在路上 英文版-17

house and he went to sleep. Everything was in a horrible mess, all of Denver, my woman friend, cars,children, poor Frankie, the living room splattered with beer and cans, and I tried to sleep. A cricketkept me awake for some time. At night in this part of the West the stars, as I had seen them inWyoming, are big as roman candles and as lonely as the Prince of the Dharma who’s lost hisancestral grove and journeys across the spaces between points in the handle of the Big Dipper, tryingto find it again. So they slowly wheeled the night, and then long before actual sunrise the great redlight appeared far over the dun bleak land toward West Kansas and the birds took up their trillabove Denver.1308Horrible nauseas possessed us in the morning. First thing Dean did was go out across thecornfield to see if the car would carry us East. I told him no, but he went anyway. He came backpale. .Man, that’s a detective’s car and every precinct in town knows my fingerprints from the yearthat I stole five hundred cars. You see what I do with them, I just wanta ride, man! I gotta go!Listen, we’re going to wind up in jail if we don’t get out of here this very instant...You’re damned right,. I said, and we began packing as fast as our hands could go. Danglingneckties and shirttails, we said quick good-bys to our sweet little family and stumbled off toward theprotective road where nobody would know us. Little Janet was crying to see us, or me, or whateverit was, go - and Frankie was courteous, and I kissed her and apologized..He sure is a crazy one,. she said. .Sure reminds me of my husband that run away. Just exactlythe same guy. I sure hope my Mickey don’t grow up that way, they all do now..And I said good-by to little Lucy, who had her pet beetle in her hand, and little Jimmy wasasleep. All this in the space of seconds, in a lovely Sunday morning dawn, as we stumbled off withour wretched baggage. We hurried. Every minute we expected a cruising car to appear from arounda country bend and come sloping for us..If that woman with the shotgun ever finds out, we’re cooked,. said Dean. .We must get a cab.Then we’re safe.. We were about to wake up a farm family to use their phone, but the dog drove usaway. Every minute things became more dangerous; the coupe would be found wrecked in thecornfield by an early-rising country man. One lovely old lady let us use her phone finally, and wecalled a downtown Denver cab, but he didn’t come. We stumbled on down the road. Early-morningtraffic began, every car looking like a cruiser. Then we suddenly saw the cruiser coming and I knewit was the end of my life as I had known it and that it was entering a new and horrible stage of jailsand iron sorrows. But the cruiser was our taxi, and from that moment on we flew east.At the travel bureau there was a tremendous offer for someone to drive a ‘47 Cadillac limousineto Chicago. The owner had been driving up from Mexico with his family and got tired and put themall on a train. All he wanted was identification and for the car to get there. My papers assured himeverything would come off right. I told him not to worry. I told Dean, .And don’t scrounge with thiscar.. Dean was jumping up and down with excitement to see it. We had to wait an hour. We lay onthe grass near the church where in 1947 I had passed some time with panhandling hobos after seeingRita Bettencourt home, and there I fell asleep from sheer horror exhaustion with my face to theafternoon birds. In fact they were playing organ music somewhere. But Dean hustled around town.He talked up an acquaintance with a waitress in a luncheonette, made a date to take her driving in hisCadillac that afternoon, and came back to wake me with the news. Now I felt better. I rose to thenew complications.When the Cadillac arrived, Dean instantly drove off with it .to get gas,. and the travel-bureauman looked at me and said, .When’s he coming back? The passengers are all ready to go.. Heshowed me two Irish boys from an Eastern Jesuit school waiting with their suitcases on the benches..He just went for gas. He’ll be right back.. I cut down to the corner and watched Dean as hekept the motor running for the waitress, who had been changing in her hotel room; in fact I could seeher from where I stood, in front of her mirror, primping and fixing her silk stockings, and I wished Icould go along with them. She came running out and jumped in the Cadillac. I wandered back toreassure the travel-bureau boss and the passengers. From where I stood in the door I saw a faintflash of the Cadillac crossing Cleveland Place with Dean, T-shirted and joyous, fluttering his hands131and talking to the girl and hunching over the wheel to go as she sat sadly and proudly beside him.They went to a parking lot in broad daylight, parked near the brick wall at the back (a lot