Children of Chicago Read online

  “Maybe around here?” Fin said softly.

  The sign at the corner of the park read Garfield Park. Mo had been here once before, visiting the Garfield Park Conservatory, one of the largest conservatories in the country. The city once had three West Side conservatories, one in Humboldt Park, Douglas Park and the other in Garfield Park. The conservatories in Humboldt Park and Douglas Park were demolished, but many of the original plantings that started the large Garfield Park collection came from the three earlier conservatories. Opened in 1908, the conservatory was often called landscape art under glass, as it is encased in a large glass dome. He did not remember any of the names of the plants or trees his biology teacher walked them through. He did remember the Fern Room, a glass-domed covered room with a koi pond, streams, and ferns that lead you around a moss-covered path. What he also remembered was a small gallery set away from the main showroom. There, black and white photos lined a concrete block wall, images that spanned the early years of the conservatory, the early 1910s through the 1960s in Chicago. What haunted him most about those images was a grainy picture of the conservatory workers from the 1910s dressed in black suits and top hats, their blank eyes looking at the camera. They were lined up in three rows, like a class picture, a backdrop of gigantic palm leaves behind them. It was as if they could see him across decades and time. It was as if they had never left, in some ways. Something in those black eyes, pools of emptiness, stretched across the years and pulled him into their darkness. One of the men in that photo in particular still haunted Mo, one of the tallest men, set furthest back, cast in dark shadow. Mo was certain he had seen that same man before.

  A car horn blared.

  The driver side window rolled down just a few inches, not enough to see a face.

  “Y’all lost?” A rough voice asked from within.

  Neither of them responded.

  There was a laugh from inside the car, and then it sped away.

  “I feel like we’re out here, exposed,” he said.

  “We are,” Fin said. “We’ve always been.”

  He began to wonder if Fin really knew what she was doing. He even began to wonder if he should have listened to her. Now, out here, with the cold and the pain, it was the first time he began to really think of what they did, and if it was worth it. Could they really be rid of their problems like this? Was it really this easy? And if it was, why did Fin have to do it again, and so soon? Guilt washed over Mo. He never thought of himself capable of hurting anyone, all for the hopes of what a grim genie in a bottle promised.

  “I’m tired. I’m thirsty. I can’t feel my foot. We can at least sit at a bench for a few minutes.”

  “There,” she pointed to a copse of trees deep within the park. “He’s right there.”

  “I don’t see anyone.”

  Her face beamed. “He’s right there!”

  Fin started walking, hearing the call of something deep within the park. Mo reached for her forearm.

  “Fin, there’s no one there.”

  Fin moved towards the park, searching the darkness. “Shh,” she said, her back turned. “I hear him. I hear the music.”

  Across the street, an orange and red sign at a corner store that said LIQUORS flickered, except the letter U which was dimmer than the other letters and pulsating. Next to it was a funeral home that did not appear as though it had hosted a wake in years. The bars over the windows were rusted over with time. The windows were streaked over with age. A man in black, the man in black from the photo at the Garfield Park Conservatory, stood in the alley between and sneered at Mo. Gaping black pits were where his eyes should be. A gray hand reached up and touched the rim of his hat with two long, thin fingers.

  Mo closed his eyes, shutting them tight. His heart pounding in his chest. Nothing was there, he told himself. He was tired. He was cold. He was in pain. Nothing and no one was there. When he opened his eyes terror stood before him. The man was inches from his face.

  The man snarled. “Of the Devil’s power and wickedness here I will tell you a story, I gnawed on their bones...” The man in the black suit produced a bloodied toe with a flourish, with his right hand and dropped it onto his black tongue and crunched.

  Mo collapsed in pain, looked down at his shoe and found it soaked in blood. “Fin!” He screamed.

  The man in the black suit was gone.

  Fin pulled him up to his feet.

  “We need to go...” The words in his brain were a tangle of sharp thorns. He did not know what he had seen, but he knew what he felt, hot pain that shot up his leg into his jaw.

