The Girl on the Rush Street Bridge

by Gary Inbinder

Table of Contents

Chapter 18: Max and Mary

At seven a.m., Max knocked on the bedroom door. He had washed, shaved, dressed, made a pot of coffee and gathered the makings for breakfast. He had also picked up the dry clothes and was holding them while he waited for Mary to respond. He knocked again, a little louder this time, and heard a muffled yawn and the sounds of stirring under the bedclothes. Shortly thereafter, she came to the door, opened it and greeted him with bleary eyes and a scratchy morning voice.

“Here are your clothes,” he said as he handed them to her. “I set out a clean towel, washcloth and a toothbrush for you. Don’t worry about the brush; it’s new, never been used.”

“All right,” she mumbled. “Thanks.”

Max smiled. “I’m going to fix breakfast.” Then he took off for the kitchen.

About twenty minutes later, fresh and wide awake, she complimented the chef. “What’s that delicious smell?” she asked.

“Salami omelet; my specialty. And there’s a pot of coffee I’m keeping warm. Dig in.”

He served her an omelet and a cup of coffee at the kitchen table. “There’s milk and sugar, if you like. And that omelet’s great with ketchup or, if you’re more adventurous, you can try it with Tabasco, but you’d better go easy if you aren’t used to it.”

“I’ll stick with this,” she said as she grabbed the ketchup bottle. She held it over her plate and started slapping the bottom to start it pouring. After a few slaps, a nice red blob came out and saturated the eggs. She set down the bottle and started eating. After a few bites, she said “This really is good. You’re a man of many parts, Max.”

“I’m not much of a cook,” he said with a shrug. “A guy just gets tired of greasy spoons, take-outs and saloon lunch counters.”

She nodded and finished her breakfast without further comment. Then she watched Max for a while as he sipped his coffee. She seemed to be studying him as though trying to penetrate the surface to get at the real man hidden behind the professional mask. Max did not mind this scrutiny; he welcomed it. Let her try to figure me out. Maybe she’ll reveal something about herself in the process, he thought.

Then he set down his empty cup and broke the silence: “Now that you have a ransom demand and some proof your brother’s alive and well, the next step would be to call your father. Would you feel comfortable placing the call from here?”

“I... I don’t think so. I wouldn’t want him to know that I was calling from your apartment at this time of day. He might think—”

“Never mind,” Max broke in. “We’ll call him from my office. I’ll phone Miss Mandelbaum now and she can arrange for the call later this morning. Have you told your father that I’m working for you?”

“Yes, I sent him a wire from the hotel.”

“And he didn’t object to your hiring me?”

“Not at all. On the contrary, he paid you a compliment. Said you were the best in the business.”

Did he now? Nice to know I’m so popular in South Bend. “All right. Then it won’t be a surprise when he hears from us. Are you ready to go?”

“I’m ready.”

Max cleared the table and put the dishes in the sink. Then he phoned Rosie and asked her to set up a long-distance call with Timothy O’Neill for later that morning.

He led her out the back way, down the stairs, through the small garden where the lilacs were in full bloom, to the garage. The sky was clear blue with a few cotton-ball clouds, the air fresh and fragrant with the odor of lilac after the rain. They entered the garage. Mary’s eyes lit up at the sight of the Buick.

“What a sweet little car,” she said.

“She’s a honey, all right. Four cylinders, twenty-two horsepower. She’ll cruise at forty. I’ve pushed her up to fifty on a good, open road.”

He put on his motoring gear, then handed Mary an extra duster and goggles. He helped her up into the passenger seat. Then he opened the garage door, took out the crank, set the spark and throttle and got her going on the first try. He backed out of the garage, put the car in neutral, applied the hand-brake, stepped down from the running board and shut the door. Then he jumped back onto the driver’s seat and they were off.

They headed east on North Avenue toward Lincoln Park. The sensation of speed, the tingling of wind against their faces in the open car had a stimulating effect and, as they approached the lake, their perception of rushing air sharpened to the point where it became difficult to distinguish pleasure from pain. When they reached Lake Shore Drive, Max pulled over to the curb and cut the motor. He lifted his goggles and turned to Mary.

