by PJ Eiden
“You didn’t turn away from them?”
“Your father wanted absolution. We’re all sinners. My job is about forgiveness.”
Father Whelan brought Henry a glass of water.
“It took a while to get over the thought your dad and his brother were in the cruel mob business. But I realized they still had souls. They didn’t take pleasure from killing and would never do their business in the presence of children or wives. I often saw them at funerals they caused. They gave me money to share anonymously with widows.”
Hank’s eyes were nearly closed, but Father Whelan pulled up a stool to sit next to the cot.
“Your mother was a real pearl. She tried to blend in as a regular housewife. To me, it seemed she lived in denial about the crimes that put your family in a better home.” The priest shook his head. “Her death at thirty-eight was very suspicious. Your father became bitter.”
“What about Uncle Eddie?”
“Your dad and uncle made a powerful team. While Hudson knew how to handle a gun, found the soldiers, and worked the streets, your uncle Edward was the real architect behind the business. He made the tough decisions. Edward set the spread for betting on races, bought the bootlegged liquor, and worried about the cops.
“As soon as we laid your dad and your brother Robbie in the ground, Edward became the next target. I was told, Torrio put a double-sized bounty on your uncle because he blamed your family for some nasty attacks on the southside. Rumors were the Torrio hitmen fought over who put the bullets in Edward. As a result, I don’t think Torrio ever paid his big bounty. I doubt he cared. He just wanted your uncle gone.”
Father Whelan covered his face with his hands as he considered the painful family history.
“You know, Henry, your father never wanted you in the crime business. It’s why he kept you in school even while your brother worked with him. His life as a mobster was too dangerous to raise a family.”
Hank pulled the blanket over himself. “But with Dad gone, George Moran, one of the right-hands for O’Banion, felt sorry for me being on my own. He put me to work. My poor father would roll in his grave if he could see me.”
“Isn’t George the one they call Bugsy?”
Hank pointed at Father Whelan. “Oh, be careful! George hates the nickname. People who think he’s crazy call him Bugsy. He’s not. But he might kill anyone who uses the nickname.”
“I’ll be sure to use George in the future.” The priest got up and slid the stool back from the cot. “Well, Henry, you should hit the hay now. You need to rest. I’m nearly done for the night, too. I’ll just tidy things up in the study room before I turn in.”
“Good night, Father. Thank you for patching me up. You know I couldn’t go to a regular hospital.”
“I know, Henry. I was happy to help.” He paused for a moment. “Think about stopping back for a confession anytime you’d like. I’m always here to listen.”
Early in the morning, Hank left a fistful of cash on the cot, gathered his things, and slipped out the back door to the alley. He was on a mission.
Chapter 6
Moving Company
Hank caught a cab and rode through the quiet morning streets to a working-class neighborhood in Sheffield. The cab drop was four blocks from the house on the next street over. In the crime business, he couldn’t be too careful. Hank kept a low profile but moved along with purpose.
As he approached on the side street, a Chevy sedan slowed just as it crossed ahead on Potter Avenue. Hank stopped short of the corner and watched it from the side of a neighbor’s house.
As the car sat idling on the street, he couldn’t identify the two occupants from his angle, but he could see the passenger waving at the house with a pistol in his hand. The passenger door opened a few inches. Hank drew his thirty-eight caliber.
A second car approached from the opposite end of the block. As it stopped, the headlamps flashed three times. The first vehicle shifted into gear again and resumed moving. The passenger door swung shut and they accelerated off. As the car turned the corner, the morning sunlight lit up a trail of bullet holes on the back fender.
Hank waited to be sure the street was clear before he moved toward the story-and-a-half bungalow. Vinnie saw Hank step in from the side door. “Hey, boss, where were you last night? And what’s with the pistol? Is everything OK?
“No, Vinnie, things are not okay. I’ve been busy trying to lose those goons since last night. I eventually got away, but not before getting the new car shot up and taking a couple of slugs in the gut. Have you seen the cars out front with guys casing the place?”
Vinnie jumped up and moved to the window. He eased the curtains back and studied the street from end to end. “I don’t see anyone.”
“Well, they may be gone for the moment, but I’ll bet they’re coming back with reinforcements. We’ve gotta get out of here, now! You round up the guys and get them moving. Go tell Willy to load a rifle and watch the front while we leave through the alley. Let the guys know to use the back door to load up. We should all scatter. Have everyone head out in different directions, and we’ll meet up at the Clay Street rental tomorrow morning.”
“Hold on, boss. I’ve got some bad news, too.”
“Vin, what is it? We don’t have much time here.”
“Those filthy rats were layin’ for us last night. The situation was ugly, boss. Real ugly.”
Hank worried about his crew like a parent frets over their children. He knew each of them would risk their lives for him, and he didn’t want to lose any of them. “How are the boys?”
“We were in a spot! They tried to butcher our gang. Allen and Remi got banged up. We took ‘em to the doc, and he did as much as he could. They’re upstairs.”
Hank took a step back. “How bad is it? Can we get them into a car?”
Vinnie scratched his head. “I think so. I’m pretty sure they’re both asleep right now.”
