The Holy City Hustle: A Duke Dempsey Mystery

by Ron Plante Jr

  As Duke reached the top floor, he could see the portraits of the past mayors of Charleston line the walls. They were in the order of when they had taken office. At the very end of the hallway, where the mayor’s office was located, the previous mayor’s portrait hung in the entrance. It was an ode to the tradition and history of the city which every mayor had kept going.

  Duke walked past Leo’s office, which was adjacent to Mayor Swanson’s, and quickly peered in. It was a typical aids office, with piles of paperwork on the desk and not many personal effects around. Leo didn’t strike Duke as someone who had a family. He was a go-getter who had his eye on the prize, which was his career.

  Duke had an eerie feeling he was being watched, and quickly turned around with his Colt drawn and his flashlight pointed in the direction he had just come from.

  “Get it together,” Duke said to himself as confirmed there was nobody following him.

  The door to Mayor Swanson’s office was locked to keep people out until the investigation was complete. Duke took out his lock pick and easily jimmied the door open. He made his way in, and everything was just as he remembered the last time he’d been in there. Chicago White Sox memorabilia covered the walls and bookshelves of the office, and the desk was in meticulous order.

  Duke immediately checked the drawers of the desk to see if there were any clues to what Mayor Swanson had known regarding the ledger and Isabella. The drawers were filled with minutes from various meetings the mayor had attended. There was an appointment book that Duke quickly flipped through, seeing if anything flew out at him. He stopped on November 10th for a moment and read ‘DD Ceremony.’ That instantly brought Duke back to the incident. He took it to heart that they had used his ceremony to carry out their plot.

  Duke skimmed down to the bottom of the page and read, ‘Meeting with ID,’ with a star scribbled next to it. That coincided with Isabella’s story that she had been supposed to meet the mayor after the ceremony, probably to hand off the ledger. There was another meeting with an ID that had taken place the previous day of the ceremony. Duke placed the address book in his inside jacket pocket and continued to search the desk.

  He stopped when he came across an old Chicago Times newspaper dated October 23, 1920. The headline read ‘Grand Jury Finds Black Sox Guilty.’ Duke knew exactly what the Black Sox scandal was all about. He’d been 22 years of age, and fairly new to the force at the time, but everyone in the law enforcement community had watched that case closely. Members of the Chicago White Sox were found guilty of purposely throwing the 1919 World Series. It was a serious black eye for Major League Baseball, and it was the first time that the public had seen just how influential the mob could be.

  Duke skimmed down the article and was shocked to see a familiar name in the story. Assistant DA Morris Swanson had been one of the many attorneys who’d worked on the case. Duke thought it was quite interesting that such a fan of the team could be one of the people prosecuting them. The more and more Duke dug into the character of Morris Swanson, the more he saw a little bit of himself in the man.

  Duke put the Chicago Times back in the drawer and started to look around the office for anything else that might help him with the location of the ledger. He scanned each shelf of the bookcase, skimming over baseball books, law books, and the Bible, but nothing stuck out at him. He was about to call it quits and head out, before he took one final look at the bottom shelf of the bookcase that was directly behind the mayor’s desk.

  One book stood out from the rest due to what was written on the binding. During Duke’s brief meeting with Mayor Swanson, he’d mentioned the Cubs, and was almost kicked out of the office. Now Duke was staring at a book, surrounded by White Sox memorabilia, that read, ‘History of the Chicago Cubs.’

  He placed his hand on the book and slowly started to pull it from the shelf. As he did, it only moved about an inch before coming to a complete stop and causing a clicking noise. Duke heard something move in the vicinity of the only wall that was not covered by bookshelves. He stood up and made his way over to the wall, where the bottom panel had slid open revealing a small compartment. The compartment was only about two feet by two feet, but it housed a black safe with a single dial combination lock on it. He knew there was no way his lock picking skills would get him into the safe, but he also knew there was a damn good chance that the ledger could be in there.

