Rebecca Caruso

"Can we slow down?" I pleaded, enunciating my words with precision, hoping that Earl would comprehend.

With a firm grip on the seatbelt, I held on for dear life as Earl, channeling his inner Vin Diesel, expertly maneuvered through several city blocks. He skillfully avoided red lights, police officers, and pedestrians, as if he had a sixth sense for impending obstacles.

"The faster I get you home, hon," the old man commented, his words devoid of emotion but delivered with a distinct South-side accent, "the faster I can get back to Marco."

"You speak English?" I blurted out, realizing for the first time that I had assumed he was a recent immigrant.

He chuckled sinisterly and took a long drag from his e-cigarette.

Losing my grip, I slid across the smooth leather seats as Earl made a sharp right turn onto Wacker Drive. "Fuck--"

Glancing at him through the rearview window, I caught a glimpse of his smile at my discomfort. I rolled my eyes, feeling like the punchline of an ongoing inside joke between him, Marco, and the whims of fate.

"So, hon," he spoke nonchalantly, without missing a beat, "where are we going?"

"West," I replied hastily, seizing the brief moment of steady driving on the LaSalle bridge over the Chicago River to secure and click my seatbelt in place. "Avondale neighborhood."

He gave an approving nod before continuing, "Youse got an address ?"

"Oh, just drop me off at Kosciuszko Park," I cautiously mentioned as I do with most cab drivers. "You know it?"

"Yeah, I know it. Sure yous don't want me to drop yous off in front of your home? It's all dark now, them thugs might be about."

I was determined not to let this guy know where I lived. "Just take me to Kosciuszko Park, please."

Earl shrugged in displeasure. "Your choice."

The adrenaline rush subsided, giving way to a sense of tranquility enhanced by the soft glow of streetlights and the distant hum of midnight radio dubstep. My eyelids grew heavier...

I quickly grabbed my phone to stay alert. Apart from the two unheard voicemails from Robert, which I intentionally ignored, there was an additional text message notification that I had missed...

Saturday, Sep. 1, 12:03 AM
Raphael:
What are doing with Angelo Montanari's son?

Glancing at the timestamp, I hadn't anticipated him being awake at this hour, let alone responding to my picture message so promptly.

Swiftly, I fired off a reply, eager for some insight into the events of the evening: You know the guy?

Almost instantaneously, the three dots materialized, indicating his imminent response.

12:34 AM
Raphael :
You don't?!

Care to fill me in?  I replied back.

12:35 AM
Raphael :
I'll do you one better.

The three dots momentarily appeared, accompanied by a Google search result link about Angelo Montenari.

"Kosciuszko Park," Earl casually mentioned as we exited the highway. The car pulled up to a parallel spot near the recreational park house. "Can I give you a word of advice?"

"Sure," I responded, unfastening my seatbelt. Why not?

"A smart girl like you can do better. You don't want to get involved with Marco."

I chuckled before opening the passenger door. "Oh, I don't plan on it."

From being a considerate stranger to an accomplice in murder, I had reached my limit with anything connected to Marco Montanari or the events of this evening.

Taking in a deep breath of the pleasant evening air, I stepped onto the pavement of reality. "Thank you for the ride. Tell him I said 'It was... an interesting night.' "

"Dobranoc uparta kobieto," he commented with a genuine smile as I shut the door. 

"I have no idea what that means," I mused disappointedly to myself as he drove away.

The one-block walk home was uneventful. I wasn't fazed by the dark; walking home alone was something I had done countless times. Growing up in the pre-tech era, I was used to navigating through the night without the glow of a smartphone to light my path. It was just another normal evening for me.

The architectural bungalows and cottages in the neighborhood appeared dreary in the dim light, except for two: Christopher's and my father's. I knew why Christopher was still awake, but I honestly didn't care about Robert's reason.

As soon as I stepped inside our home, a loud floor creak caught my attention. Christopher walked ahead, his expression filled with concern...

****
****