Trust Me (35 page)

    Gil turned and stared at the Arab and flexed his upper body. "The dark-haired guy?" he said.

    "Yeah," Karen said. "The one over there with the beard who looks like he's going to hijack a jumbo jet."

    "Let me talk to him," Gil said. "Order me a drink, will you. Bombay Sapphire martini up. I'll be right back." He moved toward the bar.

    Stephanie gave her a puzzled look. "What was that all about?"

    "I've got to go." There was no time to explain it.

    Stephanie said, "I think you're overreacting. He's harmless."

    Karen didn't think anything would happen. She figured Gil would give him a hard time, and that would give her a chance to get away. She was almost to the door when she heard the gunshot.

    Tariq, sitting at the bar, asked for a glass of water.

    "That's all you want?" the bartender said. The man's tone saying, this is a bar, you come here to drink, to spend money. Tariq was aware of the reason people came to a bar. He would be enjoying a single-malt Scotch if the situation were different, an eighteen-year-old Macallan. Tariq was there to frighten Samir's woman, to create tension. He believed his presence would cause her to make a move she was not ready to make. What surprised him, what he did not expect, was the man approaching him, the man saying, Hey, Sheik, I'm only going to tell you this once, so listen up. Tariq had not experienced any overt anti-Arab sentiment since arriving in the United States. What did he do to provoke this stranger? He was sitting at the bar minding his own business, not bothering anyone. Tariq now wondering if maybe the man thought he was someone else. The man was angry, coming toward him. Or maybe he was a friend of Samir's woman, trying to protect her. He had seen them engaged in conversation across the room.

    As he came closer, Tariq decided that it did not matter why the man was angry or what he wanted. Tariq reached behind his back, under his shirt and touched the Beretta. He felt the cool metal against his skin.

    "Sheik, you hear me? Get up right now and walk out of here, we won't have any trouble."

    The man's voice was loud and threatening, purposely so, trying to intimidate him.

    "That's your first option."

    Tariq was aware of the people at the bar watching them.

    "Your second option is to continue to sit there, and get your ass kicked."

    Tariq glanced toward Karen Delaney. She was on her feet, moving toward the door. He drew the Beretta and shot the man in the chest from three feet away. The discharge was deafening, like a mortar round exploding. The man went down. He heard the shell casing
ping
as it landed on the floor, and then it was quiet. He was aware of the silence, and the people around him, frozen as if it was stop action. Tariq slid off the barstool. He wanted to run, but told himself to move slowly, not to hurry. He stepped around the man, who was on his back, blood pooling on the floor to his left. Tariq was still perplexed, wondering why the man had interfered in a situation that did not involve or concern him.

    He walked away from the bar with the Beretta in his hand. People moved out of his way. He slid the gun behind his back in the waistband of his trousers, and went outside, feeling the heavy heat and humidity. He walked through tables in the cafe area and stood on Rush Street, glancing in one direction and then the other. He could see Karen running twenty meters away. Tariq turned and scanned the cars parked along the street, looking for Ricky.

    He heard a police siren and horns blaring behind him as he ran south on Rush Street. Tariq now understood the significance of the name Rush—all of the cars and people, all the activity—everyone rushing. He thought it was an astute observation. He came to Oak Street and stopped. He glanced to his left and saw Karen, a brief glimpse, before she entered a store on the other side of the street.

    Karen went through the door at Barney's, moving down the wide main aisle with its floor stands and elegant decorations. On her right were glitzy chrome and glass display cases in the cosmetics department. The men's department was to her left. Headless mannequins displayed the latest shirt/tie combos from top designers. She didn't think the Arab would follow her into a crowded department store. She was partway up the staircase that wound through the center of the store, looked down and saw Beard come through the door, and she ran up to the second level.

