Work at Odds

by Shane Chastain

  14

  An elevated train ride from downtown, and a short walk the rest of the way, brought us back to our office. Sid sat at his desk with a sour look on his face.

  “What’s going on?” I asked him.

  “Company,” he responded, showing no enthusiasm.

  We left him there and went up. Our office door stood open, and inside was a small battalion of Tucker’s men, going through our things. As we entered a man stood upright, having been hunched down, digging through Dave’s desk drawer. He had some papers in hand and dropped them loose in the floor as he stared us down.

  Dave made no reaction, so I decided to do likewise, and placed my hat on the rack by the door. One of the vice cops motioned to the others that it was time to move out, and they started for us, brushed by, and left.

  I shook my head at the scene, disgusted. Papers were strewn around on the ground, our desks were turned out, as well as the filing cabinet on the back wall. We made our way to our stations, gathering things as we came to them. One of the men popped back in. I thought he would walk right on through me, but he stopped short of the end of my desk, and bent down and grabbed a crowbar that had been leaning against the front of it. Without a word, he took it and left again. I looked around to see what the tool might have been for, and saw that mine and Dave’s little floor safes had been forced open and rendered useless.

  “You know,” I fumed, “It’s too bad Tucker can’t find his way onto Art’s radar.”

  Dave arranged the order of some pages he’d taken from the floor, and responded, “If only,” then flopped them down in front of his typewriter, and said, “Come, John.”

  I was half way down into my seat, and he started for the door with the command. I made a touch and go landing onto the chair cushion, and followed behind.

  “Where to, now, Dave?”

  “To Barbingola’s. I was there earlier, but as Tucker eliminated prospective locations to find me, I was forced to cut my meeting short.”

  “Barbs didn’t want to make the list, huh?”

  Dave was frustrated with the day, I could tell, and he just made a sound in response. I got my hat and followed him down to the sedan, and he drove us back to Baringola’s place. The route was becoming all too familiar for my liking, but with our killer as good as identified, and Dave in action to catch him, I began to see the end.

  Our third visit to Barbingola’s building was a different one. The friendly act by the men downstairs was over. They had tripled in number to boot. The whole lobby was full of hard looking fellows, with fairly conspicuous sentries, in groups of three, outside on both ends of the sidewalk.

  Dave and I didn’t make it to the front desk, before one of the goons put a mitt in my chest, telling us,

  “Turn around.”

  Dave spoke.

  “We are here to resume an earlier meeting with Mr. Barbingola.”

  “He’s not taking any more visitors today.”

  Dave huffed, which attracted the immediate attention of three more guards.

  “We are expected,” Dave seethed.

  “Last chance,” said the lead man. “Turn around.”

  Dave’s usual politeness looked to be on its way out with the lobby men’s hospitality. We were as good as surrounded now, and our method of departure was soon to be decided for us. I put a firm hand on his shoulder, and told him, as much as suggested,

  “Let’s just go to a booth and call.”

  Before he could protest further, I spun him around, and worked him back the way we came, and onto the sidewalk. I kept hold of him, just in case he thought they needed a piece of his mind, while I looked around for a phone. I spied one a block up, and made sure to get him walking with me, before I let go. He jerked at his collar, as if I’d disturbed it, but went on and got into the booth.

  He put some coins in, and dialed the number from memory. In a moment someone picked up. I leaned in through the little door, and he held the earpiece a little ways from his head, so I could just make out the other end of the call.

  “Mr. Fange?” Dave began. Fange confirmed, so Dave told him what he wanted. “Mr. Fange, Mr. Trait and I were stopped in the lobby of your building. We are down the street calling, and would like to be granted entry, so that your employer and I can finish this morning’s meeting.”

  Fange was emphatic.

  “Nothing doing, Mr. DeGrabber. Boss says he’s not seeing anybody, until this killer is dealt with.”

  “That is precisely what I intend to discuss, if we could only come up for a few moments.”

