Miserable Business

by PJ Eiden

  Chapter 13

  Torrio

  In gangland, all funerals were respected with a day of peace. While an odd tradition in the mobster war, bitter enemies faced each other on funeral days without violence. At the burial of Dean O’Banion, Johnny Torrio’s skin crawled as Hymie Weiss glared at him with bloodshot eyes from across the casket. The message was clear.

  Weiss had one goal in mind: Kill anyone rumored responsible for the death of his friend. He knew who’d ordered the hit.

  The brewery swindle had put the gangs at odds, and Johnny Torrio knew enough of Weiss to be uneasy. Torrio surrounded himself with guards. The North Side Gang had already taken a swipe at Torrio’s right-hand, Capone, but a car was the only casualty.

  The siege was just beginning for Hymie Weiss. Johnny Torrio was blind to the fact, his unguarded apartment, at 7011 Clyde Avenue, put him at great risk.

  Hymie and George sat on the place for days before it paid off. On the afternoon of Saturday, January 24, Johnny and his wife Anna were chauffeured home from a shopping trip. Before they could step from the car, the two men rushed from the street with drawn weapons.

  While George Moran was merciless with his forty-five-caliber pistol, Hymie Weiss blasted Johnny with a 12-gauge loaded with slugs. Boom, boom, boom. The point-blank shooting clipped the driver once and hit Johnny four times, including his jawline and neck.

  Down the block, the getaway driver blew the car horn signaling it was time to go. Anna Torrio screamed in horror as she watched Johnny bleeding out in the car.

  With weapons empty, the shooters were confident they had completed their mission.

  Anna’s mother, witnessing from above through the upstairs window of the apartment, called for an ambulance and the police as soon as the shots began.

  The neighbors, horrified and confused, couldn’t understand why such a gentle neighbor would be attacked like this. Johnny’s alias had them fooled.

  George Moran and Hymie Weiss assumed they had extinguished the leader of the Italian mob. They, however, didn’t finish the job and the quick phone call made by Torrio’s mother-in-law for an ambulance saved Johnny despite his grave-looking wounds.

  While Johnny recovered, Capone kept the hospital protected by a small army of bodyguards. No one would get to Johnny while he was laid up.

  Even at his weakest, Johnny’s lips were sealed. No amount of pressure from the police could pry his mouth open. He wouldn’t rat out the shooters to the cops. His outfit would be much more effective at leveling the score.

  Torrio recovered physically and began to serve his sentence for his role in the Sieben brewery charge. He never returned to lead the Chicago Outfit ever again but instead handed the reigns over to his loyal friend, Al Capone. Johnny retired after prison to New York with ongoing financial benefits.

  Chapter 14

  Blame

  Chicago, despite its size, could sometimes be a small world.

  “Good evening, Louie. Hank and I would like a table in the back.”

  “Mr. Moran! Good evening and welcome again to the Green Tavern. It’s always a pleasure to see you.” Louie looked down at his desk. His face turned pale as he studied the reservation book. “However, we are a little busy tonight, Mr. Moran. Could I interest you two in a nice table in our lounge area?”

  George had a smirk on his face. “Is everything OK, Louie? Come on, it’s me! You always make room for me, even when it’s very busy.”

  Louie was uncomfortable. “Yes, of course. But I’m afraid things are different tonight. I’m so sorry, Mr. Moran. Would you two like a seat in our lounge?”

  George was puzzled. “Louie, can we wet our whistle in there?”

  “Mr. Moran, our lounge offers French coffee and a variety of soda drinks.”

  “Come on, Louie, you know what we’re looking for.”

  Louie wiped fine beads of perspiration from his brow. “Of course, Mr. Moran. If you’ll take a seat for now, we’ll get you a table in the back soon.”

  The two settled in the lounge and ordered sodas. Louie’s cool reception bothered Hank. “George, it’s been a while since I’ve been here, but what’s up with Louie? He seemed so strange.”

  George poured whiskey from a small personal flask into their fizzing sodas. “I don’t know. He is acting all weird over something.”