Dean hadworked in once), and there, he claims, he made it with her, in nothing flat; not only that butpersuaded her to follow us east as soon as she had her pay on Friday, come by bus, and meet us atIan MacArthur’s pad on Lexington Avenue in New York. She agreed to come; her name wasBeverly. Thirty minutes and Dean roared back, deposited the girl at her hotel, with kisses, farewells,promises, and zoomed right up to the travel bureau to pick up the crew..Well, it’s about time!. said the Broadway Sam travel-bureau boss. .I thought you’d gone offwith that Cadillac...It’s my responsibility,. I said, .don’t worry. - and said that because Dean was in such obviousfrenzy everybody could guess his madness. Dean became businesslike and assisted the Jesuit boyswith their baggage. They were hardly seated, and I had hardly waved good-by to Denver, before hewas off, the big motor thrumming with immense birdlike power. Not two miles out of Denver thespeedometer broke because Dean was pushing well over no miles an hour..Well, no speedometer, I won’t know how fast I’m going. I’ll just ball that jack to Chicago andtell by time.. It didn’t seem we were even going seventy but all the cars fell from us like dead flies onthe straightaway highway leading up to Greeley. .Reason why we’re going northeast is because, Sal,we must absolutely visit Ed Wall’s ranch in Sterling, you’ve got to meet him and see his ranch andthis boat cuts so fast we can make it without any time trouble and get to Chicago long before thatman’s train.. Okay, I was for it. It began to rain but Dean never slackened. It was a beautiful bigcar, the last of the old-style limousines, black, with a big elongated body and whitewall tires andprobably bulletproof windows. The Jesuit boys - St. Bonaventura - sat in the back, gleeful and gladto be underway, and they had no idea how fast we were going. They tried to talk but Dean saidnothing and took off his T-shirt and drove barechested. .Oh, that Beverly is a sweet gone little gal she’sgoing to join me in New York - we’re going to get married as soon as I can get divorce papersfrom Camille - everything’s jumping, Sal, and we’re off. Yes!. The faster we left Denver the better Ifelt, and we were doing it fast. It grew dark when we turned off the highway at Junction and hit a dirtroad that took us across dismal East Colorado plains to Ed Wall’s ranch in the middle of CoyoteNowhere. But it was still raining and the mud was slippery and Dean slowed to seventy, but I toldhim to slow even more or we’d slide, and he said, .Don’t worry, man, you know me...Not this time,. I said. .You’re really going much too fast.. And he was flying along there on thatslippery mud and just as I said that we hit a complete left turn in the highway and Dean socked thewheel over to make it but the big car skidded in the grease and wobbled hugely..Look out!. yelled Dean, who didn’t give a damn and wrestled with his Angel a moment, and weended up backass in the ditch with the front out on the road. A great stillness fell over everything.We heard the whining wind. We were in the middle of the wild prairie. There was a farmhouse aquarter-mile up the road. I couldn’t stop swearing, I was so mad and disgusted with Dean. He saidnothing and went off to the farmhouse in the rain, with a coat, to look for help..Is he your brother?. the boys asked in the back seat. .He’s a devil with a car, isn’t he? - andaccording to his story he must be with the women...He’s mad,. I said, .and yes, he’s my brother.. I saw Dean coming back with the farmer in histractor. They hooked chains on and the farmer hauled us out of the ditch. The car was muddybrown, a whole fender was crushed. The farmer charged us five dollars. His daughters watched inthe rain. The prettiest, shyest one hid far back in the field to watch and she had good reason becauseshe was absolutely and finally the most beautiful girl Dean and I ever saw in all our lives.She was about sixteen, and had Plains complexion like wild roses, and the bluest eyes, the most132lovely hair, and the modesty and quickness of a wild antelope. At every look from us she flinched.She stood there with the immense winds that blew clear down from Saskatchewan knocking her hairabout her lovely head like shrouds, living curls of them. She blushed and blushed.We finished our business with the farmer, took one last look at the prairie angel, and drove off,slower now, till dark came and Dean said Ed Wall’s ranch was dead ahead. .Oh, a girl like thatscares me,. I said. .I’d give up everything and throw myself on her mercy and if she didn’t want meI’d just as simply go and throw myself off the edge of the world.. The Jesuit boys giggled. Theywere full of corny quips and Eastern college talk and had nothing on their bird-beans except a lot ofill-understood Aquinas for stuffing for their