The trip stopped looking doable when we hit our first National Guard roadblock.
We were so close. The downtown skyscrapers loomed just ahead, barely visible through the thick curtains of falling snow – I couldn’t make out the summit of the hundred-story-plus giant displaying the logo of Killane Corporate Holdings, but I knew it was up there.
Was Devon still up there?
Down where we were, a barricade blocked the street. A National Guardsman stood by the driver’s side door, and I gave the guy credit for not bolting or freezing up when Jimmy opened his window and stared down at him.
“Sir, we’re under a snow emergency here – all of downtown is blocked off while the plows clear the streets, and I have to strongly advise you to get off the road and indoors until this thing blows over.”
Jimmy stared at him. I could just make out the Guardsman’s face from where I sat, and the goggle-eyed kid looked like he was new to shaving, much less snow emergencies and enormous staring Samoans – but he held his ground.
He held his ground, he was armed, and he had the half-dozen other armed Guardsmen manning the barricade to back him up.
Jimmy stared at the guy some more, just on general principles, and then he oh-so-slowly turned his head and stared through the windshield at the barricade. It consisted of a line of black-and-white-striped sawhorses flanked by camouflage-patterned Jeeps on either end, and it did look a little flimsy.
The other Guardsmen saw him staring, and got a whole lot more alert and nervous. They all slid their hands closer to their weapons, and I saw one of them reaching for a two-way radio.
I hissed so the Guard guys couldn’t hear. “Jimmy, NO. I appreciate the thought, but if you run the barricade, you’ll be arrested and I’ll be stranded. We’ll just have to find another way, that’s all.”
He nodded. Then he put the SUV in gear, got the lumbering metal monster turned around, and we headed back the way we came. One trip down a side street later, we once again turned towards downtown.
And met another roadblock.
And another on the next street we tried, and the next.
When we stopped in front of our fifth barricade, it became clear that the fine gentlemen of the Illinois National Guard had been chatting to each other about us on those two-way radios of theirs.
The man in camo at this barricade was older, tired, cold, exasperated, and resisted Jimmy’s fierce stare like a champ.
“Sir, every Guardsman in this area is now aware that you are repeatedly violating the governor’s order that all non-emergency vehicles are to stay off the streets until further notice. It’s my duty to let you know that if you show up at one more of our roadblocks, just one, you will be placed under arrest. For your safety and that of your passenger, I must advise you to turn that behemoth around and park it in the first spot you find. Do you understand me, sir?”
Jimmy nodded – he had the guts to take them all on, and the common sense to realize that this would be a bad idea. So we turned around yet again.
Ten minutes later, we parked – meaning we did a combination turn-and-slide into a snow drift that probably had a curb under it somewhere. I jumped down from the passenger side, landed thigh-deep in snow, and struggled clear with Jimmy’s help.
I followed him into the street – a narrow lane between warehouses and an assortment of seedy bars and questionable restaurants – and together we stood staring at the skyscrapers looming so close, and so far away.
Time raced by, as the wind-driven snow whipped around us. I had to get to Devon, I had to help him, and this damn stupid storm and the damn stupid Guard guys were working together to stop me, and I was probably too late already, and it wasn’t fucking fair.
Jimmy handed me his handkerchief, and it wasn’t until then that I realized I’d started crying. Again.
What had Devon ever done to deserve a girlfriend who fell apart blubbering over every little blizzard that came along?
Jimmy’s breathy, brave little helium voice reached me through the tears.
“We’ll have to walk, Miss. Follow me.”
He trudged a few steps away through the blowing snow, then stopped. He turned to me.
“We’ll get there. Don’t worry.”
I finished mopping my face, shoved my giant protector’s tear-streaked hankie into my coat pocket, and we set off on foot.
Devon, I’m coming.
Don’t leave me.
