Read SOUTHSIDE HUSTLE: a gripping action thriller full of suspense Online
Authors: LOU HOLLY
“Sorry I couldn’t be there when you got locked up at Oak Lawn. I was in Florida golfing,” Trick’s lawyer, Paul Grande, said, tapping his Monte Blanc pen on his desk mat. “I have to tell you though, I’m amazed you were released at all, bond or no bond. You could get pulled in any minute on a parole violation. Go hug your son or do whatever else is important to you.”
Trick rubbed his face. “I can’t believe they’d pull a reverse sting on me. DeLorean just beat a case like this last year. It’s entrapment.”
“Every case is different. DeLorean had a ton of dough to fight his charges. Besides, even if you did beat the Intent to Purchase charge, there’s still the two ounces they found in your car. That’s all they need to send you away for a long time.”
“Well.” Trick’s face and shoulders dropped. Life seemed to ebb from him. “Looks like I’m fucked.”
“Did you talk with anyone while you were in Oak Lawn lockup?”
Trick splayed his fingers and shook his head. “Just some biker looking dude.”
“How much did you tell him?”
“Not too much I guess.”
“I hope not.” Grande pointed his pen at Trick. “That’s one of the cops’ methods. They put an undercover officer in with you, usually unshaven, bummy looking. They know when someone’s in that kind of predicament, they tend to talk out of nervousness. Think they’re talking to someone else in trouble. The cops can’t use what they heard in open court but they can tell the judge in his chambers. That’s where everything is decided. It’s all done beforehand regardless of what goes on in the courtroom, barring some big surprise or you come up with enough dough to grease the wheels. And right now with this Greylord investigation going on, forget about that. They’re locking up judges and lawyers right and left.”
“You’re telling me it’s already been decided what’s going to happen?”
“Yes. That’s what I’m telling you. You’re going bye bye. I’m here to try and keep your sentence down as much as I can. Hopefully shave a few years off but we’re looking at twelve to twenty-five. They’re not going to settle for any less than twelve. If you cooperate I can definitely get you no more than that.”
“Forget about me cooperating.” Trick waved both hands away. “That’s not going to happen.”
“Don’t be too quick to turn down a deal, especially if you haven’t even heard the terms.”
“I’m not a rat.”
“Just go talk to Detective Frank Murray. That’s all I’m suggesting. Hear what he’s offering.”
“Murray?” Trick cocked his head. “Not Carlsbad?”
“That’s right. Murray oversees all the big drug cases in the area.”
Trick stood and squinted. “I don’t think so.” He searched Grande’s eyes. “But if I did, you’d go with me, right?”
“You don’t need me there. This is all off the record.” Grande handed Trick a plain white business card with black lettering. “Call him.”
“Pat, I don’t want you to be scared when you see your mother.” Trick parked near the corner on 93rd Street and unbuckled his son’s seatbelt. He walked around the Hertz rental car and let Pat out as the siren from an ambulance roared past toward the emergency entrance. “She’s very, very sick.”
“Does she have a belly ache?” Pat hopped to the ground.
“Worse.” He took Pat’s hand and walked south on Kostner Avenue toward the hospital entrance. The southerly wind brought the aroma from Mama’s Cookies factory in Ford City where Trick worked as a teen, leaving a bittersweet taste in his mouth. “Your mom has cancer.”
“What’s cancer?”
“It’s a serious disease.” Taking short steps, putting one foot in front of the other reluctantly, Trick never felt as sad as he did at that moment. “Mommy has a very bad kind of cancer.”
“When is she coming home?”
“Oh, Pat. I … I don’t know what to tell you.” Trick found it difficult to continue with the lump in his throat. The tenderness of Pat’s hand somehow made him feel sadder. “She might not be coming home.”
“Can I live with her in the hospital if she don’t come home?”
“No. You can’t do that. Little boys don’t live in hospitals.”
“You’re not supposed to step on the cracks, Daddy,” Pat said, walking carefully. “Step on a crack, break your mama’s back.”
“Sure, Pat.” Trick continued, avoiding the separations in the concrete. “Your mom misses you very much. If she cries, that’s OK. She might be so happy to see you that she can’t help herself.”
“It’s all right.” Pat watched the sidewalk warily. “I saw mommy cry lots of times.”
The fragrance of flowers coming from the gift shop masked antiseptic odors as they walked through the revolving door and up to the visitor’s desk hand in hand. After getting clearance to continue further, they stepped into the elevator. Riding up, Trick said, “Mommy has tubes in her arms. It’s to make her feel better. It might look weird but it helps her. Do you understand?”
“Yeah. Don’t worry. I won’t say stupid stuff.”
