The Undertaker (33 page)

“My Toyota. I have it parked up there in a rental garage. It isn't much, but it's a car and it can get us to Milwaukee, or Peoria, or St. Louis, or somewhere.”

“No, Tinkerton would have already checked on vehicle registrations and they'd have an APB out on your car and the license plates.”

“Well, we can take the El out to O'Hare or Midway and catch a plane.”

“You and me make it through airport security? That won't work.”

“Let me think,” she said. “There are some commuter railroads that come into the Loop. The Northwestern Station is about a half mile away. Or we could run over to Michigan Avenue and catch the Illinois Central or the South Shore.”

“The South Shore? Where does that go?”

“South, dummy! Well, actually it swings east around the south shore of the lake into Indiana, as far as South Bend, I think. Eddie took me there once, to a Notre Dame game.”

“Eddie? Did he go to Notre Dame?”

“Get real. His golden dome was above his ears. No, Eddie was a gambler and he liked to watch his money work. He bet like Pete Rose and he lied even worse. He would tell me he quit and then put down serious money on a half-dozen football games the next weekend. The bastard borrowed money from everybody, always looking for that big score. He hocked my camera once. I chipped his front tooth over that one.”

“A real sweetheart.”

“Yeah, he was a walk in the park. We had our moments though,” she smiled wistfully. “They lasted about a week and a half after the honeymoon, when the love muffin disappeared and I woke up next to the real Eddie.”

Through the window, I watched the train drop lower and lower until we disappeared inside a tunnel and everything went black. The lights came on inside the car and the rumbling clickety-clack of steel wheels reverberating off the concrete drowned out her voice. Outside, the first sign for the Randolph Street station flashed past.

“Is this where we get off?” I asked.

“Yeah.”

I turned her around so she faced me and looked into her eyes. “Look, you can stay on the train and ride it to the end of the line, you know.”

“Then what?” she asked. “Go home and feed the cat? Clean the kitchen? Bury the stiff in the rear yard? I don't think so.”

“If you come with me, we're getting out of Chicago. I don't know where we're going, probably to Boston, and I don't how long it will be before you ever get back here.”

“Promise? Because I'm bone tired of Chicago, Talbott. It's flat worn me out and there's nothing here I want to go back to. Frankly, Boston sounds pretty good to me. Anywhere sounds pretty good, so stop trying to talk me out of it.” She still had her arm through mine and she pulled me out the door onto the platform. “I'm coming, are you?”

I pulled my arm free and ran down the platform toward the staircase, but she blew by me at a dead run. I ran after her, but I never stood a chance. In seconds, we were up on the street, walking away, and blending into the fast-moving crowd. The truth was I was glad she was with me. I also knew it was stupid and very dangerous, but I couldn't stop myself anymore. She was so alive, and I was so tired of being alone.

“Let's take the train to Indiana,” I decided and told her. “The South Shore. It'll get us out of here, and it's in the right direction.”

“Okay. The South Shore station is under the Prudential Building.”

“I was there yesterday. I had to fight off the hookers for a pay phone.”

“It's so nice to be wanted,” she laughed as she latched onto my arm again. “We're disguised as a couple. But to make it work, you've got to pretend you're enjoying it.”

We walked up Randolph past a long line of stores. Every half block I pulled her into a doorway. She would put both arms around me inside my jacket and rest her head on my chest while I looked up and down the street. “We could move a bit faster if you didn't keep doing that,” I told her.

“I'm pretending, remember. So stop complaining.”

What could I say? I looked up at the sky, expecting a lightning bolt to zap me any minute, but the tall buildings and deep doorways probably ruined Terri's aim.

At the next corner I saw the entrance to the underground commuter rail station. We passed two gypsy girls on the stairs hawking cellophane-wrapped roses to the tourists. Sandy started down the stairs, but I pulled her back and reached into my pants pocket. I pulled out a badly wrinkled five-dollar bill and handed it to one of the girls, who smiled and gave me one of the big red ones.

