Nobody's Angel (18 page)

Did she have a real lover somewhere? Maybe she had a pimp. Had he come to visit?

It suddenly hit me that Relita had become a whore when she was younger than my daughter was now.

Laura had still sounded like a little girl on the phone, but what did I know? I'd let my ex take her away and now I was a father in name only. I hadn't seen her in seven years, almost half her life, and I'd agreed not to see her for another six, until she turned twenty-one.

That would be thirteen years with no contact. Would she even remember me? Would she hate me? Would she even care? I would be out there like Floyd looking for his Brenda, thirty years after the last dance.

After a while Relita's eyes closed completely and her breathing quieted. I touched her gently on the shoulder. "Take care of yourself, kid," I said, and I released her hands and she tucked them back under her chin, moved around a bit and settled into position.

I stood up and looked out the window.

From twelve stories up it was easy to be fooled by the city's rain-swept beauty, by the millions of lights twinkling in the night. But all I had to do was turn my head to see the truth: a child-whore asleep in her hospital bed. It could rain forever and the city would never be clean.

Outside in the hall the roommate was waiting along with a young white woman dressed in a dark blue business suit. The woman held a clipboard in one hand and a pen in the other. "Could I see some identification, please?" she asked, the pen ready to write.

"Huh?"

"I need your name," she said. She was wearing a name tag which identified her as Dr. Margaret Gallos.

"What for?"

"We have to have the names of anyone visiting a minor."

"I just stopped to say hello."

"She doesn't need you taking advantage of her," the roommate said loudly.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I asked.

"Didn't you get enough already?" she shouted.

"You don't know nothing, lady," I said as I walked around them. "If it wasn't for me she'd probably be dead."

Gallos hurried after me. "You're the cabdriver, aren't you?"

"What if I am?" I asked, and I kept walking.

She followed along. "Look, I apologize for jumping to conclusions. I'm Dr. Gallos. I've been assigned to work with Relita but it's been extremely difficult. She's very averse to talking about her ordeal. She's very averse to talking about anything, actually. But she did mention you." Gallos caught up with me and walked alongside. "Would you please stop and talk to me?"

I kept going, then stopped by the elevators and pushed the down button.

"I'm a psychologist," Gallos continued. "We have a program here to help victims of violence. It's just a pilot program right now, but we're trying. We're trying to help. Relita thinks you're quite special. It might be beneficial if you continued to visit."

"Lady, let me ask you something," I said and turned to face her. "Do I look like any kind of angel?"

"It doesn't matter what you look like to me."

A bell chimed as an elevator arrived. I stepped aboard.

"The last thing I want to do is chase you away."

I didn't answer and the door began to close.

"What have you got to lose?" Gallos asked. The door closed and I rode non-stop to the lobby.

I spent the next several hours fighting heavy traffic--the wipers beating away, the defroster barely staying ahead of the fog--listening to a string of gloomy passengers complain about the weather.

"Driver, is this rain ever going to stop?"

"Lady, if I could predict the weather, you think I'd be driving a cab for a living?"

I'd never noticed how many vans there were. And most of them seemed to have bumper stickers. I BRAKE FOR ANIMALS. I BRAKE FOR GARAGE SALES. HONK IF YOU LOVE JESUS. HONK IF YOU ARE JESUS. TRUST JESUS. TRUST JESUS BUT CUT THE CARDS.

WYOMING. HOLY HILL. WALL DRUGS.

I'D RATHER BE SAILING. FLYING. DRINKING. FISHING.

SO MANY PEDESTRIANS/SO LITTLE TIME. IF YOU DON'T LIKE THE WAY I DRIVE STAY OFF THE SIDEWALK. I LOVE SOBER DRIVERS. HIT ME - I NEED THE MONEY.

MY CHILD IS AN HONOR STUDENT. MY KID CAN BEAT UP YOUR HONOR STUDENT. MY CHILD WAS INMATE OF THE MONTH AT COOK COUNTY JAIL. And on and on and on.

There were bumper stickers for radio stations, sports teams and political candidates. But I couldn't find the right combination; a yellow-backed sticker on the left door and a chrome ladder on the right.

Twice I made U-turns to check out vans heading in the opposite direction, and both times I turned back around.

"Driver, where the hell are you going?"

"Sorry, forgot you were back there."

I went down North Avenue. There weren't any girls around. It was just an ordinary, industrial street, shutting down for the night.

I went over the river and then stopped for the light at Clybourn. I was in the same spot as the night before, but the girl was nowhere around. There was no shelter at the bus stop, just a lopsided advertising bench, exposed to the rain.

I AM THE RESURRECTION AND THE LIFE, the bench proclaimed in faded letters. AND WHOEVER BELIEVES IN ME WILL NEVER DIE.

