by Fritz Galt
“Send backup from Chicago PD to the United terminal. I’ve got a trespasser in custody.”
A voice squawked back. “Is he a terrorist?”
The guard hesitated. “More like a carjacker.”
“Is there a bomb involved?”
“No. I just need someone to take him down to the station and book him.”
“Why is this important? We’ve got flight delays and antagonistic passengers that have reached the boiling point.”
“But this guy availed himself of someone else’s personal property. We gotta maintain some law and order around here.”
“It’s just a car,” the voice said.
“It’s a Mercedes!”
Another pause. “Okay. I’ll send someone over.”
The guard stood Brad upright. “You heard the man. You’re in big trouble.”
He pushed Brad off the slowly revolving dais and over the velvet cordon. Eventually, one of Chicago’s finest emerged from the frenzied throng. His hat was askew and his mustache dripped with mustard. “What do we have here?” He adjusted the nightstick by his side.
“I found this suspect sitting inside the Benz,” the guard said.
“Oh, really?” The cop looked Brad up and down. “And what do you have to say for yourself?”
Meanwhile, a traveler raced past and smashed into a woman, who nearly dropped her baby.
“I was merely looking for some peace and quiet.” he said above the child’s startled cry.
The cop winked at the guard. “Good work. I’ll take it from here.”
The guard earned a congratulatory slap on the back. He removed Brad’s handcuffs and sauntered away.
Then the cop turned to Brad. “And what was so important that you needed to break into this vehicle?”
Brad was jetlagged, he had sat in a plane for the past twenty hours, the American economy was taking a nosedive, he hadn’t showered, and his girlfriend was sleeping with a madman. Where should he start?
Before he could formulate a response, the cop nodded understandingly. “Look, we’re all under a lot of stress right now. I’m not worried about you sitting in this imported piece of junk. All I want is for people to calm down. Now, what would make your problems go away?”
“I need some transportation into the city.”
“Well, the El has stopped and taxis are jammed up at the pumps.”
Brad’s heart sank.
Then the cop did the unthinkable. After watching the security guard disappear into the crowd, he unhooked a cordon and hauled Brad up to the rotating platform. He opened the car door for Brad. “Help yourself. The keys are in the ignition.”
Brad was confused. “But, isn’t that stealing?”
The cop smiled. “As far as Mr. Benz is concerned, consider it a test drive. Just make sure you bring the car back in one piece.”
Brad didn’t question the orders. All he could figure was that with the country falling apart, one had to throw out all the old rules. He gathered up the CIA packet and sourdough bread and jumped in.
Moments later, he gunned the engine and shot off the podium. The wheels squealed when they hit the polished floor. He jerked forward through the passenger terminal and headed for the double doors that the policeman was holding open.
Brad threw him a salute and drove out onto the street. The ramp was choked with cars and vans that were parked at odd angles, doors flung open and drivers gone. He could have taken any car he wanted.
In the gathering dusk and under a slight drizzle, he needed to turn the headlights on and activate the wipers. The controls he needed weren’t in the right places. So he jabbed randomly at buttons while he drove. He activated the defroster, the radio and a clanging bell. Only after he was on the expressway and well on his way to Wisconsin did he get the damned headlights and wipers to work.
He began to check out the highway signs. There was an exit for the Kennedy Expressway that headed back into the city. He veered onto it. Rush hour traffic toward the suburbs was totally clogged. Fortunately, he was heading in the opposite direction. He only had to share the road with scraps of paper blowing about. He swerved around a suitcase that had landed on the highway.
He hadn’t been back to Chicago in four years. And the only route he remembered was how to get back to his old summer haunts with Claudia. As he neared her neighborhood, the buildings and street names became more familiar. The street signs for Dempsey, Touhy and Cicero took him further into his past.
He pulled up across the street from Claudia’s walkup. He had always had trouble finding a parking spot on that street. Now there were no cars. Through his rain-streaked side window, the road and walkway were flooded all the way up to her front steps. Next to the front door, lights glowed cheerfully in the window.
He could run up the steps and ring the bell, but what if she had a boyfriend? A husband? Kids? He opted for the cautious approach and pulled out his cell phone.
He redialed the last number and waited for her to pick up.
“You again?” she answered.
“Take a look out your front window.” He waited for her silhouette to appear. Her hair would bounce on her straight shoulders, her outrageous figure would appear in distinct outline beneath her sweater.
Nobody showed up. Maybe he should wipe the raindrops off his side window. If he knew how to operate the blasted buttons, he could roll it down.
Then he heard a gentle tapping on the passenger’s window. He looked over and there she was. Claudia stood huddled under an umbrella and rapping the glass with her fingernails.
Blast it. He pushed the car door open and stood up to greet her. Both feet landed in six inches of water.
Claudia came around, sloshing water aside with her boots, and offered to share her umbrella. He reached out for it, but his baggy pants slipped down around his ankles. He leaned over to hitch them up.
“Don’t bother,” she said. “I like the view.”
He came up red-faced. “I could have sworn you lived across the street.”
“Wrong house,” she said with a teasing smile. “It’s not the first time you made that mistake.”