  He immediately went back to the desk and started feeling underneath for a possible hidden combination. He checked all the drawers again, but this time looking for a combination that would help him get into the safe. He threw stuff from the drawers on the desk, going through anything that might be a combination, but came up snake eyes.

  Duke sat down in the mayor’s seat trying to figure out what to do next, and spun his chair around so he was facing the bookshelves again. His mind was going in all directions trying to think of what a stranger might use as a combination to a hidden safe. Duke shined his light on the bookcase aimlessly, hoping something would just come to him.

  Then he saw it. On the top shelf was one of the mayor’s most prized possessions, a photo of the 1917 Chicago White Sox when they won the World Series. It had signatures of the various team members, but the one thing that stood out to Duke most was ‘10-15-1917,’ the date they’d won the World Series.

  Duke went to the safe and started spinning in the numbers, separating the 19 and 17, giving him the combination 10-15-19-17. He ceremoniously paused before turning the handle to see if he’d correctly deduced the right combination of numbers. He twisted it, and his head immediately sank toward the floor in dismay.

  The handle did not budge.

  Duke stood up and took a cigarette out of his jacket trying to figure out his next option. He’d thought for sure the combo was going to be the winner, and wasn’t sure what to try next. He went to the desk and fired up his Zippo, about to light his cigarette, when the flame highlighted the desktop.

  Duke closed his Zippo and shined the flashlight back over the desk where the Chicago Times sat on the top of the rest of the papers. “Of course,” he thought to himself. The paper had come out on October 23rd, 1920, but the case verdict had been the day before that. What more important date to a Sox fan then the date he rid the organization of corruption?

  Duke threw his unlit cigarette to the floor and went over to the safe. He carefully spun the dial to the digits 10-22-19-20 and took a long pause before trying the handle for a second time.

  It worked! Duke opened up the safe door and shined the light inside. There wasn’t a lot for contents and to Duke’s dismay, no book that could be the ledger. He did pull out a folder that had some papers in it, and a handgun. Duke didn’t know too many mayors packing heat, but he was learning fast that Mayor Swanson wasn’t an everyday mayor.

  Duke opened the folder on the floor next to the safe and started to read through the documents. From a glance, he was beginning to get frustrated. The documents seemed to be just personal information that the mayor stored for safekeeping. Duke was staring at two birth certificates from the state of Illinois, one of Morris Swanson and one his wife, Celeste Berks. Duke quickly glanced over them and saw that they were both born in the same year of 1889, making them both 50 years of age. He placed the birth certificates in his inside jacket pocket with the appointment book. There was also a bill of sale for a house that the Swansons had bought two months ago.

  Duke’s eye lit up when he came to the next document, and thought he’d finally found something. He discovered the letters that Isabella and her husband had written to Morris. There were two letters from Isabella’s husband and one letter from her.

  The first seemed to be more of a feeling-out letter. He mostly talked about old times, and asked questions about Morris Swanson’s current life in Charleston. It read as a basic rekindling of friendship until the last paragraph. That was a quick blurb about his new employer, and how he was looking into some troubling issues that Morris might be interested in.

  As Duke
shuffled to the next letter, he was interrupted by a clicking noise near the door he came in from. Duke looked over and shined the flashlight to see a silhouette in the door frame of the office.

  “Did I interrupt you, Duke?” the silhouette said, and a flash from his lighter gave Duke a glance of the stranger’s chin and mouth. The man took a drag from the smoke he’d just lit. “Don’t mind me.”

  Duke stood up, still trying to make out who the late-night visitor was. “Is there something I can help you with?” he asked as he tried to slyly slide the letters into his jacket pocket.

  “No, I think you’re doing just fine, but I’m going to need those files you placed in your pocket. I honestly didn’t think you had a chance in hell of cracking that safe,” Carbone said as he took another drag, now leaning against the door frame.

  Duke smirked, adjusted his Walker hat, and pulled his trusty Colt from his holster. “Well buddy, I don’t think I can do that, but you can tell me who you are before you move out of my way.”

