Wednesday,
January 1st
Mist from ice crystals forming in the air absorbed the light from street lamps, making it brighter than normal, spreading it further, and distorting the faces waiting on the other side of the Public Works barricades. At least half of the people were crocked, and a good percentage of the rest were on their way.
Bill Ramos tried to wipe that icky feeling at the base of his brain stem with a gloved hand. He could just imagine the impact a single car crash would have when a bunch of drunks left the Uptown parking lots at the same time once the fireworks display ended. God help his meager police force.
Bill and his family waited with other city officials and their families between the barricades. If there was a crash, he wanted to wager on which alderman or department head he’d find in the middle of it, or even causing it. Family affair be damned. New Year’s Eve was just another excuse.
He glanced next at the antique clock at the bank building on the corner. It stopped again. Rather than it cuing the crowd to begin the count down, they had to rely on the firefighters. The old ladder truck sat in the center of the intersection. As the ladder rose, the street lights dimmed.
“Ten, nine, eight….“
Now if he could take the time and eliminate the people in the crowd one by one, he could probably predict just what it was that bothered him. ‘Uh, yeah,‘ he thought as the count continued. Like he knew that many people.
“Seven, six, five…” The first round of fireworks shot skyward. The crowd skipped to “Happy New Year!” Horns blew and confetti streamed into the middle of the intersection. The firefighters dropped the crystal covered ball from the ladder on the old truck. The rope broke and the ball fell to the street and shattered. Silver streaks, loud bangs and red and white stars reflected off broken shards of glass, and fell back onto the bridge where the pyrotechnics prepared the next round.
Tina bounced beside Bill, and clapped her hands. He had forgotten about her momentarily. He bent down to pick her up so she could see better. Sophie held Cory. The boy wasn’t as thrilled, but he wouldn’t give into fear if his elder sister enjoyed it so much. Bill wanted to thrill right along with her. It’s just that feeling in the back of his neck had moved to his belly now. Something was wrong. As if to confirm it, a long, hot spark fell back into the intersection. The shards flashed and pedestrians made room for the blown shell casing.
A star burst broke overhead. “Yeah!” Tina clapped her hands as Cory covered his ears. Sophie smiled at Bill and visibly tightened her grip on Cory’s bottom.
***
The first blast exploded over the trees. Red, white and blue stars fell and Willow Pratt wondered why she couldn’t get Red Stubs to see the fireworks from Uptown with everyone else. They were beautiful. And most everyone up there were wrecked anyway. It wasn’t like he was pretending or anything. Heck, she’s seen people pass glasses around and fill them with champagne. Well, okay, Red hated champagne.
Bang! That’s it right there. Red liked to play with guns. No way he could shoot it if they went Uptown. Instead they’d go hide in the forest preserves, snack on White Castle hamburgers, and when the fireworks went off, he’d figure nobody would notice the noise he made. Sometimes she just wanted to stick it up his patoot and ... and... whatever. She couldn’t do it anyway.
Another batch broke over the trees just off to the west. Red pulled the trigger again. Bang! Bang! Bang! She plugged her ears. Let him get it out. Let him celebrate his way. Then he could put that stupid gun away for one more year.
Someone told her once that Red was a small man with a small mind. The gun made him feel big. Okay, he was short, but did that really mean his brain was small, too? He wasn’t really attractive. He was balding, and what was suppose to be red hair was just greasy now. What attracted her to him was just that he was older, and smarter. He had her by nearly twenty years.
She’d been told to find someone closer to her age, and someone who was better looking. After all, she was pretty once. She had blonde hair, blue eyes and a nice figure. It’s just that one time she tripped and her cheek got slashed. It left a nasty scar. Red said it was nasty anyway.
She retreated to the picnic table and removed a hamburger from the bag that sat next to Red. She tried to encourage him to use the empty paper bag to dump the wrappings. He wasn’t interested. He garbaged up the front seat of her car, and he garbaged up the ground about them. God help her if she could get the smell out of her car later. “I think I heard that Chicago is busting people who blow off guns for New Years,” she said, as she nibbled.
“This ain’t Chicago.” Bang. He shot off one more.
Willow bit her lips. “I bet Chief Ramos hears you.”
Red chuckled. “Chief Ramos my ass. You got something for that little weasel, Willie?”