    Karen glanced across the floor and saw two shoppers browsing in different areas of the department. A salesgirl behind a counter was ringing something up for a customer. She moved past racks of blazers and blouses and dresses. She stopped, crouching behind three mannequins in designer outfits, arranged like they were having a conversation. Karen gripped the.357, looking out across the floor, and heard a voice say, "Are you finding everything okay?"

    She glanced back and saw a salesgirl approaching her from behind. Karen said, "Have you taken your break yet?"

    The girl, early twenties, with a short mod haircut and heavy red lipstick, didn't seem to think it was strange to see a customer in the shooting position, holding a.357 Magnum in her hand. "This would be a good time to disappear for a few minutes."

    The girl gave her a puzzled look.

    Karen saw Beard approaching. "Do you see that man with dark hair? He's coming to kill me."

    "Oh-my-God," the girl said, stretching it out like it was one word, and took off, running across the floor toward the rear of the store. Karen was on one knee, holding the.357 Airweight with two hands the way Lou had taught her-right hand on the grip, left cradled under the barrel and trigger guard to help balance it.

    She saw Beard move, coming toward her through the department, checking behind the high-end clothing racks as he approached. She was on her knees behind the mannequins. She started to get up and heard a gunshot, and next to her the head of a mannequin in a cocktail dress exploded. Karen took off, crouching as she ran toward the back of the store, up the steps where the dressing rooms were, and saw reflections of her in the wall-to-wall mirrors.

    There were four rooms, two on each side of the fitting area, with gold curtains instead of doors. Karen went in the dressing room furthest from the entrance, and stood in the corner behind the almost floor-to-ceiling curtain that you could pull closed for privacy. She was holding her breath, trying not to make a sound. If she was lucky, he'd come in take a quick look and leave.

    But he didn't. She heard him sliding the curtains in the dressing rooms across from her all the way open. She could feel her heart beating faster, but this time she wasn't afraid, she was angry. She reached into her bag and gripped the.357, but decided against it. He wouldn't shoot her till he got the money. He came toward her, grabbed the edge of the curtain, pulled it open and stepped in the room, aiming his gun at her.

    "You cause many problem," he said. "Where is the money?"

    "I don't remember," Karen said.

    He pressed the gun barrel against her cheek, his face close, inches away, staring with those dark eyes that had no feeling, no emotion.

    "The money?"

    "I don't know," Karen said.

    He hit her with an open hand across the face that stung her cheek, and pulled her out of the dressing room. He cocked the hammer back now and said, "The last time I ask."

    She looked in the mirror behind her and saw O'Clair come up the steps into the dressing area, two hands on his gun, arms locked in front of him like the cop he'd once been, aiming at the Arab.

    Beard sensed something and swung his pistol toward O'Clair and O'Clair shot him twice,
pfffft, pffffi,
with his silenced Browning and Beard went down and didn't move.

    He looked at her and said, "You want to get out of here, come with me."

    Karen said, "Why would I do that?"

    " 'Cause the police are downstairs and I've got the money."

    Karen said, "What money?"

    "Play dumb if you want. Your sister asked me to come here and protect you."

    "What're you talking about?" Karen said.

    "Virginia's in the hospital," O'Clair said.

    "I just talked to her," Karen said. "And she was fine."

    He told Karen what the Arabs did to her and what time it happened. He sounded convincing, and now Karen wasn't sure what to believe. She'd seen the Arabs in action. They liked to hurt people, seemed to enjoy it.

    "I'll tell Virginia I saw you and you're okay. You want to stick around, suit yourself," O'Clair said. "I'm going to get out of here."

    Karen imagined herself being interrogated by the Chicago police, trying to explain why this Middle East thug was after her and ended up dead, and that was enough to convince her. She followed O'Clair back across the floor, past the elevators to a hallway where the restrooms were. From there they took the backstairs down to the first floor and went through a door that said authorized personnel only. They walked across the stockroom with its floor-to-ceiling shelves to the loading dock. A semi was parked in one of the bays and men on Hi-Los were unloading pallets of merchandise.

    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.

    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.