This was the big fear. Once she’d said it, she started sobbing convulsively and shivering. I took off my jacket and wrapped it around her shoulders. I held her close for a few minutes and let her sob.
The door opened behind us. Lucy stood there, scowling. “Your father wants to know where you’ve gone to—and he doesn’t want you standing around gossiping with the detective.”
I stood up. “Why don’t you take her inside and wrap her up in a blanket and get her something hot to drink: she’s pretty upset with everything that’s going on, and she needs some attention.”
Jill was still shivering, but she’d stopped sobbing. She gave me a watery little smile and handed me my jacket. “I’m okay,” she whispered.
I dug a card out of my purse and handed it to her. “Call me if you need me, Jill,” I said. “Day or night.” Lucy hustled her inside at top speed and shut the door. I was really toning down the neighborhood—good thing they couldn’t see me through the trees.
My shoulders and legs were beginning to hurt again and I walked slowly back to my car. The Chevy had a crease in the front right fender where someone had sideswiped it in last winter’s heavy snow. The Alfa, the Fox, and the Mercedes were all in mint condition. My car and I looked alike, whereas the Thayers seemed more like the sleek, scratchless Mercedes. There was a lesson in there someplace. Maybe too much urban living was bad for cars and people. Real profound, Vic.
I wanted to get back to Chicago and call Bobby and get the lowdown on this drug addict they’d arrested, but I needed to do something else while Lotty’s painkiller was still holding me up. I drove back over to the Edens and went south to the Dempster exit. This road led through the predominantly Jewish suburb of Skokie, and I stopped at the Bagel Works delicatessen and bagel bakery there. I ordered a jumbo corned beef on rye and a Fresca, and sat in the car, eating while I tried to decide where to get a gun. I knew how to use them—my dad had seen too many shooting accidents in homes with guns. He’s decided the way to avoid one in our house was for my mother and me to learn how to use them. My mother had always refused: they gave her unhappy memories of the war and she would always say she’d use the time to pray for a world without weapons. But I used to go down to the police range with my dad on Saturday afternoons and practice target shooting. At one time I could clean and load and fire a .45 police revolver in two minutes, but since my father had died ten years ago, I hadn’t been out shooting. I’d given his gun to Bobby as a memento when he’d died, and I’d never needed one since then. I had killed a man once, but that had been an accident. Joe Correl had jumped me outside a warehouse when I was looking into some inventory losses for a company. I had broken his hold and smashed his jaw in, and when he fell, he’d hit his head on the edge of a forklift. I’d broken his jaw, but it was his skull against the forklift that killed him.
But Smeissen had a lot of hired muscle, and if he was really pissed off, he could hire some more. A gun wouldn’t completely protect me, but I thought it might narrow the odds.
The corned beef sandwich was delicious. I hadn’t had one for a long time, and decide to forget my weight-maintenance program for one afternoon and have another. There was a phone booth in the deli, and I let my fingers do the walking through the Yellow Pages. The phone book showed four columns of gun dealers. There was one not too far from where I was in the suburb of Lincolnwood. When I called and described what I wanted, they didn’t have it. After $1.20 worth of calls, I finally located a repeating, mediumweight Smith & Wesson on the far South Side of the city. My injuries were really throbbing by this time and I didn’t feel like a forty-mile drive to the other end of the city. On the other hand, those injuries were why I needed the gun. I paid for the corned beef sandwich and with my second Fresca swallowed four of the tablets Lotty had given me.
The drive south should have taken only an hour, but I was feeling light-headed, my head and body not connected too strongly. The last thing I wanted was for one of Chicago’s finest to pull me over. I took it slowly, swallowed a couple more tablets of bute, and put all my effort into holding my concentration.
It was close to five when I exited from I-57 to the south suburbs. By the time I got to Riley’s, they were ready to close. I insisted on coming in to make my purchase.
“I know what I want,” I said. “I called a couple of hours ago—a Smith & Wesson thirty-eight.”
The clerk looked suspiciously at my face and took in the black eye. “Why don’t you come back on Monday, and if you still feel you want a gun, we can talk about a model more suited to a lady than a Smith & Wesson thirty-eight.”