Page 40 of Hoofin’ It

How many times would I have to explain how I’d lost my eye before people stopped asking—or doubt I could have been a cop? I pointed at the blue sphere provided by my cheap-ass insurer. “I was the first to arrive at a traffic accident involving a family of three and a burning car. Since police officers need to pass visual acuity tests in both eyes, I’m no longer a police officer. The insurance company evaluated my ranking in the police department and determined it wasn’t worth the investment to give me a false eye capable of passing the vision tests.”

“It’s non-functional?” Billings frowned, his gaze fixed on my false eye. “They weren’t required to give you a replacement sufficient to let you keep your job?”

“I’m technically on vacation in the form of a two-month medical leave to adapt to only having one eye. Chicago’s police department isn’t required to keep their employees in the field, so the best I can hope for is a lower paying desk job. That met the insurance company’s requirements for securement of work. The department signed off saying they could transfer me to a non-field capacity. The department keeps their quota filled, the insurance company saves money. Worked for everyone but me.” I realized I was whining about it but couldn’t force myself to care. “Active field duty paid a living wage. The desk job work pays minimum wage.”

I let them do the math. Daryl figured it out first and spat a few curses. “So they can force you to quit by lowering your income.”

“Welcome to Chicago.”

Chicago’s branch of the CDC was located several blocks from my old station in one of the nicer parts of town. If I hadn’t been so tired and grouchy, I might’ve helped Lowry figure out the complex puzzle that was Upper and Lower Chicago during construction season, but watching the FBI agent lose his shit when the roads split and he descended into the pits of hell when he should have risen to street level amused me.

Beneath the streets of Chicago lurked a second city, a tangled maze of underground parking, shops, and homes. Nocturnals made Lower Chicago their haven, safe from the sunlight they hated—or couldn’t face without their skin burning off their bones. There was even a third level, one no one wanted to acknowledge.

Some things were best left in the dark, and we had a working arrangement with the third level dwellers. The denizens of Upper and Lower Chicago didn’t bother them, so they didn’t bother us. Considering I wasn’t even sure what lurked down there, I rather liked the arrangement.

It took three hours for Lowry to find his way out of Lower Chicago, ending up halfway across the city before he realized he needed to take one of the up ramps to relocate civilization. Once he figured that out, he made certain to stay away from any exit ramps with a downward slope.

I managed to catch some sleep while the trio of government employees attempted to navigate through the city without asking for help. When Lowry learned he had to descend into Lower Chicago to park, his wordless cry of frustration drowned out the groans of the other two men.

“Go around the building, take the first exit into Lower Chicago, and go around the block. The entrance to the headquarters parking garage should be labeled,” I said, pointing at an alley alongside the CDC’s skyscraper. To alleviate some of their frustration, I added, “Buildings like this don’t have connecting streets to Lower Chicago.”

“Who designed this fucking city?” Lowry grumbled, following my directions to reach the parking lot beneath the streets.

“A sadist with masochistic tendencies.”

“I believe it.”

When Lowry discovered he had to pay thirty dollars to park for the day, he looked ready to reach out the window and throttle the security guard manning the entry gate. To add insult to injury, he had to circle the lot’s five levels for thirty minutes to find a spot. “I am never coming to this hell hole ever again.”

I bit my lip so I wouldn’t laugh and unbuckled my seatbelt. The few minutes of sleep had helped; I could walk a straight line without assistance. Daryl scratched his head and turned in a slow circle. “How do we get into the building?”

I pointed at a small arrow mounted on one of the pylons. “Follow those.”

“Next time, you get to drive,” Lowry grumbled.

“No driving for me for a few days. Doctor’s orders.” I strolled through the maze of parked cars, careful to watch for anyone hunting for a spot. While the lot was packed, there were few people in the garage. Even following the signs, it took us ten minutes to find the elevators.

Fortunately for my sanity, we didn’t have to wait long for the elevator, and Daryl tapped the sole button, which would take us to the first floor. I approved of the bottleneck; by forcing those in the garage to go through security on the first floor, the CDC could monitor anyone entering and leaving. I’d seen too many places, including hotels, which used a single elevator system, granting easy access to people who didn’t belong in the building, making it simple for crooks to make a clean getaway.

Daryl endured a ten minute scolding from the receptionist on the first floor, which I spent swallowing yawns. The two FBI agents fidgeted but kept quiet during the wait. The CDC representative sighed and pointed across the lobby. “We’re expected on the fifth floor, and since we’re late bringing him, we’re expected to help with the testing.”

Agent Billings shook his head. “We’re not certified with the CDC.”

“You don’t need to be certified. You just need to be a gopher and do what you’re told. You’ll still get your turn with him, but we’re two hours behind schedule, and they have some specialists here who need to look at him. The looking goes faster with extra hands. I get to be a gopher, too, and I’m certified. Just deal with it. If you complain and whine, we’ll be at this even longer.”

“I’m not looking forward to this, either. Be happy you’re not the one about to be diagnosed as a freak,” I confided, strolling across the lobby. Delaying the evaluation would only draw out the misery. My goal would be to escape as quickly as possible, head home, and find out what sort of disaster waited for me at my apartment.

I’d already taken care of the majority of my bills, including paying the month’s rent in advance, so I could go to New York without an eviction notice waiting my return.

“On the general freak scale, you’re a minor freak at worst, Mr. Gibson.”

I glanced at the FBI agents. “See? I’m not even a good freak. I’d rather be a gopher. Want to trade?”

“No,” they chorused.

Chapter Thirteen

The one person the CDC didn’t need in attendance for the initial testing was me. I expected them to draw blood and do a physical exam. That phase was completed without a hitch. I tested above average in most categories, and except for my missing eye and injured shoulder, I classified as healthy.