  “These guys still have the best steaks in town, don’t they?”

  “Yes, the beef comes out of Kansas. It’s the best money can buy.” George took a drink. “Hank, the reason I want you here tonight is to talk a piece of business I want you to take care of.”

  Hank put his overcoat on the empty chair sitting next to him.

  “Those ruthless mongrels from the other side of town in Cicero executed O’Banion, and I’m gonna spit on Capone’s grave. They have no idea the pain we’re about to unleash on them.” Fire lit Moran’s eyes. “This is war. When we’re finished, there can only be one of us left standing. We’ll destroy the Capone businesses, take every one of his customers, and get rid of the king himself. His reign is over!”

  Hank nodded and kept his voice low. “So, how do you plan to wipe them out?”

  “I need troops to go to war with.” George reached and put his hand on Hank’s shoulder. “You’re gonna work for me.” He pointed at Hank’s face. “But before you say a word, I want you to know, I won’t take no for an answer. Soon, we’ll own Chicago!”

  Hank pushed his hat back and scratched his forehead. “What does Hymie think of this?”

  “He needs some time. He’s torn up with grief right now. Dean was like a brother to him. When the shock of it wears off, there’s a powder keg inside him ready to explode. The rest of us have to step things up to get ready.”

  When Hank didn’t respond, George’s eyebrows furrowed. “However, Hank, if you’re not on my side, there may not be a place left for you. Those who play a part in this war will be rewarded. Those who refuse, will become casualties.”

  Hank was concerned about losing control of his men. If they became part of a larger war against the Italians, he couldn’t protect them the same way as when they operated as a small gang of runners.

  George noticed the shift in the room’s noise level. People at the tables near the entrance whispered in low tones and some pointed. He turned in his chair and thumped Hank on the arm. “What gives out there?”

  Two thick-looking suits from the back secured a path towards the entrance. A blonde woman with bobbed hair and a short, beaded dress appeared behind them. She kept one hand on her necklace as she walked, and her other arm was locked with a man on her opposite side. He was wearing a pin-striped suit. As they made their way toward the door, the man turned and scanned the lounge tables. Beneath the trilby hat was a face Hank could never forget.

  Hank said it first, “Capone.” He reached inside his coat.

  George caught Hank’s arm. “Not here. Not now.”

  Capone placed the butt of his cigar in his mouth. He dropped the woman’s arm and raised both his hands to point fingers straight at George and Hank. With his thumbs raised in the air like the hammers on a pair of pistols, he began to push the imaginary guns toward them as he slammed his thumbs down over and over pretending to fire. He pulled the cigar out of his mouth and raised the freehand figure of a gun in the air. He blew cigar smoke over the end of his pointer finger and placed his pointed finger inside his coat pocket like a holster. Quickly, the gangster and his arm candy vanished out the front door.

  Hank began to rise out of his chair. George put his hand atop Hank’s shoulder. “Sit down. Why chase after him? He saw us, too, and will be on high alert now. We know where he lives. Someday soon, we’ll plan a housewarming for ol’ Capone.

  “You know, Capone’s not a frightened cat like Torrio was. Torrio was lucky he survived our hit. He liked to keep his hands clean so when things got bloody, he gave the organizatio
n over to Capone and slithered out of town. Now, Capone isn’t afraid to get into it himself. He’s always raising some serious cane. Everyone knows where he lives. The thing I don’t understand is how he’s still alive.”

  “George, I can’t sit here any longer. Let’s get out of here and go someplace else. The back room will stink like garlic tonight.” Hank was perturbed. He twisted in his chair like a thousand spiders were crawling over his skin.

  George waived the host over. “Louie, I’m afraid we’ll be dining elsewhere this evening.”

  “I understand, sir.”

  “But I want to thank you for recommending your fine lounge for our seating.”

  “Yes, Mr. Moran. It was my pleasure. I also want to thank you two gentlemen for your restraint this evening.”

  George nodded.

