"Yeah, well. It hit me pretty hard, because Dad and I weren't on the greatest terms after I moved to Paris. I was the black sheep, you know."
"But you always said he understood."
Shannon shrugged. "I guess he did."
That wasn't the case with Indy's father. He didn't understand why Indy had become an archaeologist, and it seemed that he didn't much care about him anymore.
"Anyhow, Harry, my oldest brother, took over and worked out a deal to join the syndicate. We got a piece of the South Side."
"Wait a minute. How could he join the syndicate after what happened to your father?"
"Don't think he liked it, Indy. He didn't one bit. But it was the only thing he could do. It was that or get out of the business, and if we did that, the cops would've been all over us."
"For going straight?"
"For losing our power base."
"So why is the syndicate after you now?"
"After Harry took over, we bought the Nest, but the club, you see, was a few blocks outside of our territory. So we worked out a special deal with Johnny Torrio, the head of the syndicate. The problem is that Johnny's out of the picture now. Replaced by his former chief lieutenant, and he says the Nest is his territory."
"You mean for liquor?"
"Yeah, but it don't make no sense for us to run the club and gambling room and not control the booze."
"You keep saying 'we.' Does that mean you're involved?"
"Sure it does. If I'm here in Chicago, there's no escaping it, Indy. It's a fact of life."
"What do your brothers say about this problem with the Nest?"
"They say to hell with Alphonse Capone. If we give an inch to him, he'll go after more of our territory, and push us right off the map."
"Sounds like trouble."
"That's what I was getting at in the letter I wrote you."
"What are you going to do?"
Shannon shrugged. "I don't know. But I've been praying a lot on it."
"Praying?"
"Every day, Indy. On my knees."
Indy was quiet a moment. "I would say you were joking, but I don't think you are."
"I'm not. I've taken up the Bible. I'm serious about it."
"When did this all come about?"
"After Dad's death."
Shannon didn't seem very anxious to talk about it, but Indy was curious. "Tell me about it."
"I just started thinking about things. I'd already decided to stay, and I knew that if things didn't work out right, I'd be joining Dad real fast. I just felt I was being called. It was time for me to listen to what God was saying to me."
"But, Jack, how can you justify being religious and reading the Bible and being involved in the mob and everything that goes with it? Hell, we're sitting in a bordello."
"I'm a sinner, Indy. I'll be the first to admit it. I sin every day. But the Lord died for our sins, and that means there's hope."
That sort of summed it all up. What could he say?
"Well, no offense, but it sounds to me like this religious stuff isn't having much effect on your personal life."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean instead of going around talking about how much you sin, do something about it."
"We're all sinners, Indy. Plain and simple. You can't get around it."
And if you think otherwise, that's probably a sin, too, Indy thought. He was having a hard time adjusting to Shannon's new approach to life, as well as to the surrounding circumstances. In the past few minutes, he'd learned that his old friend was actively involved in his family's illegal businesses, that he was being pursued by some vicious mobsters, and that he'd found a refuge in religion.
"What are you going to do about those guys with the guns?"
"I'll leave that up to God. It's totally in His hands."
"Then why did you run?"
"Because I'm weak. I let my fear control me."
"Cut the crap, Jack. It was your instinct. And you were right."
Indy heard voices in the hallway and a door open and close. "How does this protection racket work, anyhow?"
"It's two dollars a trick. The girl gets eighty cents, twenty cents goes to protection, and the house gets the other dollar."
"Swell deal." Indy's head jerked at the sound of shouts and a scuffle outside the room. "What's that?"
"They found us."
Indy moved over to the window, pulled it open. He stretched a leg out the window toward the fire escape. "Jack, c'mon. Move it."
Shannon's face was contorted with the anguish of some private battle. It was as if part of him wanted to flee and another pinned him to the bed. "There's nothing easy about following the path of the Lord," he said.
"Let's talk about it later. Now get over here."