“No, of course not.” She turned her attention back to the fireworks.
“Remember that,” he said, pulling up from the picnic table. He dug for a pack of Marlboro from beneath his jacket and a lighter from his jeans. “Little prick has better things to do than worry about how I’m getting my nuts off on New Year’s Eve.”
“Well, I like him anyway,” she said glancing up at the sky again. Every year got better than the year before. A big explosion was followed by a whistle, a bunch of gold curly-cues rising over the trees. That ended with a static sound as red and white stars fell down on the bridge where the fireworks guys were. “I can’t believe we can see the fireworks from here.”
“You said that last year.”
“I guess I did.”
“And the year before.”
“So, I guess I’m getting boring.” She shrugged as he lit up. “I think we should have fireworks for Christmas, for Thanksgiving, and for Halloween, too.”
He grunted.
“I think we should have them at our wedding, too.”
“Willie.” He sounded like he had a tooth ache. She made up her mind, though. A long time ago, she decided that if she could still be interested in a guy after five years, she could marry him, too. It was seven years. That’s plenty of time. “I don’t want to get married,” he whined.
“I do.”
“Well, I don’t.”
“And I think we should have six bridesmaids. They can wear pink. And we’ll have pink roses. And Laurie will be my maid of honor. She said yes, too.” The sound of footsteps crunching ice crystals and dry leaves could only mean that more drinks arrived. “And Milk can be your best man. Ask him. Right, Milk?”
“Ask me what?” Big, bearded Milk Borenstein carried a fresh case of Genuine Draft into the clearing. He was maybe the closest thing she’d come to a brother. Of course he was older than Red, and more like her father’s age. He showed it, too. His beard and pony tail were streaked with gray.
“To be Red’s best man.”
“Oh.”
“Now stop it, Willie. I don’t want to get married.”
The finale had started. One charge after another shot high into the sky. White hot flashes followed by big bangs pounded her ears. One charge after another broke into umbrellas of sparks. Then side by side. One, two, three, four, five went up at one time. And one, two, three, four, five exploded, with sparks of many colors falling to the ground.
“I made up my mind,” she said. “That’s all there is to it.”
“So did I.”
She glanced at him, hoping for a sign that he’d give in again. Instead, he came about and picked the gun off the picnic table. He raised it and pointed it at her. If he fired? No way. He’d never do that. A huge star burst broke overhead. Sparks lit up his features, Milk’s, and the gun barrel. And then he did what she never thought he could. He pulled the trigger. The white fire flashed from the barrel.
*
Willie fell forward, bouncing off the edge of the picnic table and shooting up again, and crumbling into the grass. Dry leaves crackled beneath her and dust puffed up into the air. A long moment passed as Red set the gun down on the picnic table. He dropped his cigarette into another pile of dead leaves and bent to pick it up. Milk gaped. Dumb ass couldn’t find it at first, and even burned his fingers. “Shit.” Red sucked on his fingers and then dug in the leaves with the other hand. When he found it, when he stood, he had to grab onto the picnic table for support. He was f-ing plastered, again.
“You dumb son-of-a-bitch,” Milk whispered.
“What?” Red wore his usual big eyed and stupid expression.
“Her. You dumb-son-of-a-bitch.”
“I don’t want to get married.”
“You couldn’t just say no?”
“What? You know how she is. So fucking dense, you know her. She makes up her mind and God help ya if she can bend just the least little bit.”
“So you had to shoot her?”
“Huh?”
“Let’s go.” Milk turned away. He was hungry, and he wanted his share of the hamburgers. With this idiot acting this stupid, Milk figured leave it for the wildlife. Red hurried from behind and tried to wrest the case of beer from his hands. Milk knocked him away. God help the Portland pigs if they stopped him with open liquor. One more conviction and Milk was positive Ramos would dance in the f-ing street. Ramos. All that little prick had to do was see this.
***
One big bang after another rocked Uptown, filling the midnight sky with star bursts and falling stars. And if Bill wasn’t mistaken, couple of errant cracks didn’t sound right. Lieutenant Bob Unsinger pushed in next to Bill. “Gunfire?” Bob asked.
“You surprised?”
“Guess not. Instructions?”
Bill shook his head. “Tell me where they came from first.”