“It’s such a nice morning, I thought we’d take a walk by the lake before going downtown. And, if it’s all right with you, we can talk business while taking in the scenery.”

She smiled and said, “I’d like that.” Then she untied the scarf holding her hat, removed the goggles and duster and set them down on the passenger’s seat.

Max shed his duster and goggles and laid them on the seat next to hers. They crossed the broad tree-lined avenue; there was little traffic to dodge in this quiet enclave reserved for Chicago’s elite.

Upon reaching the esplanade, they stood for a moment, gazing down at the deep blue waters washing up on the beige, sandy beach. In the distance, along the curving shoreline, rose the imposing skyline of the midwestern colossus, the ever-expanding hub of transportation, commerce and industry. Directly to their right, on the other side of the driveway, stood the granite and limestone mansions of the masters and mistresses of the metropolis.

Three decades earlier, the barons of Chicago had begun building in this prime location; the city had accommodated them by constructing Lake Shore Drive, first as a pleasant parkway for elegant carriages and ladies and gentlemen on horseback and, more recently, as a well-paved thoroughfare for the millionaires’ fancy automobiles.

Max turned to her. She was gazing over the vast expanse of blue water toward some point on the horizon. He noticed a trail of smoke from a steamer far out in the lake. “I often come here on a fine day like this to clear my head. The air’s so clean, especially after a storm.”

“It’s lovely,” she said. She looked away from the lake and gazed directly into his eyes. “I suppose you brought me here for a reason?”

Max nodded. “You see those baronial manors?” He pointed back to the mansions on the other side of the drive.

“Of course. They’re very showy. You could hardly miss them.”

“They’re showy, all right. I grew up not far from here, in terms of distance, but a world away socially. My parents were immigrants, and we lived in a slum. I’ll spare you the details. Let’s just say it was a hard life. I used to walk out here to look at the mansions and the people, to imagine what it would be like to live in one of those places, to escape the poverty that killed my parents and siblings. I’d hang around, breathing the fresh clean air, till a cop rousted me or a servant shooed me away.

“Eventually, I wound up working for the rich people I envied. They let me into their homes, paid big fees for my services. They never thought of me as an equal; I was just a well-compensated servant. I got to know them, and I learned how people wear masks, how they hide corruption behind a fine manner and a beautiful smile, how they use the trappings of wealth to cover the destitution of their souls.

“Tennyson wrote, ‘A lie which is half a truth is ever the blackest of lies... A lie which is all a lie may be met and fought with outright, but a lie which is part a truth is a harder matter to fight.’

“Everyone lies, and not all lies are bad, or at least not unforgiveable. It’s the intent behind the lie that matters. I can handle deception in a client if I know the reason behind it; if it’s well-intended, I can deal with it. I don’t have to fight it.” He looked her in the eye and waited for an answer.

“Do you believe I’ve been deceiving you, Max?” She faced him directly and spoke calmly.

“As to certain things, yes. I can resolve my suspicions, one way or the other, without too much trouble, but I think you’d better level with me now, before we speak to your father.”

She did not hesitate. “I told you about Bob’s gambling debts and how his creditors sold his markers to a Chicago syndicate. What I didn’t tell you was the deal my brother made with the syndicate. They would fake a kidnapping and make a ransom demand on our father to cover the debt. But things changed when the syndicate learned that Bob was a witness to the incident you told me about, the death of the young woman. They arranged with the individuals who didn’t want Bob to testify. Those are the people who are now holding my brother for ransom.”

“You mentioned an arrangement. What sort of arrangement?”

“The syndicate sold my brother to the people who are holding him. The sale satisfied the debt. Now, the people who bought him are trying to recover the money they paid to the syndicate by holding Bob for ransom.”

“How did you come by all this information?”

“Dan Buford told me.”

“Why didn’t you tell me this last night?”

Mary sighed. “I’ve been covering up for my brother for years. I didn’t want our father to find out about the deal Bob made with the syndicate. I know it’s an excuse, and not a very good one, I’m afraid. I should have told you everything. I’m sorry, Max.” Her voice and manner seemed contrite. If it was an act, it was a good one.