  Chapter 15

  Warehouses

  The racehorse delivery plan model was working, resulting in fewer stolen loads. The Northsiders needed places to drop truckloads and stage automobiles for delivery.

  Tony pulled into the alley next to an old red brick warehouse. Newspaper trash and weeds had accumulated in front of the doors. The grilled windows were thick with dust-laden cobwebs. “Nick, you sure this is it?”

  “Yes, the note I made says, 2122 North Clark. This is definitely it.”

  Carlo and Willy left the alley and drove their car around to the front side. “Carlo, why don’t you go in the entry and check it out? We’ve gotta make sure nobody’s around.”

  “OK, Willy, I got this.” Carlo stepped from the car and scanned the length of the street in both directions. Vehicle traffic was light. As he entered the front door, he drew his handgun and fumbled around in the darkness for a light switch. A loud screech came from the rear of the building as Tony and Nick tried to open the truck bay doors at the alley entrance.

  Carlo shouted, “You guys see signs of life back there?”

  Nick shouted, “Nothing but a mouse. It’s all clear, just like Hank said. We got this place to ourselves.”

  Carlo rubbed his forehead. “How did Hank find this old garage? What a mess. Where’d all these stacks of wood come from?”

  Nick picked up a piece of hardwood and tossed it on the pile. “Looks like crate material. The kind of boards you use in the shipping business.”

  Tony walked toward a walled-off room with a small interior window. “I wonder if the office is open?”

  He stepped into an efficient shipping office with space limited to a desk and two file cabinets. The drawers were open. Papers and files littered the desk and the floor as if someone left in a heated rush. “There’s nothing in here a match couldn’t fix.”

  A freight train lumbered past the neighborhood rattling the windows. Tony was annoyed with the earthquake of a train passing so close. “Man, I sure couldn’t live down here.”

  Willy piped in, “Don’t worry about the train. You get used to them. Let’s get this place picked up, so we can get trucks in here. We got an hour ‘til today’s load should roll in.”

  Nick was anxious to help out. “Maybe we can build a fire in the back alley and burn up all this extra wood.”

  Willy was keeping an eye on the new kid. “Hold on, Nick, I wouldn’t light that fire. Let’s not draw any attention to this place. We’ve gotta keep things quiet in the neighborhood. Let’s pile it up in stacks along the walls inside the building. Maybe we can ship the crate material out on an empty load sometime. Today, we need to make room for the truck and our cars so we can offload without the neighbors getting suspicious. Tonight, will be our first big haul out of here.”

  Nick agreed. “All right, Willy let’s get busy.”

  Traveling north of the city, Hank was pleased to discover the rural highway was quiet. The remote location would be perfect to stash some reserve until they put an end to the booze going missing. He checked his pocket watch as he drove toward the barn. The truck was due any time. He stepped on the gas. The trucks were sent out two hours apart to avoid risk.

  Bernie turned toward Hank. “Tell me, boss, why do you and I have to meet this load by ourselves? And why are we going to a different barn in the country? I thought you found a warehouse in the city.”

  Hank studied the face of his prodigy. “Bern, I haven’t told anyone else this, but you and I go back a long way and I trust you.” Bernie sat upright and gave his full attention. “George Moran is convinced we’ve got a spy somewhere in one of the crews.”

  Bernie could have spit. “What do you mean a spy? Do we gotta cop hiding among us?”

  Hank shook his head. “No, it’s almost worse. We may have a rat who’s working for Torrio and Capone. You know we’ve had three shipments hijacked in the last month and a half. Somebody is flapping their gums about our loads!”

  “And you think it’s one of our guys?”

  “Bernie, we really don’t know who it is yet. For now, we’re storing extra whiskey in secret locations. We can’t miss another delivery, otherwise our speakeasies are gonna switch. Once we lose ‘em, it takes a real bloodbath to get them back. Besides, we’ve already got two guys banged up. We can’t afford anymore.”

  The fifteen-dollar-a-case whiskey from Canada crossed the water south of Detroit and was trucked to Chicago, where it was worth ninety dollars at a speakeasy. Hank had never seen this kind of money before in his life. The rat in their ranks threatened the whole thing. He was frustrated. Why can’t Capone’s guys stick to their side of town? It’s tough enough to evade the cops, let alone attacks by greedy thieves!

