Smoke-Filled Rooms: A Smokey Dalton Novel Page 3

  “Plans change,” I said.

  “Because of that white guy back there?”

  “And because of what Marvella said.”

  “You think someone is following us then?”

  “Not right now.” I hadn’t seen a suspicious car at all. “But I can’t discount it. And I promised you I wouldn’t.”

  “So where are we going?”

  I gave him a smile that I hoped was reassuring. “Someplace safe.”

  THREE

  WE PICKED UP A TAIL on Division and Dearborn, near the Claridge Hotel. A police car followed at a discreet distance. Jimmy didn’t see him, but I did. I had been expecting him.

  We were in Chicago’s Gold Coast, a neighborhood filled with mansions more than a hundred years old and exclusive apartment buildings that had been growing along Lake Shore Drive like weeds. My rusted Impala fit in no better than my skin color. Combined, they were like a neon sign advertising trouble.

  Chicago police had a habit of harassing blacks who ventured into the wrong neighborhood. I always knew when I had made a wrong turn by the police car that would attach itself to my bumper.

  I knew we were out of place here, but we needed to come. I was being extremely cautious, but I had to be. I had made a mistake today. Going to that apartment complex had drawn attention to us. I couldn’t ignore that any more than I could ignore the fact that Marvella had seen someone follow me. If I had been on my own, I wouldn’t have taken these precautions, but I couldn’t protect Jimmy every moment of every day.

  I had to make sure he was safe until I discovered exactly what was going on. There was only one other place I could go.

  I turned on Burton and parked on the street beside a high rise apartment building that overlooked Lake Shore Drive and Lake Michigan. Jimmy was looking at me in complete surprise. He had never been here before.

  I had only been here twice. Both occasions had been memorable, but not enjoyable.

  As the cop pulled up behind me, I braced myself. Some things didn’t change from community to community.

  “Let’s get out,” I said. “You follow my lead.”

  “But Smokey—”

  “Bill, for now. And do as I say, Jimmy. It’ll be all right.”

  His face squinched into a frown so deep I could map it, but he got out of the car, just like I asked. I got out too, locked the car, and walked to stand by Jimmy on the sidewalk as if we had every right to be here.

  “What’s your business?” The cop had gotten out of his car and was heading toward mine. He was beefy and thick—someone I could outrun or knock down with little effort. Still, he wore his service revolver and had a nightstick attached to his belt. He wouldn’t be afraid to use either.

  “I’ve got a meeting inside,” I said.

  “That so?”

  I knew he wouldn’t believe the truth, that I knew the owner of the building personally and was going to see her.

  “Yes,” I said, making sure my tone was nonthreatening, my hands were visible, and my face was blank.

  “What kinda meeting?”

  “Job interview.” It was the first thing that came to my mind.

  “Then how come you brought the kid?”

  “I know the doorman. He promised to watch him while I interviewed.”

  Jimmy stood silently beside me on the curb, his hands threaded, his gaze pointed toward the sidewalk, as I had taught him to do whenever we were confronted by white authority. Still, I could see the tension in him. I hoped the cop couldn’t.

  The cop wasn’t looking at him. He was frowning at me. I looked respectable enough, and I knew that Jimmy’s presence weighed in my favor.

  The cop nodded toward me. “Make sure that car is gone in an hour.”

  As if I could control a job interview like that. As if I had a job interview. “I will.”

  He waited. I realized that we had to head into the building, or he’d be after us again.

  I took Jimmy’s arm and turned him around, then led him toward the building. He was shaking. He hadn’t had a day this bad since April. Maybe even since we’d left Memphis.

  The service entrance was behind the trash cans, but the door was closed. I probably should have tried it to keep up the masquerade, but I pretended I didn’t even see it. I went to the front.

  The steel-and-glass façade would have looked expensive even without the doormen in their ridiculous red outfits, flagging cabs and opening car doors for the rich residents. I walked inside the gold ropes that led to the front door and headed forward as if I knew what I was doing.

