Creative Deductions: Home Run

By Michael Pickard

Detective Nick Chasm is obsessed with his profession, even outside his Chicago city jurisdiction. Bringing down bad guys ranks second only to his love for his 82--year-old mother.

When she insists he come home to Eden Gorge to investigate the vehicular homicide of her male companion, he's prepared to ride up on his Harley and bring her comfort despite hellish memories of his police officer father.

Soon after arrival, Nick learns there was a related suicide the same night.

It won't be a day trip after all.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Michael Pickard
• Release date: May 6, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215075463

Michael Pickard

Mike Pickard’s writing serves as the bridge between his professional work in technology and his passion for the creative arts.Several of Pickard's short stories have been published, including Hardwired, which won a Ray Bradbury Creative Writing Prize in 2005.Pickard's first major work was The Gerfnit Chronicles, a science fiction mystery/adventure and his first novel. The story began as a series of letters to his daughter who spent several summers at overnight camp. Pickard’s extensive backgroud working with cutting edge technology has proved helpful for imagining fictive universes and societies. Strong satire keeps readers grounded and laughing.Pickard has studied writing at the University of Chicago, the University of Wisconsin at Madison, Northeastern Illinois University and at the Science Fiction Novel Workshop at the University of Kansas. He has also been a member of several writers groups over the last 14 years, and is currently both a member and the webmaster at the Chicago area-based “The Writers of Glencoe.”Pickard’s “day job” for the last 45 years has been in Information Technology (IT). Here, too, his “inner writer” played a role. In addition to countless technical reports and position papers, Pickard penned dozens of articles as lead columnist for a microcomputer newsletter.Among his other creative exploits: amateur theater, playwriting, paper mache sculpture and inventing a board game.

Book preview

1 – Eleanor Emergency

My cellphone played a Sugar Plum Fairy ringtone as I patted down the Hispanic drug seller. Ma. I glanced at my partner, Mel. I’ve got to take this call.

She was nine words into Miranda. Let it go to voicemail.

Ma never calls at this time of day. It must be an emergency. I winced as the song snippet played again. Take over.

Mel took my place behind the perp and continued what I’d started, patting down his yellow satin Lakers jacket and camo cargo pants pockets.

I whipped the phone to my ear. Hi, Ma. What’s wrong? I stayed close enough to react in case the perp made trouble. I shouldn’t have worried, Mel had it under control.

Willie died yesterday! Ma’s voice was angry, like she expected a goldfish to live longer.

Mine was still alive. Tension melted from my muscles. That’s too bad.

Ma never told me what she’d named the goldfish I bought to keep her company the last time I visited her in Eden Gorge. At the time, Pets Galore had a buy one, get one free promotion, so I walked out of the store with a second fish in its own plastic bag. She didn’t want two and urged me to take one home. That’s how Serpico came to live in a plain glass bowl at my condo in the Jefferson Park community of Chicago. She must have found hers floating in the bowl.

Nick? Mel held up a one-inch-thick cylindrical object with rounded edges. This is all I found on him. She slipped it into an evidence bag and placed it to the side. Where are the drugs?

The perp had pulled the object from his jacket and held it out when he asked for my credit card. It reminded me of a bloated Yo-yo, or maybe my grandfather’s pocket watch, except double the thickness, covered in black plastic or rubber, with as silver band around the middle. A short black wire stuck out, maybe six inches long, like a phone charging cable.

Nicholas? Are you listening?

Yes, Ma. I’m in the middle of–

I’m sick to my stomach over this, and I can’t sleep. You need to come home.

Mel found a knife strapped to the perp’s right ankle. It went into its own bag. Comprehensive search proved its value.

Why did I need to ride almost to Rockford for a dead goldfish? I’ll have a replacement delivered.

How dare you say such a thing? Didn’t I teach you the sacred value of human life?

Conversations with Ma often confused me. Because she was 82 years old, I assumed the problem was on her side. Yes, Ma, human life. Then who’s Willie?

My gentleman companion. He’s dead, and the Eden Gorge police won’t tell me anything.

Whoa! On our nightly phone calls, Ma never mentioned seeing anyone. She was dating? I imagined the worst, some guy taking advantage of her. Why are the police involved?

Mel squinted at me, her forehead wrinkled, and held the perp while we waited for backup to take him in.

The Police Chief said it happened on a highway, but I don’t believe anything that man says. You have to come up here, gather evidence like your father used to do, find the murderer and throw him in jail. Mom’s voice was higher than normal, soprano instead of alto.

Murder?

I’m not a betting woman, the good Lord knows, but it must be related to the odd things going on at Eden Reserve.