Suddenly there was an ominous thud and the door shuddered. Indy was now in a fix similar to Shannon's. He was torn between dropping to the fire escape and staying with his friend. The door crashed open, and from his perch Indy saw a blur of movement and a gun aimed at Shannon. He pulled his leg back into the room and dived headfirst, tackling the gunman. They rolled over amid shouts and grunts.
Someone kicked him in the side. A hand grabbed him by the hair and jerked him to his feet. He was thrown against the wall and kneed in the crotch. He took a wild swing, and connected. But hands immediately grabbed his arms and twisted them behind his back.
He expected to see the three thugs, but instead he was surrounded by cops waving billy clubs and aiming guns.
"Oh, isn't this sweet," one of them said. "Which one of you is supposed to be the girl?"
Shannon was shoved over next to him and they were both handcuffed.
"They don't look like sissies to me," one of the cops said. "I can always spot 'em. They were probably just waiting for the girls, and we spoiled their fun."
"I don't know," another one said. "You can't tell these days. Some of 'em even have wives and kids."
They were pushed out in the hall and hustled out of the bordello. Indy found himself in the back of a police wagon with Shannon and Marlee, several women in robes, and two other men.
"Jack, I thought you said you protected the place. What happened?"
"Isn't it obvious? Capone's taking over. He bought out our protection."
5
Visitors
"I wonder how things are going at the Blackstone?" Indy said from his bunk in their barren jail cell.
They were charged with lewd and lascivious behavior, resisting arrest, and disorderly conduct. They wouldn't get out until morning at the earliest, and all Indy could think about was his empty suite at the Blackstone.
"Count your blessings."
"My blessings? What blessings are they?"
"I'm just saying we were lucky it was the cops and not the capos who got us, and we were lucky they were real cops."
"Yeah. I feel real lucky."
Shannon stared across the cell at Indy. "Okay, I'm sorry about this. When we get out of here, I think it might be a good idea if you just stayed away from me."
"Jack, cut it out."
"I'm not kidding. Things are getting out of hand. Just look where we are now, and like I said, we were lucky."
Indy grinned. "And you always said I was the one who pulled you into dangerous waters."
"I guess I'm getting back at you."
Indy understood how Shannon had latched onto religion. But it was so uncharacteristic of the Shannon he knew that he asked how it had happened.
"How did what happen?"
"The Bible stuff."
"One of the guys who plays at the Nest one day invited me to the church. He said they needed a horn player. I thought it was going to be like playing at a bar mitzvah. You know, go play, collect your money, and go home. But when we got there, everyone welcomed me in a way that was real genuine. I don't know; it just made me feel real good. It turned out the minister had been a barrelhouse piano player from the old days before he'd turned to God."
"Oh,
yeah?"
"I guess that sold me on the church. I just felt comfortable and there were other musicians there, too. Pretty soon the Bible started making sense to me. It was like a part of me needed it and I was ready."
"How is it different from going to Mass?"
"No comparison. This church doesn't have all the ritual. I mean you can stand up and shout if that's what you feel like doing. It's just a lot freer."
"Is the minister a Negro?"
"Sure. It's a Negro church."
"Are you the only white guy in the congregation?"
"There're a few other whites in mixed marriages who belong. But I'm the only Irishman. Ambrose, the minister, says the race of the congregation members is about as important as the color of socks vou wore yesterday."
"Well, if you like it, why not?"
"Indy, it's given me a new way of looking at things. It really has."
He could tell Shannon was sincere, and that was fine with him. He just hoped his old friend didn't get so caught up in his new religious ways that he became intolerant toward anyone whose beliefs were different.
"Just do me one favor, Jack. Don't ever try to tell me that the world was created six thousand, eight hundred, and twenty-three years ago on a Tuesday morning."
"Wasn't it on a Thursday morning?" Shannon laughed. "All right. That's a promise. I may think it, if that's what the good book says, but I won't try to make you believe it."
