He shook his head.
She described the scene.
“I can’t do that.”
“Of course you can. You’re an expert shot. Just my shoulder.”
“What if I miss?”
“You won’t.” She kissed him and proceeded to silence his doubts in a way she knew would work.
• • •
Over the next few weeks they scouted the hotel downtown. The lobby was decked out for Christmas with sparkling lights wrapped around staircases, in the lobby, and on trees. They weren’t able to get to the roof, but Ruth hadn’t expected to just yet. She wanted him to be familiar, perhaps assess what he’d need and how he’d do it. After the field trip Ruth took him to the skating rink in Millennium Park, where they drank hot chocolate and watched skaters gracefully twirl and spin, full of holiday cheer.
When they climbed into her car, she took out a J and they got pleasantly stoned during the drive north. But instead of turning off at Touhy on I-94, she kept driving.
“It’s time for your Christmas present,” she said and drove to Camping Unlimited in Northbrook, where she bought him a yurt. It completely wiped out her savings, but she didn’t care. Savings were for unexpected events or emergencies. And this qualified as both.
Chapter Sixty-Six
Two Weeks Before the Demonstration
After the holidays, in early January, Ruth was supposed to be grading a math quiz but was in fact studying printouts from the library about how to make an IED. She’d pretty much decided on a pipe bomb, which wasn’t hard to assemble, and a battery-powered alarm clock to activate the detonator. She planned to pack the pipe with smokeless powder, which was available on Amazon for about fifty bucks and would make an excellent explosive. Although she’d never built a bomb before, she had specific directions and even illustrations to guide her. It wasn’t rocket science, she kept reminding herself. And if all else failed, she could ask Jarvis for help.
While she was creating a fake account on Amazon, her doorbell buzzed. She wasn’t expecting anyone and considered not answering. She had too much work to do. Then again, it could be Dena. Occasionally she would show up, unannounced, demanding something from Ruth, or complaining about someone, or just in need of attention.
She went to the door and called through the intercom. “Who is it?”
“It’s Beef Jerky.”
Ruth’s stomach pitched. How had he found her? What did he want? She pressed the button to unlock the door to the street. She heard the clomp of boots on the stairs. More than one set of boots. As many as three. She sucked in a breath of trepidation. Unlatched her door.
Beef Jerky and the Tat boys walked in without saying a word. Then Beef Jerky spun around. “Who the fuck are you . . . Nicole”—he emphasized the name—“and what the fuck are you doing?”
Beef Jerky knew about the “exercise.” She didn’t know when, and she didn’t know how, but the suspicion and narrowed eyes indicated there was no doubt. She sucked in a breath. She’d come so far. It was going to happen. She couldn’t let him stop her. She could lie. Tell him it was all a fantasy between her and Jarvis. That she was just trying to make Jarvis feel worthy. Useful. A nanosecond later she recognized that wouldn’t work. Beef Jerky was way too observant. And sophisticated. Would see through her. She had only one option. The best defense and all that.
“Who the hell are you?” she retorted.
“You don’t want to know,” he growled. Before she could say anything, he fingered his mustache. “You think I don’t have intel? You think I don’t know that your name is Ruth Marriotti, you’re a math teacher, and you were one of the first people to join that pussy asshole Resistance group?”
Ruth panicked inside but endeavored to hide it from the men. How did he know? Who told him?
“You think I don’t know that you want to kill the woman who started it and you’re using Jarvis to do it?”
She tried one more time. “If you know all that, then you know what a danger people like her are to people like you. I’m helping you. Of course, if you can’t see that, then you’re not as smart as you think you are.”
“Well, missy, you are right about helping us.” He grimaced. “So if you’d like your thank-you now, you got it.”
Ruth inclined her head. She had no idea where he was going.
“But you got no idea who we really are, and that’s what I’m here to tell you.” He waved his hand at her easy chair. “Why don’t you sit down over there.” It was an order, not an invitation. He took a seat on her couch. “After the boys frisk you.”
