I followed Harry back to the precinct. On the way we stopped at George Webb’s on the corner of 15th Street and Wisconsin Avenue about a block from the 16th Precinct, the precinct Harry worked out of and about three blocks from my old apartment located over the plumbing wholesale shop my former in-laws own. We picked up four hamburgers with fried onions and one black coffee for me and a chocolate malt for Harry to go. My stomach couldn’t take any more of that acid Harry brews in his office that he attempts to pawn off as coffee.
A few years ago, I walked in on a robbery in progress at this George Webb’s Restaurant. I ended up chasing a drugged up little prick out the back door after he struck the manager, Frank Meinburg, who is still working behind the counter, in the head with the butt of his revolver. Willie Jones, the cook, who is still working in the kitchen flipping burgers, was traumatized and had his life pass before him as he stared down the barrel of the little asshole’s 9mm gun. The three of us became friends and I became a late night regular. Hell, we became like an eclectic extended family. For some reason, I feel responsible for these two old guys’ safety. I spoke to Harry about having a patrolman stop by a couple of times a night to look in on them.
When we arrived at the precinct, I ate one of the four hamburgers and Harry ate the other three.
When he finished eating his three, Harry let out a loud belch and slurped down the last of his chocolate malt before picking up the phone.
“Get your ass in here,” he yelled.
Soon Detectives Chet George and Marty Taylor materialized in the doorway and flopped down on the chairs in Harry’s cramped office, making it uncomfortably close. I could smell what Taylor had for lunch and it didn’t smell good. He probably thought the same about my George Webb’s hamburger with the fried onions.
“The Candi Kane case. We just left the vic’s aunt’s house. She gave us this, along with a lecture on English Literature,” Harry said, sliding a sheet of paper containing the names and telephone numbers she handed him while we were leaving her cabin. “Sorry we missed it,” Detective George said as he looked down at the names and telephone numbers. He passed it over to Taylor. He didn’t bother to look at it.
“Go to her school and Alioto’s Restaurant and ask questions of everyone who knew her or saw her in the past few days. Then contact everyone on this list that you didn’t meet while you were at her school. I want a detailed report back by the end of the week.”
He slid another sheet of notebook paper across his desk. “This is where Candi told her aunt she would be going the last day they spoke. Follow up on it. Get back to me as soon as you know something.”
Both Detectives rose, “Will do boss.”
Harry yelled after them, “Hey, also check with your sources about who might be running Blue Magic in this area.”
“Blue Magic? We heard that name last week when we busted a couple of negroes down on West Center Street. They were loitering around North Division High School. Parents were complaining about nobody responding to their calls to get them off the premises. Chet and I picked them up and hauled them to the twelfth precinct. They were two homeless guys who had been sleeping behind the cafeteria. They had a couple of bags of cocaine with the name Blue Magic written on them. When we interrogated them about the source, they said they got it from their cousins who came up from Chicago last week. They claim they don’t know where their cousins went. Most likely back to Chicago.
“We hadn’t heard that term, Blue Magic,