Chapter 18
O’Malley’s was a divey Irish pub located on the South Side frequented by off-duty cops and White Sox fans.
There was a custom-built wooden bar, gold tiled ceiling, and red padded stools.
The bar’s most appealing feature was a room near the kitchen typically reserved for private parties like retirements and birthdays.
It was where Jack and Chaz held court entertaining bouncy twentysomethings they met on shifts.
Chaz called them badge bunnies, but to Jack, they had the power to make him forget every ill thought, especially during those few hours with blow jobs in the bathroom stalls, which made Jack feel like he was sitting on top of the world.
But instead of downing whiskey shots and tongue-kissing betties, he and Chaz had gathered in the mahogany room with Rory Caruthers and Leonard Johnson, the other officers present during Hollis’s traffic stop.
They, too, had been placed on administrative leave pending the investigation and worried suspension was next, and that their jobs were on the line.
“That fucking video,” Rory said. “It’s going to fuck us. I know it!”
“Keep your damn voice down,” Jack said, sipping his beer. “The whole bar doesn’t need to know.”
“How is it you’re so calm?” Rory got up from his seat and began to pace. “Did you even see it?”
“It’s nothing to worry about.”
“How the hell can you say that?”
“Whoever recorded it hasn’t come forward, have they?”
“So what?”
“That should tell you something,” Jack said. “It means they don’t want to be involved, and unwilling witnesses are my favorite kind.”
“Then who do you think recorded the video?” Leonard asked. He was a skinny man with a distinctive gap between his front teeth that looked like goalposts.
“It must’ve been filmed from a house across the street. I say we go and talk to the little wannabe moviemaker and come to an understanding.”
“It’s already out in the world,” Chaz said. “And if whoever shot it was smart, they’ve skipped town.”
“Or lawyered up,” Jack said, taking another sip of his beer. “The image quality is shit, anyway. You can barely see our faces.”
“Is that what has you so relaxed, Dunham?” Rory asked. “You think because there’s no close-ups and that there’s no fucking spotlight shining on us, that’ll make a difference? It’s clearly us.”
“Even if that video becomes evidence, all it shows is us doing our jobs. The guy had a gun, remember? That’s not in dispute. As long as we keep our stories straight, we won’t have any problems.”
“And what story is that?”
“Easy, Rory,” Chaz said. “Take it down a notch.”
“To hell with that. This guy’s acting like he’s got all the answers. IA’s gonna meet with me tomorrow, and I want to hear from our fearless leader exactly what I’m supposed to say.”
“It isn’t rocket science, rookie. The guy didn’t identify himself as a police officer,” Jack said. “He pulled the gun and popped off a round. We were under threat and reacted as our training dictated. That’s all that matters. That’s what you’ll tell them, smart-ass. You think you can handle that?”
“You want me to say I saw the guy pull his weapon and fire?” Rory asked. “Because you and I both know that didn’t happen. All I heard was you call out that he had a gun, and we lit into the bastard like it was fucking target practice.”
“You sound really stupid and reckless right now,” Jack said. “What exactly did you write in your report?”
“We haven’t submitted our reports,” Leonard said. “Our captain told us to hold off. How about you two?”
“We submitted ours,” Chaz said. “They’re making their way up the chain.”
“It sounds like we’re all pretty much in limbo,” Jack said. “But I swear, Rory, if you—”
“If I what? Write what I actually saw? Tell IA that the guy’s hands were empty and I never saw him fire a shot? Maybe I should say how you snatched his wallet, too.”
“What the fuck did you say, rookie?”
“Don’t think I didn’t notice,” Rory said. “Where is it, Jack? Did you burn it?”
“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. The guy didn’t have a wallet. No ID. No badge. Nothing, and you know that.”
“Or maybe in the chaos you were able to get rid of the wallet,” Rory said. “But you remember, don’t you, Jack?”
Jack slammed his mug on the table, causing the ale to spill. “Get your fucking partner in line, Leonard, or I swear—”
“C’mon, Rory. Listen to Jack,” Leonard said. “We stick this out together. Keep our cool, and everything will be fine.”
