The Undertaker

It didn't take long. Two gray sedans with black-wall tires pulled over to the curb next to her. All the gray ones must have been on loan to Columbus, I figured, but anything that ugly had to be government. A goon in a dark suit and sunglasses got out of the passenger seat of the lead sedan. He glanced cautiously around, then walked over to where Ms. Kasmarek waited in the shadows. He wore a dark suit, a tie, and a white shirt with French cuffs, and gold cuff links. French cuffs and gold cuff links on a Fed? That didn't compute. He didn't look too happy as he joined her in the doorway, motioning toward his car as if he wanted her to get in. She shook her head and wasn't having any of it. She put her hands on her hips and I could see enough of her face to tell the goon wasn't making a dent. I smiled.

The two sedans had small radio antennas on the trunks. More of Tinkerton's elves? How encouraging, they weren't even trying to hide any longer. The girl? Hard to tell whose side she was on. Obviously, my witty banter on the telephone hadn't made much of a first impression. Not only did she want to see me busted, she wanted the film rights too.

The two cars finally pulled away, leaving the head goon standing next to her in the doorway, still working on her. Was he protecting her or making sure she didn't get away? The lead car turned left onto Michigan Avenue and pulled over to the curb a half block down. The driver got out and took up position at the far corner of the park, his arms crossed, intently scanning the sidewalks, trying to look casual. The second car parked even further up the street in a No Parking zone on the other corner. One goon stayed with the car and the other one worked his way west, giving them a man at each of the square's four corners, each with a hand-held radio.

It was 9:00 now. Foot and car traffic was even thicker. Still, I didn't want to take any chances. I eased back from the corner and slipped into a coffee shop. From a booth along the windows, I could see enough of the doorway where the girl and the goon stood to know they were still waiting there. This could take a while, so I ordered some pancakes and coffee. No telling when I was going to eat again. As I watched, every now and then, telephoto lens peeked out and scanned the park. Too bad it wasn't raining. That would have served them both right.

They stood in the doorway until 9:40. That was when the girl must have decided I wasn't coming, because the she stepped out onto the sidewalk followed by the head goon. They were arguing. The other three goons got in their cars, circled back around, and pulled up in front of them. The head goon must have had enough of her mouth, because he grabbed her by the elbow and tried to lead her firmly toward his sedan. That was a really bad idea. With a slow, graceful Judo move, she took his hand off her elbow and pivoted around, bending it back at the wrist before she tossed him head-first into the brick wall next to the doorway. His knees buckled and he sat down awkwardly on the sidewalk. I almost spilled my coffee, but she wasn't finished with him. She stood over him, hands on hips, telling him something he didn't want to hear, no doubt about his bad manners, then turned and walked quickly and confidently into the park. The head goon slowly got to his feet. He dusted off his slacks and adjusted his cuffs, but he didn't try to follow her. He got back in the lead car, slammed the door, and they all drove off.

I was still laughing as I tossed a ten-dollar bill on the table and hurried out of the restaurant, hoping I could catch up before she got too far away, because I still needed to talk to her. It wasn't until she caught a red light near the Hancock Building that I finally caught up. I slipped in behind and followed her, admiring the view of her and the buildings. Apparently, her mind was somewhere else, because she didn't even bother to look around, not once. For my part, I stopped twice and made a quick scan for government cars and sunglasses, but it appeared they were gone, for now at least.

When she reached the 990 Michigan Avenue Shops, one of those tall, big-city atrium shopping malls, she stepped into the revolving doors and went inside. I stayed about fifty feet behind her, buried in the crowd as she rode the stainless steel escalator up. It hung suspended in space between the atrium's floors, zigzagging up, and leaving me very exposed. If anyone had been looking for me in there, I'd be trapped.