Unsinger shook his head. “Your guess is as good as mine.”
“Cook County promised me they’d have at least one extra squad over in the forest preserves tonight. And you promised me we’d have a few extra throughout the rest of town.”
“Yep. Any ideas who that could be?”
“Could be any one of a number of people.”
Something massive exploded and the sky above the intersection turned to a startling white. “Bill!” Tina called. “Look it!” She pointed up at five silver trails that ended with five cracks of white light. Golden swirls shot skywards above the cracks. That dissipated into staticy red, white and blue stars. “I love those!”
Bill glanced back at his wife and foster son. Somehow Cory had removed his mitten again. The boy had curled up against Sophie’s shoulder and watched with his thumb in his mouth.
***
Red stood over her little pink Toyota Carolla and padded his pockets. “Over here, you dumb ass,” Milk shot.
“What? I came in this.”
“You really are stupid, aren’t you? Get over here. Cops find her body and you’re driving her car, who do you think Ramos is going to be looking for?”
“Fuck Ramos.”
“Fine, you do that. In the mean time, I’m driving.”
***
One of the most amazing constructions to come onto the scene in the late 1800’s, was referred to later as a Sears Roebuck house. As the name implied, it was a house that had been purchased through a Sears Roebuck catalogue. The kit would arrive unassembled, by way of boxcar, and would be complete with everything from pipes, to brick and mortar, to nuts and bolts. It just needed a piece of land under it, and a contractor or builder to build it. Once completed, the home could be anything from a one bedroom frame cottage, to a five bedroom, brick home.
Bill owned an original Sears Roebuck with four bedrooms and a screened in sleeping porch on the second floor. He had other amenities like a wood burning fireplace in the living room, a big front porch and clay tiles on the roof. His also had stained glass windows. The front door had a particularly colorful one. His home had bow windows across the front of the house, and the upper sash of each had what looked like green, red and gold ribbons of glass. Sophie doted on them, polishing them up weekly, and not allowing the kids any closer than they needed to be.
By the time he had parked her van and his squad in the garage, she had already tucked the kids in. He helped himself to a bottle of beer from the fridge and she tuned on a musical celebration from Navy Pier on TV. A pile of logs awaited him in the fireplace. She picked up her knitting, and he worked on the fire.
Her tastes were elegant and simple. She had the walls painted white and the molding light blue. She said she could do more with white paint than the colors currently in style. What she didn’t say was that when the sun rose in the morning, the most beautiful colors of the day reflected against the wall opposite the bow windows. She had a deep blue colored carpeting and drapes to match with soft white shears, which she opened to allow the sun in in the morning. The sofa and chairs were ruby colored. She had double matted prints of individual flowers on the wall, and always fresh flowers in a vase on the coffee table. She bought plants for the room, but after a month or two, they wilted away.
“I figured you’d be going out tonight,” she said softly.
“I promised you,” he said tiredly. “When I took this job. When are you going to give me a break?” When he finished, he plopped down next to her. “It’s been a year and a half since the last time I got wasted.” A dim flame grew and lapped the sides of the logs. Bill reached up to turn off the lamp. She grunted at him. “Come on, Sophie,” he soothed as he caressed her leg. “The only reason I drank as much as I did, is because I had nothing to do after work. By the time I got off, you were sleeping.”
She shook out her yarn. “My work is important, too.”
“I know it is.”
A few moments passed quietly. The log snapped, sparks flew up the chimney. That news guy from Channel 7 introduced a new Chicago based rock group, and Bill turned down music he didn't understand Sophie worked on her yarn, mostly by instinct than by the need to watch what she was doing. But then she stopped and ripped out an entire row. Cory stirred in his sleep. The kid said more then, than when he was wide awake.
Bill sucked on his beer bottle and planted one shoed foot on her coffee table next to the vase. He’d wait until she said something, and she would, before he’d remove it.
“What’s bothering you?” she asked as she worked the yarn.
“Huh?”
“Something is bothering you. What is it?”
“What makes you think something is bothering me?”
She looked at his foot and nodded. “You’re looking for an excuse to pick a fight.”
“How could you say that?” he asked drawing back.
“Bill.”
“Sophie.”
“Talk to me. Break my heart.”
He set the foot on the floor and the beer on a coaster. She knew him too well. “Marie is up for parole next month.”
