Chapter 21
WHITE WATER
Rig disappears up to Chicago, and I don’t see hide or hair of him for two weeks, and my heart aches with everything he’s said to me over the past few days and how serious he was. Marni’s messages drop in every day with versions of:
You have to go!
If you don’t snag him, there’s no hope for the rest of us!
Followed by outright threats:
I’m never speaking to you again if you don’t go to this fight.
I nearly responded to the last one, telling her it’d be a bonus to not be receiving her texts.
So on the afternoon of the fight, I find myself in my old jalopy on I-57 heading north to Chicago, fingers tight on the steering wheel.
Marni is bouncing in her seat by the time we reach the freeway, and Marge, June, and Agnes are tucked up in the back, a plaid blanket over their knees like three old mother hens.
I definitely shouldn’t be doing this, but there was no stopping them.
I have no clue how they found out what was going on, but they must have a hotline to someone in Marco’s organization, most likely Angelo.
It’s amazing the guy manages to keep anything a secret.
When they started looking into buses to Chicago, the idea of three old ladies getting lost, ill, or mugged on their way to an underground fight was too much for me, so I said yes to taking them along.
I’m probably breaking like a hundred rules for caregivers right now.
Let’s just hope the head of the county’s Community Care Program doesn’t catch wind of it and isn’t a big fight fan.
“I haven’t been out of town in years!” Marge exclaims, staring around the Interstate in wonder.
“That used to be McKenzie Autoparts,” June says, pointing at a low-lying building.
“Ooo! Bob McKenzie! What a charmer he was.”
“He couldn’t keep it in his pants,” Marge says. “He slept with the entire town! Well, the female part of it.”
I see the speculative glance June gives her in the mirror, and a reluctant smile curls over my mouth. “A bit like Angelo,” I mutter.
“Is it going to be like this all the way up?” Marni says, glancing over at me.
“Like what?” I ask as she glowers at me.
“He’s not a bad guy, Angelo. It’s just a shame he’s married,” Marni says.
“Who’s married?” June asks, and I smirk at Marni.
“Look, the old garment factory’s gone!” Agnes says.
“Probably knocked down in 1963,” Marni leans over to say in a whisper.
“I heard that,” Marge says.
“Let me look it up on my smartphone,” Agnes adds.
“You have a smartphone?” What the hell? “Since when?”
“Since I told my son I was going to a fight in Chicago, and that he wasn’t persuading me out of it.
I said if I died on the way there or the way back and it was the last thing I did, then at least I’d die a happy woman.
Although I’d prefer to die on the way back after seeing all those half-naked men fighting. ”
“Or get stabbed by a crazy mafia wife,” I mutter.
Marni holds up her hand. “No talk about dying on my watch, please! We are all getting back home in one piece.”
“Yeah, but maybe as cremated ashes in an urn,” mutters Marge. “I want to go out with a bang!” She adds, waving her fist unsteadily in the air. Jesus. It’s like having a geriatric Che Guevara in the back seat.
“Anyway,” Agnes carries on, ignoring her, “my son said he’d buy me a phone and I was to use it if there was any trouble or if I got sick, and then at least we’d get to say goodbye.”
June tuts. “Anyone would think we’re going on a polar expedition! It’s Chicago, ladies! I’m sure they have hospitals and doctors.”
“There’s far too much talk about death for my liking on this road trip,” Marni says in a loud whisper.
“Welcome to my world,” I say. “And at least we’re talking about their deaths and not Rig’s.”
June leans forward and pats my arm. “He’ll be fine. They’re not allowed to kill each other, or so I’ve been told.”
“Maybe just a bit of maiming,” Marge says, rubbing her hands together, and Marni rolls her eyes.
“Like on that MMA Fighting!” Agnes exclaims. “I’ve been watching it all week.
Mr. Dillard from next door plugged a doohickey into the back of my TV.
That’s how you do it now, apparently. Anyway, it’s way more exciting than the cop shows I usually watch.
Better bodies, too. I have no clue why I didn’t do it years ago.
