Chapter 13

July 28, 1996

Sunday late afternoon

The lobby bar at the Westin Hotel was located two steps up onto a very large platform. Dozens of tiny pin lights hung down from the atrium ceiling three floors above. Everything was cream and beige, there were comfortable barstools surrounding the bar, and small tables and chairs surrounding them.

Brian Peerson was now in his mid-thirties, and it had been more than eleven years since I'd last seen him. I recognized him right away, though. Blond and blue-eyed, his hair was still thick and something of a wavy mop on top of his head. In the eighties his hair had curled, but that might have been a perm. People did that then. Aside from being thinner he looked healthy. That was a huge relief.

He wore a pale-blue, button-down, short-sleeve shirt with madras shorts and flip-flops. People from the Midwest always over-compensated for the warm weather. I remembered Chicago summers; it was probably hotter there than it was here.

Sitting with him was a woman whose blonde hair had such strong highlights and lowlights that it couldn't possibly be natural. When she turned and lowered her giant sunglasses, it was Sugar Pilson. The well-known Chicago socialite was now in her late forties, like me. She was well-polished but had already begun the slow drying out that rich women put themselves through. Someday she'd look like a flower pressed in a book. Of course, she'd still be fabulous. She had a heart the size of her hometown: Dallas, Texas. She wore a kaftan in a riot of colors and had a handbag sitting next to her that was large enough for a stowaway.

They both saw me at the same time and slowly stood. Sugar inhaled deeply and then said, "Oh my, Lordy Lou, it is you! Nick it's so wonderful to see you. Oh, come here?—"

And then she was in my arms. Brian right behind her. We stood like that for a moment—looking ridiculous, I'm sure.

"We should sit down," I said, my voice thicker than I'd expected.

Brian and I sat. Sugar flitted over to the bar. We stared at each other for a moment, then he said, "So, who is Dominick Reilly?"

He knew that from the mail he sent me, but not much else.

"It's an alias."

"Dominick. I can still call you Nick?"

"You can. Most people call me Dom, but Nick is fine."

And I won't be staying long,I thought. I was already regretting the location. An open hotel bar in a city where I'd served most of the gay men a beer was probably a bad idea if I didn't want this getting back to Ronnie.

"I can't believe I'm sitting here with you," Brian said. "It's been so long."

"So, tell me, you're back in Springfield? Are you still with Franklin?"

"I am. He's good. He had testicular cancer last year, but he's recovered and doing well."

"And your health?"

"Surprisingly good. Yours?"

"I'm good. Stopped smoking. Don't really drink."

"Don't look now but here comes Sugar with a bottle of champagne."

I turned and there she was with three flutes hooked in one hand and a bottle of champagne in the other. Apparently, it was my weekend for champagne.

"Can you believe I had to tip the bartender so he'd let me open the bottle myself!" She set the glasses on the table. Then she set about opening the champagne. Brian and I smiled while we waited. The cork popped and she filled the glasses. Before she sat down, she leaned over close to my ear and said, "If I wasn't so happy to see you, I'd rip your hair out. How dare you disappear for a decade."

When she was seated, I said, "Sugar, you can't tell anyone you saw me."

"And that horrid book about the Chicago mob. The writer said you were dead! I grieved for you. I was absolutely distraught for weeks until Brian finally swore me to secrecy and told me you were alive."

Luckily, Brian changed the subject. "Is there someone in your life?"

"Yes, I have a partner. His name is Ronnie. He's twenty-eight."

"Oh, I love younger men," Sugar said. "The last man I dated was twenty-five."

"Things didn't work out with you and the painter?"

"Actually, they worked out just fine. We had six wonderful years, followed by two bad ones. I stopped wanting to know what came next, so I divorced him."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I'm really glad I married him. I'm also really glad I divorced him. What can be better than that?"

"Tell us about Ronnie," Brian said.

"I'm monopolizing the conversation, aren't I?" Sugar said.

"Just a tad."

"Sweetheart, just slap me."

"Ronnie and I have been together about four years. He's a real estate agent. We own three properties together."

"And he calls you Dom," Brian said.

"He doesn't know anything about Nick Nowak," I said.

"Darling, that's terrible," Sugar said. "We love Nick. He would too."

This time I changed the subject. "How is Terry?"

"Still wild. I still have my condo in Chicago. We're up there for weekends twice a month. Terry lives in the condo for me. Takes care of the place."

And Brian takes care of him, which was a relief.

Sugar put her hand on mine, "You should tell your partner who you are." She didn't want to let that go.

Part of me thought, why not let them back into my life? Why not invite them to the house so they could meet Ronnie. But then I knew what a bad idea that was. I knew that Brian wouldn't mention watching his stepfather drown in Lake Michigan or the time I killed a man on a construction site. I knew that Sugar wouldn't make jokes about my connections to The Outfit. But they would slip and call me Nick. They'd talk about Chicago and not Detroit.

In no time, he"d be able to put things together. He'd seen my real birth certificate, my real ID. He thought it was my fake ID. He hadn't realized it was the other way around. But if he met Brian and Sugar, he would.

"He knows who I am. He doesn't need to know who I was," I said with as much finality as I could. "Why are you going to Mexico in the middle of summer?"

"You can't have forgotten," Sugar said. "Chicago in the heat is a nightmare, but Mexico in the heat is a delight."

"Hot is hot wherever you are."

"Yes, but one has a pool and handsome boys bringing you margaritas and the other smells bad."

I turned to Brian and asked, "Franklin didn't want to come with you?"

"He's upstairs. He's not feeling well."

"You mean he didn't think this was a good idea. It's not, you know."

"I couldn't be in the same city and not see you."

"We can't make a habit of this."

"I know," Brian said.

Sugar pursed her lips, clearly wanting to object but thinking better of it. After that, conversation became a little more challenging. I decided not to tell them about The Freedom Agenda. They already knew too much about me. Our cases were occasionally mentioned in other states. I wouldn't want them bragging about knowing me. Well, Sugar might. I didn't think Brian would.

At one point Sugar mentioned they go to the same therapist. "She's wonderful, except sometimes she complains that it's unethical to see us both since we're good friends. But I never complain to her about Brian, and I know he never complains about me—wink, wink." He probably didn't complain about her though. He had bigger things to talk about.

When we finished the bottle Sugar tried to buy another, but I put my foot down. "I'm sorry, I can't stay. You guys feel free though."

She pouted for a moment, then excused herself to go to the ladies' room. Once she was gone, Brian said, "I saw Joseph about a year ago. We both go to Dr. Macht."

"How was he?"

"He seemed good. Healthy."

"Good for him."

"He mentioned that he was upset when he heard that you'd died."

"How did he hear that? I mean, why would he be reading books about The Outfit?"

"Gloria Silver put it in her column after the book came out. Made it sound like you were one of her closest friends."

"You didn't tell Joseph I'm still alive, did you?"

"No. It felt awful, Nick. Is all this really necessary?"

"I don't know. But I do know I don't want to be wrong. If I'm wrong, people die."

A cloud passed over his face. He seemed to be remembering the time that happened to him. And in that moment, everything I'd done for the last eleven years seemed exactly right. It was hard enough to be responsible for that cloud. If I'd been responsible… I couldn't risk that.

"You're happy?" he asked when he came out of it.

"I am."

"Good. That's what I needed to know."