Sophie set her mouth and swallowed. She set her knitting in her lap for a moment, and then determinedly picked it up. “You promised me. Five years you said.”
Bill shook his head as he fingered the dark green fabric she produced. She knitted a lot lately. It seemed sometimes red, sometimes green and sometimes a mix of colors. What had become of the other pieces she made, he wasn’t sure. “Surprised the hell out of me.”
She set the needles in her lap again and crossed her arms. “Last time Cory saw her he had nightmares.”
“I know.”
“And what about Tina?”
“What about Tina?”
“She doesn’t sleep or eat, or even get along when she has to see her mother. Last time she was fighting at school. Look how long it took us...” She stopped and bit her lips. “Do something. Promise me.”
He rested his hand on her thigh. “What, Sophie? Tell me what?”
She shook her head. Then she rested it on his shoulder.
***
Red woke when he heard the outer door open and someone enter the house. He found himself half hanging off a naked bed. A pile of pink blankets sat at the foot and his feet were flat to the floor. “Damn her,” he growled, pulling himself up. He glanced about. His pants, belt still caught up in the loops, had landed on the floor with one leg almost turned inside out. He had dropped his sweatshirt and his shoes in three different places. Why hadn’t she picked it all up? How many times has he told her about that? She’s damned lucky she had him.
His head hurt and his throat burned. His tongue, a shaft of steel wool, scratched the inside of his mouth and sucked up every little bit of moisture it could find. Damned he was thirsty.
“Willie!”
Milk, wearing his winter jacket and radiating the cold, came to the bedroom doorway, filling it with his body and staring at Red with that reproachful look of his. He watched wordlessly, as usual.
“What? Where’s Willie?”
“Figures.”
“What?”
“You dumb-son-of-a-bitch. You know that, Red? You’re a dumb son-of-a-bitch.”
“Oh, I get it.” He nodded, although not with much fervor. His head hurt. “I should apologize to her. Is that it?”
Milk turned away, ducking back into the kitchen.
“Oh, we playing this game again? Is that it?” Red came to his feet. “She wants to get married. I should tell her I can’t. I’m already married. You know what you are, Milk? Worse than my ex-wife. A lot worse. At least when the ex got mad at me, she’d throw things at me. A hell of a lot easier than you and your silent treatment.” Slowly, painfully, he followed Milk back into the pink kitchen. “At least Willie...” Willie. He paused as something at the back of his mind nibbled at his consciousness. Willie. “Oh, shit.”
Milk turned away from the pink coffee maker. “That’s it? Oh, shit?”
“I am a dumb son-of-a-bitch.”
His parents had left him the house when they died. It was a small frame house, in a poorer section of town, a place they called ‘Little Mexico,’ because of the number of Hispanics living there. Red would have preferred that his parents spent more money on the house, bought something a little bigger, and somewhere a little ‘whiter’. Then again, free was free. All he had to do was pay the taxes.
He left everything just the way his Mom had decorated it, replacing furniture only if he had to. Then Willie moved in. She liked pink. Everything she touched turned pink. He hated pink.
He spent most of the day pacing; back and forth, back and forth, arguing with himself that what he knew couldn’t possibly be true. No, he couldn’t possibly do something that dumb. He couldn’t just shoot her. She had a way about her that had him out of his mind most of the time. She’d make up her mind to do something, and no matter what he said, how he pleaded, or begged, or swore, he couldn’t change it. He’d come close to hitting her in the past, but never actually did it. He thought about it anyway. And if he had no one could blame him. She could be a real pain in the ass. Ask anyone that knew her. Ask her parents, or her bosses. For God’s sake, it took her forever to learn something, and then once she had it, forget it. She couldn’t relearn if you paid her to do it. And ask her to keep this hell hole up? Nobody would blame him if he hit her. She’d deserve it.
This though? This? No. No way on God’s green earth could he hurt her like this. No way. What the hell was he going to do?
When the phone rang, he was sure it was her asking him why he left her sleep it off in the woods all night. But then Milk held it out to him. “It’s Evelyn.”
“Evelyn who?”
“Evelyn Pratt. Who do you think? You dumb ass.”
“Oh.” He took it, but then braced himself for the worst. “Evelyn?”
