Indiana Jones and the Genesis Deluge

by Rob MacGregor

  He ordered a Coca-Cola from a mulatto waitress, then turned his attention to the stage as he heard the familiar signature of Shannon's cornet and a sassy beat of a jazz drummer. Shannon didn't look any different than the last time Indy had seen him. He still wore a goatee and his red hair was as unkempt as ever. In college, Shannon had stood six-foot-two and weighed a hundred and forty pounds. He didn't look as if he'd added a pound to his wiry frame.

  At the end of the third time, Shannon leaned over the microphone as the applause died down. "Thank you. That was the 'High Society Rag,' appropriated directly from King Joe Oliver himself."

  He turned his head to the side and used his cornet like a pointer. "On piano tonight we have our old friend, Mr. Willie 'the Lion' Smith. Let's hear it for him." When the applause died, he continued: "On drums, all the way from New York's famous Rhythm Club, let's welcome Sonny Greer. We're going to play one more now, then take a break. When we come back, some of the Lion's friends are going to sit in with us."

  Shannon shaded his eyes with a hand. "You up there, Jones? One of my special friends is here this evening. He won't be performing onstage for us, though. He's a professional ditch digger by trade, fresh off the streets of London."

  Indy laughed as Shannon lifted his cornet to his lips and the band struck up a rollicking tune and the dance floor filled. Indy leaned back in his chair and let the music flow over him. True jazz was the sound of raw emotion, of hard luck and good times. He looked at the people at the other tables on the second floor, watching the dancers below as if they were attending a performance. Some snapped their fingers to the syncopated beat. Others just observed; and for most whites who dared to venture into the neighborhood, that was enough.

  A few minutes after the band took its break, Shannon strolled up the stairs wiping his brow with a towel. As he worked his way toward Indy's table he nodded and smiled and paused a couple of time to say a few words to the club's patrons. Indy stood up as Shannon reached his table. They shook hands and clasped shoulders.

  "So you're really here," Shannon said. "I got your telegram and could hardly believe it."

  "I can hardly believe it myself," Indy said as they sat down. "I feel like it's a dream."

  "Well, this ain't Dreamland. That's down the street. No dreaming allowed here."

  Indy laughed, and momentarily flashed on his dream. D is for duir.... D is for duir. It was something about his lost time in the jungle. Whatever had happened to him was like a dream. A dream that was still buried inside of him.

  "So what do you think of this place?" Shannon asked.

  "I guess it's about what I expected."

  "You don't know the half of it, Indy. Believe me.

  "What do you mean?"

  "We own the place, you know."

  "We?"

  "Me and my brothers. Who do you think? It's sort of a silent ownership. A Negro manager, you know."

  "Really? Then I'm surprised that you won't allow whites downstairs," Indy said. "Back when we used to come down here to listen to jazz, you used to complain about that kind of thing."

  "I know. I know. That's one of the concessions I've had to make to my brothers. You see, if we mixed things up, we'd draw attention to the place, and we don't need that. We've got enough trouble as it is."

  The waitress set a glass of soda water in front of Shannon and gave Indy another Coke. Shannon reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a flask. "Gin?"

  "I see you haven't changed much." Shannon spiked Indy's soft drink, considering the comment as he added gin to his glass of soda water. "Oh, I don't know about that, Indy. You'd be surprised."

  "I guess you've gotten closer to your brothers," Indy said, attempting to gauge Shannon's involvement in the mob.

  "That's not really what I was thinking of, but yeah, I have gotten closer to the family. It was a necessity, you could say."

  Indy knew that Shannon had moved into the family house, which he shared with his mother and one of his brothers, who had a wife and a couple of kids. "You still like living back home again?"

  "It has certain advantages." Shannon ran a hand through his thick, unkempt hair. "I wish I could invite you to stay at the house, but it's just not the best idea right now."

  "No problem. I've got a room already. I'm staying in the Blackstone Hotel." The last thing he wanted to do was take up space in a house that was probably already overcrowded.