A minute passed in silence, then Shannon spoke up. "You know maybe this isn't such a bad thing being in jail together."
"What do you mean?"
"We're getting a chance to talk and we haven't done that for a long time."
"That's true."
"I hope you get the job at the university. It would be great to have you around again. At least, after things settle down."
"The only thing about the job is that I'd be teaching Celtic archaeology again, and like I said, I'm not sure I want to do that now."
Shannon nodded. "You know, maybe you should get back into translating inscriptions. You're good at languages," he said.
"Why do you say that?" Indy asked suspiciously.
"Oh, I don't know. I was just thinking that something like that might bring you closer to your father again. I think it's important to have a good relationship with your parents, especially your father."
"Jack, don't worry about me and my father. I know that situation better than you do, and translating inscriptions is no way to win his affection. Not at this point, anyhow."
"No, I suppose not."
"Besides, I already turned down a chance to do that very thing. That's what got me fired."
"I thought you quit."
"It was sort of a mutual agreement. I just don't care much about translating dead languages for a living. It can drive you nuts."
Shannon pondered his comment a moment. "Why do you say that?"
"It's the truth. Ogham doesn't use vowels. Ancient Greek doesn't use punctuation, and sometimes it reads one direction on one line, then the other direction on the next one."
Shannon shrugged. "Yeah, but you like a good mystery."
"Listen, when I say that it can drive you crazy, I mean it. Have you ever heard of George Smith?"
"What instrument does he play?"
"None that I know of. Around the turn of the century, Smith became one of the most renowned decoders of ancient languages when he translated cuneiform found at the ruins of Ninevah."
"Wait a minute. I'm a jazz musician, remember? What language is cuneiform? I never heard of it."
"It's not a language; it's an alphabet that was used for several languages: Babylonian, Assyrian, Sumerian, and Persian. That's part of what made decoding them so tough. It's got wedge-shaped characters that are so different from any other alphabet that for a long time it was thought to be a decorative motif. But finally cuneiform dictionaries were discovered with translations in several languages."
"So where does this Smith guy fit in?" Shannon asked. "Did he find the dictionaries?"
"No, that was Rawlinson. What Smith did was translate cuneiform that was found in the palace library of the Assyrian king Ashurbanipal."
"A library with books?"
"Books made out of clay. The inscriptions were baked rather than printed."
Shannon shook his head and laughed. "Indy, it amazes me that you know all this stuff."
"It's not as amazing as the way you can pick up a cornet and actually make music."
"Nothing to that. But this stuff is sort of interesting. Those people you're talking about are from biblical times, aren't they?"
"Biblical times and long before it. But let me finish what I started to tell you. Smith was translating a broken-off section of a book when he realized that he was reading the story of the Flood."
"You're kidding. You mean the one Moses wrote about—Noah's Ark in Genesis?"
"Right. But the version that Smith was translating was written long before the Hebrew one. The amazing thing is that it was the same story, except for the names of the deity and of Noah."
Shannon suddenly let out a whoop and stood up. He raised his hands above his head and shook them. "Oh, yeah. Praise the Lord."
Indy looked up in alarm. "What's wrong?"
"I just had a revelation."
"What are you talking about?"
"I can't believe it. Oh, yes. I do believe it."
"Jack, calm down...."
"Listen. Noah's Ark, Indy. That's it. Hallelujah! I'm receiving the Lord's word. I think you're supposed to go to my church with me tomorrow night."
The pressure of everything that was happening with Shannon's family was getting the better of him, Indy thought. "Jack, just sit down. Take a deep breath."
Shannon laughed. "You think I'm crazy, don't you? But you're wrong. Tomorrow night, Indy. It's important."
"Jack, I told you that it's fine with me if you want to get religious. Praise the Lord and read the Bible all you want, but don't try to drag me to your church. All right?"
