“How serious are you about being in danger?”

I watched Murray drain his stein and signal for a third. He weighs two-forty, maybe two-fifty—he can absorb it. I stuck with coffee—I wanted my head as clear as possible for Jurshak.

“More than I like. Someone left me for dead five days ago. Two of the same hoods were waiting outside my apartment on Friday. And today Gustav Humboldt sounded strangely like Peter O’Toole trying to get his barons to do in Becket. It’s pretty real.”

Of course Murray wanted to know the club I had on Jurshak, but I was absolutely determined not to let that get public. We fought about it until one-fifteen, when I got up and laid a five on the table and headed out. Murray hollered after me, but I hoped to be on a southbound bus before he could extricate himself and follow.

A 147 bus was just closing its doors as I reached the top of the stairs. The driver, a rare humanitarian, opened them again when he saw me running for the curb. Art had said two-thirty instead of two—I just wanted to make sure he didn’t show up early with some kind of armed escort. I hardly knew young Art and I sure didn’t trust him—he might have lied to me about fooling his father. Or maybe Big Art didn’t trust his kid, either, and discounted the story. Just in case, I wanted to get there ahead of a trap.

I rode down to Jackson and walked the three blocks east to the fountain. In the summer Buckingham Fountain is the showpiece of the lakefront. Then it’s shrouded by trees and crowded with tourists. In the winter, with the foliage dead and the water turned off, it makes a good spot to talk. Few people visit it, and those who do can be seen a good way off.

Today Grant Park was desolate under the dull winter sky. Empty potato-chip bags and whiskey bottles mixed in with the dead leaves provided the only signs of human presence in the area. I retreated to the rose garden on the fountain’s south side and perched on the base of one of the statues at its corners. I stuck the Smith & Wesson in my jacket pocket with my thumb resting on the safety.

A light drizzle kept up intermittently during the afternoon. Despite the relative warmth of the winter air, I was chilled through from sitting still in the damp. I hadn’t worn gloves so that I could handle the gun more readily, but by the time Jurshak showed up my fingers were so numb, I’m not sure I could have fired.

Around a quarter to three a limo stopped on Lake Shore Drive to deposit the alderman and a companion. The limo moved on up the drive to Monroe, where it circled and came to a halt about a quarter mile from the fountain. When I was sure no one was getting out to take a bead, I scrambled down from my perch and made my way back to the park.