Ma and I had that in common, an aversion to games of chance. What kinds of odd things?

I’m not going to let you solve this over the phone, so don’t even try. Ma’s stern mother voice.

Okay. But what’s Eden Reserve? A local vineyard?

Don’t you remember? It’s that gated community on the outskirts of town. Willie worked there and had been snooping around. His murder must be related.

The last time I rode up to visit Ma, I noticed but didn’t stop and look. The shorter my visit, the better. First of all, your friend shouldn’t have been playing detective. Second, Eden Gorge has a fine police department. One that had taken the best years of my father’s life. I’m sure they’ll handle the situation to our satisfaction. Why did I say our?

"Since when is death a ‘situation’? I don’t trust them. I trust you. They’re covering up. I feel it in my bones."

More likely arthritis. I was still trying to deal with my widowed mother dating when I saw a squad car arrive, berries and cherries flashing in the strip mall parking lot.

Nick, where are the drugs? Mel held open an evidence bag.

All he gave me was this. I tucked my phone under my arm and pulled a gold-rimmed white disk from my pocket, the diameter of a silver dollar but a quarter of an inch thick, embossed with gibberish on both sides. I dropped it into the bag.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a hint of a smirk on the perp’s face.

Two officers in blue approached, a male African American and a female Caucasian, the opposite of me and Mel. I acknowledged them with a nod.

Cooper. Mel flashed her badge.

I couldn’t hear the rest of their conversation, but her gestures told the story. How she’d raced ahead and come around, trapping the perp between us. Solid police work.

What do we charge him with? the female officer asked.

The perp turned his head. You ain’t got shit.

Mel stood silent, making it my call. No drugs. He ran. Resisting arrest. From under my arm, Ma’s voice was muffled.

A misdemeanor? Disappointment all over Mel’s face.

The male officer helped the kneeling perp to standing.

Spine stiff, Mr. Lakers Jacket jerked up his chin. "Vete a freír espárragos."

Mel handed the female officer our bagged evidence. He had no wallet. No loose cash. Not even pocket change. Plus, no cellphone.

We’ll check his prints at the station, she replied.

Write it up as Cooper’s collar. That way, I’d avoid the publicity.

The female patrolmen held out a clipboard and pen.

Mel pulled her hands away. This isn’t right, Nick. Your legwork led us to this creep.

The perp turned his head. "Watch the name calling, yuta."

I ignored his comment. Take the collar, okay? Make sure you document everything.

Nicholas? Where did you go? You’d better not hang up on me.

I spoke to my armpit. One minute, Ma.

Mel accepted the pen and filled out the forms while chatting with the female officer. "See, that’s why he’s willing to give this one away. At his pace, he’d take a week to cross the t’s and dot the i’s."

And make sure those bags get dropped off at the evidence locker ASAP. I pulled the phone out from under my arm.

The female officer nodded. Like always, Detective Chasm. Like always.

Before they led the perp away, he turned his head to face me. How’s your mama?

The kid’s sing-song tone pissed me off. What was he, in his early twenties? In better shape than you, and she’s 82. Even though his expensive athletic shoes cost five times my street loafers, they didn’t help him escape. I put the phone back to my ear.

Who are you talking to about me? Ma’s voice blasted.

I’m kind of in the middle of work right now.

Fine. Do your job. I’ll tell you all about Willie when you get up here.

Wait! You want me to drive up to Eden Gorge?

How else will you solve this crime? Really, you’ve got more common sense than that.

Why did she think I could solve her mystery when the local cops couldn’t? Maybe they had, and she was confused. Or the Chief of Police didn’t like talking to elderly women.

I can’t up and leave. I have active cases. Responsibilities.

If you don’t ask, your boss can’t say yes.

There was no refusing my mother anything because she wouldn’t take no for an answer. I’ll let you know if the commander agrees to give me a day off on short notice. A conversation I didn’t look forward to.

He’ll understand a son coming to his mother’s rescue. I’d heard that tremor in her voice before when she’d been worried about my father’s safety. Too often.

Was she in danger? Don’t get your hopes up.

See you soon. Tomorrow?

I’ll let you know what he says. I love you. I put my phone into my belt holster.

Mel and I strolled up the alley. High fences and locked gates had limited the drug dealer’s options for escape. If he’d reached the strip mall on Clybourn Avenue, it would have been all over. Random passageways between stores and apartments were perfect escape routes.

As we passed blue recycling containers, black garbage bags, and commercial trash bins, I held my breath. Their odors triggered vivid memories of dumpster diving as a rookie.

