The Girl on the Rush Street Bridge

by Gary Inbinder

Table of Contents

Chapter 15: Max Shadows a Suspect

Max stopped at the newsstand near the elevators and bought a paper. Conrad, who had stationed himself behind a potted plant on the other side of the lobby, spotted Max. He started walking in the direction of the waiting area and gave Max the high sign. Max looked out from behind his newspaper and signaled back.

Conrad approached the young man, who was still riffling through magazines and smoking his pack down to the last cigarette. Max observed the confrontation with amused interest. The young man dropped the magazine on a table and stubbed out his cigarette in a nearby ashtray. He rose to his feet, looking like a little kid standing next to the imposing house detective. The conversation did not last long; the young man headed toward the Jackson Street entrance with Conrad tailing him at a discreet distance. Max lowered his newspaper, folded it for later use, and followed.

Conrad halted about twenty feet from the revolving doors; he continued watching as the young man exited onto Jackson Street. Max passed Conrad with a nod and a grin that said, “Thanks,” and Conrad replied with a friendly salute that said, “Don’t mention it.”

The young man headed west through dense pedestrian traffic toward the Board of Trade building at Jackson and LaSalle. Max shadowed his quarry like a skilled hunter in the urban jungle, maintaining a prudent distance between them that he could close quickly. It was not hard to remain inconspicuous in the river of humanity as it flowed through a canyon of steel, brickwork and stone.

Max could see a towering granite structure sparkling with sunlight under a bright, clear blue sky. The skyscraper loomed ahead in the near distance, a modern version of a medieval fortress personifying capital and commerce, at one time the tallest building in Chicago. He recognized this place as a locus of wealth, power, and a certain amount of corruption, all of which contributed to the ethos of America’s Second City, and all of which provided work for Max’s detective agency.

Automobiles chugged, honked, and backfired up and down the congested thoroughfares. A handful of overworked traffic cops tried to maintain order, with little effect. Accidents were an everyday occurrence in an area that was plagued by a perpetual traffic jam. It was not surprising when a Hupmobile traveling west on Jackson and a northbound Ford crossing the intersection at LaSalle tried to occupy the same space at the same time. There was a screeching of brakes followed by a loud bang, a crunching of metal, a snapping of wood and a hissing of steam from the Ford’s busted radiator.

Traffic came to a standstill; onlookers gathered in front of the Board of Trade. Auto accidents and the fights that often ensued had become an early twentieth-century spectator sport.

The young man turned south on LaSalle to avoid the crowd, and Max followed. His quarry seemed to be heading in the direction of the elevated railway station at LaSalle and Van Buren. Max maintained his distance; he figured the guy had no idea he was being shadowed. They continued to the stairway leading up to the elevated and climbed to the cashier’s cage. Max let a couple of passengers go ahead of him and watched as the young man paid his fare. From the cashier’s cage, he headed for the platform to catch the west-bound train, and Max kept on his tail.

The young man walked up the platform, lit another cigarette and paced up and down near the edge of the board walkway while waiting for the train. Max stationed himself behind a bench just outside the enclosed area containing the cashier’s cage and the newsstand. He opened his newspaper and surreptitiously observed his quarry; when the train arrived, he would have enough time to get up the platform and board the same car as the young man.

The screech of steel wheels against rails announced the coming of the train as it rounded the corner onto LaSalle. The young man turned toward the oncoming train with his back to Max. Max folded his paper and casually started walking in the direction of the place where the young man was waiting. There were two entrances to the vestibules in the front and back of the cars; Max intended to enter through the front door as the young man was positioned to enter the rear. The train came to a stop with another screech from the brakes; the idling electric motors throbbed as the doors slid open with a loud hiss. Max entered the vestibule just as his quarry stepped in at the other end of the car.

It was around lunch time; the cars were mostly empty with plenty of seats available. Max chose a seat that had been adjusted to face the rear of the car. The young man sat facing forward.

