cbrbingo
cbrbingo17 red
cbrbingo17 Red
Michael Kelly, ex-cop and private investigator, is looking for a little information, and sources don’t get better than Fred Jacobs of the tribune. Let’s meet Fred.
Fred was six feet two and weighed slightly less than your average house cat. He was chasing sixty with . . . a head of black hair the color and consistency of shoe leather. . . . Fred was a life-long bachelor. Suffice it to say, he didn’t get a lot of chicks. What Fred did get was information. The man shambling along Michigan Avenue had won two Pulitzers and was probably the best investigative reporter this side of Bob Woodard.
There’s shenanigans happening on the fifth floor, or Chicago’s City Hall era 1990s. (When was there not, especially during those years?) It involves hinky real estate deal (a given) and the Great Chicago Fire of Mrs. O’Leary’s cow’s fame. The real break in the case, however, comes via a volunteer docent by the name of Teen. She has been working at the archives for decades, and is charged with the safekeeping of various historical document, such as with the annual internal audits. And she has noticed some discrepancies. She has something she wants to mention to Kelly, but she has a question first.
“Will I get my name in the papers?” . . .
“You want your name in the papers?”
“Of course.”
“Consider it done.
Never treat a loyal volunteer as if she’s just part of the woodwork. Especially if she knows where all the bodies are buried and you don’t.