Mel kept up, taking four steps to my three. Did he really try to sell you that coin instead of roofies?

It had been too heavy to be plastic all the way through. With a credit card.

You should have completed the purchase.

Oh sure. Illegal substances would look good on a police officer’s monthly statement. It had taken months for me to convince my favorite snitch Rigo to arrange a buy of a few roofies. I’ll get to the bottom of this. I called him. The number you have reached is out of service. Damn. Rigo’s changed burner phones again. I’ll have to find him the hard way.

Let me do it. You’ve got your mother to handle.

Bad idea. Rigo was skittish, even with me. If he hears that a stranger is asking about him, he’ll vanish and I’ll never find him.

Okay. Mel kicked at a broken piece of concrete.

What do you think that black thing is?

Mel stroked her jawline. I think the wire is an antenna, which makes it a communication device. After all, he wasn’t carrying a phone.

I hadn’t observed microphone or speaker holes, but I didn’t have an alternate guess. I’ll have the Mighty Quinn check it out.

Who?

I’m sure I’ve mentioned Adam Quinn. A nerd in the best meaning of the term. He manages the digital evidence and forensics team and owes me a favor. Last year, Adam got picked up on a warrant for his look-alike cousin. I expedited the fingerprint check that got him released. He’s been forever grateful.

I signed the paperwork, so I’ll notify his group.

I stopped. I meant Adam, not some random techie under him.

You’re going to get him in trouble, having him do work his subordinates are paid to do.

I don’t know them from squat, but I know Adam. A damn shame he accepted a promotion.

Mel shook her head. "No skin off my nose. I’ll tell him what we found and let him decide."

I resumed walking. "Be sure he knows I was asking."

Mel double-stepped to catch up. So, are you going to ride up and see your mother?

It won’t be necessary. There’s another way to handle this. I stopped at our squad car and called Ma back.

She answered on the first ring. Did he say yes?

I haven’t asked yet. How about if I call the Eden Gorge Chief of Police… I’d forgotten his name, only that he was occupying the office Dad should have had.

Chief Graham. I heard phlegm in her reply, as if she was prepared to spit.

Maybe he’ll talk to a fellow police officer more freely than a civilian. A chat over the phone would be less threatening than a visit to his office.

A waste of your time. And you shouldn’t believe a word he says.

Ma would never call anyone a lying bastard out loud. It would violate her sense of propriety and at least one Commandment. I knew exactly how Graham would react to a visit from another jurisdiction, especially Chicago. He’d stonewall. It’s a two-hour drive. I rounded up from an hour and change. Was I making an excuse or pleading?

You can’t come home in my time of need? I have nightmares, and I’ve lost my appetite. It’ll only take a couple of days, I’m sure of it. You’re nearly as good at police work as your father.

Better, because I don’t look to make headlines. My father had always been a show boater. If he gave out a traffic ticket, he would make sure one of his buddies on the staff of the Eden Gorge Slope placed it on the front page. Like I said, I’ll ask for time off, but I expect Commander Washington will turn me down.

He’d better not, or I’ll give him an earful. Sunny Bridges has a rule against overnight visitors or I’d have you stay with me. I’ll arrange for a place. George has always been so nice.

I didn’t know George from a hole in the ground. Ma, that’s not necessary. If I come up, I’ll book a room at a motel–

I won’t hear of it. They’re all too far away, and I need you closer. When George gives me the address, I’ll text it to you. Do you have the same phone number?

Yes, Ma. She’d dialed it.

You’ll have all of your meals with me. I’m sorry you can’t sleep on my couch, but I won’t break the rules.

Had I agreed to Ma’s request? I didn’t know any other way to ask. So how long was Willie your boyfriend? He hadn’t been part of her life when I visited for her birthday, or she’d hidden him from me. Maybe the first time Eden Gorge’s town gossip successfully kept a secret.

Nicholas! I know you have to interact with street trash and gangsters but get your mind out of the gutter! I have not been unfaithful to your father, may he rest in peace. Besides, no one could ever replace him.

On that point, Ma and I agreed. They broke the mold when they created Dad.

Mel leaned her body toward me. I refused to put the call on speakerphone. Aspects of this call were personal.

At least tell me, how did you meet this Willie person? Why didn’t I already know?

I’ll answer all of your questions when you get up here. I’d ask your father to solve this crime, but …

I heard sniffling. Good old Dad, who made numerous bad decisions in his life, including a fatal one, taking the security guard job at Eden Gorge Savings and Loan after retiring from the police force. That part was at least partially my fault.

