She could barely see, the wind was so strong. She squinted. Her hair flapped about wildly, as did her green skirt. She risked taking one hand away from the handle to shove the gap closed an extra few inches, so it would be less likely to catch her pursuer’s attention. Then she grasped the handle again and held on for dear life.
By craning her neck, she could see through the gap between the accordion closure and the train. She could not hear the sound of the door opening, for her ears were filled with the loud, jarring clickety clack of the wheels on the rails, which seemed to rattle her very bones.
Then she saw him. He came rushing out of the door. He glanced to the other side. Then, just as his head was turning to the side Kristin was on, she jerked back away from the gap. She pressed her cheek, against the cold metal side of the accordion link and prayed desperately that he would not stick his head out to look for her. The tension was so intense, her stomach cramped, and she felt nauseous. For a long moment she waited, her eyes focused on the gap. His head did not appear. Finally she steeled her courage and craned her neck to the side again so she, could peer in.
He was gone. She sighed with incredible relief. She did not return to the inside of the accordion closure though. There was no way of telling for sure the direction he had gone. He had almost certainly continued forward, but how could she be sure? She clung tightly to the cold metal handles. Soon the train depot appeared in the distance. The train began slowing.
When it stopped completely, Kristin jumped down from her perch, landing on all fours. Her palms were scratched, but nothing was broken. She did not dare dart into the busy terminal on the other side of the train. If Peters was watching through the train window, as he undoubtedly must be, he would see her. No, she knew, her best chance was to stay low on the ground and wait him out.
Her strategy was nerveracking, but it worked. Peters did not dare leave the train, for fear she was still on it. He had to take a gamble either way. He could remain on the train and search for her, or get off and bet she was in the depot. Since he had watched all the departures and had not seen her, he chose to remain. Kristin crouched very close to the train so that she would not be visible from the windows. Soon the conductor called “All aboard!” and then the train began moving, steadily picking up steam. The whistle blew.
The train was past her now, disappearing down the tracks. Suddenly she saw Peters come out of the caboose, onto the rear platform, and notice her. He looked horrified. Kristin feared he would pull out a gun and shoot her. The distance by now was too great though. And the speed was too fast for him to dare leap from the train. Kristin felt an enormous sense of relief. She was safe! She smiled and waved at the vanishing man.
She started toward the depot. Now that the train was no longer hiding her, her crouched position on the far side of the tracks had become apparent. One inquisitive woman even went up to her and asked why she had chosen such a provocative means of exiting the train. Kristin mumbled some excuse, not even paying attention to her own words. She was still feeling shaken at her narrow escape. She went to the ticket window and purchased a ticket on the next train back to New York.
When she arrived in the bustling, overcrowded Grand Central Station, it was nightfall. She had slept on the train, despite her command to herself to stay awake and alert. But now she was refreshed and eager to put her plan into action. The first thing she did was phone the Treasury Department’s New York office and ask to be connected to Agent Joel of the anti crime task force.
Joel was astounded to hear from her. He agreed to meet her in four hours at the McCarty Restaurant on Thirty-eighth Street. He sounded wary when Kristin told him that if he contacted Dallas Hunter about this, she would leave the restaurant instantly, and he would never learn the important information she had to give him. Finally he agreed with seemingly great reluctance.
Kristin had not chosen a fancy restaurant, because she was not sure she would have a chance to change clothes, and she knew she could not appear in a nice place wearing the torn, dirty, rumpled dress she now wore. As it turned out, though, she did find a dress shop that was open right in the terminal mall. Only in New York, she thought with satisfaction.
When she appeared in the McCarty, she checked it out carefully from the front lounge before entering the dining room. She did not see Hunter, but that did not mean he was not there. Still, she believed she’d made it clear enough to Joel that she wouldn’t talk to him if he betrayed her. He would probably play it straight with her.