He winced. Okay, he wasn’t making the best impression.
“Nice wheels.” She stepped back to admire the car.
That left the rain plastering Brad about his head and shoulders.
“Care to go out for a bowl of soup?” she said.
“Er, sure.” He had been hoping for an invitation to her place.
“Don’t look so disappointed. We can’t go to the campus. It’s Sunday.”
Right. That was it. He’d been hoping to get to campus. He wiped his drivers’ seat dry and slammed the door shut. He turned back and clicked the button on the keychain. Nothing happened. He held the button down. The horn began to beep and the headlights started flashing.
“That was smooth.” She looked around as if neighbors might call the police.
He opened the car door and retrieved the packet from Mick Pierce and the sourdough bread, then slammed the door shut. That turned the alarm off. “Shall we?” He extended an elbow.
“Aren’t you going to lock it?”
He hesitated and she took the remote from his pocket. With a single click, she locked the car. She handed the keys back with a insouciant smile and they were off.
Okay, so he was rusty. He hadn’t driven a vehicle since he totaled his pickup in Tucson the year before. And that didn’t even have a keyless entry system.
Brad’s heels skidded on something. Blossoms had blown off the trees. Their damp fragrance hung redolent in the air.
Claudia was still taller than he was and even taller than he had remembered. His memories of her were more of her lying directly underneath him where height didn’t matter as much. She smelled the same, like some sort of herbal soap. Her clothes smelled different, but there hadn’t been much wet wool that summer four years ago. One particular knockout terrycloth outfit stood out in his memory. He had enjoyed pulling the piles from the fabric
and pinching her in the process.
What could he do with damp wool? His imagination failed him at that point.
He looked at her out of the corner of his eye. Her heart-shaped face hadn’t changed much. Perhaps it didn’t have that summer tan he remembered, but it reacted in all the same ways. Her tawny eyes crinkled when she smiled. Freckles still dotted the bridge of her pert nose and high cheekbones. And her teeth still gleamed between those saucy lips. Once he had considered proposing to only those two Chiclets that posed as front teeth.
He followed her knee-high boots into the corner sweet shop. He and Claudia had relaxed there frequently, after blues concerts, sailing lessons and penniless strolls through opulent shopping malls.
The only thing that had changed about the old neighborhood was the season. Claudia seemed slightly out of character in the lingering days of winter. Maybe she was meant to be his summer girl. Did that make May his winter girl? If so, with spring on its way, was it time for him to make the switch?
But he was getting ahead of himself. Tangerine zingers sounded fine to him, along with a couple of donuts. There were no other pastries on the shelves.
Brad looked out the window. With night falling fast, the commercial street remained eerily dark. No other shops were open for business. “We’re lucky this place is open.”
“If it weren’t open, we wouldn’t be here.”
“Oh, no.” He buried his head in his arms. “Not all that philosophical garbage again.”
She took the seat opposite him at the table. “Okay. I’ll spare you all that for now. So, Braaad,” she drew out the single syllable of his name. “You look like hell. What have you been through?”
He brushed his rain-soaked hair out of his eyes and wiped the crumbs off his chin. The thick growth of beard reminded him that he hadn’t shaved in days. At last he looked her in the eyes. They were concerned, even alarmed.
He had to smile. He wasn’t that much of a wreck, was he? How could he sum his life up for her? Honestly, he was a wreck. “Tell me about yourself,” he said instead.
She leaned forward with a secretive smile. “You won’t believe this.”
“Try me.”
“I’ve found God.”
Oh well. There went the one-night stand.
Then he took a closer look at her. It was hard to believe. Here was Claudia Knocker. Miss Sweater Girl. Miss Party All Night. Miss Kama Sutra.
That aside, she had been his academic equal, a mental sparring partner, unflinchingly theoretical, thoroughly thoughtful, willing to explore the farthest reaches of logic and epistemology. And she had “found God?”
Then he noticed her lips twitching. They turned into a broad smile. “I’m messing with you, Brad.”
He dropped his head to the Formica tabletop. God, he was a sucker. His razor-sharp mind had not only grown dull, but he had lost his sense of humor, not to mention his once-keen feel for sarcasm.
Fatigue could account for some of that. But maybe the problem lay deeper. Perhaps it was May who had dried up all the irony within him. She was Miss Straightforward. May could massacre a truckload of English idioms, and he had never once cracked a smile. He had eaten her up and totally lost that appetite for irony of which he had been so proud.
Now there he was, unable to field concepts that Claudia knocked his way. There, that was a pun.
Claudia hadn’t changed one iota, and she was expecting the best of him. “Go easy on me,” he said. “My mind isn’t as sharp as it might have been. Where I’ve been lately, irony is a capital offense.”
“Where have you been? Excavating bones in the Sahara for the past few years?”
“That was three years ago. Since then, I’ve been in Tucson trying to work my way through grad school. And most recently I’ve been living in China.”
“Okay. I can see you’ve really been out of it.”
“What have you done?” He was suddenly curious about what might have changed in her life.
“I’m still in the Philosophy Department. Post-doctoral work.”
