MURDER TAKES TIME

Chapter 49

Indianapolis

20 Months Ago

I drove the car down to Philly and left it at the airport. Then I took a cab to Center City, and another one to a rental car center, where I got an economy class for two weeks, all under a different name. From there, I headed west to Indianapolis. With a decent day of driving, I’d be there for dinner.

I thought about a lot of things on the way out. Most of all, about how my life had changed and why I’d risked everything for a woman I didn’t know. After much philosophizing, I blamed it on the church and Sister Mary Thomas. They were the ones who planted the seeds of guilt in me.

By the time I got to Indy, Gina was a wreck, trembling all the time, and looking over her shoulder every few minutes. It took me a while to calm her. The next day we went to Chicago and got her two new identities—Kathy Mynnocki and Mary Simmons. She didn’t like the names, but she wasn’t too unhappy with them. The worst thing was, I told her she couldn’t teach anymore; they’d be looking for all the things she’d done in her former life. 

We went back to Indianapolis and rented her a small house. Then I gave her instructions on how she’d have to live her life. She cried when I left. It hurt, but I knew I had done the right thing. Indianapolis was a good place to hide her: big city, but growing fast; airport with quick, easy connections to a lot of nearby cities; and best of all, four interstates to jump on and be damn near anywhere in short order. Within four hours she could be in Chicago, Cincinnati, Cleveland, Detroit, Louisville, or St. Louis. As I drove back to New York, I realized I not only felt sorry for her, I kind of liked her. 

At times like this I envied Bugs, out with different women all the time. I couldn’t do that. I was always looking for that one special someone. The problem was, none of them were Angela.

Gina wasn’t Angela either, but…something was different. Maybe I just wanted her more. Maybe it was empathy—both of us loners and without family. I picked my car up at the Philly airport, then headed for home. As I drove over the Walt Whitman bridge I reached for a cigarette that wasn’t there, then shook my head. I had to get this shit out of my mind. If Tito found out she was alive, then I was dead.