The Undertaker

“Good thing the homies got his gun.” Sandy chuckled. “Your lawyer friend's mad enough to melt the window glass.” She pulled out her camera and began snapping shots at Tinkerton and the chaos on the Dan Ryan and back on LaSalle.

Behind Tinkerton, a growing crowd of dark-suited goons and Chicago cops yelled at each other and pointed up at the El car, but they were too late. The motorman was not about to wait around in the middle of all this chaos with all those guns out. The doors of the car closed and the train began to roll, picking up speed as we left the station.

“You know, Talbott, I gotta hand it to you,” Sandy said, grinning from ear to ear. “Yesterday, I thought you were just another tight-ass nerd. What a hoot!” As Tinkerton and his goon watched, she reached up and threw her arms around my neck. “Shows how little I know,” she said as she gave me a big, wet kiss on the lips.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

With a $5.00 rose and a $50 Cubs hat…

For a small woman, it took it took a lot to pry her loose and set her back on the floor. It was a hard, wet, noisy kiss, and our faces were only inches apart as I raised my hand toward my mouth. “Don't you dare wipe that off.” She grinned up at me. “It's bad luck.”

“I wasn't wiping, I was checking to see if my lips are still here.”

“Good idea. I've been known to damage some things when I get excited.”

“I'll have to remember that.”

“Yeah, you'll have to remember.” She looped one arm around one of the El car's stainless steel poles and the other around mine, pulling me close. Her cheek was pressed against my arm and I could smell her hair. Considering we were screaming at each other only a half hour ago, I was surprised and suddenly very much afraid.

“Giving me a big wet one in front of Tinkerton wasn't real smart, you know.”

“That depends on your perspective.”

“It's going to be hard to argue I dragged you here against your will, but you knew that, didn't you?”

“My will, huh.” She looked up and gave me a helpless shrug. “I guess I was so pumped after all that stuff back there, I couldn't control myself. But don't push me away, Talbott. Please. Let me have some fun before I come back down, okay?”

The El train quickly gained speed, rocking and clattering its way north, back into the city. Sandy seemed content with the vise grip on my arm and I was content to watch her reflection in the dirty window glass. Some people have a sixth sense when people are watching them. She must be one of them, because it didn't take long for her eyes to pan up and lock on mine as I watched her.

“What?” she asked with those dark, curious eyes.

“Thank you,” I said.

“For what?”

“If it wasn't for you, they'd have had me for lunch.”

“Who? Jamal and his Homies? Nah, they were just messing around. If you want to see some bad, I'll take you on a real tour of the south side.”

“No thanks. I've had my adrenalin for the day. Look, I know I acted like a jerk this morning. Part of me wanted you to go away, but most of me was glad you stayed. So I apologize. I couldn't have done any of this without you.”

“Jeez, a man who knows how to apologize. Does this mean we're a “we” again?”

“That's up to you, and Tinkerton.”

“And you aren't going to run off and dump me the first chance you get, are you?”

“No,” I said.

“Is that a promise? Because a gentleman like you would never break a solemn promise he made to a vulnerable young maiden like me. Would he?” She stared up at me with a straight face. “Okay,” she added. “Maybe I'm not so vulnerable.”

“Only if you promise me that if this all goes wrong and we get caught or they're closing in on us, you'll get away from me and run off and hide. Will you promise me that?”

“How sweet. He almost cares.”

“I mean it, Sandy. I'm worried about you. Promise.”

“All right, I promise. Cross my heart, I'll run away from you. But if you run away from me, I'll hunt you down like a mad dog.”

That was a cheery thought. I looked around the El car. Spartan, you might call it. It had a tile floor, molded plastic seats, and aluminum poles with straps for the rush hour crowd to grab. Plastic: the surface of choice for a cattle car. Nothing to break, steal, or stain. And Sandy and I were the only white faces on the train. It had been noisy when we jumped in, then all conversation instantly ceased. The other passengers had their noses jammed into their newspapers or their eyes closed, hoping it would all go away.

I looked back through the window. The northbound lanes of the Dan Ryan were strewn with cars and trucks involved in the chain of accidents. Their drivers stood arguing with a growing army of cops and with each other. On the grassy bank, cops swarmed all over Gino Parini's white Mafia-wagon and I could barely make out Tinkerton and his goons working their way back up hill to LaSalle.

“That guy Tinkerton doesn't like you very much,” she said.

“You believe me now?”