122: They made surprisingly good time.
Porter glanced over on more than one occasion and caught the speedometer deep in the red, though Sarah insisted that her BMW was police-proof.
As the lights of Chicago came into view, Sarah finally slowed, not because she was worried but because they hit traffic.
“Take exit 26A,” Jane said. She hadn’t said a word for the entire drive.
Porter had tried to get her talk early on, prompting her with leading questions from Bishop’s diary—questions about the Carters, Franklin Kirby and Riggs, her husband, even Bishop—but she said nothing, only looked at him with steely eyes or back out the window at the rolling countryside.
“Chatty Cathy finally speaks,” Sarah said, merging to the right. “Where exactly are we going?”
“Take exit 26A,” she repeated.
“26A, check. Then what?”
She said nothing.
Sarah rolled her eyes. “Fine, but give me enough warning to get in the right lane so we don’t get caught in traffic.”
The city grew near and soon wrapped around them, the tall buildings looming above.
The air looked cold.
Snow had fallen recently, every surface covered in a bright white sheen. Porter knew by morning the snow along the highway would take on a dull gray look, black in some spots, but for now it was crisp and white. His jacket was still in the trunk—there had been no need for it in New Orleans. Sarah was still in short sleeves.
The BMW slowed, and Sarah followed the edge of the off-ramp as it twisted down and below the highway. The plows had been through, but he cautioned her anyway, unsure of how much experience she had driving in these conditions.
“At the bottom of the ramp, take Independence and follow it south to Hamilton.”
Porter knew the area. They were heading toward West Garfield and K-town. “This is not a good neighborhood.”
“We’re not here to sightsee. We’re also late.”
“It’s two minutes past eight,” Porter told her.
“Anson was very clear.”
“I don’t like this,” Sarah said, her eyes on the various men standing at street corners, eyeing them as they drove past.
South Independence Boulevard made a slight jog to the right, then became North Hamilton Avenue.
“Make a left on Washington.”
Sarah did as she was told.
“There. Pull in there. Pull around back.”
Porter pressed his head against the window and looked up. “This is the Guyon Hotel, isn’t it? I thought they demoed this place years ago.”
Jane stared out the window like she’d caught sight of an old friend. “Many people have tried, but she’s a fickle bitch. Just swats the developers away like mosquitoes. The federal government declared it a historic landmark in ’85. She’s not going anywhere.”
Sarah pulled into the lot at the back and shifted the car into Park. “Now what?”
“Now, we go inside.”
“How? It’s boarded up.”
Porter studied the building. Sarah was right. Plywood covered every opening from the ground level to the fifth floor. The fifth was out of reach, the fire escapes long ago removed. A chainlink fence also surrounded the structure. Places like this were a haven for gangs and the homeless.
“As I’ve already pointed out, we’re late. Let me out of this car.”