  "You're kidding. Hoover stayed there when he was in town."

  "I believe it. It's quite a place, even if I can only afford it for a couple of nights."

  "So how long you staying?"

  "I don't know. It all depends. I'm going to see about a teaching job at our old alma mater, if you can believe that."

  Shannon looked astonished. "What about your job in London?"

  "What job?"

  "You quit?"

  "More or less. I couldn't take it anymore. I felt haunted. I'd even see Deirdre walking across the campus. Of course, it was never really her. Just someone who looked like her."

  "It's a damn shame what happened," Shannon said. "I know things weren't always great with you two, but I thought right from the start that she was the one."

  "She was. That's the problem. But it's over now, and I've got to put it behind me."

  "Well, I'm glad you're back, but I'm a little surprised that you would want to teach at the university, especially after that run-in with Mulhouse over Founding Fathers' Day."

  Indy waved a hand. "God, I'd almost forgotten about that little episode. That's ancient history."

  "I suppose. But if you had to do it over again, would you still hang those dummies?"

  Indy dredged his memory. The two of them had hung effigies of George Washington, Thomas Paine, and Benjamin Franklin from lampposts to protest the university's mandatory participation in Founding Fathers' Day activities and assignments. When Indy had been caught, he'd nearly lost his degree.

  "You know, when time passes, you look back at things that seemed important and you realize that they weren't such a big deal after all."

  Shannon sipped his drink. "I see, so you're getting older and wiser."

  "No, listen. At the time, I thought I was trying to make a point about heroes. You know, if the British had won, our revolutionary heroes would've been criminals. But I realize now that the real point I was making was that celebrating freedom should never be required of anyone. That's not what freedom is about, and Mulhouse was just plain wrong to force us to participate."

  "I guess you're right. I always looked at it as your way of making a stand against mediocrity, because that's what that whole celebration..."

  Shannon stopped as he stared down to the first floor at three men in stylish suits and hats who just walked into the club. The husky doorman was attempting to direct them upstairs.

  "Looks like they don't know the downstairs is off limits for whites," Indy said.

  "They know. They're looking for me." Shannon stood up and backed away from the table.

  "What do they want?" Indy asked as he rose from his chair and trailed after Shannon.

  "Oh, probably my life."

  4

  Night Affairs

  Katrina and her father were leaving the restaurant when she saw the watcher again. He stood across the street, huddled under a streetlight. "Look, Papa. There he is. Do you see him?"

  "Don't look at him. Just get in the taxi."

  She slid across the backseat, but couldn't help stealing another glance at the mysterious man. He stood well over six feet, but he didn't look tall because of his bulk, which probably surpassed two hundred and fifty pounds. He had a square jaw and wore a hat and a trench coat. He was too far away now, but she'd already seen his icy blue eyes. He stared at the taxi and didn't move. She felt an involuntary shiver and was relieved when the taxi pulled away from the curb.

  A few minutes later, they stopped in front of the Blackstone. But as soon as she stepped out a chill raced up her spine. She saw him. He was standing
less than fifty feet away under the outside light of a shop. She stared, and saw the clothes, the same features, the square jaw, those terrible eyes that seemed to bore right through her. How had he gotten here ahead of them? It was impossible. But there he was. Waiting. Watching.

  She was about to say something to her father as they entered the lobby, but she could see by his tense expression that he, too, had seen the watcher. It was better not to exacerbate the situation. Stay calm, she told herself.

  "Papa, I'm tired. I think I'm going to go to bed early," she said when they reached their suite.

  "That's a good idea. We have a big day tomorrow. And don't worry about him. We're safe here."

  "I know. See you in the morning." Katrina kissed him on the cheek and retired to her room. She sat on the edge of her bed and paged through a magazine, waiting. She heard the water running in her father's bathroom, then the toilet flush. Finally, a faint creaking of springs told her that he'd settled into bed. She waited another few minutes, then turned off the light and quietly slipped out the door. She walked quickly down the hall to the elevator and descended to the lobby.