“You two were supposed to be here for dinner.”
“Who?” He drew back, pointing at himself as his mind reeled into overdrive. “Me and your hard headed daughter? Well, guess what. She ain’t here.”
“What do you mean she ain’t here?” the woman responded with as much acid as he had churning in his stomach. “Where did you leave her?”
“I didn’t leave her anywhere. She took off on her own. She’s after me about getting married last night. You know how she is. I don’t want to get married. I told her that. She says I either marry her or she’s taking off with someone new. Go ahead, I said. Do it. So what does she do? She takes off with this dude. Been gone all night. You think I want to marry her now? Hell no. You tell her that too. When you see her, you tell her I don’t need no tramp in my life. Let her tramp around on someone else....” As he worked himself into a fit, the phone fizzled on him and static cut him short.
He hung up, smiling to himself. “I deserve a beer for that one,” he said. He replaced the phone and swaggered off in the direction of the pink painted fridge and another bottle.
“Hell of a performance,” Milk grumbled somewhere in the background.
***
Bill carved the ham and Sophie loaded the table with sweet potatoes, vegetable, a Jello mold and more. Cory folded paper napkins and Tina set out silverware. Mikey helped Sophie. And then everything was ready. “Cory, tell everyone to come,” Bill instructed the little one.
Cory waved them in. When he wanted to, the child could carry on a conversation well beyond years. He preferred to leave people guessing.
“Mom, Dad,” Bill indicated where he wanted them to sit, and then directed Sophie’s parents to their places. “Mikey, you sit next to me and Tina next to Mikey.”
“No.” He should have known better. The girl got between Bill and the chair and pushed at her older brother. “I sit here.”
“Okay, okay. Mikey, you sit next to Tina then.”
Mikey, an average sized child, rolled his eyes as he pulled out his chair. He had blue eyes and dark brown curls. He was neat looking and quiet in his movements and in his speech. Sophie had always said that she wished her students had his demeanor.
Mom turned on Bill as Tina pulled out the chair she chose. “Bill, that isn’t good letting her have her way like that.”
“Never mind,” he said as he pulled out his own. “What can this hurt?”
“Your mother is right,” Sophie’s Mom said. “You give into her too much. Both of you.”
“How many times have you said it?” Sophie asked, turning to her mother. “Pick your battles. Something like this isn’t going to hurt anything. Besides, there are bigger issues here.”
“Like what?” Bill’s Mom asked tiredly.
“Like not questioning my judgment at my table,” Bill brought up. Glancing from his old man to Sophie‘s, it occurred to Bill that as usual, he wouldn‘t get much support from either of them. They were best friends, but more than that, they let their women speak up for them. “Especially where my family is concerned,” Bill continued. Mikey pushed away from the table. “Where are you going?”
“Washroom,” the boy replied. He excused himself, and pushed behind the others as he made his way out of the room. Now that kid could be trouble. Secretly, Bill thanked God he only saw Mikey when the boy’s grandmother needed a baby-sitter. Otherwise Mikey was ordered, and not by Bill, to keep his distance.
“Should we wait for Mikey?” Sophie asked.
“We wait for Mikey,” Tina declared. She picked up her fork and began to scratch Sophie’s best china.
Bill took her hand in his, holding the fork away from the plate. “Make it quick, Mikey,” he called into the other room. “We’re waiting for you.”
The toilet flushed and water ran in the sink. A moment later the ten year old reentered the room. He smiled shyly and reseated himself.
Bill took the fork from Tina’s hand and set it where it belonged. Then he took up her hand again, and Sophie’s. “Bless us oh Lord,” he began, “For these, thy gifts that we are about to receive, through thy bounty, Christ our Lord. Thank you for this day and this meal. And thank you for a new year and new opportunities. Please keep all of us safe. Sophie, Tina, Cory and Mikey. And our parents. Amen.”
Thursday,
January 2nd
At midnight of January second, Milk pulled his jacket on and called out to Red. “Let’s go.”
“What? Where?” The only thing Red wanted to do at that point was sleep.
“Forest Preserves.” Milk turned on him, plying him with that ‘what kind of dummy are you?’ look. Okay, whatever it was Milk had worked it out.