  “Boss is not taking any visitors. As of lunch time today, the place is on lockdown. If that guy shows up, it’ll be curtains for him.”

  Dave gripped the phone tight, like he wanted to break it, but kept his voice calm.

  “Mr. Fange, this man is supremely dangerous. He has means to traverse the very rooftops.”

  Dave would have went on, but Fange interjected, saying,

  “We are aware, Mr. DeGrabber. Precautions have been taken, per your report, and ten men are stationed on the roof. Now, I’m sorry, but we’ll probably be able to take it from here.”

  “But, Mr. Fange, surely-“

  He’d hung up. Dave pulled the handset a few inches from his ear, and stood like that for long enough for me to get tired of leaning into the booth, so I stepped back and waited for him to compose himself.

  In five minutes, I’d checked my watch for the third time, when I finally heard him put the phone back on the hook. He stepped out, having regained his easygoing demeanor. His time in the booth had also inspired him, and he shared his idea with me.

  “John, Mr. Barbingola’s seclusion is a hinderance to our investigation, but possibly not a crippling one. I have an idea, but it will require his direct participation. I would like for you to draw him out.”

  My demeanor had not improved, like Dave’s, in the last five minutes, and I said shortly,

  “How the hell am I supposed to do that? You heard Fange.”

  “What time is it?”

  I grabbed his wrist and moved his arm into watch reading position, but the one he usually wore wasn’t there.

  “Where’s your watch?” I asked.

  Awkwardly, he used his free hand to take my wrist, and read from my timepiece. He answered carelessly,

  “Somewhere in the south river, I suppose.”

  I released him, and he me. I had forgotten about his trip down the river, but was in no mood to show him sympathies, not that he minded. He went on.

  “I would like for you to call on that woman, again. Jewels. See if you can convince her to use her influence to break Mr. Barbingola’s fortification. It may be a long shot, but it’s better than you being idle.”

  I considered a moment, then realized I had my arms folded and my eyes down at the ground, like Dave does, and snapped to attention.

  “Alright,” I began, but he was off. “Hey! Where are we going, now?”

  If he’d walked any faster he’d have broken into a trot. He called back to me, just as carelessly as he may.

  “You can find your way back, I trust. I must be off at once. Good luck, John.”

  Before I knew it he was in the sedan. He got the engine running on the first try and deftly blended into the late day traffic. I watched the back of the sedan till it left my sight, and then stood fixed on the spot for another few moments while I thought about how I’d gotten there. In life, that is. I’ll save you that bit of self pity, however. It just happens some times when Dave only draws half the play in the dirt. My part wasn’t even so bad. Taking Jewels out again sounded much easier than fighting a mad man on a roof.

  It was only four o’clock when Dave left me on the sidewalk, so I had some time to kill, and so, time to figure out the best way to get in touch with Jewels. I thought, for maximum effect, it would be best if Barbs didn’t know I was working on her. After all, a man doesn’t build a small criminal empire by being a boob.

  I found a taxi, and had the dr
iver take me back to the office, where I put Sid to work. From the front desk phone we rang Barbingola’s, and with me in his ear, were quickly past Fange, Sandy, and onto Jewels. Sid played the part of a high roller looking for a good time, which I knew would be right up Jewels’ alley. I was right, and we agreed to meet at the south entrance of Grant Park, where’d I’d have a car to convey us to wherever the night might take us.

  “That sounds swell,” she said. “I’ll see you there at, say, nine?”

  Sid hesitated.

  “Uh. That’s pretty lat-“ I stuck my elbow in his flank, to remind him that high rollers don’t have bedtimes, and he corrected. “I look forward to it, Miss.”

  That settled it, and got Sid off the phone, which was a relief. By that time my watch said six o’clock, just three hours to get to the park with some kind of vehicle, and Dave had our only one. I pulled Sid’s phone over to me, and called the city cab depot, to book Ralph for the job.

