Chapter 1: Victim, Dupe, or Accomplice?

August 2, 1996, Chicago, Illinois

Facing an angry pimp with a knife was not a situation which called for conversation, but I also didn’t want it to escalate to the point where the police would be involved. He knew I carried a gun, and I was sure he was convinced he could stick me with the knife before I could draw. What he DIDN’T know was that I was better off WITHOUT the gun at this point. In fact, having the gun on me severely limited my options.

Without a word or any warning, I shifted my feet, then grabbed his wrist mid-thrust. I used an Aikido wrist lock which Mitsuko had taught me, and quickly had the pimp on his knees, with the knife on the sidewalk at my feet. I kicked it aside and put even more pressure on the wrist lock as he struggled against me.

“I’ll break it,” I warned.

“Fuck you, asshole! You’re dead!”

“You’ve misjudged,” I replied calmly, increasing the pressure slightly. “You can agree to walk away or get hurt very badly. Your choice.”

“You don’t know who I work for.”

“I don’t CARE who you work for! Now, do I break this wrist, or do you back off?”

I pressed a bit harder, causing what I was sure was severe pain. He clearly didn’t believe me, because he lunged. I calmly snapped his wrist, and he went down in a heap, howling, and clutching his arm with his other hand. Not wanting any further trouble, I turned, picked up my obviously broken cell phone, and knowing Kara would be worried, just as I was worried about her, I turned to walk back to the office, ignoring the stares of the few pedestrian witnesses.

I walked quickly, and just after I crossed the Kennedy Expressway a Chicago Police Department cruiser drove up with its lights on.

“You in the blue sports coat!” came a voice over the loudspeaker. “Stop right there and keep your hands to your side!”

I did as commanded and waited while the officer got out of his car and drew his weapon. I quickly raised my hands about halfway, palms facing the officer. He stood with his gun on me for several seconds until a second cruiser arrived.

“Keep your hands where I can see them!” the first officer commanded.

I nodded and watched as an officer climbed from the second squad car and walked to me.

“Are you armed?” the second officer asked.

By both city and state law, I had to not only declare that I was armed, but also surrender the firearm to the police officer for the duration of my interaction. Failing to do so would cost me my state CCL and both Chicago permits.

“I have a 9mm pistol in a shoulder holster. I have my FOID card, CCL card, Chicago handgun permit, and Chicago concealed firearm permit in my pocket.”

“Is the safety on?”

“No.”

“Using your thumb and two fingers of your right hand, carefully remove the firearm and hand it to me.”

I complied, and he engaged the safety, then put the pistol on the hood of the other officer’s squad car.

“Do you have any other weapons? A knife? Anything?”

“A small utility pocket knife, but the blade is short. It’s in my right pants pocket.”

“That’s it?”

“Yes, officer.”

“I’m going to frisk you.”

“Officer, I know the law about firearms, which is why I complied. What’s your probable cause for frisking me?”

“You were identified in an assault which took place by Union Station less than ten minutes ago. Your height, build, hair, and clothing match.”

I nodded, “OK.”

He found the knife, exactly as I’d described, along with my wallet, business card holder, Lucy nickel, keys, and the permits, which were in my coat pocket. He also found the remnants of my broken cell phone.

“Mr. Adams?” he asked, looking at my Chicago handgun permit.

“Yes.”

“Is this address current?”

“Yes, Officer.”

“Would you like to tell us what happened?”

“Am I under arrest?” I asked.

“No.”

Which meant I could refuse to talk to him and walk away, but I suspected doing so would likely cause him to arrest me. Melanie, and all the other lawyers, always admonished me about talking to the police in this kind of instance, but there were several considerations - First, I needed to talk to Kara, and if I refused to cooperate and was arrested, that wasn’t going to happen anytime soon; Second, my gun would most certainly disappear, never to be seen again, and if the cops were jerks, I risked losing my Chicago handgun and carry permits; Third, I hadn’t done anything other than defend myself, using reasonable force.

