CHAPTER
EIGHT
The next morning, Larry meets me at the door to my office, reporting his efforts with contacts in Chicago PD have been fruitless, or in his words, “tighter than bark on a tree.” I can’t be sure, but I think I smell the faint odor of alcohol on his breath . . . although it could just as easily be oozing from his pores. Whichever it is, Larry is clean-shaven and looks grey and pale, but he is upbeat, so I decide to let it pass.
“Believe me, I’m gonna remember when CPD comes looking for a favor up here,” he says, throwing himself into my armchair.
I recount what Dr. Hong said about s****l assault, so we give ourselves a pass on searching s****l offenders. We also agree that with nothing coming in that points to a mob contract, we’ll focus on interviewing friends and acquaint
