Johnny Black, Soul Chaser: The Complete Series (Johnny Black, Soul Chaser Series)

by JJ Zep

  “Exactly, and next time you ain’t coming back. I’ll personally see to that.”

  “Let me ask you something, what’s Moran going to do if I tell him when and where your shipment’s coming in?”

  “He’s going to send a crew, and try to muscle in on me.”

  “And what if he finds the Feds waiting for him instead?”

  Capone thought about that for a while and then a rare smile lit up his face, “I always knew you were a dirty, double-dealin’ weasel, Black. So we set Moran up and let him shoot it out with the Feds. But what about my shipment?”

  “Here’s the really clever part,” I said. “I tell Finnegan about the shipment and I tell him that Moran has been set up. I arrange for him to highjack the boat on the water and take it to Kenosha or Waukegan or Gary, Indiana, or wherever you say, Mr. Capone. When he arrives there, your boys are waiting for him.”

  By this point Capone was positively beaming, “You know something, Black, if you’d only spend less time on the sauce and chasing the broads, you’d make a pretty decent mobster.”

  “So when’s this shipment coming in?” I asked

  “Thursday,” Capone said. “Thursday at the Southside Docks.”

  Of course, I had not intention at all of sharing this bit of information with Moran. In fact, I wanted Moran’s crew to be as far away from the Southside Docks as possible when Capone’s shipment came steaming in to the welcoming arms of the Feds. I wanted Moran’s crew to be in Kenosha, Wisconsin, where Capone’s outfit would be lying in wait for Fingers and his gang.

  The next thing was to get Winkie Wilson on the hook, so I took a cab to the 26th precinct. There was a commotion going on outside with a large crowd gathered on the steps of the police building. I jostled my way in between the press photographers, spectators and cops. At the top of the stairs was a podium, and a man now stepped up to it who was a dead ringer for Kevin Costner.

  “Who’s that?” I asked the photographer standing next to me.

  “Are you kidding, mac? That’s Elliot Ness. Hoover’s man.”

  There were a few plain-clothes cops standing next to Ness at the podium and I spotted Winkie off to one side and tipped him the nod. He indicated for me to meet him in the side street.

  “This better be good, Black,” Winkie said. “As you can see there’s more Hoover men in town than at a vacuum cleaner convention.”

  “Oh, this is very good,” I said. “And you won’t have to worry about the Feds either. Tell Moran that Capone has a shipment of Canadian whiskey coming by boat into Kenosha on Thursday.”

  “Why Kenosha?”

  “Why’d you think? You said yourself there’s too many G-men men in Chicago right now.”

  Winkie thought about that for a while then nodded. “You know what, Black, that actually makes sense. Mr. Moran’s going to be very pleased with this little bit of information.”

  “Can I get paid now?”

  “Get outa here you bum, you already been paid. Maybe next time you won’t be so slow on the uptake.”

  At the podium Ness was finishing his press conference. “We have also set up a Prohibition Hotline,” he said, “So if any citizen is prepared to come forward with information, we are prepared to offer a generous reward, plus police protection.”

  Which neatly closed another loop of my plan.

  eighteen

  I wasn’t due to meet up with Fingers until the next day, but I badly wanted to see Mae, so I hailed a cab and headed uptown. Fingers hideout looked dark and empty. I knocked on the door anyway.

  “Yeah, yeah,” I heard Mae’s voice from inside, “Keep your shirt on. Don’t cast a kitten.”

  The door swung open and there she stood, wearing the same dressing gown as she had earlier, her hair in a mess, a cigarette dangling from her mouth, and as beautiful as ever. She didn’t look exactly pleased to see me.

  “You on the lam?” Mae asked stepping past me and looking nervously left and right down the street.

  “What?”

  “The bulls follow you here?”

  “What, I…”

  “Mister do you speak at all? You some kind of Rube, or something?”

  “No, I…”

  “You better come in,” Mae said, pulling me into the house.

  Once inside, she said, “If you’re here to see Fingers, he ain’t here.”

  What I wanted to say was, “No actually, I’m here to see you,” but what came out instead sounded like, “Humpf.”

