I laughed reluctantly. “Oh, yes, I remember: subtlety isn’t my strong suit. Dinner would be great, but only with banter.”
We settled on a time, and I went into the kitchen to deal with tonight’s meal. I’d finally made it to the grocery to do my own shopping on my way back from Lotty’s clinic, stocking up on everything from yogurt to soap, as well as fresh fish and vegetables.
I broiled tuna steaks with garlic and olives for Mr. Contreras and myself. We curled up companionably in the living room to eat and watch Monday Night Football together, New England against the Chiefs, me with my wine, my neighbor with a Bud. Mr. Contreras, who bets the games, tried to persuade me to put my money where my mouth is.
“Not on who makes the first first down or the biggest tackle,” I protested. “Five bucks on the final score, that’s all.”
“Come on, doll: a dollar if the Chiefs score first, a dollar if they get the first sack.” He enumerated about a dozen things I could bet on, then said scornfully, “I thought you called yourself a risk taker.”
“You’re a risk taker with a union pension,” I grumbled. “I just have a 401(k) that I didn’t even manage a contribution to last year.” Still, I agreed to his scheme and laid out fifteen singles on the coffee table.
Rose Dorrado called just as the Chiefs were mounting a heroic attack late in the first half, when I’d already lost six dollars. I took the phone into the hall to get away from the television noise.
“Josie didn’t come home from school today,” Rose said without preamble.
“She wasn’t at school today at all, according to the girls on the team.”
“Not at school? But she left this morning, right on time! Where did she go? Oh, no, oh, Dios, did someone steal my baby!” Her voice rose.
Images of the dark alleys and abandoned buildings on the South Side, of the girls in this city who’ve been molested and killed, flitted around the corners of my mind. It was possible, but I didn’t think that was what had happened to Josie.
“Have you checked with Sandra Czernin? She could be visiting April.”
“I called Sandra, I thought that, too, but she heard nothing from my baby, nothing since Saturday when Josie went to see April in the hospital. What did you say to her yesterday? Did you upset her so much she ran away from me?”
“I told her I didn’t think it was a good idea for her and Billy to spend the night together. Do you know where he is?”
She gasped. “You think he ran off with her? But why? But where?”
“I don’t think anything right now, Rose. I’d talk to Billy before I called the cops, though.”
“Oh, I thought nothing could be worse than losing my job, but now this, this! How do I find him, this Billy?”
I tried to imagine where he might be. I didn’t think he’d gone home, at least not willingly. I suppose his grandfather might have had him picked up—Buffalo Bill was clearly capable of anything. Billy had given his cell phone away, Josie said: obviously, my remark about the GSM chip in it had made him cautious. I wondered if he’d also ditched the Miata.
“Phone Pastor Andrés,” I said at last. “He’s the one person Billy talks to these days. If you can find Billy, I think you’ll find Josie, or, at least, Billy may know where she is.”
Ten minutes later, Rose called back. “Pastor Andrés, he says he doesn’t know where Billy is. He hasn’t seen him since church yesterday. You got to come down here and help me find Josie. Who else can I ask? Who else can I turn to?”
“The police,” I suggested. “They know how to hunt missing persons.”
“The police,” she spat. “If they even answer my call, you think they would care?”
“I know the watch commander down there,” I offered. “I could phone him.”
“You come, Ms. V. I. War—War—”
I realized she was reading from one of the cards I’d left with her daughters, that she didn’t in fact know my name. When I pronounced it for her, she reiterated her demand that I come. The police wouldn’t listen to her, she knew all about that; I was a detective, I knew the neighborhood, please, it was all too much for her right now, the factory burning down, being out of work, all those children, and now this?
I was tired, and I’d had two glasses of heavy Italian red. And I’d been in South Chicago once already today, and it was twenty-five miles, and I’d split my shoulder open this afternoon…and I told her I’d be there as soon as I could.
25
Bedtime Stories
It was close to eleven when we pulled up in front of the Dorrado apartment on Escanaba. Mr. Contreras was with me, and we’d brought Mitch as well. Who knows—his hunting stock might give him a good tracking nose.
My neighbor had been predictably annoyed that I was going out again, but I shut him up by the simple expedient of inviting him to join me. “I know it’s late, and I agree I shouldn’t be driving. If you want to ride along and help keep me alert, that’d be great.”