We were closer than I realized. Between that and the fact that Jimmy knew a few turns and shortcuts that I didn’t, only ten breath-freezing, nerve-wracking minutes passed before we turned out of an alley, crossed a knee-deep snowfield that covered a parking lot, cut between two fashion boutiques that weren’t going to be seeing much business in this weather, and stumbled into the middle of Michigan Avenue. Killane Corporate Holdings was only a few blocks away.
Standing on the center line of Michigan Avenue will get you squashed flat in about two seconds most days, but since the storm had driven everybody with half a brain inside, me and Jimmy owned the asphalt – wherever it was under all that white stuff, anyway.
Although the snow wasn’t too bad here, not yet. The tall buildings had cut the wind enough to keep massive drifts from piling up, said wind was already easing down to a cold whisper anyway, and while the moody, erratic storm had buried some neighborhoods, Michigan Avenue was walkable. More was coming down, sure, but for now, here on this section of this street, we could move.
I had to keep moving. Devon was waiting.
I hoped.
I pulled out my phone as I slogged along behind Jimmy, who broke a path through the snow for us like a human tank. I called Devon three times in as many minutes, on top of the thousand or so calls I’d already made to him during our expedition downtown, and still he didn’t answer. I texted him again too – ‘almost there, please wait’ – and this one vanished into the electronic aether without a trace, just like all the others.
He won’t leave you, Ashley. You have to believe that – unless you’d rather just be a pansy little bitch and give up, that is.
We soldiered down the middle of the street, crunching and slipping and sliding, getting just that little bit closer with each step. We came upon other crazy-as-balls people who were out in this nightmare, just a few – mostly drunks, dog-walkers, and occasional downtown baristas and bartenders who were loyal or nutty enough to show up for work despite the storm. Bundled up and silent for the most part, we trudged past each other with no more than the occasional nod.
The street had to be our sidewalk because the fierce winds earlier in the day had piled snow higher against the buildings, burying the real sidewalks and making the street the practical place to put one foot in front of the other – and we could make it down Michigan Avenue without snowmobiles or sled dog teams thanks only to a recent pass by the city’s snowplows.
But with a whole lot of territory to cover and more snow coming down every second, the plows didn’t show themselves much – we only spotted a couple of the big metal beasts lumbering across the avenue in the grey-veiled distance, rumbling and scraping along as they headed down one side street or another.
Authority figures were thin on the ground too – the National Guard either had a lot of faith in their roadblocks or they just didn’t care about foot traffic, because we didn’t see a single camo uniform. You’d think the police would be on patrol no matter what, but nope – we saw one cop car idling at a curb, but whoever was inside seemed to think they were doing their duty by staying cozy and warm while pretending to totally not see us as we hiked down the center of the street.
Or maybe they really couldn’t see us that well. Snow still fell thick and silent and fast, and all of us loony pedestrians were no more than vague shadows to each other through the endless millions of white flakes streaming down out of the sky.
And man, I would have killed to be inside a toasty warm police cruiser, if it hadn’t been for the whole ‘being arrested’ part of that scenario –
as it was, marching along in the open made me feel like a member of some doomed polar expedition. My cheeks tingled and burned with the cold, my breath puffed out in frozen clouds, and I clumped along on feet that felt like blocks of ice.
I focused on that discomfort, clinging to it like a life preserver – because thinking about my freezing feet and icy skin meant I wasn’t thinking about the end of this journey. Obsessing about my cold and fatigue, wondering what the cops were doing sitting on their asses in blissful warm comfort, and mentally whining about how the snowplows only bothered clearing random streets kept me from picturing what I would discover when I reached the summit of the skyscraper waiting for me just ahead.
Would I step out onto that roof and find it empty?
Seeing as how I was staring down at my numb feet and trying not to imagine the worst possible ending to this hike from hell, I almost ran smack into Jimmy’s broad back when he stopped. I stumbled and slid to a halt, grabbed his sleeve to keep my balance, then peered around him.