  A doorman stopped me. He was slender, white, and young. Probably not a usual doorman, but security being trained for the upcoming convention. A lot of buildings were doing that.

  “State your business,” he said.

  “I’m here to see Laura Hathaway.” I sounded confident, but no longer felt that way. I should have called ahead to see if she was home. To see if she would see me.

  We had not parted on good terms the last time I was here, more than a month ago.

  “Miss Hathaway isn’t available,” he said.

  “She’ll be available to me.”

  “I’m sure she’ll call you if she needs you.”

  “And I’m sure you’d bar my way if she did, just as you’re doing now.”

  He stared at me for a moment, then shrugged. “Sorry. I’ve had no word that anyone like you would be here.”

  “I’m sure Miss Hathaway confides with you about everything,” I said.

  “You have no right—”

  “Find out if she’ll see me before turning me away,” I said. “I have some clout with Miss Hathaway, and if she knows how you treated me, you’ll probably be out of a job.”

  He flushed an ugly red and went inside to the house phone. I waited. Jimmy shifted from foot to foot beside me, occasionally glancing over his shoulder, probably looking for the cop.

  I prayed that Laura was in, and not just to prove my point to the young bigot barring the door. I needed her help, and I needed it now.

  Ironically, it had been over her offer of help that we had our last fight. We had met in Memphis in February when she hired me to find out some things about her family, things that neither of us liked once I solved the case. Somehow, in one short month, we’d become lovers and I’d thought, for a brief shining moment, that we actually could have had something more than a single weekend.

  But we didn’t. Our last hope ended when Martin Luther King died. Laura flew home and I helped Jimmy escape Memphis. When I was honest with myself, I acknowledged that Laura was the reason I brought Jimmy to Chicago, but I didn’t contact her for the first few weeks we were here.

  When I finally did see her, I made it clear I didn’t want her charity, then or now. I found a job, enlisted the help of the Grimshaws, and then I went to see her.

  She’d been furious at me. She’d thought I was dead. She had no idea that I’d left Memphis with Jimmy—I’d sworn the one friend I’d told to silence—and she hadn’t been able to reach me for nearly two months.

  I’d explained the situation and she’d calmed down. That was our first meeting. It was our second—the one in which she’d offered me charity—that still stung.

  Yet here I was, asking for help.

  The doorman returned. His lower lip was set, his eyes narrowed. “Miss Hathaway will see you,” he said. “She’s on the—”

  “The top floor,” I said as I passed him. “I know.”

  Jimmy glanced at me. He’d heard the suppressed anger in my voice. The morning hadn’t gone well for me either, and I was beginning to get tired of being suspect just because I was darker than the people around me.

  The lobby was ridiculously ornate. A dozen families, crammed into shoddy apartments in my neighborhood, could have lived in all that wasted space. Instead, comfortable groupings of leather furniture faced Lake Shore Drive and Lake Michigan beyond. Huge plants—scheffleras, ferns, and a few potted trees—accented the furniture groupings. A shi
ny marble floor reflected everything on it, making the lobby seem even bigger than it was.

  Two bouquets as tall as Jimmy flanked the security desk. The bouquets were made up of fresh roses, their scent filling the lobby. The desk was recessed near the elevators, as unobtrusive as possible, yet still providing all the services people in this privileged building demanded—guest screening, mail and package delivery, and whatever other whims the rich and idle might have.

  I led Jimmy to the bank of elevators behind the security desk. Everyone in the lobby, from the little old lady who was digging in her purse to tip the doorman to the young executive who had come home for his lunch hour, watched us walk. I tried to ignore them, but I could feel their gazes upon me.

  One of the elevator cars stood open. The elevator attendant, an elderly man, was the first black I’d seen since I entered the building.

  He nodded at me as Jimmy and I boarded. I asked for the top floor and the attendant swung the lever all the way to the top. As the door closed, he said, “You got business with Miss Laura?”

