I drove on auto-pilot, my thoughts churning wildly, and it wasn’t until my dad’s music was looping for the fourth time that I tuned in to where I was—which was no longer in Illinois. I’d not only crossed the line into Wisconsin, but had just hit the Kenosha city limits.
I may have been on auto-pilot, but my subconscious had definitely had a plan all along.
I’d only been to the Victorian style house on Fifth Street once before, but it wasn’t any trouble finding it. The lawn had been a mess the last time I was there, but now it was neat and tidy, with colorful flowers in pretty clay pots. The dingy paint had been spruced up, at least on the street-facing side. I saw buckets and two ladders around the side of the house, and assumed I was facing a work-in-progress.
I pulled up in front, killed the engine, and sat there for a while, debating. I could go in … or I could turn around and drive the hour and a half back to Chicago.
I decided to go in.
The house was quiet, and I saw no sign of life as I walked to the front door. I wasn’t sure if I should be annoyed I’d come so far for no reason, or relieved.
I rang the bell, got no immediate response, and rang again. A good three minutes passed, still with no answer, and I finally decided that all I’d gotten out of this day was a relaxing drive and too much thinking.
I turned to go—and heard the lock click behind me.
I turned around, and found myself staring into the hangdog face of Oscar Hernandez.
He wore a coffee-stained undershirt and flannel pajama pants that had seen better days. Sleep creases lined his face, criss-crossing under his puffy eyes.
“Gee, Lieutenant,” I said. “You’re taking this retirement thing seriously.”
“Watson?” His red eyes crinkled in delight as a wide smile split his face. “Goddammit, Detective, what in the name of the devil’s younger daughter are you doing here?”
“Guess I got a little lost.”
He cocked his head, and I saw the sharp mind behind the bloodshot eyes. “You’re not talking about streets and maps.”
“Guess not.” I lifted a shoulder. “Needed a beer. Figured this was the place to find one.”
“Damn right it is,” he said. “Or it was last night. Wife’s back home with Joey,” he said, referring to their oldest daughter. “Had some of the guys over.”
“A calm night of cigars and literary discussions?”
“Fuck that. We got pissed and talked about our misspent youth. Get your tiny ass in here,” he said, stepping back and holding the door open wide.
I followed him into the kitchen, then hung back as he opened the fridge and stared inside. “I got Heineken and Heineken. Might have some flavored vodka in the freezer. Wife likes that whipped cream stuff.”
“I’ll take Heineken,” I said. “And if you’ve got a bag of potato chips hiding around here somewhere, I’ll love you forever.”
“After what we’ve been through, you should love me anyway.” But he crossed to the pantry and came out with a bag of Lay’s and a bag of Ruffles.
“You’re a good man, Lieutenant.”
“Don’t you forget it.”
Fifteen minutes later we were sitting on the back porch steps, breathing in the summer air and looking out at the water. I’d never seen my partner as the Mr. Fix-it type, but I had to admit that for a house like this—big and sprawling with a huge backyard, trees, and a view of the lake—maybe being domesticated would be worth it.
“You gonna tell me what’s on your mind? Cause as much as I enjoy your company, I don’t think you drove all this way just for beer and chips.”
“It’s really good beer,” I said, and clinked bottles with him. “But no. Honestly, I’m not sure why I came. The car sort of drove itself.”
“All the way from Indiana? You must really be going out of your mind on this medical leave.”
“Chicago,” I said, and that was as good a lead-in as any. I gave him the basic rundown, leaving out the more titillating details. If we ended up going there, I’d need more than one beer in my system.
“Last time I looked, kid, you didn’t have a Chicago badge.”
I eyed him sideways. “So?”
“So whatever these guys are up to doesn’t have anything to do with finding your missing friend, right?”
“Right.”
“And the girl was the reason you went to Chicago.”
“Yes.”
“So leave it alone.”
I blinked. “Leave it alone?”
“Jesus, Watson, you live and breathe this job more than anyone I know. You don’t have to right every wrong, you know. So unless those guys are killing folks in Indiana, their crimes and misdemeanors aren’t your problem.”
“Even if I’m banging one of them?”
He drew in a loud, noisy breath. “Well, shit, Watson. Now I’m gonna have that in my head all day.”
I leaned forward, my elbows on my knees and my head in my hands. “I’m all twisted up, Oscar.”
“Aw, shit. Aw, hell.” His big hand came down on my back and rubbed. “You’ll get untwisted.”
“How?”
“No idea.”
I laughed. “You’re a big help.”
“Okay, try this. The heart knows what the heart knows.”
I turned to him. “That’s some flowery shit coming from you.”
“Courtesy of the wife. It’s what she used to tell me whenever Joey dragged home some yahoo I didn’t like the looks of. Like the idiot banker who followed her home one day like some determined puppy.”
“What’s it mean?”
“I think it means if you fall, you’re fucked. So you might as well enjoy yourself.”
“You know, that’s not bad advice, actually.”
“That’s me, always dispensing the knowledge. You want to hang around? Meredith’ll be home in time for dinner.”
“Nah. I should get back. But thanks.” I stood up, then considered him. “What happened with the idiot banker?”
“Turned out not to be such an idiot after all. Gave me three of the most precious grandkids on the planet.” He stood, too, then walked me around the house to my car. “You take care of that hip. And if this guys sticks, you bring him around. If there’s a man out there can trip you up, I want to meet him.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
I didn’t go to The Drake when I got back to Chicago. Instead, I went to my tiny apartment. I wanted time to think. To be alone. To let all the pieces come together in my head. What I knew. What I wanted.