by PJ Eiden
Chapter 16
The Swamp
There was more than one way to get revenge.
It was midnight, and the mosquitoes on the desolate stretch of road along the river marsh were ferocious. Vinnie hated insects. He seemed to attract the biting variety more than others. He heard the faint high-pitched whine in the darkness behind him. As the whine grew louder, it stopped with a pinprick in the back of his neck. He reached over his shoulder and slapped the bug. “Boss, how long we gotta stay out here? It’s late already. This truck ain’t coming tonight.”
Hank brushed him off. “Our information is solid. Capone avoids the police on the main highway by sneaking his loads down this old river road. There is a shipment due tonight. You’ll see.”
Vinnie ran his fingers under the tight collar of the police uniform. The shirt and coat were too small for him, not that he had a lot of choice in the matter since they were stolen from a laundromat. “Boss, why did we pick this spot? We can’t see ‘em coming past the curve in the road. We’re caught between a hill on one side and the swampy river bottoms on the other. If things turn out badly, it will be hard to get away.”
Hank smiled at the nervous observation. “Like we planned, this spot makes a good trap. No one’s getting away.”
The freight truck was parked on the shoulder of the road with the engine hood raised to appear to have mechanical problems. Tony sat ready to move the truck out as a roadblock.
Willy paced the road with his long gun under his arm while he smoked a cigarette. He was anxious to take booze shipments from Al Capone. He walked up to Hank and Vinnie. “Vinnie, are you over here complaining again? Listen to Hank and get back to your post. We’re not gonna let Capone get away with killing O’Banion. Our job here is to hit his liquor supplies. Next, Northsider’s will attack his gangs. Finally, we’ll erase him from the map.”
Hank added, “So, we’re shutting this pipeline down, right here, right now. Nothing gets through. Do you understand? You need to be ready to box in the liquor truck when they stop for the breakdown. This is happening tonight. We’ll wait here until dawn if we have to.”
Vinnie was getting it from all sides. He nodded his head and walked the road back to the decoy police car. He had the car backed in out of sight at the base of the hill.
At 1:30 a.m., the low rumble of a heavy engine grew in the distance. From over the rise, the skyline held a glow of light coming through the forest. Hank stepped closer to the roadblock truck and rapped on the fender. Tony nodded, started the engine, and moved the truck forward to the middle of the road without using the headlamps. He stopped using the hand brake to avoid illuminating the taillights.
The oncoming truck crested the hill on the gravel road and shook its way down the grade as rough as a washboard. Vinnie heard the rumble and saw the lights on the road in front of the car. He got the old police car running and waited in the darkness of the road bank. He felt the earth move as the truck lumbered along within fifty feet of his vehicle. Where is Hank? Why isn’t he lighting the road flare? His hands were shaking on the steering wheel. Hank’s instructions were: “Do not pull out or turn on the lights and siren until you see the road flare.” The freight truck kept driving along.
Vinnie saw more lights coming down the road. Another truck? What the heck, there’s a second load?
The next truck shook the earth as it tumbled over the road bumps. Vinnie held his breath as the big truck tires rolled past his car.
Hank lit a road flare and tossed it next to the disabled truck. Vinnie slid out of the car and jerked the tarp loose covering the nose of his car. He eased the driver’s door closed and slipped it in gear. He pulled completely out on the road before he turned on the lights and then the siren. The red flashing police lights lit up the trees on the hillside. Brake lights appeared from both freight trucks. Vinnie stepped on it and drove in right behind the last truck.
He pulled the gear shift into neutral and set the hand brake. As he slipped out of the car, he drew his pistol and headed for the left side driver’s door with caution. He shined the flashlight into the open side window.
The driver was ready for a cop. Vinnie saw the muzzle flash from the dark cab. Boom. He flinched as the shot grazed his arm. He dove in close to the side of the truck body. The driver tried to reach further around the cab side and fired again. Willy opened up from the high bank along the right side of the road. He shattered the passenger side window and showered the driver. The driver yelled and returned fire toward the muzzle flashes coming from the underbrush on the hill. Willy scrambled around to the rear of the truck.
Two men bailed out of the first booze truck. One took a position alongside the front bumper and shot at Vinnie. Boom, boom. Vinnie emptied his pistol and dug for more cartridges in his coat. The other driver took a knee along the shoulder of the road and fired at Willy, standing near the truck. Boom. The gun battle was on.
Vinnie tucked in behind the rear wheels of the truck and Willy stayed close to the right side. Still inside the cab, the driver hunkered down as the bullets whizzed along both sides of his truck.
Hank waived to Tony in the decoy truck to steer toward the ruckus. When he moved into position, Hank jumped on the running boards and yelled, “Lights!” The headlamps lit up the shooters like high noon. Before they could turn around, Hank fired two blasts of buckshot in the air.
With the opposition now on both sides and nowhere to hide, the delivery men set their weapons on the ground and raised their hands above their heads. Hank swept in with his shotgun leveled at one of the hostiles. Vinnie approached the other. They collected the enemy guns and tied the men to the bumper of the decoy truck. Willy retrieved the driver from the second booze truck and tied him up as well. His injuries were limited to the glass shards blasted into the cab.