  The stranger didn’t show one sign of excitement from the gun being drawn on him. Duke could barely see his face, due to the shadow his flashlight was causing, but he could tell the guy was cool as a cucumber.

  A small laugh came over the figure. “Now, is that any way to make friends? You don’t want to be my friend, Duke?” Carbone asked as he slowly stood up straight in the doorway. He had been sizing up Duke since the hotel, and knew they were going to meet sooner or later. So far, the initial meeting was going just how Carbone thought it would.

  “I don’t have many friends. I guess I’m too much of an asshole, but when you’ve got the drop on someone, who needs friends?” Duke said, as he started to shimmy from around the desk so there were no obstacles between him and his target. “Now, who are you and why do you want these files?”

  Carbone let out a hefty laugh. “Is that what you think, that you have the drop on me? Here’s the deal, Dempsey. You’re going to give me those documents and I may let you live to see the sunrise.”

  Duke wasn’t pleased by the stranger’s lack of cooperation, or his current delusional state, but he knew he needed to get out the door the man currently occupied. “I don’t know what your game is, friend, but I think it’s time for me to bow out.”

  “Speaking of game. I was curious if you enjoyed my little test at the hotel. I’ve heard so much about the great Duke Dempsey, I wanted to see these great powers of deduction myself.”

  The realization hit Duke that the shadowy figure before him had left the riddle in the hotel and was Officer Jackson’s killer. “Oh, so you’re the cop killer? Looks like my plans have changed. Touch the sky, Mack! You and I are headed downtown.” Duke wasn’t sure if this guy was the mastermind or just another hired gun, but either way he was the biggest clue of the night.

  “First of all, your boys downtown should thank me for cutting Officer Jackson’s career short. That man had a serious lack of honor. Second, you haven’t been a copper in some time, we made sure of that.” Carbone said as he slowly took a few steps toward Duke.

  “Who is we?”

  Carbone smiled at Duke. “We are a machine bigger than you could fathom. Some two-bit detective with a drinking problem should’ve just kept his head down and his mouth shut. You couldn’t do that, could you? You’re too righteous for your own good. Someone had a soft spot for you before, so you got off with just a slap on the wrist and only lost your badge. You’re starting to step on those same toes, Duke, but this time you're going to lose a lot more. So put the gun down, give me the files, and go to Doc’s where you belong.”

  “Since you know so much about me, you should know that the only thing on that list I will be doing is hitting up Doc’s. That’ll be after I bring your smug ass in on a silver platter. So again, hands in the air and turn around slowly.” Duke knew that he had a long journey through the dark maze of City Hall, and with a prisoner and no handcuffs it would be downright impossible. He looked at the phone on the mayor’s desk and it was his only play. Duke would get in some hot water for breaking and entering, but he thought they might go easy on him if he brought in Jackson’s killer.

  “Don’t you think the police may be interested in your late-night affairs as well?” Carbone asked as he slowly turned around, complying with Duke’s demands.

  “As long as they let us share a cell, I think I’ll have an outlet to take out any aggression I may be feeling. Now, follow the sound of my voice and back up to me slowly.” Duke hadn’t been a cop in a long time, but it all came back to him, like riding a bike. Duke placed the flashlight on the desk so it remained pointed in the direction of his suspect.

  Once Carbone got to about two feet of the desk, Duke ordered him to halt. Duke swung the telephone around and dialed a number he knew by heart, the only guy he could trust at this point.

  The voice on the other end sounded groggy or hungover. “Stampkin here.”

  “John, it’s Duke.”

  “What the hell? You know what time it is?”

  “I got him.”

  “You got who?”

  “Jackson’s killer and possibly Isabella’s killer as well,” Duke said as he continued to stare at the desk, looking for something to bind his suspect's hands with.

  “You got him! Where are you?” Stampkin’s voice instantly changed, as if he had just guzzled a gallon of Margo’s coffee.

