I rolled over and looked into her amber eyes. “Woof. Sorry, old girl. Bruises and too much of whatever anti–inflammatory Lotty gave me, and I even sleep through fear. Let’s get you out and fetch the paper.”
Ever since Peppy and Mitch learned that bringing in the paper netted a dog biscuit, they like to collect them for the whole building. This morning we were up so late that only my own Herald–Star was still on the sidewalk. Mr. Contreras sent Mitch out to join us, but Peppy drove him off with a serious growl and presented the paper to me, golden plume waving grandly. The encounter made me laugh out loud—a good thing, since the rest of the day was singularly lacking in humor.
I unfolded the paper in the vestibule outside Mr. Contreras’s door. The Herald–Star put Frenada’s death on the front page, under the headline DRUG LORD DROWNS.
Late yesterday, police identified the man pulled out of Belmont Harbor early Sunday morning as Lucian Frenada, owner of Special–T Uniforms in Humboldt Park. Frenada had become the subject of intense investigation by Herald–Star reporter Murray Ryerson, who taped an exposé on the use of Frenada’s small business as a cover for a drug smuggling ring. This story will air tonight at nine on GTV, Channel Thirteen.
Police who raided Special–T late Saturday night discovered five kilos of cocaine inside the cardboard rolls used for shipping uncut fabric. While Frenada hotly denied any connection to the Mexican drug cartels, his bank accounts told a different story. Police speculate that he may have committed suicide to avoid arrest. Frenada grew up in the same Humboldt Park building as movie star Lacey Dowell, widely known by her fans as the Mad Virgin for her role in those movies. Dowell couldn’t be reached for a comment on her old playmate’s death, but studio representative Alex Fisher says the star is devastated by the news. (Murray Ryerson and Julia Esteban contributed to this report.)
The story ended with a tearful denial by Frenada’s sister, Celia Caliente, who said her brother had no money and that it was a struggle for him to meet his share of the mortgage on the two–flat they jointly owned. The story ran with a photo of Lacey Dowell as the Mad Virgin next to a picture of her at her First Communion. Their irrelevance to Frenada’s death underscored the titillative purpose of using them. Buy this paper and get an intimate look at Lacey Dowell. I thrust it from me with so much irritation that Peppy backed away in alarm.
“What’s up, doll?” My neighbor had been watching me read.
I showed him the story and tried to explain why it bothered me so much. The one thing Mr. Contreras picked up from my incoherent rant was that Murray was framing Frenada. He didn’t care whether it was because Global was feeding Murray the story or not—Mr. Contreras has always disliked Murray, even more than the men I date. I’ve never been sure why, and now, to my own exasperation, I found myself feebly defending Murray to the old man.
Mr. Contreras was pardonably incensed. “Either he’s acting like a scumbag, no matter what the reason for it, or he’s not. Don’t go being his ma or his scoutmaster, telling me he’s a good boy at heart, because someone with principles don’t carry on this way, and you know that as well as me, cookie. He wants the limelight, he wants that TV show they got him doing, and he’s looking the other way. Period.”
Period indeed. I knew all those things were true, but Murray and I had been friends for so many years it hurt like any other loss to see him move away from me. Away from truth. I made a sour face at my own arrogance: I was hardly the avatar of truth.
Mr. Contreras was still fuming, hands on hips. “So whatcha going to do about it?”
“I’m going to work out and eat breakfast.” I felt too defensive to share the rest of my morning’s agenda.
I assured Mr. Contreras I wouldn’t go to the park alone: Mitch and Peppy were happy to be my guardians. I did my stretches, then tested my legs with a modest run. I stuck my Smith & Wesson in a fanny pack. It bounced uncomfortably against my abdomen as I jogged, but the bruise in my side was still too tender for me to carry a shoulder holster.
I could only manage three very slow miles, but I was happy to be in motion again. While I jogged, I kept the dogs closely leashed, much to their annoyance. They kept tugging at me, testing the muscles in my side. I turned around frequently to see who was coming up on me, but we did a little circuit of the harbor where the cops had found Lucian Frenada without anyone trying to shove me off the rocks.
On the way back to the car I called Morrell from a pay phone. I started to ask him about the LifeStory report, but he cut me short.
“You’re calling from a pay phone, but I’m on my home phone. I don’t think you can take any chances with these people. There’s a coffee shop two blocks north of where we ate last night. East side of the road. I’ll be there in half an hour.”