Once in her room, Pat ran to his mother’s bedside, but when he saw her, he screamed and ran back out.
Trick could see a noticeable difference in Ginger’s appearance from just two days earlier.
Ginger’s weak voice broke when she cried out, “What was I thinking? This isn’t how I want him to remember me. I shouldn’t have been so selfish.”
“Selfish?” Trick tried his best to console her. “There’s nothing selfish about wanting to see your son. I better go after him.”
Trick walked out of the room to find Pat plastered against the wall in the hallway. His little face looked white. Trick got on his knees and put his hands on his son’s shoulders. “Pat, sometimes we have to be brave. Even when we don’t think we can.” He put his cheek to Pat’s and spoke softly. “Mommy loves you and misses you so much. You think you can be a brave soldier for her? She needs you to make her feel better.”
Trick could feel his son’s tears as Pat whimpered. “She doesn’t look like Mommy. She’s skinny and little.”
“She looks smaller but her love for you is as big as ever. Do you need a little time or do you think you can go back in now?” Trick pulled his face back and looked his son in the eye. “Mommy needs you, more than anything else in the whole world. Seeing you is better for her than any medicine.” He pulled a clean handkerchief from his back pocket and gave it to Pat.
Pat wiped his face, blew his nose and handed it back. “I can be a brave soldier,” his voice quivered.
“All right then. You want me to carry you?”
“I’m not a baby anymore.”
Unfortunately, Trick knew this was true. His son was never going to be a normal little boy again after this. He would be forced to grow beyond his years in a matter of days. He followed close behind Pat who walked anxiously, as though trying not to step on cracks.
Pat walked up to his mother but stayed a few feet away. “I’m sorry I screamed. I got scared.”
“That’s all right, Pat. Mommy understands. I’m kind of scary without my makeup.”
Pat giggled and cried at the same time. He stepped a foot closer. “You’re still the prettiest mommy.”
“Oh, sweetie, thank you.” Ginger put a hand to her sunken cheek. “Are you behaving yourself at school? No more punching?”
“No more punching. Just Davey, ‘cause he pushed me, so that don’t count.”
“Maybe you can find a better way to settle your problems instead of fighting all the time. You think you can do that for Mommy?”
“OK. But if someone tries to wipe a booger on me I’m gonna hit ‘im on the nose.”
“Well, it would be better if you told the teacher instead of using your fists.”
“I’m not a tattle-tale. I hate kids who rat.”
Ginger looked to Trick who just shrugged and shook his head. “Daddy, Mommy’s so tired she can hardly stay awake.”
She reached out to her son. “Pat, come closer. I have something important to tell you.” Pat took her hand and she pulled him next to the bed. “Mommy is always going to love you no matter where I am. I’m always going to be with you even though you can’t see me. Do you understand?”
“Are you going somewhere?” Pat’s chin quivered.
“Yes. I’m going to a place where I can always see you and love you. I’ll be watching out for you.”
“Like an angel?”
“Yes.” Ginger cried. “Like an angel.” She looked to Trick. “I want to hold him.”
Trick lifted Pat and laid him next to his mother. She lay holding him, stroking his hair until they both fell asleep.
***
Trick hit the power lock button on the remote as he walked up to the car with Pat in his arms.
Pat opened his eyes as his father set him in the front seat. “I want to go with Mommy and be an angel too.”
“Oh, Pat.” Trick knelt on the damp grass next to the curb. “You’re too young to be an angel. Mommy wants you to stay here and grow into a man and maybe get married, have a little boy of your own one day.”
As Trick got behind the wheel, Pat asked, “How come I never sleep at your house?”
Not wanting to chance a confrontation with his enemies with Pat around, Trick turned to his son and replied, “I don’t think it’s a good idea.” He was soon to be Pat’s only parent and wanted to start off on the right foot and be honest. “I would love to have you stay with me but Daddy has something important to do. Something that little boys can’t be part of.”
“If you have work, I can help you. I’m gonna be six pretty soon and I’m strong,” Pat said, flexing his arm.
Trick buckled Pat’s seatbelt. “I’m sorry but I’m doing this to keep you safe. You’re going to sleep over at Karen’s again tonight.”
“Hey, asshole, anytime you’re feeling froggy, leap up!” Trick yelled at the man a few stools to his right. Trick jumped to his feet and threw his empty whiskey glass, shattering it against the wall. He turned his attention back to the bartender. “I’ll tell you when I’ve had enough. Don’t ever try to tell me what to do. No one gives me orders!”
“Ingo, what are you doing? Get ‘im outta here!” the bartender called to the six-foot-seven bouncer.
