Unremarkable

by Geoff Habiger

  After about 30 minutes Mr. Dickenson finally left, but by this time I had gotten so busy with the sorting that I forgot about Joe. My thoughts kept coming back to Capone and my family. Horrible images of Capone laughing maniacally while shooting my mom and sister with a Tommy Gun kept flashing through my mind. I looked up at the clock every chance I got and it seemed like it was barely moving. At one point I swore that I even saw the second hand tick backwards. “What’s taking so long?” I mumbled.

  Joe must have heard me, “Relax, man.” He was leaning against the sorting table. “They’ll have our next baskets of mail soon enough. Why the rush?”

  I looked down and realized that Joe was right. Somehow I had managed to get through the basket of mail without realizing it. I tried to laugh it off. “No reason,” I said. “I just feel like time goes faster when we’re working, ya know.”

  “Don’t I know it.” As was usually the case, this got Joe started in on how he’d worked a job as a kid waiting to run messages for somebody and how the hours would drag by when there weren’t any messages to deliver.

  I was absently listening as two more baskets of mail were rolled up, one for each of us. I reached in and grabbed the first thing on top: a large, thick package wrapped in brown paper and tied with a string. I took a look for the address but didn’t see anything. I flipped it over and saw that a piece of paper had been pinned to the package.

  S—Here they are. Call C and tell him to meet you at the Michigan Ave. bridge at 2 a.m. We’ll take care of the rest. T

  My heart was racing. I had the books right here. I was holding them in my hands, and that meant that my parents would be safe. I glanced up at the clock. 1:15. Shit, I thought. Not much time.

  Without saying anything, I turned and walked away from the sorting table. “Saul?” Joe’s voice called from behind me. “Saul, what are you doin’? Dickenson will fire you.”

  I ignored him and walked out of the sorting room. I hurried and ran down the stairs, taking them two at a time. I reached the main floor and ran into the diner, where I knew there was a phone. I raced in past Francine without acknowledging her surprise at seeing me and grabbed the phone. The operator asked me for the number.

  “Lexington Hotel,” I said.

  There was a pause and I heard several clicks as the call was connected. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Francine looking at me curiously, but I ignored her. I heard the phone ring three times before it was answered. “Lexington Hotel, front desk,” said a voice that was way too polite for this time of the night.

  “Please connect me with Al Capone.”

  “One moment.” There was no back talk or questions, like Al Capone always got phone calls at one-thirty in the morning.

  I waited for only a few seconds before I heard Capone’s distinct voice. “Mr. Imbierowicz,” his voice was silky smooth. “So good of you to call. I hope you have something for me?”

  “Yes,” I said, hefting the package in my hand. “I have them. I will meet you at the Michigan Avenue Bridge in half an hour to deliver them to you.”

  “That seems a bit presumptuous of you.” Capone’s voice was steely and threatening. “Why not bring them to me here?”

  Shit. Capone will insist on me coming to the hotel. But maybe that works for me? I can give him the books and my family will be safe from him. But what about Moran, damnit? If I give Capone the books, Moran may still be pissed at me and take out my family. Shit. I still needed Truesdale and whatever his damn plan is to get through this. Ok, how do I get Capone to meet me at the bridge? “Look,” I said, “I can’t get away long enough to get them up to the hotel. The bridge is closer, and that way nobody will see what we are doing.” I was thinking on my feet here, but I thought that sounded pretty good.

  Capone must have felt that way too. “I suppose that does make sense. Fine, I will meet you at the bridge in thirty minutes.” The line clicked off.

  Chapter 32

  Twenty-five minutes later I was standing in the middle of Wacker Drive, my hands clutching the package as I stared at the bridge on Michigan Avenue. The city was quiet at this time of the morning and a light snow was falling, with the flakes glittering in the lights around the bridge. The temperature was very cold and a light wind was blowing up the river from Lake Michigan. My breath wreathed my head in a cloud of fog. I glanced around to see if I could spot Truesdale or Wright, wondering if they were even going to show up. Are they going to leave me hanging here to face Capone by myself? No, this was where Truesdale wanted Capone and me, so I knew that they had to be nearby, even if I couldn’t see them.