The train pulled out of the station and headed north toward Lake Street where it turned west and continued toward its terminus in the suburban village of River Forest. Max looked to his right, watching the city pass by, while intermittently keeping an eye on the young man.

They crossed a black iron trestle; below, the turbid river flowed. A tugboat towing an empty barge chugged down the olive drab waterway past steep mud-banks lined with red brick warehouses, storage tanks and grain elevators. For an instant. he thought he saw Peg Rooney’s image reflected in the window glass, as though she were standing behind him and looking into a mirror. She used to come up on me like that when I was shaving, he thought. A second later the image vanished.

The train rolled on, past red, brown, and yellow brick buildings, many with dates on their corniced Victorian roofs, dates from the two decades following the Great Fire. Turning away from his view of the passing scene, he noticed the young man was staring out a window, oblivious to his stalker’s presence. Will he ride to the end of the line? Max wondered. It made sense; the end of the line was not far from the Thatcher Woods late night rendezvous spot.

The elevated structure ended in the far West Side neighborhood of Austin; from there the trains ran at street level through the suburb of Oak Park to the Harlem Avenue terminus in River Forest. As they approached the end of the line, Max got up from his seat and walked to the vestibule at his end of the car. The other remaining passengers, the young man and two women, stayed in their seats. Max grabbed a brass handle and prepared himself for the anticipated jolt as the car came to a screeching halt. A moment later, the door slid open. He waited until the young man exited at the other end of the car, then stepped down to the street level platform.

One could hardly imagine a greater contrast between the metropolitan bustle at the intersection of LaSalle and Jackson and the suburban tranquility of Harlem and Lake. Quiet streets lined with shady oaks, elms, maples, and chestnuts; single-family dwellings of brick and frame construction; broad, well-tended lawns and hedges. However, the Lake Street terminus was adjacent to the Oak Park business district, so there was more traffic in the immediate area, just enough for Max to shadow the young man without giving himself away. And the young man did not seem sharp enough to “burn” an experienced detective.

Max noticed a new Chalmers Detroit touring car parked one block south of the station. It was hard to miss; except for a taxi, it was the only automobile parked in the vicinity. The young man headed in the touring car’s direction. Max spotted the cabbie waiting for a fare. He walked over to the cab and said: “Say, bud, you see that big red machine parked down the block?”

“Sure do,” the cabbie replied. He was a young, slender, freckle-faced red-head with a friendlier disposition than the typical Chicago taxi driver. “Been eyeing it for a while. Swell car, ain’t it?”

“Yeah, swell. You see that guy headed for the car?”

“Sure. What about him?”

“I want you to follow him. Think you can do that without being too obvious?”

“You a detective, mister?” A wide grin spread across the youthful face.

“Yeah, and if you do a good job tailing him, I’ll make it worth your while.”

“You bet I will. Hop in while I crank her up.” The cabbie started the engine on the first try, then got behind the wheel and waited for the young man to pull away from the curb. As soon as he saw the touring car move, he put the cab in gear and began following at a discreet distance.

“By the way, mister,” the cabbie said, “my name’s Pat Tracy and I’m a big fan of Nick Carter.”

“You don’t say? My name’s Max Niemand, and I’m a Nick Carter fan, too. Though, with all due respect to the author, you can’t confuse fiction with real life.”

The cabbie glanced up at his passenger’s image in the mirror. “Max Niemand, for real? You mean you’re The Hawk?” Tracy said with a tone of astonishment mixed with respect.

“That’s right, pal. I’m surprised you’ve heard of me.”

“You shouldn’t be, Mr. Niemand. All the drivers know you by reputation. I thought about getting into the detective game myself.”

“Well then, this might be your lucky day. Cabbies can be a good source of information. Might be a way for you to earn a little extra jack and have fun doing it.”

“Yes, sir,” Tracy said with enthusiasm. “I’m your man. What do you want me to do?”

