by Liz Schulte
Good Tidings
By
Liz Schulte
Home is a name, a word, it is a strong one; stronger than magician ever spoke, or spirit ever answered to, in the strongest conjuration.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
About the Author
Want to learn more about Baker?
I hummed along with the Christmas music Olivia played in the background. It had been a while since I celebrated Christmas. It just wasn’t fun to do it alone. Regardless of what Holden thought, I was glad Olivia wasn’t backing down on celebrating the holiday. She still had family and loved ones. Those were the moments you treasured because they could all too easily slip through your fingers. That said, meddling with the boss-man’s family, that wasn’t something I needed any part of. The angel was on her own there.
“Tell me about your past, Baker,” Olivia said, smiling as she picked out her favorite ornaments to hang. “You’re the only one here that seems to get Christmas. How did you manage to hold on to it?”
I nodded. “I didn’t always celebrate, but one year everything changed. I realized what a palooka I had been.”
“What happened?”
I didn’t talk much about my past. It led to questions I wouldn’t answer—that didn’t need to be answered. I watched her out of the corner of my eye. The angel was different though. This story wouldn’t hurt for her to know. She might even learn something from my past. I took a deep breath.
****
1929 was a shitty fucking year. A damn rotten tomato of a year. I glared at the jolly fat guy in the too cheerful window display. Good riddance to you, you miserable bum, I thought as I walked past. It couldn’t be over soon enough for me. The year started with the death of five of my friends in a parking garage on St. Valentine’s Day then the whole north side seemed to go into upheaval. I had been to more friends’ funerals this year than any year I could remember. That was always the problem when living with humans—they had short lives. And if that didn’t make a bad enough year, the stock market plummeted in October devastating the population like I hadn’t seen before. People kept saying 1930 had to be better, but they were patsies to think so.
“It’s only going to get worse,” I mumbled to myself. People couldn’t even wet their beak—well not legally. What was the world coming to?
“What was that, Baker? My hearing ain’t so good in this ear,” Mickey the Knife asked.
I waved him off. It didn’t matter. None of it mattered. The world had gone to Hell in a hand basket, and I was about ready to start over. I had enough of this life. The highs were taller than mountains, but the lows, well they went so deep they burned my feet.
Mickey wasn’t a bad guy, a bit of a palooka, if you catch my drift, but not a bad sort. More the simple sort. I was saddled with looking after him since most of the gang got themselves killed. Not that Mickey was ever in anything too deep. We all knew better than to involve him. He lost most of the hearing in his right ear when a touchy dancer jammed a potato peeler into his ear drum. He was big as an ox, but missing a few vital screws. To this day, I still don’t know why she stabbed him. Must have caught her in a cross mood—dames.
We let him hang around ‘cause the kid never had many chances at doing anything else in his life, but this was no business for someone like him to be in. This business wasn’t really fit for anyone to be in these days. A sigh weighed heavy in my chest. I had to get Mickey situated in some sort of gig, so his sister didn’t have to worry about him; then it was time for old Baker McGovern to disappear for good.
Whom would I be in the next life? That was the real question. Nothing too stuffy. Maybe someone who wasn’t a rag-a-muffin. A doctor maybe. Yeah, a doctor, I liked the sound of that. Now all I needed was a name.
My hand darted down and caught the little arm of a street rat trying to abscond with my wallet. I plucked it from his fingers as two even smaller ones ran as fast as they could for the alley.
“You think I’m a sap, kid? You’re going to get yourself pinched with those ham hands.”
“Hey, mister, let go.” He kicked me in the shin and twisted hard. He looked vaguely familiar. Huge brown eyes, dirty face, and scabby fingers were all I could see though. Who was looking after this kid? Someone needed to teach him the way of things before he got pinched.
“Who’s your father?”
The slippery little devil squirmed right out of my grip and darted away. He ran down the same alley his friends disappeared in. I moved to go after him, but Mickey stopped me.