“I was walking north on Clinton and a black man, about 6’2”, two hundred pounds, wearing white slacks and a black shirt, with a couple of gold chains, and a white hat, struck me, knocking my cell phone from my hands and breaking it. He threatened me with a knife. I disarmed him, and when he lunged at me, I defended myself, and left the area as quickly as I could.”

“Where were you headed?”

“To a business Lunch at a diner on Lake Street.”

“So why come this way?”

“I was coming back to my office, which is about a block from here, to call home. I was on the phone with the woman I live with who was trying to tell me about some kind of problem when that guy knocked the phone from my hand. It broke when it hit the sidewalk.”

“Do you know why this man would attack you?”

“I had a run-in with him a few weeks ago inside the station. He was accosting a young runaway and I took her away from him and called a licensed clinical psychologist I knew who got her into a shelter program that same day.”

“His story matches the radio call, Nelson,” the first officer said, lowering his gun and holstering it.

“May I ask how you got here so quickly?” I asked.

“A pedestrian called 9-1-1 on their mobile phone and described what happened, what you were wearing, and which way you’d gone. We were both close.”

“And the other guy?”

“Disappeared into Union Station. We have officers looking for him.”

“Try a hospital or doctor’s office,” I said. “I’m pretty sure I broke his wrist.”

“You didn’t draw your pistol?”

“No. He was too close. By the time I could have cleared it from the holster, he’d have had that knife in my chest or stomach. I chose a wrist-lock which was effective in disarming him and forcing him to his knees.”

“You practice martial arts?”

“I’m an instructor at JM Martial Arts in Hyde Park,” I answered. “Officers, if I’m free to go, would you return my pistol and other items? I need to call home and find out what’s going on.”

“Steve?” I heard Eve call from about half-a-block away.

“My office manager,” I said to the officers.

“Miss, please stay where you are,” the first officer commanded.

Eve stopped immediately and waited.

“Where can we find you if we need you?” the second officer asked me.

“I’ll give you my business card and write my home number on the back. I’ll make myself available any time you need.”

“Thank you, Mr. Adams.”

They returned my things, handing me the pistol last. I left the safety on and put it back into the holster. The two officers got into their cars and I walked over to Eve.

“What the hell?” she asked.

“The pimp I rescued that girl Willow from accosted me. He has a broken wrist for his troubles. Let’s walk back to the office; I need to call home.”

“Kara called the office. That’s why I was coming towards you. She heard someone call you an asshole then the phone went dead.”

“He slapped it from my hand from behind. He should have stabbed me without a word.”

“I’m glad he didn’t.”

“Me, too. What’s going on at the house?”

“Kara said there was some guy hanging around the house, as if he was casing it. I told her to call Katya Anisimova and she said she would.”

“Good call. Let’s go inside and call her. I’m missing my lunch with Murray Matheson from Spurgeon, but that can’t be helped. Once I talk to Kara, I’ll try to call the diner and see if he’s there. Also, Alec Glass called earlier and says he can’t get in touch with Lisa or her bodyguard.”

We started back towards the NIKA offices.

“All these things at once?” she asked. “Do you think there’s a connection?”

“Between a pimp, Noel Spurgeon, some guy casing my house, and Lisa? I don’t know what ties all of them together.”

“Outfit?” she asked quietly.

“Noel Spurgeon? That makes no sense.”

“The common thread would be young girls.”

I chuckled, “Including me?”

“You said it, not me!” she laughed. “But I meant with his predilection for underage girls, who knows? Sure, the ones you know about were the society girls. What if there were others?”

“You mean like runaways?”

“There’s a market in runaway girls; Bethany told us about that when the stuff with Willow went down.”

“But why attack me on the way to my meeting? And why involve Lisa?”

“Maybe it doesn’t make as much sense as I thought.”

“The pimp did threaten me about retaliation from his employers. He warned me that I didn’t know who he worked for.”

“You suspect Outfit there, right?”