  Miss Laura. I’d always known she was rich. I knew more about her finances than I knew about anyone else’s except my own. But her wealth hadn’t come home to me until the first time I visited this building, the one her father had placed in her name when he built it shortly before he died.

  “We’re old friends.” I watched the tiny lever above the door point out the floors as we passed them. I didn’t want to discuss Laura, not even casually.

  The attendant chuckled. “So you’re the one.”

  I looked at him then. He had age spots all over his face and hair the color and texture of cotton balls. But his dark eyes were alert and wise—at least, they seem wise to me.

  “She be different since she come back from Memphis, throwin’ money at causes she never thought of, askin’ me if I feel ‘exploited’”—he exaggerated the word, as if imitating her—“wondering if there be something she can do to integrate the buildin’ without makin’ the other residents mad. Some think she be just shook by the death of Dr. King, but I know it be sumthin’ else. She got to see another side of life, didn’t she?”

  We had reached Laura’s floor, but the attendant hadn’t opened the door.

  “Laura’s expecting us,” I said.

  He chuckled again and pulled the lever to open the door. Behind me, I heard Jimmy gasp.

  I had seen it before, this space outside of Laura’s penthouse apartment. It wasn’t exactly a hallway because the only door led to Laura’s, and it wasn’t exactly a foyer, because we weren’t inside that apartment. But the space was as grand as the lobby, obviously done by the same designer—someone who favored black floors and brass trim, and a mirror to expand the space. Another large vase filled with roses stood on the table before the mirror, making an even more dramatic statement than the one downstairs.

  I stepped out of the elevator as Laura’s door opened. Jimmy stood slightly behind me, letting my body shield him from the woman at the door.

  She looked different than she had when I first saw her in February. Then she had worn makeup and expensive clothing, her hair exquisitely styled. Now it was pulled back in a ponytail, and she wore no makeup at all. Her blue jeans were frayed at the hem and decorated with wide yellow patchwork flowers. Over it she wore a thin yellow cotton shirt and no bra.

  She was more beautiful than I remembered.

  “Smokey,” she said softly.

  Behind me, the elevator doors wheezed closed. Jimmy pressed against my side.

  “May we come in, Laura? This is too important to discuss in the hall.”

  “I’m sorry.” She flushed and moved away from the door.

  I walked inside. Her apartment was huge, as large as the lobby downstairs. An oriental rug—authentic, I had no doubt—covered the black marble floor in the actual foyer, and photographs, mostly black-and-white professional shots of Laura and her friends and family, covered the wall.

  Jimmy stared at it all as if he were in a dream. Laura led us to the living room filled with leather furniture more elegant than that in the lobby. Plants draped off tables and hung in front of doors. But Jimmy didn’t look at the decor. Instead, he was drawn to the wall of windows, revealing a clear view of the lake.

  Up here, the sun didn’t seem too bright or threatening. It was the perfect complement to the deep blue of Lake Michigan, stretching as far as the eye could see. Ships were out on the lake, ships that looked so tiny as to be insignificant, yet which were entire floating cities that traveled from port to port.

  The bulk of the windows faced east, but the north and south walls had large windows as well. To the south, the city of Chicago rose in all its dirty glory. To the north was Lincoln Park and the suburbs beyond.

  The windows were closed, but the apartment was cool, almost frigid. I hadn’t noticed the air-conditioning downstairs, although I was certain it had been on. I had simply been too preoccupied by my encounters with the cop and doorman. Here, though, the chill was welcome.

  I hadn’t been this comfortable in weeks.

  “Jimmy,” Laura said, facing him. “I don’t know if you remember me. I’m Laura Hathaway. We met in Memphis.”

  He raised his chin so that he could look her in the eyes. “I remember you.”

  She smiled then, and I remembered how it felt when she had turned that smile on me. I longed to touch her, to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ears, to pull her close. But I didn’t move.

  “You live here?” Jimmy asked.

  Laura nodded.

  “All by yourself?”

  “Yes.” She seemed amused by the question. If she had known how we were living, she would have been appalled.

