We stayed for another hour at Little Kings. When we left I looked for the man with the limp, but couldn’t find him. Even better, he didn’t find us. We headed north to Old Town. The bars, like the streets, were mostly empty. Any stores still open had been picked clean: food, bottled water, rubber gloves, disinfectant, and, of course, medical masks. A middle-aged man in a Lexus had gone into the Walgreens at North and Wells and tried to buy their entire inventory of cotton breathers. Another customer shot him dead in the parking lot and took his stash.
We celebrated all the fun by drinking past midnight. Ellen was quiet toward the end and held my arm as we walked down Wells. A single cab drifted up. A window rolled down. The cabbie wore a pink mask over his nose and mouth. I could tell by the busy eyes he wanted us to get in. So we did. I had him drop us at a boutique hotel called the Raphael, just off Michigan Avenue. We got a room, number 312, and went upstairs. She kissed me just inside the door. I told her to wait. Told her to lie down and close her eyes for a moment. I watched her breathing slow. Sleep crawled across her face.
I picked up the bottle we’d bought and sat by the window. Smoke from my cigarette coiled in electric light from the street. Below, a lonely figure ducked into a doorway and let the wind tumble past. I took a drink and closed my eyes. I thought about the infection crawling through my city’s bloodstream. The body itself was jaundiced, skin swollen, limbs black with rot. Knives needed to be sharpened. Sacrifices made. But only if the patient was willing to pay the price.
I opened my eyes just in time to see my friend leave his doorway. He was wearing an overcoat and dragged his left foot behind him as he walked. I had a pretty good idea what the man with the limp wanted. The question was why. And when.
Behind me, Ellen moved in her sleep. The package she’d given me was lying on the dresser. I’d asked her about it a second time at one of the bars, and she’d called it a going-away present. Then she’d put a finger to my lips and ordered us another round of drinks. Now I opened it, read what was written inside, and slipped the package into my pack.
Her skin was warm when I touched her shoulder. Her eyes opened like she’d been waiting for me.
“How long have I been out?”
“Couple of hours. Go back to sleep.”
“Did I make an idiot of myself?”
“Hardly.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
She propped herself up on an elbow. “You told me you had a girl.”
“I told you it was complicated.”
“Sometimes it’s easier than you think.”
“And sometimes it’s not.”
“You sure about that?”
I thought about Rachel. Broken bones and bruises. Memories that licked at the edges of her smile and lurked in the corners of her eyes. “I’m sure. Go back to sleep.”
She brushed my fingers with hers, rolled over on her belly, and buried her face in a pillow. Within a couple of minutes, her breathing had softened again. I went back over to the dresser. There was a Gideon’s Bible there. I tore out a blank page, scribbled down a few words, and left the note where she could see it. Right beside her gun. It was just past three when I stepped out into the hallway.