Page 86 of Fade Out
I like to think he did.
* * *
“Sorry to bother you like this—”I said, standing at Clementine’s door.
“No, it’s all right,” she said. She wore a pair of thin cotton summer pajamas, the kind with shorts. “Is something wrong? What happened with the police?”
“That was kind of a misunderstanding. I can’t talk about it right now. The thing is, I know I just signed a lease, but I’m leaving town. I can write you a check for maybe three months, would that work?”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll have the apartment rented in a month or so. The owners don’t pay close attention. I’ll just lose your lease.”
“I’m not taking my stuff, so if you want just give it all away. There’s nothing really—”
“I’ll have it all moved down to storage. Just let me know if you want it sent somewhere.”
I wouldn’t. I knew I wouldn’t. But she was being kind so I didn’t say no. It felt wrong to reject her kindness.
“Clem?” a woman said from within the apartment. Clementine blushed. I hadn’t realized... I winked at her and said, “Go back to bed.”
Before I could walk away, she said, “Nick, take care of yourself.”
“Yeah, I think I’ll give that a try.”
A few minutes later, I stood in front of the building looking up at my apartment. I asked myself again if there was anything up there I wanted, but there wasn’t. The only thing I had in the world that meant anything to me were memories, and those I’d already packed.
Life is a shit sandwich. Two pieces of shit, but between them the most amazing filling, delicious, a taste so wonderful it electrifies your entire body and barely seems real. A filling that inspires us to keep chewing through the worst, hoping to get to that amazing center again. Yes, some of us get a lot more yummy goodness than others, but none of us forgets the deliciousness long enough to stop trying to chomp through the shit.
Honestly, I’d say I’ve been lucky. I’d loved three men and made a few good friends. I’d even managed to find a little bit of justice in a world that doesn’t favor justice. I knew, though, if I stayed in Chicago there wouldn’t be much of that amazing filling left. Or if I’d ever find it again. It was time to leave. I was done with the city or it was done with me. I didn’t know which and it didn’t even matter.
I’d parked Harker’s Lincoln in the circular drive in front of the building. Just about in the spot where I’d been shoved into the back of a squad. I got in and drove out to Lake Shore Drive fully aware it was for the last time. I took the freeway south and out of Chicago.
As I drove, I couldn’t help wondering what would happen now that I was gone. I wasn’t entirely sure, but I had the feeling Deanna Hansen was on the hook for my full million-dollar bond. Owen would probably scramble to get the charges dropped—even without my being there. But if he didn’t, then she’d owe the full amount. Rita Lindquist would be hanging around Chicago looking for me—making it more likely she’d get caught. And ASA Sanchez wouldn’t be getting—that’s when I had an idea. An interesting one.
Come Monday morning, I’d put in a call to Sanchez from a pay phone somewhere. I’d let her know I was gone, but had a parting gift for her. Something she wanted; a lot. Dresden. Deanna had said she wanted to buy the club and was willing to do just about anything to get it, and that included coercion, intimidation and threats. I didn’t want to wear a wire, but Jonathon Lidell might.
Yes, he might end up in the Chicago River, but I had a feeling Sanchez would put a lot more effort into protecting him than she would me. A local businessman made a much better witness than a dubious private investigator. He’d make an excellent witness and Sanchez couldn’t just toss him aside the minute she got her tape—as I’m pretty sure she would have with me.
Maybe I was fooling myself. Maybe Lidell would be just as likely to end up dead. But that would be his choice. He’d have a chance to save his business if he was willing to take the risk. He’d have a way to fight back. Sanchez would get what she wanted and Deanna would be screwed.
I just might do it.
I tried to avoid thinking about what would happen to my friends, but I couldn’t help it. Rita would probably watch them for a while, looking for me. I wouldn’t be there, so eventually she’d give up. She’d either get caught by the CPD or wander off to some other city. Then the lives of my friends, Brian and Franklin, Sugar, Terry, and for his last few days Ross, would return to what they were meant to be. Lives of happiness and tragedy, joy and sorrow, but without the danger and violence I brought.
Forty-five minutes later, at South Holland, I got off the highway and looked for a gas station. When I found one, I went inside and bought a map of Illinois. I figured it was one of many maps I’d buy.
Studying the map, I leaned against the car. In a few minutes, I’d get back on the 94 and take it until it connected with Interstate 80. When I got there I was going to have to either turn west or east. But I had no idea which way I wanted to go. East or west? I had no real preference, didn’t know enough about either to choose. Didn’t know where I might stop once I’d picked a direction.
After a deep breath, I reached into my pocket and pulled out a quarter. Took a good look at it. Washington’s profile. 1973. Heads I’d go east, tails I’d go west. I balanced the quarter on my thumb and flicked it into the air.
It spun and spun and spun.