  “Well, partner, I’m kind of in the mayor’s office in City Hall,” Duke said with a grin, knowing that it would make Stampkin’s blood boil.

  “You broke into City Hall at 3 in the morning!”

  “We can get to the why later, just get down here and help me bring this guy in.”

  “You got an ID? Someone we know?” Stampkin asked, now in full detective mode.

  “Negative, he’s an outsider, but has got the whole book on me. He won’t give me a name, but I’m pretty sure this guy has got to be on somebody’s radar. Just get down here before I get trigger happy.” Duke added the last part hoping to scare his suspect into cooperating until Stampkin got on the scene.

  “On my way!”

  Duke hung up the phone and proceeded to rip the cord out of the phone and the wall.

  “Alright, champ, you bring those arms down now and place them behind your back.” Duke knew the toughest part was going to be the transition. He would have to holster his weapon, take positive control of the suspect, and tie the man’s hands together with the cord.

  “I’m going to give you one last chance, Dempsey. Put the files on the desk and walk out of here,” Carbone said, now with more authority in his voice.

  Duke ignored his demands and slowly proceeded to cut the 2-foot distance between him and his suspect. Right when Duke was about to holster his weapon, he saw a bulge in the suspect's back.

  “Packing a heater, I see. Interestingly, you didn’t draw down on me when you had the chance. Just goes to show that the term ‘wise guy’ is an oxymoron.” Duke reached into the small of Carbone’s back and pulled out a nickel-plated Beretta. “Cute. Bertucci’s choir boy?” Duke threw the gun to the ground so he could focus on the task at hand.

  Carbone had already calculated the actions Duke was about to take well before he took them. He controlled his breathing and ran over what he was about to do once the detective got into his target area.

  As soon as Duke spoke and took his weapon, Carbone had Duke right where he wanted him. The gun made a thud, hitting the floor, and Carbone sprang into action. He grabbed Duke's right wrist, which was holding the Colt revolver. He pulled Duke’s arm with such force that Duke's entire body hit Carbone’s backside. In the same motion, Carbone jerked his head backward, crashing into Duke’s face between the eyes, and nearly breaking his nose. Before Duke could clear the cobwebs, Carbone had already disarmed him, and was now facing him with the Colt pointed in his direction.

  “I’ve noticed doing things the hard way is a pattern with you. Any last words, flat foot?”

  Duke blew blood from his nose onto the sh
oe of Carbone, before looking up at him. “Got a smoke?”

  The arrogance of his prey made Carbone smirk. It was the first time in his career that he’d came across a worthy adversary, even though this altercation had severely disappointed him. Without even looking at his shoe, Carbone raised the gun to Duke’s forehead. “I’ll be seeing you again,” Carbone said as he violently hit Duke with the Colt where the neck met with the shoulder blade, instantly knocking Duke unconscious.

  Chapter 16 – Guardian Angel

  The haze lifted from Duke as he looked around trying to get his bearings. Deep throbbing pain in his neck limited him from twisting his head around to see where he was.

  He could make out the silhouette of a man. The shape was blurry, and it almost looked as if it had lines obstructing his view. Duke rubbed his eyes trying to get a clearer look at what he was seeing, and the blurry figure started to come into focus. He rubbed his eyes once more, and could finally make out the disheveled gray suit and his old friend, but the lines now became clear as well.

  They weren’t lines at all, but bars. He picked himself up off the steel cot he had been lying on and sat up, facing his friend.

  “You did it this time,” Stampkin said.

  “How about you give me a smoke instead of a lecture?”

  “You realize that I can’t cover this up. Slate has been licking his chops since they brought you in. They got you on a B and E, illegal trespass, espionage, and whatever trumped-up charge they can get to stick to the wall. My advice to you is don’t say a fucking word until your lawyer gets here.”

  Duke looked down at the concrete floor, trying to remember the events that had gotten him where he was. “Why did you call your friends? If you’d come alone, I wouldn’t be in here.”