  She identified herself to a desk clerk and told him what she wanted. He asked her to step around the counter, then escorted her into a room where dozens of built-in safes lined the walls. She took the key from her purse and searched the walls. She was confused because all of the safes looked too small. They were fine for jewelry and cash, but not for the sort of valuable her father had placed here.

  "The number, madam?"

  "Three twenty-three. I don't remember—"

  "The lower level."

  "Oh, there it is." Larger safes lined the wall along the floor. She tried the key and was relieved when it worked. Carefully, she withdrew a canvas bag, closed the door to the safe, and thanked the desk clerk.

  She started to leave the room, but then turned back to the man. "Could someone accompany me to my room, please?"

  The clerk gave her a puzzled look. "Our hotel is perfectly safe, madam."

  You don't know about the watcher, she thought. "I'm sure it is, but I'd still like someone to walk with me."

  "Of course." The desk clerk raised his head and snapped his fingers. "Frankie."

  A young Negro man in a fancy doorman's uniform hurried over to the desk. "Please accompany Miss Zobolotsky to her room."

  "Yes, sir."

  He wasn't even as tall as she was, she thought.

  "Evening, madam. Can I carry the bag for you?"

  She drew back. "No, I'll carry it."

  Frankie shrugged, then led the way to the elevator.

  Katrina wasn't expecting trouble; there were too many people around. But she wasn't going to take any chances. As they rode up in the elevator it occurred to her that the doorman might have noticed the watcher.

  "Frankie, can I ask you a question?"

  "Yes, ma'am."

  "I'm wondering if you noticed a certain man outside the hotel this evening." She described the watcher to him.

  "Oh, that guy. I asked him if he wanted a room, but he just ignored me. Not a very friendly fellow."

  "Have you seen him around before?"

  "Just the past couple of days. There are two of them, you know."

  "What?"

  "Yeah. They look alike, even dress alike."

  So that was it. She felt relieved that at least part of the mystery had been solved. It wasn't the devil, just twins. But her relief was only momentary. She still didn't know who they were, or what they wanted. "Did you notice anything else about them?"

  He gave her a sly look. "Well, you see, I sort of snuck up on them earlier this evening and listened to them. I wanted to know what they were talking about."

  This kid was great, she thought. "And what did they say?"

  "I don't know. They spoke in some foreign language. Maybe Lithuanian. We got some of them folks here, you know."

  Russian, not Lithuanian. That was her guess.

  "Do you know them?" Frankie asked.

  "I just happened to notice them," she said, and gave him a well-deserved tip as she stopped at her door. She quickly unlocked the door and slipped into the room. She stood in the darkness, listening. When she didn't hear any sounds from the adjoining room, she moved silently over to her bed and shoved the bag underneath it. She opened a dresser drawer and patted the inside of it until she found her nightgown.

  As she changed in the bathroom she felt like a kid trying to get away with something. She didn't like doing anything behind her father's back, but it was better she did this alone. She was concerned about what would happen tomorrow. She needed some reassurance that it was going to work out. She opened the canvas bag and reached inside it. She removed an oblong object and slowly unwound the cloth that was wrapped around it. Finally, she closed her eyes and pressed it to her breast, and waited.

  Indy followed Shannon as he quickly walked over to a red door in the corner. Shannon tapped on it three times, and after a moment it swung open. Another hulking doorman looked them over. He was a light-skinned Negro with wavy hair, and his arms and chest looked as if they were about to burst out of his tuxedo.

  "He's okay. He's a friend," Shannon said, nodding toward Indy. The doorman was the only Negro in the smoky, crowded room. In the center under hanging lights were three gambling tables in full operation. A young woman walked up to Shannon. She wore a gingham baby romper with a big bow in the back, high heels, and pink and blue silk ribbons in her bobbed hair that were as large as her head. Her face was heavily made up and she carried a tray with several drinks on it.