  “Pinched,” Mae continued. “Him and those other two morons trying to lift some old dame’s handbag.”

  “Fingers has been arrested?”

  “That’s what I just said. Jeez, mister can you stop staring at me, you’re giving me the heebie-jeebies.”

  “Sorry, I…”

  “You want a drink. All we got is that panther sweat Freddie keeps in the kitchen, but you look like you could use one.” I didn’t answer but she poured two drinks anyway, slugged one back and pulled a face. “Well, are you going to stand there like a gumdrop or are you going to have a drink?”

  I picked up the glass with trepidation, held it to my lips and tilted it skyward. The liquor burned all the way down, but wasn’t quite as bad as I recalled.

  “Attaboy,” Mae said and poured another.

  As the drinks flowed I began to sound more like Johnny Black, and less like Dexter Blackwell. Not that I had much room to get a word in, Mae had enough to say for the both of us.

  “So what’s a bimbo like you doing hanging around with a bunch of saps like Freddie and his crew?”

  “I’m just…”

  “Cause I can see you got brains, you got class, you’re a darb and if you don’t mind my saying so, a bit of a sheik.”

  “I don’t mind at all, and if you don’t mind my saying so, you’re a bit of a sheba. So what are you doing with a two-time loser like Freddie Fingers Finnegan.”

  “You think I’m Freddie’s girl?” she giggled.

  “Well, aren’t you?”

  “Not by a long chalk, although he’d like to think so. I’ve known Freddie since we were both kids, but aside from smooching him one time on a dare, there ain’t nothing between us.”

  “So how come you’re here then?”

  “Down on my luck, between acting jobs. What’s a girl to do?”

  “You’re an actress?”

  “Well, I would be, if I could find any acting jobs.”

  “You ever think of going out west?”

  “Hollywood? Me? You been drinking too much of that giggle water, mister.”

  “No, I’m serious Mae. You’re a real doll and you have star quality. You could be the next Sandra Bullock.”

  “Who?”

  “The next Clara Bow, I meant.”

  “You really think so?”

  “Absolutely!”

  “Hold that thought, mister. I got to go to the little girl’s room.”

  I poured myself another slug of Fingers’ rotgut whiskey and looked around the room. Without Mae in it, it was a dowdy compilation of cast-off furniture and fading wallpaper.

  I looked up now and saw Mae standing in the doorway, swaying slightly. “It’s late,” she said, “and I’ve had too much to drink.”

  I could take a hint. “Okay, I’ll take off. I’m sure I can still get a cab.”

  “You’ll do no such thing,” Mae said.

  nineteen

  I wish I could tell you more about the night I spent with Mae, but the truth is, I don’t recall much of it. I remember Mae walking across to room and taking my hand, I remember kissing her and walking with her to the bedroom, and then I remember waking up with a hangover that was worse than one of Mr. Belial’s screaming fits.

  When I woke, Mae was still asleep, snoring gently beside me. I got up and splashed some water on my face and got dressed. I went over to Mae’s sleeping form and kissed her on the cheek. Then I snuck out of the house and hailed a cab.

  Back at the Paladin, I made two calls fro
m the box in the foyer. First I called Winkie and told him to pull some strings to get Fingers released. When he protested I explained that Fingers was vital to Capone’s shipment coming in on Thursday.

  Then I phoned Hymie Schlitz. Schlitz had offered me a deal that I had foolishly walked away from. What had he said, ‘how about a whole new life?’ By that I presumed he meant getting my old life back, in which case I wasn’t interested. My old life sucked. But if he could offer me a new life, one that included Mae, we could maybe strike a deal. I arranged to meet with Schlitz at his office at one o’clock that afternoon.

  I went up to my room and found Jitterbug impatiently tapping his hoof. “And where do you think you’ve been all night?” he demanded. “I’ve been worried sick about you.”

  “Thank you for caring Jitterbug, but I thought I told you to stay in the wall.”

  “I thought I told you to stay in the wall,” Jitterbug mimed. “Well, I’m not staying in the wall. There are nasty things in there. You don’t want to know.”

  “Well, the closet then.”