pepper. Dean and I paid absolutely no attention to them.As we crossed the muddy plains he told stories about his cowboy days, he showed us the stretch ofroad where he spent an entire morning riding; and where he’d done fence-mending as soon as we hitWall’s property, which was immense; and where old Wall, Ed’s father, used to come clattering onthe rangeland grass chasing a heifer and howling, .Git im, git im, goddammit!. .He had to have anew car every six months,. said Dean. .He just couldn’t care. When a stray got away from us he’ddrive right after it as far as the nearest waterhole and then get out and run after it on foot. Countedevery cent he ever made and put it in a pot. A mad old rancher. I’ll show you some of his oldwrecks near the bunkhouse. This is where I came on probation after my last hitch in a joint. This iswhere I lived when I wrote those letters you saw to Chad King.. We turned off the road and woundacross a path through the winter pasture. A mournful group of whitefaced cows suddenly milledacross our headlights. .There they are! Wall’s cows! We’ll never be able to get through them. We’llhave to get out and whoop em up! Hee-hee-hee!!. But we didn’t have to do that and only inchedalong through them, sometimes gently bumping as they milled and mooed like a sea around the cardoors. Beyond we saw the light of Ed Wall’s ranch house. Around this lonely light stretchedhundreds of miles of plains.The kind of utter darkness that falls on a prairie like that is Inconceivable to an Easterner. Therewere no stars, no moon, no light whatever except the light of Mrs. Wall’s kitchen. What lay beyondthe shadows of the yard was an endless view of the world that you wouldn’t be able to see till dawn.After knocking on the door and calling out in the dark for Ed Wall, who was milking cows in thebarn, I took a short careful walk into that darkness, about twenty feet and no more. I thought I heardcoyotes. Wall said it was probably one of his father’s wild horses whinnying in the distance. Ed Wallwas about our age, tall, rangy, spike-toothed, laconic. He and Dean used to stand around on CurtisStreet corners and whistle at girls. Now he took us graciously into his gloomy, brown, unused parlorand fished around till he found dull lamps and lit them and said to Dean, .What in the hell happenedto yore thumb?..I socked Marylou and it got infected so much they had to amputate the end of it...What in the hell did you go and do that for?. I could see he used to be Dean’s older brother. Heshook his head; the milk pail was still at his feet. .You always been a crackbrained sonofabitchanyhow..Meanwhile his young wife prepared a magnificent spread in the big ranch kitchen. She apologizedfor the peach ice cream: .It ain’t nothin but cream and peaches froze up together.. Of course it wasthe only real ice cream I ever had in my whole life. She started sparsely and ended up abundantly; aswe ate, new things appeared on the table. She was a well-built blonde but like all women who live inthe wide spaces she complained a little of the boredom. She enumerated the radio programs sheusually listened to at this time of night. Ed Wall sat just staring at his hands. Dean ate voraciously. Hewanted me to go along with him in the fiction that I owned the Cadillac, that I was a very rich manand that he was my friend and chauffeur. It made no impression on Ed Wall.133Every time the stock made sounds in the barn he raised his head to listen..Well, I hope you boys make it to New York.. Far from believing that tale about my owning theCadillac, he was convinced Dean had stolen it. We stayed at the ranch about an hour. Ed Wall hadlost faith in Dean just like Sam Brady - he looked at him warily when he looked. There were riotousdays in the past when they had stumbled around the streets of Laramie, Wyoming, arm-in-arm whenthe haying was over, but all this was dead and gone.Dean hopped in his chair convulsively. .Well yes, well yes, and now I think we’d better be cuttingalong because we gotta be in Chicago by tomorrow night and we’ve already wasted several hours..The college boys thanked Wall graciously and we were off again. I turned to watch the kitchen lightrecede in the sea of night. Then I leaned ahead.1349In no time at all we were back on the main highway and that night I saw the entire state ofNebraska unroll before my eyes. A hundred and ten miles an hour straight through, an arrow road,sleeping towns, no traffic, and the Union Pacific streamliner falling behind us in the moonlight. Iwasn’t frightened at all that night; it was perfectly legitimate to go no and talk and have all theNebraska towns -Ogallala, Gothenburg, Kearney, Grand Island, Columbus -unreel withdreamlike rapidity as we roared ahead and talked. It was a magnificent car; it could hold the roadlike a boat holds on water. Gradual