  “Fin...” His whole body shook. This felt wrong. It felt sick.

  “Dammit, Mo! What is wrong with you?”

  “This isn’t right. There’s this guy, over there,” Mo raised a shaky hand. “Looking at us. My foot…” Mo fought to catch his breath. His words failed in his mouth. He wanted to leave. He wanted to go home.

  Fin looked back into the dark cluster of trees and across the street at the abandoned funeral home. “It’s part of the test,” she pleaded. “To see if we’re worthy. We just have to go to him and this, this can all be over, and we can go back. No one will know. No one needs to know what we did.”

  It sounded like she was trying to convince herself. And for the first time, he felt like there was something she had failed to tell him. A chill ran through him.

  The fluorescent letter U in the LIQUORS sign burst on as the other letters brightened with intensity. With more light shining on them, Mo could see Fin’s face. Now, standing in front of her and looking at her closely for the first time in hours, he spotted the flecks of dried blood sprinkled across the bridge of her nose. They looked like freckles, born with the markings of death. Mo’s eyes shifted down Fin’s shoulders, her arms, and then to her hands and he saw it; the dried red, brown smears that had been absorbed into the cuffs of her hoodie. Then there was the blue spray paint that she tried to scrub off her fingertips but could not.

  “What if we’re missing something? What if we did something wrong? What if he forgot about us? Is mad at us? What if what we did was for nothing and...” Mo felt like he was gasping for air.

  “Just stop!” Fin threw her arms toward the sky and screamed. She lunged at him, grabbing him by his shoulders. “You can’t doubt! If you doubt it, it won’t work! You’ll ruin this! Ruin me! Us!” She looked back toward the trees and lowered her voice. “He can’t hear you talking like this.” Her trembling hand motioned over to the park. “He’ll get mad if you talk like this. We just need to go there,” she raised a finger to her lips and lowered her voice. “Listen to the music. He’s right there,” Fin reached for Mo’s hand, and he realized then that it was the first time she had ever taken hold of his hand, and he smiled, under her spell.

  A movement drew their eyes upward. Blue and red lights swept across the tops of trees. A horn blared. The police cruiser stopped right in front of them. Fin released his hand with such force he thought she was going to push him next. She was angry, and at that moment he saw something sinister in her face that unsettled him.

  “We’re both dead,” Fin whispered.

  An officer exited the passenger side, followed by the driver.

  “Guys,” the officer addressed them as she slammed her door shut.

  Neither Fin nor Mo offered words.

  Mo searched Fin’s face for something, anything that could help them get out of this, but she did not say a thing.

  “Mohammed Ramsen and Finley Wills?”

  Both officers stood in front of them. “I’m Officer Bauer,” one said and pointed to her partner “Officer Doyle.”

  Officer Bauer repeated the names. “Mohammed Ramsen and Finely Wills,” being careful to make eye contact with each.

  “Yes,” Mo stammered.

  Fin remained silent. Her gaze fixed toward the darkness where she was sure they were supposed to go. Tears welled up in her eyes.

  Officer Bauer looked down. “
What happened there?”

  “Stray dog bit me,” Mo said.

  “Dog bit you?” Officer Bauer said slowly and then turned to Fin. “And you, your hands?”

  “Painting,” Fin said as she shoved her hands into her hoodie pocket.

  “Dog bit you and you’ve been painting? Okay. Let’s get you two to your parents and figure out what you have been up to tonight.”

  The officers flanked them, escorting them to their police cruiser. Droplets of cold rain proceeded to fall, running down Mo’s forehead, and rolling down his temples.

  “Shit, I know I left my back porch windows open,” Officer Bauer said to no one in particular.

  “Not trying to make you feel bad,” Officer Doyle said as he sat in the driver’s seat, pulled on his seat belt and shut the car door. “It’s going to pour all night.”

  Officer Bauer opened the back door, and Mo went inside first, sitting behind the driver’s seat.

