by PJ Eiden
Carlo ran in from the west door. While he hunched over with his hands on his knees puffing, he began to spill it. “Boss, vehicles are coming in from both sides now.” He took in a few more breaths. “The west end is no good. There are men parked on the high ground in the field with rifles.”
Two members from the Capone gang soaked rags with gasoline from a mason jar and lit the material with a match. They got to a pile of wood timbers and set a fire to flush out the Northsiders.
When he saw the flames rising, Hank warned his men. “Keep low to the ground and crawl to the nearest door or window for an escape. This place is going to burn to the ground!”
Within minutes, the fire spread to the two freight trucks they were about to unload. Thick black smoke began to pour off the burning truck tires. As the gun battle waged on, parts of the building’s center roof gave way, falling in a series of collapses. The flames fanned by fresh air seemed to reach for the sky. During the distraction, Hank dashed toward a freight truck left stranded near one end of the warehouse. He needed cover with a better angle on the shooters.
In the shelter behind the truck, Hank reloaded the Tommy gun and crawled underneath the vehicle to position himself behind some crates. He peered over the stack to see men moving along the south wall. He leaned on the pile and shouldered the submachine gun. He took the safety off and squeezed the trigger, sending a hail of bullets through the inferno. The front of the gun rose hard, but Hank took a firm grip and kept the rounds coming at waist height as he sprayed across the wall. He heard a voice hollering from behind him. “Hank!”
Through the smoke, Hank spotted a young man’s figure crawling toward him on hands and knees.
“Nick? What the hell are you doing out here? You need to get out of this place now!”
Disregarding the advice, the young apprentice crawled up alongside Hank. He grabbed him by the coat sleeve and pulled him down to floor level. “They’re here!”
“Who is here?”
“We saw them as we were scrambling to leave. The Murder Twins ran into the building carrying rifles. I’m sure they’ve come to kill you. These other men were keeping you pinned down in this burning coffin until the Twins got here to nail the lid shut.”
Hank felt panic. “Nick, this isn’t good. In fact, it’s terrible. Let’s get moving.” He took the opportunity to light up the east wall with a hail of bullets until the gun ran dry. He couldn’t see if his attack was successful, but it was only meant to keep the mobsters at bay while they scrambled back to a safer position.
A shot careened off the bed of the freight truck a few inches above his head. He barked at Nick, “Get down! They’re on to us!”
“Man, the shots are getting close!”
Hank flattened himself to the ground and slithered between a pair of collapsed steel beams. He paused to look back as the smoke swirled out of the way. He got a glimpse of John Scalise’s round face and curly hair. The assassin carried a long gun. Hank wished he had a regular rifle instead of the Thompson. This warehouse maze called for precision shooting. Thankfully, Scalise hadn’t seen him.
Another portion of the roof structure rained down on the growing inferno. The collapse created an obstacle in the middle between the gangs. Hank turned to Nick and said, “You better get out of here, kid, while you can. This is not your day to die.”
Nick took a last look at Hank and hustled for the door. As he dashed through the opening, several shots tore up the door frame.
As the flames grew, smoke billowed throughout the building. Hank crouched behind a new debris pile in a position short of the wall of flames. While he loaded the gun, he strained to see the east side where Scalise was hiding. He saw a flash of metal through the smoke. Hank shouldered the weapon. He pounded the area with two bursts of rounds. John Scalise was hit in the fray and screamed out.
Several gunmen opened up on the debris pile. The bullets shredded the ruins. Hank retreated off the heap and moved away. He circled around to the other side to get a safer vantage point.
Crawling over the shards of twisted steel, he cut his left hand. He took a handkerchief from his coat and wrapped the wound. With a makeshift knot, he stopped the bleeding enough to grip the machine gun. It would be difficult to hold down the barrel of the Thompson when firing. He waited as long as he could in the searing heat. The open air from a missing section of the roof above gave an occasional respite from the choking smoke. Hank covered his mouth with a side of his open coat.
