There was silence in the room for a moment, then she said, “I got away without a single person seeing me. I came back here and went to bed, but I didn’t sleep. The next day, Irene Tisor was dead. When I saw the word would get back to my father that his daughter was dead... I let it ride. I let it ride.”
Nolan stood up. “I see.”
She reached out for him, her eyes dry but still bloodshot. “I don’t think I... I pushed her, Nolan, but... I don’t know.”
“Sure.”
“What... what will you tell my father?”
He shrugged. “The truth, maybe. Or perhaps that his daughter is dead and to forget it. I don’t know yet.”
“Do you think I... I killed her? On purpose, I mean?”
“I don’t know,” Nolan said. “Maybe I don’t even give a damn. But any way you spell it, I can’t scrape up much pity for you.”
“Nolan...”
“You condemned your father for being a criminal, then turned around and made a lie of your own life. You slept with me, a thief, a killer ten times over. And maybe you even killed somebody yourself.”
The tears were back again. Funny how Nolan had told Sid Tisor when the thing began that it was the living to feel sorry for, and not the dead. Sid had mourned the living all along.
“Your father worked for the Outfit, all right,” he said. “But he was a pencil jockey, a book man. Maybe just being a part of the Outfit makes you a criminal, but Sid sure didn’t share any love for his bosses. Helping me like he did proves that.”
She kept crying but Nolan didn’t pay any attention.
“You took the good life on a platter from him,” Nolan said, “kept it, and threw him away.”
“What can I do, Nolan?”
“That’s your problem.”
“But Nolan...”
“My debt’s paid. Kiss Chelsey goodbye for me.”
“Don’t leave! Tell me what to do! What should I do, Nolan, tell me!”
“You should probably go to hell,” he said. “But you want my advice so bad, I’ll give it. Become Irene Tisor again. Drop the Vicki Trask tag and start over. But quietly, or they’ll trace you back to the death of your roommate.”
“But they’ll find out, won’t they?”
“I don’t think so. The death of Irene Tisor is a closed case. It’s marked probable suicide in a file. But stick around Chelsey and your chances aren’t so good. The easy days in this town are over what with the Boys not having an operation here anymore and the on-the-take police chief dead.”
“How? How can I do it?”
Nolan reached in his pocket and dangled the keys of the Lincoln in front of her. “These keys fit the car I been driving around Chelsey. It’s rented in your father’s name. The car, with the keys in it, will be waiting at the bottom of the steps for you. When you’re ready, drive it back to Peoria.”
Her eyes were red, wet circles. “What do you mean?”
“I mean go back to your father. Go back where they know you and you can explain your ‘death’ by saying it was a mix- up and they’ll believe you. Your father’s a lonely old guy. Just be careful you don’t give him a heart attack when you show up. He’ll be so happy to find you alive he won’t give a damn about what an ungrateful little bitch you’ve been.”
“Go back to him?”
“If he’ll have you.”
“But...”
Nolan turned and walked to the door. “Give Sid my regards. And tell him we’re even.”
She swallowed and said, “Maybe I’ll... I’ll do that.”
He opened the door. “So long, Vicki... or Irene.” His lips formed the humorless line she’d come to know as his smile. “Maybe I’ll stop by Peoria in a year or so,” he said. “And see who you are.”
He closed the door and left her.
6
It was a red Plymouth that was dirty as hell and hadn’t been new for twelve years. Lyn Parks was sitting behind the wheel, her long blonde hair hanging down over the shoulders of Nolan’s parka, which she still wore. The Plymouth’s engine was running, the muffler sounding as if it had seconds to live.
“Well?” she called, as Nolan came from the doorway of the apartment.
“Well?” he returned, heading for the Lincoln. He opened up the trunk of the big car, got out his clothes-bags, luggage and the money-stuffed suitcase. He slammed the lid back down, tossed the keys in the open window of the Lincoln and joined Lyn Parks in the dirty red Plymouth, piling the back seat with his baggage.
“You need all that crap?” she asked.
He patted the suitcase of cash fondly. “This one’s all I really need.”
“What am I supposed to do?”
“Drive.”
“Where?”
“Think you can find Milwaukee?”
“Eventually,” she shrugged.
“I got a stop to make.” Nolan’s Milwaukee contact, a broker named Richmond, would see that the quarter million was properly banked/invested.
“You’re the boss,” she said. “I just hope this crate’ll make it as far as Wisconsin.”
“I’ll buy you a new one on the way.”
She grinned. “Sounds good.” She started the car, her blonde hair bouncing, and four minutes later Chelsey was a memory.
Nolan leaned back, his hand on Lyn Parks’ thigh. There would be no sweat from the Boys for a while; they’d be busy trying to figure out what had been going on in Chelsey. And that was good, he hadn’t relaxed for months. He squeezed Lyn’s thigh, leaned his head back and shut his eyes. Wisconsin would be cold this time of year. It would be nice to have a bed warmer.