Page 75 of Street of Dreams
“I saw him.”
Skylar’s eyes widened with panic. “After what happened last time? Mac, that’s crazy! If Bruce King—”
“Not in South Side. Jake showed up at Rocktoberfest. We spent the night together. That’s why I needed to come back to Chicago.”
“What are you going to do?” she asked, her voice filled with worry.
“I need to tell Jake that I still love him.” Enough was enough. Not another second was going to go by. Mac needed to see Jake. “Where’s this liquor store he owns?”
She shook her head with disapproval and concern. “I don’t think it’s a good idea to go there. I have a bad feeling about this, Mac.”
“I’ll be careful.”
She clutched Mac’s arm tightly. “I don’t want something to happen to you. I don’t want either of you to get hurt. Like last time.”
“It’ll be OK,” he reassured her, but he really had no idea what would happen.
“Are you sure about this?” Skylar asked, biting her bottom lip and wrinkling her brow.
“Positive. I need to see him. I love him, Sky. And I have to tell him.”
She hesitated, then exhaled. “It’s on 82ndand Jeffrey. Please be careful. Don’t just barge into the store. Scope out the place. Make sure Bruce is nowhere around.”
“I will.” He took Skylar’s Honda Accord, since the Chevy would attract too much attention, and spent the 10-minute ride with a mixture of nerves knotting his stomach and exhilaration dancing in his chest. When he spotted the liquor store and saw a brand-new Ford F-350 pickup truck parked in front, he wanted to jump from the car. But he knew he needed to be cautious and waited to see who came in and out of the store.
After several customers left with their purchases, Mac decided it was safe. The moment he reached for the door handle, Jake exited the liquor store. He was clean shaven, and his hair was different. He looked more like his old self, not the messy disguised version that showed up in the desert. The long messy locks were trimmed on the sides and longer on the top, held in place by some kind of product. His hair, together with his leather jacket, jeans, and bike boots, made him look like one of those old-school bad boy bikers in the movies, not the scruffy outlaw bikers of today.
Before Mac had a chance to get out of the car, Jake jumped in his truck and drove away. Mac followed, but Skylar’s little four-cylinder economy car couldn’t keep up with Jake’s behemoth. He pressed the gas pedal harder, but the Honda still wasn’t able to catch up to Jake. After a few minutes, Mac wondered where the hell Jake was going and if following him was a good idea.
Dusk fell quickly and the road became dark. Broken streetlights fed the shadows, but Mac was able to see the taillights of Jake’s truck as it turned into a gas station at the other end of the block. By the time he got there, Jake’s truck was gone. Mac scanned his surroundings, looking for Jake, and realized that he was in a bad part of town. Alone. At night.
Mac didn’t know what the hell Jake was doing in this area, but he was going home. He drove through the station toward the exit on the opposite street, and that’s when he spotted Jake’s truck parked behind the minimart, but Jake wasn’t in it. Bewildered, Mac stopped the car and thumped his fingers on the steering wheel. He parked near the pumps, where he had a full view of the station, and waited. Not long after, he spotted Jake exiting the bathroom door on the side of the building. What. The. Fuck.
Jake had changed into an expensive-looking suit in the bathroom of a seedy gas station in one of the worst areas of South Side. Then he jumped in his pickup and sped off.
Again, Mac followed. Only, this time, he purposely remained at a distance so he wouldn’t be noticed. He couldn’t believe he was actually spying on Jake, but the situation was too bizarre, and curiosity got the better of him.
Jake pulled into a parking spot, got out, and walked briskly down the sidewalk for almost two blocks before he entered an old warehouse. It looked abandoned. The windows were blackened out, so no light was visible from the outside, and there weren’t any cars in the parking lot. There was a large roll-up metal garage door in the front of the building, like a receiving bay.
“What the fuck are you up to?” Mac wondered, aloud. He waited at the curb for 10 minutes before he pulled into the lot and drove to the back of the building where Jake had entered. He cautiously exited the car and looked around the dark and deserted area. As he approached the door, the hair on the back of his neck prickled from the bad feeling in his gut. He wrapped his fingers around the knob and took a deep breath. It was unlocked, and he tiptoed inside.
Wooden crates, in various sizes, were stacked around the warehouse. The lights were on, but it was quiet and appeared empty. He knew Jake was in here somewhere, and slowly walked further into the building. A low murmur of voices caught his attention. They were coming from a slice of light under a closed door on a wall across the room.
Without making a sound, Mac walked lightly, hugging the wall as he proceeded. When he got closer, he realized the door wasn’t fully closed, and he wished he never entered the building. This was a bad idea.
Before he had a chance to retreat and back out of the building, a click sounded in his ear and cold metal pressed against his temple. He sucked in a surprised breath just as a beefy hand grabbed him by the back of the neck and pushed him forward until they were through the door that Mac had been staring at. A dozen men turned to face him and drew their pistols, all at the same time. Mac found himself in an office surrounded by dark gray suits and staring down the barrels of big black guns.
The only one who didn’t have a gun in his hand was a man sitting behind a desk at the back of the room, obviously the boss. He looked more annoyed than concerned. “Who the fuck is this?” he demanded, in a heavy Italian accent, without bothering to stand.
“Mac!” Jake stepped from between two huge men, a wild look in his eyes. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
“I didn’t mean to barge in,” Mac explained, cautiously, still scanning the guns facing him and meeting multiple sets of hard, cold eyes. His gaze settled on Jake, and his frantically beating heart calmed a little. “I thought you were alone. I just . . . I needed to tell you . . . something.”
The man behind the desk stood and approached Jake, anger boiling in his eyes. “You bring this shit to my doorstep? Tonight of all nights?”
“No,” Jake pleaded, eyes darting to Mac briefly and the guns that were still pointed at him. “He doesn’t know anything about this. He lives in Los Angeles. I’m very sorry, Mr. Finestra. I had no idea he was coming here. Please, just let him leave. I’ll take the heat. Just let him go.”
A sinking feeling hit Mac in the gut as he realized the man standing in front of him was Salvatore Finestra, the most powerful mob boss in Chicago. What the hell had he walked into? What had he done to Jake? “It’s my fault,” he managed to say. “I was only trying to talk to Jake alone. I had no idea any of you were here. I didn’t mean to intrude. I can go. I’ll leave. I didn’t see anything.”
