Gods of Chicago: Omnibus Edition

by Sikes, AJ

  Emma waited for the sound of footsteps. When none came, she turned her frightened eyes to Eddie. His eyes were rounded and just as full of fear. The soldiers had to have seen the closed gate and figured their hiding spot. Why hadn’t they kept moving, gone into the house instead of staying put. Emma feared any second a bullet would break through the fence and go into her back or Eddie’s. She twitched her head to show him she meant to make for the house. He nodded and they stepped slow as can be, placing each foot with care. Emma reached for Eddie’s hand and found his outstretched fingers. They held on, keeping their arms a taut cord between them for balance, and for the safety of each other’s touch.

  They were halfway through the yard to the house when Emma heard a man cough beside the gate. Then the sound of glass on metal. What could that be? Emma heard the sound over and over in her mind as they moved up to the back stoop.

  The house was one of the larger ones in the neighborhood and had seen far better days, even before the Governor’s airships attacked the neighborhood. Windows were boarded up on the ground floor. The cellar door stood open beside the back stoop, which drooped to the side like a ship listing in the mud and snowmelt below. Eddie motioned with his free hand, pointing at the cellar door. Emma nodded. They made it to the cellar steps, slow but sure through the mud. Emma heard a whispering, like a flag fluttering in a slight breeze.

  A crash of glass and a gust of flame followed. Then another fluttering and Emma turned in time to see a bottle with a flaming rag stuck in it. The bottle struck the side of the house and exploded into a fireball, joining the flames licking the wood where the first firebomb had hit.

  Eddie pushed Emma down the cellar steps and raced after her. They fell together, landing on the earthen floor in a tangle. Shouts and laughter followed them in from outside, but quickly dissipated as the crackling of the fire grew louder. Emma held her lover and he wrapped his arms tight around her. They stayed that way until their terror faded, listening to the fire grow above them and watching its glow frame the cellar door in angry orange.

  “C’mon, Lovebird. Ain’t out of this yet. Got to be a door up into the house.”

  Emma let Eddie lead her again, feeling less sure of herself after landing them in this mess. They could have stayed hidden outside somewhere. They could have run down the street instead of deeper into the neighborhood.

  The sounds of shuffling feet and shouting came through the floorboards overhead. A man cursed and stomped his feet on the back stoop, yelling a litany into the night. His footsteps went back inside and followed a path to a set of stairs. Emma and Eddie listened to the man’s approach, afraid that whatever freedom had awaited them was about to vanish in a series of gunshots or worse.

  Emma pulled out her gun and nearly let off a shot when the dark of the cellar was split by the glare of a lantern. The man holding the lantern froze when he saw the two intruders in his basement. He fumbled at his belt and came up with a pistol. He shouted at them both, rambling in the language Emma had heard before. This time the tongue felt sharp in her ears, like a sword thrusting and slicing.

  “Nagy! Biros!” Emma shouted, dropping her gun and holding her hands out to fend off the man’s verbal assault. He stopped shouting and narrowed his eyes, examining Emma carefully. Her voice betrayed her sex, but she still wore the garments Biros and Eszti had given her. The man eyed her, then Eddie. When the lantern glowed off her lover’s dark skin, the man resumed his attack, but lower this time, and deeper. His guttural accusations echoing off Emma’s eardrums like hoofbeats through mud.

  From behind the man, a girl’s voice interrupted the scene. “Papa, no.” The man stepped aside and turned to face a young woman who had come down the stairs. She wore a heavy coat and had a scarf around her hair, half-shrouding her plain face and sad eyes. She looked like any other woman Emma had seen in the neighborhood, but a deeper sadness came off of her, like a cloud begging for a chance to rain. The girl and her father exchanged angry words, the man accusing, his daughter pleading. Finally, Emma could take no more and broke in.