“Let the kid go. He didn’t hurt nothing. It wasn’t anything we wouldn’t have done at that age.”
He had a point, but this was a matter of respect. And kids like that needed a good talking to, or they ended up wise guys like us, which for most people, meant dead before forty.
“It’s Christmas.” He tried to appeal to my holiday spirit—fat lot of good that would did.
I didn’t know what Christmas had to do with a damn thing. No one was going to have a merry Christmas this year. “Sure thing, Mic.” I cracked my neck and straightened my tie. No need to make him miserable. Maybe it was a blessing he didn’t know better than to be anything but happy.
“You coming to see the blind pig tonight?” he asked with a wink and too much exaggeration. It took him forever to understand that a blind pig was a speakeasy not an actual sightless swine in the middle of Chicago. Not to mention the fact that no one would care to see a pig, dysfunctional or otherwise. A goofy grin spread over his face. “Candy’s singing tonight.”
“Is that so?” I lit a cigarette and kept moving.
Candy was my moll—when I needed one. She fancied herself to be a flapper, and maybe she was—but I think she had too much heart for that. Hell, what did I know? She was also Mickey’s little sister, but she took care of him better than his own ma would have. She needed my help with him too often for me to disappear without settling affairs. I owed, both, at least that.
I didn’t care to get messed up with dames too often, but sometimes I couldn’t avoid it. That was the case with Candy. She was a good kid who got the raw end of a deal when her parents died and left her with a big, useless hulk of a brother. She wasn’t like other dames. She didn’t have time to be a dumb Dora and latch onto some no good crush who would make promises he never intended to keep. I didn’t spout sonnets or empty promises at her. That’s probably why she liked me. Casual was my middle name. Candy was the real McCoy. She didn’t cling or give me the icy mitt for ignoring her when having a moll didn’t suit. She just wasn’t the type to carry a torch for anyone.
I weighed my options as we neared his house. I could stay home and start planning my new life—switching lives was becoming harder and harder these days. Or I could blow off some steam after a crappy day and piece of shit year at Papa Joe’s. I clamped my hand down on Mickey’s shoulder. “The juice joint it is. Tell your sister to put on the ritz. I’m taking her out after the show tonight.”
Mickey giggled and waved goodbye. I kept walking toward my house. Candy would box my ears for having Mickey tell her I was taking her out rather than ask her myself, but it was fun to get her riled up. I never let a chance at fun pass me by if I could help it. It kept me young. I smiled at my own joke as I let myself into my small five room house.
I pushed the bartender a couple clams for the drinks and headed for my tab
le. Mickey sat at another table with a couple fellas from the neighborhood. I nodded at him as I went by. I had been coming to this particular establishment since the hammer came down on alcohol and the income potential went up. Papa Joe’s was my favorite speakeasy. They had the best Jazz, the prettiest dolls, and, better still, it was on the north side.
However, tonight someone was at my table, and it wasn’t Candy. Ricardo Geneva, slick Ricky, from the South side was parked in my seat like he owned the place. The fact of the matter was; I didn’t really have much of a gang anymore. We may have out numbered him in here tonight, but we sure as hell didn’t need to start any more problems. We were in shambles but still clung to life. Moran was still alive so at least we had that. Truth be told though; it was only a matter of time before Capone either took over or someone bigger and stronger bumped us off. Either way this was my chance to get out without a bullet to the head. Last thing I needed was to draw attention to myself by picking a fight. I glanced back at Mickey’s table to make sure they hadn’t spotted slick Ricky.
I stationed myself in a seat between the two of them. Baker McGovern, peacekeeper. Applesauce!
If I’d learned anything in the time I’d lived; it was that pride didn’t do a hell of a lot for you. Sometimes you were a big fish, and sometimes you were a little fish. The only important part was that you got to keep swimming in the ocean. I even sent Ricky a drink on me just to show I didn’t have a beef with him stealing my table. The heady sound of the music mixed with the smell of whiskey and debauchery had become a siren’s song to me. I would miss it when I left this life. Candy’s voice started low and sultry, bringing a hush to the crowded room. All eyes in the room turned to her, mesmerized.