She was wearing a thin fox-fur coat now, belted, which she did not remove. She slid into the booth opposite the federal agent. Joel had the courtesy to motion the waiter over and let Kristin order before beginning to talk business. When her cup of steaming coffee arrived, and the waiter departed, Joel began his questioning.
“Why did you contact me instead of your friend Dallas Hunter? And what is this important information you have that’s so crucial, I’m not supposed to tell it to one of the agents I work with?”
Kristin took a sip of the rich, hot coffee and felt its delicious warmth go all through her. “Forget about all that. Just answer this: Do you want to get Ironman Gianelli behind bars?”
Joel looked impressed. “You can help do that?”
“Yes.”
“Well, yeah. I want to get him behind bars. I want it real bad. The entire department has been frustrated for years, trying to get something solid on that hood, something that would stick. As for me, well, it would be a real personal coup, a feather in my cap, if I could be the one to put him away.”
“Would it be a big enough coup so that you’d be willing to follow the plan I tell you, without letting Dallas Hunter know about it?”
Joel looked uncomfortable. He worded his reply carefully, as if fearful he might get into trouble if he said the wrong thing and it got back to his superiors. “Let me put it to you this way, lady. If I could bring in Ironman without having to share the credit with any Johnny come lately flyboy, who used to be a criminal himself, then so much the better for me. However . . . I’m obliged to tell you that my duty is to report this meeting and all subsequent information I receive to Hunter and to the other agents on the case.” He looked at her slyly. “Unless, of course, you insist that I don’t do that. And you tell me you’ll break off all contact with me if I do.”
“I do insist. And that’s exactly what I am telling you.”
“Good. That means I’m honor bound to not tell Hunter, under pain of jeopardizing the capture of this notorious hood. So you get what you want—though Lord knows why you want it—and I get full credit without having to share it.”
“There’s a catch,” Kristin said. “If you can’t get a contingent of armed agents to do as I want, on your own authority, then this won’t work.”
“How many agents?”
“A dozen or so, I should think.”
He snapped his fingers. “Easy.” He leaned forward across the table and looked at her seriously, like a carnivore after fresh meat. “All right. Now, what’s the plan?” He was clearly skeptical that she really had any ideas that might work. By the time Kristin finished explaining her plan to him though, he was more than convinced. He leaned back in the booth and whistled softly, highly impressed. “Lady, that is some plan you got there.”
The plan was very simple and straightforward. Kristin knew that she could not testify against Ironman’s previous illegal acts, because she was considered to be a biased witness. (Hunter had told her this on the plane ride back from Europe. The defense would claim that, since she believed Ironman was responsible for her brother’s death, she was out for revenge against him, and therefore she was not a reliable witness.) Kristin could, however, be the bait that was dangled in front of Ironman to entice him into committing another illegal act, such as abducting or trying to kill her. And this could be done before the eyes of hidden witnesses.
“You’re sure you can get these agents?” Kristin asked Joel. “The whole thing hinges on their being hidden on
the pier, watching as Ironman tries to kidnap me.
“Or tries to kill you,” added Joel dryly.
“Yes, or that. In which case I’ll want your men to shoot him instantly, before he can kill me. If you hesitate even a moment on this, I’m likely to end up dead.” “We’ll be there to protect you. I promise. You’re sure you can get Ironman there, huh?”
“The prosecutor won’t let me testify against him, but Ironman doesn’t know that. He thinks I can testify against him, and that my testimony would put him in the penitentiary. He’ll try to stop me, no two ways about it.”
“But how do you know he’ll show up personally to do it? He might send one of his boys. That’s his usual modus operandi. Sending some hood who’s low down on the operational ladder, rather than get his own hands dirtied.”
She thought a moment. “I’ll tell him I won’t show up unless I see he’s there alone. I’ll tell him I’ll be watching the spot on the pier from a hiding place, and if I see anyone show up but him, I’ll run away, and he’ll never see me again.” Kristin was so convinced that her plan would work, confidence practically radiated from her.