  A dark green truck was parked at the barn with a canvas tarp still draped over the pile of crates. The driver was busy knocking chunks of dried mud from the spoke wheels. “I took some back roads to avoid the inspection. On the last run back, I saw where the barricades were set west of Detroit.”

  Hank walked around the truck with the driver. “So, no one followed you?”

  “No. I wasn’t followed.” The driver bent over to brush the dirt off the knees of his coveralls. He stood upright to challenge Hank face-to-face. “But you don’t pay me enough for this work. I drove extra miles to avoid the cops this time.”

  Hank took a half step back and looked the driver up and down.

  The driver continued, “I have an uncle who works up on the high steel constructing skyscrapers in Manhattan. He gets extra pay for his dangerous job.” He reached out and thumped Hank on the shoulder with his pair of gloves. “I need more pay for hauling your cargo.”

  The driver resumed moving along the truck. Hank stepped in front of him and blocked his path. He pointed at the driver’s chest. “Don’t you worry yourself about things now. I’ll talk to your boss, and we’ll take care of your pay.”

  “Mister, I know what’s in them crates and I want cash now or the next load might get lost somewhere during the all-night trip. You never know when the truck might breakdown.”

  Hank grabbed the young man by the shirt and pressed him against the truck. He drew his revolver and shoved it into the man’s beard. “Listen, smart guy! And listen real good. You don’t know who you are messing with, do you boy? We have an agreement for packing and shipping this cargo. If your boss doesn’t treat you fair, take it up with him. I pay plenty. As for me, I’m not giving you an extra dime. And if you try to hold any load like this hostage, I’ll come for you. And if I do, you’ll need a lot more than extra pay. Now move the truck into the barn and get to work unloading it.”

  Bernie rolled the large red doors out of the way and the tandem axle truck pulled inside.

  The driver made quick work of unloading the crates. Without another word, he disappeared down the road in a cloud of dust.

  Bernie stopped Hank for a minute. “Hey, what was all the fuss about?”

  “The driver thinks he controls our supply. I’ll call the owner of the trucking company. The chump will need a new career before the day is over.
He’s lucky he has both his kneecaps right now. Other mobs would have clocked him and kept the truck.”

  “Do you think we left some loose ends here?”

  “No, I scared him pretty good. He won’t be around again.

  “Now we’ve gotta open a crate and check the bottles.”

  The sides of the crates were each stamped, Product of Canada. Bernie pulled a crate aside and used a pry bar to pop the boards off the top. He reached around in the loose wood shavings and felt the shape of a glass bottle. He twisted it loose and pulled it from the packing material. “Maple syrup? Boss, the driver scammed us after all. These crates are full of maple syrup!”

  Hank smiled at the reaction. “Bernie, calm down. There’s another layer inside each crate. Scoop the sawdust out and set the pancake syrup aside. The bottom half of the crate has what we want.”

  Bernie set to work. Like a dog digging for a bone, the wood chips flew everywhere. After the syrup was cleared out, he pried loose the second layer of boards and found the neck of a bottle lying flat in the hidden compartment. He raised it into the light streaming down from the hayloft. The brown glass filled with whiskey sparkled in the sunlight. “This is it!”

  “Just like I said. Now let’s move these crates back in the stock pens over there and cover them with the tarp.”

  “Hank, why are we doing this?”

  “We’re going to bury them in straw and keep them out of sight. Just in case anyone wanders in here, we don’t need to show them the stash. If one of our regular loads gets hit, I’ll send you back here to collect the spares. In a pinch, this would cover us for a while.”

  Bernie lugged the crates over to the pens. Hank did the same until everything was tucked out of sight. The pair pulled the large barn doors closed and locked them from the inside.

  “Let’s go see how the other guys are doing.” On the way out the small entry door, Hank grabbed a loose bottle of syrup. “Do you like pancakes?”