Windy City Blues

A Jules Landau Mystery

(Previously published as Scofflaw Blues)

Marc Krulewitch

Alibi
New York

This is an uncorrected excerpt file. Please do not quote for

publication until you check your copy against the finished
book.
Windy City Blues is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents either
are the products of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously. Any
resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely
coincidental.
2014 Alibi eBook Edition
Copyright 2012, 2015 by Marc Krulewitch
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Alibi, an imprint of Random House, a
division of Random House LLC, a Penguin Random House Company,
New York.
Alibi is a registered trademark and the Alibi colophon is a trademark of
Random House LLC.
Originally self-published by the author in different form as Scofflaw Blues
in 2012.
eBook ISBN 9780804177214
Cover design: Scott Biel
www.readalibi.com

Prologue
It was just before nine a.m. when the toddlers mother saw his little hands
and cheeks covered in a sticky substance mixed with crumbly white
particles. She shuddered, then walked to where the little boy had been
looking for the neighbors kitty under a juniper bush and saw the nearly
headless corpse. The woman picked up her son, ran into their apartment,
then frantically washed the debris off him, first with soap and water, then
with rubbing alcohol. After repeating the routine with peroxide, she called
911.
About ten minutes later, a CPD police cruiser arrived on the scene;
two officers approached the woman, as she held her child and pointed to
the juniper bush. Adams, the younger officer, took out a notepad and
stayed with the woman as Sergeant Morales slow-walked toward the
hedge, carefully scanning the area. White tennis shoes quickly caught
Moraless attention. The body lay just off the grass border, barely
concealed by the shrubbery. Morales crouched, then used his flashlight to
trace the outline of the body, starting from its feet up to a tangle of blood,
hair, tissue, and bone fragments where the head should have been.
Although Morales was a veteran officer who had seen his share of big city
brutality, the shock caused him to stumble backward and slip on the dewy
grass. From his knees, he reported the gruesome discovery to his superior
over the radio.

After Morales got back to his feet, he directed Adams to secure the
area with crime-scene tape, then began to scan the immediate
surroundings, where he found a patch of grass covered with blood and
debris that Morales assumed had once been part of the victims head.
From this spot, a trail of fragments led to the body. Soon, another cruiser
arrived and then two homicide detectives. Morales called Adams over to
make sure he got a good look before the medical examiner did his survey
and zipped the corpse into a body bag. Adams tried not to appear shaken
as Morales moved the flashlight over the mutilated remains of the human
head.
So what does the condition of the body tell you? Morales said.
He got whacked in the head pretty good with a metal pipe or
something.
Its not easy to kill someone with a single whack to the head.
It took a moment before Adams realized Morales was testing him.
So he got lots of whacks. Somebody was really pissed off or sending a
message.
Yep, Morales agreed before noticing three men walking toward
them. Okay, why dont you go over to the crowd and start asking
questions? See who lives here, if anyone saw anything, et cetera. Ill start
briefing these guys.
At first, Morales didnt recall anything about the detectives other
than their namesCalvo and Bakerand that they had been on the force
long enough to have garnered reputations for having once been good cops,
and having once been physically fit. Instead, on this morning, one might

be known as tall and fat, the other as short and fat. They appeared happy,
giggling like kids on a school outing. Morales also recognized Dr. Irvine,
the medical examiner, who appeared appropriately somber for someone
about to evaluate a victim of brutal violence.
Morales met the three halfway between the sidewalk and the bush.
The two detectives breezed past. Dr. Irvine stopped to talk.
Its pretty bad, Morales said, but I guess I dont have to tell you
to prepare yourself.
Dr. Irvine offered a knowing smile and was about to respond when
the two detectives broadcast their disgust and started retreating back the
way they had come.
Looks like a case of old age, Calvo said to Morales.
The result of a bad migraine, Baker said.
With Adams in pursuit, a young, dark-haired woman came running
toward the group. Hold on, maam, Morales said, grabbing the
distraught womans arm. This is a crime scene.
My cousin didnt come home last night!
Adams and Morales looked at each other. The two detectives
stepped away. Dr. Irvine headed over to the stiff.
Wait here, Morales said, then returned with a wallet in a plastic
bag. Whats the name?
Oh, my god! His wallet!
Please, miss, whats the name?
Gelashvili. Bagrat Gelashvili.

Morales looked at the drivers license and then back to the woman.
His expression said it all. Im sorry
She screamed and tried to run to the mangled corpse. Adams
grabbed her from behind in a bear hug. No, no, no. You dont want to see
him. Please, trust us. She continued struggling and began screaming in a
foreign language. Morales radioed for a victims advocate, then joined
Adams in trying to console the woman. Eventually, she sunk to her knees
and sobbed.
What will I tell Deida? she said several times, then, How can I
tell her? How can I tell her?
Adams and Morales stayed with the woman until a member of
Crime Victim Services arrived, put her arm around her, and led her away.
Morales approached the detectives, who stood on the sidewalk with the
other onlookers.
Im Sergeant Morales. Let me give you the few details I know.
Neither bothered with their own introduction. Whats to know?
Calvo said, and chuckled. That kind of message only comes from one
place.
He pissed off somebody pretty bad, Baker said.
You wanna try to talk to the woman? Morales said. Shes his
cousin.
The two detectives glanced at each other. Not now, Calvo said.
Well find her later, after shes had a chance to calm down. Morales
watched as the two men turned from him and shuffled a few steps away.
Apparently, the briefing was over.