  If we skip ahead, you won’t miss anything. I only walked home, picked out a white shirt with little tan stripes, and a brown tie with matching slacks, and strolled around the apartment to keep my bum knee loose, until Ralph showed up with his car. We motored downtown, and into a spot on the street, right next to the park’s south entrance, with seven minutes to spare.

  “What are we doing, tonight, John?” Ralph asked. He’s a little older man, but always ready for bear. “Tailing somebody, maybe?”

  “No, Ralph,” I assured from the backseat. “Just regular driving tonight. There she is. Wait here.”

  Ralph nodded, and I got out. Jewels had just stepped from a black Cadillac, across the street. She had on appropriate attire tonight, for the cool breeze, in a dark fur coat. I approached with a smile. She spoke when she spotted me.

  “I suppose you’re the high roller, Mr. Trait?”

  A look at Jewels again, up close, made me wonder if she could quite fill a suitcase with everything she owned. Aside from the addition of the cold weather gear, it was the same dress as before, as well as the same gaudy necklace that I’d seen returned to her. It made me feel for her, that she hardly had anything, but then the way the necklace had come back to her, with a girl wrapped in a carpet, I thought, maybe she didn’t deserve anything. She pressed up to my side, taking hold of my arm, and let me escort her across the street to the waiting cab.

  “Where are you taking me tonight?” she asked excitedly.

  I closed the car door, and answered.

  “I thought I’d let you pick. Another miscellaneous expense, of course, so the sky’s the limit.”

  She considered a moment, and rubbed on my arm while she did, then she turned her eyes up to mine, exhaled, and said,

  “I didn’t have the best time the other night, at Williams’. People can act funny in those places, with a girl like me around.”

  “Ralph will take us wherever you like.”

  She let go of me, and pulled herself forward by Ralph’s seat. She spoke to him.

  “Do you know where the Maker Room is?”

  Ralph’s eyes darted nervously to me in the mirror. I sent him back a gaze to do whatever the lady said, so he nodded. Jewels flopped back into the seat, and stated,

  “I’d like to go there.”

  “Sure thing, Miss,” Ralph responded, putting the car in gear and pulling off.

  15

  If you wonder why a request to visit The Maker Room seemed to spook my star cabbie, then I guess I should explain. Needless to say, Ralph wasn’t flummoxed on the directions. He would tell me some time later, since he likes to chat, that his trouble was chiefly for my type of person, and how I would be received by The Maker Room’s type of clientele. It was a valid concern, what with me being some approximation of an arm of truth and justice, if you will.

  The Maker Room, located on the very south edge of the loop, is where the city’s bad guys go when they need to blow off steam. Most business is left at the door, and conversation is made to be about the drinks and the weather, or else. I had learned about the hideout in my dealings with Dave, and once asked Ben Scott why he, and the rest of Chicago PD, hadn’t kicked the door in on a busy night and rounded up the lot. His answer was that they didn’t think it’d be worth the loss of officer’s lives, as the mobsters within would probably open fire, with no fear of an innocent bystander.

  “Here’s the spot,” Ralph announced, making no effort to hide the dread. “You want me to wait around?”

  I looked across Jewels, beside me, and out the window at the ratty front door of the joint, and said to her,

  “You think they serve my kind of people in there?”

  She squeezed my thigh, laughed, and said carelessly,

  “Of course they will. You’re with me.”

  I exhaled long, trying to gather myself, and then told Ralph he could beat it as we disembarked.

  Inside, a man stationed by the door greeted Jewels warmly enough for me to not want to ask how she knew him. He looked me up and down, which concluded our interaction, but he told Jewels we could sit wherever we felt like, and we left our overcoats there on the rack.

  The decor wasn’t as bad as I’d assumed. It was easy, before going in, to imagine a hell scape populated by imps and demons in flat caps, but it was only a little dimmer than any other smoking lounge. The people, sat around the little unclothed tables and cozy booths, were no more scarred or deformed than any other evening crowd. The male to female ratio was not ideal however, which made Jewels a popular item as we made our way to a round corner booth.

