The Undertaker

Up ahead I saw LaSalle Street, the service road that ran along the east side of the Dan Ryan Expressway and I knew exactly where we were. The green car, the two gray cars, and Tinkerton's big LTD were turning into 35^th Street behind us, coming up hard and fast. We were quickly approaching the Dan Ryan, but Tinkerton and the cops already knew that. Coming straight at us down 35th was another of Tinkerton's gray sedans accompanied by two Chicago police cars, their sirens screaming and blue and white light bars flashing, blocking our way, while two other police cars had the entrance ramp to the Dan Ryan shut down. Bad form, Ralph, you brought in the locals. That means he's getting desperate. Maybe he's worried I might actually get away again.

That only left LaSalle Street, a three lane, one-way service road that ran back north along side the Dan Ryan.

“Right, turn right,” she screamed. I reached the intersection before the white sedan and the two cop cars, but the Lincoln's speedometer was topping one-hundred as I hit the brake and spun the steering wheel. The tires squealed. The big sedan heeled over and slid through the intersection on two wheels, leaving a black arc of shredded rubber behind us as we swung north onto LaSalle. Not bad driving for an amateur, but Tinkerton's goons were closing fast and they were probably a whole lot more experienced at this than I was. They had chased us east, south, west, east, and now back north in an ever-tightening circle. No matter how fast I drove or how much rubber I laid, it was only a matter of minutes before they brought cars in from that direction too, blocked the road, and had us trapped.

Sandy pointed down at the expressway median. “Hey, there's the El. If we can get down there.”

On the other side of the curb was a sidewalk, a six-foot high chain-link fence, and a long grassy slope. It ended at a three-foot tall concrete barrier next to the Dan Ryan's three northbound local lanes. Beyond that stood another concrete divider and the four express lanes, followed by a third, even taller concrete divider, that separated the expressway from the gleaming El tracks and then the 35^th Street Station. I remembered passing it on my way into town. It was a long slab of elevated concrete with a roof and a covered staircase that led to the 35^th Street overpass high above.

“No problem,” I answered, without a whole lot of time to think about it. “Hang on.” I spun the steering wheel left. Parini's white Mafia war wagon hit the curb, bounced up, flew across the sidewalk, and hit the fence. Chain link and a couple of metal posts were no match for a ton and a half of Lincoln Town Car. It flattened three sections of the fence and roared down the grassy slope toward the expressway. I hit the brakes and let the big car slide sideways downhill, its radial tires digging into the soft turf like a battleship turning in molasses, leaving four deep furrows behind us and bringing the Lincoln to a halt six feet from the first concrete barrier. I pushed my car door open and grabbed Sandy by the hand. “You staying or coming?” I asked.

“Oh, I'm coming, God, am I coming!”

“You're sure.”

“Oh yeah, I'm sure,” she laughed. “Miss this? You gotta be kidding?” She held onto me with one hand and her camera and shoulder bag with the other and scrambled out the car door after me.

Behind us, Tinkerton's blue LTD and two of his gray sedans slid into the intersection from the east, following my skid marks, just as the other gray car and the Chicago police cruiser came racing in from the west. Unfortunately for them, they had all been watching the white Lincoln, not each other, and we heard the crash of metal and the sound of breaking glass as they all collided in the middle. The LTD made it through unscathed, but one of the gray sedans hit a cop car and flipped. It slid across the street on its top while another cop car careened away and bounced off a telephone pole and another slid into the side of a Budweiser delivery truck.

“Jeez, they hit a beer truck,” Sandy laughed. “There's gonna be hell to pay in the ‘hood tonight.”