  “No,” Jitterbug insisted. “What’s the point of being in Chicago if I can’t see the sights, take in some of the culture?”

  “You want to go wandering around Chicago?”

  “Why not?”

  “Let me draw you a little picture Jitterbug. You’re three feet tall, with the complexion of tomato, the horns of a billy goat, the teeth of a piranha, and the hindquarters of a donkey. You don’t think folks around here would find that just a bit unusual?”

  “If we were back in hell I could file a discrimination complaint based on what you just said,” Jitterbug snapped.

  “Well, we’re not in hell, and unless you want to go back there, get in the closet. Scoot!”

  “I’ll do it, but I don’t like it,” Jitterbug said and stomped off towards the closet. He was just about to get inside when he turned to me.

  “Oh yeah, the hotsy-totsy dame was here looking for you, the one with the big hooters. She left you a note.”

  I found Alice’s note on the bedside table. It said, ‘Darling Johnny, I can’t take this any more. I’m going to tell Al about us. Love always, Your Alice XXX. P.S. Call me, 555-6743.’

  I don’t need to tell you that this was bad news. If Alice went to Capone with this, it was all over. I’d likely end up back at the bottom of Lake Michigan, but that wasn’t the worst of my problems. The worst was that I’d be back at Hades Correctional having failed in my mission. If I was lucky I’d be sent back to the Accounts Receivable Department and the tender mercies of Mr. Belial. A more likely outcome was that I’d be transferred to the global warming project, working the big furnace.

  I had to hope that Alice hadn’t yet revealed our little secret to Capone and if she hadn’t, I had to cut her off at the pass, so to speak. An idea suddenly occurred to me, one that would take care of two pesky problems at once – if it worked.

  “Oh, Jitterbug,” I called, in my friendliest voice. There was no reply. “Jitterbug, are you in there?”

  “No,” he answered sounding more grumpy than usual.

  “No?” I said, “Well in that case I guess I’m going to have to go to the beach all on my own.”

  He was quiet for a while and then said, “The beach, in this weather, no thanks, I’d rather stay in here and chew on the mothballs.”

  “Okay then. See you later, I may stop off for a couple of hotdogs on the way home so…”

  “Hotdogs?” Jitterbug said.

  “Yeah, fried onions, mustard, ketchup…”

  “Pickles?”

  “Oh yeah, of course pickles.”

  “Okay, you’ve talked me into it.”

  Jitterbug peeked out from the closet, and seemed suddenly suspicious “Wait a minute, what’s the catch?”

  “No catch,” I said. “I just need you to scare the holy bejesus out of somebody.”

  “That I can do,” Jitterbug said, perking up immediately, “Who do you want me to terrorize? Capone? Bugs Moran? Freddie Fingers? Let me at ‘em. I’ll make ‘em cry uncle.”

  “A lady,” I said, “I need you to frighten the living bejesus out of a lady.”

  twenty

  “You want me to scare the crap out of your special lady friend? Man you are one mixed up man-child, Dexter. Broad like that, you want to beg her to stick around, not frighten her off.”

  “Will you do it?”

  “I’ll do it, but I won’t like it.”

  “Good. Now something else I need you to do.”

  “There’s more?”

  “You want this or not.”

  “Yeah, yeah.”

  “I need you to contact Doppelganger.”

  “What makes you think I can do that?”

  “Oh come on, I know that Dope sent you to keep an eye on me.”

  “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Okay, deal’s off.”

  Jitterbug folded him arms in what I’d come to recognize as his stubborn posture. It lasted for all of ten seconds. “Oh, okay,” he blurted, “I’ll contact him. Remind me never to play poker with you, Blackwell.”

  “Black,” I corrected him.

  “Black, Blackwell, potato, potarto.”

  “Contact Dope and tell him to have Barnes and Noble meet me at South Shore Beach at eleven o’ clock. Eleven o’clock you hear?”

  “Yeah, yeah. Don’t slip a disk.”

  “I’m going out to get some supplies, be ready to roll when I get back.”

  “Supplies? Oh good, get me some sunscreen, factor fifteen. Even in this weather my skin is very sensitive to ultra-violet.”