  Mo sucked in air between his teeth, wincing in pain as his legs, cramped and pained, finally settled to rest. He could no longer feel his foot.

  Lightning flashed, and then the sky roared, angry and hungry.

  “Where are your other two friends? Evie and Daniel?” Officer Bauer asked, but Mo looked over to Fin who was standing outside the rear passenger door.

  Fin shook her head back and forth slowly, as if debating with herself on what to do next.

  Officer Bauer closed Mo’s door and walked over to where Fin was standing and opened the rear passenger door for her. “Ah, covering for your buddies after curfew. I get it. We’ll find ‘em.” She pointed inside the car, directing Fin to sit down.

  Fin took a deep breath. Her nostrils flared. For a moment Mo thought she was going to do it, that she was going to run off into the darkness in search of her promise. Perhaps Officer Bauer sensed something off about them. She placed her hand firmly on Fin’s shoulder, directing her to enter the car.

  Officer Bauer told Fin to be careful, not to bump her head as she eased onto the seat. Mo knew Fin was furious that it had ended this way. Her eyes narrowed in on him. Her lips twisted. It was then that he heard something fall to the ground with a metallic clang.

  Officer Bauer looked down to the object that had fallen, water splashing around her feet. She moved her hand to her hip fast, inches above her holster. Her eyes met Mo’s. Officer Bauer took one step back, her eyes locked on Mo.

  “Out of the car! Both of you!” Officer Bauer ordered.

  Officer Doyle scrambled out of the car, without question or hesitation and drew his weapon. “Out!” He commanded and opened the car door.

  Mo rushed out of the car. “I didn’t do anything!” Furiously wiping the rain out of his eyes.

  “Stop moving!” Officer Doyle shouted. “Hands above your head!” Officer Doyle directed Mo to turn around and face the car.

  Fin slowly got out of her seat. She faced the car with a smile. Rainwater pouring down her hair and face. She stood still, not affected at all.

  Officer Doyle looked to Officer Bauer for an explanation.

  “Knife,” she said.

  Officer Doyle pulled down Mo’s hands. Cold metal dug into his wrists, squeezing and tightening around his skin.

  “What’d we do?!” Mo shouted.

  “That’s what we want to know,” Officer Doyle said. “Where’re your friends?”

  Fin laughed as Officer Bauer placed handcuffs on her as well.

  With both of them handcuffed and the doors locked, Officer Bauer bent down to retrieve the object. She raised the knife and exposed the red streaks of blood and strips of hair clinging to the blade.

  Inside the car, it sounded like thousands of frozen peas falling onto the roof of the vehicle. Fin’s eyes fixed on the knife outside the window. She burst into laughter, rocking back and forth in her seat.

  The laughter was piercing. He wanted to tell her to be quiet, to stop, but he was too afraid.

  “Want to tell us where your friends are now?” Officer Bauer asked.

  Nothing. Fin continued to laugh, a loud, earsplitting laugher that rattled Mo’s insides.

  “Call it in Doyle. Something happened.”

  Officer Doyle pressed a call button and spoke. “Car 3232 here. We found Mohammed Ramsen and Finley Wills.” The walkie-talkie crackled. “Taking them to Grand and Central.” Officer Doyle looked to Officer Bauer who took over.

  “We have a knife. Looks suspicious.”

  There was an electric squeal from the radio and then a flash: “Medina here. We’re at Humboldt Park now. We found the other two. I’ll meet you at the station.”

  As the car drove away, Mo looked over to Fin who seemed to be watching something or someone outside of the window. She raised a hand up to the glass and waved goodbye in the direction of the park.

  CHAPTER 10

  “If you want me to help you, you have to tell me what happened,” Lauren said as she set a plastic cup of water in front of the young man.

  “Do you go by Mohammed or Mo? I heard your friend shout out to you and she called you Mo.”

  The interrogation room was small. It was cold. There were only two chairs and a small folding table. There was nothing comfortable about this room. It was not supposed to offer any comforts.