The rain finally stopped about nine o'clock. A few minutes later, an older guy in a tweed topcoat opened the door and held up a smoldering cigar. "Can I smoke this thing in there?"

"Sure," I said, and he slid in. "Where to?"

"You know Pelly's?"

"On Irving Park?"

"That's the place." He slurred the words.

Yeah, I knew Pelly's, a dark steakhouse-piano bar miles off the beaten path.

Once upon a time it had been our favorite spot. Our first visit had been one of those nights you always remember. After we married it became our special place. We'd gone there for just about every anniversary, every birthday, any romantic occasion.

But our last visit had been one of those nights you try not to remember. It was the night I got the first hint of where we were heading, the beginning of the end. And I hadn't been inside since.

My passenger seemed lost in thought as we headed northwest. The sweet smell of the cigar filled the cab and, for the first time in years, I remembered some of the good times we'd had.

"This place still good?" I asked as we pulled in front.

"Wonderful joint," the guy said, handing me a twenty. "Been coming here for years."

"I used to come myself," I said.

"Remember Clifford?" The guy leaned over the front seat. The scent of cognac mingled with the cigar smoke.

"Who's that?"

"Big, tall kid, used to be bartender."

"That rings a bell," I lied. The truth was, I'd spent very little time at the bar.

They'd had several private booths back then. It was a great place to hold hands and look into each other's eyes--or do whatever the hell you wanted. You could sit at the bar anywhere in town. This was the place for romance.

"My son-in-law," the guy said sadly. "He broke my heart, that kid. But I'd still love him. Swear to god, I'd still love him."

I handed him his change and he dropped a five over the front seat. "Where's Clifford when I need him?" he asked the waiting doorman.

"Clifford?" the doorman said. "Clifford's been gone for years." He closed my door then hurried ahead and opened the door to Pelly's. A piano was playing softly, red lights flickered in a warm, enticing glow.

I sat there a moment, memories swirling in the cigar smoke, torn between remembering and forgetting.

The doorman walked around to my window. He was an older black guy, and he'd been at Pelly's as long as I could remember; parking cars, opening doors and witnessing enough scenes and bitter words that I was sure ours were long forgotten. "If you wanna wait, do me a favor and back it up a bit," he said. "They'll probably  Hey, where you been? I ain't seen you in years."

"Yeah," I said, "I don't get around much anymore."

He snapped his fingers, pointed, and sang: "Missed the Saturday dance " He had the song down cold. I took my foot off the brake, waved, and left him singing.

I drove a few blocks, then turned on Avondale without really thinking, following the old route home.

"Yo!" I was sitting at a red light on Pulaski, still lost in a daydream, when I looked up to find two kids heading straight for my cab.

They were probably in their mid-teens. One was black and one was Puerto Rican. My immediate reaction was to just get the hell out of there. But then I decided, they weren't quite red-light-running material.

The Puerto Rican was tall and skinny, wearing one of those hooded sports jackets with the hood down. The black kid was a little fire hydrant of a guy. He was wearing dark, baggy pants, belted tight about four inches below his waist. How could a kid who looked so funny be dangerous?

"Can you take us to Armitage?" the black kid asked as they climbed in.

"And then what?" I asked.

"Central Park, right by the corner, okay?" the same kid asked nervously.

"Sure," I said, and I hit the meter and started away.

"It's already a dollar twenty," the Puerto Rican said. He sounded shocked.

"Plus that fifty cents," the black kid pointed out the extra passenger charge.

"Motherfucker was cold," the Puerto Rican said.

"He was just playing with you, man," the black kid said.

I looked in the mirror and they'd both disappeared. "Hey, what the fuck's going on?" I turned around and they were slouched as low as you could go, their heads way below the window line.

"Hey, we're cool, man." The black kid held up two empty hands. "We're cool."

"What's going on?" I asked again.

"Nothing man," the Puerto Rican mumbled. "Why's everybody fucking with us?"

"Hey, man, there ain't nobody following us, is there?" the black kid asked.

I checked the mirror and there were two cars behind us. They weren't too close but they weren't very far either. I pulled to the side and let them pass.

"What you doin', man?"

"I ain't gettin' in the middle of your shit," I said as I sped up.

"We got money," the Puerto Rican said.

"There ain't no yellow Toyota back there, is there?" the black kid asked.

I shook my head.

"See, we was waitin' for the bus," the black kid explained, "and this gangster dude drives by real slow, and then backs up. 'I like your jacket,' he tells my friend. You sure there ain't nobody back there?"

"I'll let you know if I see any yellow cars," I said. "In the meantime, you guys mind sittin' up just a little?"

They humored me for a few blocks, then crouched low again.

The street curved and went under a railroad viaduct. I turned left at Armitage and drove through a dark factory stretch and then under another viaduct.