They pin each other to the floor!” She winks in the mirror at me.
“Jesus Christ,” Marni says. “If we survive this without one of these old broads having a coronary, I’ll be a happy woman.”
“This was your idea,” I say.
She tuts. “The old biddies were all you.”
“Not like I had much choice,” I mutter.
“When are we stopping for a cup of tea?” Marge pipes up.
“We’re literally just out of town,” I say. “I’m not stopping for another hour.”
“I’ve got a thermos,” June whispers, rummaging around in the tote bag on her lap that she insisted couldn’t go in the trunk.
Soon we’re all munching on June’s homemade cookies and sipping hot tea. Why do little old ladies like tea so much? I keep thinking I’ll get into it someday.
Marni grins at me as she takes another cookie from June’s outstretched hand. “Now this is living, hon,” she says.
The old ladies have their eyes closed by the time we’re driving through the suburbs of South Chicago.
Marni took over driving a while ago, and I’ve spent the last couple of hours watching the sun set.
Who told me sunsets were caused by pollution?
As the light fades, the city’s lights appear like scattered jewels outside the window.
I catch my reflection in the glass. Is Rig okay?
Is he warming up or sitting somewhere, wondering how bad it’s going to be tonight?
The thought makes me feel queasy. I turn to look at the little old ladies.
“They’re fast asleep,” I say.
“Just as well,” Marni says, looking out at the neighborhood we’re heading into.
“Hon, we live in a hole of a town, but this is worse. Everything’s boarded up and covered in graffiti.
” She huffs and waves a hand at me. “Anyway, look at my phone. Apparently, someone named Karl will meet us close to Kensington Station on the corner of East 115th Street and South Cottage Grove Avenue.”
“Ooo! This is like an episode of Chicago P.D.,” Marge pipes up from the back, and I glance in the mirror at her. She nudges Agnes, who wakes with a start. “Those cop shows are gonna come in handy, after all.”
Sure enough, when we drive under the underpass near the station, it does look like a scene from a cop show.
Two derelict buildings loom over the intersection as Marni pulls up to the curb.
We peer out the windows, but the dark streets are poorly lit.
No one is hanging around waiting to pass on a message. A shiver runs down my spine.
“I don’t like sitting in the dark with three little old ladies in a car. It’s like I’ve got a big white target painted on my roof,” Marni says like she read my mind.
As the last word exits her mouth, a man appears from nowhere at her window and raps on it, and we all jump.
“Jesus Christ,” June says, pressing her hand into her chest.
Marni starts to wind her window down, and I’m just wondering whether that’s a safe thing to do, when I feel a hand on my elbow and something presses into my palm. When I look down, Marge has pushed a pepper spray into my hand. The man says:
“Fight’s being held at the brick warehouse on East 114th Place. 10 p.m. Don’t be late. Entrance is around the back. Battered black door. Password’s annihilation. Don’t take your car, you hear me?”
“But we’ve got …” I start, but he taps the roof a couple of times and takes off in a long loping run down the sidewalk. “… three old ladies to take there,” I say into the empty space where he was standing.
Who the hell came up with that password? I look at the three wrinkled faces in the back. They’re all looking at me with identical smiles like I’ve got some solution to the car problem.
I glance at my watch. It’s 9 p.m. already.
“It’ll be fine,” Marni says, as I scroll through the map on my phone. “We can drop them off and go and find somewhere to park the car.”
When we arrive at the warehouse, the battered black door is easy enough to find, but there’s no one around at all.
We pull off the road into the concrete parking lot surrounded by a chain-link fence, and another man appears suddenly at Marni’s window.
He taps a gun on the glass, looking over his shoulder as he does.
Before I can stop her, Marni winds it down. “You were told no cars,” he growls.
Marni narrows her eyes at him. “We’ve got senior citizens in the back,” she shouts, right in his face.
His expression of comical surprise is almost priceless. He’s obviously not used to women giving him sass when he’s armed. He peers in the back, and his eyes narrow on Marni.
“You insane?” he says.
