The Girl on the Rush Street Bridge

by Gary Inbinder

Table of Contents

Chapter 17: Mary O’Neill’s Underworld Adventure

Mary looked fetching in Max’s bathrobe and pajamas. She occupied a couch facing him from the other side of a coffee table; she leaned forward, showing some cleavage while sipping her hot toddy.

Max glanced away, gazed for an instant at the clothes hanging in the kitchen, and then looked back at her. Very fetching, he thought, and that was a distraction he did not want. He tried to think of her as a client, to erase all sexual thoughts from his mind but, under the circumstances, that was not easy. She was the first woman to set foot in his flat since he had broken up with Peg Rooney.

“Thank you. I feel much better now,” she said with a faint smile. She set her glass on a tray resting on the coffee table.

“Good. Are you ready to tell me what you did after I left your hotel room?” His voice was firm but gentle; he met her eyes directly, in a serious but non-threatening way.

She sighed, looked down at her hands for a moment, then looked up again. “Yes, I am. After you left, I stayed in my room. I didn’t do much, but I was anxious, concerned. I paced around for a while; I tried to read, to calm down. I took a drink... maybe two. I... I don’t recall—”

“That’s understandable, considering the circumstances,” Max broke in. “Why did you leave the hotel?”

“About two hours after you left, I got a call. It was Dan Buford. Naturally, I was surprised; perhaps shocked is a better word. I immediately asked if he knew where Bob was. He said he did; that’s why he called. I was excited... agitated. I asked him to tell me if Bob was all right, if I could see him, but he said he couldn’t discuss that over the phone. He wanted to see me right away. He asked me to meet him in Garfield Park, at the Conservatory, within the hour. And he insisted that I come alone. I agreed. Then he hung up.”

“Did you call my office?”

“Yes, I tried, but the line was busy. I didn’t know what to do. I had to get a cab; there wasn’t much time. I tried calling again, but the line was still busy. So, I left, thinking that it would be all right, meeting him in a public place. Was I wrong?”

Max shook his head. He made a mental note to contact Conrad to see if he could corroborate her story about the phone calls. “I understand, although it might have been better to wait a few minutes and try again. Anyway, what happened next?”

“I went down to the lobby and asked the doorman to call a cab. The driver took me to the park. I went straight to the Conservatory and waited by the entrance according to the directions I received over the phone. I was there for some time, more than I expected to wait.”

“How long?”

“I checked my watch; more than twenty minutes. I was upset; I began wondering if he would come at all when I was approached by a young woman. She said she had a message from Dan.”

“Excuse me. Can you describe the woman?”

“Yes, she was in her early twenties, about five-foot-two or -three, dark eyes, olive complexion and curly black hair. She was dressed in a gray cotton hobble skirt and jacket and a hat with flowers. Modest but not shabby.”

“Anything distinguishing? Scars, a limp—”

“Oh, she had a slight limp,” Mary broke in. “And a foreign accent.”

“Foreign? Can you be more specific?”

She hesitated before saying, “I’m afraid I can’t. Her English was good, but it just seemed foreign somehow. It might be Eastern European or Southern European. I just can’t say for sure.”

“All right. So, what was the message?”

“She said Dan couldn’t meet me at the Conservatory as planned, but she could take me to him.”

“Did you agree to go with her?”

Mary looked down at her hands and nodded. “Yes, I did.”

“That was very risky; perhaps foolish. She might have led you into a trap.”

She lifted her head and faced him directly, almost defiantly. “You don’t have to tell me what I already know. I was worried about my brother; I still am. Anyway, I agreed to follow her. She led me out of the park through the main entrance and then up the street for three blocks and around the corner onto a side street where a car was parked. There was a man waiting beside the car. The woman introduced him as ‘Mr. Smith.’”

“Smith. That’s original. I don’t suppose the woman gave you her name?”

“No, she didn’t.”

“Can you describe this ‘Mr. Smith’?”

“He was a big man, almost as big as you. I’d guess in his early to mid-forties, brown hair with some gray, and light eyes, maybe blue or green. He was clean-shaven, and I noticed a scar on his chin. He was well-dressed in a brown three-piece suit and a derby hat.”

Might be Ritter, Max thought. Milt has a scar on his chin and he was always a snappy dresser. “What happened next?”

She sighed. “I’m sorry. Would you mind if I smoked? There’s a pack of cigarettes in my purse.”

“Not at all. I’ll get them.” He got up and headed to the kitchen where he’d left her purse on a table near her drying clothes. So, she smokes, he thought. Another deviation from the nice girl next door theme. He opened the purse, removed the cigarettes and returned to the living room where she waited on the couch.

Max shook the pack so that a couple of cigarettes popped up; she took one and placed it between her lips. He set the pack down on the coffee table, grabbed a box of matches and an ashtray and placed them before her. Then he struck a match and gave her a light.

She took his hand in hers and leaned forward toward the match; from his vantage point, Max got a glimpse of firm, shapely breasts and a flash of rosy nipples through the open bathrobe and partly unbuttoned pajamas. She held on to his hand a moment more than necessary and let go with a soft, sensual stroke, almost a caress. What the hell is she playing me for? He wondered.

“Let’s get back to business,” he said as he returned to his chair.

Mary took a deep puff and exhaled a small cloud of gray smoke in his direction. She gazed at him curiously for an instant, with just the hint of a smile on her red lips and a sparkle in her eyes. Then she continued with her narrative as though what had seemed a seductive interlude to Max had never occurred.

“The man, Mr. Smith, said he’d drive me to a place where I could meet with Dan Buford. He said it wasn’t far. I knew I was taking a risk, but I figured I’d come this far so I might as well go on with it. I got into the back seat of the car and the woman sat beside me. She asked me to wear dark glasses with bandages covering the lenses and around the sides so that I couldn’t see where we were going. She said this was for my ‘protection.’”