“Here,” I said sheepishly as I turned and gave it to Sandy.

Her face lit up like a small child. “A rose? A red rose? You?” I seemed to have caught her completely by surprise. “Uh… I really don't know what to say, Talbott.”

“You said to pretend we're a couple,” I answered.

Before I could stop her, she reached up and kissed me softly on the cheek. “This is very sweet of you,” she said. “I know you're just pretending, Talbott, and that's okay. You're safe out here on the street, but don't do something like this when we're alone.”

Hand-in-hand, we ran down the stairs to the underground railroad station under the Prudential Building. There was a large, framed railroad route map standing next to the ticket booths. I found downtown and let my finger trace the line that ran south and east around Lake Michigan. Each colored dot represented a local or express train station.

“Here's my plan,” I told her. “We'll take the next South Shore train, like you said, whatever comes first, and head into Indiana. If we move quickly, while Tinkerton and the cops are still streaming north, maybe we can slip through before they can close the net.”

“Makes sense.”

“Then stay close and keep quiet.” We walked up to the ticket window at the far end. “When's the next train to Kankakee?” I asked the bald-headed ticket agent.

“That would be the Illinois Central. One's leaving on Track Six in...” He squinted through his bifocals as his finger ran down the schedule. “I make it twelve minutes.”

“Two tickets, please,” I smiled and handed him two twenty dollar bills. Next to the window was a rack with Amtrak brochures. I pulled out the one for the trains headed east from Chicago and stuck that in my pocket. With the tickets in hand, I smiled at him again and pulled Sandy away.

“Kankakee?” she whispered, confused. “That's straight south. I thought you said you wanted to go east, to Indiana?”

“Later,” I answered as we walked to the far side of the cavernous waiting room. Sitting on a hard wooden bench, I saw pre-teen girl with blue jeans, a book bag, and a Cubs baseball hat on her head. Her eyes were closed. She had earphones in her ears and an iPod hanging around her neck. Her feet dancing to the music. I walked up to her with Sandy in tow and tapped her on the knee.

“Wow, a Cubs hat!” I said with a friendly grin as her eyes opened. “You know, I promised my girl friend here that I'd buy her one while we were in Chicago, but the store in the hotel was out and we've got to leave.”

“So?” the girl eyed me suspiciously.

“Twenty bucks. I'll buy it from you.”

Slowly, the girl took the hat off, examined it carefully, and looked back up at me as she considered the offer. “Fifty,” she countered.

“Fifty!” Sandy said. “For a lousy fifteen buck hat?”

The girl shrugged and put the hat back on her head. “I'm not the one with the promises, am I?” She answered with a knowing smile and eyes much older than her years.

I had no choice but to laugh as I dug in my pocket and handed the girl two twenties and a ten. I took the girl's hat and pulled Sandy back into an alcove.

“I don't believe you. Fifty bucks? You're nuts.”

“Hush,” I told her. “Put your aunt's wig on.” She did and I put the Cubs hat on over it, pulling it down low, so it rode on top of her ears. “Now go to the ticket window at the other end and buy two South Shore tickets on the first train for Indiana.” I took her shoulder bag from her and the rose. “It won't take Tinkerton's people long to check all the stations and talk to the ticket agents. When they lay our photographs in front of baldy back there, he'll remember us and he'll remember the two tickets I bought for Kankakee. With the Cubs hat and the blond hair, the other guy won't. Now go.”

“Talbott.” She looked up at me with a new hint of respect. “Underneath that slightly dim-witted dweeb exterior, you can be one sneaky son-of-bitch. I have hopes for you.”

She walked away toward the ticket booth as I took a seat on the bench. I had her big shoulder bag. It was like a cookie jar on the kitchen counter. I could grab the papers and be out the door before she knew I was gone. It was a thought, a good one, and probably even the right one, but I couldn't do that to her.