“I hope so. Better insane than scared of you waving that thing at me.” She reaches out and pushes his gun to one side.
“Fuck. Bitches. You ain’t allowed here. No one’s allowed to hang around here.”
Marni gestures at me. “This is Rig’s woman.”
“I don’t care if she’s Mary fucking Magdalene …”
Another man appears in a leather jacket with another firearm. “Trouble?” he says.
“Bitches.”
The man grins in that creepy way some guys have as he studies us. “They’re always trouble,” he says, reaching out and taking Marni’s face and moving it side to side like he’s inspecting her.
She slaps his hand away. “Get off me, you oily asshole.”
“Who’s Rig?” the first guy says.
“He’s that new fighter from the sticks.” Oily smiles. “He’s going to get annihilated.”
There’s that word again.
“In your dreams,” Agnes mutters from the back seat.
Oily leans his arm against the roof of the car. “Ladies, I’m afraid there’s been a misunderstanding.”
Then Marge appears suddenly behind him, and I swing around to see that the back door is open, and so I miss her hitting him over the head with her bag.
What the fuck is she doing? Oily staggers a bit, dropping his gun and putting both hands on his head as he howls.
Marge darts for the gun at a speed I’ve never seen her move at and brandishes it at guy number one.
“You think I won’t use this? I was shooting squirrels out of trees before you were born!
” she shouts in triumph, holding the gun over her head and firing it in the air.
The kickback causes her to stagger, and she keels over, losing the gun as she falls, and I’m out of my seat in a flash to check she’s okay, but about ten more men with guns come running around the side of the building.
The first guy grabs the gun from the ground.
“You fuckin’ crazy bitch!” he screams as the car is surrounded.
“Uh-oh,” Marni says.
“What the fuck is going on here, Three? I can’t leave you guys for five minutes …”
Three? But when I glance at his hand, I can see he’s lost two of his fingers.
“These fucking bitches appeared from nowhere.”
“We’re here to watch the fight, and I’m happy not to cause any more trouble,” Marge says, holding up her hands as I help her up.
One of the men at the back of the group starts laughing.
“Shut the fuck up,” Three growls.
“She fuckin’ disarmed him!” The guy at the back is howling with laughter now, and several of the other guys are now shuffling their feet and smiling down at the ground.
Oily has straightened up now, scowling. “She fucking took me by surprise, fucking bitch.” His arm flashes out toward Marge, and I don’t know what possesses me, but on instinct I step in front of her at the same time as two men jump on him, and his fist misses me by inches.
“You don’t hit grandmas, Ols.” Ols? His name is actually Oily? Must be Ollie.
“I’ll shoot the motherfucking bitch if she causes me any more trouble.”
The man at the back now has his hands on his knees, bent forward and wheezing like he’s trying to breathe. He straightens and wipes his eyes.
“She’s Rig’s woman,” Marni says. “We’re here to see the fight. We got invites and everything. These two gentlemen seem to think we’re not entitled to be here.”
“These two gentlemen?” The guy at the back roars with laughter again, and all the others start snickering.
“I bet Three and Ols have never been described as gentlemen in their lives,” another man mutters with a broad grin.
The guy at the back steps forward and extends an arm to Marge, who’s hanging on to me for dear life. “Let me escort you ladies inside, and we’ll find you somewhere safe to sit.”
“Three,” he barks. “Take this car around the back and park it in the shed. Make sure you give the keys back to this beautiful lady here …” He gestures at Marni, who flutters her eyelashes at him.
“Marni,” she says, as he scans down her body, a smile playing over his lips.
“Marni, it’s a pleasure to meet you. Any problems tonight, you ask for Konstantin.”
Marni’s never one to miss an opportunity. She steps forward and places her hand on his arm, batting her lashes at him. “Is that Russian?”
The guy at the back chuckles again as Konstantin’s eyes wander all over Marni’s low-cut top and blonde hair.
Jesus Christ, I’m going to have to save her from the Russian mafia this time.
“Let’s get you ladies inside before you cause any more trouble,” Konstantin says.