“The detective.” Bagby waved at me and pointed at Bernie. “Come on over. You got a kid who can play baseball?”
“She probably can, just won’t,” I said. “She’s a demon on ice, though. Hockey.”
“Rory’s showing the kids the baseball camp he can help get them into if their grades and skills are good enough. Right, Rory?” Vince looked around for Scanlon, saw him with Thelma and turned back to me. “I was going to say, Keep an eye on young Guzzo, but I hear you’ve already been looking him over.”
“If he keeps playing the way he did when I saw him cover the infield gap, he’s going to make all of us proud,” I said. “He’s not here this afternoon?”
“Young Frankie is already sold on the idea,” Vince said. “This is for the stragglers who think gang life might be more fun than sweat and blood or whatever the quote is. You wouldn’t be trying to wreck the kid’s chances, would you?”
“Betty been talking to you? Or Big Frank? I want his boy to succeed as much as everyone else down here. Is that what Fugher and Nabiyev were doing up at Wrigley Field? Trying to persuade the Cubs head office to give Frankie a tryout?”
Vince thought that was so hilarious that his laugh drew Scanlon’s and Thelma’s attention. When Thelma saw me, she turned an unwholesome shade of puce. I had a feeling she had run upstairs to talk to Scanlon about Bernie and me.
“You know Vic, here?” Bagby called to them. “And—who’s the hockey player?”
“Boom-Boom’s niece.”
Scanlon looked surprised. “I thought Warshawski was an only child.”
“You’re doing my family proud, Mr. Scanlon, remembering the details of my cousin’s life when you see so many young people.”
“Boom-Boom’s life got a lot of publicity recently,” Scanlon said. “Brought it all back to mind, but of course he was exceptional enough that we all remember him. Niece have a name?”
I didn’t want this crowd to have Bernie’s identity, but before I could speak, Bernie had already identified herself.
“Pierre Fouchard’s daughter?” Scanlon asked. “No wonder Bagby knew you for a hockey player. When can we see you play?”
“When the college season starts, I will be here, playing for Northwestern,” Bernie said proudly.
“Pity I only work with middle and high school students or I’d persuade you to play baseball,” Scanlon said. “Girl like you would keep the boys on their toes.”
Next to me, Bernie tensed, not liking Scanlon’s tone but not sure how to respond. I pulled her closer to me, team of two, you’re not alone with the creeps, my sister.
“Did you ever figure out what Jerry Fugher and Boris were doing in one of your trucks?” I asked Bagby.
“We fired the driver who let them con him into using it,” Bagby said, his easy grin appearing and disappearing. “Our dispatcher had some concerns about him, anyway, going off-route. You have to monitor every truck every hour of the day—too easy for guys to turn themselves into couriers for drugs or crap.”
“I’d like a word with the driver,” I said.
“No can do,” he said. “Private company business.”
“I’ve been hired to sort out Fugher’s death,” I said.
“Cops don’t do a good enough job for you?” Scanlon asked.
“You know how it is in South Chicago,” I said. “With all the new gangs moving down here in the Cabrini-Green reshuffle, the cops are stretched thin staying on top of street violence. They’ll work Fugher’s death, for sure, but an extra pair of eyes can only help.”
“Who hired you?” Bagby asked. “I never heard Fugher had any family.”
“You’re a quick study,” I said. “When I met you at the Guisar slip two days ago, you didn’t know who he was. Now you know him well enough never to have heard about his family.”
The schoolboy grin disappeared again, replaced by something cold, even hostile. Bernie tensed further and Father Cardenal stepped forward, ready to come between us if we started to swing at each other.
“We’re okay, padre,” Vince said. “I don’t like being a butt, but who does? Warshawski, you’ve been tearing up the South Side the last two weeks because Guzzo’s ma took a potshot at your cousin. Bagby Haulage isn’t just my business, it’s my name—way more personal than a rumor about a cousin. When two guys steal one of my trucks, of course I found out everything there was to know about them.”
“So you know where to find Nabiyev,” I said.
“I do. How about you?” Bagby’s cocky grin was back in place.
“Yep,” I said. “Saw him this morning.”
Credits were rolling on the baseball camp video. Scanlon nodded at one of the older boys, who turned up the lights in the back of the room. When Scanlon asked for questions, a couple of shy hands went up.
“Where’d you see him?” Bagby asked me in an undervoice.