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

by JJ Zep

  “Oh, this really is the limit. What a ridiculous story. If you don’t love me any more, Johnny, as least be man enough to tell me without coming up with some cockamamie story about hell and souls and, oh Johnny how could you…” She started sobbing again.

  Eventually, Alice stopped sobbing and gave me a determined look. “Fine,” she said. “You’ve made your decision and I’ve made mine. I’m going back to Broken Bow, Nebraska.”

  “It’s for the best, Alice,” I said.

  “You don’t get off that easy, buster. I’m telling Al why I’m leaving.”

  Now I’d only brought Jitterbug along as a last resort, but Alice really gave me no choice.

  “What if I could prove it to you?”

  “Prove what, that you’re not Johnny Black? That you’re really this Dexter Blackboots feller and you came from hell to find some stiff called Freddie Fishfingers?”

  “Yes, if I can prove that to you, will you go back to Broken Bow, Nebraska without saying anything to Al?”

  “I’ll leave tonight,” Alice said

  “Okay then, take a look in the baby carriage.”

  “This baby carriage?” she said, sounding uncertain.

  “Take a look,” I said.

  Alice walked to the carriage and tilted back the hood. “How ya doin’, Toots?” Jitterbug said, and Alice screamed and fainted on the spot.

  twenty two

  Panama Hat was nothing if not punctual. At five of eleven I saw him making his way across the sand, hobbling as fast as his cane would carry him. He was wearing a long, fawn colored trenchcoat to go with his usual get up.

  He looked at Alice lying prostrate on the sand and at the baby carriage and said, “You better have a good explanation, Black. Unless Fingers has decided to dress up in drag or you have him incarcerated in that stroller, I don’t see him here.”

  “Take a load off,” I said, “He’ll be here any minute now.”

  He shuffled around me and dropped himself onto the bench with a huff. “Who’s the lady?” he said sarcastically, “Another of your many conquests?”

  “Just a friend,” I said.

  “And the baby?”

  “Just a little red-faced rascal.”

  We sat, not speaking, looking out at the choppy waters of the lake. “Have you ever thought about your immortal soul, Black?” Panama Hat said after a while.

  “I think about it all the time.”

  “Because you know you’re going downstairs, right?”

  “More than likely.”

  “And if your are going downstairs, you’ll be wanting the best possible accommodations, won’t you?”

  “Oh, I’d insist on it.”

  He ruffled around in his coat pocket and his hand came back holding a glossy brochure. “Here,” he said, handing it to me.

  “What’s this?”

  “Just something for you to consider when the time comes.”

  I looked at the brochure he’d given me. On the cover was a picture of a bikini-clad woman standing on a tropical beach, looking out over a fiery lake. The byline said, ‘Underworld Resorts - Hell Ain’t A Bad Place To Be.”

  “Now I know that ain’t in the rule book,” a voice said from behind us.

  Panama Hat jumped from the bench with surprising speed and faced Agents Barnes and Noble. “Hello, Walter,” Barnes said. “Still peddling sub-standard, subterranean real estate I see.”

  “Back off, Barnes. I‘ve got a perfect right to be here.”

  “A perfect right to be here, yes. Rustling up business? I don’t think so.”

  “I’m not rustling up anything.”

  “Oh really? Then what’s that brochure you just handed over to Agent Black here?”

  “Agent Black?” Walter said glaring at me, “You mean you’re one of them?”

  “You didn’t pick up that Johnny Black is no longer among the living? Tut, tut Walter, you must be losing your touch.”

  “But I could have sworn he was transcendent in tacto.”

  “No. Dead as disco,” Barnes said.

  Walter looked confused, but then his face broke into a smile that was more unpleasant than his customary scowl. “So you got me on illegal distribution of promotional materials. That’s no more than a misdemeanor.”

  “No, we’ve got you on tracking one of our runners. That’s a felony. I’m afraid we’re going to have to cube you. Agent Noble, will you do the honors?”

  Noble produced a small box from his coat that somewhat resembled a Rubik’s cube. “Ah, come on boys, Walter said, “How about a little professional courtesy here?”

