Jeff Jacobson - Sleep Tight

“Right as fucking rain,” Sam said, and discreetly wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth. “Kid’s right. We gotta move.”

Ed started to say something else, but Sam narrowed his eyes and gave his head an imperceptible shake. Ed gave it a moment more, meeting Sam’s eyes, letting his partner know he didn’t believe him, and finally said, “Let’s move then. Slow and easy-peasy.”

They stole along the southern sidewalk of Washington, using the various military vehicles and occasional CTA bus as cover. Darting from shadow to shadow, Tommy would drop to the sidewalk once in a while, scouting, trying to get a look at the press conference.

The last time, at least five rats stuck their heads over the curb and hissed at him.

He flinched and rolled away. He found his feet, kept moving. “They’re still up there on the stage. Standing around. Like they’re waiting for something.”

Ed said, “Maybe they’re going back on the air or something.”

Halfway down the block, they slipped into the alcove, squeezed between the Cook County Administration Building and the Chicago Temple Building and huddled behind the Miro sculpture of Miss Chicago.

Ed whispered, “Here’s the plan. I’ll be the distraction.”

“You mean bait,” Qween said.

“Call it whatever you want,” Ed said.

“I’m gonna be the bait,” Sam said.

Ed started to say, “I need you—”

Sam cut him off. “No. I can’t run. I can shoot, but I can’t run. Let me walk up there and stand still. I’ll get their attention. Trust me. You go around the other side. I’m done hiding.” He used his thumb and forefinger to swipe at the corners of his mouth and met Ed’s eyes.

Ed nodded. Slow. “Okay. Okay, if that’s the way you want it, then okay.” He pointed to the other side of the Stryker, “Sam goes out first, then. Me and Qween will sneak around to the west, hugging City Hall.” He pointed at Tommy. “You wait a full minute, then cut across Washington here and circle around through the plaza. They’ll see Sam right off, and he’ll keep their attention. Me and Qween will get as close as we can. Soon as you hear us yelling, you slip in through the back and snatch your little girl. No matter what happens, you get her out.”

Ed looked at each of them. “Any questions?”

Nobody had any.

Ed said, “Let’s go,” and nodded at Sam.

Sam strode off, still holding his ribs, but moving purposefully, back straight, eyes on the horizon. Ed and Qween flattened themselves against the glass walls of the Harris Bank, the first floor of the Chicago Temple building. Tommy peeled around to the east and ducked across Washington. He slid between a bus and a cab, both vehicles long since abandoned once they had been boxed in by a parked convoy of M939s. He froze.

The plaza was a full half of a city block in size, a vast speckled cement open prairie in a massive, dense forest of concrete and steel and glass. The absence of the Picasso sculpture made the emptiness worse. He felt like a mouse, about to dart across a moonlit field while hawks prowled the misty skies above. To his left, the lights still shone on a stage erected in the middle of Clark Street.

He could see figures grouped around a podium. One of them had to be Lee, with the dark head of hair and blue suit. Red tie. Yes, that was definitely Lee.

There was a woman next to him. Long hair. Tight black dress. Kimmy.

He didn’t recognize the short, sour-faced man next to her, or the few behind Lee. He waited. Lee hoisted someone small to his hip. Tommy saw the white blouse and the way she held her head and how it canted her hair just so. He couldn’t breathe.

It was Grace.

He had waited long enough. He scurried across the plaza, curving to the west, heading for the back of the stage. Twenty yards to go. He skirted around the fountain and stayed low by a broad cement planter for a couple of stunted trees. From there, he could be on them before they saw anything, and so when their attention was taken by Sam, then Ed and Qween, he would slip in behind and take Grace. He waited for Sam’s signal.

It never came.

Instead, a solid slab of light thumped out of the sky and slammed him into stark relief against the flatness of the plaza.

Ahead, more lights speared him from a couple of Strykers along the western edge of the plaza. They’d been waiting there the entire time. Soldiers burst out of the light and rushed him, a vicious rugby scrum of guns, boots, and elbows. They surged over Tommy and he went down swinging. He caught a quick glimpse of more searchlights stabbing out of the sky, and then it was all over.

CHAPTER 74

9:05 PM

August 14

Phil couldn’t keep the grin off his face. It had worked just like Dr. Reischtal had said it would. Who knew that crazy CDC fucker could have been still useful? Not just useful, but necessary. If what he said was true, then they had to get out of the city as fast as possible. And they most certainly would need Dr. Reischtal’s help.

Phil prided himself on always, one way or another, being ahead of the curve, on knowing more than the general public, and therefore, being in a position to take advantage. In the past, he had used this talent to gain traction in elections, to blackmail his enemies, and spot opportunities that would benefit him, often financially, later down the line. Now it would get him out of the city alive.

And not just that—his useless handsome nephew had found a scapegoat.

Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I give you the man who bombed Soldier Field.

Tommy didn’t look so scary. He looked crushed. He sagged in the soldiers’ grip, blood trickling from his scalp down into his right eye. He’d puked earlier, when one of the soldiers had kicked him in the stomach. He looked like a man who was finished, someone who could barely walk. He’d been carrying a handgun and two unwrapped hazmat suits. The soldiers had tossed them onto the stage.

Phil wanted anybody and everybody to post pictures on the Internet. He had no idea how to do it himself, but he was nothing if he couldn’t recognize the most effective way to communicate since the first written word. He wanted the world to know that this was the bombing suspect, and that later, the suspect would attempt to escape and be killed in the process.

“Daddy!” Grace screamed, and ripped out of her mother’s clutch. That dumb whore. He’d told her to keep a tight hold on her daughter, and she’d listened about as well as his idiot nephew when he’d told Lee that Kimmy was nothing but trouble, and wouldn’t help advance his career. “A single mother? Are you fucking kidding me?”

Phil was not a man burdened by sentimentality. Or gentleness. As Grace ran past, charging toward her father, Phil simply reached out and caught a fistful of her hair. He yanked her back, and her feet flew out from under her. She fell backwards, hanging in midair, hair snared in his fist. Her surprised, sharp scream echoed around the plaza.

Tommy drove an elbow into the nearest soldier’s chest, and Phil heard the crack even fifteen feet away. The rest of the soldiers surrounding him responded with a flurry of blows. Some of them even used their rifle butts. Tommy’s knees buckled and he went back down.

Kimmy rushed forward, but Phil stopped her with a single index finger, jammed up into her face. “Get the fuck back, you stupid bitch. You might be along for the ride, but you’re nothing but scenery. And that’s easy to replace. Remember that.”

Lee, the dumbshit, couldn’t resist taunting Tommy. Lee ambled over to the group of soldiers and squatted on his haunches in front of a barely conscious Tommy and said, “Told ya, asshole. Told you I’d make you wish you’d never been born. Told you I’m the man here. All this over some dumb cooze that hates your guts.”