  “Gosh.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “How come you don’t let no one else stay here?”

  She looked at me, a frown between her perfectly plucked brows. She was smart enough to understand there was more to his question than the words.

  “I’ve lived alone for a long time,” she said.

  “Me and Smokey, we want to live alone, but we can’t.” He pressed his face against the glass, then leaned back. “It’s hot!”

  “The sun does that,” she said, “especially when it’s really hot outside. Is it really hot today?”

  “Not as bad as last night.” Jimmy had never been this talkative with a woman before. Either the place impressed him or the cool air did, or maybe it was the familiar face, one he’d first seen in Memphis.

  Laura turned to me, suddenly all business. “Somehow I get the sense this isn’t a social visit.”

  “No.” Now that I was here, I wasn’t sure how to approach her. I’d been very careful since my arrival in Chicago not to seek her out.

  “Jimmy, you want some soda?” Laura asked.

  “Yeah!” That got him away from the window.

  “There are some cans in the kitchen. Take whichever kind you like.”

  “Okay.” He paused, looking helplessly at the expanse of furniture, and the hallways disappearing in two different directions. “Um, where is it?”

  “That way.” Laura pointed down one of the hallways.

  “He’ll eat everything in sight,” I said.

  “That’s all right. I take it you haven’t had lunch.”

  “Not yet.” Not that I could stomach food at the moment. I wanted to get this meeting over with.

  Jimmy headed toward the kitchen. He was smiling for the first time since we’d left the Grimshaws’.

  She stared at me for a moment. Her blue eyes were shadowed, her face thinner than it had been even a month before. “I missed you, Smokey.”

  I’d missed her too, but coming to Chicago had convinced me how insurmountable our differences were. I would never fit into a place like this. Hell, I probably couldn’t even live in a place like this. Even though the housing laws had changed, Chicago hadn’t. White residents had a habit of attacking black families who moved into the wrong neighborhood.

  “Laura, I…” I took a deep breat
h. I almost couldn’t finish the sentence. “I need your help.”

  The softness left her face. Suddenly she was all business. “What’s wrong?”

  “I think someone may have found us. I was wondering if Jimmy could stay with you while I discover what’s going on.”

  Her frown deepened. “You actually think they’ll go after a little boy?”

  “No,” I said quietly. “I think they’ll kill him.”

  She blanched. She’d been to Memphis in those last horrible weeks. She’d seen the racism and the riots. She’d even had her life threatened by a man I knew to be an undercover FBI agent, although I couldn’t remember if I had told her that.

  Still, she’d seen enough to know the truth of my words, though I wondered if that truth would overcome her upbringing, in a cool glassed-in world where everyone had a private bedroom and cops protected people.

  “Wouldn’t he be safer with you?” she asked.

  “Usually, but I can’t check out this rumor and keep him beside me.” I didn’t mention my job, which was the only thing keeping Jimmy and I afloat these days. The money I’d brought with us from Memphis was long gone, and I hadn’t been willing to endanger us further by having money wired to me.

  “I don’t know, Smokey. If there is someone trying to kill him, and they know he’s here….” Her voice trailed off. She glanced toward the kitchen as if she were afraid Jimmy had overheard.

  “We weren’t followed,” I said. “I made sure of that. And you have enough security in this building to take care of Fort Knox. No one would ever suspect Jimmy of hiding here. You can tell people whatever you like about him except the truth.”

  She rubbed the back of her right hand with her left, a nervous gesture that I hadn’t seen before. “He can’t stay inside like a prisoner.”

  “He wouldn’t have to.”

  “But if someone sees him—”

  “As long as you don’t tell anyone who he is, he’s fine. No one knows what he looks like. They only know his name and that he’s with me.”

  She swallowed, then looked away. She was going to say no. I could feel it. I braced myself, holding back the anger and frustration that had been building all day. Of course she would say no. For all the changes Laura had professed to make, she hadn’t made the deepest one, the one that would require her to make choices that were hard.