Ma’s sigh was a grunt. If you must know, I met Willie shortly after your father passed. I joined a group of church volunteers to cook at the halfway house where Willie lived. All the boys there loved my beef stew. Made with real ingredients, not that slop they were fed in the joint.

The joint?

Isn’t that what’s it’s called? Willie got released early from jail for a crime he didn’t commit.

My mother associated with a convicted criminal? My father, mostly an honest man, would turn over in his grave and demand a front-page story about it.

I wish you could have met him. He didn’t deserve his fate.

Except she kept him hidden. Ma was inconsistent but firm in her beliefs. Mel and I are heading to the precinct. I’ll see Commander Washington immediately after I check in.

Send me one of those texts after he says yes. I might be at the funeral home, making final arrangements. Willie didn’t have anyone except me. Poor man.

I’m sorry for your loss. What else could I say? I love you.

The failed drug buy and talking to my mother distracted me. Best if Mel was behind the wheel. I lofted the car keys in her direction. Why don’t you drive?

Oh, is it my turn? She caught them one-handed and walked around to the driver’s side of our squad car. About time. She unlocked both doors and got in.

I slid into the passenger seat.

Before she started the car, she tapped on her phone. I looked up what the perp said. ‘Go fry asparagus?’

Don’t take it literally.

As per Mel’s ritual, she adjusted a yellow plastic warning diamond, clipped to the center dashboard vent.

On the day she installed it, she told me she bought two, one for our cruiser and one for her Honda Civic. Was it a reminder for us or perps riding in the back seat? Then she buckled up and started the car. You know, if you’d let him charge the drugs to your credit card, we would have learned how the drugs would be delivered. And where your payment went.

Believe me, it wouldn’t have been that simple.

Mel checked her mirrors and pulled away from the mouth of an alley in west Lincoln Park. I couldn’t help but overhear. Who’s Willie?

That situation was none of Mel’s business. On the other hand, I’d shared with Mel for two years, with boundaries. For what it’s worth, my mother had a male companion named Willie, an ex-con, who died in a car accident. She thinks there was foul play and doesn’t trust the local cops.

Sounds cut and dried to me.

Bad form to jump to conclusions. Mel knew better. Ma said he was poking around a gated community, looking for trouble.

I didn’t know your hometown had a gated community. I pictured it like in the movies, with small Mom and Pop stores on Main Street.

For your information, Eden Gorge has a Main Street, like you described.

Mel’s cheeks collapsed as if sucking a lemon. Nick, I can’t take credit for this collar. You arranged the buy. Besides, resisting arrest?

Without drugs, the bust was a bust. Who stopped the perp in his tracks and brought him to his knees?

Mel mumbled.

I didn’t hear you.

I did.

And whose idea was it to cut him off? Yours. If we were responsible fifty-fifty before the bust, those push the collar to your side of the ledger.

Okay, but you’ll still have to write it up. I didn’t speak to him until I executed an arm-wrap takedown, and then I only said, ‘Don’t move.’

I’ll finish my part of the paperwork as soon as we get to the station.

You’re giving me the arrest to make my record look good.

Like hell. What happens when they promote you to forensic psychologist? My luck, I’ll get an Academy graduate who doesn’t know a goddamn thing beyond the classroom and I’ll have to teach them the street from scratch. Commander Washington knew I was effective one-on-one, but not with groups. I’d end up weak-kneed in the front of the room.

You should trust the Police Academy more. The one in Detroit did an excellent job.

Because she transferred in from the Detroit PD, she’d come to the job fully prepared. Why hadn’t she been promoted to detective? My heart beat faster when I thought about Mel out on her own. Behind her badge, there was something else. Besides, if Washington says okay, I’ll ride up tomorrow and you’ll have to do without your mentor.

Mel obeyed the stop sign, looked both ways, and crossed the intersection. Why so soon, Sherlock?

Mel’s teasing nickname for me. You don’t know Ma. When she wants something, she wants it now, not in five minutes. Back when I was a teen, the only valid excuse for avoiding chores was homework. The minute I put down my pencil, she was on my ass to clean my room or fold the laundry.

Your mother sounds demanding.

It wasn’t so bad. The chores taught me responsibility. What would you expect from a Catholic mom keeping her son on the straight and narrow?

That explains a lot. When’s the last time you saw her?

April, for her birthday. Willie kept his distance while I was in town.

With wide-open eyes, Mel stared at me. "Really? It’s been five months."

I’ll see her for Christmas, like last year. The holidays were always a big deal for Ma. Not the commercialism and gifts. The religious part. I’d made both visits as day trips to minimize the painful memories of Dad, who could have won an Olympic gold medal for ignoring his only child. Neither Ma nor Mel understood the emotional toll I suffered.