He lay in the pile of whiskey barrels and loose staves strewn among the wasteland of metal. The big gun was pulled up close to his side. He heard metal screech behind him and turned in time to see the shadows of two men in the haze picking their way through the twisted steel. The light coming through the west windows made it hard to see anything more than the men’s silhouettes.
Hank’s heart was pounding. He couldn’t tell which gang they were from, but he didn’t dare breathe a word. He froze as they drew in closer to the barrels. As they passed behind a vertical pile of roof beams, Hank rolled himself over onto his back and pulled a pistol loose from beneath his coat. He held the gun low near the side of his leg and eased the safety off. At the opportune time, he could raise his right arm to fire once he knew his target. He held the machine gun across his chest with his bloody left hand.
From the other side of the mound, Hank heard the unmistakable tumble of wood like bowling pins toppling over one at a time. Someone was climbing the pile from the opposite side. He was in no position to see this intruder and was now pinned down between the unknown men. The fire intensified, and thick smoke filled the air.
Hank kept the pistol gripped in his hand while he pinched the coat fabric and pulled it over his mouth for a breathing filter. His eyes burned from the smoke as he strained to see the gunmen closing in. The racket of shifting barrels grew louder as the man crawled over the pile within feet of Hank.
A breeze blew through the side windows for a moment and pushed the smoke back. There were the two gunmen sneaking toward Hank. The Capone thugs saw Hank barricaded on the pile. One of them had a pistol and the other a rifle. As they swung on him, Hank released the coat over his mouth and raised the pistol. There was an unexpected blast from behind Hank. One of the gunmen slumped and the other fired back at the unidentified assailant.
Hank took a bead and fired. The pistol kicked back in his hand. The other Capone gunman fell backward. The first pistol-wielding thug regained his posture somewhat and fired his gun. Hank emptied the thirty-eight on him until he wasn’t a threat anymore.
There was the moan of a familiar voice on the pile behind him. It was Tony. Hank scrambled up to him. He was sitting with one hand over his heart. His shirt and coat were crimson. Hank saw the ominous hemorrhaging and spoke before it was too late. “Tony, we got them both. You saved me!”
Tony tried to smile but choked when he tried to speak. Hank reached out to him and gripped his hands. “I know my friend. We go back a long way.”
The color faded from Tony’s face, and his eyes grew still. Hank tried to shake him one last time, but his friend was gone. Flames began to rage through the barrels. Hank wiped tears from his swollen eyes and scrambled off. Beyond the popping and snapping, Hank could hear the fireworks of gun exchanges on the west end of the warehouse. He staggered out into the smokey field and headed down toward the river. His right hand was burned, and the left still dripped with blood. All he wanted was to place them in the cool flowing water. He headed over to the bank and knelt on the shoreline.
The fire brigade bell startled Hank. He sat back and listened to the sound as the main steel structure of the building folded with an eerie groan. In the brushy river thicket beyond him, a branch snapped.
He was not alone. Hank drew his revolver. In the panic to exit, he hadn’t bothered to reload the weapon. Another branch snapped. He pointed the empty gun at the sound coming from the bushes anyway. He cou
ld make out a dark figure of a man picking his way toward him.
Father Whelan emerged with his hands raised in the air. “Don’t shoot, Henry!”
Hank rubbed the soot from his eyes. “Father, what are you doing here? If I had any bullets, I could have killed you!”
The priest’s face was pale. “I guess the Lord’s angels are protecting me.”
“How did you find me down here?”
“It’s divine intervention! It happened when I was driving across the river bridge. I saw the thick smoke rising in the sky. I pulled off the road in time to see you staggering across the field. You looked like you needed help.”
“I’ll be all right, Father, but Tony didn’t make it. He got shot trying to protect me.”
The priest made the sign of the cross over his chest. “Does this war include the Murder Twins again?”
