I watched as a woman standing ten feet away ordered a skim mocha, no whip. Rodriguez was whispering into his radio, tel ing someone somewhere that the kil er, or maybe his accomplice, had just given me a ring. The woman was in her early thirties, with light brown hair tied back into a ponytail and a large emerald cat pinned to her dark blue coat. She smiled as the tal, angular barista pushed her drink across the counter. Then the woman took a sip and found her way to a corner table looking out at the street. She pul ed out a paperback, tucked one leg underneath her, and began to read. It looked pretty peaceful, pretty nice. I wanted nothing more than to join her. Then Rodriguez got done with his radio machinations and gave me a tap on the shoulder.
“We gotta go.”
I knew that was coming. As we exited the Starbucks, four cruisers sealed off the block. Ten cops got out and began to comb al eys, roust bums, and shake down regular folks on the street. I figured too little, too late.
“You got a car?” Rodriguez said.
“No.”
“Good.” Rodriguez popped the locks on his Crown Vic. “Get in.”
Five minutes later, we were out of the Loop and headed west.
“Not going to headquarters?” I said.
The detective shook his head. “Looks like the feds might be taking over. Possible terrorist acts.”
“Bet downtown loved that.”
“Brass doesn’t mind. If it goes wel, we’l stick our nose in the trough, suck up as much glory as we can. If we have bodies stacking up on L platforms in a week and a half, we got someone to blame it on.”
“Don’t you love your job?”
“Funny guy. Right now you’re the star of the show.”
“Great.”
“That’s right. Now, talk to me about the guy on the phone. Was he legit?”
“You tel me.”
Rodriguez took a left onto Canal. “A patrol found a rifle in the trash. Remington with a scope.”
“He told me we wouldn’t find it,” I said.
“Guess he lied. Try to get over it.”
“How about ammo?”
Rodriguez took a right and accelerated down the block. “We’l know more when we pul the lead out of our victim. But there were three rounds in the rifle.”
“And?”
“Black Hil s Gold,. 308 Winchester. Just like your boy said.”
“This guy wasn’t our shooter.”
“How do you figure?”
“He knew we were sitting in a Starbucks, which means he was close by, watching.”
“So?”
“Who’s gonna shoot up an L train, then hang around the scene and cal me for kicks?”
“Then he’s our accomplice?” Rodriguez said. I shrugged as we came up on a line of traffic stopped at a red light.
“One more thing.” Rodriguez looked over. “They found a second body downtown.”
“On the train?”
The detective shook his head. “Building on Lake. Building manager got his throat cut. Apartment looks over the tracks.”
“So the manager maybe barges in on our shooter?”
“Or the manager was helping him and then became expendable. Either way, we’l process it. Pul any rental records.”
“Our guy isn’t that stupid.”
“Real y?” Rodriguez lifted an eyebrow. “If you got al the answers, let me ask you this: Why are these geniuses cal ing you?”
“Not a clue.”
“Might want to do some figuring on that before we sit down with the feds. You can start with how these guys got your cel phone number. And end with why they didn’t drop the hammer on you this morning.”
“Shit.”
“Exactly. Let’s get moving here.”
Rodriguez flicked on his siren and flashers. The sea of cars parted, and the detective hit the gas.