Chicago Max

by Gary Inbinder

Table of Contents

Chapter 12: Reunion in Little Hell

part 1

Max crept through a dark thicket, boots crunching on a fresh blanket of snow. Light shimmered in reflection on frost-covered branches; a gust off the lake stirred the overgrowth. Sounds of “The Skater’s Waltz,” blades slicing figures on the ice, and faint laughter echoing over the frozen pond reverberated through his memory.

He cleared the noise from his mind and concentrated on his surroundings. Was someone on his tail? He sensed it. Max stopped and listened. He heard his own breathing, wind rustling branches overhead, the beating of his heart. He glanced back over his shoulder and stared into a void. He felt for the revolver under his overcoat. There’s no shadow, he thought before moving on.

At the trail’s end, he peered out from his cover and scanned the area. The moon passed from behind a cloud revealing a sparkling winter landscape. The gingerbread pavilion glowed as if it were carved from a block of ice. The cold, quiet beauty distracted him for a moment; he imagined the scene filled with ghostly skaters gliding over the frozen pond to the faint strains of an invisible band. He shook his head to scatter the phantoms. All clear, he thought. Max emerged from the coppice and walked along the path to the dock.

As he neared the trench, he again sensed the presence of a stalker. He halted, looked in all directions, waited and listened. Nothing. Just the wind in the trees. Max continued on to the edge of the ditch. He looked down and saw nothing but frozen mud dusted with snow. It’s empty. Weasel’s in the morgue. Why am I here? Max felt something warm on the back of his neck, heard the sound of heavy breathing. He tried to turn, but he was paralyzed, frozen to the spot.

A voice whispered, You’re dead, Mr. Hawk.

Max awoke with a start to the sound of the doorbell. “Damn!” he muttered. He sat up on the edge of the bed and reached for a matchbox on the bedside table. He struck a light and gazed at the alarm clock with bleary eyes. “Four-thirty. What in hell?” Another buzz. “All right, keep your shirt on!”

He staggered through the hallway and felt for the speaking tube near the front door. Thinking it might be Mueller and Mike, he growled, “This had better be damned important.”

A soft, feminine voice answered. “I’m sorry, Max. It’s Vi. Please let me in.”

Max shook his head and paused a moment before answering. “Give me a minute.”

He lit the gas in the hallway and then walked around the corner to the bathroom. He turned on the cold tap and splashed water on his face. Then he filled a glass, rinsed his mouth and spat in the toilet. He ran a comb through his hair and stared at the dim reflection in the mirror above the sink. Next stop, the bedroom where he grabbed his pants from a chair, sat on the edge of the bed and made himself decent.

He returned to the speaking tube. “Are you still there?”

Vi answered. Max pressed a button that activated a buzzer opening the entrance hallway door. He walked out onto the third floor landing and waited for her. He recognized her broad-brimmed hat and long winter coat as she climbed the stairs.

When she reached the landing, she stopped under the bright yellow light of a gas mantle. She looked disappointed, as though she expected hugs and kisses. Max found her attitude amusing, but not enough to crack a smile.

“I guess you better come on in,” he said. Max held the door and followed her across the threshold. Once inside the apartment, she stopped, turned and stared at him but said nothing. He asked, “Why are you here, Vi?” His greeting was as warm as the Chicago winter wind.

“Aren’t you going to take my hat and coat?”

“No, I’m not. You’re leaving soon. Does Ed know you’re here?”

“Would it make a difference if he did?”

“You two-timed me and got away with it. Ed isn’t so forgiving.”

She looked up at him. Her cheeks had natural color from being outdoors; her eyes sparkled in gaslight. “Do you forgive me?” The voice was soft and seductive.

His body wanted her but his brain was awake and in control. “You keep changing the subject. I want to know why you’re here. Spit it out or leave.”

Vi frowned and sighed. “Will you at least offer me a drink to keep out the chill?”

“Yeah, sure.” He led her to the living room where he retrieved a bottle of rye and two glasses from a liquor cabinet. Max poured shots and handed one to her. She sipped her drink; Max downed his and poured another.

He stared at Vi without speaking. He remembered her warmth, her scent, her soft, smooth skin and gentle touch. Her sighs and light laughter when his hands and lips explored all her dark, secret parts. He still wanted Vi, but deep down he resented her, and that resentment had acquired a sharp edge of hatred.

What’s more, she had betrayed him with a former friend, someone who reminded Max of his outlaw youth. These feelings troubled him; in his world they were considered weak and unmanly. A wisecrack might redeem his honor. Whatever it is you’re selling, I’m not buying. Go peddle it somewhere else. He thought it, but he didn’t speak the words.

“Why are you looking at me that way? Do you hate me?”

Max frowned and shook his head. “I don’t hate you, Vi. It’s over; there’s nothing between us. So what is it you want from me?”

“It isn’t for me. It’s Ed. He wants to talk to you.”

Max gave out a low, bitter laugh. “That’s rich. He hasn’t the guts to face me, so he sends you as his emissary. At least you could have had the decency to come during office hours.”

“It’s risky, you and Ed getting together out in the open. He thought it would be better to arrange things through me. He told me how close you were back when you were kids in the old neighborhood. He wants to do you a good turn, for old times’ sake.”

This revelation put a grin on Max’s lips. “That’s awfully sweet of Ed. I’m touched. Did he tell you what this ‘good turn’ is that he wants to do for his old pal Max?”