Adams got on the radio and cleared them from the scene. In
silence, the two cops drove away in their cruiser. Then Morales detected a
small laugh from Adams.
What?
Those two detectives.
What about em?
Adams laughed again. I dont know. They seemed kind of
You know what a stereotype is, right?
Yeah, but that neighborhood. You dont expect that kind of crime
there. And I doubt two fat-slob dicks acting like they were at a backyard
barbecue gave the residents a reason to sleep better at night.
Yep, Morales said and the two were silent again until Morales
said, Just focus on being a good cop. Everything elsethats out of your
control.

1
Sheridan Road was the quickest way to Frownies condo. Named for a
Civil War general whose scorched-earth tactics destroyed the commercial
infrastructure of the Shenandoah Valley, Sheridan Road now represented a
corridor of economic privilege running through the leafy northern suburbs
lining the shores of Lake Michigan. Although I was a son of the North
Shore, the domain claimed no special feelings in my soul nor aroused
nostalgic aching. Having gained entrance via my fathers illicit profits, I
considered my legacy invalid.
My mentor, Sid Frownie Frownstein, was a hard-nosed sleuth
from the old days who had skillfully hoofed that muddled line between
investigation and collaboration until he withdrew to a lakefront penthouse
with spectacular views of the shoreline and a hobby restoring antique cars.
Despite his age, Frownie still clearly remembered the days when the clich
hard-boiled detective originatedthe Bogart Bullshit days, he liked to
say. Hed always been out in the lead, taking life where he wanted it to go.
But at age ninety, life was catching up fast. Frownies best advice? Dont
trust no one.
It had been too long since my last visit. I was ill prepared for how
significantly his body had deteriorated. Sitting upright in bed, leaning
against an enormous reading pillow, Frownie wore a T-shirt that hung on
his skeletal frame like a towel over a clothesline. A disconnected IV bag

dangled from a pole. If I softened my gaze, I could evoke the image of a

cadaver. Then he spoke.
Hey, Julie! Cmon over here, ya little schmuck. How the hell are
ya!
The voice, still deep, clear, dripping with a blue-collar Chicago
accent straight out of central casting, covered me like a warm blanket. Had
I closed my eyes, I couldve been back in my childhood, ensconced under
Frownies desk while he reminisced on the phone with former clients and
past operatives.
When I leaned down to kiss his cheek, Frownie hooked his left arm
around my neck and pulled himself up to hug me. He had all the weight of
a laptop computer. I carefully lowered him back to the pillow, fearful his
bones would snap.
I look like I was in a concentration camp. But I aint this body.
Its just a skin and bones costume thats wearin out. Hey, doll, get over
here. I want you to meet someone. Frownies live-in nurse walked into
the bedroom. I guessed she was around sixty, fit, attractive, long hair
colored blond. This little putz aint related to me, but hes taken the role
of the grandson I always never wanted.
The three of us laughed and I introduced myself.
Im Helen. Nice to meet you, Jules. Helen walked to the other
side of Frownies bed and examined the catheter bag.
They wanna hook me up if I get too dried out, Frownie said and
pointed to the IV. Right, honey?

We want you to be comfortable. Maybe Jules can convince you to

stop fighting us. She winked at me and turned to leave the room. Call if
you need anything.
Not a bad piece of ass to be hangin around an old fart like me,
eh? So whats up? Frownie closed his eyes and waited. I had the feeling
he was toying with me, that he knew exactly why I was there. Just as I was
about to answer his question, he said, Its your old man, aint it?
He acts like Im sticking a knife in his gut. And just because I
want to include homicide
Dont go makin it all nice usin words like homicide! You
mean murder! Killin human beings! Who do you think youre talkin to?
Okay, okay, murder
For chrissake, Julie, you already did it. You got nothin to prove.
You investigated Snookys murder and you solved it. And you didnt get
killed in the process. Dont you see? You won. Move on. You can make a
damn good livin with all the other investigatin they do these days.
Dad wants a guarantee that Ill never take another murder case. I
cant do that. And Im not gonna lie to him. Do I gotta remind you it was
Dad who got out of prison two months ago, then knocked on my door and
gave me my first murder case?
Yeah, yeah, but that was Snooky. Your old mans no dummy. He
knew what Snooky meant to you. And he knew youd go after his killer no
matter what. But he didnt know you wouldve taken murder investigatin
as somethin to call your own. So do me a favor. Tell me why the people-

killin-people business is so goddamn important? Then maybe I can

understand a little bit.
Frownie was a realist. Depending on my answer, he could accept
how things were, even if he didnt like it. Fine, I said. You want the
truth? I loved it. I loved every goddamn second of it. I dont know why,
but I never felt more alive than when I was investigating Snookys
murder.
Frownie looked away, nodded his head, and said, Thats what I
was afraid of. Thats what your old man didnt count on. By the way, you
still seein that broad? Susie Somethin? You sounded kinda happy about
that.
No. Didnt work out. No big deal. So what do I do about Dad?
Frownie turned back to me. First of all, dont go guilt-trippin
yourself. Youre his son. His flesh and blood. When youre a father, youll
understand. But for now, thats his problem. In the meantime, try to ignore
his comments. But if he keeps pesterin you, just tell him you dont got no
murder case and to stop worryin about it. And if you do take another
murderwell, youll figure it out. Why worry about somethin that aint
happened yet?
We both laughed. There was something about Frownies voice that
sank into my bones, reassured me that everything would be all right.
Thats true. Who the hell even knows when Ill get another
murder case? Maybe Ill never get another one! I stood to leave.

Uh, before you go, Frownie said. You should know. Your dads
kind of losin it a little bit. Upstairs. You know what I mean? Frownies
expression reflected the pain he felt telling me this.

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