Marcus Sakey - Good People

Nothing so far. It wouldn’t be long now, though. It couldn’t be. Your average shooting didn’t make the news in a city like Chicago, but a firefight in a Lincoln Park mall would. How had things gone so wrong ? He still couldn’t understand it, couldn’t wrap his head around what had happened.

An announcer came on and they both held their breath. Waited to hear their own names, that they were fugitives. Prayed that they might hear about a known criminal, Jack Witkowski, gunned down by police while fleeing the mall. Instead, the announcer started in on the economy, the expected fall in the real estate market. People had been talking about how Chicago was overbuilt for a year or two, and coupled with a shaky mortgage industry, it seemed a recipe for imminent disaster. Once, that had really worried them.

From up ahead, Tom heard sirens. His fingers tightened on the wheel. In a blur of red noise, an ambulance blew past.

“Do you think-”

“I don’t know.”

There was a gap, dead air, and then the anchor came back on, his voice different, harried. Tom leaned forward to turn up the volume.

“-early reports of a shoot-out in a Lincoln Park mall. According to our information, at approximately ten o’clock this morning, shots were reported at Century Mall. Witnesses say that perhaps as many as ten people were involved, with gunfire wounding several and possibly killing others, including, it is currently believed, at least one police officer. We, ahh…” He stalled, and Tom could picture the host trying frantically to read. “We understand that police have evacuated the mall and may be in a standoff with the shooters. The identities of the men involved are currently unknown, as is whether they have been captured. There are only preliminary details at this time, but we will obviously be keeping you posted as more information becomes available on this story. Again, this took place at the Century Mall, an upscale center in Lincoln Park, not an area known for…”

Tom turned the volume down.

“Do you think they know we were there?” Anna clicked her thumbnail against her teeth.

He blew a breath, shrugged. His cheek itched, and he went to scratch it with his left hand, caught himself, reached around awkwardly with his right. “If they do, they’ll be after us.”

“Along with Malachi, and Jack, and the cops that work for him.”

“Yeah.”

They rode in silence. Lightning blew the sky like a bulb. Eventually she said, “What are we going to do?”

A light turned red ahead of them. He braked. Sat with the rain bouncing off the roof, the radio announcer muffled in the background. After a moment, he turned sideways. “Baby,” he said, “I don’t have the first clue.”

HALDEN HAD BEEN turning down Tom and Anna’s street when the reports started coming over his radio. Like most detectives, he let the thing run when he was in the car, just kept the volume low and listened subconsciously. Chicago was a big city, with plenty of badness. You got used to the rhythm, the steady call and response of mayhem and tragedy.

This had sounded different. The calls were faster, the voices strained. He’d coasted to a stop outside the brick two-flat and turned up the volume.

“-10-1, all available units, shots fired at Century Mall…”

“-ambulance, we need another ambulance…”

“-Jesus, it’s a war zone…”

“-officer down, repeat, officer down…”

He didn’t understand the situation, but it was clear what he should do. The mall was in his area, which made it his problem. What he was supposed to do was hit flashers and haul ass.

Instead he parked and got out of the car. Climbed the steps to Tom and Anna’s. He rang the bell, leaning on it, holding it down. Banged on the door. Nothing.

Halden walked around back, to a small yard with a picnic table and untended flower gardens. He looked up at the window, cupped his hands around his mouth, and yelled. “Tom! Anna! This is Detective Halden. I need to talk to you right now.”

Nothing.

He yelled louder for the benefit of the neighbors, hoping embarrassment might drive them out. “Mr. and Mrs. Reed, this is the police. Come out right now.”

Nothing.

Damn it. Where were they? The house had been a long shot, but worth a try. Had they spooked somehow? Could they have talked to another cop, found out that he hadn’t told the lieutenant after all? He chewed on his lip, fought the urge for a cigarette. Finally he turned and walked back to the car. Until they turned up, may as well do his job.

It took him ten minutes to get to the mall, and he barely recognized the place once he did. The front glass was broken out onto the concrete. An ambulance and at least a dozen squad cars blocked the street and sidewalks, light bars spinning blue. Sirens wailed from every point of the compass. As he watched, EMTs raced out with a gurney, a tech running alongside to keep pressure on a chest blooming red. Two hundred citizens clustered behind yellow tape, watching the show. A reporter screamed obscenities at a cop trying to hold her back.

Halden left his car on the sidewalk, badged the guys at the door. “Who’s the detective in charge?”

“Detective? You kidding?” The cop shook his head. “Half the brass is here. The security office.”

Inside, the mall had a surreal quality, chairs and benches overturned, glass broken from store windows, pop music playing over the sound system, but instead of shoppers, there were crime techs and tactical officers and photographers. Most of the action seemed to be concentrated a couple floors up, but Halden wanted to find out what had happened before looking at the scene itself.

The mall security office was small, a windowless room with a couple of grainy monitors and too many people huddled around them. He gave up hope of pushing inside when he saw how much his rank would bring down the average. Instead, he wandered until he saw a detective he recognized from a raid the year before, an Uptown meth house. “What’s the story?”

“Some sort of a meet gone wrong,” the man said. “A couple of bodies. Six or eight bad guys. They shot a cop on the way out.”

“He okay?”

The detective shook his head. “Took one to the head.”

Somebody was fucked, then. You didn’t shoot police in Chicago.Halden gestured to the security office. “What’s the big attraction?”

“They pulled a security feed from one of the stores.”

“Anything useful?”

“Yeah. One of them looks like Jack Witkowski.”

“The Shooting Star suspect?” Surprise came first. Then Halden felt his stomach tighten. Yesterday, Tom Reed had said the drug dealer had mentioned Witkowski. Then Reed had gone AWOL. When Halden had finally gotten hold of him, the guy had sounded scared. And behind his voice, there had been the random sounds of a public place, and a persistent beat, like music.

Maybe the same music that was playing over the speakers right now. Shit. Shit, shit, oh shit. The other detective started to walk away, but Halden grabbed his arm. “Wait. Did you see the tape?”

“Yeah.”

“Who else was there?”

“Nobody anybody recognized. The angle is lousy. They’re looking at cameras from other stores now.”

“Could you see anybody else?” He couldn’t keep the panic from his voice. “Anybody at all?”

The detective looked at him strangely. “Yeah. Witkowski, if it was him, he was talking to two people. A man and a woman, looked like taxpayers. Had a bag that they started to show just before everything went crazy. They ended up running.”

Halden let go of the guy’s shoulder. Forced a nod.

“You okay?”

“Yeah. Thanks.” He turned away. The other detective stared for a moment, then shrugged and headed for the doors.