  “You mean like you showed us in Prague?”

  “That was two hundred years ago!”

  “Revenge is a like gazpacho,” Barnes said, “best served cold.”

  “Then you leave me no choice,” Walter said. He flapped the tails of his trench coat and instantly sprouted a pair of fawn-colored bat’s wings.

  “Wow!” Barnes said, “New?”

  “Mm, we’ve been working on it for a while. It’s still in field testing.”

  “Sweet!” Noble said.

  “Look, I’d love to shoot the breeze with you fellers, but I got places to be and souls to keep. See ya.” He flapped his wings and rose a dozen feet in the air.

  “Not so fast, Walter,” Barnes said and Noble threw out a thin rope that appeared to be made of flame. It snagged Walter by the ankle.

  “You still using those old fire lines?” Walter said.

  “Hey,” Barnes said, “If it ain’t broke don’t fix it.”

  “Well, unfortunately for you, this one is broke.”

  Walter flapped his wings harder, and soared to about 50 feet while Barnes and Noble clung to the rope. To the outsider they may have appeared to be flying a large, man-shaped kite.

  “Anytime you want to jump in and help, Black, feel free!” Barnes shouted.

  I dashed over and grabbed the end of the rope, which felt strangely cool to the touch, despite its fiery appearance. Walter still seemed to have the upper hand though. He flapped his wings in huge swoops and had now ascended to eighty feet.

  “Jitterbug!” I shouted, “Get out here and give us some help.”

  I looked over to the baby carriage, where Jitterbug had just popped his head out. Next to it Alice had just started to stir.

  “Jitterbug!” I shouted again.

  “Yeah, yeah.”

  “Get out of here and give us a hand!”

  “Feggedaboudit!” Jitterbug said, “The only time I’m getting out of this snug buggy is for those chili dogs you promised me.”

  Walter now had a hundred feet of us and we were quickly running out of rope. “Give in, Walter!” Barnes was shouting. “We got you dead to rights!”

  “In your nightmares!” Walter shouted back.

  “Walter?” Jitterbug said, “Is that Walter Retlaw up there? That piker still owes me ten dollars from a poker game back in 1947!” Jitterbug raced over, grabbed the end of the rope and we started hauling Walter in.

  “Johnny?” I heard Alice mumble. She half raised her head from the sand and blinked her eyes. Then she looked up and saw three men and an imp in a diaper and baby bonnet, tugging on a fiery rope attached to the ankle of a man with large, fawn-colored batwings, who was levitating one hundred feet in the air.

  This time Alice didn’t even scream before passing out.

  twenty three

  With Jitterbug adding his pulling power to the end of the rope we eventually managed to get Walter down. As he was pulled closer and closer to the cube Walter first pleaded then threatened and finally cursed our souls to hell. Meanwhile, Jitterbug called him a cheapskate and a piker and a bad sort. It would have all been quite amusing if I didn’t have one eye on the clock. It was already twelve thirty and I had a meeting with Hymie Schlitz on the other side of town at one.

  “You’re not bad for an amateur, Black,” Agent Barnes said as he pocketed his cube.

  “What’s going to happen to Wa
lter?” I asked.

  “Oh, he’ll likely have his license suspended. But he’ll probably file a complaint with the union and get it overturned.”

  After the agents left I got Jitterbug settled in his buggy and revived Alice. She looked dazed and confused and I had to lead her by the arm towards Lake Shore Drive where I hailed a cab to drive us to Schlitz’s office. I tipped the cabbie a twenty and told him to take Alice back to her apartment and then to Union Station.

  I was ten minutes late for my appointment with Schlitz, but he could not have been more accommodating. “Not at all, Mr. Black. I fully understand. You’re a busy man, with a lot on your mind and a lot of irons in the fire, so to speak. Think nothing of it.”

  I was ushered into Schlitz’s office pushing the baby carriage. Schlitz said that his secretary could care for the ‘adorable little thing’ but I’d graciously declined. His office was on the 23rd floor of the Pittsfield Building, and the last thing I needed was a legal secretary throwing herself from a skyscraper.