Hank shrugged his shoulders. “Yes, they were here today. I wounded Scalise in a spray of gunfire. I don’t know how badly he was hit.”
“Henry, do you trust me?”
Hank was puzzled by the question. His body was weak from breathing in the smoke. “Yes, I trust you. Why do you ask?”
“Don’t ask me any questions. You must come with me right now. My car is parked over near the bridge.”
The two men picked their way along the river shoreline brush and climbed the bank to a side street where the car was parked.
“Henry, get in the back of the car and keep your head down. We don’t want any more gunfire.”
Hank didn’t question the instructions. He laid on his side and closed his stinging eyes. The priest drove the old model T to the rectory and pulled the car inside a garage.
“Let’s get you inside and get some water. You’ve got to wash the soot out of your eyes and from your windpipe. We can treat those wounded hands and bandage them up. The burn looks like it’s going to be a bad one.”
“Father, I can fend for myself.” While Father Whelan collected the first aid supplies, Hank took the damp cloth from the basin of water. He closed one eye at a time and washed his eyelids and dug soot from the corners of each. The water in the basin turned gray and opaque. “The bodies will need a holy blessing. Tony is in there, but I’m not sure you’ll recognize him if the flames reached him.”
“We need to pray for the salvation of his soul.” The priest looked over Henry’s hands. He reached into the old postal bag and dug out tannic acid. “Let’s soak your hands in water with this acid for a minute, before we wrap them.”
The priest stood up with a start. “Hey, while you soak, I want to show you a couple things left here after your father died.”
Hank didn’t know what to think or expect. Father Whelan walked to a closet and fumbled through some old crates. After a moment, he reached into a box and retrieved a small cloth bag. He placed the bag down in front of Hank and opened the drawstrings. Taking the bag by the bottom and lifting it off the table, several pieces of jewelry tumbled out on the desk.
Father Whelan picked through the pile and selected a gold ring and a pair of cuff links. “I forgot I still had these.” He showed Henry the items.
Hank studied the gold band.
Father Whelan pointed out the inside. “See right there. It’s Hudson’s initials.”
Henry marveled at the long-lost ring and matching cuff links. “How is this possible?”
“I understand your mother gave these cuff links to your dad as a wedding gift. These were supposed to be buried with your father, but the mortician missed the request. It wasn’t discovered until after the burial. These belong to you and your sister Gloria now.”
Hank looked closely at the ring. “That would never fit me, and the cuff links are a bit too flashy for my line of work. Will you do me a favor, Father? Keep them for now. Maybe someday, Gloria would like them.”
Hank’s mind wandered to his youth. It seemed like an eternity since Hank had last spoken to his sister.
“OK, let’s get your hands wrapped. You will have to take it easy for a while until these burns heal. Keep them wrapped for your train ride.”
Hank stared at the priest. “How did you know?”
“The grim look on your face shows you’re out of options. And I know it’s certainly not safe for you here anymore.” Father Whelan began winding cloth around Hank’s hands. “After I drop you at the train station, I’ll go back and see if the warehouse is safe enough for a holy tour.”
Father Whelan parked his old relic next to the police cars and fire brigade trucks. He grabbed the Bible, a couple of vials of liquid, and a small pouch from the front seat of the car then stood next to the vehicle. The firemen were picking through the last of the smoldering piles. The police were helping search for victims. An officer made a beeline toward the priest. “Father, I’m glad you’re here. We found one who is barely alive. He’s burned all over, but he’s still breathing. Would you like to give him last rights?”
“Yes, my son, I would.”
The policeman led the priest through the piles of ashes and charred metal back to the remnants of an office. There, between an old safe and a brick wall, lay a man on his side with his clothing seared to his legs and arms. A rifle with a burnt stock was lying on the ground near him. The officer kicked the rifle out of the way and cleared out a few loose bricks.
Father Whelan knelt down next to the man and whispered to him, “Can you hear me?”
