Cole staggered down the bent metal steps leading from the plane. Almost as soon as he’d stepped onto terra firma, he was catching Gerald’s luggage as it was tossed from the cargo hatch.
Hunching down beside the musty compartment, Andy asked, “You got anything else?”
“Yeah,” Cole replied as he hefted Gerald’s bag over his shoulder, “but it’s all back in Canada.”
“I don’t think you’ll want to go back to that cabin anytime soon. I heard some Mounties found the whole bloody mess.”
“What day is it?” Cole asked.
Andy looked at his watch. “Thursday. Looks like I made good time getting here.”
“Good time? I could’ve driven here quicker.”
“So I had some stops to make. It ain’t like you had to pay for your damn ticket. Besides, we had to kill some time before our boy at the Montana customs office was on duty. At least you won’t have to visit customs here. They got real fat fingers and know just where to stick ’em.”
Cole didn’t want to argue, and he sure didn’t want to take this conversation any further. Instead, he wanted to find a nice, overpriced airport lounge where he could buy an obscenely expensive drink and let nature take its course. Then again, the thought of those fat fingers was a difficult one to shake, and there were plenty of other places to drop too much on a drink.
“You’ll want to go through there as quick as you can,” Andy said, pointing to a small building at the perimeter of the commercial terminals. “Anyone asks any questions about yer bags, just show ’em the ticket you got in Great Falls. Don’t linger, though. Wouldn’t be wise to push yer luck. Think you can find yer way from here, Squid?”
“Yeah. There might be a sign or two pointing to the front doors.”
The pilot waved at Cole as if sending back an order of undercooked chicken. “It’s been a real…well…it’s been real.”
Walking through the smaller building with almost as many knots in his stomach as he’d had when running away from the rampaging animal back in Canada, Cole nodded at a pair of disinterested customs officers while showing them the slip he’d gotten in Montana. After navigating the crowded metallic mess of walkways, magazine shops, and overpriced fast food booths, he stepped outside of O’Hare’s main terminal. Now he just needed to make his way to the rows of cabs, buses, shuttles, and other vehicles lined up outside the place.
Gazing longingly at the vehicles, Cole reached into his pocket for his phone. It had a strong enough signal, but none of the phone numbers he needed. He flipped the phone shut and replaced it with the satellite device he’d taken from Gerald. After pushing a few buttons and waiting through a few ring tones, he finally heard some familiar words.
“Hello. This is MEG Branch 40. What can I do for you?”
“My name is Cole and—”
“Hey Cole,” the operator replied. “This is Stu again.”
“Don’t they ever give you a day off?” Cole asked.
“Hell no. Ahh. I see you’re in Chi Town. You need to hook up with Paige?”
“Just meeting her would do fine.”
Stu chuckled and clacked through a few more keystrokes. “Actually, I was about to call you. She wanted to know as soon as you landed. I’ll patch you through.”
Before Cole could say another word to Stu, another voice came along to replace his.
“That you, Cole?” Paige asked.
“Yeah. I’m at O’Hare.”
“Great. Here’s the address to meet me. Grab a cab and tell them to step on it. I’ll pay for whatever you can’t cover.”
“All right.”
Paige rattled off an address and Cole repeated it back to her. She then asked, “You feeling all right?”
“I think so,” he replied with a grateful breath. “That plane ride was brutal. Maybe we could get something to eat.”
“Sounds good.”
“You like pizza?” After a few quiet seconds passed, Cole asked, “Would you rather have burgers? Hello?”
The line was dead. Even though the silence of empty air was unmistakable, Cole held the phone down so he could get a good look at the screen. “She hung up on me,” he muttered. Rather than try to convince himself the state-of-the-art satellite connection had failed, he put the phone in his pocket and looked for a ride.
The cab at the front of the line was driven by a bald man in his early fifties chomping on a pen cap. “Help ya with that bag?” he grunted as he jumped from the sputtering car.
“As if your tip depended on it,” Cole replied.
The cabbie took that comment as it was intended and started laughing. “What’s in there? A bomb?”
Cole chuckled. “No. Just some—”
“It goes in the trunk.”
The cabbie squinted at the security tags stuck to the bag and shut the trunk tightly.
He lightened up a bit once he was back behind the wheel with his backside pressed securely against his beaded seat cover. “Where you headed?” he asked.
Cole leaned forward and grunted as some of the pain from his ribs and back seeped through his body. After reciting the address he’d been given, he added, “There’s a big tip in store if you get me there real qui—”
The cab lurched forward and squealed away from the front of the line with enough force to push Cole into the trunk. The springs beneath him felt poised to snap through a thin layer of upholstery that felt more like wadded newspapers. Horns blared from his left and the whistle of the cop directing the cabs sounded to his right. Braking and slamming on the gas a few more times amid a flurry of obscenities, the cabbie finally made it to smoother waters.
Glancing into the rearview mirror, he asked, “That address is in Cicero, ain’t it?”
“Sure,” Cole replied, even though he had no clue.
“Your lucky day, my friend. I grew up not too far from there.”
It did Cole plenty of good just to get some concrete under his feet and see some familiar buildings around him. He might not have been able to rattle off business names and addresses, but the city had a feel to it that was just…Chicago. Every time he visited the place, he’d sworn to come back when he had more time to look around. During one of the Digital Dreamers gaming tournaments that were held in Aurora, he’d gone to Chicago and had a hot dog that made him want to pack his things and move there. Right now, the simple fact that Chicago wasn’t Canada was more than enough to give the city a few stars in his personal rating.
Cole leaned back and pulled in a lungful of air that was saturated with too much freshener and a hint of burnt exhaust from the heater. Chicago rolled past his window in an endless stream of lights, dirty buildings, and illuminated billboards. The sun had been setting when his plane was landing, so it was completely dark by now. A commercial for an upcoming festival by Lake Michigan sounded through the cab’s speakers, and the cabbie kept right on chatting throughout the entire duration of the ride.
“You live here or you just visiting?” the cabbie asked as he tapped the brakes.
“Visiting.”
“Well, you should have a great time while you’re in town.” With that, he brought the cab to a stop and pressed a button on his meter. “You want help with that luggage?”
“We’re here already?”
“I told ya I’d get you here fast, didn’t I?”
“I guess I was just enjoying the ride.” Cole got out as the cabbie walked around to the trunk. Although he didn’t know what to expect, he hadn’t been expecting to be taken to a restaurant that was already closed up for the night. “You sure this is the right place?”
Abruptly, the cabbie lost his smirk and rushed over to his side. “That’s the address you gave me!” He closed his eyes, moved his lips as he grumbled to himself, and finally let out a breath. “This is the place,” he said defensively.
Cole looked at what was painted on the white walls near a set of thick, wooden front doors. There had once been a name written over the door, but all that was left was enough lettering to spell out RASA HILL. Even though the numbers beside the door matched the ones in his head, he dug in his pocket for his phone anyway. “Stay here,” he said to the cabbie. “Let me just double-check something.”