  “We’re friends. Of Nagy and Biros. We tried to help them. To help you all, but the soldiers—”

  “I don’t know from soldiers,” the man shot back, turning again to stare Emma down. She gave back as good as she got, keeping her eyes firm and fixed on him as he spoke. The man was heavy around the middle, pillowing inside his coat. His limbs stuck out of his mass like stunted branches on an old tree, and his face was a goblin’s mask, all bristling hair, thick lips, beady black eyes, and bulbous nose.

  “I know my house is on fire. And my daughter tells me she knows a dark man. This dark man, who you bring to my basement when soldiers make my house to burn. So tell me, woman who looks like a man. Tell me, what do you know about this?”

  “I know we were here when the soldiers came and took everyone away. I know they helped us. Biros, and his daughter, Eszti. They dressed me to look like I belong here, and they helped hide Eddie,” she said, putting a hand on her lover’s shoulder.

  “Eddie,” the man said, looking at him now. “And what does Eddie know? What does Eddie know about my daughter?”

  “Sir,” Eddie began. Emma heard steel on his tongue and hoped he wouldn’t go too far. “I don’t know your daughter, though I seen her plenty of times before. Maybe you don’t want to ask how she knows me, but I’ll tell you it’s because she’s been to Nagy’s speak. You can see my piece is still where it belongs, so I’d be much obliged if you could wave yours in another direction. That’s what I know.”

  The man chuckled, but kept the gun level with Eddie’s navel, eyeing the butt of the pistol that stuck out above his belt.

  “The damn shoemaker and his room for drinking and dancing. My girl,” the man said, turning to his daughter. “you told me you would not go there. Your friends go there, but you say you will not. Now I find you have lied to me.”

  The girl’s face fell. Her father’s disappointment worse than any bullet from his gun. He put the pistol into his belt again and went to her, holding her close and whispering comfort before turning to face Emma and Eddie again.

  “You say Biros helps you. I am not Biros. I am Peter. Biros is a good man. I would trust him. For now, I trust you. My house is burning. We must leave.” He handed the lantern to Eddie and motioned for him to shine its light to the left.

  Peter went to the wall. The lantern illuminated a set of shelves there, and beside them a stack of crates that stood floor to ceiling. Reaching behind the crates, Peter fished out a key. He inserted it into a slot in one of the crates and twisted it, then pulled on the edge of crate. The whole stack swung out slowly, scraping the dirt floor. Eddie passed the lantern to Emma and lent his hands to the task.

  The tunnel waited for them, cold and silent and so very different from the world outside. Flames crackled and roared from upstairs and the structure shifted as a floor or wall collapsed somewhere above.

  “I would have my stick with me,” Peter said, looking at the steps leading into the house. His daughter moved as if to go fetch what her father wanted, but he put a hand on her arm. “No, girl. Let it be. I can find another stick.”

  Emma bent down and retrieved her father’s revolver.

  Peter watched her as she dropped it into her pocket. The old man’s face curled into a grim smile and he motioned for Emma to give Eddie the lantern and then for the two of them to enter the tunnel first. T

  hey did and moved into the darkness, the lantern casting its glow ahead of them. Peter and his daughter stayed close behind, giving directions when they came to intersections and branches.

  They moved fast, down the dark passage on a twisting course under the neighborhood. Their path crossed another tunnel that was much wider. After his first step into this new passage, Eddie stopped moving.

  “There’s tracks down here. Like an old railroad.”

 
“Is an old railroad,” Peter said, moving past Emma and accepting the lantern from Eddie. The old man shined the light on four sets of tracks in a tunnel that stretched out in front of them and away into darkness on either side. The ceiling was higher, too, at least twice that of the passage they’d followed to this point.

  “Is from old city,” the daughter said.

  “Where do they go?” Emma asked.

  “To where it is safe,” Peter said and moved down the tracks, waving for the others to follow.

  Chapter 40

  Brand skidded to a stop beside the curio shop’s back stoop. He put his back to the wall of the house. Its bulk loomed over him in the night. Firelight flickered beyond his position and horrific shadows danced on the wall of the next house. A gunshot sounded and a man howled in pain. Brand darted out when he heard laughter. What he saw made him nearly bellow with rage.