“I don’t have any weapons.”
“I suspect not, but we’ll just confirm it.”
The Tat boys took their time, patting her down twice. They made sure to slow down when they ran their hands over her breasts. The sense of violation it triggered was nauseating, but Ruth knew that was exactly why they were doing it. She bit her lip. When they finished, they nodded to Jerky.
“Sit down,” he ordered. Ruth did. She gripped the arms of the La-Z-Boy hard.
“So . . .” He took his time. “It seems we have—what you could call—a mutually rewarding objective.” He didn’t wait for her response. “I work with some people who are as unhappy with the Baldwin bitch as you.”
“Who? And why?”
“It doesn’t matter. All you need to know is that my job is to make sure Jarvis goes through with it. And that you go through with taking out Jarvis. No chickenshit sudden change of heart, understand?”
“What happens if I don’t go through with ‘my part’?”
“You think we don’t have a Plan B?”
“What is it?”
Again he brushed his mustache with his finger. “You don’t want to go there. Let’s just say we’re willing to give you a chance to show your stuff. Fact is, Jarvis does seem to like you. Might even be willing to do it.”
She ran her tongue around her lips. “So, let’s assume I do what you want. What’s in it for me?” She realized as she said it that everything up until now, while she’d planned meticulously, was nothing but a fever dream of revenge. It wasn’t real. The plan could crumble into tiny pieces and disappear without anyone getting hurt. And Jerky had a point. In those moments she wondered whether she had the cojones to go through with everything. The possibility of an out had always lurked in the back of her mind. She could come up with an excuse to abort the plan; Jarvis would believe anything she told him. Now it appeared that option was gone. An icicle of fear slid up her spine.
A twisted grin came over him. “Don’t play that bullshit game with me. You were going to take him out anyway. We’re just here to make sure you do.” He leaned forward. “Jarvis always was off. Undependable. Head in the clouds. And his sister didn’t help. We run a tight ship. He’s too much of a risk.”
Ruth crossed, then uncrossed her legs but didn’t say anything.
Jerky went on. “So what’s in it for you? How’s this: you’ll still be alive afterwards. You’ll go back to that group and become its new leader. Just what you always wanted, right?”
When Ruth tried to object, he cut her off. “We know who you are and what you want, missy. Always have.” He smiled. “And you’ll get it. With one condition.” He perched his feet on the coffee table and let the silence grow. “When I want a report about your group, or anyone in it, you’ll give it to me pronto.”
Ruth’s mouth went dry. “And if I say no?”
The Tat boys each pulled out a pistol and aimed it at her.
Beef Jerky looked at the Tats and held up his hand. “Boys, put your weapons down You don’t need them.” He turned back to Ruth. “It’s simple, babe. We’ve been keeping our eyes on you. If things go south, we’ve got all the evidence we need to put you away forever. We know what you’re doing twenty-four seven.” He pointed two fingers at her face. “Conspiracy to Murder. Accessory to murder. Plus a whole lot of other charges our lawyers ‘ll think up.” He paused. “We’ll get it out to the media. ‘Resistance activ
ist plans coup and fails.’ He shrugged. “Your choice.”
“No one will believe you. They’ll say it’s fake news.”
“Riiight . . .” He stretched out the word. “You sure you want to take that chance?”
“How do I know you haven’t persuaded Jarvis to kill me?”
Beef Jerky shifted. He took his time answering. “Well, missy, I guess that’s just another risk you’re gonna have to take.”
Chapter Sixty-Seven
The Present
Two days later Georgia salvaged the car seat from the storage locker in her basement and drove downtown to pick up Vanna and Charlie from the hospital. Charlie, who loved car rides, grinned and jiggled his arms like an octopus when Vanna belted him in. If there were any residual effects of his ordeal, Georgia couldn’t see them. Vanna was in high spirits too. Her hair was combed and she looked like she might even have slept the night before.
“After we get him home, you can take the car and get your things from Arlington Heights, okay?”
