I stiffen. My dad had a picture like that. He took it when I was fourteen.

“What are you talking about?” I say.

“Yeah,” she sighs. “It was in the change room, taped to the mirror. I bet your mom put it there.”

Now my face is flaming. She’s talking about Exotica. Ali must have worked as a dancer, or a hostess.

“Who’s your mom?” a guy sprawled on a beanbag chair says.

“She’s a whore,” one of the other guys snickers.

“Shut your fucking mouth,” I snap. I try to jump up from the couch, but Levi pulls me back down again.

“Relax,” he says. “Pauly, don’t be a dick. We call them escorts.”

“My mother wasn’t an escort,” I hiss. “She just worked as a dancer.”

“A stripper,” Pauly laughs. “She teach you any moves? There’s a pole upstairs. Why don’t you show us how mommy shakes it?”

“Why don’t I shake your fucking head off your shoulders!” I roar, struggling to get out of the low, sagging couch while weak and enervated from the weed. It’s easy for Levi to yank me back down again.

“Nobody cares what your mom did,” he says. He slings his arm around my shoulders, which I don’t like at all. I can smell his sweat and the heavy reek of weed in his robe. “My parents are a couple of fuckin’ yuppies and that’s just as embarrassing. You can’t be fighting, though. You gotta be a good girl. Do your work. Make some money. Have some fun.”

His fingertips dangle over my right breast. He lets them touch down, with only my t-shirt between us. I force myself not to squirm away.

I see Ali watching us. Not like she’s jealous—more like a kid watching the fish in an aquarium.

“Yeah, whatever,” I mutter. “I need more Ex, then.”

Levi nods to the Samoan. The guy comes back about five minutes later with a paper bag, the top folded over. He hands it to me.

“Where am I supposed to sell this?” I ask Levi.

“Anywhere you want. Parties, raves, campuses . . . sky’s the limit. You’re your own boss. Under me, of course.” He grins.

“Do you make this?” I ask him. “How do I know it’s good? I don’t want any of my friends getting sick.”

Levi’s veneer of friendliness peels back. His bloodshot eyes peer at me from too close, his arm tightening around my shoulder.

“You know it’s good because you trust me,” he hisses.

He’s only in his twenties, but his teeth are as yellow as an old man’s, and his breath is atrocious.

“Right,” I say. “Okay.”

He lets go of me at last. I heave myself up off the couch, clutching the paper bag.

“You can sell ‘em anywhere from fifteen to twenty-five a pop,” Levi says. “You owe me ten each.”

I nod.

“Bring me the money in a week.”

I nod again.

The Samoan leads me back toward the front door, even though it’s only ten feet away.

“See ya,” I say to him.

He gives me a disdainful look, closing the door in my face.

Even though it’s hot as hell outside, the air tastes fresh after the fug of Levi’s house. I do not want to go back there. Especially not in a week.

And where the hell am I supposed to keep coming up with the money for this? I don’t want to actually sell Molly.

I drive a couple blocks away, then I pull over to call Schultz.

“Hey,” I say. “I got another batch of pills from Levi. What do you want me to do with it?”

“Bring it to me,” he says. “I’ll meet you at Boardwalk Burgers.”

I silently groan. Is today going to be a tour of all the people I least want to visit?

“Fine,” I say. “I’ll be there in fifteen.”

10

Nero

The first thing I do when I get home is start researching this cop.

It doesn’t take long to find him. Officer Logan Schultz, graduated from the academy in 2011, then bounced around the Bureau of Patrol for a while. Two years ago, he transferred to the Organized Crime Division.

That’s exactly what I expected. Organized Crime covers Vice, Narcotics, and Gang Investigations. All of my favorite things.

But I’m curious to know who this joker actually is.

Am I dealing with a Boy Scout? Or a classic crooked cop who wants to get his beak wet?

Now that’s a little trickier to tell. Officer Schultz has several complaints lodged against him, and he’s been investigated twice for misconduct. But as far as I can see, he’s only gotten in trouble for roughing up suspects, not taking bribes.

He’s received a couple of commendations, too. Most recently the Top Gun Arrest Award for recovering illegal firearms.

There’s a photo of him getting a medal pinned on his chest by a man with a long, crooked nose and thinning gray hair. The caption informs me that this is Chief Brodie. I’m pretty sure I’ve seen Brodie at those hoity-toity parties I was needling Schultz about. I don’t actually enjoy attending those—but it’s all part of securing power and influence in Chicago.

Lining up the dates on Schultz’s big case, I’m guessing he was involved in that raid on the Bratva last year—I hear they lost almost twenty million in high-quality Russian munitions.

So it looks like our boy is a real go-getter. Really making a splash in the Chicago PD.

I try to search his social media, looking for evidence of a wife, kids, girlfriend, or exploitable bad habits. It’s all buttoned up tight—no public profiles. Or maybe no profiles at all.

However, I do find an old news article from April 18th, 2005:

Off-Duty Chicago Police Officer Slain in South Shore

* * *

Officer Matthew Schultz passed away early this morning, after being shot at approximately 1:30 am at the corner of E 77th Street and S Bennet Ave.

Police Superintendent Larson said the officer was driving close to Rosenblum Park when an unknown assailant approached the vehicle at a stoplight. The shooter fired through the Officer’s car window, hitting Schultz three times in the chest and head.

Larson said officers conducting a traffic stop nearby heard the gunfire and responded to the scene. Nearby security cameras caught partial footage of the event.

Schultz was rushed to Jackson Park Hospital, where he underwent emergency surgery. The doctor’s efforts were not successful, and he was pronounced dead at 5:22 a.m.

Schultz is survived by a wife and son. Donations to the family can be made via the Fallen Brothers Fund.

Well, well, well. It doesn’t take a bona fide detective to surmise that the “surviving son” is the new Officer Schultz. Or that his avenging angel routine is supposed to make up for Daddy catching a bullet in South Shore.

Interesting that the news article makes no mention of what Dad was doing driving around South Shore in plainclothes in the middle of the night. And I don’t see any follow-ups about catching the shooter.

I wonder if Schultz the Younger knows the answer to that little mystery.

Well, that’s his problem. I’ve got my own issue to contend with. Namely, how I’m going to rustle up some capital for the Steel Works development.