  Behind the curio shop, in the glow of a burning woodshed, Stevie Five Sticks and two other village types had a soldier pinned to the ground. Five Sticks held a pistol aimed at the soldier’s leg. Brand saw an angry wound there in the fire’s crackling glare. Before he could shout to stop the execution, Five Sticks lifted the gun and shot the soldier in the chest. The man heaved once and went still.

  Brand quietly moved back into hiding before hailing the gypsy.

  “Hey, Five Sticks. It’s Brand. I’ll come out if you promise to keep that pistol pointed at the ground.”

  “Sure thing, Brand. Hey fellas,” came the reply. Brand didn’t bother listening to the rest. He stepped out and moved fast to close on the trio of men standing around the dead soldier. Five Sticks had his pistol aimed at the ground all right, and Brand didn’t miss a beat before bringing his fist up and into the gypsy’s cheek. Five Sticks saw it coming just the same and rolled with the punch. He jumped back a step and held his free hand to his face. The pistol hadn’t moved, but Brand noticed the gypsy’s grip tighten around it.

  “What gives, Brand? Don’t tell me you’re working both sides here.”

  “I’m only working one side, and that’s the side that knows when a prisoner of war has earned an execution and when he hasn’t. But it doesn’t matter what side a man’s on when he’s been shot in the leg and is lying there unarmed. Who the hell gave you the right to kill a man like that?”

  Five Sticks stepped slow and easy, wiggling the pistol in his hand now but still keeping it pointed down. His voice rose as he spoke.

  “We’re not like the gray hairs in the neighborhood, Brand. We’re from here. This is our home. You hear that? Our home!”

  “And so you’ll do what you like, when you like, and how you like. Is that it? Well—”

  A gunshot from inside the curio shop broke in on their argument. Brand whirled to see the door to the back stoop bang open and a kid come rushing out holding a pistol. A soldier appeared in the doorway behind the kid. Brand winced as a shot cracked the air by his head and the soldier fell backwards into the house. The kid fell down the steps, landing in a heap in the mud.

  Brand rushed forward to the kid, hearing Stevie Five Sticks and his pals laughing behind him.

  “See the way that fella toppled back, Brand? Wish they didn’t have them masks on. Would’ve loved to see his eyes just then.”

  Spinning on his heel, Brand hollered blue murder at the gypsy. “How about the kid here? Want to see his eyes, too? Go on and look!”

  Brand reached down and lifted the kid by his arm. The pistol he’d been holding tumbled to the ground. A whimpering plea came to Brand’s ears and he paused. He knew the voice.

  “Conroy?” he said, lifting the kid by both arms now and looking him in the face. It was Aiden Conroy, all right. He wore a great coat that was two sizes too big and ten kinds of fancy too much for his family’s wardrobe. Brand knew the kid lived in Old Town. He’d dressed the part everyday since getting hired at the Daily Record.

  “What gives, Conroy? Where’d you get the duds here, and what’s with the gunslinger routine? Didn’t your folks tell you right about guns?”

  From across the frozen ground, Stevie Five Sticks wished Brand a farewell and waved goodbye.

  “Be seeing you, Brand. If you and your little brother here aren’t too scared, the show’s over by Humboldt Park.”

  “What show?”

  “The big one. That’s where it all ends tonight for the Governor. C’mon fellas,” the gypsy said to his pals. They sauntered off between the nearby houses and disappeared in the darkness.

  “Nuts,” Brand said, turning back to Conroy. The kid had his legs under him again. He opened his coat and brought out Brand’s photo viewer.

  #

  Aiden held the camera box out, but his boss told him to keep it tucked into his coat.

  “We might need it, or we might not. I don’t know. We’ll see when we get to the park.”

  “The park? But I thought you weren’t in with those guys. You gave ‘em hell after they—” Aiden felt his voice cut out, so he pointed to the dead soldier on the ground. He’d heard the whole exchange after the gunshot that killed the man. Even though the gypsy had saved him by killing the soldier coming out of the house, Aiden felt worse about it than if he’d shot the man himself. He kicked at the gun on the ground by his feet, sending it sliding into a pile of muddy snow.

