In a Pig's Eye by Robert Campbell

Author:Robert Campbell [Campbell, Robert]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mystery
ISBN: 9780340577332
Goodreads: 31280901
Publisher: Ayeshire Publishing
Published: 1991-01-01T06:00:00+00:00

NINETEEN

A married man whose wife is about to have a baby shouldn't be going over to Cicero on a Saturday night. Maybe nobody should be going. Cicero and Calumet City were the suburbs where the crime and vice ended up back in the thirties, and even in the late forties they said that any sheriff of Cook County who couldn't make a million dollars off them two towns just wasn't trying.

Things are better now, but I don't know how much better since Cicero and Calumet City ain't part of my territory.

The Club Morocco may have had dreams of grandeur once upon a time but it's gone to seed. The neon sign outside has a couple of tubes missing and the glass cases for the posters announcing "Twenty-Count 'em Twenty" naked girls inside and "Total Nooooodity" ain't been washed in a year.

As I approach, I can see that the doorman's bored out of his head, but he brightens up when I park my car at the curb. I tell him I may not be very long and ask him if the car'll be all right.

"I could tell you yes, but I'd be lying," he says. "Every once in awhile the traffic wardens decide it's a tow away zone and it'll cost you seventy-five bucks to get your car back."

"You got a parking lot?" I ask.

"Around back but it's so dark back there you might not have a car at all when you get back."

He's hustling me for a tip. It's early times and he figures if he can score a nice tip, it could be a sign of good things to come.

"But you know a place where my car'll be safe," I say.

"You give me the key. I ain't going anywhere until the club closes in case you decide to stay awhile. A traffic warden comes along and eyeballs your vehicle, I prove that it's mine. So it's okay. They don't tow it. Professional courtesy, you understand."

I hand him a five-dollar bill and he gives it the old one-eye.

"I wish it was more but my wife's about to have a baby," I say.

"My wife's already had five," he says.

"So you ever come to Chicago and need a favor, you look me up. My name's Jimmy Flannery and I'm the committeeman for the Twenty-seventh."

"You telling me the truth?" he says.

"Yes, I am," I say.

He hands me back the five. "Professional courtesy. Don't worry about your car. It'll be here when you come out. And watch yourself. Some of these girls in there is barracudas."

The minute I walk inside, the noise and smoke hits me like a pair of sledgehammers, one from either side. The smell of smoke, sweat, the glue in the water paint on the sets and walls, cheap perfume, and stale beer could choke you to death. I feel like I'm on safari making my way to the main room when a woman in an evening dress, both of which has seen better days, grabs me by the arm.

"Does your mother come from Ireland?" she says, giving my red hair a look.

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