curves were its singing ease. .Ah, man, what a dreamboat,.sighed Dean. .Think if you and I had a car like this what we could do. Do you know there’s a roadthat goes down Mexico and all the way to Panama? - and maybe all the way to the bottom of SouthAmerica where the Indians are seven feet tall and eat cocaine on the mountainside? Yes! You and I,Sal, we’d dig the whole world with a car like this because, man, the road must eventually lead to thewhole world. Ain’t nowhere else it can go - right? Oh, and are we going to cut around old Chi withthis thing! Think of it, Sal, I’ve never been to Chicago in all my life, never stopped...We’ll come in there like gangsters in this Cadillac!..Yes! And girls! We can pick up girls, in fact, Sal, I’ve decided to make extra-special fast timeso we can have an entire evening to cut around in this thing. Now you just relax and I’ll ball the jackall the way...Well, how fast are you going now?..A steady one-ten I figure - you wouldn’t notice it. We’ve still got all Iowa in the daytime andthen I’ll make that old Illinois in nothing flat.. The boys fell asleep and we talked and talked all night.It was remarkable how Dean could go mad and then suddenly continue with his soul - which Ithink is wrapped up in a fast car, a coast to reach, and a woman at the end of the road - calmly andsanely as though nothing had happened. .I get like that every time in Denver now - I can’t make thattown any more. Gookly, gooky, Dean’s a spooky. Zoom!. I told him I had been over this Nebraskaroad before in ‘47. He had too. .Sal, when I was working for the New Era Laundry in Los Angeles,nineteen forty-four, falsifying my age, I made a trip to Indianapolis Speedway for the expresspurpose of seeing the Memorial Day classic hitch, hiking by day and stealing cars by night to maketime. Also I had a twenty-dollar Buick back in LA, my first car, it couldn’t pass the brake and lightinspection so I decided I needed an out-of-state license to operate the car without arrest so wentthrough here to get the license. As I was hitchhiking through one of these very towns, with the platesconcealed under my coat, a nosy sheriff who thought I was pretty young to be hitchhiking accostedme on the main drag. He found the plates and threw me in the two-cell jail with a county delinquentwho should have been in the home for the old since he couldn’t feed himself (the sheriff’s wife fedhim) and sat through the day drooling and slobbering. After investigation, which included corny thingslike a fatherly quiz, then an abrupt turnabout to frighten me with threats, a comparison of myhandwriting, et cetera, and after I made the most magnificent speech of my life to get out of it,concluding with the confession that I was lying about my car-stealing past and was only looking formy paw who was a farmhand hereabouts, he let me go. Of course I missed the races. The followingfall I did the same thing again to see the Notre Dame-California game in South Bend, Indiana troublenone this time and, Sal, I had just the money for the ticket and not an extra cent and didn’teat anything all up and back except for what I could panhandle from all kinds of crazy cats I met onthe road and at the same time gun gals. Only guy in the United States of America that ever went toso much trouble to see a ball-game..135I asked him the circumstances of his being in LA in 1944. .I was arrested in Arizona, the jointabsolutely the worst joint I’ve ever been in. I had to escape and pulled the greatest escape in my life,speaking of escapes, you see, in a general way. In the woods, you know, and crawling, and swamps-up around that mountain country. Rubber hoses and the works and accidental so-called deathfacing me I had to cut out of those woods along the ridge so as to keep away from trails and pathsand roads. Had to get rid of my joint clothes and sneaked the neatest theft of a shirt and pants from agas station outside Flagstaff, arriving LA two days later clad as gas attendant and walked to the firststation I saw and got hired and got myself a room and changed name (Lee Buliay) and spent anexciting year in LA, including a whole gang of new friends and some really great girls, that seasonending when we were all driving on Hollywood Boulevard one night and I told my buddy to steer thecar while I kissed my girl -I was at the wheel, see - and he didn’t hear me and we ransmack into apost but only going twenty and I broke my nose. You’ve seen before my nose - the crookedGrecian curve up here. After that I went to Denver and met Marylou in a soda fountain that spring.Oh, man, she was only fifteen and wearing jeans and just waiting for someone to pick her up. Threedays three nights of talk in the Ace Hotel, third floor, southeast corner room, holy memento roomand sacred scene of my days - she was so sweet then, so