Paul woke up quickly and cheerfully. When the plan was explained to him, he accepted it enthusiastically. “Want me to beat up anyone hanging around outside?”
“Unnecessary, my dear,” said Lotty, amused. “Let’s try not to attract too much attention to ourselves. There’s an all-night restaurant on Sheffield off Addison—give us a call from there.”
We left Paul to dress in privacy. He came out to the kitchen a few minutes later, pushing his black hair back from his square face with his left hand and buttoning a blue workshirt with the right. Lotty gave him her car keys. We watched the street from Lotty’s dark bedroom. No one attacked Paul as he got into the car and started it; we couldn’t see anyone follow him down the street.
I went back to the living room and dressed properly. Lotty watched me without speaking while I loaded the Smith & Wesson and stuck it into the shoulder holster. I was wearing well-cut jeans and a blouson jacket over a ribbed knit shirt.
About ten minutes later Lotty’s phone rang. “All clear,” Paul said. “There is someone out front, though. I think I’d better not drive down the alley—it might bring him around to the rear. I’ll be at the mouth of the alley at the north end of the street.”
I relayed this to Lotty. She nodded. “Why don’t you leave from the basement? You can go down there from inside, and outside the door is hidden by stairs and garbage cans.” She led me downstairs. I felt very alert, very keyed up. Through a window on the stairwell we could see the night clearing into a predawn gray. It was 4:40 and the apartment was very quiet. A siren sounded in the distance, but no traffic was going down Lotty’s street.
Lotty had brought a flashlight with her, rather than turn on a light that might show through the street-side window. She pointed it down the steps so I could see the way, then turned it off. I padded down after her. At the bottom she seized my wrist, let me around bicycles and a washing machine, and very slowly and quietly drew back the dead bolts in the outside door. There was a little click as they snapped open. She waited several minutes before pulling the door open. It moved into the basement, quietly, on oiled hinges. I slipped out up the stairs in crepe-soled shoes.
From behind the screen of garbage cans I peered into the alley. Freddie sat propped against the back of the wall at the south end of the alley two buildings down. As far as I could tell, he was asleep.
I moved quietly back down the stairs. “Give me ten minutes,” I mouthed into Lotty’s ear. “I may need a quick escape route.” Lotty nodded without speaking.
At the top of the stairs I checked Freddie again. Did he have the subtlety to fake sleep? I moved from behind the garbage cans into the shadow of the next building, my right hand on the revolver’s handle. Freddie didn’t stir. Keeping close to the walls, I moved quickly down the alley. As soon as I was halfway down, I broke into a quiet sprint.
15
The Union Maid
Paul was waiting as promised. He had a good head—the car was out of sight in the alley. I slid into the front seat and drew the door closed. “Any trouble?” he said, starting the engine and pulling away from the curb.
“No, but I recognized a guy asleep in the alley. You’d better call Lotty from the clinic. Tell her not to leave Jill alone in the apartment. Maybe she can get a police escort to the clinic. Tell her to call a Lieutenant Mallory to request it.”
“Sure thing.” He was very likable. We drove the short way to the clinic in silence. I handed him my car keys, and reiterated where the car was. “It’s a dark blue Monza.”
“Good luck,” he said in his rich voice. “Don’t worry about Jill and Lotty—I’ll take care of them.”
“I never worry about Lotty,” I said, sliding into the driver’s seat. “She’s a force unto herself.” I adjusted the side mirror and the rearview mirror, and let in the clutch: Lotty drove a small Datsun, as practical and unadorned as she was.
I kept checking the road behind me as I drove across Addison to the Kennedy, but it seemed to be clear. The air was clammy, the damp of a muggy night before the sun would rise and turn it into smog again. The eastern sky was light now, and I was moving quickly through the empty streets. Traffic was light on the expressway, and I cleared the suburbs to the northbound Milwaukee toll road in forty-five minutes.
Lotty’s Datsun handled well, although I was out of practice with a standard shift and ground the gears a bit changing down. She had an FM radio, and I listened to WFMT well past the Illinois border. After that the reception grew fuzzy so I switched it off.