Milk took 145th, to Wahlberg and back by the old cannery where there was an entrance that most of the cops didn’t use. At least they had never seen any cops back there before, not Cook County and not Portland either. A dirt road led them back into the woods and a cove provided them with a place to hide the car. A crescent moon hid behind a big cloud. The only light they had to work with was the light that flipped on when Milk opened the trunk. He helped himself to a roll of industrial size garbage bags. Milk turned away, leaving the car behind with the trunk open. When Red tried to close it, Milk stopped him. “Leave it. No one is going to see it.” Red wasn’t so sure about that.
Willie’s car was hidden in another cove a short walk from where they parked Milk’s car. And it wasn’t far from there that they found the picnic table where they sat and drank themselves silly. The pair looked about. The White Castle bags were torn apart and scattered, and Willie wasn’t where either said he saw her land. Neither thought to bring a flashlight, and of course if Milk had one in his glove box, his kid would have taken it out and lost it. They stumbled about in the cold and the dark for nearly an hour before Milk tripped. Dead leaves and frosty dirt snapped as he landed on his knees. “Son-of-a-bitch,” he mumbled as he struggled to get to his feet. “F-ing... Oh.” He stood and dusted his knees off.
“What?” Red demanded.
“Here. She’s right here.”
“Oh.”
The thought of encasing a frozen body in plastic bags sent shivers up Red’s spine. They used one for each leg, one for each arm, one for her head and wrapped several unopened bags about her trunk. Red couldn’t help but look over his shoulder as they worked. He could swear that someone was watching. When they stood her up, they found her legs bent at the knees and pointing to one side. Her arms were out and rigid. Her skin was rock solid, like frozen meat, and cold to touch. And she was heavy.
They tried to lift her under her arms and carry her. The bags slipped though. Red got his hands entangled in one, and tried to grasp it and hold her up by it. He ripped it. He tried to hang onto her coat, her pants and even the sweater she wore. It was the pink one that he gave her for Christmas. She slipped from his gloved hands. They set her down on the ground and he took the gloves off. His hands were sweaty, but then so were his back and scalp. His feet and his bald spot were cold. The pair tried lifting her again. Again she slipped. They tried to drag her next. She left parallel trails in the leaves as her feet pushed them aside. Her boot caught on a stump and they yanked until it released itself. Red paused momentarily to wipe a rivulet of sweat from his eye. They pulled her down into a gully and back up the other side. Milk panted heavily as she again got caught up. This time her out stretched arms and fingers grasped onto a sticker bush. As Red struggled to release her, the stickers scratched his hands. They dragged her through a burr patch and got caught up in burrs.
Finally, they reached Milk’s car, and Milk tried to rewrap her in plastic. “Come on,” Red complained.
“I don’t need her warming up and bleeding all over my trunk,” he growled.
They struggled to lift her again, and she nearly slipped out of their hands several times. But once they had her up and braced against the bumper of Milk’s ancient Nova, an easy flip bounced her into the trunk. They closed it with ease and paused to catch their breaths. Again Red glanced over his shoulder.
Milk started the car and Red dug in his pocket for his gloves. “Oh, Christ,” Red whined as Milk headed back onto the dirt path. “I dropped my glove.”
“Where?”
“Back there.”
“Screw it,” Milk barked as he drove off. “I’m not going back for anything.”
“My hands are cold.”
“Stick them in your pockets.”
“For God’s sake, she got me those for Christmas. What...” He looked at the one glove, and put both his hands in his pockets. She’d never know the difference. “My hands are cold.” He shivered. Truthfully, his entire body was cold.
Once out on 145th, the radio crackled and came to life. Milk pounded on the dash. “Piece of junk,” he grumbled. “Short in the electrical system.”
“Look at it over the weekend.” Red commented as he tried to rub his cold arms through his jacket. The heater blew hot and cold and he shivered more.
The radio fizzled with each bump and changed volume with each turn. Finally Milk pulled up in front of Red’s parents’ old place. When he turned off the car, the radio fizzled off.
“What do we do now?” Red asked.
“I’ll think of something. Give me time.”
They headed for the house. Now that the deed was done and he could lay down, he wasn’t so sure his heart would allow him sleep. He couldn’t wait to open his first beer, and if he wasn’t mistaken, he’d find a few dried leaves and some rolling papers in his night stand, right next to his nine millimeter.
