Mara had settled into a schedule of brunch shifts Sunday and Monday, a double on Tuesdays, and dinner on Thursdays. One month in, and she could feel herself getting comfortable. Certain things were becoming muscle memory. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
Her commute was a bus ride that could be 10 or 20 minutes, depending, or a walk that was reliably 30 minutes. Either way, it was a straight shot down Lawrence Ave, with a two-block stretch of brick-walled cemetery to set the mood as she entered one of the more haunted neighborhoods in the city. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
Of course, today didn\u2019t feel haunted: they were filming an episode of Chicago Investigations <\/em>on one of the residential streets, and Mara had to cross over to the cemetery side, away from the lights, camera, action. <\/p>\n\n\n\n The Uptown Mara knew was a place where you could catch the bands that weren\u2019t quite big enough for House of Blues yet; a place where you could get tacos, Ethiopian food, or any kind of East Asian food imaginable; a place where you could get tattooed; a place where you could walk among the gaudy, glittering bright lights and flashing signs of a city, but without the gawking tourist vibe of downtown. It was also a place where Fred Hampton organized, where Al Capone drank, where more than a few ghost sightings had happened. <\/p>\n\n\n\n News about the body behind Lilypad had stopped. That faucet wasn\u2019t even a trickle, the valve was closed<\/em>. Something had unlocked in Mara, though. She couldn\u2019t devour enough local true crime. She read the Reddit threads speculating that a rash of drowning deaths were connected. She read a tabloid story of the 21-year-old arrested for killing six people in Logan Square and Hermosa in the span of 10 months. She read the Reddit thread on the suspected killer who apparently got his victims by offering rides home to people coming out of shows at the Salt Shed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n What had her more shook, though, was all the police shit she kept reading. <\/p>\n\n\n\n She read about the black site at Homan Square, where CPD regularly disappeared people, no booking, no record of arrest (or was it kidnapping?), nothing. She read about Jon Burge, the Vietnam vet-turned-police captain who ran a torture gang and to whose victims the city was still paying millions in restitution. She read about the cops with ties to the Proud Boys. <\/p>\n\n\n\n If evil left an echo, like Melissa said, then Chicago must\u2019ve been absolutely vibrating.<\/p>\n\n\n\n In a city, people die all the time. She knew about gang shootings, everyone who saw a newspaper in a corner store knew about that. But that high-profile violence was only a fraction of the deaths in the city. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Homicide clearance rates at CPD were abysmal, and she was beginning to understand why. It was hitting her how many people who were recently alive were not now, the sheer number of small ways people could just stop being here, and how senseless continuing to live felt. But here she was: dropping her stuff in the locker room, tying her apron, stuffing a ticket book in its front, clicking her pens, and clocking into a shift. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cHola, detective,\u201d Amparo said, walking into the back room and reaching for new bathroom paper towels. \u201cAny leads in the case today?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Mara and Amparo had become fast friends, and Mara had let her obsession slip one night while they were rolling silverware. She\u2019d been afraid Amparo would think something was wrong with her, would suggest she go to church or something. Instead, Amparo had a patient ear and a world-weariness that, in a way, was clarifying. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Mara didn\u2019t have much motivation in life beyond making enough money to support her mom, experiencing as much music as possible, and getting by without too much pain. Talking to Amparo, who was twice her age and yet had still seen plenty of death, Mara felt, amid her anxiety, a strange calm also elbowing its way into her mind. People can\u2019t control anything, so why try to? <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThe trail has gone cold,\u201d Mara said. \u201cI might need to eat a few sad croissants about it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Amparo laughed. \u201cWell, scarf them down. You got people on three.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Mara pulled some waters, greeted an elderly couple in purple-and-teal windbreakers, and took an order for two coffees and two Eggs Your Way combos. Before she knew it, she\u2019d taken another couple dozen orders, walked who knows how many miles\u2019 worth of dining room, poured more coffees than she could count. Finally, she made it to the folding table in the server station and was rolling her first of 100 silverwares. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cSeeing any good bands tonight?\u201d Amparo asked. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cNot tonight,\u201d Mara said. \u201cMovie night with Mom.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cHow\u2019s she feeling this week?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cBetter.\u201d Mara hoped one word was enough to tilt the conversation back. \u201cCrystal Lake Counselors\u2014you know, my friend Parth\u2019s band, that I was telling you about?\u2014they\u2019re playing Alewives on Saturday, if you want to come.\u201d She gave Amparo a nudge with her foot under the table. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cOoh, don\u2019t tempt me,\u201d Amparo said. A retired punk girl<\/em>, she had described herself to Mara. An old lady<\/em>, because streaks of gray hair is still gray hair. But even though she may not look like it, she could throw some elbows in the pit back in the day, chica, you shoulda seen her<\/em>. \u201cYou know I still got my spiked jacket and high boots somewhere in the closet.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n It was the third time she\u2019d told Mara this. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThat was Parth in here the other day, right? Tall dark and handsome? And <\/em>a singer, and<\/em> a bass player? Woof, Mara<\/em>\u2014you need to get you some of that, while the getting\u2019s good. Before he\u2019s all famous, groupies in different cities, kissing supermodels on TV.\u201d Amparo was fanning herself with rapid hands. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cAmparo!\u201d Mara said with mock-scandal in her voice, letting mouth hang open.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI\u2019m just saying,\u201d Amparo was slipping into this auntie cosplay. Mara could tell she was about to follow up this go-get-laid schtick with some genuine concern. \u201cThis is what a young woman like you should be doing: going to see bands she likes, meeting handsome men who are bad at love but good at sex, and taking care of her mother. Not all this worrying about murder.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Mara looked across the piles of place settings. Amparo had a look on her face like she was watching a puppy learn to walk. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI hear you,\u201d Mara said. \u201cAnd you know what? You\u2019re right.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cAbout?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThe world\u2019s not a safe place. The world\u2019s a scary place. But being scared all the time is no way to live.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cAnd?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cAnd\u2014I will carpe the diem, like, every day?