Chicago Assault by Randy Wayne White Read Free Book Online

shooting.”
    â€œI’ll follow you to your apartment then.”
    â€œMy place is too close, too. And I’ll have no alibi if the cops come by or try to call.”
    â€œThen where, in Mary’s name, do you want to take it?”
    â€œDowntown. Back to Beckerman’s apartment, maybe. I can say I was so upset I went for a long walk. It won’t take long.”
    O’Neil shook his head. “You always were prissy about details, James.”
    Hawker smiled. “I’m still alive, aren’t I?”
    Twenty minutes later, they had the two corpses propped in the backseat of the canary yellow Chevy. They looked like passengers. Hawker wore gloves, and he had covered the front seat of the car with plastic so he could remove all microscopic traces of his own spore: clothing material, hair, and skin scrapings.
    He shifted the Chevy into gear and drove north on Damen, into the industrial stink beyond the south branch of the Chicago River. The cold September wind was ripe with the foundry and diesel smell of the canal area. Hawker kept his window rolled wide open, because the stink in the car was worse.
    It was 3:42 A.M .
    The city that never sleeps was asleep.
    The streets were deserted. Many of the factories had shut down during the recession. A golden corona of light glowed above the smokestacks of those still in production.
    Hawker swung west on Twenty-third Street, sticking to the back streets.
    O’Neil followed a safe distance behind.
    On Sacramento, Hawker turned south past Harrison High School. A few blocks beyond that, he steered down a deserted alley he knew. He parked the car beyond a garbage bin. He bundled up the plastic and stuffed it far down into the trash.
    Even if the police went through the garbage bin for clues, they wouldn’t give the sheet of plastic a second thought.
    Satisfied that no one was around to see, Hawker slid into the Mercedes beside O’Neil.
    â€œNice and easy, Jimmy. Get us out of here. Don’t drive straight to your bar. Head in the opposite direction. I want to make absolutely sure that no one is following us.”
    â€œAs good as done, Hawk,” O’Neil said softly. And after a long silence, he asked, “Why here?”
    â€œWhy what here?”
    â€œWhy did you decide to leave the stiffs here?”
    They were gliding down Sacramento, through empty streets. To their left was a hulking civic structure. “I know your sense of humor,” explained Hawker.
    â€œWhat?”
    Hawker tapped at the window. “You don’t know what that building is?”
    O’Neil smiled. The lighted sign out front read MUNICIPAL COMMUNICABLE DISEASE HOSPITAL. “Death is communicable?” he asked.
    â€œSooner or later, every single one of us catches it,” Hawker said soberly. “Some just sooner than others.”
    When Hawker was satisfied they weren’t being followed, he told O’Neil to head for the Ennisfree, the Irish pub he owned on Farrell Street near McGuane Park.
    â€œFine, fine,” said O’Neil. “But first I have to stop and make a telephone call.”
    â€œTelephone call? Who do you have to call at this hour?”
    â€œA dear friend of mine is staying at the bar.”
    â€œYou’re turning the place into a hotel?”
    â€œWhen the occasion calls for it.” O’Neil straightened himself behind the wheel. “James, old friend, you’ve never asked me anything about my dealings with the Irish Republican Army—one of the few Irish-Americans around here who hasn’t, I might add. And I’ve always appreciated it.”
    â€œYou know how bored I get when you give speeches, O’Neil, I spared myself, not you.”
    O’Neil ignored the sarcasm. “Even so, it’ll probably come as no surprise to you that I’ve kept my hand in the fight. Right here in America.”
    â€œI’m shocked,” said Hawker with even more