Overview: When a covert operation during the Vietnam War ends in tragedy, one of its members resolves to kill the man who betrayed it to the enemy. Now, fifteen years later, he'll finally get his chance.
Chicago, 1987. Home of mediocre baseball teams, gangs that rule the streets, and a Mexican drug cartel that supplies the city with heroin. Chicago Police Detective Marcelle DeSantis and her partner, Bernie Bernardelli, are working a series of heroin-related murders, and their job just got more complicated. The man who sabotaged the Vietnam operation, Robert Thornton, is now the chief enforcer for a Southeast Asian heroin cartel, and after fifteen years overseas he's arrived in Chicago to eliminate the reigning cartel and seize control of the city's heroin trade.
Racing to stop a drug war, Marcelle and Bernie don't realize they're about to be caught in a deadly crossfire: another man is circling in the wings, one of Thornton's soldiers from Vietnam, who's preparing to exact his long-sought revenge against his former mentor. He's the last person anyone would ever suspect, and when he finally makes his move, the paths of these four people will explosively converge.
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| In Danger of Judgment by David Rabin Book |
In Danger of Judgment by David Rabin Book Read Online Chapter One
Sunday, May 10, 1987
8:02 p.m.
Chicago
Marcelle leaned against the railing of an apartment building at the south end of the 3700 block of Wilton Avenue, waiting for someone, though not for anyone in particular. She’d been there for five minutes and decided to wait another two before moving on.
The street was deserted, the residents having battened down the hatches in anticipation of twilight. An empty Old Style can rolled down the street in a grating, metallic rhythm, pushed by the wind coming off Lake Michigan a mile to the east. The only sign of life was the rumbling of an L train on the tracks a half-block from where she stood. The neighborhood seemed peaceful, though she knew its tranquility could be deceiving.
She was about to give up on this spot when two men in their late teens rounded the corner at the other end of the block and began walking toward her. They wore the gray and black colors of the area’s predominant street gang, the Latin Eagles, and they walked with a slow swagger as if they owned the place, which they pretty much did. One was taller and one was shorter, and thus became, in her lexicon, Mr. Tall and Mr. Short.
The instant they saw her, they broke into big smiles and started conversing energetically. She’d gotten their attention. It didn’t surprise her, because she was accustomed to getting attention. She was about five-eight and in her late twenties, with dark brown hair that barely touched her shoulders and a face that belonged on a magazine cover. Tonight she wore a light coat that was open at the front. Marcelle always dressed for success.
The men were five steps away now.
She put her right hand in her coat pocket.
“Que pasa, mami chula,” said Mr. Tall.
They walked back and forth around her from opposite sides, examining her from head to toe and leering at her, no doubt expecting she’d panic and try to extricate herself.
Except she didn’t.
Instead, she smiled at them.
It was a beautiful, radiant, magazine-cover smile, and because it was the last thing they’d expected, they froze in their tracks.
Her hand came out of her coat pocket.
It held a badge case.
“Detective Marcelle DeSantis,” she said, “and I want you to know I do appreciate the compliment.”
“Mierda,” said Mr. Short.
“We don’t talk to police,” said Mr. Tall.
Her smile turned into a pout. “A minute ago, you thought I was sexy, and now you don’t even want to talk to me? My feelings are hurt.”
The men looked dumbfounded. Marcelle figured no police had ever spoken to them that way, and she took the opening. “I’m not here to hassle you guys. You’re just two fine-looking dudes strolling down the street. Fact is, I need your help.”
Now they looked intrigued. “Help with what?” asked Short.
“I want to find the guy who killed your friends. Hector, Ramon, Angel, and Luis.”
“We take care of our own business,” said Tall.
“That’s good to know. Have you found the guy yet?”
Again, they were speechless.
“I know you want to find the guy who did it,” Marcelle said. “You want revenge, and you want people to know they shouldn’t screw with the Latin Eagles. The problem is, you won’t find him on your own.”
“Why not?” asked Tall.
“Because he’s a pro and you guys aren’t exactly Sherlock Holmes. If he gets found, it’s going to be the Chicago Police Department that does it.”
Tall shrugged. “We don’t know anything.”
“Okay,” she said, “but maybe you’ll remember something or hear something.”
“What do we get if we help you?” Short asked.
Now she knew she was getting somewhere. When they asked for something, it meant they were interested.
“I’ll tell you what you’ll get. If we convict the guy, he’ll get a life sentence or death row. Either way, he’ll go to a prison. Probably Pontiac, Stateville, or Joliet, and you’ve got members in all three. I’m sure your buddies will give him a warm welcome when he arrives.”
It was the men’s turn to smile.
“I’m gonna go now,” Marcelle said, “but I want you to remember something. I didn’t give you any shit. I didn’t ask for ID or search you. I treated you like men because that’s what you are.”
They nodded their agreement.
“Here’s how I work,” she continued. “You play straight with me and I play straight with you. As long as you’re law-abiding, I’ll treat you like you live on Lake Shore Drive.” She handed each man a card. “If you learn anything that might help us, call me. I don’t know your names and you won’t have to give them.”
The men pocketed the cards. Short looked ready to leave, but Tall stood still, his face gripped in concentration, as if trying to recall something from long ago.
Now, he looked like he remembered.
He stood up straight and looked her squarely in the eyes. “It was good to meet you, Detective. Have a nice night.”
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