And at your father’s funeral, right?

I nodded, preferring not to discuss that experience.

That’s not nearly frequent enough. I talk to my mom every Wednesday and have a command performance for dinner every Friday, no excuses.

I talk to Ma every night. I paid close attention when she talked about her health. When the topic turned to Dad or her church activities, my mind wandered. She had never mentioned Willie. Not once. Today’s call shows, she knows I’ll be there when she needs me.

That doesn’t mean you can’t ride up once a month for a visit. Mel turned down the volume when a message about a breaking and entering on the other side of the city came over the radio. When I went undercover as a bartender a couple of months ago, I had nightmares that my mother would show up on Friday night with dinner in an insulated container.

I’d been her backup in an unmarked car, parked across the street from that bar. The establishment didn’t serve home-cooked meals. I would have paid to see that.

Given all the hardware in that bar, I would have paid with my life if my cover was blown. At least your mother is a couple of hours away. She slowed at the next intersection, even though cross traffic had to stop. Your dad was on the force up in Eden Gorge, right?

How many times have I told you? My father is strictly off-limits. With Mel’s degrees in psychology, she often pushed at the boundaries of our relationship. On the topic of my father, I didn’t budge a millimeter. I was no more than a piece of furniture to him from the age of eight.

Sorry.

I leaned against the headrest. I’ll call Ma back later and tell her Commander Washington said he can’t afford to lose me.

Without asking? That’s not the Nick I know.

I’d been schooled in honesty and integrity. I guess I should go through the motions. I’d hate myself for lying to my mother. She’d consider it a mortal sin.

If you lie, she’ll figure it out, you know. Moms always do.

Then I’d be in real trouble. She’d view me as untrustworthy, but her expectations wouldn’t change. "Washington will refuse, and then Ma will ask for his number, and he’ll have to explain why I’m too valuable to solve her friend Willie’s death. I don’t envy him that conversation."

"But five months? Would it hurt to see her more often?"

Yes, it would. Dad’s presence hovered over the town, setting unreachable expectations for me. Besides, Mother Nature cursed my trips. Riding up on my motorcycle last December bordered on a death wish. April wasn’t much better with a freak rainstorm.

Mel pulled into the precinct parking lot. What if Washington says yes?

Then I’ll go to Eden Gorge and deal, but I won’t like it.

Sunday, September 16, 2018

2 – On The Road Again

The next morning, after I wolfed down the remnants of a day-old Italian sausage and peppers sandwich on French bread, I packed a duffel with my toiletry bag and clothes for two days, just in case. The previous afternoon, I’d presented the situation to Commander Washington. He reminded me about a son’s special obligation to his mother. Besides, I’d accumulated too much vacation, and this was a way for him to report that I’d be taking a couple of days off.

Mel wasn’t surprised when I called her for a favor. She’d already added a reminder to her calendar to stop at my place to feed Serpico. You’d better be back soon.

Why?

If we let our failed drug bust go unsolved, rumors will spread.

What, like we’re dirty? I could soothe Ma’s needless worries and come home the same day.

By the way, I’ve completed the incident report except for your statement, which you didn’t give me before you checked out last night.

Quick work. I’ll email it to you.

Take care, okay?

You, too. After I hung up, I snatched my Glock 22 and holster from my nightstand. For a split second, I considered taking them. Being armed would make my visit seem official. That would piss off Chief Graham worse than an unarmed arrival. Instead, I locked them, along with my laptop, in the wall safe mounted at the back of my linen closet. A stack of towels and sheets obscured the secure cubby.

I finished packing and sprinkled a few flakes of fish food into Serpico’s bowl as a treat. So long, buddy.

He darted inside a ceramic log at the bottom of the bowl. Too bad I couldn’t have taken refuge there and avoided my mother’s summons. Memories of Dad, not anything Ma did, kept me away. Hadn’t it been about two years since he was killed in that savings and loan robbery?

Downstairs in the parking lot behind my building, I strapped my duffel to the back of my Harley Electra Glide. My iPhone was loaded with the audiobook version of Spying In America by Michael J. Sulick. Mel gifted it to me because she knew I enjoyed history, just not reading.

With my fuel tank three-quarters full, I tapped PLAY on the iPhone’s screen. Chapter one, The Revolutionary War, came through the headphones in my helmet. Foster Avenue led me to the Interstate 90 northbound ramp.

Expressway traffic was bumper-to-bumper at all times of day. Even northbound in the morning had been congested for a decade. Today was no different.

I listened to the reason why King George III increased taxes on the colonies: to recover from heavy losses in his empire’s successful Seven Years’ War with France. Dull stuff. No spies.

