue windbreakers cautiously entered the room, guns drawn in locked arm positions. Agent One approached Sergeant Blake while Agent Two circled around us, evaluating the scene.

—

“You okay, Blake?” Agent One said. Sergeant Blake answered in the affirmative, placed his gun on the floor, then described Tanya as an informant and me as a witness.

Agent Two told me to stand, then led me to the window. Then he asked me if I knew the back of my neck was slightly bleeding. I didn’t know. From in front of the window, I stood watching the FBI assess Eddie Byrne for signs of life and attempt to show compassion.

Chapter 51

After a long conversation with Ted, I was able to piece together the events leading up to the final confrontation. Shortly after Doug’s reappearance, Jeremy approached Ted with a hunch. Jeremy then suggested Ted would have a sparkling future in the wine business if he confirmed this hunch. Ted obliged. Jeremy told Ted that revealing Tanya’s location would guarantee future training in wine identification from one of only two hundred and twenty master sommeliers in the world. Ted obliged after Jeremy swore that he too only wanted what was best for Tanya.

Jeremy promptly shared this information with Spike, and the two hatched a plot in which Sergeant Blake would buy Margot’s wine at a deeply discounted price, which would enable Cooper to sell it to some sucker for a huge profit. Unknown to Spike, Jeremy cut a side deal with Sergeant Blake, earning him an extra one hundred and fifty thousand dollars in exchange for Tanya’s whereabouts. Unknown to Jeremy, Spike contacted Eddie, who also promised one hundred and fifty thousand dollars in exchange for Tanya’s whereabouts.

Ballistics reports confirmed that Eddie’s gun had fired once, grazing the back of my neck on the way to leaving a neat hole with fracture lines in the window. This finding reinforced my conclusion that Eddie had attempted a murder/suicide-by-cop maneuver. After Eddie removed his arm from around Doug’s neck, the former hostage instinctively dropped to the floor. Instead of first shooting it out with Sergeant Blake, Eddie rotated left to fire at Tanya, fully aware he would be completely exposed to Sergeant Blake.

The fatal bullet struck Eddie on his right side, passing through both lungs and his heart, before lodging near his left armpit. A second bullet hit the top of his right hip, then tore into his small intestine. After an internal investigation, Sergeant Blake’s shooting was deemed “faultless,” since he feared for his life.

—

Tanya disappeared into protective custody while the Feds utilized the Racketeer Influenced and Corrupt Organizations Act (RICO) to prepare their case against Cooper. Although Sergeant Blake’s years undercover provided plenty of damning evidence, it was Tanya’s testimony and unwitting use of a “roving bug” that supplied the diversion the media was eager to feed a hungry public. Thanks to the Internet, crime-boss Cooper’s arrogant boastings to a “mysterious young woman,” detailing his mastery of bureaucratic corruption, his philosophy of crime management, and his invulnerability to prosecution, received worldwide attention.

Ultimately, Cooper was charged with thirty-one counts of racketeering, extortion, money laundering, and wire fraud. His trial lasted two months and included sixty-three witnesses. The jury deliberated less than a week and came back with guilty verdicts on all thirty-one counts. Cooper received a life term, plus five years.

—

I fell in love with Amy to quench the pain of my breakup with Tamar. This conclusion arrived shortly after Cooper’s arrest, when I first experienced a sense of closure in the case. Combined with the completion of Punim’s trust and a general period of rumination on the dangerous situations I had faced, sadness dominated my spirit.

Then came Tanya’s email. She was living in an undisclosed location—some place much sunnier and drier than New Jersey—and wanted to thank me for saving her life. She was very happy “wearing” her new identity, as it fit her better than anything she had worn back East. She also mentioned she had found her calling, working with cats at an animal shelter. In addition, she and her business partner were marketing flower essence remedies for cats with behavioral problems. Her email restored me.

Coincidentally, Amy called not long after Tanya’s email. She asked if we could get together and properly say goodbye. I suggested we meet on the stone amphitheater steps of Diversey Harbor, a favorite daydreaming locale of mine. She agreed, and during the busy Fourth of July weekend, I waited in the humid, hazy air, cherishing the cool lake breeze.

Amy smiled and waved as she stepped over others occupying blocks of concrete. She wore denim bib overall shorts and a white T-shirt, and carried two drinks.

“Cold pomegranate yerba mate for you,” she said, handing me a cup. “Iced tea with lemon for me.”

“So how’s the art crime business, Special Agent?”

“Booming. I already got my next assignment. Bogus Picasso, Chagall, and Degas drawings.”

I decided to get provocative. “By now, you must know quite a bit about faking,” I said.

Amy looked at me and burped. It was the perfect comeback. When I stopped laughing she said, “My feelings for you are real, Jules, as was the conflict those feelings produced—if that’s what you’re implying. But my career is important to me. I can’t become romantically involved with someone I’m working on a case with.”

“What if the case is finished?”

Amy took a lengthy sip. “Sure,” she said. “But in our situation, there are other complications. I might be getting transferred soon—and I’m coming off a long-distance relationship. I’m not going to do that again.”

Amy was probably telling the truth, but I couldn’t shake the feeling she was glad to have these excuses. I said, “I’m still stuck on someone else. She’s unstuck, it seems. So it’s probably better that I not reattach to someone else until I feel sufficiently unglued.”

Amy laughed loudly then lifted her cup. “Let’s drink to freedom from adhesives,” she said.

We spent the next hour talking about whatever came to our minds. When I brought up spirituality, Amy’s enthusiasm lagged.

“I can only talk about it to the same person for so long,” she said. “At some point you have to let go. If what I say takes root and grows, so be it. If not—doesn’t matter. There is no right and wrong. There’s just the truth. But truth has to be found on one’s own. Nobody can do it for you.”

For the first time, I really thought I understood what she meant. Sort of.

B
Y
M
ARC
K
RULEWITCH

Maxwell Street Blues

Windy City Blues

Gold Coast Blues

PHOTO: © DARCY SHERMAN

Like his character Jules Landau, M
ARC
K
RULEWITCH
is descended from an infamous Chicagoan. He grew up in Highland Park, Illinois, and now lives with his wife in Colorado.

Facebook.com/marckrulewitch

@makkrul