"But you don't understand. Tomorrow evening there's a man, a special guest, who's going to talk, and I think you should hear him."
"Why?"
"The name of his talk is 'The Genesis Deluge.' He's going to talk about Noah's Ark. In fact, he climbed Mount... Mount..."
"Ararat."
"Right. He climbed. Mount Ararat and found Noah's Ark."
"Or so he says," Indy said without enthusiasm. "Think about it, Jack. Let's be rational. If he really found Noah's Ark, don't you think the whole world would know about it by now? Hell, it probably would've been carted down off the mountain and put on exhibit in the world's fair."
"Indy, give the man a chance, will ya? You're judging him before you've heard what he's got to say."
"I've heard enough already. Noah's Ark is a legend, a myth. It's not a wood boat that you can climb up and look at, for chrissakes."
Shannon looked acutely disappointed. "You don't even want to hear about it, do you? You're so concerned about us so-called Bible thumpers forcing you to believe something that you won't listen to anything we have to say. Maybe he did find Noah's Ark. Can't you even consider it?"
Indy held up a hand. "Okay, I'm sorry."
He knew Shannon was right. He was reacting to Jack just like many of his former colleagues would react to some of his own experiences. Experiences he himself couldn't explain or quite grasp. He'd never told any of his colleagues about what had happened to him at Stonehenge beyond the barest details. He'd said nothing about the enigmatic influences of a stone called the Omphalos, and not a word about his strange chat with a kindly old man who claimed to be Merlin the magician. It wasn't that he didn't have the courage to talk about those encounters; he just considered them personal experiences. Besides, since he didn't fully understand them himself, how could he convince anyone that they were real?
"I'll tell you what. If you can get us out of here, I'll gladly go with you tomorrow night."
"That's great. Do
n't worry. We'll get out by morning. That's a promise."
"One other thing," Indy added.
"What's that?" Shannon asked warily.
"Do me a favor, and don't shout any more hallelujahs in my ear."
They both laughed, and Indy realized their friendship had just been reaffirmed.
Morning was still hours away, so Indy decided to get some sleep and forget about what had happened. He was just about to stretch out on the bench when Shannon spoke up.
"Say, you never finished your story about this guy named Smith."
"Oh, yeah." Shannon's enthusiastic outburst had made him forget all about Smith.
"You said he translated a book that gave the same flood story, but was a lot older."
"Right. The man who built the boat and saved the animals was called Ut-naphishtim."
Shannon looked perplexed. "Then there were two Noahs?"
"I don't know. But that's not the point. What I was getting to was that the work was so consuming for Smith that it did something to his mind. After he finished making one crucial translation, he told his colleagues: 'I am the first man to read this text after two thousand years of oblivion.' Then he started making some strange grunting sounds and ripped off his clothes. He died a little while later. He was only thirty-six."
"You're making this up."
"No, I'm not."
"You think he was possessed by the devil?"
"No. It's like I said, translating old languages can drive you nuts, and I don't want to follow in Smith's footsteps."
"I see your point, but—"
Just then the gate of the cell block creaked open, and Shannon leaped to his feet. "Maybe we're going to get out of here sooner than I thought."
Indy heard footsteps and suddenly a guard appeared at the door with the key. "What did I tell you?" Shannon said, turning to him. "You see, God is with us."
But Indy was looking beyond the guard. He saw three men in dark suits with hats pulled low over their brow. He was almost certain they were the same trio who'd come to the Nest in search of Shannon.
"You got visitors, fellows," the guard said. "Mr. Capone would like to talk to you."
The three men moved into the cell and the guard turned his back. Two of the men pulled short clubs from inside their coats. The third one, a round-faced man with dark, mean eyes, crossed his arms and smiled. Indy had been away, but he knew he was standing face to face with A1 Capone. His picture, as well as his notoriety, had made the papers in London.
Indiana Jones and the Genesis Deluge Page 5