As CTA trains rumbled past, the sun glared off their silver cars. Stop-and-go melted into a continuous flow that allowed faster speed the farther north I got. For twenty minutes, I avoided drivers who acted like I was invisible.

I bucked traffic on the Jane Addams Tollway, which couldn’t decide if it was a four-lane or six-lane highway. Industrial parks, warehouses, and one-story office buildings dotted both sides of the road. The speed limit increased to seventy as the tollway slimmed down to three lanes, becoming a boring carpet of concrete that split the flat plains of northern Illinois. My iPhone alerted me through my helmet headset to take Exit 20, Irene Road, a two-lane stretch heading south past cornfields and an occasional quarry. I enjoyed the wafts of crisp air that leaked into my helmet.

I asked Siri to pause the audiobook and then composed the arrest statement for Mel in my head.

Rigo, one of my most productive snitches, contacts me with a special opportunity, a new kind of roofie. More potent, he claims. He sets up the meet but advises me to bring a credit card and doesn’t explain why. The precinct provides $200 in cash, so I figure I’m covered. I meet Mr. Laker Jacket at the designated time and place, with Mel as my out-of-sight backup. The seller confirms six doses. I ask how much. He smiles, tells me six grand, and asks for plastic. Shit. Roofies don’t cost nearly that much. Plus, my credit card has a security feature if a purchase exceeds $1000. How could I do that in the middle of a drug buy? Meanwhile, Mr. Laker Jacket waves his thick black fob around, like it’s part of the transaction. When I ask to see the merchandise, he pulls out a gold-rimmed white plastic coin and lets me hold it, but he acts anxious to complete the sale and scram. I have no choice but to announce myself as law enforcement and expect we’ll find drugs on him. That’s when he runs. My partner Mel cuts him off and brings him down.

She was there for the rest.

I’d misjudged. No drugs, only that black fob and the white coin. If anybody could decipher the physical clues, it was my go-to techie Adam Quinn.

The closer I got to Eden Gorge, the more the sausage and peppers sandwich caused a throbbing in my temple, the onset of a digestive headache. I wasn’t looking forward to my mother’s scolding, the usual When will you get married and give me a grandchild? harangue. Eighty percent of our evening phone calls were centered around ladies at the hair salon who showed off photos of grandchildren on their smartphones. At forty-seven, did I even want kids?

Once, Ma admitted she’d be pleased to have a grandchild, even if it was out of wedlock. She quoted Psalm 127:3 Behold, children are a heritage from the Lord, the fruit of the womb a reward. As if I’d get someone pregnant to please my mother. How did she reconcile that with her religious convictions? The older she became, the less sense she made. If I was lucky, she wouldn’t mention my missed opportunity with Addy. Has it really been five years? It feels like yesterday.

The urge to turn around grew with every mile marker. As I sped past Bedrock Pavement, a company that built sections of the road under my wheels, my phone instructed me to turn right onto IL-72 west. After an hour and a half on my bike, I needed to regain my land legs and get off my butt. The Harley was fine for around-town riding, but despite its reputation as a cruiser, sitting with an engine between my legs for that long without a break made my thighs and ass sore. I’d tough it out with Eden Gorge a few miles away.

The sign, replaced since my last visit, came up sooner than expected. When I read the words, I choked the brake levers. The engine coughed and died as the rear wheel slid onto the gravel shoulder.

It read, Welcome to Eden Chasm.

What the hell? They renamed the town after my dead father? Holy shit! Ma never mentioned that. Too bad Dad wasn’t alive to witness the pinnacle of his front-page-documented career. I’d be confronted by reminders of Dad everywhere.

I kickstarted my bike with more leg force than necessary, but the engine tolerated the gesture and turned over. I made sure I kept under the speed limit in case Eden Chasm–the name sour in my thoughts–had become a speed trap. Unlikely, given its relative isolation despite nearby exits from Interstate 39 and Illinois Route 51.

I slowed as I passed a large community of homes on the left surrounded by a high brick wall and mature trees. The wooden sign out front was angled away. Must be Eden Reserve. Brick and siding veneers peeked over the exterior wall. Their design was a jarring contrast from the town’s quaint clapboard houses. Given the relocated city welcome sign, these new houses had become part of town.

A couple of miles farther, I reached Main Street and made a left turn. Several storefronts sported GOING OUT OF BUSINESS signs. I wondered if my favorite ice cream joint, Friendly Freezy, was still in business. I’d make time for a dipped cone after I got Ma calmed down.

