“I’m not generous, kid. I’m not saying I’ve seen V, but if I had, it ain’t the kind of thing I’d get involved in out of the goodness of my heart.
It’s more the kind of thing I’d consider making a living from.”
“Who would?”
Paulie snorted. “Who do you think would have the motivation to do something like that? To make vamps crazy for blood, to make them want to act like ‘real vampires’?” He shrugged. “All I can say is, you gotta go higher in the chain than me, doll.”
Another hint about Celina? Or maybe another higher-up in Chicago’s Houses? I needed more info. “You wanna point me in the right direction?”
“And take the chance of reducing my income?
No, thanks, kid.” An old-school telephone rang from somewhere in the house. Paulie glanced back at it, and then at me. “You need anything else?”
“Not at the moment.”
“In that case, you know where to find me.” He stepped away and closed the door, and the house shook a bit on its foundations as he walked back to the phone and silenced its ringing.
I closed my eyes and closed out some of the extraneous neighborhood noise, focusing in on the phone call.
“Wrong number,” I heard him say, the phone’s bell ringing as he put it back on its cradle again.
I walked back down the stairs and across the yard to the driveway, then turned back to face the house. I gnawed my lip for a moment, trying to figure out my next move. Even in the dark, it was obvious the paint was peeling in sizable chunks away from the shingles. The roof looked awful, and the screen in the door was ripped across the bottom.
I glanced back at the garage. Paulie’s house was in pretty miserable shape—but he had a perfect vintage Mustang? If he couldn’t even afford to fix up the house, how could he afford to pay for the Mustang?
I didn’t know the answer, but I thought it was worth exploring. I pulled out my phone and sent a message to Jeff. “NO DICE AT THE CERMAK HOUSE. KEEP LOOKING AT THE CAR.”
I’d just gotten back into the car when Jeff called back.
“That was fast,” I said.
“We were on the same wavelength. I’ve been poring through databases since we talked earlier, and I’ve got nothing about the sale of the car. If this thing was actually sold—I mean if money exchanged hands—it was an off-the-grid sale.
The only way we’re going to be able to trace it now is if Cermak happened to tell you who sold it to him.”
“Negatory on that one. I guess that makes the car a dead end.”
“Unless you randomly bump into the guy who sold it to Cermak.”
“In a city of nearly three million? Unlikely.”
But he did give me an idea. While I couldn’t exactly cuddle up to Celina and ask her if she knew Paulie Cermak, I knew someone else who might.
I checked my watch. It was only eleven o’clock. I had time for a little trip east . . . and some Zen deep-breathing exercises before I got there, because I was going to need all the patience I could muster.
“Do me a favor, would you, Jeff? E-mail me the picture of Cermak from the video footage?”
“You got it.”
Once I’d received his e-mail, I put away the phone. I considered calling Ethan to give him an update, but the idea made my stomach roil. He’d just been on the phone with Darius, and I really didn’t want to know how that conversation had played out.
Ethan probably also wouldn’t have approved of my next trip. No—a visit to Navarre House seemed like one of those things for which it would be easier to apologize later than get permission in the first place, especially with a grouchy GP leader in the city.
Decision made, I pulled away from the curb. It was time to visit the Gold Coast.
I was halfway to Navarre House when the phone rang again. It was Jonah, so I flipped it open and nestled the phone between my ear and shoulder.
“Hi, Jonah. What’s up?”
“Just checking in. How’s the investigation progressing?”
“Well, we were able to ID the short man Sarah saw outside the bar. Found video with his car on it. Guy named Paulie Cermak. I just paid him a visit.”
“Get anything interesting?”
“Not really. He’s got a crappy house and a fabulous vintage Mustang. He’s not exactly shy about his work, but his story is that he’s a bit player. He says he’s got management running the show. The police didn’t find anything to pin on him, so I don’t think we’ll have much luck, either.”
“Any chance McKetrick’s in charge?”
“He seems to have no idea who McKetrick is.
He also says V stands for veritas.”
“Truth?”
“The very same.”
“That’s awfully deep for a pill pusher.”
“That’s exactly what I thought.”
“Great minds and all,” he said, with an amusing tone in his voice. “You coming to the shindig tonight?”
“I am. You?”
“With bells on . . . and a fine Italian suit I have no choice but to wear.”
“Just be glad you only have to pull it out on special occasions,” I told him. “You guys get jerseys—we get fine Italian suits every night.”
He chuckled. “Very true. Hey, speaking of Ethan, a headsup—my story is that we met for the first time outside Temple Bar after the incident.”
“Fine by me. Have you talked to Darius this trip?”
“Not yet. I’ve been with the guards today. We were training. Why?”
“Just a heads-up, he’s kind of an ass.” I regretted the words the instant they were out of my mouth. Sure, Jonah had done me a solid, but did I really know anything about him? Other than his pretty-boy looks and ridiculous overabundance of graduate degrees?