They came out on Rush Street and headed back toward Oak. There were four Chicago police cars, lights flashing, parked in front of Barney's. The area was cordoned off with yellow tape. Karen could see gawkers behind the tape, watching the action.
Chapter Thirty-eight
Ricky took his rental car and met Tariq at 1035 North Rush Street. It was a restaurant-bar called the Tavern. Tariq would go in and let Karen see him, scare the shit out of her. Ricky'd be outside, parked on the street, waiting. When she came out he'd follow her. But Ricky got distracted watching two twenty-year-old blondes in hot pink bikinis on Rollerblades. He watched them cruise past his car. He turned his head following them, staring at their perfect little asses until they disappeared down the street. When he looked back through the windshield he saw Tariq running down the block, chasing Karen.
Ricky got out of the car and ran as fast as he could to Barney's, the store they'd gone in. He was at the bottom of the giant staircase when he heard the first gunshot. It sounded like it came from somewhere upstairs. He wondered if Tariq had lost his mind, firing a gun in a crowded store. He didn't want any part of this. It was time to go. A woman carrying packages ran down the stairs yelling, "He's got a gun. He's going to kill somebody."
Ricky moved toward the door and got caught in a stampede of people rushing to get out. He heard another gunshot and now the crowd was pushing and shoving with more intensity. A woman fell and was trampled. Ricky moved through the door, fighting to keep his balance. He heard sirens. Then he was outside. Three blue and white Chicago police cars had pulled up and parked, blocking Oak Street. More people had pushed their way out of the store and Ricky was standing in the middle of the panicked crowd.
He didn't know what he was going to do, but hanging here wasn't an option. He was thinking life was like a game of craps. Sometimes things went your way and sometimes they didn't. He pushed through the people, and there, coming toward him on the other side of Rush Street, were Karen and O'Clair. And just like that Ricky's luck had changed. Unbelievable. He wished he was in a casino with a pair of dice in his hand, but this was better. He watched them walk down the street and get into O'Clair's Cadillac that was facing south. There were two more Chicago Police cars and an EMS van parked next to the Tavern bar. More yellow tape was strung around the perimeter of the sidewalk cafe.
Ricky ran to his car and got in. He saw the Caddy take Rush to Delaware and go left.
He turned and faced her, leaning back against the door. Karen couldn't believe the strange turn of events, sitting in a car, having a conversation with O'Clair. She felt cold air blowing in her face and turned the air-conditioning vent away from her. She looked at him and said, "Let me make sure I understand this. You came here to protect me as a favor to my sister, is that what you're saying?"
"Uh-huh."
He had taken off the tan sport coat and was sitting there in a Hawaiian shirt, his big white freckled arms at his sides. "They beat her up and she called you, a total stranger," Karen said. "Why am I having trouble believing this?"
A green Jeep Wrangler drove by, stopped, and backed into the parking space in front of them. A young couple got out with a baby and wheeled a stroller down the street.
"She trusts me," O'Clair said, and sounded convinced.
"She trusts you?" Karen said. "How does she even know you?"
"I met her at the store where she works and then again at your mother's. I gave her a ride home. We hit it off."
His big sweaty face flashed a grin.
"Is there something going on between you two?"
"Ask Virginia," O'Clair said.
"I'm confused," Karen said.
"You're not alone," O'Clair said.
It was tough to see them together, too much to comprehend. O'Clair, the heavy, the over-the-hill ex-cop who made his living scaring the shit out of people, had a thing for her sister. Was he conning her? Was he making this up? O'Clair took out his cell phone and dialed a number and handed it to Karen.
It rang four times before a woman's voice said, "Providence Hospital."
Karen said, "Do you have a Virginia Delaney there?"
The voice said, "Room 650, I'll connect you now."
It just rang, but proved that Virginia was there. She had been admitted. "All right, I believe you," Karen said. "Where's the money?"
Ricky should've listened to himself. He'd suspected O'Clair right from the start, but didn't do anything about it. And now here he was with Karen. This was too good to be true. His luck was hitting on all cylinders. He watched O'Clair get out of the car and walk back and pop open the trunk. O'Clair took out a black plastic garbage bag that was loaded with something, and Ricky's guess was money. He went around to the passenger side of the car, opened the rear door, threw the bag on the back seat and got in. Ricky took out his gun, the Walther PPK Tariq had given to him. He liked the look of it and the feel of it in his hand. He racked it, and looked through the windshield, thinking, do it. Make your move.
Karen turned so she could look over the top of the seat back. O'Clair picked up the bag and flipped it over and dumped the money, a pile of banded packs on the faded, worn-out leather seat. "It's all there," O'Clair said. "A million six and change." Karen said, "How'd you know where I put it?" "I saw you come out of the Drake and followed you to the luggage shop."
"I was watching the whole time," Karen said. "Why didn't I see you?"
"I didn't want you to," O'Clair said. "I was thinking, if it was my money I wouldn't walk out and leave it in a hotel room, knowing there were some bad dudes after me." He kept his eyes on her. "And I didn't think you would either. You're too smart. So what did you do with it? I knew you drove, so that seemed like your first best option. Hide it in the wheel well under the spare tire." "Aren't you clever," Karen said. "No, I'm from Detroit," O'Clair said. "How'd you find my car?"
"I described you and it, and gave the valet a hundred bucks. He brought the car up, I drove it around the block and brought it back."
"Samir stole three hundred grand from me." "You don't have to explain it," O'Clair said, "tell me your motivation. And you don't have to worry about him coming after you. I got a call from Saad, friend of mine, one of his collectors. Samir's back in the hospital in bad shape. His chain of gourmet markets are in Chapter 11, and a team of auditors from the IRS showed up at his house, and want to see his books. His empire's crumbling around him."
"I’m sorry to hear that," Karen said. She could see people on the sidewalk moving past the car, shoppers and joggers and dog walkers.
"No, you're not," O'Clair said. " Why'd you go out with him in the first place? I've always wanted to ask you that."
"He was a charmer," Karen said. "Why'd you work for him?"
O'Clair said, "I was an ex-"I'm socon, ex-cop without a lot of job prospects. He made me an offer."
Karen glanced down at the money. "How much did you take?"
He looked at it now, and then at her.
"Nothing," O'Clair said. "It's all there."
Karen said, "How much do you want?"
"Four hundred grand-I'm going to buy a-"
"You don't have to explain it," she said cutting him off, "tell me your motivation."
O'Clair looked at her serious and smiled.
Karen said, "Why didn't you just take what you wanted?"
"I figured we'd work something out," O'Clair said. "That leaves you a million two. At 8 percent that's a hundred grand a year."
"I'm glad you're looking out for me," Karen said.
He said, "You never know…"