Probably safer than calls or texts—and easily destroyed when plans were firm.
“Thanks, little sis. You’re a fucking genius.”
Chapter Two: Danny
The weekend came, and I couldn’t see Hannah. That would trip all levels of suspicion. But I thought about her, about the warmth of her body, the feel of her cunt, the smell of her hair. I had sappy thoughts about taking her to Navy Pier and strolling down the walkway with margaritas while we watched the boats, maybe even taking one of those cruise ships to view the skyline from the water. I hadn’t done that since I was a kid.
Chicago got a bad rap sometimes because it was busy and sometimes dirty and often dangerous, but the city had a vibrancy and energy that never quit. Chicago was filled with color and sights and sounds and smells that couldn’t be found anywhere else. The denizens bustled about as they worked hard and partied harder, and the visitors stared in wonder at the buildings and lakes and museums. Granted, most of that took place in the Chicago you see in the movies and hear about from friends. Not many people ventured to the South Side unless you’d been born there.
Which meant not many people knew the South Side had its charms.
Because I couldn’t be with Hannah, I decided to leave my old haunt and go to the Navy Pier on my own. I left my ratty shit-mobile parked and ordered a Uber about a mile from the apartment.
As I leaned back in the brand-new Taurus, I watched the south side of the city pass me by. Dozens of pickup games were in progress in the neighborhood parks and playgrounds. Pickup games were easy to find. If you had a hankering to play some ball, all you had to do was throw some stones and you’d find four or five other guys with the same idea.
Some of the best restaurants in Chicago found a home on the South Side. You could find ethnic food of all varieties as well as home-cooked meals that would make your mother cry. The smells alone could pull people out of the good neighborhoods and bring them into ours, at least for an afternoon.
The Taurus passed vendors plying their wares on the corners, some of them knock-offs, others displaying T-shirts with the home teams and bootleg copies of DVDs. You could find anything on the South Side, which the pool halls and strip clubs and porn shops testified to.
You could also find plenty of danger, and I never recommended a visitor just stroll through the streets like they might the Miracle Mile. Most neighborhoods were okay—if you lived there. Any outsider, though, was treated with suspicion, and suspicion generally meant you went home without your wallet and jewelry. Hopefully you left with your body intact, but that wasn’t guaranteed.
Despite that, I also knew danger lurked elsewhere in the city. Some of the areas north of town got pretty damn scary after dark.
I liked living in the South Side. It had been good to me and my family. We felt at home there. It was why all eight of us still lived there, like satellites all revolving around our parents. There was that hitch again, that moment when I couldn’t get my breath. Why was it so hard to remember someone was dead?
Even with the summer traffic, we arrived at the Pier in good time. I’d been lost in my thoughts, and it had felt nice to let my guard down and relax. That hadn’t happened in over a week now. I gave the lady driver a hefty tip, partly because she’d been willing to pick up someone on the South Side. She’d also kept her mouth shut and let me think my own thoughts in companionable silence. The little Yorkie in her arms had stared at me the whole time over her shoulder and made me think that maybe getting a dog might be a nice idea. I wondered if Hannah liked dogs.
Daniel Dutton had taken plenty of girls to the Pier, but I strolled the cement as Danny O’Shea on Sunday. I got plenty of looks and a few come-ons from the pretty ladies drinking their wine at the outside venues, trying to look cool on the blistering day. I sat and chatted with a few, even bought a couple drinks, but that wasn’t why I was out. I pictured myself holding Hannah’s hand, listening to her laugh, watching the wonder in her eyes as she viewed the beautiful water and glistening boats.
Once I had a margarita in my hand, I planned to call Pops and have a father-son chat. I wanted to fill him in on Hannah. I wanted his take on it, and though I suspected he’d caution me about the dangers of going after Silvestri’s sister, I thought he’d probably see a glimpse of the same future I saw. My dad and I always shared similar wavelengths. He would probably see exactly what I was.
I had to face it. I was quickly becoming pussy whipped.
Chapter Three: Hannah
My weekends were always busy, taking care of errands, delivering leftover food to the homeless shelter down the street, and visiting my grandmother in the retirement home where Richie had dumped her. She was my mother’s mother, so she had no real money of her own, and Richie wasn’t about to share his. He did pay for the facility, but it wasn’t the best one in the city, though he could have easily afforded any facility in Chicago. I think Richie felt the need to punish our grandmother for abandoning us to our father when Mom died.
I never saw it as abandonment. I’d known my father pretty well, and though Richie got the brunt of his viciousness, Father’s lack of humanity and compassion extended to everyone he came into contact. Exceptions had never been made for two kids.
Richie hadn’t understood that our grandmother had little choice in our futures. Without any money or power or any other resources, she couldn’t fight for us. She became nothing more than a nuisance, and Father treated her as such. Now Richie did the same.
Still, I loved her, and if I ever got any money of my own—real money that could make a difference—I planned to help her in any way I could. In the meantime, though, the best I could do was visit, buy her yarn for her endless projects, and tell her my dreams and ambitions. I knew she would keep my secrets.
That weekend I told her about Danny. I wasn’t sure where our relationship would lead to, or even if we had a real one at this point, but it felt real. I needed to share it with someone.
By Sunday night I was exhausted, but I had an assignment to get done for an online class on Monday evening. I slogged through the course work, feeling like I’d rather be in bed, and when I finally finished at eleven thirty, I was planning to dive right into bed, put in my earplugs, and sleep in my cool apartment.
I saved everything on the flash drive and then went into the bathroom to put it with the others. I grabbed the box from the closet and immediately knew something was wrong. It was far too light.
My heart stopped. I sat on the toilet set and gingerly opened the carton. I felt as though I was defusing a bomb. Every muscle in my body was strung tight, and my nerves fired up, making my hands shake.
“No,” I whispered.
The cardboard tubes were empty.
The box fell from my hands, and tampons rolled across the cracked linoleum. I cupped my face, and hot tears scalded my hands. My mind went into overdrive as I thought of any way this could be possible. Maybe I’d moved them in my sleep. Maybe I’d been so paranoid that I’d decided another spot was better. Maybe, maybe, maybe. None of it made any sense.
“He found them...”