The musclebound Ingo was leaning in close, rapping on a young lady with Farrah Fawcett hair. He heard the commotion and stomped up to Trick, who looked unsteady on his feet. “C’mon, out the door or I’ll throw you out.” He pushed at Trick’s chest.
“Hey, fuck you, Lou Ferrigno.” Trick backed up and raised his fists. “Fuck you and Arnold Whatziznigger. You can both go screw each other in the ass.”
“Walk out while you got the chance.” Ingo pointed to the door behind Trick.
“Who the fuck you supposed to be, Mr. Clean?” Trick’s body swayed. “Is it in the union rules all you clowns got to shave your head and wear a goatee?”
“Look, lame-brain, I’ll hit you so hard your daddy’ll feel it.”
Trick thought about the faceless man who fathered him and came at Ingo swinging. He punched the bouncer on his jaw, then missed with his left.
Ingo hit Trick hard in the stomach, knocking the wind from him and doubling him over. He threw the wheezing Trick over his shoulder, pushed the door open with his foot and dumped him on the gravel parking lot. “You ever come back here, I’ll put you in a wheelchair.”
***
As he staggered into the condo at four in the morning, Trick imagined his brain to be a bowl of bread pudding, at least that’s how he felt. He had never gone so long with so little sleep. Maybe if he could sleep a few hours undisturbed, he’d figure a way out of the maze that had become his life. Pulling off his torn jacket and dropping it on the floor, he made his way to the bedroom. The little red light on the answering machine was blinking. He thought of Starnes’ threat to kill him. “Go ahead and shoot me,” he mumbled. At least he would be able to sleep. A good long sleep. An eternal sleep. It sounded good right now. Except. Little Pat. He had to keep playing the game.
Trick pressed the button on the machine. “Hello. Mr. Halloran. This is Ms. Gothley over at Christ Hospital. I’m afraid I have bad news for you. Please call us back at your earliest convenience.”
Trick lay on the bed, the swirling ceiling fan was a blur through his tears.
Trick kept glancing in his rearview mirror. A late-model gray Ford with blackwall tires and a spotlight had been following about a block behind on Ridgeland Avenue since 143rd Street. So he sped up and flew through the red light at 107th. He could see the flashing lights ahead, warning that a train was coming. Accelerating faster, he bounced over the railroad tracks just before the gates came down. He slammed on the brakes and made a hard left onto 102nd Street, then made his way to Fireside Drive where Joker lived. There was no sign of Joker’s motorcycle and the garage door was closed so he circled around to 102nd again. With the revolver in his pocket, he parked next to the curb, cut through a yard and flipped over a wooden fence to get to Joker’s garage. Peering into the side window, he could see Joker’s Harley Softail parked there. Trick drew his gun, went to the side door and rapped lightly.
“Trick!” Joker’s wife, Brenda, with her toddler in her arms, exclaimed, “What do you want?”
“Is he in there? Don’t fucking lie to me.”
“He’s still in bed. Trick, what are you gonna do?”
Pointing the pistol in the air, Trick ordered, “Start walking. Keep going and don’t come back for a half hour.”
Brenda hurried down the sidewalk barefoot, crying, holding her little boy close as Trick opened the creaky aluminum screen door. With the gun pointed out in front of him, he crept to Joker’s bedroom door. He put his hand on the door handle and turned it slowly.
Trick threw the door open and Joker yelled, “What the fuck!” He jumped out of bed in his long johns and ran to his dresser.
“Don’t fucking move another step!” Trick screamed. “I’ll goddamn shoot you in the head!”
Joker’s hand reached for the top dresser drawer and Trick fired, sending a .357 hollow-point into a large glass jug filled with coins. Quarters, dimes, nickels and pennies exploded around the room, spraying into Joker’s face.
“All right! All right!” Joker yelled with his hands up to shield him. “Where’s Brenda?”
“She took the kid for a walk. Won’t be back for a while. Just you and me here.”
With the revolver pointed at Joker, Trick pulled up the edge of his mattress. “Still hiding your money in such a corny spot?”
“You think I’m gonna let you get away with this? Comin’ into my house, pointin’ a gun at me?”
“You think I was going to let you get away with ripping me off? I just lost Ginger and I don’t give a fuck anymore. You think you’re man enough to come after me, you do it, big guy.” Trick stuffed the rubber banded wads of cash into his pockets and backed out of the room. “I’ll be waiting for you.” Trick shot the overhead light fixture, showering Joker with shards of broken glass, then ran out of the house.
Chicago Ridge Police cars pulled up to Joker’s house with sirens blaring as Trick jumped over the wooden fence in the backyard. He peeked through the slats to see Joker in the driveway with his hands in the air, gripping a pistol. Crouching down, Trick ran to his car, hopped behind the wheel and drove off looking for Bob. But as he pulled away, he passed the same Ford with blackwall tires parked on the side of the street. The middle-aged man, in a jacket and tie, behind the wheel, watched him intently. As Trick drove away, the Ford pulled out after him.