young, hmm, ahh! But hey, look downthere in the night thar, hup, hup, a buncha old bums by a fire by the rail, damn me.. He almostslowed down. .You see, I never know whether my father’s there or not.. There were some figuresby the tracks, reeling in front of a woodfire. .I never know whether to ask. He might be anywhere..We drove on. Somewhere behind us or in front of us in the huge night his father lay drunk under abush, and no doubt about it - spittle on his chin, water on his pants, molasses in his ears, scabs on hisnose, maybe blood in his hair and the moon shining down on him.I took Dean’s arm. .Ah, man, we’re sure going home now.. New York was going to be hispermanent home for the first time. He jiggled all over; he couldn’t wait..And think, Sal, when we get to Pennsy we’ll start hearing that gone Eastern bop on the diskjockeys. Geeyah, roll, old boat, roll!. The magnificent car made the wind roar; it made the plainsunfold like a roll of paper; it cast hot tar from itself with deference - an imperial boat. I opened myeyes to a fanning dawn; we were hurling up to it. Dean’s rocky dogged face as ever bent over thedashlight with a bony purpose of its own..What are you thinking, Pops?..Ah-ha, ah-ha, same old thing, y’know - gurls gurls gurls..I went to sleep and woke up to the dry, hot atmosphere of July Sunday morning in Iowa, and stillDean was driving and driving and had not slackened his speed; he took the curvy corndales of Iowaat a minimum of eighty and the straightaway 110 as usual, unless both-ways traffic forced him to fallin line at a crawling and miserable sixty. When there was a chance he shot ahead and passed cars bythe half-dozen and left them behind in a cloud of dust. A mad guy in a brand-new Buick saw all thison the road and decided to race us. When Dean was just about to pass a passel the guy shot by uswithout warning and howled and tooted his horn and flashed the tail lights for challenge. We took offafter him like a big bird. .Now wait,. laughed Dean, .I’m going to tease that sonofabitch for a dozenmiles or so. Watch.. He let the Buick go way ahead and then accelerated and caught up with it mostimpolitely. Mad Buick went out of his mind; he gunned up to a hundred. We had a chance to seewho he was. He seemed to be some kind of Chicago hipster traveling with a woman old enough tobe - and probably actually was - his mother. God knows if she was complaining, but he raced. Hishair was dark and wild, an Italian from old Chi; he wore a sports shirt. Maybe there was an idea inhis mind that we were a new gang from LA invading Chicago, maybe some of Mickey Cohen’s men,because the limousine looked every bit the part and the license plates were California. Mainly it was136just road kicks. He took terrible chances to stay ahead of us; he passed cars on curves and barelygot back in line as a truck wobbled into view and loomed up huge. Eighty miles of Iowa we unreeledin this fashion, and the race was so interesting that I had no opportunity to be frightened. Then themad guy gave up, pulled up at a gas station, probably on orders from the old lady, and as we roaredby he waved gleefully. On we sped, Dean barechested, I with my feet on the dashboard, and thecollege boys sleeping in the back. We stopped to eat breakfast at a diner run by a white-haired ladywho gave us extra-large portions of potatoes as church-bells rang in the nearby town. Then off again..Dean, don’t drive so fast in the daytime...Don’t worry, man, I know what I’m doing.. I began to flinch. Dean came up on lines of cars likethe Angel of Terror. He almost rammed them along as he looked for an opening. He teased theirbumpers, he eased and pushed and craned around to see the curve, then the huge car leaped to histouch and passed, and always by a hair we made it back to our side as other lines filed by in theopposite direction and I shuddered. I couldn’t take it any more. It is only seldom that you find a longNebraskan straightaway in Iowa, and when we finally hit one Dean made his usual no and I sawflashing by outside several scenes that I remembered from 1947 - a long stretch where Eddie and Ihad been stranded two hours. All that old road of the past unreeling dizzily as if the cup of life hadbeen overturned and everything gone mad. My eyes ached in nightmare day..Ah hell, Dean, I’m going in the back seat, I can’t stand it any more, I can’t look...Hee-hee-hee!. tittered Dean and he passed a car on a narrow bridge and swerved in dust androared on. I jumped in the back seat and curled up to sleep. One of the boys jumped in front for thefun. Great horrors that we were going to crash this very morning took hold of me and I got down onthe floor and closed my eyes and tried to go to sleep. As a seaman I used to think of the wavesrushing beneath the shell of the ship and the bottomless deeps