  Schlitz’s workplace was unusual for a lawyer. His walls were literally plastered with framed black and white photos of famous movie stars, some of them autographed. There was even a photo of a beaming Hymie Schlitz flanked by Mary Pickford and Douglas Fairbanks.

  “You like the movies, I see, Mr. Schlitz.”

  “Oh yes,” Schlitz said, “What’s it they say? There’s no business like show business. And please call me Hymie, no reason to stand on formality.”

  “Quite,” I said.

  “Now, Mr. Black, I’m not going to mince words with you. My client has had an interest in your career for a long time and is very keen to acquire your services. I’m sorry if that sounds a tad desperate, but the truth is Mr. Black we feel, that is my client feels, that you may be able to help each other out, as it were. What do you say, Mr. Black?”

  “I’m listening.”

  “Good, good,” Hymie said and favored me with a practiced smile. I heard the clink of crockery behind me, and a secretary hurried in carrying a tray with cups and a teapot.

  “Ah, Moira,” Schlitz said. “Just set it down there.” To me he said, “Tea? I much prefer it to coffee. Acquired a taste for it while doing some work for Mr. Hitchcock in London.”

  “Mr. Hitchcock?”

  “Yes, you know, the motion picture producer.”

  Schlitz poured us each a cup and sat back in his chair with his fingers steepled in front of him. “Now Mr. Black, what’s it going to take you get you on board?”

  “You mentioned a new life,” I said.

  “Yes, of course,” he said. “One most people can only aspire to.”

  “Here? In 1927?”

  Schlitz looked momentarily confused, but then he said, “Indeed, and beyond, hopefully way beyond. You wouldn’t have a problem moving to California would you?”

  “I hadn’t thought about it, but no, California would be fine.”

  “It just makes things simpler, that’s all.”

  “Okay, so I get to stay in 1927 and move to California. What do I have to do in return?”

  Schlitz looked confused again, and then chuckled to himself, “That notorious sense of humor again,” he said. “That may well come in handy.”

  “You want me to turn a blind eye and let Fingers slip the net, is that it?”

  Schlitz laughed even harder, “Oh, Mr. Black do stop, I don’t understand a word of this gangster lingo, although I daresay it will add the touch of realism that my client is so desperate to achieve.”

  “Realism?”

  “Yes, you know, to the pictures.”

  “Pictures?”

  “Oh, I might as well just come right out and say it. My client plans to create the greatest gangster motion picture of all time, with you as its star!”

  “You want me to be in a movie?”

  “But of course.”

  “And you’re not working for Mr. Abaddon?”

  “Indeed no, my employer is none other than Mr. Busby Beaumont, world famous producer of motion pictures.”

  “And he wants to put me in his picture?”

  “Oh yes, Mr. Beaumont was very explicit in his instructions. To be honest Mr. Black, most underworld figures are frightfully unattractive. Take Mr. Capone for example, a particularly unlovely specimen, if you don’t mind my saying so. But you, that face, that walk. You have pizzazz, Mr. Black, you have star quality. So what do say, would you like to be the next Douglas Fairbanks?

  In the end, I had to respectfully decline Mr. Schlitz’s very generous offer of a career in Hollywood. I did however give him an excellent lead on an up-and-coming young actress that I was sure was going to be the next ‘IT’ girl.

  twenty four

  By the time I headed home I was bushed, what with capturing soul chasers and turning down offers of international stardom, not to mention stopping to buy a hotdog for a ravenous imp. I say, ‘a’ hot dog, but in fact, Jitterbug finished four of them, rounded off with a hearty burp and a cigar. The look on the hotdog vendor’s face as I passed four chilidogs into the baby carriage for Jitterbug to consume with a sound not unlike a cement mixer, was priceless.

  I planned on resting up at the Paladin, before heading over to Fingers’ place. I was sure Winkie Wilson would have released Fingers and his numbskull accomplices by now and I needed to get them on board with my plan.