  My senses were heightened, looking for any familiar faces that knew me professionally, so that I’d be sure to see the gun that would shoot me, there arranged so nicely to the whole room as I was. I must have had a grim expression on, because Jewels took me by the chin and directed my senses to herself.

  “John Trait,” she said. “I promise you’re safe here with me.”

  I started to disagree, but stopped myself. If she was going to help us with Barbingola, I needed her supple. I grinned and said,

  “You’re right. Let’s order some drinks. Do we go to the bar?”

  “I never do.”

  She signaled in the direction of the bar on the back wall, and a man came from behind it at once. Another warm greeting, complete with embrace, for Jewels, and another once over for me. She ordered for both of us, and the man went to make two dirty martinis, which while not my favorite, would get the job done.

  “Do you smoke, John?” she asked, cuddling up to my side and placing my arm around her. I pulled the arm back over, and answered,

  “Socially.”

  I went in my jacket pocket for some smokes I keep to be friendly with. She pulled an ash tray closer, and I provided us each a light with a match.

  She took a drag, cozied herself up again, and commented,

  “A little stale.”

  I looked at mine in my fingers, and responded.

  “I suppose I haven’t been sociable enough.”

  The bar man dropped off the martinis, presenting Jewels hers as if she were royalty. She drank it in two big swallows before he left, and handed the glass back to him for a refill. He left and came right back with a fresh one that she didn’t shoot. I sipped mine, and spoke.

  “So, Jewels. Speaking of socializing, as we were. Dave and I need some help from you.”

  She gave me a curious eye from behind her martini glass. Martinis were, to her, a two gulp sort of drink. I went on.

  “Dave has an idea cooked up to catch that man you saw jump out of the motel window.”

  “You want me to try to get Barbs out of the house?” she said flatly.

  “Gosh, you’re quick.”

  She raised her near empty glass, and jiggled it at the bartender, who went to work on another, then she finished it off. Another drink down, she told me,

  “I figured you were up to something, having that man call me. Barbs has the whole place on lockdown. We’d have an escort, right now, if I hadn’t promised Barbs�
�� driver that I’d be fine.”

  I was hurt.

  “You didn’t buy the call? What was wrong with it?”

  She giggled.

  “It was all wrong. Maybe if you had got me through Sandy, but then she said it sounded funny in the bit she talked to him. Who was that guy, anyway?”

  “A bad actor, evidently. So, do you think you can get Barbs to leave the house for us?”

  Her third martini showed up, and I noticed she’d amassed a buffet of olives there on her napkin. She downed another half drink, and must have wanted to start pacing herself, eating one of the olives off its toothpick. She spoke with it in her mouth.

  “Nothing doing, John. Arthur’s business is his business. If we’re locked down, we’re locked down.”

  “Arthur?” I repeated.

  “Huh?”

  Without knowing what all she knew, I played dumb.

  “Who’s Arthur?”

  She laughed for just a second.

  “Arthur Barbingola, silly. You and the police really just call him Barbs, don’t you? Like he’s all rust, wire, and stickers.”

  I slipped a little, letting my own opinions be heard.

  “Isn’t he though? How about that girl that took your necklace? Was that thing worth whatever he did to her?”

  She bristled, and defended her boss.

  “Marge was a thief. She stole from family, at that. What would you have done to her?”

  That kind of thinking makes my head hurt, just above the spot between my eyes. I pinched there and held a hand up for a timeout.

  “Listen, Jewels. You told me the other night that he wasn’t so bad. That you didn’t buy that story Sandy told you, about him putting that woman out on the street with the kid.”

  “That’s different, John,” she challenged.

  I shook my head.

  “I don’t think you appreciate the precariousness of your situation there.”

  “How do you figure? I can just leave, if I want to. I told you, I don’t have to work for him.”

  I softened my tone, and said,

  “Are you sure, Jewels? I mean, I know you like the rush you get from all of this, but can’t you see it might not be that easy to leave?”