Hank picked up the burning road flare and walked around the cargo load on the first truck. He pulled the tarp loose. The crates were labeled as Denatured Industrial Alcohol. Hank inspected the second load too then approached the prisoners. He held the flare in one hand and his shotgun in the other. With the end of the gun barrel pressed against the wounded driver’s neck, he asked, “What’s really in those crates?”
The driver tried to turn away. “Why should I help you bunch of bandits?”
Hank clicked the safety off on the shotgun. The driver’s head began to shake visibly. “Because this trigger determines whether you live or die.”
“OK, get the stinking gun away from me! My load is a quality gin made ready to pour.” The driver wouldn’t look up from his boots.
Hank kept the gun barrel against his neck. “And?”
“The second load is corn and rye whiskey. The good stuff from Canada. We rebottle it in small lots with our Old Cabin label. The joke will be on you if you try to peddle Old Cabin.” The driver couldn’t suppress the smirk on his face. “Everyone will know where you got it.”
Hank thumped him on the side of the head with the butt of the shotgun.
The driver moaned as blood ran down from a split ear lobe. “All right, you’ve got your booze. Will ya let us go now?”
Hank motioned to Vinnie and Tony. “You two get these loads out of here. It will be daylight before we know it. Willy and I will take care of these goons.”
Vinnie swung the driver’s door open on the truck and used his police coat to brush the broken glass off the seat. The booze shipments began the two-hour trip to Chicago and the 2122 North Clark Street warehouse.
Hank set the flare down and reloaded his shotgun. He pointed it at the men tied to the bumper. “Look, here’s what you’re going to do if you want to live. My friend is going to untie you from the truck and lash your hands together behind your back. Afterwards, you’re going to walk down into the swamp and wade way out in the muck until you’re in it at least chest deep. Once you’re in the mud bath, we will drive our vehicles away quietly and not shoot you.
The men nodded.
Hank held up some lengths of rope. “Vinnie, would you do the honors?”
“Sure thing, boss.”
“And here’s a piece of advice for you hoodlums. If I were you, I wouldn’t work for Al Capone again. Now that you’ve lost two of his liquor loads, your boss is likely to get a little emotional. As such, I expect him to put a price on your heads. The fact you’re still alive walking around right now looking pretty healthy, will mean he’s gonna think you stole his booze. No, I would keep going and find your way out west somewhere or maybe down south to get into a new line of work. You’ll still have to watch over your shoulder, but you’ll live a lot longer.”
The pair of drivers exchanged a glance. In a moment’s time they’d become the accused.
“All right, Vinnie, let’s get them ready for their mud baths. Good luck, fellas. Be sure to check yourselves for leeches after you crawl out of the swamp!”
Chapter 17
The Escape
George pulled the car in near Union Station and turned the motor off.
Hank looked out the car’s windshield in confusion, then turned toward George. “What gives George? Who are we meeting here?”
“No one.”
“Then why are we here?”
George looked directly at Hank. “I’ve got a pair of train tickets.”
“Are we going someplace?”
George didn’t waste words. “No, I’m not leaving. But you have to.”
Hank dismissed the notion. “Why would I?”
“Because the Twins are on to you and Capone is ticked off. You’ll need to disappear for a while until things cool off.”
Hank’s face soured. “We have dodged a few bullets lately, but I can’t leave the men.”
“They will be fine. You have to.”
“Why?”
“Hank, the newspapers say nearly five hundred gang murders occurred since the city first went dry. Good men, and tough men, too. There’s a saying, six feet of dirt makes all men equal. After the raid you just did on Capone’s liquor loads, the word on the street is you are a target to be equalized.“
Hank fell silent.
George pushed, “It’s only the smart ones who’ll make it out alive in this business. You’ve got the brains to be one of them.” He paused. “Just think about the survival rate of our gang. It ain’t the best. I wish Dean would have gone out of town for a while, but he didn’t. Your family’s been a victim of the great Chicago cleansing, too.”
Hank looked out across the train yard. He moaned, “You’re right, George.”
George took his left hand off the steering wheel, swung his arm, and thumped the side car window with the back of his knuckles. “Hank, I’m sure you know if something were to happen to me, you gotta help lead the war against Capone. He’s a monster. One by one, he keeps devouring the other gangs. I’ve heard through an accountant friend those clowns now rake in fifty million dollars a year! We can’t let him have all of Chicago.”
Hank nodded. “I don’t understand their endless gluttony when so many people are murdered to achieve it.”
“This is another reason why I’m sending you away for a while, so I don’t have to pick out your underground furniture. I don’t think you’d look good in a pine box.”
Hank took his hat off. “When would I leave?”
“The 9:00 a.m. train.”
Hank couldn’t believe the timing. They were making plans for the hijacked Capone liquor. “Today? But the train leaves in a few minutes and I didn’t get the chance to tell my guys—”
“This can’t wait,” George interrupted. “In the back seat is a briefcase with cash, a pistol, and some shells for the gun. You can get what you need as you go. You’ll be fine. I’ll tell the boys I sent you on an errand for a while. I’ll keep an eye on ‘em.”
