“Now that I can do,” said the tech guy. Lynch had called in, given him the time the car was dropped off and asked him to run their good al Din shot through the system, see if they could pick him up on the shuttles. “Give me maybe thirty minutes.”

Lynch and Bernstein drove to the terminal, grabbed a bite. Lynch’s cell buzzed.

“Got him,” the IT guy said. “Al Din grabs the bus at the Hertz lot at 7.43pm, gets dropped at Terminal 1 at 7.51. He walks over to Terminal 3, hops the Alamo bus at 8.17, gets dropped off at Alamo at 8.26. Drives off the lot in a black Hyundai at 8.41. License SO6 1290. We’ll be watching for the plate. It turns up, I’ll ping you straight off.”

Lynch hung up, told Bernstein.

“Son of a bitch,” Bernstein said. “We may actually get this fucker.”

CHAPTER 76

“You have the cash pulled together?” Late that night, Hardin on the phone with Lafitpour.

“I do.”

“Be ready. Tomorrow morning early.”

“And where shall we meet?” Lafitpour asked.

“Think I’m teeing my ass up for you again? Tomorrow,” Hardin said. “You get the location then. Just be ready to move. Make sure your Bentley’s gassed up.”

“Might I have some idea how long this will take so I can plan the rest of my day?” Lafitpour asked.

“I’d clear your calendar, sport,” Hardin said. “How long it takes is going to depend on how much you fuck with me.”

Hardin hung up. Lafitpour called Munroe.

“Hardin called. He wants to deal tomorrow. He said early.”

“Did he say where?” Munroe asked.

“No, but he did tell me to fuel up my car.”

“OK,” Munroe said. “I’ll tell Hickman.”

It fit with what Munroe had. After the hit on Hardin at the park in Aurora, Munroe had put the full-court press on him. Hardin had popped up in a handful of other places, all in the western suburbs. Security camera at a driving range and go-cart track joint on Route 47 just west of Aurora, cornfields in all directions. Parking lot camera at Pottawatomie Park in St Charles, maybe a dozen miles up the Fox River. Cantigny, some kind of park and museum complex near Wheaton. Looked like he was playing al Din’s game. He’d figured he was going to be on camera, so he got on a lot of them. If Hardin was shopping for a meet site, all the locations would work – all public, all with some good, defensible spots. Hardin had to figure they might make another try for him, so he was spreading them out, giving them so many spots to cover they couldn’t get set up solid at any of them.

But it looked like it was going to be the western burbs. Hardin and Wilson had both grown up out there, wanted to play on their home turf. Gonna have to hog some bandwidth and assets in the morning, have real-time eyes on all the sites Hardin had scoped out. With a little luck, Munroe could still get a shooter in place for the meet. If he couldn’t get them there, he should at least be able to keep eyes on them after, bag them on the road. A chopper would help. Munroe got on the phone, arranged for one. He’d meet it at the Aurora airport. Civilian bird, or it would look like one anyway. But if you slid the door out of the way, there’d be a swing-out mount for a minigun. And somebody riding shotgun who knew how to use it.

Munroe started matching up assets with geography, deciding who he wanted where.

You plan for what you can. So he gets them at the meet, takes them on the road and, if he couldn’t, then Munroe would just have to play ball with them until he could.

World just wasn’t that big anymore.

CHAPTER 77

Lynch’s cell buzzed. He woke up, checked the clock. Coming up on two. He picked it up, checked the screen. Liz.

“Jesus Liz, you’re still in New York, right? Almost three there.”

“I know John, I’m sorry. Couldn’t sleep.”

“You OK?”

“No.” Silence for a long while. “It’s not going to work, is it?”

“You mean us?”

“Yeah.”

Lynch took a breath let it out. “No, probably not. Not much longer anyway.”

“I can’t give this up,” she said. “I know you want someone who can be with you, and I’d love to be with you. But I can’t give this up.”

“I know. I’m not asking you to.”

“And you’re never going to leave Chicago.”

“No, I guess not.”

No one said anything for a long time. Lynch could hear her breathing on the other end.

“You OK?” he asked.

“No,” she said.

“Me neither.”

More silence.

“I don’t want to hang up,” she said.

“Me neither.”

Lynch heard the line go dead.

CHAPTER 78

Just after 6am, Lynch toweling off after his shower when his cell rang. Bernstein.

“Got a call from Northwestern. Fenn’s awake.”

“Lucid awake?” Lynch asked.

“Way better than they expected,” Bernstein said. “Pretty much a full recovery.”

“Meet me there in thirty,” said Lynch.

Fenn was sitting up when they walked in, the back of the bed cranked up about sixty degrees.

“Look better than the last time I saw you,” Lynch said. “Last time you were down in the ER with all these tubes coming out of you. You remember us?”

Fenn nodded.

“Got anything you want to talk about?”

“Detective, I told you everything I know last time we spoke.”

“And then you went back to your hotel and OD’d?”

Fenn shrugged a little. “I don’t remember anything about that. I remember getting back to my room. I remember dinner. That’s it.”

“We got you on possession. You understand that, right?”

Fenn shrugged. “I’ll have my lawyer call you.”

“And you aren’t worried about anything? Doesn’t strike you as weird, you talk to me in the afternoon, and that night you end up tooting some virgin powder that just about puts your lights out?”

“As I’ve said, Detective, I have no memory. And I believe I would like to have an attorney present for any future discussions.”

Lynch nodded. “Just so we’re clear, I’ll be talking to the DA on the drug side of things, so enjoy the hospital food while you can. Stuff in County sucks.”

“You really think you’ll be able to hold me on some possession charge?”

“We’ll see what happens,” Lynch said.

CHAPTER 79

Tommy Porcini ran Tony Corsco’s juice loan racket for the northwest suburbs. He was having breakfast out in Elgin, fueling up for a long morning of running down deadbeats. Porcini’s phone buzzed, he looked at the screen. That puke Pilsen, guy that was supposed to meet up with him this morning and get current.

Porcini opened the phone. “You’re late,” he snapped. Flipped open his notebook, ran his finger down to Pilsen’s name. Guy was into them for seven and a half Gs.

Porcini could hear the background noise. No other place in the world sounds like the inside of a casino. The dumb fuck was probably down at the Victoria, the riverboat here in Elgin. Juice loan pukes would do that when they knew Porcini was making the rounds, hide out on the boats, cause they knew that was one place Porcini couldn’t show his face. Part of that whole keep gambling clean in Illinois sack of shit the politicos sold to the voters, swearing up and down the mob wouldn’t get a foothold in gambling in Illinois. Casino security had all of Corsco’s guys’ pictures. None of them were allowed on the boats. It was all bullshit of course. Didn’t mean Tony wasn’t getting his rake. Just meant he was getting it through the unions and the politicians now, not skimming it out of the cash rooms.

“I know, Tommy. That’s why I’m calling. I’m gonna have it all for you man. Not just the juice, but the whole shebang. You wouldn’t fuckin’ believe it, man, but I am on the prime roll. I gotta be up like fifty right now, easy. Lady luck, she’s giving me a tongue bath. I can’t walk on that. Gotta ride it out.”