“Possibly, but it could be a street gang. Somebody like the Gangster Disciples or Vice Lords, though the Lords are into credit and mortgage fraud, more than street vice, these days. It won’t be the Gaylords because they’re a white street gang and would never use a black guy. But the way he said it, I have to think Outfit and corrupt cops.”

“Back to that again?” she asked as we reached the office.

“It’s a common link to everyone but Noel Spurgeon, and who knows, he may have some ties to corrupt CPD officers. They weren’t the ones who arrested him - that was the Cook County Sheriff and the Glencoe Police Department.”

“Steve, there was a call for you,” Kimmy said.

She was sitting at the front desk, covering for Lucas while he was at lunch. I’d reminded her repeatedly she didn’t have to do that, but she volunteered to take her turn every week.

“Mr. Matheson?” I asked.

“Yes. I tried your cell but it went right to voicemail.”

I took the shattered phone from my pocket and handed it to her.

“You’ll need to have this replaced, please; today if possible. I’ll explain later. Did Mr. Matheson say what he wanted to do?”

“He asked that you call his mobile. He left the number.”

“Call him back and ask him if we can reschedule. I need to deal with an issue at home.”

“Will do!”

Eve and I went into the interior office, up the stairs and to my office where I picked up the phone and hit the speed dial button marked ‘Home’.

“Kara, it’s me,” I said.

“Steve! What happened?”

“I’ll explain after you tell me what’s going on.”

“Some guy was walking around the block and stopped both in front of the house and in the alley by the coach house. He did it at least three times, and the last time, he was taking pictures. That’s when I got nervous!”

“The kids?”

“Are all in the house with Jessica and me.”

“Keep them there. What did Katya say?”

“She’s sending someone to the house. They’ll be here in about an hour.”

“OK. Use the master key from my office and go up to Elyse’s room and get the shotgun. Load it, and then get the 9mm from the lockbox in my desk as well. You and Jess both know how to shoot. If that guy, or anyone else you don’t recognize comes into the house, shoot them. Do you hear me?”

“Yes.”

“Eve and I are on our way right now. We’ll come in the back door, but Eve will call you from her mobile before we come in.”

“OK. Should I call the police?”

“No. There’s something strange happening with Lisa Glass right now that has Alec worried and I’m not sure what’s going on. My cell phone is broken, but Kimmy is having it replaced. See you in twenty minutes.”

She acknowledged that and we hung up. Eve and I hurried downstairs and I let Kimmy know we were headed to the house. I asked her to have my replacement phone couriered to the house, and she promised to do so.

“Any further thoughts?” Eve asked.

“There’s a tenuous set of links - Noel Spurgeon to Lisa Glass to the Outfit. Then there’s the pimp who could be recruiting girls for the outfit, either on their payroll or as a broker, so to speak. And then whoever is scoping the house could be Outfit, too. But it could also just be a bunch of coincidences. But then there are those cops who broke into the offices, who work for the Outfit. And Peter Scuderi.”

“You don’t suspect Anthony and Connie, do you?”

“No. He’s has his restaurant, gambling, loan sharking, and escort action going in Newport and Covington, and he’s helped the Feds nail two large drug shipments from Detroit. Joyce and Connie buried the hatchet as well. Cincinnati is not part of this, I’m sure.”

I snapped my fingers.

“There MIGHT be another link between Lisa Glass and Noel Spurgeon and that’s Hart-Lincoln.”

“One of the lawyers? That could explain the break-ins, too, as well as the guy at the house. But that leaves out the pimp.”

“If it’s what I think it is, the pimp was incidental. If this is all about Hart-Lincoln, then EVERYTHING falls in line. If the pimp works for the Outfit, it’ll get back to Theo and I’ll deal with it. But I’m betting he’s with either the Vice Lords or Gangster Disciples the more I think about it. Those are enemies we don’t want, but one crisis at a time.”

“So what’s the end game? How does Noel Spurgeon benefit?”