“Don’t worry, Mr. Joel!” Kristin continued. “I’ll get him there. I’ll tell him he can buy me off, that if he brings twenty thousand in cash, I won’t testify against him. He’ll show up. With no intention of parting with his money. He’ll try to kill me or kidnap me. Either way, you and your men can catch him red-handed, right in the act. That’s certainly enough to put him away for a long time, isn’t it?”
“Attempted murder? Kidnapping? You bet your life, lady.” Joel gave her further instructions about what he wanted her to do. Then he raised his whiskey glass in salute to her. “You are one gutsy lady, Miss Fleming.” He finished his drink, then left to gather his men and arrange the trap.
Kristin remained in the restaurant. She was not feeling very brave, just nervous. Everything depended on Joel’s men being in place and ready to shoot Ironman the instant he pulled a gun on her. If they failed, she would die. It was as simple as that.
CHAPTER 30
Ironman Gianelli was in his New York office the next day, worriedly pacing back and forth in giant strides. He had earlier learned from an informer that Treasury agents were on the verge of raiding his Char now Avenue warehouse to confiscate his records. That could be disastrous, he knew. The records were accounts of various ends of his operations, and many of them were in Kristin’s handwriting. They included detailed figures regarding income and profit.
Ironman wished he had never committed those damn figures to ink and paper, and especially not by letting Kristin do it for him. But hell, how could you run a business without keeping records? And bootlegging, gambling, numbers, prostitution—they were businesses just like any other. Ironman prided himself on running his scams with peak efficiency to turn the greatest profit. He couldn’t have done that without accurate records to check over. And how could he know Kristin would be in a position to turn informer on him? That she was Chad Fleming’s sister?
But all that was secondary. The main thing was, how could he ever have imagined the feds would come up with this horrible new idea on how to bust him? This income tax evasion rap? Why, it was positively un-American! He was so incensed that he shouted out loud, to himself as much as to Riggio over on the couch, “It ain’t fair! It ain’t fair, damn it! Where do they get off with this income tax evasion bull?”
Riggio shook his head sympathetically. “You can’t trust the government, boss. I been saying that for years. They’re sneaky. They got no principles.”
“But, aside from that. I mean, why, it’s never been done before! No hood ever got busted on a charge like that. Bugsy Moran didn’t. Dutch Shultz didn’t. Why me all of a sudden?”
“They’re sneaky devils, boss. I’m telling you.” Ironman slammed his beefy fist down on his desk top in frustration. “If only the boys I sent to Paris had got that Kristy dame. Then there’d be no problem. Those ledgers are useless to them without her around to testify that it was me who gave her the figures, and that the figures were profits from my operations. Without her, I’d be home free.”
“The boys just missed her,” said Riggio. He inspected his knuckles as he lay on the couch, his feet up on the armrest. “They got to Paris, then to Belgium just after Hunter came to take her back and hide her away somewhere.”
Ironman slammed his fist on the desk top again. “That rotten Dallas Hunter! He was working for the feds all the time. That’s why he went to get Kristin, so she’d be safe and could testify against me. That son of a . . . He was the one I was looking for all the time, the one whose name that reporter wouldn’t give me. I’d like to have just two minutes alone with him in a dark alley.”
“With a forty-five in your hand,” counseled Riggio. Ironman turned on him. “What? You don’t think I can take him barehanded. Is that what you’re saying?” “Not me, boss. I think you can take ten Dallas Hunters barehanded.”
Ironman snorted. “All right, with a forty-five, then. That’s one dark alley he wouldn’t leave alive.”
“Boss, everything’s not lost yet. Look on the bright side.” He felt the withering, piercing glare Ironman focused on him, and quickly he added, trying to make himself clearer, “What I mean is, the boys are still on the lookout for Kristin. They may find her. Then they’ll do her in, and you won’t have to worry about those ledgers. No testimony from her, no conviction on any of these sneaky pete tax evasion raps.”
“The boys have done nothing but flub up every chance they had with her. No one knows where she is now! She’ll stay under cover until they drag me into court. No, there’s no chance to get her.” He cocked his head and frowned in wistful contemplation. “Boy, what I wouldn’t give to get her.”
