many damn witnesses. My squeezy ball will have to do for now. My eyes are closed; I’m taking deep breaths and ball squeezing when her monotone voice startles me.
“Taxi hailer at O’Hare Airport told me an interesting story. When I bribed him enough. Seems our girl was approaching cars in the arrivals zone. She’d say something to them, they would shake their heads and drive off. After this happened three times, he was going to call security, but she sat down on a bench and broke down, crying. He felt sorry for her and let it go.” Drink finished, Rita’s holding her empty glass over her head, waving it. I know better than to hope for more information until she has alcohol, so I wait. It takes amazing self-discipline because I can feel my heart race at the news the Van Clief girl has been spotted. The waiter arrives, breathless, fish mouth gaping, to replenish her drink and ice.
“Bring the entire bottle of Johnnie Walker and a bucket of ice. The lady will order when you return.”
“A bucket, sir?”
“You heard me.” I approve of the hint of fear in the waiter’s eyes as he hurries off to carry out my orders. Rita’s slurping lustily at her drink. Soon she’ll be doing the Purina Dog Chow thing with her ice, so I grit my teeth in preparation. Sure enough, she begins masticating ice with verve and picks up her menu, holding it a half-inch from her face. Apparently satisfied with her dinner choice, she drops the menu, drains her drink, smacks her lips and belches.
“As I was saying, the taxi hailer didn’t call security because he felt sorry for her. She approached a fourth car and met with the same refusal, but on the fifth try, she got a hit.” Rita looks around as if she’s so parched she can’t possibly continue, but I’ll be damned if I’ll wait for this bit of information.
“What do you mean ‘she got a hit’?”
“She approached two guys in their early twenties driving an older model crew cab. The taxi hailer couldn’t hear anything, but he could see her give the driver money. She drove away in the truck and the two guys got in line at the cab stand.”
“What the hell?”
“The cab hailer said she had chosen older vehicles, SUVs, or crossovers. This was her first truck. She must have a lot of money on her because, the way I figure it, she was trying to buy the cars right out from under the people. No go until the fifth try.”
I’ve been straining forward to catch every word, but this news knocks me back in my seat as I struggle to make sense of it all.
“If you’re correct, aren’t we back where we started? She could have driven off anywhere!” I’m so frustrated at hearing about this girl getting away yet again that I could shoot everyone in this ridiculous restaurant. Where is that sluggish waiter anyway? And what on earth does that braying couple at the bar find so funny? Idiots, the lot of them. As if on cue, the waiter appears. He glances at me and away again quickly, his fish face turning the color of spoiled milk. When he sets the various bottles, glasses , and buckets down, items clank because his hands shake.
“What can I get you ?” he asks in a squeaky voice, not bothering with reciting restaurant specials.
“Ribeye, bloody. Lobster bisque before. Hot fudge sundae after.” Rita’s monotone is dismissive as she is filling her glass to the brim.
“And for you, sir?” he quavers, not meeting my eye.
“Nothing. Just another Glenlivet.”
Rita has no reaction to my lack of appetite. She’s well into her drink, smacking, licking her mole, pumping her lips. I’m squeezing my ball with my other hand for fear of the freakish lopsided musculature I probably already have from all this stress. Rita lets me stew. My drink arrives in record time. Her soup arrives shortly after. She eats as I predicted. Earplugs could not dampen the deafening roar of her slurping and gulping. She has tucked in her napkin at her neck. Of course. She doesn’t want to accidentally
“Taxi hailer at O’Hare Airport told me an interesting story. When I bribed him enough. Seems our girl was approaching cars in the arrivals zone. She’d say something to them, they would shake their heads and drive off. After this happened three times, he was going to call security, but she sat down on a bench and broke down, crying. He felt sorry for her and let it go.” Drink finished, Rita’s holding her empty glass over her head, waving it. I know better than to hope for more information until she has alcohol, so I wait. It takes amazing self-discipline because I can feel my heart race at the news the Van Clief girl has been spotted. The waiter arrives, breathless, fish mouth gaping, to replenish her drink and ice.
“Bring the entire bottle of Johnnie Walker and a bucket of ice. The lady will order when you return.”
“A bucket, sir?”
“You heard me.” I approve of the hint of fear in the waiter’s eyes as he hurries off to carry out my orders. Rita’s slurping lustily at her drink. Soon she’ll be doing the Purina Dog Chow thing with her ice, so I grit my teeth in preparation. Sure enough, she begins masticating ice with verve and picks up her menu, holding it a half-inch from her face. Apparently satisfied with her dinner choice, she drops the menu, drains her drink, smacks her lips and belches.
“As I was saying, the taxi hailer didn’t call security because he felt sorry for her. She approached a fourth car and met with the same refusal, but on the fifth try, she got a hit.” Rita looks around as if she’s so parched she can’t possibly continue, but I’ll be damned if I’ll wait for this bit of information.
“What do you mean ‘she got a hit’?”
“She approached two guys in their early twenties driving an older model crew cab. The taxi hailer couldn’t hear anything, but he could see her give the driver money. She drove away in the truck and the two guys got in line at the cab stand.”
“What the hell?”
“The cab hailer said she had chosen older vehicles, SUVs, or crossovers. This was her first truck. She must have a lot of money on her because, the way I figure it, she was trying to buy the cars right out from under the people. No go until the fifth try.”
I’ve been straining forward to catch every word, but this news knocks me back in my seat as I struggle to make sense of it all.
“If you’re correct, aren’t we back where we started? She could have driven off anywhere!” I’m so frustrated at hearing about this girl getting away yet again that I could shoot everyone in this ridiculous restaurant. Where is that sluggish waiter anyway? And what on earth does that braying couple at the bar find so funny? Idiots, the lot of them. As if on cue, the waiter appears. He glances at me and away again quickly, his fish face turning the color of spoiled milk. When he sets the various bottles, glasses , and buckets down, items clank because his hands shake.
“What can I get you ?” he asks in a squeaky voice, not bothering with reciting restaurant specials.
“Ribeye, bloody. Lobster bisque before. Hot fudge sundae after.” Rita’s monotone is dismissive as she is filling her glass to the brim.
“And for you, sir?” he quavers, not meeting my eye.
“Nothing. Just another Glenlivet.”
Rita has no reaction to my lack of appetite. She’s well into her drink, smacking, licking her mole, pumping her lips. I’m squeezing my ball with my other hand for fear of the freakish lopsided musculature I probably already have from all this stress. Rita lets me stew. My drink arrives in record time. Her soup arrives shortly after. She eats as I predicted. Earplugs could not dampen the deafening roar of her slurping and gulping. She has tucked in her napkin at her neck. Of course. She doesn’t want to accidentally
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