“But George, there’s more talk about a repeal. It could happen soon. This is no time to be gone!”
“Listen to me, Hank. You’re right. Prohibition has been the greatest boon ever seen in this business. But when it’s over, life will go back to normal. We’ve still got a dog racing track, unions to take over, loans to make, and every other kind of scam. I need men I trust. Men who can run a dependable crew. At this rate, you won’t see the repeal if you’re dead.”
George reached behind him, retrieved the briefcase, and gave it to Hank. George reached inside his coat and pulled out two train tickets. “Now this first ticket is on The Chicago Great Western heading to St. Paul. The second ticket is for a train which goes north from there.”
“Further north? Are you sending me off to a logging camp?”
“All right, wise guy. I want you to listen and listen good to this part. Whatever you do, don’t stop over in St. Paul! I don’t care what people try to tell you. Stay out of crook’s haven! In St. Paul, it’s not only the cops you have to worry about. If you get off the train there, within a day or two someone will surely recognize you. You’d be dead just the same as here. Capone’s money has a long reach.”
“OK, good advice, George. I had no idea he had men working up there, too.”
“No, stay put in the train station and switch over to the Gull River Line. On the map, the train heads deep into the north woods. Go as far up there as you can on the train and find a place to hide out. Take your time. Three or four weeks wouldn’t be too long. Things here need to simmer down a lot before you come back. Stay out of trouble. I loaded this briefcase from the safe. You have plenty to live on while you’re up there.”
Steam rolled out from beneath the base of the black locomotive. The heavy-plated nose of the engine shook as the pressure buildup neared completion. Two short blasts from the train whistle and the ringing bell marked the slow turn of the steel wheels. Hank climbed the rungs of the passenger car steps.
The assistant conductor checked his ticket and motioned to the doorway for passenger seating. Hank walked the center train aisle and took an open seat across from a woman with two small children. The gaunt mother with a distant look, wrinkled forehead, and a mound of soiled cloth bags stacked beside her on the train seat looked down at the floor as she avoided meeting Hank’s eyes. Her little boy laid his head on her lap. His dirty face and patched jeans showed the life of living with little. His sister considered Hank with clear hazel eyes showing through tangled snarly hair.
“We never rode a train before, Mister.” Her young voice quivered as she spoke. “Grandma bought our tickets, cause our papa lost his job at the flour mill. We’re going to live with Grandma in St. Paul while he looks for good work. Mister, are you some sort of businessman? You got a fancy suit.”
Hank studied the girl’s face. He never had time for children of his own. “Sure, I have a business of sorts.”
“Do you have a job for my daddy? He’s a real honest man.”
Hank thought about the work he was in. He wasn’t proud of it. “No, I’m not hiring anyone right now.”
The young girl shook her head. “It’s too bad, ‘cause if papa found work, we wouldn’t have to leave. All the men in our neighborhood lost their jobs when the factory closed.”
“Girl, leave the man alone.” The mother’s face turned stern. “Sorry, sir, she means no real harm.”
Hank smiled at the woman. “It’s all right. She’s not a bother at all. I like her honesty.” He turned to the child once more. “Well, good luck on your trip, little lady. I hope your dad finds work real soon.”
Before Hank departed the train, he opened the briefcase and retrieved some money. As the woman and her children stepped off the train, he handed the cash to the little girl with the instructions, “Give this to your mother later.”
The young girl smiled. She whispered, “I will.”
Hank checked in with the conductor to verify his connection. He was directed to the number two stub-end track to catch his train north. With a couple of hours to spare, Hank walked over to the diner counter in the depot. As he approached, a well-dressed man got up from a table, folded his newspaper, and came out to meet Hank. “Hello, I’m Morgan Hill. I assume you just arrived in St. Paul. I manage a hotel and restaurant walking distance from here. We have fine food and clean rooms available if you’re looking for a meal or a place to hang your hat. The fare here at the depot is pretty common. We bring class to our menu.”
Hank was tired and tempted by the offer to get out of the busy train depot. But the words from George came flooding back to him. Whatever you do, don’t stop over in St. Paul cause it’s crook’s haven!
“Well, thanks, Mr. Hill. While it sounds like a fine offer, I think I’ll stay put here at the depot until my next train comes in. You have a nice day.”
Hank perched on a bench near the number two track. The Gull River train steamed its way to park alongside the platform. Several suntanned families dressed in summer clothing and some fishermen carrying sporting gear disembarked the train. Hank was puzzled no one was dressed like a lumberjack or a miner.
The train ride north was a slow scenic tour, working its way from green open farm country dotted with red barns and dairy cows into the timber of a dense forest. There were whistle stops at occasional small towns and villages. The train came to a dead-end stop at a small open-air platform on a narrow strip of land between two blue water lakes. The passengers began to gather their things and unload from the train. Hank interrupted the conductor as he assisted an elderly man with a heavy case. “Sir, can you tell me where we are?”
The conductor smiled. “This is the end of the line. The train will stay here overnight, and tomorrow we’ll make the trip back to St. Paul. You’d best gather your things now. Do you have a case in the baggage car?”