“Sure.” Vanna grew pensive. “Georgia, I know this is for the best, but I’m worried about Mom.”
“Yeah, I know you are.”
“What do you think she’s going to do?”
“I don’t know.” Georgia was still working through her mother’s words the night of the spinal tap. Their conversation had unleashed a storm of feelings: at first suspicion, then surprise at her mother’s candor, gratitude for her praise, and, for the first time she could remember, no rancor. But these feelings were so new, so tentative, she wouldn’t allow herself to trust them. “Did she say anything about staying in Chicago?”
Vanna shook her head.
Georgia sighed. “Well, I guess we’ll know when we know.”
• • •
When they got back to Evanston, Charlie went down for a nap and Vanna took the car to get their things. Georgia figured she had an hour to work
Her first call was to Zach Dolan. Two weeks had passed since he and his guys started background checks on the members of ResistanceUSA.
“Hey there, stranger.” He picked up right away.
“How’s tricks?”
“You’ll like ’em. We’re doing better than I thought, and we’re ahead of schedule. One of the guys was able to program an algorithm that’s helped. I’d guess we’re about seventy-five percent done.”
“That’s terrific. What have you got?”
“First of all, a lot of fake accounts. Maybe eight thousand.”
“That many?”
“It happens. Remember when Twitter started purging all those accounts a while back? Well, Facebook needs to do the same thing. Who knows? Maybe they already are.”
“So, the group is more like thirty-five thousand, rather than forty-two?”
“Something like that. We’re still finding stray accounts here and there. People who’ve abandoned them. Things like that.”
“What about criminal records?”
“No surprises there. About thirty percent. What you’d expect. Facebook criminals match the national average.” She could hear the irony in his voice. “The good news is that most of them are minor offenses: DUIs, speeding tickets, drug busts, petty larceny, domestic disturbances.” He paused. “But a small percentage did commit felonies and a few did some serious time. I was going to wait until we’re finished to send you the report, but I can email you what I have. How are things going on your end?”
“I’ve had a major break. If I can prove it, we might be home free.”
“Well done. Anything you care to share?”
“Not at the moment, but do send me whatever you have.” She hesitated. “Any red flags?”
“I’ll have to check. Probably a few.”
“What about Curt Dixon? What did you find on him?”
“Let’s see.” She could hear him clicking the keyboard. “Here we go. A DUI and three speeding tickets.”
“OK. Vic Summerfield?”
“Nothing. I guess we haven’t got to him yet.”
“What about Willie Remson?”
Zach clicked, then went quiet. “Oh, this is good. Guy used to be a hacker. Convicted of fraud and identity theft about eight years ago. Suspended sentence, community service. Nothing since.”
“Interesting. Be sure to email me what you have.”
“Sure.”
“What about Ruth Marriotti?”
After a moment, Zach said, “Nothing. Clean as a whistle.”
She didn’t reply.
“I’ll take that as a ‘thank you, Zach.’ Do you want us to go on? You’ve already paid us. I mean Erica has.”
“May as well. You never know.”
Chapter Sixty-Eight
Vanna returned with a carload of belongings, which Georgia helped unload. Within minutes, the apartment regained its cluttered, lived-in look. This time Georgia didn’t mind. It felt like home.
“Mom wasn’t there,” Vanna said. “I dropped my key off with the building manager.”
“Were her things there?”
Vanna nodded.
“Well, I guess that’s a good sign. If you want her to stay.”
“What do you want?”
“I don’t know,” Georgia said. It was the truth. She’d spent most of her life without her mother, so JoBeth’s sudden presence felt surreal, and the prospect of her staying filled Georgia with unease. She reminded herself that JoBeth rarely stayed in one place for long. Even if she did remain in Chicago for a while, she would undoubtedly pack up and flee when the downward spiral began again. She started to share her thoughts with Vanna, then thought better of it.
“So, listen,” she said. “I’m going out for an hour or two. You’ll be okay here?”