Vi looked down at her whiskey. “I... I can’t say. I don’t know the details. But I think it has something to do with a case you’re working.” Then she glanced up with a worried frown. “Will you meet with him?”

Max thought a moment. Ed could be useful. He might provide information about Battaglia and Capucci’s dealings with Ike Burns. Working with Ed was like playing jump-rope with a cobra. But with Weasel gone, Max decided the potential reward was worth the risk. “OK, Vi. I’ll see him. What’s the plan?”

Vi sighed with relief and finished her whiskey in one gulp. By succeeding in her mission, she avoided the painful consequences of Ed Mahoney’s anger. “Ed will meet you at midnight on Goose Island, near the Blackhawk Street bridge. A small freighter, the Potawatomi, is docked nearby, next to a warehouse. He’ll wait for you by the ship’s mooring. Ed says you know the place well, and you’re to come alone.”

Max grinned wryly at Ed’s choice of a meeting place. When they were sixteen, their gang had burglarized a quantity of furs from the warehouse. A fence paid them two-hundred dollars apiece, a huge haul for a couple of snot-nosed kids. That was before Miss Wells set him straight. Obviously, his “old pal” Ed took satisfaction in reminding Max of his criminal past.

“I agree. Now, I think you’d better go.”

Vi got up from her chair and placed her empty glass on the liquor cabinet. Then she eyed Max with a sly smile. “How about one more for the road?”

Max walked over to her. He smiled and smoothed a few stray hairs below the brim of her hat; then he caressed her cheek with his fingertips. Vi kissed his fingers and bit them gently with her sharp, even white teeth. “I don’t have to go just yet, do I, Max?”

“Right now, baby. You don’t want to keep Ed waiting.”

She glared at him. “No,” she snapped, “I don’t.” Then she turned around and left the apartment without another word.

* * *

Joey the newsy was an undersized adolescent with patched trousers, a two-size too big flat-cap pulled sideways over his sugar-bowl haircut, and protruding jar-ears that he could wiggle, individually or together. He also had a wise-ass attitude, but he liked Max because he gave him quarter tips to bring the morning paper and perform diverse run-and-fetch errands. At seven a.m. Joey stood by Max’s desk with the paper and a bag of donuts.

“There’s yer sinkers an’ paper, Mr. Niemand, an’ ya got thirty-five cents change comin’.” He held out a grubby paw with a quarter and a dime.

Max smiled and folded back the kid’s fingers. “Thanks, Joey, you can keep the change.”

The newsy’s mouth widened in a grin that displayed most of his crooked multi-colored teeth. “Aw, gee, Mr. Niemand, yer swell.” Then he frowned and stared down at his scuffed shoes. “I wish I could work for ya full time. I could run errands, shine yer shoes, clean an’ polish, all sortsa stuff. Whatever ya wanted, I’d do it, sure. Maybe if I was good, you could teach me the detective business. Whaddya say?”

“I’m afraid you’re a bit young for that. What would your mama say?”

“Aw, my ma,” he grumbled. “All she cares about is dem nickels an’ dimes I bring in.” He moped for an instant until the exigencies of daily commerce pulled him back from the brink of despair. “Sorry, Mr. Niemand, I almost forgot. Look at page four, first thing, OK? Now, I gotta run. Bye.”

“Just a second, kid.” Max reached into the greasy paper bag and pulled out a chocolate covered donut. “Here, Joey, take it.”

For a moment Joey gazed at Max with admiration verging on hero-worship. Then he grabbed the donut and ran out of the office.

Max dunked his sinker in lukewarm coffee and was about to take a bite when he recalled the newsy’s reference to page four of the morning paper. He ate the soggy part of the donut and set aside the rest. Then he dried his hands with a handkerchief to avoid getting ink-stains from the newsprint.

A sealed envelope was pinned to the fourth page. Max removed the pin, ripped open the envelope and read a note from Al Lutkus. Lutkus gave an address for Nora Iverson on Pine Avenue in Austin, on the far West Side. He added:

Ask Nora about Nan Evans, her girlfriend at the Everleigh Club. Now we better be strangers for a while. The heat’s on. A.L.

Max set down the note, rubbed his chin and smiled. The heat’s on, all right. Anyways, Al has come through like a champ. I owe the big fella. He placed a call to his contact at the County Recorder’s office and asked him to trace the owner of the Pine Avenue property. The house was probably part of a payoff made to keep Nora quiet. He figured either the owner was letting her live there rent-free, or someone was paying the rent for her. In either case, knowing the owner’s identity could be crucial to his investigation. His contact assured him he would get back to Max with the information later that day, or the following morning at the latest.

He put down the phone and finished his donut while skimming the newspaper. Then he added notes updating the Levy file and began thinking about his midnight meeting with Ed Mahoney. Was he walking into a trap? Possibly, but that was a risk he was willing to take; it went with the job. He relied on his instincts, his ability to size up a situation. Then there were his fighting skills. In addition to the Smith & Wesson and his training with Al Lutkus, Max had acquired some proficiency in ju-jitsu, which had become popular in the States following Japan’s victories in its recent war with Russia.

Max visualized the scene with Ed and considered the possibilities. Then he shrugged and voiced an old proverb he learned on the streets: “Che sarà sarà.”

* * *

Proceed to part 2...

Copyright © 2015 by Gary Inbinder