Directly ahead of us, just across the empty intersection, the world headquarters of Killane Corporate Holdings soared up into the sky. It loomed over the surrounding buildings like a giant among children; had the sun been out, we would have stood well within its massive shadow.
As it was, we stood well within reach of the snow that lapped up against the skyscraper’s base like a frozen sea – as in, a wall of snow blocked us from reaching the front door, or any door into the place, because the plows hadn’t made it this far yet.
Fuck.
Jimmy turned to me.
“I’m sorry, Miss. If we can find an open business that will lend us a shovel, I’ll make a start on –”
“No.”
Fuck and hell no. Clearing a path to the main entrance, by hand, would take the better part of way too long, and I might already be too late.
Jimmy looked down at me, one eyebrow raised.
I ignored him, staring past his bulk at the snow standing between me and my goal.
No more sobbing, no more fear.
This situation called for some righteous anger, and right now.
The longer I stared at that implacable fortress of snow that wanted to keep me from Devon’s side, the madder I got. No more crying and despair and self-pitying bullshit for Ashley Daniels – instead, I shook like a volcano getting ready to blow.
I would not let it end like this.
I turned on one heel and looked around. This was a huge city, and there had to be resources of some kind, something in the vicinity I could use to crack this nut wide open and get to Devon before it was too late.
Behind us, there was nothing. The street that ran left from the intersection was buried under snow. The street to our right was clear for the moment, thanks to a snowplow that sat idling at the curb in front of an open coffee shop, one of the handful of businesses that was open during our own snowpocalypse.
A city maintenance worker in overalls and a parka that would have kept him alive in Antarctica climbed down from the cab. Thrusting his gloved hands in his armpits for extra warmth, he hustled inside.
Looked like somebody was taking a little caffeine break, after a hard few hours of sitting on his ass – the guy was probably scoring some doughnuts too, because I happened to know that place had some of the best glazed beauties in town.
Taking a break, and leaving a running snowplow sitting unattended at the curb …
I’m not super-religious most days, but man, I have never seen the hand of God so clear in anything.
“Jimmy, I have a mission for you.” I scrambled deep into one pocket and pulled out one of my company credit cards – the sleek, solid black one that supposedly had no credit limit. I slapped it into his hand.
“Take this inside. Find that fine city employee, tell him what a great job he’s doing for the public in this time of crisis, and buy him a shit-ton of doughnuts. Doughnuts, a gallon or two of coffee, the works – in fact, show the clerk that card and tell him or her that doughnuts for the house are on you.”
Jimmy stared. “Miss, I don’t think –”
“I do think, Jimmy – and I know you don’t like talking to people because you’re afraid they’ll make fun of your voice, but screw them, because you’re a way better man than any of those assholes. Besides, once they realize you’re buying for everybody, you’ll be a very popular guy, I guarantee it.
“Get them all excited and talking, get the clerk to turn up the volume on the TV because you just have to hear the latest news from the Weather Channel, and keep the hubbub going for as long as you can – we need to cover the sound of that thing pulling away from the curb, and we need to fill the great big hole of silence that will be left when it’s gone.” I nodded at the plow.
Jimmy stared at the plow, at me, then back at the plow.
“Jimmy, we don’t have much time – I seriously need you to get moving and do this for me and Devon right now.”
That high, eerie, tough-as-nails voice barely made it over the sound of the snowplow’s rumbling engine. “Is Mr. Killane really in trouble?”
“He’s in trouble to his eyeballs, Jimmy, and you need to help him by getting in there and taking care of those people while I take care of the plow, okay?”
“No offense, Miss, but do you even know how to drive it?”
“Do you?”
He considered this. “No.”
“Me neither, but I’ll figure it out. Besides, if I go in there being all generous and then leave right before the plow turns up missing, they’ll know I’m in on it – this way, you stay in there for the duration, and act as surprised as everybody else when the city comes up short one plow. They never even see me, the cops get a call later about some drunk idiot taking a snowplow for a joyride and abandoning it in front of Killane Corporate Holdings, and we both end up completely in the clear. We’ll be so innocent and unconnected to anything even faintly illegal, it’ll be like we’re angels.”