“Sure.” Vanna looked into the empty refrigerator and turned to Georgia with a smile. “Some things never—”
Georgia preempted her. “I’ll stop on the way home for groceries.”
• • •
Armed with a couple of pictures of Ruth she’d printed out from Facebook, Georgia drove back to Camping Unlimited. She wasn’t sure whether Jackie was still there. The salesgirl had been hired as temporary holiday help; it was already the end of February.
The store was as vacant as it had been the other times Georgia had dropped in, which made her wonder how long the place would stay open. She wasn’t sanguine about Jackie’s prospects, either, so she was elated to see the girl, her hair bright purple this time. Georgia thanked the gods or whoever was responsible for karma and hurried to the customer counter.
“Hi, Jackie. How’s it going?”
The girl looked up. She was wearing new earrings and a small nose ring. “Do I know you? Oh. Wait. You look familiar.” Georgia could see her searching her memory. “Right. You’re the detective on the Jarvis thing.” She nervously twisted her earrings. “Is everything okay? I told my family all about you. They were really curious. How can I help?”
Georgia pulled out one of the pictures of Ruth. “Remember when I showed you a photo of a woman who might have bought the yurt for Jarvis, but you didn’t think it was the right woman? Could you take a look at this photo?” She passed it over.
Jackie studied it. Georgia watched as recognition dawned. “That’s her! I’m sure of it. You know how I can tell?”
Georgia shook her head.
“The widow’s peak. I remember she took her hat off when she wrote the check. That’s definitely her.”
“Well done, Jackie. You are a miracle!”
The girl blushed with the praise. “Would you mind telling my boss that? I know they’re deciding whether to keep me on, and, well, I need this job.”
“Of course I will. Listen, I doubt it will come down to this, but I’m going to need a way to contact you. Email, cell, address. Could you write it down?”
“What for?”
“In case we go to trial. You would be a witness.”
“Really?”
“Like I said, it probably won’t happen, but just in case . .
.”
“Wow.” She scribbled her info on a piece of paper and handed it to Georgia.
“Thanks, Jackie. You’re smart, observant, and enthusiastic. Anyone would be lucky to have you working for them.”
Jackie glowed like a candle flame in a dark room.
Georgia trotted back to the car, adrenaline pumping her. She now had proof of a relationship between Jarvis and Ruth. No evidence tying either to the shooting of Dena Baldwin. Yet. That would be her final task, and she knew she had to do it fast.
There was a reason. Dena Baldwin was dead. Jarvis was dead. Beef Jerky, too. Both the Prairie Rats and Ruth Marriotti knew Kitty Jarvis. And they both knew Georgia. They also knew that both Kitty and Georgia were aware of connections between Jarvis, themselves, and Dena Baldwin’s murder. The P-Rats operated on a strict need-to-know basis. They didn’t want anyone on the outside knowing their business. Ruth, too, had gone to great lengths to keep her connection to Jarvis and the shooting on the down low. How much time would pass until either the P-Rats or Ruth—or both—tried to silence anyone whom they thought knew too much? Georgia could take care of herself, but Kitty was up in Minnesota without a cell phone. There was no way to warn her. And if the P-Rats could suss out that “Nicole” was, in reality, Ruth Marriotti, it would be child’s play for them to track Kitty down. Georgia was running out of time.
Chapter Sixty-Nine
The twenty-one-story White Star hotel in downtown Chicago occupied the corner of Michigan Avenue and Balboa. A five-star establishment first built in 1909, it fell into disrepair over time but was eventually restored with many of its original architectural details, including elegant sconces, chandeliers, and brass fittings. Its setting in the Loop made it a desirable location, and it boasted of being the “Hotel for Presidents” for much of its history, which Georgia thought was oddly appropriate. It had also been designated a historical landmark, but its biggest attraction, at least for Georgia, was its unrestricted view across the street to Grant Park. The roof of this hotel was where Jarvis killed Dena Baldwin.
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