  I walked over to the bridge, the snowflakes tickling my cheeks. I glanced at the carving on the bridge house depicting a man, sword drawn, his left arm grabbing at an Indian. The sculpture was titled Defense and represented the Battle of Fort Dearborn. I shrugged my shoulders, hoping that it was an auspicious sign as I was doing my best to defend my family.

  Sounds of a car pulling up behind me caused me to turn around. I watched as a dark green Cadillac pulled up and parked on Wacker. The car sat there idling for a few seconds, then the engine turned off. Al Capone stepped out from the driver’s seat and closed the door.

  Capone was wearing a black suit with a white shirt and black bow tie. He was wearing diamond cufflinks that glittered like fire in the street lights. Draped across his shoulders was a black cape with a red silk lining and a fur-trimmed collar. It looked like he was dressed for the opera.

  I moved out to the center of Michigan Avenue, taking a few involuntary steps backward onto the bridge. My footsteps rang loudly on the metal plating. I shivered, and it wasn’t because of the cold.

  Capone took a moment to put on some white gloves, looked left and right, then looked up the street and across the bridge. Satisfied, he stepped away from the car toward the bridge.

  “Good evening, Mr. Imbierowicz.” He smiled politely, but I could tell that it wasn’t genuine. His eyes never left mine and they held a predatory glint. “Did you bring my package?”

  Numbly, I held out the bundle. “Here it is,” I said. “It’s yours. Now please tell me that you’ll leave my family alone.”

  Capone held up a hand. “Not until I have made sure that this is the genuine article.” He took a step forward and I handed the package to him. “You know, Mr. Imbierowicz, I have been most unhappy with how difficult it has been for me to get these back. It should have been a simple thing for Moira to play her charms on you and for you to get the books and give them to her. I still don’t know exactly what happened there, but I have a theory. Would you like to hear it?” Capone held the package but didn’t move to open it. I wanted to tell him to get on with it, but I was a bit curious myself ever since he’d come to my apartment.

  “I told you before that Moira worked for me, and that I made her. I made her in the same sense that Johnny Torrio made me. Johnny warned me not to, you know. He felt that she was too independent, but I was new to my ‘profession’ and I didn’t listen to his counsel. She died in my arms, willingly, and was reborn as one of us, one of the undead.” He gave me a look and I saw his eyes glow with a reddish light, as if stoked by an inner fire.

  A frozen lump formed in the pit of my stomach. Shit. Al Capone just told me that he’s a vampire. He’d made Moira into a vampire as well. I know that in the back of my mind that I had suspected this, but now it was confirmed. I took a hesitant step back and started to sweat despite the freezing temperatures.

  “Moira should have done my bidding without hesitation, but I think she wanted out. I could feel her struggling against me, fighting my control. You see, I knew she had met with Moran. I think she was trying to use him to get to me. I don’t know what she told him, but Moran was trying to get some of his own men.” Capone gave me a hard look. “Men like me. I think he was doing it with Moira’s help. That’s why I ordered the attack at the garage last week. I couldn’t have Moran getting
his hands on vampire goons,” Capone chuckled. “It would have upset the balance of power here in Chicago.”

  Capone took a look at the city around us. He seemed to have a look of ownership and pride as he looked at the Wrigley Building behind me. “I’m a reasonable man,” he continued. “I just want to live my life, and there’s plenty of money to go around and share. But Moran is getting greedy, and I can’t let the kind of bloodshed that seven masterless vampires would cause happen to my city.”

  “But they would have had a master. They would have had Moira.” I was starting to see all the pieces falling into place.

  “For a while, but as I told you before, you did me a favor by killing Moira for me. Had you not done it, I would have. So there still would have been seven vicious killers loose in our fair city.”

  “So you staged a massacre in order to stop a massacre?” I asked. Capone gave me another hard look, then nodded.