“For starters, keep your mind on the tail. We’ll talk later.”

“Right, Mr. Niemand! Or would you rather I call you Mr. Hawk?”

“I’d prefer Max.”

“OK, Max.”

The Ferris Wheel, Roller-Coaster and main entrance and walls surrounding the amusement park came into view.

“The new fun park, Mr. Niemand... I mean Max. It’s a swell place to take your girl, especially after dark, if you catch my drift.”

“Yeah, swell. Now keep your eye on the road.”

“Yes, sir. He’s headed toward the cemeteries. Oh, now he’s turning down a dead-end street.”

“You got any idea where he’s going?”

“Maybe.” He paused before adding, “We’ll see soon enough.”

Tracy turned the corner, slowed to a walk and stopped behind a large car parked beneath a huge chestnut tree.

“OK, Max. He’s parked in front of that big lavender house. That’s Minnie’s.”

“Minnie’s? Sounds like a whorehouse.”

“That’s what it is, all right. Brand spankin’ new, and swanky, too. Caters to a tony clientele. You gotta have plenty of jack to get in, and pull, too. It’s like a private club. I’ve driven several dapper Dans there.”

“You know the address and phone number?”

“Sure do.”

“Great. Write it down for me.”

Tracy grabbed a pencil and pad of paper and wrote down the information.

While waiting for Tracy, Max watched as the young man exited the touring car and walked toward the house, still seemingly oblivious to the presence of his shadow.

Tracy handed the sheet of paper with the information to Max.

“Thanks, pal. One more thing. Can you read the license plate number from here?”

He looked, then said, “The big car in front is blocking my view.”

“Here’s what you do. Scrunch down and sneak up using that car for cover. When you see the plate write down the number and come back without exposing yourself. Can you do that?”

“Sure can!” he said with a grin, thinking this detective game was fun. Tracy got the job done quickly and returned to the cab with the license number.

“You did good, pal. Now back up to Harlem instead of turning around, so they can’t see us from the house. Then you can take me back to the station.”

Tracy backed out of the cul-de-sac carefully, turned onto Harlem Avenue and headed back to the terminus. On the way, he said, “My girl works at Minnie’s.” A moment later he added with embarrassment, “I mean, she works there as a maid.”

“That’s good to know, Pat. There might be a way for you both to earn some extra dough. We’ll see. You got a phone?”

“Uh... there’s a payphone in the hall near my room.”

“Not too private, huh?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“Well, anyways, go ahead and write down the number for me. And remember, if you call me or I call you, just be careful what you say on the phone.”

“Will do.”

When they arrived at the station, Max handed the cabbie a ten-spot. “Here you go, pal. Now, here’s a way to earn twenty; ten for you and ten for your girlfriend. I’m looking for a guy named Bob O’Neill. He may be hiding out at Minnie’s.” Max provided a detailed description. Then he asked, “Have you or your girl seen the guy?”

“I haven’t, but maybe Dora has. I’ll ask her.”

“OK, but remember this is strictly on the q.t.”

“Don’t worry, Max. In our jobs we see and hear all sorts of things. We know how to keep our eyes and ears open and our mouths shut.”

Max smiled. “I guess you do. One more thing before I go. I might want to visit Minnie’s myself. You said you need plenty of jack and some pull to get in. Is there a password?”

“Yeah, sort of. Ring the doorbell and wait for them to open the peep-hole. Then say ‘Mike sent me.’ That should get you in.”

“Do you know who Mike is?”

“Nope; sure don’t. Maybe there is no Mike, just a password.”

“All right. Nice meeting you, Pat.”

“You too, Max.”

Max got out of the cab and headed for the station; the cabbie watched his passenger for a while and then reached into his pocket and pulled out the business card. He stared at the card for a moment before saying, “Cripes, I’m working for The Hawk!”

Proceed to Chapter 16...

Copyright © 2018 by Gary Inbinder