"Pansy," she says, and the table erupts in laughter, and Galway flashes her bird back.

"So my partner, he asks the bartender, can we borrow the phone. He takes out a list of the numbers of the cell phones stolen that afternoon and starts dialing. And I'm standing there trying not to crack up at the sheer brilliance of the Chicago Police Department, when lo and behold," Galway's voice getting louder, coming to the punchline, "but the guy I'm standing behind, I mean right behind, his pocket rings." The table breaks into laughter. "And you know what this guy does?" Galway spreads his arms as if measuring stupidity by the foot. "He fucking answers!"

The laughter is an explosion, an upswell of love, love of the job, love of each other, love of the sheer lunacy of the world, and as she joins in, as loud and hard as all the rest, Cruz thinks to herself that this is it, this is all she wants, just to run with these men and chase idiot criminals and wear a star, and at the end of the day to drink Budweiser and tell stories, and then get up the next day and do it all again.

CHAPTER 26

Cheap paneling ran between a carpet dotted with stains she chose not to look too hard at and a ceiling smoked beige. Cigarette ghosts soured the air. The smell tugged at Cruz; right now, she'd have dug butts out of a bar ashtray. "Classy place."

"It'll do." Jason closed the door, flipped the deadbolt, and slid the chain across. Pulled the blinds, concealing the rusting Dumpster and mismatched junkers in the motel parking lot. He moved with an economy of purpose, and she found herself watching him with appreciation. The emotion of someone far away. Adrift from the real.

She wandered to the bed, looking at the grungy pillowcases with distaste. Above the fake headboard hung a print of a lily painted by someone who'd once heard flowers described. She brushed at the mattress, sat on the very corner. "You ever listen to Tom Waits?"

"Huh?" He looked away from the break in the curtains.

"This place reminds me of a song of his, I forget the name. 'The rooms smell like diesel, and you take on the dreams of the ones that have slept there.' "

He smiled. " '9th and Hennepin.' From Rain Dogs."

"You're a fan? Me too. I used to date a guy who got me into it. He'd fall asleep to it."

"Jesus." Jason laughed. "Must've made for some black-eyed dreams."

She nodded. "The guy was a waste of time, but at least he introduced me to Waits." There was dirt under her nails from laying on the ground. A memory hit, and she chuckled. "One time he played it while we were, you know, in the middle of things." A flash of rumpled sheets and the smell of bourbon. His tattoo, dice showing sixes and a ribbon that read Its all good, just like that, no apostrophe. "So we're going, and Waits sings 'I knew him when he was nothing, and he hasn't changed a bit,' and I burst out giggling. I mean one of those can't-stop, hurts-too-much fits. Right in the middle of things."

Palmer laughed through his nose, eyes alight. "Was he pissed?"

"What do you think? One minute he's king stud, the next I'm laughing so hard I can't breathe." She smiled to think of it, then shook her head. "Yeah, he was pissed."

A loud rumbling from outside caught both their attention, and they sat frozen and listening as it grew louder and passed, an anonymous semi headed for the freeway.

"You know the one I love? 'Christmas Card From a Hooker in Minneapolis.' It's got this line, 'I wish I had all the money that we used to spend on dope – '"

" 'I'd buy me a used car lot and I wouldn't sell any of them,' " Cruz said.

Jason smiled, stepped away from the curtain. Pulled a ladder-back chair with a broken slat and sat down. Facing forward, which she liked. She said, "How'd you get into him?"

"My brother."

The real world flooded in like they'd broken a levee. She winced, crossed her arms. Realized she still had her shoulder holster on, though her gun was back by the river. Shit. Her gun. "I guess we can't trade song lyrics all night."

"No." He sighed. "Too bad, though. First normal conversation I've had in days."

She looked him over, cop instincts taking in detail. Dark circles and needing a shave. His back straight, a lot of strength, but also that haunted look she sometimes saw flickering through the eyes of men living under the Stevenson overpass. "So."

He nodded, ran a hand through his hair. Straightened. "So the guy by the back of the van was Anthony DiRisio. You said the other was a cop?"

"Tom Galway." She sighed. "My partner."

"Your partner?"

She nodded. "Yeah."

He stood and went to the window. Glanced out. Checked the door again. Turned to her. "You remember what Billy said? He told us that the guys who killed my brother wore suits. One was tall, balding, and muscular. That's DiRisio. And the other was thin with black and gray hair."

It shouldn't have surprised her after what she'd seen, after her former partner had fired on her, but it still did. "Jesus. Galway." A thought struck like a shaft of light through a cloud. "Wait a sec. What if we're reading this wrong? What if it were someone else in the bar, and Galway was only pretending to be in on it tonight? What if it's some kind of sting?"

He shook his head. "He shot at us."

"Maybe he missed on purpose." It sounded thin even as she said it. A cop firing a submachine gun in the heart of the city? A ricochet could have bounced anywhere. And if it was sanctioned, where was the backup? There should have been thirty men, tactical teams, a chopper, the works. No way they'd let bangers roll away with live SMGs. "Okay. So Galway and this DiRisio guy are selling weapons to the crews." She sighed. "How'd you find out about it?"

He stiffened, then gave a little laugh, rubbed his neck. "I guess it doesn't make any difference now." He sat down. "I went to see a guy named Dion Wallace."

"The Gangster Disciple leader?"

"Yeah. I pretended to be a cop, and convinced him I was going to arrest him if he didn't give me a name."

"You what?" She was on her feet. Unbelievable. The arrogance of this guy. "That's a felony."

He looked at her with a sarcastic smile. "Well, seeing as how actual cops are selling heavy weapons, let's put impersonating one on the list of things you can arrest me for later, okay? Besides," he said, "if I hadn't been there, you'd be lying beside the river now. Remember?"

Her reply died in her throat. She saw the shadow of Scarface's gun, the way she'd stood frozen as he lined up for a kill shot. Macho asshole or not, Palmer had saved her life. She sat, stared at the pattern of stains on the carpet.

He sighed. "Look. I'm a very normal guy. This is all new to me. But this thing, it's real, and we're in it together." He paused. "We're going to have to trust each other."

"You say that like it's nothing."

"I was a soldier, remember? I know what it means to trust someone. But whatever is going on, it just keeps getting scarier. We need to help each other."

She blew air through her lips. "You're right."

Palmer nodded, rocked the chair back on two legs. Laced his fingers behind his head and stared at the ceiling. A TV turned on in the room next door, cartoons playing too loud through thin walls. "You know what I still can't figure? Why Michael? Why would these guys go after my brother?"

The muscles in her back clenched. She'd asked the same question of him earlier. But after what she'd seen, she realized she knew the answer. "Because of the mysterious caller."

He cocked an eyebrow.

"Remember I said someone called me? He wouldn't tell me his name, but he knew who I was, and said he was a friend of your brother's." This afternoon seemed a thousand years ago. Strain had been showing at the seams of the world, but at least a semblance of normalcy had remained; amazing what a few hours could do. "This guy, he told me to go to Lower Wacker and look for a black Odyssey. That was why I trusted you – I saw the van."