She came running back, took my hand, and pulled me along. “Let's go, we gotta hurry. Our train's leaving on Track Four in three minutes.”

“South Bend?”

“No. I bought tickets on a local. There's an express leaving in thirty minutes that goes as far as Michigan City, but we don't want to sit here that long. The local connects with it at 59th Street. We can get off, wait there, and buy tickets on the express.”

“Very smart. And very sneaky, too.”

“See, Talbott?” She grinned happily. “What ever would you do without me?”

“Don't let it go to your head.”

“Then move your ass, because the three minutes we had is now two.”

She grabbed her shoulder bag and the rose and we ran down the tunnel. “By the way,” she asked. “How come you didn't grab the papers and take off without me?”

I looked shocked. “You know, that never even occurred to me.”

“Bullshit! You thought about it all right, but I've got eyes like a hawk and you aren't half fast enough to get away with it.”

“You know, that must have been it,” I answered as we jumped on board the nearly empty commuter train and plopped side-by-side in one of the rear seats on the far side of the car. The South Shore Line had gaudy orange cars with diamond-shaped accordion contraptions on top that connected to overhead electrical wires. Not that I cared. The train could burn cow chips as long as it got us the hell out of Chicago.

She put the rose to her nose and took a big sniff. “Presents are nice,” she said as she gave me a hug. “So we're off to Boston?”

“I have friends there. Maybe we can get some help.”

“That works for me. I locked the store. I've got my camera and a tooth brush,” she said as she patted her bag. “I've even got a rose and a new baseball hat, and I've got you. What more could a girl possibly want?”

“Sandy…”

“Relax, Talbot. I'm just joking with you again. Really. I don't go where I'm not wanted, so you're safe.”

Wasn't this going to be fun, I thought. This trip with her is going to be a ball of laughs, if it doesn't get us both killed first. Fun? Laughs? She was pressed up against me, holding tightly onto my arm. Despite her promises, I could tell she wasn't joking at all.

Praise the Lord for Catholic girls schools …

T
he
South Shore tracks were in a deep cut well below street level and the train finally found sunshine a couple of blocks south of the station. A staccato of black shadows flashed across the windows as we passed under a succession of trestles, overhead wiring, and bridges. As we went under one of the wider ones, a line of Chicago police cars raced by above us, sirens wailing and their blue strobe lights flashing, headed for Michigan Avenue.

“Right direction.” Sandy pointed a finger at them like a pistol and pulled the trigger. “But a tad too late.”

The train began to slow as we approached the first station. The car's doors opened, but the platform outside was nearly empty — no cops, no dark suits, no sunglasses, and no Disciple 35th Nation homies waiting on this platform. I saw nothing more sinister than a handful of housewives with shopping bags. Still, I could not completely relax until the doors closed and the train headed south again. As it picked up speed, I leaned my head back on the seat and realized how bone tired I was. The physical pounding and emotional stress of the past three days had all taken their toll.

Twenty-five minutes and eight stations later, we finally reached 59th Street and got off. We found ourselves on a high, wind swept platform a half-mile west of the lakefront. The tracks and the station were up at the second story level, giving us a three-hundred-and-sixty degree panorama of a run-down southeast side neighborhood. We slipped around the corner of a billboard and tried to blend into the graffiti. I looked at my watch. We had ten minutes before the express train to Indiana caught up with us. Sandy looked at the panorama and pulled out her camera.

“Get me in the foreground and you can get top dollar from The Enquirer,” I said.

“That is so unfunny. The Enquirer? I'm an
artiste
, you dolt.” Clearly, I had hit “
ze
hot button
.” I made the mistake of grinning and she saw me. Her eyes narrowed. “You were pulling my chain, weren't you? Teasing me, about my work? About my
camera
? Do you have a death wish, Talbott?” She walked slowly toward me with her lethal fingers out. “You like pain?”