  “I did,” Mr. Brand said, breaking in on Aiden’s thoughts. “I’d give ‘em hell again if I had the chance. But Stevie Five Sticks is right. This is going to end for the Governor over at that park, only it won’t be that gypsy and his gun that ends it.”

  Mr. Brand reached into his coat and lifted a square microphone that was hooked to his belt.

  “We’re going after the story, Conroy. You ready to do the news?”

  Aiden flinched as gunfire crackled across the night. He felt his stomach roll over on itself, but he still couldn’t help the grin that stretched over his face.

  #

  Aiden followed his boss through the neighborhood, in and out of hiding around the broken up buildings. Small explosions kept sounding in the deadly night, threatening to end their journey at any moment. Each blast made Aiden’s stomach quiver. He thought about going back for the pistol he’d dropped, but Aiden hadn’t liked the way it felt in his hands. The heaviness frightened him, like he might drop it on his foot and shoot off a toe.

  “When’s it gonna stop, Mr. Brand? Been going on all night, since. . .”

  His boss pulled up by a bombed out house and turned to look at him. Mr. Brand’s questioning eyes roamed over Aiden’s face, and he felt the memories welling up in his throat.

  “You all right, Conroy?”

  “My folks, Mr. Brand. Some G-men took ‘em away.” Aiden blubbered while he told his boss about seeing his folks pushed into the sedan and the soldier staying behind to wait for him. Mr. Brand moved them deeper into hiding within the ruined home.

  “What else happened? How’d you get out here anyway?”

  Aiden explained about finding the tunnel Digs showed him, and getting caught by a couple gypsies. He told about the professor and his radio, too, and about how the guy led him back through the tunnels after the shooting started.

  “Then the guy just up and vanished. Like the tunnel swallowed him. He was there and then he wasn’t.”

  “Well that settles one thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Eh?” his boss said, shaking his head like he was waking up from a dream. “Oh, you don’t have to worry about that bird. He’s with the good guys. At least I think he is. C’mon.”

  They kept moving through the neighborhood, aiming their path toward the sounds of fighting. They crossed a wide street with shattered homes and shops facing onto it. Firelight glowed from the next block.

  “That’s the park up ahead, Conroy. Let’s get—”

&nb
sp; An explosion shook the neighborhood and then another. Aiden held his hands to his ears when a whistling pierced the night and before he knew it Mr. Brand had him pressed against the ground in front of a still burning storefront. The flames waved in the nighttime breeze and cast shadows over them as earth and wood and stone rained down. When the clumps of mud stopped falling, Aiden shook his head free from his boss’s hands and rolled into a ball.

  Mr. Brand slid forward on his belly and put a hand on Aiden’s shoulder.

  “I know what you’re thinking right now, Conroy. I thought it myself when I was over there and the Kaiser’s boys kept up the mortar fire day and night.”

  “Ain’t going to see my folks again, am I?”

  “Eh? Oh, sure you are. I mean, I hope like hell you will. It won’t be on account of me letting you buy it at any rate. But I need you on your feet, Conroy. Your folks want to see you just the same as you do them. It won’t do them any good you lying on the ground like that.”

  Aiden struggled into a sitting position. He dusted his palms on the heavy coat the professor gave him. The bullets rattled in his pockets and he fished them out, both hands heavy with little pills of lead and brass. Aiden let them fall into the snowmelt and ash.

  “I’m ready, Mr. Brand. Just needed a good cry is all.”

  “Attaboy, Conroy. We need to get the story out about this. That’s our job. Like before, only now we’re on the ground and in the soup. Look, I’d better show you how to work this,” Mr. Brand said, lifting the microphone off his hip.

  He held the device out and pressed a switch on the side then released it.

  “That’s to transmit. You have to hold it down if you want to be heard. And don’t pull this cable out of the bottom. That’ll cut your power and then you’re just talking to yourself.”

  Aiden was still in a daze, but he tried to focus on what his boss was telling him.