there under - now I could feel the roadsome twenty inches beneath me, unfurling and flying and hissing at incredible speeds across thegroaning continent with that mad Ahab at the wheel. When I closed my eyes all I could see was theroad unwinding into me. When I opened them I saw flashing shadows of trees vibrating on the floorof the car. There was no escaping it. I resigned myself to all. And still Dean drove, he had no thoughtof sleeping till we got to Chicago. In the afternoon we crossed old Des Moines again. Here of coursewe got snarled in traffic and had to go slow and I got back in the front seat. A strange patheticaccident took place. A fat colored man was driving with his entire family in a sedan in front of us; onthe rear bumper hung one of those canvas desert waterbags they sell tourists in the desert. He pulledup sharp, Dean was talking to the boys in the back and didn’t notice, and we rammed him at fivemiles an hour smack on the waterbag, which burst like a boil and squirted water in the air. No otherdamage except a bent bumper. Dean and I got out to talk to him. The upshot of it was an exchangeof addresses and some talk, and Dean not taking his eyes off the man’s wife whose beautiful brownbreasts were barely concealed inside a floppy cotton blouse. .Yass, yass.. We gave him the addressof our Chicago baron and went on.The other side of Des Moines a cruising car came after us with the siren growling, with orders topull over. .Now what?.The cop came out. .Were you in an accident coming in?. .Accident? We broke a guy’swaterbag at the junction.. .He says he was hit and run by a bunch in a stolen car.. This was one ofthe few instances Dean and I knew of a Negro’s acting like a suspicious old fool. It so surprised uswe laughed. We had to follow the patrolman to the station and there spent an hour waiting in thegrass while they telephoned Chicago to get the owner of the Cadillac and verify our position as hireddrivers. Mr. Baron said, according to the cop, .Yes, that is my car but I can’t vouch for anythingelse those boys might have done..137.They were in a minor accident here in Des Moines.. .Yes, you’ve already told me that - what Imeant was, I can’t vouch for anything they might have done in the past..Everything was straightened out and we roared on. Newton, Iowa, it was, where I’d taken thatdawn walk in 1947. In the afternoon we crossed drowsy old Davenport again and the low-lyingMississippi in her sawdust bed; then Rock Island, a few minutes of traffic, the sun reddening, andsudden sights of lovely little tributary rivers flowing softly among the magic trees and greeneries ofmid-American Illinois. It was beginning to look like the soft sweet East again; the great dry West wasaccomplished and done. The state of Illinois unfolded before my eyes in one vast movement thatlasted a matter of hours as Dean balled straight across at the same speed. In his tiredness he wastaking greater chances than ever. At a narrow bridge that crossed one of these lovely little rivers heshot precipitately into an almost impossible situation. Two slow cars ahead of us were bumping overthe bridge; coming the other way was a huge truck-trailer with a driver who was making a closeestimate of how long it would take the slow cars to negotiate the bridge, and his estimate was that bythe time he got there they’d be over. There was absolutely no room on the bridge for the truck andany cars going the other direction. Behind the truck cars pulled out and peeked for a chance to getby it. In front of the slow cars other slow cars were pushing along. The road was crowded andeveryone exploding to pass. Dean came down on all this at no miles an hour and never hesitated. Hepassed the slow cars, swerved, and almost hit the left rail of the bridge, went head-on into theshadow of the unslowing truck, cut right sharply, just missed the truck’s left front wheel, almost hitthe first slow car, pulled out to pass, and then had to cut back in line when another car came outfrom behind the truck to look, all in a matter of two seconds, flashing by and leaving nothing morethan a cloud of dust instead of a horrible five-way crash with cars lurching in every direction and thegreat truck humping its back in the fatal red afternoon of Illinois with its dreaming fields. I couldn’tget it out of my mind, also, that a famous bop clarinetist had died in an Illinois car-crash recently,probably on a day like this. I went to the back seat again.The boys stayed in the back too now. Dean was bent on Chicago before nightfall. At a road-railjunction we picked up two hobos who rounded up a half-buck between them for gas. A momentbefore sitting around piles of railroad ties, polishing off the last of some wine, now they foundthemselves in a muddy but unbowed and splendid Cadillac limousine headed for Chicago in