Hank, rattled by the news, tried to refocus. “Later today, Vin, you’ll have to find us another car. The Lincoln V8 we got from my buddy in Detroit overheated after being shot up. I ditched it a couple of miles from the ambush, but the cops found it last night.”
“Ouch, what a tough break. It was the only fast car we had. Our other slowpokes are still running because those hitmen left us alone and chased after you. Someone has a bounty on your head!”
Hank could have spit. “The bastards just won’t leave me alone. If that Lincoln wasn’t so fast, I’d be dead right now. Those goons couldn’t keep up once I broke away.”
Hank recalled the image of the line of bullet holes on the car he saw idling out front. “Vinnie, we have to get moving. I’ll grab some things and go on ahead to open up the place on Clay Street.
“By the way, did the doc send along any bromine?”
Vinnie was caught off guard by the medical question. “Yes, I think we have the stuff.” He snickered. “I’m not sure who screamed louder last night when the doc poured the first dose on Allen and Remi’s wounds. Do you want to be their nurse?”
It occurred to Hank that the quiet in the house was unusual. “Where is everybody?”
“Bernie’s back in the kitchen making something to eat. Carlo and Willy are downstairs using the new billiards table.”
Henry was surprised. “Nine-ball at this hour?”
“No. They’re down there to clean up the guns.” His face became serious. “Willy got mad when we were outsmarted by the Murder Twins. He told us it will never happen again. He got Carlo to help him. They are using the table to tear each gun down and go through them all with oil. We had two automatic rifles jam when we were pinned down. We got by with a sawed-off and a pistol, but it can’t happen again. People could have died!”
“What about Tony?”
“He’s playing poker in the kitchen with a new guy named Nick.”
�
��Hey, when you find us another car. Bring it to Clay Street, but park it in the alley behind the market. The neighbors there can’t suspect anything.”
Vinnie stepped to the door. “I’ve got it, boss. They won’t see any fancy cars.”
Hank stepped into the kitchen. The table was littered with playing cards, cash, and a couple of Coke bottles. Nick shouted, “Aces! Finally, I’ve got you dead to rights!”
Nick was a young man about nineteen with an easy smile. He didn’t look anything like a gangster with his head of wild brown hair and lean build. The youngster put his hand of cards down on the table with a triumphant smile.
“Hi, Nick. I’m Hank. We spoke by phone. I’m glad to see you showed up today. Sorry to cut your game short, but we’ve gotta pull the tent stakes and get out of here fast. It looks like Torrio’s hoodlums followed us home last night, and now they are planning to whack us. They could come back at any minute.”
Both card players rose from the table.
Nick reached his hand out. “It’s good to meet you face to face, sir. How can I help?”
Hank was impressed by the enthusiasm. “You’re coming with me, Nick. We have to move the two wounded men upstairs over to a rental place I found on Clay Street.”
Nick hesitated. “OK, but Tony tells me you have some questions before I can work with these guys?”
Hank nodded. “Yes, I do, but the interview will have to wait. We can talk later after we get these guys resettled. Everyone else is going to head out now.”
Hank turned toward the parlor room. “I’m going upstairs to check on the boys and get them ready. Nick, you get a set of keys from Vinnie and pull one of those tin lizzies up near the back door. Keep your eyes open though. We may have visitors at any moment.”
“Yes, sir.”
Hank took hold of the handrail and made deliberate steps as he climbed. The sutures in his side pulled each time he raised his left leg. At the top of the stairs, he turned down the hall, twisted a handle, and eased the bedroom door open. The squeak from the hinges woke Remi.
Hank moved in next to his bed. “How are you doing, Rem? It looks like the doc has your shoulder and arm all wrapped up.”
“Boss, we thought you were dead. Did you get away clean?”
“No, they drilled me in the car. I got stitched back together though. I should be OK.” Hank pulled his shirt loose and raised it enough to show the bloody gauze patches. “Rem, man, I hate to disturb you guys, but those bastards are still after us. I just saw two cars out front casing the joint. We gotta get out of here fast.”
Remi began to pull the blankets back.
“Can you move?”
Remi turned in the bed as best he could. The pain in his arm spiked like someone drove a nail into the shoulder joint. He winced.
Hank saw it.
Remi tried to smile. “Yes, I think I can. But I don’t know about Allen. He’s got a concussion or something.”
“Rem, tell me what went down.”
Remi moved to sit on the edge of the bed. “Our vehicle was the last of the pack when we turned onto Milton Avenue. It just happened another car came up the street behind us right as we slowed for the drop. Before I knew it, automatics opened up from the second-story windows and I couldn’t back out. Since it was getting dark, all I could see was the fire from their gun barrels. It was coming down from both sides of the street like lightning and thunder pounding on us. I still can’t make the ringing in my ears stop.”
Hank moved in close to Remi. “I’ll help you with your shirt.”
“Allen and I were pinched, so I pulled our car up next to the liquor truck. Just, as the truck driver tried to get out his cab door, he got nailed and crumbled on the ground. The shots kept raining down on the street. We slid out between the vehicles and tried to fend for ourselves. Allen got hit in the neck and head before we even got our feet on the ground. With blood running down in his eyes, he fired back with a pistol. We were trapped like hen house chickens on slaughter day.”
