Hyde Park.
As the oldest and most scenic lakeside park in Chicago, it ought to be one of the city's landmark attractions, a favorite spot for tourists to check off their lists. Unfortunately, the park was built on the South Side.
So the people who spent the most time here were not tourists, but the homeless.
Not that there was anything wrong with that. Without the property stripped from the homeless, the government would not have had the money to build the park in the first place.
From the point of view of those sleeping rough here, their property had simply flowed back to them in a different form.
Yeah. God bless America.
At this moment, in one corner of the park, a big group of morning joggers and walkers had gathered around a clump of bushes, pointing at a body lying face‑down and motionless inside.
If you leaned in, you could even hear these grown men arguing over who had discovered the corpse first. Anyone listening from a distance would think they were reenacting "Stand by Me."
Luckily, the sound of a police siren soon cut their bickering short.
Rorschach pushed open the car door, hands hooked in his belt, yawning as he walked toward the crowd.
Behind him, Ginny, who had sprinted behind the squad car the whole way and had only been allowed back in at the park entrance to catch her breath, pressed her lips together and followed several meters behind without saying a word.
"All right, all right. It's just a homeless guy's body, not Charlize Theron. Break it up."
Rorschach clapped his hands at the onlookers. Once he had driven them off, he held a hand back over his shoulder.
Seeing that outstretched palm, Ginny's heart clenched. She had no idea what he wanted, but she had a sick feeling she had screwed something up again.
"What… what are you doing?" she asked nervously.
Rorschach glanced back and, seeing how lost she looked, sighed inwardly and snapped, "Crime scene tape! Evidence markers! Body bag! Gloves! Do I have to teach you one by one what to do when you find a body? What the hell did you learn at the academy?!"
Ginny froze, then hurriedly nodded. "I'll go get them right now!"
Even though she hated his guts, her sense of duty as an officer kicked in and she bolted for the cruiser to grab the gear.
She had barely taken two steps when Rorschach's voice stopped her.
"Wait!"
He held up a hand, frowning as he studied the "body" not far away—a man in a blue denim coat, lying face‑down in the dirt.
Damn it. The more he looked, the more familiar this corpse seemed.
Cursing inwardly, Rorschach walked over, bent to take a closer look, then suddenly drew back his foot and kicked the "body."
"Motherf*cker, Frank!"
The body still did not move. Rorschach followed up with two more kicks, swearing, "Still playing dead, huh? Get your ass up and go die at home. Motherf*cker, wasting police resources all day. You want to die, do it in your own house!"
Watching this, Ginny rushed over in outrage. She stepped between Rorschach and the man called Frank, glaring at him. "Stop it! How can you treat a corpse like that? That's not how a good cop behaves!"
"A corpse?"
Rorschach shook his head in exasperation. "Looks like I need to introduce you to one of the South Side's local celebrities. You know which two creatures will still be alive after the next apocalypse? One is cockroaches, and the other is…"
He pointed past her and swore, "Frank f*cking Gallagher."
Ginny had finally found an opening and was about to snap back at him again when a groan sounded behind her, cutting her off.
She turned in disbelief just in time to see the "corpse" she had been protecting stretch lazily and sit up from the ground.
"Hey! Look who it is!" Seeing Rorschach, Frank scrambled to his feet, completely ignoring the still‑stunned Ginny. Grinning wide, he spread his arms and walked toward Rorschach.
"The pride of our South Side, the finest detective in Chicago—Rorschach Butcher! And my daughter Fiona's first boyfriend, too."
Rorschach had zero interest in that toilet‑bowl grin. He turned away at once and headed for the car.
But there was no way Frank was going to let him go that easily. The old man trotted after him, shamelessly babbling, "Rorschach… Rorschach, have a little pity on your first love's old man, huh? Buy me a drink—or just give me cash, that works too. Fifty—no, twenty bucks is fine. I haven't had that much to drink this morning."
Rorschach stopped, stared up at the sky for a second, then took a deep breath. He turned around and jabbed a finger at Frank's forehead, snapping, "First of all, I only slept with Fiona once, and that time she got me drunk on purpose. The only reason I didn't press charges is because I'm a merciful guy. And the line of guys who've slept with Fiona could stretch from here to Iraq. Why aren't you hitting them up for money?"
"Second, thanks to your emotional blackmail, I've given you at least a thousand bucks over the years. You really take me for some kind of walking ATM?"
"Try asking me for money again, and I'll throw you in a cell for forty‑eight hours. Believe it?"
Frank shut his mouth at once.
It was not that he was afraid of jail so much as he could not handle two days without booze.
But as he watched Rorschach about to get into the squad car, something seemed to click. An idea lit up in his mind.
He hurriedly called after him and dropped his voice. "Listen, Rorschach, I'm not trying to get something for nothing. You've been digging into those missing kids on the South Side, right?"
Rorschach's eyes went cold as he reached for the door. He looked down at the old man and said quietly, "You'd better be real clear about what you're saying right now."
The look on his face made Frank hunch his shoulders instinctively, but the dryness in his throat that could only be quenched by a bottle of vodka pushed him to keep talking. "At Kev's bar, I happened to overhear the Irish brothers asking about a few missing kids in the South Side. Other people might not know this, but I know they're your informants. First rule of Fight Club… right?"
Rorschach looked Frank up and down. He had not expected the old bastard to know about Fight Club.
He was not exactly shocked that someone had broken the rules of Fight Club. Honestly, with a little group built on a couple of half‑baked slogans, it was only a matter of time before it got exposed to more people.
What did surprise him a bit was how sharp Frank's ears were. He had only given the Irish brothers their assignment last night, and in just a few hours Frank had already overheard something and linked it back to him.
Sensing his hesitation, Frank pressed the advantage. "Trust me, Rorschach, I've got information you want. You give me two thousand—no, one thousand bucks, and I'll tell you everything. God as my witness, if anyone can save those lost kids, it's you."
Rorschach gave him a sidelong glance. Under Frank's expectant stare, he reached into his pocket—then pulled out… a napkin.
He blew his nose, then dropped the used tissue into Frank's eagerly outstretched hand. "Throw that in a trash can."
"Rorschach…"
"Save it. Be at home tonight and wait for me. One more thing—if you try to jerk me around, I swear you won't taste another drop of alcohol for the rest of your life."
Rorschach jabbed a warning finger at him, then, without sparing another glance for Ginny, got into the squad car and drove off, leaving her standing right where she was—again.
This time, though, Ginny did not immediately sprint after the car. She watched the cruiser until it was almost out of sight, narrowed her eyes, then walked over to Frank, who was still cursing in the direction Rorschach had gone.
"Mr. Gallagher, right?"
Seeing it was a strange female cop, Frank had zero interest in talking. He just waved her off and turned to leave—when a hand holding a crisp hundred‑dollar bill suddenly appeared in front of him.
Ginny smiled softly at him. "You seem to know Rorschach very well. Would you mind telling me a few stories about him? Anything at all, as long as it's about him—I'll pay for it."