***
“Damn. I got to shake this guy,” Trick muttered to himself, “fucking cop.” He drove up and down side streets, speeding up, slowing down, cutting through alleys, trying to ditch the Ford tailing him. “Screw this. I’m hungry.”
Trick pulled back onto Ridgeland heading north. He continued up to 95th Street and avoided the light by cutting through Fannie May Candies. He drove one block east and pulled into The Dot Spot drive-in. He watched his tail go east on 95th, then turn around and park across the street from him. Trick got out of his rental car and walked up to the counter of the 1950s eatery. After getting a tamale boat and a grape cooler, he sat under the shade of a tree at a picnic table and ate his lunch staring at his surveillance the whole time. Thinking.
After finishing his meal, Trick got back in his car and flew out of the parking lot heading east, going ten to fifteen miles over the limit in order to make the green lights. Approaching Tulley Avenue, he looked in his rearview mirror to see the Ford a couple blocks behind. Just ahead was a railroad crossing, the same one that Officer Petak questioned him at a few weeks earlier. He slowed down and looked both ways on the tracks. To his right he saw a freight train in the distance heading his way. Before the crossing gates had a chance to come down, Trick impulsively made a left directly onto the tracks. With his tires straddling the steel rails, the whole car bounced on the wooden railroad ties as he headed northeast. He looked back to see warning lights flashing, bells going off, and gates lowering, trapping the surveillance car in traffic. But he had a new problem. The train was approaching faster than he estimated.
With Cicero Avenue in view several blocks away, Trick sped up, jarring his entire body. The foul smell of grease, tar and oil from the tracks crept into his car making him gag while the train whistle blew over and over. The chili covered tamale, grape soda with vanilla ice cream he just ingested felt like it was going to revisit his mouth as he bumped along praying not to get rear-ended by the rapidly approaching train. Up ahead he could see the gates coming down on Cicero stopping traffic as the train closed in on him with its deafening whistle becoming louder by the second. Trick hung tight onto the vibrating steering wheel as the train barreled up to his rear bumper with its brakes screeching. Just as the train was a few feet away, Trick cut his wheels to the left, skidding sideways off the tracks and onto Cicero.
With the train roaring by just feet behind him, Trick sat frozen gripping the steering wheel. Breathing heavily with his heart pounding, drivers and passengers stared and pointed at him. From an open window, a man, in a gray car with gray hair and a gray hat, shouted, “What are you? Fuckin’ nuts?”
He took a moment to compose himself, thinking maybe he
was
going crazy, then drove north on Cicero going as fast as he could without getting pulled over. He continued north surveying traffic behind him searching for the Ford until he got to Midway Airport. Wishing he could hop on a plane, he pulled into the Hertz car rental area instead, went in and switched out his car for another.
***
Trick walked around the corner of the Mokena townhouse garage in the moonlight as Bob was getting out of his Caddy. “Didn’t think I’d find you, did you? I followed your girlfriend over here and waited.” Trick backhanded Bob across the face making his cheeks ripple.
Bob punched Trick in the ribs then caught him on the jaw with a left hook sending him back a few feet. “You think I’m someone to slap around, fucker? I used to box Golden Gloves.”
“That was a lot of years and a lot of pounds ago, you fat fuck.” Trick came at Bob with fists raised and faked with a right. He swung his body to the left and kicked Bob hard on the knee instead, sending him onto his back crying out in pain. Trick pounced on Bob, pinned his shoulders down with his knees and pummeled his face.
“Get off me!” Bob screamed, lying on the cold asphalt driveway, “I’ll kill you! I swear to God, I’ll fuckin’ kill you!”
“You ain’t killing no one today.” Trick punched Bob in the mouth as hard as he could.
Bob spit out bloody broken teeth and mumbled, “I’ll get you for that.”
“I’m taking a souvenir for all my trouble with you, Bob.” Trick shook off the pain from the punch, then grabbed Bob’s left ear and started pulling, feeling skin tear.
Bob kicked his legs, wailing in pain, “Please! Please don’t pull it off!”
“Oh my God, Bob. What’s that smell? You stinking ass mother fucker, you shit yourself.” Trick let go of Bob’s partially torn ear and got off him. “Keep your ear. You’re going to need it in prison when some big bubba is whispering in it, ordering you to get on your knees.” Trick drew back his foot to kick him in the ribs but hesitated. Almost feeling sorry for Bob, he walked away listening to him blubber.