  “Of course. This was just business and it was necessary to save the citizens of Chicago from a terrible fate. Do you know what kind of damage seven unsupervised vampires can do? Sure, with Moira dead Moran might think he could control them, but he’s not one of us. Soon enough they would have been running free like a pack of wolves, killing innocent victims indiscriminately. I might be a ruthless killer, Mr. Imbierowicz, but I am a man who loves his city.”

  Capone hefted the package and looked at it, as if suddenly remembering that he had been holding it. He started loosening the string. “You know, Mr. Imbierowicz. I wasn’t completely sure about Moira’s intentions until I came back and she brought you to my house. I had really wanted to stay in Florida, but her failure to get the job done forced me to come back.” He lazily dropped the string onto the snow-covered bridge deck. He started to pull off the brown paper wrapping.

  “When we met, you refused a direct command from me. Most people don’t live after doing that, but then again, most people don’t readily ignore a command from me when I turn on my charm. You should have easily bent to my will, but you didn’t. I knew then that Moira had made you. If she’d made you, then that meant she was planning to make a move against me, to free herself from my control.” Capone paused from unwrapping the package and looked at me. He raised one eyebrow in a questioning expression.

  Wheels and gears started turning and clicked in my head. “Are you....do you mean...no...” I stammered. “No! Don’t you have to bite somebody on the neck, or something to make that happen?”

  Capone laughed. The sound was loud and echoed off the bridge and buildings. “You have a lot to learn, although I don’t think you’ll have long to learn it. I can’t have a vampire around that wasn’t made by me.” He continued pulling off the wrapping. “But don’t worry, your family will...” Capone’s voice trailed off as he pulled off the last of the paper. Underneath the paper was a stack of newspaper clippings sitting between two pieces of cardboard. Capone let the top cardboard piece fall to the ground as a shocked expression crossed his face. I could see clippings of racing forms, and on the top was scrawled a note in red ink in Agent Truesdale’s distinct handwriting. “It’s a sure bet that Ralphie’s going down this time.”

  “What is this shit?” Capone’s voice was menacing, with a deep guttural undertone. “Do you think this is funny? You little piece of shit!” Capone yelled as he thrust the race clippings into my face, before tossing them to the bridge with a savage jerk of his arm. Newspaper clippings swirled in the wind around our feet and blew over the railing to fall into the water of the river below. Capone’s face was contorting and I could see the tips of fangs edging out from his lips. “Do you think this is a fucking joke?”

  The strike was unexpected. Capone lashed out with his left fist, catching me just below my already blackened right eye. Pain shot through my face and I stumbled back. Capone followed up with a punch to my gut with his right hand that nearly doubled me over. I gasped as air exploded from my lungs. More pain came as I felt a blow to my jaw. I held up my hands to fend off the blows, which were coming faster and harder than Jack Dempsey’s. I tried to lash out but I was stunned by the ferociousness of Capone’s attack.

  “You think this is funny?” Capone yelled. I felt a sharp pain and I could feel blood running down my neck. “You have a strange way of trying to protect your family.” I then felt a tight constriction in my throat as Capone grabbed me and lifted me off the ground. He was staring up at me, his normally grey eyes now flaring with a deep red glow, like coals from a fire. He leered at me, his lips peeling back to reveal long, sharp fangs.

  Damn, déjà vu. Getting choked by vampires three times in the same week does not bode well. I reached up and tried to pry Capone’s fingers from my neck, but it was a feeble gesture.

  “After I put you down, Mr. Imbierowicz, I will enjoy ravaging your family. They will find pieces of your father strewn about the packing plant. I’ll turn him into sausage and feed him to your mother before I tear out her heart and show it to her.” Capone tilted his head and smiled a grisly smile. “But I think I’ll let your sister live. My brothels are always in need of fresh pussy.”

  I struggled and managed to hit Capone in the face, but my blow didn’t phase him. If Capone was right and Moira had made me a damn vampire, why is he so much stronger than me? Why can’t I fight him? My vision started to grey out.