“You said earlier that you walked up the street three blocks from the entrance when you left the park. Did you mean west or east?”

“I meant west.”

“OK. If you were walking west you would have been on Lake Street, not far from the elevated station. Is that right?”

“Yes.”

“So, the car was parked on a side street three blocks from the entrance, correct?”

“That’s correct.”

“And you didn’t cross the street, so you turned south. Was the car facing south?”

“Yes.”

“All right. We’ve established that the car was parked a block east of 40th avenue just off Lake Street. That was your starting point.”

“I wasn’t paying attention to the street signs. And I couldn’t see them after I put on the glasses, but I suppose that’s right.”

“You couldn’t see, but I assume you noticed when the car turned, stopped, and about how long it took to get to your destination?”

“Yes, I think so.”

“Good. I’ve been all over the West Side in cars, on rails, and on foot. If you can remember those details, I’ll get a pretty fair idea of where you were.”

She took another puff on her smoke, dumped the butt in the ashtray and continued. “We started south, then turned right and right again, then left. I’m guessing we were on Lake Street because I could hear the elevated.”

“Good guess. Can you estimate about how long you continued in that direction?”

She thought a moment before saying, “It’s hard to estimate, but I don’t think it was for long. Maybe ten minutes. But I did notice something. We turned right and stopped for a while. I could hear cars on rails passing by, then we started again and I could feel the bumps as we crossed over the rails.”

“That makes sense. The train runs at ground level starting about two miles west of Garfield Park and continues on the street another couple of miles to its terminus in the suburbs. Assuming the car was going twenty miles per hour, your ten-minute estimate sounds about right. That would put you somewhere near the border between Chicago and Oak Park.” She probably wasn’t much more than five miles from where I was this afternoon, he thought.

Mary shrugged. “You know the area; I don’t. Anyway, after we crossed the tracks, we drove on for less than a minute, turned right and parked. The woman told me not to remove the glasses. She held my hand and led me out of the car and onto the pavement.”

“What about Mr. Smith?”

“I heard the car pull away from the curb as we walked on. We passed through a gate and continued up a paved pathway until we stopped. The woman kept holding my hand; her palm was cold and sweaty. She warned me we would be going down four steep steps and then turning to our right. Once we’d gone down the stairs and turned, we walked forward a couple of paces and stopped again. She knocked on a door. A man answered; I recognized Dan Buford’s voice. He opened the door and we crossed the threshold. The woman left us; I could hear her footsteps as she walked out and closed the door behind her.

“Dan said I could take off the glasses. We were in a basement apartment, dark, damp and smelly. There were a few sticks of furniture; we sat next to each other on a pair of plain, wooden chairs. He said he was acting as go-between for the people who were holding my brother. They were demanding twenty-thousand dollars for his release and gave me forty-eight hours to reply to their demand.”

“Excuse me. Did he give you any evidence they had your brother, and that he was alive and well?”

“Yes, he showed me a snapshot of Bob holding a daily newspaper so I could see the headline. My brother signed and dated the photo. It’s in my purse. Shall I get it?”

“Later. Please continue.”

“I told Buford I had to contact my father, and he said that was why I was getting forty-eight hours. I tried to ask questions, but he cut me short. He gave me the address of a news vendor. When I’m ready to reply, I’m to go the newsstand and hand the vendor a note: “Contact me. M.O.” The vendor will pass the note on to Dan, and he’ll call me at the hotel with instructions. That’s all he would say, except for a warning: “These people mean business.” He could see how anxious I was. He smiled and said, ‘Don’t worry. Bob’s all right. Your father can afford the ransom. Just don’t try anything funny. Let’s have a drink before you go.’ I agreed. I was so upset, I needed something.

“He went to a small table near the wall on the other side of the room and returned with two glasses of red wine. ‘Drink this,’ he said. ‘It’ll make you feel better.’ We finished our drinks. Then he said he was going to fetch the woman to take me back to the car. He headed for the door; I got up to follow him, but I suddenly felt dizzy and nauseous. I remember falling and grabbing for the chair to break the fall. After that, I don’t recall anything until I came to in the covered entryway of a building near an elevated station. Any passersby must have thought I was drunk. But the street was quiet, so maybe no one noticed. I assume my wine was drugged?”

“Yes, of course. He gave you a Mickey Finn, chloral hydrate and alcohol.”

“Why would he do that? Why didn’t they just drive me back to the park and leave me there?”

Max shrugged. “I don’t know. They might have thought it would disorient and confuse you about where you’d been. Anyway, I suppose you took the elevated to come here?”

“Yes, when I came to it was late evening, raining and I was still woozy. I got up, walked over to the station and asked for directions.”

“Do you remember the name of the station?”

“I’m afraid not, but it must have been east of where I met Dan because it was elevated instead of on the ground. And it was still on the West Side because I had to go downtown and transfer to a northbound train to get here.”

“OK. That’s enough, for now.” He glanced at his watch. “Almost three; we’d better get some sleep. You can have the bedroom; I’ll take the couch.”

She stared at him for a moment as though she wasn’t quite sure what to say. Then: “All right. Thank you.”

“Good. I’ll just grab a couple of things from the closet, then she’s all yours.”

Max took a pillow and a blanket from the bedroom. Mary passed him in the hallway. She smiled at Max but said nothing. Then she entered the bedroom and closed the door behind her. An instant later, the lock clicked. Max grinned, shook his head and headed for the couch.

Proceed to Chapter 18...

Copyright © 2018 by Gary Inbinder

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