  I went downstairs and found Sergio at his usual station behind the reception desk. “Hey Sergio,” I said.

  “Mister Johnny,” he said without much pleasure.

  “That friend of yours, the one in the Panama hat, how do I contact him?

  Serge put his hand on his chin and pretended to be thinking very hard. “Panama hat, Panama hat,” he said talking to himself, then, “No, I’m sure Sergio has-a no friend that wears the hat of Panama.”

  I slipped a five across the counter and he said, “Wait one minute, I think I remember the man with the hat of Costa Rica. Its-a close no, but not-a close enough.”

  Another five-dollar bill crossed the counter and Sergio suddenly recovered his memory. “Ah yes, Mister Johnny, the man with the hat of Panama, si, si, I know this man.”

  “Good,” I said. “Call him and tell him to meet me at South Shore Beach at eleven. Tell him Fingers will be there.”

  “Que?”

  “Fingers, Senor Fingers.”

  “Ah si, si,” Sergio said picking up the phone and already starting to dial.

  “One more thing,” I said, and Sergio replaced the receiver with that familiar annoyed look on his face. “Is there a baby goods store around here?”

  twenty one

  “This is so embarrassing,” Jitterbug said.

  “Oh quit whining,” I said. “You sound like a baby with a wet diaper. You don’t have a wet diaper, do you?”

  “Very funny,” Jitterbug growled. He was tucked up in a baby carriage, dressed in a cute bonnet, with a pacifier in his mouth. We’d taken a streetcar to the beach and it had all gone smoothly except for one minor incident when some nosy woman had insisted on seeing the “cute darling thing.”

  The poor woman had flipped back the cover of the stroller and run screaming from the scene with a story none of her friends were ever going to believe.

  The beach was deserted today, which was not a surprise. The day was overcast and cold and windy, with occasional flurries of rain and choppy waves out on the lake.

  “These better be the best damn hotdogs in the known universes,” Jitterbug grumbled. I sat on a bench and waited, and right on time I saw Alice walking towards us, looking stunning in a red coat and holding onto her hat.

  “Oh, Johnny,” she said when she saw me. She rushed over and smothered me with kisses. �
�I was so worried,” she said. “I thought maybe Al’s boys had done something to you. You know how jealous he can be.”

  “You haven’t told him?”

  “Of course not,” she said. “I’m not stupid you know.”

  “But your note…”

  “I had to do something to get your attention. You seem so distracted these days. Like you’re not even my Johnny anymore. Are you keeping secrets from me Johnny Black? You are aren’t you? Is it that hussy Norma Edgerton? Is it…”

  “It’s nothing like that, Alice. Just calm down…”

  “Cause if it is, I’ll kill myself. You know I will. I’ll drown myself in the lake just like Cordelia.”

  “Ophelia,” I corrected.

  “Her too.” Alice was quiet for a full five seconds and then she noticed the baby carriage.

  “Oh, my god!” She said, “A baby. Is that yours, Johnny? It is isn’t it? That’s what you’ve been hiding from me. Well, I don’t care. You won’t scare me off that easily, mister. I‘ll raise it like it was my own. Let me see the little thing,”

  “Alice!”

  She looked at me and her bottom lip started to quiver. “You’re so mean,” she sobbed.

  “Please don’t cry Alice,” I said and held her to me, which only seemed to make her bawl even louder. Eventually her sobs subsided and became muffled whimpers.

  “There’s something, I have to tell you Alice.”

  “What is it?” she sobbed, looking at me with her make up smudged and runny “You don’t love me anymore?”

  “No, it’s not that,” I said.

  “What then?” she sniveled.

  I took a deep breath and said, “I’m not Johnny Black.”

  Well that got her to stop crying, “What!” she shouted. “Of all the low-down tricks, anyone’s ever pulled on me, this takes the cake. Okay then mister, if you’re not Johnny Black, who are you?”

  “I’m Dexter Blackwell.”

  “Dexter Blackwell? You made that up! That doesn’t even sound like a real name.”

  “I’m Dexter Blackwell, and I’ve been sent from hell to bring back the soul of Freddie ‘Fingers’ Finnegan.”