  Of course, there was also the added benefit of seeing Mae again, but I really had to step things up in my attempt to capture Fingers. It was Tuesday now and I needed to finish my mission by Thursday. By the time Capone found out that I’d double-crossed him, I needed to be safely back in hell.

  Two of Capone’s goons were waiting for me back at the hotel. “Da boss, wants ta see ya,” one of them grunted.

  “Is it okay if I at least take the baby up to my room first?”

  “Da boss, wants ta see ya,” the goon repeated.

  “But, the baby…”

  “I’ll get da baby,” goon number two said. He reached for the baby carriage.

  “No,” I shouted and pushed in front of him, just too late to prevent the cover being flipped aside.

  The goons looked into the carriage with matching expressions of bemusement on their faces and I knew the game was up.

  “Baby’s gone,” goon two mumbled and I looked into the buggy and realized that he was right. The carriage was empty. Jitterbug had flown the coop.

  “What kinda game you playin’ Black?” goon one growled.

  “But there was a baby,” I insisted.

  “Yeah, well maybe he stepped out for a ciggy and a diaper change,” goon one said, and goon two guffawed like it was the funniest joke ever told.

  I had no idea where Jitterbug may have gotten to, or how he’d gotten out of the carriage without my seeing him. I just hoped he would somehow stay out of trouble, although with Jitterbug that was always going to be a tall order.

  We set off for the Lexington Hotel with me crushed into the back seat between the two goons. At the Lexington, I found Al Capone, America’s most feared mob boss, in tears. “Come in, Black. Have a seat,” he sniveled.

  “Everything okay, Mr. Capone.”

  “She’s gone,” he wailed suddenly.

  “Who? Who’s gone?”

  “My A-A-l-i-c-c-e.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that, Mr. Capone,”

  “What did I do to deserve this, Black? I treated that dame like gold, like gold I tell ya? I ain’t just a mobster and a thug, you know. I got a soft side, I got feelings, I ain’t a bad guy. I just want my little girl back.” He broke down in sobs again, and started banging his forehead against the desk’s surface.

  “You’re sure she’s gone?”

  Capone nodded his head without looking up. “I sent one of my boys round to her place to pick her up and her stuff’s been cleared out.” He let out a deep sigh, looked at me with pitiful hound dog eyes, produced a handkerchief and blew his nose, then suppressed the next series of sobs.

  “If there’
s anything I can do, boss?”

  Capone nodded his head sorrowfully, “I want you to find her,” he howled.

  “You want me to find Alice?”

  “Yeah, you got a line with the broads. You track her down, talk some sense into that empty head of hers, she comes running back to daddy, you and me’s all square, everything’s jake.”

  “I thought the Finnegan deal got us square.”

  “I’ll say when we’re square,” Capone said slamming his fist into the desk. “All capers are off until I get my girl back, you hear. And that includes your Thursday night special. So maybe we ain’t so square after all. Now scram, find that flapper and tell her she gets back here or else she finds herself wearing a concrete brassiere!”

  I left the Lexington and hailed a cab to Union Station. I just hoped I was in time to stop Alice boarding her train. If I couldn’t get her back and Capone called off the caper it would put a huge dent in my plans. I needed to get Fingers and his gang out on the lake believing they were going to hijack Capone’s shipment, if Capone called it off, my goose was well and truly cooked.

  The roads around the station were clogged with traffic and on Canal Street we came grinding to a halt. I paid the cabbie and ran the last two blocks and entered the Great Hall via the Headhouse.

  Inside, the station was as jammed with people as the street outside was jammed with cars. I managed to track down a porter who told me the train to Omaha left from Track 5. Down on the platform it was chaos and I’d just about given up on finding Alice when I spotted her red coat, standing out like a beacon among the grayness of the surrounding commuters. Say what you will about Alice, the lady knew how to stand out in a crowd.

  I made my way through the throng pushing and hustling. I was just a few feet away when Alice spotted me and even under her usual gallon of makeup she seemed to turn a lighter shade of pale.

  “Alice,” I said. “I’ve got to talk to you.”

  “I’m not interested in your lies any more, Dexter Blacktooth, or whatever your name is.”

  “Alice, please…”