Nelson held the cel phone tight to his ear, looked across the street, and through Starbucks’ front window.
“Michael Kel y, how are you?”
“Do I know you?” Kel y’s voice was gruff and aggressive. Certain, but curious. Pure cop, even if the man himself was no more.
“Do you know me? I believe I put a gun to your head earlier this morning. A lot of fun that. Then I picked up a Remington 700 with a scope and blew the brains out of one of Chicago’s many drones on the CTA. If you want to check my bona fides, that is.”
The silhouette in Starbucks raised his chin and gestured to the cop sitting next to him. Nelson smiled.
“Tel Detective Rodriguez, the bul et’s a Nosler AccuBond, one-eighty grain, loaded into a Black Hil s. 308 Winchester. Special y designed to fire through glass. By the way, how’s the coffee there? Starbucks is a piece of shit in my book. Then again, I heard they’re grinding their own beans. Getting back to basics. I like that.”
Kel y had to be surprised he was being watched. Stil, the man’s head didn’t move.
“You didn’t look around. Very good, Kel y. You’d never see me anyway. And don’t worry. I have my eye on you, but not through the scope of a weapon. That’s long gone, so tel Chicago’s finest not to look too hard for it.”
“What do you want?”
“What do I want?” Nelson snorted into the cel. “I don’t want you dead. Could have checked that off the to-do list today. No, you’re going to suffer a little bit first. A matter of honor, I think.”
“What would you know about honor?”
“Homer pegged it as a zero-sum game. The more you suffer, the greater my glory.”
Kel y’s silhouette seemed to stiffen at the classical reference. “You’re gonna die, asshole.”
“Undoubtedly. The question is: How many am I taking into the hole with me?”
Nelson cut the line and waited. Kel y flipped his phone shut and leaned across to the detective named Rodriguez. Nelson could see them talking. Then the detective reached for a radio and held it close to his lips. Nelson unplugged the adapter he’d used to alter his voice. He tossed his cel phone into the Dumpster he was crouched behind and stripped off the skin-color gloves he had on. Then he pul ed out a shopping cart fil ed with old cans and newspapers and began to push it down the al ey. Somewhere a church bel struck twelve. The old man picked up his pace. If he hustled, he could stil make the 12:30 mass.