Marcus Sakey - At The City's Edge

Three cops stood at the other end.

They wore Chicago-blue over tactical bulletproof vests, the hardware making them barrel-chested. Radios, cuffs, ammo cases, and key chains all hung on their belts, but all Jason could see was the sidearm each carried. He stopped inside the door, turned sideways, his body blocking their view of her. "You know those guys?"

She snuck a furtive look past his shoulder. "No."

He nodded, his eyes scanning the lobby. Trying to look like the kind of man who belonged at a charity dinner. The son of a prominent businessman, just pausing to talk to his date. There were two more cops standing by the enclosed fireplace near the entrance.

Cops in front, cops behind. He could feel his heart in his throat, even as he reminded himself that there was no way they were the target. The cops had to be routine security, just assuring that an event attended by a political figure went off smoothly: no wackos, no former employees with a grudge. All Jason had to do was keep cool.

His eyes fell on a brass stanchion with a sign atop it:

BENEFIT DINNER FOR THE LANTERN BEARERS

EDELWEISS SUITE

43RD FLOOR

"Okay," Jason said, and started walking. Cruz fell in alongside him, her arm still tucked through his. "What we're doing here is hiding in plain sight."

"Right."

"No one will be looking for us here."

"Right."

"We're just going to stroll past them."

"Right."

Jason's muscles were tense as he moved. The smile plastered on his face felt forced, the same rigid skeleton expression he had in snapshots. The cops were calm, but not lax. Their eyes watched the crowd. The tallest, a jowly guy with a mustache, looked at Jason.

Run , his body screamed. Do it now .

Instead he made himself flash a bare nod, then turned to look at Cruz. Said, "I hope we aren't too late for dinner. I'm starving."

She didn't miss a beat. "I'm sure they'll have something. I just hope we have a better table this time than last."

"Do you think the alderman will still be there?"

"Oh, I hope so. I'd really like to meet him."

They came close enough to smell the aftershave on one of them, something lemony and cheap. Jason concentrated on lifting his feet and putting them down, on his inane conversation with Cruz.

Then they were past, and he took a deep breath. The air was cool and clean. He cocked his eyebrows at Cruz, shook his head barely. They'd made it. He led her toward a bank of elevators, the doors shining like they were polished twice a day. With a soft tone, one opened in front of them.

"Hey." The voice came from behind, gruff and loud.

Cruz tightened the grip on his arm. He kept walking, fighting to keep the pace steady.

"Hey! Hey you."

The elevator slid shut in front of them. Jason's throat felt swollen as he turned around. The tall cop stood behind him, one hand resting on the butt of his gun. Jason thought he might be able to jump him, get a punch in and make a run. Kevlar did nothing against a fist. He started to speak, lost it. Coughed, then made himself say, "Yes?"

The man stepped closer. He had thin brown hair and wore the lemon aftershave. His fingers tapped on his sidearm. He looked at Cruz, then back to Jason. Narrowed his eyes slightly.

Then he said, "I just want to thank you for what you're doing," and extended his hand. For a second Jason didn't understand what he meant, how this cop he'd never seen before could possibly know what they were doing.

Then he remembered the uniform. Relief flowed through him like warm water. "Thank you, Officer. That means a lot to me." He took the cop's hand, shook it firmly.

"Are you back for long?"

"For good, I think."

"I'm glad to hear it." The man hesitated. "No matter how you feel about the war, we all owe you guys a debt. The country said go and you went. You've made us very proud."

Jason felt a surge of absurd gratitude. "Thank you."

"Anyhow, don't mean to keep you folks." Another ding sounded, and a different elevator opened. The man raised an arm to hold it open, and gestured them in like a doorman. "Have a good night."

"You too, officer." Jason pressed the button for 43. He could feel one eyelid wanting to twitch in a nervous tic, and rubbed at it. As the doors closed, Cruz slumped against the back wall of the elevator. "Jesus. Thought we'd had it there."

Jason nodded, flexing his shoulders to release the tension. Modest beeps marked floors as the elevator rose. "You said there will be more upstairs?"

"Probably."

"Will they know you?"

"Doubt it. I know a lot of the tactical guys in Area One, but the Loop is Area Four. But-"

"You were on TV. I know." He shook his head. "We'll keep it quick and low profile. Just get in, find Washington and the alderman, go from there. Simple."

Cruz looked as dubious as he felt. Sure. Just waltz past plainclothes cops, convince a guy who thinks I'm suffering post-traumatic stress to extend his voucher to the most important politician in the room, then convince the alderman, without a shred of evidence, to undertake a crusade that will set the city on fire .

Simple .

Jason pushed the thoughts from his mind. Replaced them with an image of goofing off in Lake Michigan, he and Mikey linking arms in a cradle for Billy to stand in, counting three, two, one, and then heaving together, the boy arcing a dozen feet, his legs bicycling, water trailing prismatic behind whoops of joy.

The elevator doors slid open. Jason counted three, two, one, and stepped out.

The buzz of conversation hit first, a hundred voices talking and laughing. A short hallway opened to a banquet room dotted with circular tables. White linen, half-empty wine glasses, bright floral centerpieces. Beyond burned the lights of Navy Pier, the Ferris wheel turning in slow circles.

Ronald stood out in the crowd, towering above millionaires that looked at him with the frosted smiles of zoo-goers dubious about the security of the cages. Jason caught his eye, and the big man moved to meet them. His tux pants were two inches too short, and the fabric strained over his biceps. "Thought y'all were going over to that bar."

"We did."

"Get what you need?"

"Yes and no." He grimaced. "Mostly no. How's Billy?"

"Good. Last I saw, little man had discovered the buffet."

Jason's head snapped fast. "He's here ?"

Ronald shrugged. "You axed me to keep an eye on him. Where's he gonna be safer – in a roomful of rich white folks, or alone back at the house?"

For Jason's money, Billy would be safest locked in a small room with armed guards outside it, but he saw the point. "Yeah, all right. How 'bout Washington? You know where he is?"

"Holdin' court, I expect."

"Thanks," Jason said. "When this is all over, I hope you'll let me buy you a beer."

The big man shrugged. "You can buy me two, you want to."

The crowd was in that state of upscale levity born of single malt before dinner and pinot noir during, and as Jason wound his way through, people smiled at him, nodded. A woman raised a champagne flute in salute. He had chosen the uniform because it felt more natural than a suit, but he was starting to wonder if the trade-off in visibility was worth it.

"You're a celebrity in that thing."

"Sure," Jason said. "Everybody loves a soldier. These folks just don't like their sons to become one. You see him?"

"No."

Beside the swinging service doors was a dead zone. Jason stepped into it, scanned the room, an eye out for Billy. The crowd was mostly white, with a handful of Hispanics and African Americans. Everyone was dressed the same, and for a moment it seemed vaguely funny, all the world-makers in uniforms of their own. Then, through a break in the crowd, he spotted Washington, arms up in preacher pose, talking to a good-looking black man with a broad smile. "Got him." He squinted. "And I think that's the alderman he's with."