The man gave a slight nod with his head. Father Whelan continued, “Are you Catholic?”
Father Whelan looked at the man’s melted ears and watched his mouth. The only sound was the slow wheezing of the man’s breath. His eyelids fluttered.
The priest took the leather pouch on his lap and retrieved a Rosary and the small bottle of holy water.
The priest paused for a moment and held on to the Rosary beads. “Do you confess all your sins including possibly killing, stealing property, and taking the Lord’s name in vain?” He watched the man’s face. Again, there was movement in his eyelids. “For your penitence, I will say for you an Our Father and a Hail Mary.” He made the sign of the cross with the holy water on the man’s forehead, chest, and across his shoulders.
Father Whelan reached in the pouch and collected a vial of wine and a communion wafer. He blessed the bread and the wine with prayer. “This is the Lamb of God who takes away the sins of the world.” The priest folded a communion wafer in half and broke it. He folded it in half again to make a small sliver. He tore it through. He presented the crumb of the body of Christ moistened with a drop of wine and placed it in the man’s mouth.
“This is the body of Christ. May the Lord protect you and lead you to eternal life.” Afterward, he anointed the dying man with oil and prayed for him.
Father Whelan made his way back out of the debris. A young police officer came over and grabbed him by the arm.
“Officer Mulaney, I haven’t seen you since you came to the church searching for villains. How are you holding up?”
“Hi, Father. It is good to see you again. I’m doing all right. I’ve been keeping my head down lately as we have so many mobster shootouts.”
“Did you ever catch your man?”
“Well, to be honest, I’m not exactly sure. We’ve arrested scores of gangsters, but they never seem to stay in jail very long.”
Chapter 28
Nightmare
It was June 1930 when Hank once again stepped off the steam train in this place where he didn’t belong. As the sparse afternoon raindrops began to spit on him, he slipped on his scorched suit coat and a dark hat with the narrow brim. Being fully aware of the truth of things this time, he felt lucky to be alive.
Harriet watched Albert lash the ropes around the dock posts. As soon as the boats were secure, he raced up the hill toward the lodge. She recognized the profile of the man standing on the dock holding his hat and coat. She shouted
at Warren, “My God, he’s back! I thought we’d never see him again. Why is he here?”
“Harriet, what are you so upset about? Who’s back?”
“It’s the nightmare man who carried guns in the boat. You remember. He paid cash for two cabins. It’s Hank!”
Warren stopped for a moment and thought about their options. “All right, calm down, Harriet. Remember, you know he also stayed here once last winter when you were away taking care of your mother. He caused us no harm. I’ll go talk to him and see what his plans are.”
With her arms crossed, Harriet watched Warren walk down the hill. Her lack of patience got the best of her. When he was about halfway there, she couldn’t wait any longer. She crossed the porch and followed him. By the time she got to the shoreline, the two men stood close together on the lawn and spoke in low voices. Harriet watched their gestures. Warren pointed across the lake and then back at the lodge.
Harriet pretended to study the produce items in the boat crate while she loaded them into a wagon on the dock. Though she took her time, she couldn’t hear the men’s conversation very well. At one point, she thought she heard Hank say the word money. She was nervous about Hank, but she finally retreated back to the lodge.
When they were finished, Warren joined Harriet in the kitchen. He tried to lighten her mood. With a smile on his face, he said, “Do you know, you’re not a clever detective?”
Through the window, she watched Hank perch on a lawn chair. “What do you mean?”
“It’s pretty obvious you were trying to hear the conversation with Hank.”
Harriet turned to face Warren. “Well, I want to know what he’s doing here. Even with the new resort stealing our business, I won’t take blood money to feed this family! I would go to work anywhere in town before I’d give in to him.”
The screen door thumped. Harriet turned toward the sound of squeaking floorboards. Hank stood in the dining room. Harriet’s face flushed, and she blurted out, “What do you want? Are you looking for a Bible again?”