Jeff Jacobson - Sleep Tight

Until tonight, Tommy had been able to stay with his daughter until she fell asleep on Sunday nights, but tonight was his first night at his new job. His best guess was that it would take just under an hour to get downtown. He didn’t own a car and would have to rely on Chicago’s rather unreliable public transportation. At least he didn’t have to catch a bus. Tommy could walk to the Red Line and catch an El straight downtown.

He was about to start work for the Department of Streets and Sanitation. Although he would normally start his shift at the division headquarters on the West Side, tonight he’d been summoned downtown.

He kissed Grace’s forehead again. “Sorry, baby. Daddy loves you, little one.” He kissed her forehead once more and stood. Shrugging into his coat, he said, “I’ll see you soon, okay? Don’t worry about anything. Daddy’s gonna fix it. I’ll straighten things out with Mommy. I promise.” He patted her bed and left before his voice cracked.

Mommy was Kimmy. Kimmy was Tommy’s ex-wife. They had been high school sweethearts. Their relationship had gone slowly but steadily south when Kimmy had finally discovered why men were so gosh darn nice to her.

Tommy had loved her before she had blossomed into a knockout: long black hair, the grin and eyes of an angel, and the body of a lustful demon. Her father had been a complete and utter drunken wreck, and she had fallen hard for the only boy who showed her kindness. Throughout high school, Tommy was the only man who had mattered in her life. In her mind, their lives were predestined. The two were going to spend their lives living in Bridgeport, barbecuing on weekends, cheering for the Sox, raising kids, attending St. Mary of Perpetual Help on West Thirty-second Street every Sunday and holiday, and pretty much living within the nexus of the Stevenson and Dan Ryan expressways for the rest of their lives.

That didn’t work out.

But by then, she’d already had Grace, and Tommy was sleeping on the couch. Four years later, she was living with Grace in a three-room flat in Wrigleyville. Her mom, Florence, owned the building, and lived downstairs.

While Tommy was able to spend weekends with Grace, he and Kimmy didn’t talk much if they could help it. Grace wasn’t in school yet, but Tommy could see a whole new set of issues clouding up on the horizon when that happened next year.

He gently closed Grace’s bedroom door. He stood for a moment in the middle of the long hall. The living room and front door in the shotgun apartment were off to the left. Kimmy was in the kitchen off to the right. Tommy knew better. He knew he should turn left and leave quietly.

But his daughter’s fear made him angry. He turned to the right.

“What do you want?” The words hit him before he’d stepped into the kitchen.

Tommy shook his head, held his palms up, like he was surrendering. “I don’t have time to argue. She’s four years old, for Chrissakes. Why in the hell would you tell her there’s goddamn monsters in the closet and under the bed?”

“You don’t have to take care of her five days a week. You don’t know what it’s like. She’s an angel, I’m sure, when she’s with you. She’s not like that here. No. Here, she won’t stay in her goddamn bed. You go be Father of the Year somewhere else. I’m her mom. I’ll take care of it. I’m sorry, but you don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.” She flipped the page of her magazine.

“I shoulda known better than—”

“You’re going to be late. Do you know what that means?”

Tommy nodded, slowly. He couldn’t resist getting the last word in and said, “Shoulda known better,” and left.

Tommy had had an assault charge filed against him last year.

Kimmy had taken Tommy to the mall, forcing him to buy new clothes. She sent him into a store, waiting with Grace in the food court. When Tommy got back, he found Kimmy openly flirting with a group of college dipshits. Grace was a few seats over, sitting next to some stranger, telling him what crayons to use in her coloring book.

Tommy immediately sensed some seriously unpleasant vibes from the guy. Tommy stepped up to the table and told Grace to go sit by her mother. Kimmy turned and finally noticed Grace sitting so close to the guy. She was as surprised as Tommy, but not anywhere near as angry. The college boys eventually figured out that the husband was pissed and faded back into the mall.

“Take Grace home,” Tommy said, never taking his eyes off the guy. “I’ll catch up later.”

The guy decided it was time to go as well and went to lift his food tray. Tommy slammed it back to the table. Sweet and sour chicken and white rice flew up and scattered across the table. Tommy leaned in close. “Do you know my wife? Do you know my daughter? Do you know me?”

“What are you, some kinda nut? Fuck you,” the guy said.

Tommy snatched the tray and jabbed it into the guy’s throat. The guy made a gagging noise and fell backwards. Tommy swung the tray over his head and bashed it into the guy’s face. He was still pounding the man when mall security showed up and tackled him.

The guy decided to push his luck and press charges. When it went to trial, the guy’s lawyer managed to show only the beating from the surveillance video, not how close he had been sitting to Grace, not where his hand may have been.

Tommy was found guilty, and since he had no previous record of any consequence, he had to perform a few hundred hours of community service. But the blot on his record prohibited him from gaining any kind of custody. He only got to see Grace on the weekends and that was only because Kimmy wanted some time to herself.

Sometimes Tommy wondered if he’d ever find anybody else, maybe get married again someday, but he tried not to dwell on it. He knew a part of him would never be able to let go of Kimmy completely. He didn’t like it, but wasn’t going to kid himself. If she ever woke up and realized that he had always been the only one for her, he’d take her back in a heartbeat, no matter what she had said or done.

Still, he didn’t think that was likely. He knew she’d moved on, even if she did still show him affection once in a while. But that affection was probably closer to pity, like the feeling a supermodel might get when she sees a puppy in the rain.

Tommy kicked at the thin layer of slush as he headed for the Addison El stop. At least the snow was keeping most people inside. Tommy hated Wrigleyville. The muscleheads who crowded the sidewalks, the entire frat-house-row feel, the fake lovable losers posturing. And the whole upper-class thing irritated him.

He hurried across the street, dodging cabs and SUVs. It wasn’t much of a storm, but you never knew when a little snow could throw the CTA into chaos. The last thing he needed was to be late.

Tonight especially. Kimmy had arranged the whole thing. When Tommy had finally found out that she was seeing some mover and shaker down at City Hall, the wheels had already been set in motion, and he could either remain quiet like a good little cog or get ground up in the machine, crushed by the merciless juggernaut of Chicago politics.

So, for his daughter, he kept quiet. He was determined to be a good little cog, even if it killed him.

CHAPTER 5

9:04 PM

December 27

Ed and Sam marched through the blowing snow, looking for an unlocked door. If Ed was mad about his shoes, he didn’t say anything. To complain about the weather would go against all code of ethics if you grew up in the Midwest. You joked about the conditions, sure, loved to brag about it, of course, but you never, ever whined about it. The worse the weather got, the more superior you could feel over the punks in New York and the space cadet pussies in L.A.