\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cAnd<\/em> if someone ever threatens or hurts you, you come to Amparo, and I slit their throats while they sleep.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n They both laughed. Mara believed her. The woman was five foot two, maybe<\/em>. Her body was nothing but muscles that looked like telephone wires, though. Mara had no trouble picturing a younger Amparo holding her own in a circle pit or raising a brood of children or bleeding some philandering no-count in his sleep then billing his grieving family for dry cleaning the sheets. Hell, didn\u2019t even have to be a younger Amparo, in these visions. <\/p>\n\n\n\n One of the line cooks\u2014was his name Michael? No, Tommy<\/em>\u2014walked past holding a large cambro of raw chicken for the Sunday Fried Chicken Special. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cIf I\u2019m going to make any kind of move on Parth, you gotta be there,\u201d Mara said. \u201cYou gotta come to a show and be my wingman.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Amparo\u2019s turn to look faux-scandalized. \u201cYour love life cannot depend on dragging an old lady to Alewives. But if that\u2019s what it takes, especially if that\u2019s what it takes to get your mind off that dead body, then fine.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYou know, I think I\u2019m ready to never think about Lilypad ever again. No matter how many people get their throats slit by the garbage cans.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Tommy was coming out of the walk-in, heading back to the kitchen. \u201cYou guys talking about that murder at Lilypad?\u201d he asked. \u201cYo, that was my last day <\/em>working there, can you believe it?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n They both looked at him without responding. He must\u2019ve read something into their look, because he said: \u201cNot, like, my last official act as a line cook there was killing some regular. Ha! No no, just happened to overlap, you know? I\u2019d, like, put in a two weeks\u2019 and everything.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThat is some coincidence,\u201d Amparo said. \u201cYou said the victim was a regular?\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYeah, guy came in all the time. Think his name was Paul? Peter? Maybe I don\u2019t remember. But we all knew him. Guy could definitely be an asshole, but he was our<\/em> asshole, you know? That\u2019s how the kitchen staff thought of him.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThat\u2019s wild, dude,\u201d Mara said. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Tommy took a towel and wiped sweat off his face. Scratched his chest. \u201cIt was nuts, man. Hey, sorry, I gotta get back.\u201d Then he was gone. <\/p>\n\n\n\n A regular<\/em> gets killed? On a line cook\u2019s last day? Mara didn\u2019t know Tommy super well, but he only seemed as capable of murder as any line cook. Which was to say, plenty capable, but thinking about a coworker that way made Mara feel like all of her veins were going to explode at once. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Mara tried to fight it, but the investigative urges were rising again. She didn\u2019t want to, but she knew was going to read the schedule board when she clocked out. Memorize Tommy\u2019s last name, snap a quick phone picture of it if the spelling was complicated. Then she was going to go home and Google Tommy first thing. <\/p>\n\n\n\n As she left work to walk down Lawrence Ave in a purpling dusk, she considered what Amparo might say. Tommy was a little older than Mara, but not by much. She thought maybe she should try to talk to him outside of work sometime. See what he knew, if anything. He was pretty sweaty in his denials, but Mara didn\u2019t want to be quick to judge. Sometimes people were awkward. Awkward<\/em> doesn\u2019t mean murderer<\/em>. Maybe his last day and the murder lining up was<\/em> coincidence.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Passing the cemetery, Lawrence Ave was oddly quiet. No westbound\u2014the direction Mara was going\u2014traffic at all. Not even a passenger-less training bus. Eastbound traffic was normal, a steady stream heading towards Broadway or Lakeshore, whichever way was home. Nothing westbound, which wasn\u2019t right. People should be getting off Lakeshore and driving west, where the streets were rows and rows of apartments and four-flats, filing cabinets for families upon families. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Mara turned to look behind her, eyes stunned by the fact that all the businesses had flipped their neon and flashing lights on since Mara had left work. She wasn\u2019t ready for that rush of electricity. <\/p>\n\n\n\n When the blue streaks stopped dancing around, she could begin to make out what was hogging the road. It looked small and blurry, but whatever it was, it was the leader of an endless tentacle of inching car traffic. It was the cause of a cacophony of blaring horns as confused drivers got stuck behind red light after red light, blocking the intersections. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Mara stared, slack-jawed, as whatever it was started to turn into a dog, no, it couldn\u2019t be a dog, was that a wolf, no, too small\u2014until it was streaking past her, pumping its legs with all its might, the cars slow but this skin-and-bones thing working like a marathon runner. Mara had heard of coyotes living in the cemetery, and this must\u2019ve been one. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Mara admired the coyote, the way the night seemed to still in the presence of its furious legs, this small re-assertion of nature\u2019s power on a busy street. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Then the world became car exhaust smell and horn noise again. <\/p>\n\n\n\n <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Mara had settled into a schedule of brunch shifts Sunday and Monday, a double on Tuesdays, and dinner on Thursdays. One month in, and she could feel herself getting comfortable. […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":162657637,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[168],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-162657695","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-behind-with-knife"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.lazyandentitled.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/162657695","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.lazyandentitled.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.lazyandentitled.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.lazyandentitled.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.lazyandentitled.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=162657695"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/www.lazyandentitled.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/162657695\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":162657696,"href":"https:\/\/www.lazyandentitled.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/162657695\/revisions\/162657696"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.lazyandentitled.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/162657637"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.lazyandentitled.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=162657695"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.lazyandentitled.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=162657695"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.lazyandentitled.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=162657695"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}