Riggio watched as Ironman went to the cabinet and poured himself a stiff shot of the finest Scotch and drank it down in a swallow. “So, uh, what do we do now, boss?”
Ironman grimaced against the bite of the alcohol. His voice was ragged from it. “We go to the warehouse and get those records before the feds break in tomorrow morning. And we bum them.
“But you don’t want to be seen anywhere near those records. You said so. If they put the bite on you before you torch them, well, it’s all she wrote.” He paused, then suggested offhandedly, “Why don’t you send me to bum them?”
“You don’t have the combination to the safe.”
“You could give it to me.”
Ironman looked at him with piercing suspiciousness.
“Aw, come on, boss, you can trust me! Don’t tell me you don’t trust old Riggio?” He was truly insulted. They had been together for over 15 years, ever since Ironman had first come to Chicago to join the Rasmusson mob.
Ironman knew he was being irrational. Deep down he knew he could trust Riggio. But his paranoia about losing the bulk of his illicit earnings, which were in the safe, in case, prevented him from letting Riggio, or anyone else, go in his place. He had never divulged the combination of that safe to anyone, and he didn’t intend to do so now.
“Listen, I trust you, Riggio. We been together a long time, right? But, you see, I’m the only one who knows which ledgers to bum and which to leave alone. And besides, if you went to just gather up everything and bring it back to me, that’s even more dangerous than me going down there. They’ll try to grab you in transit with the ledgers. And they can prove you’re my courier. Naw, better for me to be standing right there with a torch ready the instant the safe’s open. I’ll pull the records that are incriminating, and they’ll be smoke and ashes within minutes.”
“So you’re really going down there, huh?”
“You got any better ideas?”
Riggio thought for a moment, then shrugged and shook his head. Ironman poured himself another drink and sat down with it at his desk. Then he began talking, giving his instructions on who he wanted to accompany him, and when they would enter the warehouse, and how they would try to make the trip in secret, so their arrival time co
uldn’t be anticipated.
Everything was set. A few minutes later the two men who were to go with them arrived in their car. Ironman and Riggio put on their shoulder holsters and coats and were on their way out the door when the telephone rang.
Ironman looked at it, debating whether to answer it. On an impulse he came back into the room and lifted the receiver. “Yeah?” His face became animated. He listened intently. He began smiling. It was a sadistic smile that made Riggio wonder what in the world his boss was hearing over that telephone line.
Ironman nodded a few times and said into the phone, “Sure . . . sure . . . twenty grand? Doll, it’s easily worth that to me if it’ll keep your mouth shut . . . Right . . . three in the morning. Right. I’ll be there.” Ironman hung up. He leaned back against the edge of the desk and broke up laughing.
“What is it?” Riggio asked. “What happened?” Ironman just kept laughing. “Come on, boss. I’m dying of suspense. Who was that? Huh?”
Ironman slapped him on the back. “Riggio,” he said, still smiling grandly, “tell the boys in the car to forget all about it. We’re not going to any warehouse and risk our necks.”
“We ain’t?”
Ironman shook his head. He pulled out his revolver and inspected the chamber. “That was our dear lady friend, Kristin. She doesn’t want to testify after all, she tells me. All she wants is twenty grand to buy her silence. Delivered by me personally.”
“You ain’t going to give it to her?”
“Sure I am.” He closed the chamber of the gun and snapped it cleanly into his shoulder holster. “Twenty grand worth of hot lead. Right between them bee-ooo-tiful eyes of hers.” He threw his head back and began laughing uproariously. His contorted face looked demonic.
Dallas Hunter, who was hiding behind crates of bootleg liquor at Ironman’s warehouse, checked his watch irritably. His gun was in his hand. He was dressed in the operational assault outfit he favored most: black leather jacket, black trousers and sweater. He glanced at Rogers, next to him, who was looking very uncomfortable.
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