Max nodded, but he said nothing. He wanted to believe her, but he would reserve judgment for later. He reached into his pocket and checked his watch. “We’d better leave. It’s going to be a busy day.”

“All right.”

As they were about to go, a handsome, fashionably dressed young couple passed by. The man was pushing a baby carriage. They exchanged greetings, then the couple walked on. Mary watched them for a moment, then turned to Max: “When all this is over, I’d like to come back here, with you.”

When all what is over? he wondered. “That’s a nice thought, Mary. Maybe we’ll do that someday soon,” he replied.

The traffic had picked up as they returned to the car. She offered him her arm and he held it as they crossed Lake Shore Drive.

* * *

“I understand why my father wouldn’t cover Bob’s gambling debts, but I can’t believe he won’t pay twenty-thousand dollars to save his son’s life.” They were in Max’s office. Less than a minute earlier, the long-distance call with Tim O’Neill had ended. For a while after the call, she stared at Max with angry eyes, her face reddened and her throat so taut with emotion she could not speak.

“I understand your father’s thinking,” Max said. “You’re upset, but we can work through this. You look like you could use a drink.”

She nodded without speaking. Max pulled out the bottle and two glasses from his desk drawer. “Water or neat?”

“Neat.”

“Single or double?”

“Double.”

Max poured two doubles and handed one to Mary. He knocked back half of his and set the glass on the desktop. She took a couple of sips and held onto her glass.

“All right, Mary, here’s how we’re going to play this. Your father authorized fifteen-thousand. He’s wiring the bank this morning. You go to the newsy with a note and set up a meeting with Buford. As soon as you get directions, call me, and for God’s sake don’t go anywhere until you get hold of me. This time, I’m going to tail you.”

“Tail me? Isn’t that dangerous? What if they—”

“Forget about it. Just remember: They’re chickens; I’m The Hawk.”

“How can you joke at a time like this?” She frowned and shook her head.

“Most of my life’s been lived in a ‘time like this,’ or worse. That’s why you hired me. Besides, you got to laugh at this fouled-up world or go crazy.”

“OK. So, you’ll tail me. Then what?”

“When you get to the meeting, you tell Buford your father will pay ten grand, tops. That’s final.”

“You’re like father! You’re playing games with Bob’s life.” Her eyes blazed; her cheeks turned a deeper shade of red.

“Not at all,” he said. “There’re only two things these people respect: money and power. You said your brother owed the syndicate ten plus the vig. I figure they sold Bob to this other outfit at a discount. These crooks already got what they wanted; Bob didn’t testify at the inquest. Now they want to recoup the dough they paid to the gamblers. So, we negotiate, but don’t show them any fear or weakness. Remember, we start at ten and we got five grand to work with. In the end, I expect they’ll let your brother go for something less than fifteen, but more than ten, and everybody’s happy.”

“But... but how will they react when I say ten-thousand’s final?”

“They’ll huff and puff and threaten to blow the house down. You’re a woman; they think you’ll give in to them. But I know better. You’re tough enough to stand up to these two-bit hoods. Just remain cool and say you’ll have to go back to Daddy to see if he’ll come up with more dough.”

She agreed to his plan, but Max didn’t reveal everything. He was playing for time to work every angle. He wanted more information from Jimmy Dolan, Walt Wagner in Milwaukee, Mort Williams in Indianapolis, Pat Tracy the cabbie and Conrad at Mary’s hotel. Rosie was still checking titles to the cat house in Forest Park and the big red touring car.

Peg Rooney and Abe Levitsky were dead, the former by “accident,” the latter a “suicide.” Max believed both were murdered, but he had not a shred of evidence to support his belief. And he believed both murders were somehow connected to Bob O’Neill’s kidnapping. He was in the dark, but determined to get the goods on the killers, one way or another. Until then, he’d have to wing it and watch his own back.

Proceed to Chapter 19...

Copyright © 2018 by Gary Inbinder