Page 32 of Fade Out
“Richard Crisp,” Gloria said simply.
“Rita has a taste for revenge.”
“You’re looking for a missing girl in her late twenties?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll make a few calls.”
* * *
I hatedwalking around with a beeper attached to my belt—I never stopped jumping every time it beeped. It did make life easier though. I gave the number to Gloria so that she could reach me if she found out anything important.
When I left the building, I thought about walking toward Michigan Avenue. I could catch the 146 Express there. It would meander along until right after the Hancock Tower, when it would merge onto Lake Shore Drive and get off at Belmont; a block below my apartment.
I could also stay on the bus all the way to Irving Park and then walk over to Thorek Hospital. I needed to see Ross. I hadn’t seen him in days, but, honestly, I was afraid to. I knew he was getting worse. From the things Brian was saying I shouldn’t waste any time. And yet when I thought about going my stomach felt like a stone.
My beeper went off. My first thought was that Gloria had already come through for me, but it wasn’t the number at theDaily Herald. It was the exchange for Peterson-Palmer, but I didn’t recognize the whole number. I was still standing in front of the Daily Herald on Wabash. I saw a sign for Don Roth’s River Plaza, which apparently was at the bottom of a tall apartment building. I headed toward it.
I found the restaurant one story down from the plaza, next to the building behind a sunken courtyard. When I opened the door, there was a crowd of people in a cramped lobby area. Two frantic hosts were talking to each other attempting to get everyone seated. Even though it was early, the dinner rush had started. Written on a chalkboard were the specials and the phrase, HAPPY HOUR 4-7, which explained why they were so busy so early.
My stomach grumbled and I was tempted to put my name down. I went up to the hostess stand and before I could say anything a pretty young girl said, “There’s at least a half an hour wait.” The stress in her eyes told me she hoped I’d go away.
“I just need a pay phone,” I said, deciding against dinner.
She breathed an obvious sigh of relief and said, “It’s just beyond the restrooms. Go straight across the dining room to the back of the restaurant. If you look up you’ll see a sign with an arrow pointing right.”
“Thank you.”
I walked through the dining room. It was busy, chaotic, a busboy and a well-dressed man—probably a manager—were clearing a table at lightning speed. I found the pay phone where the hostess said it would be, threw in a quarter, and dialed the number on my beeper.
“You beeped me?” I said when the phone got answered.
“Nick? This is Raymond Dewkes at Peterson-Palmer.”
“Yes?”
“I moved a few things around, so I have that report for you.”
“Okay. Is there anything on it?” It didn’t make sense to go down there again if it there wasn’t any information.
“There is. There was a withdrawal made on Wednesday. The thirty-first.”
I waited. “Do you want to give me the details?”
“Well, I mean, I thought you could come back in. I get a dinner break in an hour and I know a place.”
Oh. He was hitting on me. I thought about going back to Peterson-Palmer for a moment. I mean, why not? I was single now. There was no reason not to. And it might lighten my mood. But then another question occurred to me: Why? And I didn’t have an answer for that. If I had, I might have gone.
“Uh, you know, maybe another time. Can you give me the information?”
“Yes. Of course.” I could tell that I’d disappointed him. Oh well. “Uh, the withdrawal was made in our River North office. The name on—
“I thought all your branches were in the suburbs?”
“This one opened in March.”
“Oh, okay.”