Addams Park, the largest one in town, divided the north and southbound lanes. A hexagonal gazebo, erected long before I was born, sat in the center of the one-block long green space filled with trees as old as the town. No one had replaced missing boards around the base or added supports for the tilted roof. Memories of stealing my first kiss from Mary Jane Akers in that gazebo were still vivid, as was my father’s interruption as our lips touched. He’d been on patrol that night and caught us in the act. He drove her home and left me to fend for myself. She never spoke to me again.

Ma had insisted I stop first at the place she’d arranged for me to stay. Since it had an even address, I needed to make a U-turn. Minimal car traffic made it easy. Painted wooden and metal street numbers decorated the facades of two-story brick buildings, diverse in appearance. Eden Gorge Electronics, Letts’ Eats restaurant, Eden Gorge Plumbing, and a hair salon named Coiffe It Up occupied buildings on my right. A couple of empty storefronts sat in between. Except for the restaurant, the stores looked quiet. A scattering of pedestrians left the sidewalks barren.

I had my choice of diagonal parking spaces when I reached the address Ma had texted me. Two shops within one physical building, like twins. The one on my left, 162 Main, was vacant with a For Rent sign. The other, 164 Main, was a combination barbershop and beauty parlor. I unstrapped my duffel and slung it over my shoulder.

A stranger in a maroon jacket opened the door of the vacant store, came outside, and locked up.

Hi.

He jumped when I spoke and turned, his arm extended before he closed the gap between us. Nick! So good to see you again.

I’d never met him before. You are?

George Driscoll. He whipped out a business card and offered it to me.

Eden Chasm Realty, a Cirrus Company. I cringed. My mother said she arranged for me to stay here while I’m in town. In this store?

Oh no. There’s an apartment upstairs. Come with me. He led me to a nondescript solid door in between the vacant store and the salon and opened it. A long flight of stairs ended at a shared landing, one door on each side.

His rap on the door labeled 162A generated a metallic thud. It’s fire-rated, from when previous occupants used this space for inventory and such. He handed me a key. Be my guest.

I had to jiggle the key before the lock opened.

He pointed behind us with his thumb. Tracy, the building and salon owner, rents the unit next door to her sister. She won’t bother you. Go on in.

Good to know. I crossed the threshold. Listen, I’m not staying very long.

His smile drooped as if I was his steady girl, and I was dumping him. Your mother hopes you’ll stick around, at least a couple of days.

Ma had never been one to keep secrets. I appreciate everything you’ve done. Do you want to be paid up front?

Not necessary. Your mother covered the rental.

Really? Before I left, I’d have to make sure I paid Ma back for anything she’d spent.

The loft had been roughly partitioned with bare eight-foot plywood walls that came up short of the nine-foot ceiling. One threadbare Oriental rug covered the center portion of what I considered the living room. A beaten-up couch with one visible spring faced a square wooden coffee table. George must have thrown this place together at the last minute.

He walked to a bank of three windows at the front of the loft. You’ve got a great view of Addams Park.

I didn’t bother looking.

I’m working on getting you a TV. He walked to the wall and held up the end of a coax cable. Forty channels, if that’s okay.

Skip it. I’m not much of a TV guy. I felt ignorant every time Mel brought up a show she’d seen, as if everyone had her taste in entertainment.

There’s central heating and air conditioning, although I don’t expect you’ll need to cool the place this time of year. He maintained a smile. Stay as long as you’d like. I still have it listed for rent but don’t worry. Not much demand for apartments downtown when there are plans for a new high-rise nearby with all of the amenities.

Ma had never mentioned new developments on any of our calls. A high-rise apartment building would drastically change the town’s atmosphere.

After all, the workers at the new mall will need someplace to live. Let’s continue the tour.

Mall? High-rise? What’s going on?

Tons of development. New money flowing in like a river.

I’d seen enough of a place where I’d never sleep. Thanks, you don’t have to–

Sure I do. He gestured for me to follow. There’s a twin bed with a fresh mattress, plus a set of towels and sheets, laundered.

I stuck my head in as we passed the bedroom. The twin wasn’t made, too short for my height. No headboard, sheets folded in a square and a single pillow, flat as a waffle. A junkyard dresser, three scarred drawers with a matching distressed top, was the only other piece of furniture in the room. I left my duffel there.

He led me across the hall to another room. The kitchen? A metal folding table and one chair in the center. Sorry, no range or oven. I brought in a microwave. White but stained, it sat alongside a two-burner camping stove. A mini fridge sat under the hot pink Formica counter. Probably procured used from Eden Gorge Electronics up the street. That’s okay, I’m not much of a cook. Besides, Ma says she’s going to feed me while I’m here.