“Maybe you should get your eyes checked, Rory.” Chaz rolled up his sleeves, revealing tribal tattoos. Chaz thought they made him look like a hard-ass and that they would get him attention from women.
“You want to be a tough guy, is that it?” Rory stood his ground and began rolling up his own sleeves.
Even though Chaz was bigger than he was, Rory had spent years in boxing gyms. He’d even had a few amateur bouts, and he playfully referred to himself as a low-key knockout artist, but on this day, he wasn’t playing.
“Settle down, fellas,” Leonard said. “Be smart about this. Let’s not lose our cool. Jack, just tell everybody where the wallet is so it doesn’t come back to bite us in the ass. The guy was a law enforcement officer. We know he had a wallet.”
Rory said, “I saw you grab it, Jack. So what did you do with it?”
“I’m looking out for all of us. I put it back in the SUV so it matched our story that it wasn’t on his person, you young fuck,” Jack hissed, trying to keep his voice low.
“Like hell you did,” Rory responded.
“Fuck this guy,” Chaz said and swung at him.
Rory easily evaded Chaz’s haymaker, dodging the punch and delivering an uppercut to his chin. Chaz fell back, slamming into the wall and jarring the table as he went.
“Shit!” Jack said. “You assholes made me spill my beer.” The ale rolled across the table and dripped onto the floor. “Get up,” he said, snatching Chaz by his collar and yanking him to his feet.
“Lucky fucking shot,” Chaz said, palming his bruised chin.
“You clowns can do whatever you want,” Rory said. “But you’re on your own. Leave me out of it.”
“What are you saying, Rory?” Leonard asked. “We’re partners, remember?”
Rory snatched his biker jacket and motorcycle helmet from a chair. “Call your union rep, Leo. Otherwise, you’ll be fucked like these guys.”
“You’re a goddamn fool,” Chaz said. “This isn’t the way it’s supposed to be. We stick together. That’s what real cops do.”
Rory headed out of the room, then paused, looking back at his fellow officers with disgust. “Leo and I never should’ve responded to that call,” he said. “You idiots were better off on your own. Now some cop’s lying in a hospital fighting for his life, and our jobs are on the line, and for what?”
“You’re going to fuck us, I know it,” Jack said. “Do you want us to lose our pensions, our families, our livelihoods? Because that’s what’ll happen if you tell anybody anything different than what we put in those reports.”
“Go to hell, Jack.” Rory walked out, leaving his accomplices to wallow in worry.
“Can you believe that fucking guy?” Chaz was still rubbing his chin, leaning against the wall. “We can’t let him just leave like that. What if he goes to IA?”
“He won’t,” Leonard said. “Let me talk to him. He’s just a little on edge right now. It’s understandable.”
“You need to get him on board,” Jack said, taking hold of Leonard’s shoulder. “First responders make the scene, you know that. Whatever we say happened is what happened, until disproven, and if we’re smart, that won’t happen.”
“Yeah, I got it, Jack. I said I’ll talk to him.” Leonard looked at his watch. “I need to go. My wife’s making Stove Top tonight, and she doesn’t like it when I’m late.”
“Listen up, we don’t talk about this case to anyone.
Not our wives, girlfriends, or mothers, and be careful of reporters.
They’re sneaky devils.” Jack was eyeing Leonard, intent that he understood every word.
“Someone tries to strike up a conversation with you at the bagel shop or deli, keep your fucking mouth shut. Loose lips sink ships, got it?”
“Yeah, yeah. I gotta go.” Leonard put on his bubble coat and White Sox hat and headed toward the exit.
“What do you think?” Chaz asked. “Can we trust them?”
“Would you trust a ten-dollar hooker?” Jack asked.
“I need a shot of bourbon. Maybe it’ll stop my jaw from clicking.”
“Give me a break…”
“What? The guy’s got a solid uppercut.”
“I’m leaving.”
“Where to?”
“Don’t worry about it. Just nurse your boo-boo. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Okay, Jack. Tomorrow, then.”