  The boy started hyperventilating again. His cheeks grew red as he puffed air in and out of his mouth.

  “You’re going to make yourself pass out again, and if you pass out again guess what? That just extends your time here with me.”

  “Mo,” his voice sounded like sandpaper against drywall.

  “Mo, good. That’s how this works, Mo. I ask you questions. You answer those questions.”

  He lowered his head between his legs. She could hear him wheezing. Lauren rolled her eyes and took a sip of water.

  When Van saw her filling up two cups of water earlier, he stopped.

  “Those both for you?” He asked her.

  “One’s for the kid,” she said. “He just had a toe ripped off.”

  “Yeah, and he got patched up at the hospital. He’s doing better than the kid that’s never going home.” He shook his head. “They’re murderers, Medina.”

  “Suspected. Plus, they’re still children,” she said.

  “Children found with a knife and blood all over their clothes.”

  Van’s face grew red, and he muttered something under his breath before entering Interrogation Room 2. He had his method. She had hers.

  Still, Lauren knew Mo had good reason to worry. This was not looking good for him, or his friend.

  “It’s scary. I know, but if you want me to help you, you’re going to have to start talking to me.”

  Mo raised his head and pressed the palms of his hands into his eyes and let out a wail.

  “Talk to me. What happened out there?”

  She fought the urge to yawn. The need for sleep washed over her. How many hours had she been awake? Twenty-four? Thirty-two? She was functioning in a state of twilight and exhaustion. Pushing the limits of sleeplessness had worried Commander McCarthy so much he’d nearly demanded she go home, but she refused. Not now with another murder investigation, she argued.

  “Fine Medina. Don’t sleep. You’re questioning Mohammed.” Commander McCarthy had handed her a sheet of paper when she arrived at the station. “Van, you interview Finley.” He shoved a sheet of paper into Van’s hand resting at his side.

  “Wait, why am I interviewing the girl?” He’d snapped.

  “Because last time Medina interviewed a girl she broke her jaw.”

  “That was a long time ago,” Lauren said under her breath.

  “Five weeks ago,” Commander McCarthy responded. “You’ve got no friends on the Chicago Police Board, Medina. They’d sure be happy if they had to investigate you again. You’re a good officer. A better detective, but if you don’t lock down your anger and these controversies that seem to just follow you around you’ll be out on your
ass.”

  “Controversies? I was attacked! Do you need to see the scar on my neck to prove it?”

  “I’m not talking about the guy you killed last year. I’m talking about the girl you beat up five weeks ago, and the confidential informant you hit with your car last summer. And if you really wanted to go back, we can talk about your ‘accidents’ when you were a rookie. Reign it in, Medina, because your dad’s not here to protect you, and Washington is on his way to retirement. Now move! Both of you.”

  “I have no idea what’s going on,” Van grabbed a notepad and pen and went off to interview Fin.

  In the room with Mo, she promised herself she was not going to let anger consume her. She was not going to allow this to ruin her. Plus, this was beyond her job. She needed to know what happened out there for herself.

  “Are my parents worried?” Mo asked.

  “Very worried, but they know that you are here now speaking with us.” Her throat was dry. Her eyes felt heavy. She took another drink of water and continued.

  “Your father’s on his way.”

  “Can I talk to him?” Mo’s lips quivered, and he let out a sob. “He’s just...he’s not good right now.”

  “Yes, you can when he gets here. What’s wrong?”

  “He just got out of the hospital. A few days ago. He was robbed leaving his store. Attacked. Hit in the face with something sharp. He lost an eye.” Mo brought his arm up and cried into his sleeve.

  “You’re worried about him?”

  He nodded, pulling his face back, eyes and nose pink and wet. “I just didn’t want him to be hurt anymore. I didn’t want our store to get robbed anymore. I didn’t want my dad to get hurt anymore. Or, my brother or sisters who work there sometimes alone. So, I had the guy who did it stopped...”