Sounds great. He lowered his voice. If you ever get tired of home-cooking, not that you will, mind you, but Letts’ Eats is a couple of doors away, and they deliver.

The name seemed familiar when I’d cruised past. Then I remembered Ma had hired them to cater Dad’s post-funeral dinner.

He pointed out the bathroom next door to the kitchen with antique fixtures. One other thing I need to mention. He opened what I expected was a closet in the hallway. Instead of a hanging rod or shelves, two wooden planks with semi-circular cutouts covered a three-foot hole in the floor. A dull brass fireman’s pole extended from the ceiling down through the opening.

What’s that for?

When I converted this space from storage to an apartment, I had to provide an emergency exit for the resident. The building doesn’t have a fire escape, and it would have been too expensive to install one. So, I used my noggin. He tapped his temple with his index finger. I got a great deal on the firehouse’s old pole since they were getting a new one as part of an upgrade. And a team of off-duty firemen came over and installed it. So, in an emergency, you slide down to safety.

I couldn’t picture ever needing it. Where do I park my bike?

Oh, yes. George led me to the bedroom and pulled back a sheet nailed to the wall that covered the only window. In back, next to the salon employees’ cars.

I walked over and gazed down at the asphalt. Every possible parking space was occupied. Like where?

Hmm. Coiffe It Up employees must be using more than their fair share. I’ll have a word with Tracy. Anything else?

I’m good. I’ll have the key back to you shortly.

Like I said, take your time. No one is more welcome here than Mark Chasm’s son. He swiped his hand along the stained drywall. Maybe I can rent the commercial space downstairs and turn this back into storage after you leave. Do you want to see the first floor? It’s included.

No thanks. My task was to put my mother’s mind at ease, not start a business.

I locked the door after George left and used the bathroom to wash up. Ma told me more than once how she got her hair done at a salon on Main Street. That’s how she knew there was an empty apartment. Did she cajole Tracy into giving me cheap rent? I suspected Ma never visited the place.

The best way for me to make this a quick visit was to go see Ma and set her expectations. Then a brief conversation with Chief Graham to learn the facts would prepare me for the main event–a heart-to-heart with Ma, to convince her that Willie’s death was an unfortunate accident. All Graham had to do was assure me that he’d handled the incident by the book, as Dad used to say. Yeah, Dad. By the book, except for that one time…

Some police officer had rubber-banded a parking ticket to my left handlebar grip. Shit, my first one since college. I should have checked the signs.

If I was lucky, after dinner with Ma, I’d ride back to Chicago and not have to spend the night in Eden Gorge. I refused to acknowledge the new name for this dreadful place. Others might call it Eden Chasm, but not me.

3 – Family Reunion

Ma lived at Sunny Bridges at Eden Gorge, the retirement facility she chose after selling the family house. Its location, within walking distance of St. Walter Church, gave it an edge over other possibilities. The proceeds of the house sale plus Dad’s life insurance policy gave Ma a hefty financial cushion. Her monthly income, composed of his police pension and survivor benefits, was more than enough to afford the monthly rent and service fees for years to come.

During our nightly calls, I encouraged her to spend on herself in ways that would make her happy, but there were never concrete answers when I’d ask about what she’d done. Once Ma passed, her estate would be a windfall for the Police Benevolent & Protective Association of Illinois. I would never take an inheritance that included my father's money. Our relationship, or lack thereof, wouldn't allow me.

I parked my bike in the visitors’ lot and double-checked for any parking restrictions. None posted.

At the front desk, I had to complete their sign-in sheet with the date, time, Ma’s name, and mine. Pretty standard stuff for a facility that limited access to a vulnerable population. Ma’s apartment, although they called them suites, was on the first floor, down a long hall, a sharp left, and then halfway to the end. She’d chosen one with a sliding glass door and a postage stamp patio, so she could sit outside with a cup of tea and enjoy a view of the courtyard. Ma appreciated the simple things. I knocked gently on her door. It practically flew open.

Nicky! She threw her arms around me and didn’t let go.

I placed my hands on her back. Hi, Ma. You’re looking great. I’d barely seen her face in the split second before she’d pounced.

She leaned back, her hands gripping my biceps. Good boy. You’re keeping in shape.

She wore her curly white hair short, except for long bangs bobby pinned to the sides to keep them out of her eyes. Her inner beauty, unconditional love, shone through the wrinkles, which hadn’t multiplied since my previous visit. She remained erect but frail, an ongoing worry. If she ever required a cane, I didn’t expect she’d agree to use one.

I’m still working out and running.

She stood silent, staring at me, her moist