Remi kept talking while Hank moved over toward Allen.
“We held our own ‘til I got jammed up. A pair of shells bound my gun tight. I tried everything, but I couldn’t break them loose.”
Hank kept his hand over the wounds in his side. He was frustrated about the attack. “What happened?”
“The shooters got pretty bold when I couldn’t fire back. I could make out the shadow of one of them as he fired from an open window. When he stopped to reload, I grabbed the sawed-off from the car and gave him both barrels of buckshot. The blast buried him in broken glass.”
Allen moaned when the raised voices in the room brought an end to his sleep.
Remi continued, “I couldn’t reload fast enough to keep up. We were barricaded behind the vehicles. The last time I reached over the car hood to fire the shotgun, I must have leaned right into a spray of bullets. Slugs tore through my shoulder and knocked me backwards. While I lay there bleeding, I could see the truck driver in a heap with his face on the ground. I thought I was going to die just like him.” He stopped for a moment and swallowed. “My prayers were answered when I heard the V8 roar in the Lincoln.”
Remi put his hand on his forehead. “As I was lying there on the ground, one of those shooters ran past me and tossed a lit pack of dynamite in the back of our truck. He was on his way to their car to chase after you. I was too slow to get away. I thank God the fuse burned out on that dynamite. It never blew up.
“I can’t figure out what they were trying to do. Don’t you think it’s strange they didn’t even try to steal the booze?”
Hank considered this clue.
“Once they were gone, our guys rushed in and helped get me and Allen out of there before the cops showed up. The next thing I remember, I woke up on a table in the doc’s back room.”
Hank studied Allen’s head wrap. “How’d he do last night?” Hank stepped in close and nudged Allen’s bed with his knee to keep him awake.
“The doc said Allen was very lucky. If the gunshot in his neck was an inch either way, he would be dead right now. Though the doc did say the bones in his skull could be cracked some.”
Remi was up and out of bed now. He moved towards the door. “Boss, it was bad. How’d they know we’d turn on Milton anyway? We keep changing our routes. I think they’re gunning for you.”
As Hank helped Allen get on his feet, Remi’s comment hit him again. I think they’re gunning for you.
The Clark Street rental was ill-prepared to be a nurse’s station. The beds lacked linens, the bath had no towel or soap, and the kitchen was without plates or forks. Fortunately, it had adequate window curtains. Hank pulled the blinds closed to darken the bedroom. “Nick, the guys are resting now. Come join me in the kitchen for a while.”
“Sure thing.” Nick braced for the conversation to come. His shirt had blood streaked on the side from helping move Rem and Allen.
The stains didn’t seem to bother Nick even on his first day. It was a fair sign Hank might have a keeper. He waited at the simple table like a judge presiding over a courtroom. He nodded to the empty chair on the opposite side. “Take a seat, Nick.
“The reason for this talk is to figure out who you are and what makes you tick. You can also learn a few things about what we stand for. If either of us doesn’t like what we hear, we go our separate ways now and avoid a dangerous problem.”
Nick nodded in agreement.
“On this crew, we trust people with our very lives. As you’re aware, we got attacked last night. The guys took good care of each other and everyone is alive today. This is the type of trust we need.”
“OK, Hank. I get it.”
Hank pulled his chair around the table to face Nick. “I have a few questions I like to ask to get things rolling. First, where are you from originally?”
Nick smiled. “This one’s easy. I grew up in
St. Louis.”
“OK, now tell me, what family do you have?”
“My folks emigrated from Germany in 1890. They had four kids here after they arrived. My brother and two sisters still live in Missouri.” Nick thought he could handle these types of questions with ease. His stress level eased a little.
“So Nick, who do you trust?”
This was an unexpected question. He didn’t know why Hank would ask it. What difference did it matter who he trusted? He took his time answering. “This may sound odd, but in Chicago, I trust myself right now. I tried working with a partner when I first moved to the city. We did some small-time pickpocketing and minor theft. The next thing I knew, I found our place cleaned out. He took everything. So, other than me, I guess, I trust my family.”
Hank nodded. “What are you good at? What sort of skills do you have?”
“For specialty skills, I tried my hand at safe cracking once. For a short while, I worked with a guy who broke into business safes. Before he could train me, he got thrown in Joliet.” Nick scratched his head. “I’d like to learn more about how to open safes, but I also like dealing with numbers. Maybe someday, I could keep some books or other records.”
Hank made a note of it in his small brown notebook. “Thanks. Here’s the next one. What are you most afraid of?”
Nick was stumped. “This is a tough question.” After twisting in his seat for a minute, he got up from his chair, walked around, and stood behind it. “I guess I’m most afraid of disappointing my parents. If I got sent to prison, I think it would kill my dad.”
Hank’s brow furrowed. “Why do you think so?”
“My dad has been an honest man throughout his life in both good times and bad. He believes when things get tough, you just work harder. You never take another man’s possessions.”