“Ouch. I haven’t even written my dissertation yet.”
So she was a hotshot academic.
“Chicago?” he asked. It was a safe question. You couldn’t offend someone by assuming that they worked at the city’s toughest institution.
“Yup.”
“That’s great. The reason I’m here is I need to get to the computer lab.” He felt for the packet of statistics beside him. “Can you get me in there?”
She looked disappointed. “And here I thought you were here to see me.”
He searched for a way to backpedal and tell her that principally he was there to see her. Which had the virtue of being partially true. He did want to see her, to crash at her pad and to lick his wounds. “Of course that’s why I’m here.”
She stared silently into her herbal tea and toyed with her spoon.
“Look, I’m sorry,” he said.
Her eyes lifted slowly to meet his. Her eyelids were heavy with sarcasm. “Gotcha!” she said.
“Jeez. I’ve really lost my touch.” He had to get back on top of his game.
“So what do you want?” she said.
“Well, I like you and I thought if we got together…”
“No, from the computer lab. I’ve got to make my case to the people there.”
“Oh, yeah. That.” He glanced at the near-empty shelves. “Have you noticed that the economy is slipping somewhat?”
“Somewhat? Are you cracked? The city has been vacated. People have run out of here to live with relatives in the countryside. Within a few months, America will become an entirely agrarian society.”
“It’s just Colorado and California.”
“Think again. Last night they were joined by the governors of New York, Florida, Washington and Oregon. Other states are threatening to follow suit.”
“You’re kidding.”
“This time I’m not kidding.”
He tried to imagine the full scope of what she was saying. His father had been right after all. The country needed help desperately. “And that’s why I’m here. To see who will benefit from all this.”
“Benefit? Nobody’s going to benefit. We’re all going to lose. Protectionism like this in a global economy will wreak havoc on all people and all economies equally.”
He gripped the packet for reassurance. “Well, I’ve got some models.”
“Sorry, bud. It’s too late for analysis. The ground is shifting beneath our feet sure as we’re sitting here.”
“I need to get to the lab,” he persisted. The conversation wasn’t going well on any level.
“Sahara, Tucson, China,” she mused.
Looking at his life from her perspective, he had succeeded in unmooring himself completely from society. Who was he to distract the great minds of the nation’s universities with his petty theories?
These are your father’s figures.
“I stand by my numbers,” he said. “I can find out who’s behind all this.”
“Who cares?” She grabbed the last donut from his plate and took a bite. “That train has already left the station.”
Behind her brassy exterior, she was smart, and Brad knew it. “Maybe I can set things right again.”
She sat forward and looked him directly in the eyes. “Look at yourself. You’re twenty-four years old. I know because I still celebrate your birthday, even though you ditched me years ago. And you’re still a grad student! You haven’t come up with a single, original discovery. You haven’t made your mark. Who will listen to you? And why should they? Besides all that, you’re pathetic. Look at that beard you’re trying to grow.”
Hey, that wasn’t fair. That was due to the long jet flight. And so what if he looked scruffy? Thirty hours ago, he was walking through a Chinese shopping mall and buying a cell phone. He was a somebody.
Then the corners of her eyes softened. “Hello, Brad,” she whispered. “I’m messing with you again.”
He closed h
is eyes and slowly shook his head. Was he ready for such abuse? “So what are we gonna do about it?”
She sat back and considered the question. “I’ve got a spare bedroom. You can spend the night and then you can take me in that fancy automobile of yours to Hyde Park.”
At least she liked his wheels.
“Sounds fine to me,” he said, and brightened up several watts. He began to concentrate on those two large teeth glinting at him.
But what was that about a spare bedroom?
Chapter 26
Brad sat beside Claudia on the couch like a happy husband with a bowl of microwave popcorn on his lap. He muted the television during a commercial break.
“Don’t you get cable?” he said. “No satellite dish?”
“What in the world for?”
He was taken aback. “Doesn’t everyone have cable?”
“How much drivel can one take in a day?”
“You’re messing with me,” he said.
“Not in the least.”
“But think of all you’re missing.”
“Think of all you’re missing when you watch any TV,” she countered.
“But you’re missing out on…missing out on…” He couldn’t think of exactly what. “You’re missing out on the hurricane knocking the anchorman over. There, how can you not have experienced that? You’re missing out on a window into other worlds.”
“Give me a break.” She reached for the volume button. “Who needs it?”
Brad turned his attention back to the tube.
President Burrows topped the nightly news. He had just issued a plea for calm from the Oval Office. A female commentator had dolled herself up for the camera before the West Wing. “This evening the president stated that we will be able to weather this economic storm if people can conserve fuel, stop hoarding and rely on public services. He remains confident that the government will settle the issue amicably on both the domestic and international fronts.”
“Pabulum,” was all Claudia could say.
Brad took a good look at the image of the harried president as the news program played an excerpt from his address. Brad was no political pundit, but in the past he had found Burrows appealing on more than pure political and ideological grounds. Burrows was the kind of guy he could trust to make a sound decision and not bend with the political winds. “What do you think of Burrows?”
