“He will in a minute.” I stare at the guy in the stupid red uniform until he looks away. “Come on.”
“You’re nuts,” Jonathan says as I grab the bum’s arm and lead him up to the front desk. Jonathan doesn’t follow.
“Give me a decent room,” I tell the woman behind the desk.
She pokes around at her computer for a minute before giving me a price. I tell her to add a room service steak dinner and the breakfast buffet to the tab and then drop a few hundreds down. I lead the bum up to the fourth floor, and he looks around the room with wide eyes when I hand him the key.
“Get warm,” I say to him. “Dinner’s on the way, and there’s a buffet for breakfast. You’re all set for the night.”
He stares at me for a long moment. I can see our connection in his eyes long before he removes his coat and further exposes his tattoo, complete with the POW/MIA logo below the eagle and the flag. Before he can say anything, I turn around and leave. Jonathan is still out front, smoking a cigarette and calling the doorman an asshole. He’s probably regretting not getting more physically involved in the bar fight.
“What the fuck was all that?” Jonathan asks as I start walkin
g down the street again. “Since when did you become a good Samaritan?
I can only shrug.
“Did you know that guy?” he asks.
“No, he just looked cold.” I can’t say anything else. Some things just can’t be explained aloud.
“You’re a fucking nutcase.” Jonathan tosses his cigarette into the gutter. “You know that, right?”
“Yep.”
I felt good.
“With a room like that, the bum is more likely to get laid tonight than I am,” Jonathan says.
“He deserves it more than you do.”
“Yeah, he’s obviously worked real hard for his change today.”
“Fuck off.” I’m not really pissed off at Jonathan or anything. If he had noticed the guy’s tattoo, he wouldn’t be talking shit about him. He ignores my comment anyway.
“I might have to go your route and get me some hired pussy.”
“It does make things simpler.” Images of Alina flash through my mind—long legs, curved ass, and bright blue eyes. I wonder what her hair would look like if it were in two braids.
“Is that your plan now?” Jonathan asks as we get close to my apartment. “You gonna go find you a hooker?”
“Probably.”
“Well, I’m out then,” he announces. “This weekend’s a bust.”
We go our separate ways, and I jump in the Camaro to go looking for Alina and her long legs. Maybe we could stop at the drug store for a few of those hair ties. Then again, I bet her hair would feel good if I were just running my fingers through it.
The more I think about it, the more I like the idea. Save the braiding for later.
Of course, when you have an actual plan in your head, the world likes to work against you. I can’t find Alina anywhere. When I eventually stop and ask another hooker where she is, I’m informed that she has the night off. I’m finally in a good mood and horny, and she takes a vacation day.
Damn my luck.
*****
After more than a year away from Chicago, returning to the routine of work and life in the city has been easy for me. The streets are familiar. The bus schedules haven’t changed much, and I still prefer public transportation to driving in the traffic. Aside from the gang-bangers down south, Rinaldo had only sent me out on two hit jobs. One was out of town and completed with ease. The other was one of the former Seattle guys who thought he’d set up shop in our area. He was mistaken.
At least I haven’t lost my touch.