More thoughtful staring happened.
“I wouldn’t mind getting arrested to help Mr. Killane, but you’re sure this way is better?”
“As sure as I am that glazed chocolate doughnuts with those rainbow sprinkles are the food of the gods, Jimmy.”
“I don’t like doughnuts.”
“Choke some down for the team, okay?”
“Yes, Miss.”
Jimmy nodded and walked off toward the doughnut shop, heading into battle like the brave soldier he was – meanwhile, I aimed a fierce glare at the snowplow, daring it to give Ashley Daniels a hard time.
The hardest part turned out to be getting into the thing. Like most of the snowplows owned by the fair city of Chicago, it was basically a standard five-ton truck with a giant plow blade mounted on the front, with the same footholds and handgrips a lot of trucks have to help you climb up to the cab – but that setup is not designed for the big, short-ish, and unathletic girls of the world.
Like, um, me.
I tried not to think about what I looked like clambering up the side of the thing, with limited success. I slipped once or twice, prayed hard that nobody would happen along to witness me stealing city property, and then reached the driver’s side door. I pulled it open, hauled my ass inside, and squirmed behind the wheel.
From there, it was a piece of cake. Up here, I had a great view down over the street, the heater pumped out a Miami level of warmth, and it turns out that a snowplow’s controls are pretty simple – a 5-speed manual transmission, and an up-down-left-right joystick to control the plow blade. Sure, the radio was blaring some syrupy-ass country music at me, but if Jimmy could take charge of a whole doughnut shop full of strangers, I could stand to listen to some fake cowboy bawling and twanging for a few minutes.
Just a few minutes, but maybe a few too many minutes. Maybe it was already too late, maybe it had been too late for a long while now, and just how long had it been since Devon had called? Should I try to call him again, or text, or was I just fooling myself?
Ash
ley, move. Move now. If it’s too late already, then it doesn’t matter what you do – but if he’s still hanging on, still waiting, still with you, your man needs you to move NOW.
I put the truck into gear and eased it away from the curb. I checked my mirrors for any pursuit, saw nothing, and rumbled into the deserted intersection. It was weird to drive looking down from so high above the street – this beast was huge compared to my Mercedes, and Godzilla compared to the old Honda – but I consoled myself by thinking that nobody who came along down below would be able to see that a very much unauthorized, not-city-employee driver was up here steering this behemoth.
No one came. No traffic thanks to the Guard guys, no cops thanks to no crime in a blizzard, and no angry official, sanctioned plow driver stumbling after me on foot, wanting his ride back.
I pulled beneath the blinking lights over the intersection, turned right, and faced the wall of snow around Killane Corporate Holdings.
Show time.
I thumbed the joystick, pretended I was playing a sweet new Playstation game involving snowplows armed with lasers and rocket launchers, and the blade swung down to do battle. I nudged the gas, the truck rolled forward, and I felt the blade crunch against the snow.
The wall of white parted like butter.
Close enough, anyway – with the skyscraper approaching on my left, I angled the plow so that the snow piled off to the right, the mirrors showed a strip of almost-bare asphalt appearing behind me, and it started to look like I could definitely snag a second job as a plow driver if I ever needed some extra cash. The blade squealed and scrunched over the street, the truck snorted and shook like an angry bull, and after a bumpy couple of minutes, I had a path cleared right to the curb. Only a few feet to the left stood the gleaming all-glass main entrance of my place of employment.
And that was when I fucked up.
Remember that curb? I was watching for the curb, easing down on the brake and riding the gearshift just so, trying to park kind of slaunch-wise, like I imagined the hypothetical joyrider I was going to claim had stolen this thing would park, and then I jumped out of my skin when a police siren howled less than a block away.
Five Minutes Late: A Billionaire Romance Page 52