“Good question. I can see some lawyer, or lawyers, from Hart-Lincoln trying to find something which lets them walk away, and if they have ties to Noel Spurgeon, maybe there is some back-channel thing they can try with him. I have no idea what it would be. As for Lisa, I guess they could try to get her to recant, but I don’t see that happening, because she’d go back to jail instantly for perjury. They’d have her for lying in a deposition, lying on a clemency application, and a whole bunch of other stuff. Heck, I bet she’d NEVER get out in that case, even if they couldn’t rescind her clemency, which I think they’d have a very good chance of doing.”

“Then they’ll kill her,” Eve said flatly.

“I’d say you’re right, because if she reported them threatening her, and whichever thugs are doing it could be tied to lawyers from Hart-Lincoln, things would be even worse than they are now.”

“So explain why nobody has come after you.”

“If you think about it, there are logical reasons why we helped the Feds, and they know we’re at least friendly with the FBI. They’d have to figure that we’d report overt threats. But as they run out of other options, they may see they have less to risk.”

“But they found nothing during the break-in, right?”

“Right. The only thing we can’t be sure of is that nobody accessed our records at Iron Mountain. I need you to go there on Monday and visually inspect everything. Make sure every box is still sealed with its tamper-proof seal and that nothing is missing.”

“What about remote access? You know, hackers?”

I laughed, “I wouldn’t say that within Sam’s earshot!”

“Nothing is impossible.”

“Very true, but the servers with source code or sensitive customer data are not connected to any outside networks, just our corporate WAN, and Sam has logging and monitoring in place. The security team did a full audit as one of their first tasks and identified a couple of areas where we could improve, but didn’t find any real problems.

“The customer portal is available via the Internet, but other than company names and contact information, there is no sensitive data there. That database is populated by an export from our master database and transferred by CD-RW every Friday afternoon. It’s air-gapped, so there isn’t a way to hack into the support system and get into the internal administrative systems.”

“An inside job?”

“As you say, nothing is impossible, but there are enough controls that it would require a concerted effort by at least two employees, if not three. If you tell me THAT is an actual risk, then I think it’s time to shut the company down and open my own dojo.”

“No, I don’t think so, but besides checking Iron Mountain, I think we should do a complete review of our internal procedures. A problem in that area could ruin our business with law firms.”

“Indeed. Get together with Deborah and make it happen.”

“Permission to break the rules?”

I laughed, “Since when do YOU need permission?”

“Ever since I promised not to say what I want to say.”

“Go on.”

“Stuff like this makes me HORNY and I want you to FUCK ME HARD!”

“Got it out of your system, now?” I grinned.

“NO!” she said, laughing. “I want to get it INTO my system!”

“I’ll take your request under advisement,” I grinned.

“When you get to Woodlawn, drive around the block a couple of times so we can take a look.”

“Good idea,” I replied.

Two minutes later I turned onto Woodlawn and did as Eve had suggested. We didn’t see anything the first time, but the second time she spotted a guy with a camera.

“Pull over,” she suggested. “Let’s have a chat.”

“I’ll have to double park,” I said, coming to a stop.

I put on the flashers and pulled on the parking brake but left the BMW idling. We both hopped out and quickly went to the sidewalk.

“Excuse me,” Eve said. “What are you doing?”

“What’s it to you?” he asked.

“You took photos of my house without my permission,” I said.

“It’s a free country. I can shoot anything I want.”

“Me, too,” Eve said, pulling back her light jacket to reveal her holster.

“Easy now,” the guy said, taking a step back. “Let’s not get crazy. I’m doing neighborhood pictures.”

“For whom?”

“Myself. I free-lance. I’ll sell them to real estate companies, development companies, relocation companies, and so on.”

“My house isn’t for sale; why shoot it?”

“To get the feel of the neighborhood.”

A horn beeped and I turned to see a truck which wouldn’t be able to get by my double-parked car.

“OK. Eve? Let’s go.”

She nodded and we got back into the car. I turned off the flashers, released the parking brake, and pulled away.