  Suddenly Capone flung me down, and I fell sprawling onto the cold, wet metal of the bridge. My lungs were on fire and I was bruised and battered from the beating. I looked up at Capone, gasping for breath.

  “As much pleasure as it would give me to tear your throat out, your death will be much less suspicious if I shoot you. After all, you are just one more unremarkable victim of our fair city’s violent culture.” He reached into his coat, pulled out a small pistol from a shoulder holster, and pointed it at me. The gun might have been small, but from my perspective it looked like a cannon.

  “Good-bye, Mr. Imbierowicz.”

  Chapter 33

  I stared down the barrel of the gun, not afraid for myself, but for how I had failed my family. Capone gave me a cruel smile and winked at me as he pulled the trigger.

  There was an explosion and a brilliant flash of light. The gunshot seemed to echo around the bridge. Capone jerked to the right, then was pushed backward, blood spurting from his right arm. I couldn’t fully process what was happening as my own chest erupted in pain as Capone’s bullet struck me. I stared, dumbfounded, as blood darkened Capone’s suit jacket. Capone yelled in rage and swung his gun around, firing two more shots at me, hitting me in my chest. I collapsed in a heap onto the bridge deck, the snow cold and wet beneath me.

  I heard another gunshot as Capone was hit in the shoulder. Capone turned and fired two shots toward the north end of the bridge, then he turned and ran back toward his car. My body was getting cold and numb and my vision was quickly going in and out of focus.

  I looked up into the night sky, watching snowflakes fall onto me. I didn’t feel any pain now, but I could feel my blood pooling under me. I closed my eyes and slowly drifted into unconsciousness.

  Chapter 34

  I turned in the hospital bed and looked at the man sitting in the chair. I coughed, spitting more blood onto the sheets. “That’s what happened,” I rasped. “I have no idea what happened from the time I went unconscious until I woke up here in the hospital. If you don’t believe any of my story you can confirm it with Agents Truesdale and Wright. They know most of what happened to me.”

  The man sitting in the chair blew out a stream of cigarette smoke and leaned forward in his chair. “Agent Truesdale is dead. He took a bullet right between the eyes. A pretty amazing shot from over 200 feet away.”

  I sighed and stared up at the ceiling. Damn. Truesdale had been a tough son of a bitch, but he didn’t deserve to go out like that.

  “Agent Wright took a bullet to the head,” the man continued. I shuddered, thinking the worst. “Apparently it just g
razed him, but he lost a lot of blood. He managed to get to you and keep you alive until the cops arrived. He finally passed out just as they were loading you into the ambulance. He is alive, but he’s unconscious right now.”

  My breathing became shallow, and I didn’t think it was from the news about the two Federal agents. I coughed again and more blood, this time frothy, came out. “So you’re saying....” My voice rasped, and I wheezed. “That all this was for nothing? No way to confirm anything...” Another ragged breath. “And now…(cough)…Capone gets away…(cough)…and I get to die. Hmph, it figures.”

  Chapter 35

  The man stood up as Saul took his last breath, putting his notepad and pen into his jacket pocket. He moved to the door and opened it. “Nurse,” he called. “Please get the doctor.”

  He turned back and stood by the door, looking at the body on the bed. After a minute the doctor came in. He moved to Saul’s body and checked for a pulse, then pulled out a stethoscope and listened to the heart and lungs. A few moments later he stood up, took out a pen, and checked his watch. He made a notation on the chart while saying, “Time of death is 8:11 a.m.”

  The doctor turned to the man and put his pen back into his coat pocket. “What do you want us to do with the body?”

  The man stepped forward into the light. He had a young, almost boyish-looking face and a penetrating gaze. He reached up and ran a hand through his dark-colored hair. “He doesn’t have any family,” he lied.

  “Well,” said the doctor, pulling out a cigarette. “I don’t have anybody available right now to take the body anyway. The coroner’s orderly was murdered the other night. Had his throat slashed and bled out right there in the morgue. We haven’t been able to hire a replacement yet.” He held out the cigarettes to the man, who took one.