  "Hi, Jack. Whiskey for you and your friend?"

  "No thanks." Shannon moved toward the tables. As Indy trailed him he noticed several more women, all dressed in identical costumes. Some were moving about the room with drinks or cigarettes, others were seated on couches talking with men who were smoking and drinking.

  "What's going on, Jack?" Indy asked as Shannon stopped by one of the tables and looked around.

  "Just wait a minute, will ya?"

  "Would you like to get into the game, sir?"

  Indy turned to see a handsome man with slicked-back hair and a thin mustache. He wore a tuxedo like the doorman, but was closer to Indy's size. "Ah, I don't think so. Not right now."

  "Benny." Shannon motioned to the man. "If three mugs carrying lead in their jackets come in asking for me, tell them you haven't seen me. Okay?"

  The man nodded. "Of course, Mr. Shannon."

  Shannon motioned to Indy and they moved past the tables and over to another door. This time there was no doorman to question them. They hurried down a dingy back staircase and into an alley behind the club.

  "Okay, Jack, what's going on?"

  "It's a long story," Shannon said, walking rapidly down the alley.

  "Give me a hint."

  "Wait till we're inside."

  Shannon knocked on a door at the next building. After a few seconds, Indy heard someone ask who it was, and Shannon gave his name.

  The door opened a couple of inches and a face peered out. A tall woman in a cocktail dress smiled at them. "Hi, Marlee."

  "Why, hello, Jack. Is this business or pleasure or both?"

  "Neither. We just want to come in for a while. We'll stay out of the way."

  "Anything you want."

  As they stepped inside and closed the door Marlee looked at Indy, a question mark on her face.

  "This is Indy, an old friend."

  The woman extended a long hand with painted nails, then she turned away and motioned for them to follow. They moved down a dimly lit hallway and into a room that looked like a harem. Yards of silk with swirls of pink and blue floated in waves across the ceiling. More silk was draped over a couple of Tiffany lamps. The opposite wall was a mirror covered by a sheer material that gave their reflection a dreamy look. It took a moment before Indy noticed the pink couch with three women seated on it. They all wore silky robes; their faces were masks of makeup. One of them stood up and her robe sl
ipped from her shoulders. She wore a lacy teddy and high heels.

  "Not tonight, Cheri," Shannon said.

  "Is this what I think it is?" Indy asked.

  "Of course it is. The family protects it," Shannon explained.

  "Seems like it's the other way around to me," Indy commented.

  "I mean we protect the place from police raids," Shannon said, sounding annoyed. "That's the only way a bordello can stay open. Ain't that right, Marlee?"

  "You got it. Now is there any service we can provide you gentlemen?"

  "Just give us an empty room where we can get out of sight."

  She smiled knowingly. "Oh, I get it."

  "I don't think you do, Marlee, but show us the room anyhow," Shannon said.

  They followed her around the corner and down a short hall. "This one has a king-size bed."

  "Thanks." Shannon closed the door and locked it.

  There was a sink in the corner and a bed, which nearly filled the room. Indy walked over to the window and saw that it looked out onto a brick wall. He peered down and saw a fire escape about ten feet below.

  "Well, here we are locked in a bordello with no women and no view."

  "Welcome back to Chicago," Shannon said as he stretched out on the bed and propped up his head with his hands.

  Indy sat on the windowsill and crossed his arms. "Okay. I'm waiting to hear all about it."

  "All right," Shannon began. "Those guys we saw are from the syndicate."

  "What syndicate?"

  Shannon laughed. "You certainly have been away a long time. The syndicate is an alliance of families in Chicago who got together and mapped out their territory for the liquor business. Dad refused to join, because he didn't get along with the Sicilians and didn't hide the fact. He paid for it. He was ambushed and shot along with two of his men in a restaurant in Cicero."

  "I didn't know the details. I'm sorry," Indy said.