She was an absolute gem up on stage. A dress that hugged her in all the right places, makeup to hide the dark, tired circles I knew were around her eyes even if I hadn’t seen her for weeks, and of course the voice of an angel. After her set, she wove her way through the admirers to me. I stood up and pulled out a chair for her after kissing her cheek.
“Hey, baby. You were the cat’s meow tonight.”
“Butt me,” she said.
I smiled and flipped open my cigarette case so she could get one. Her pretty red lips curled around it as I flicked my lighter.
“I should tell you to dry up.” A seductive smile spread over her face. “But you’re the only flat tire I have any patience for.”
I smiled. “Surely you can find someone better than me.”
She shrugged. “Who says I’m looking.”
Well that wasn’t what I wanted to hear. Candy needed to look because I wasn’t always going to be around. I dismissed the trickle of worry before it could take hold and ruin the night. None of that mattered. Tonight, I didn’t have any business concerns or relationship worries. For all intents and purposes, I would be dead to this life before the end of the year. So in a matter of speaking this was my wake and Candy, and I were celebrating, whether or not she knew it. I watched Ricky exit the club and felt relief at the fact no one had done anything stupid.
“You wanna stay here or paint the town red?” I asked, focusing on her again.
“Well, I didn’t get all spiffy to stay in this dive. Take me dancing, Baker.”
Damn she did look good in her little black lace number and her short hair curled just so. “You’re always the berries to me, baby.” I leaned in to kiss her, and she leaned back.
“Check,” she said with a wink.
I grinned back at her. I finished my drinks, stood up, and offered her my arm. We walked through the crowd and out into unforgiving night air. Candy pulled her fur lined collar tighter around her neck, and I slung my arm over her thin shoulders. We started toward my car, when a high pitched scream came from my left. I glanced over. Slick Ricky had some kid by the scruff of its neck and was going for his knife. Candy covered her mouth with a gloved hand, and I quickly changed direction to head that way.
“Hey,” I called out. “Let the kid go.”
“Scram, McGovern.”
Shit. A fight was exactly what I didn’t need. I grabbed the kid by the back of his ratty coat and decked Ricky hard enough to make him drop the knife and to send him stumbling into the brick wall behind him. He sank to the ground. I looked down, and I’d be a monkey’s uncle if it wasn’t the same street rat from earlier today.
“Twice in one day, kid. You need to learn to be a better thief or stop going after wise guys. You gotta death wish?”
“Get off me,” he struggled to get away, but I kept a firm grip on him.
Christmas or not, I was going to talk to the kid’s parents before he got himself killed. “Where do you live? Who are your folks?”
“I don’t live nowhere and I ain’t got parents.” He tried to twist away again, so I lifted him until his toes didn’t touch the ground.
“I’m not messing around with you, kid. What’s your name?”
“Rupert. Rupert Connelly. Now let me go!”
Connelly. I knew a Connelly. “Your pop wouldn’t be Bobby Connelly, would he?” The kid nodded. Well horsefeathers. He was gunned down earlier in the year during a raid. “Why are you out here, kid? Your poor ol’ ma has been through enough. Go home. Stop making trouble.”
I sat him back down on his feet. He straightened his coat with an incorrigible jut to his jaw. “I told you. I ain’t got a home. Don’t have one. Don’t want one. Don’t need one.” He stood in front of me, staring up stubbornly. At least he wasn’t running away.
“Listen here. You will do as I say, or I will take you there myself.”
He shook his head like I was hopelessly stupid. “My ma took us to the orphanage, Mister. I have no idea where she is, but I took my brother and sister and we escaped from that rotten place. We’re better off on our own.” He puffed out his thin, nearly concave, chest the best he could. “I take care of us just fine.”
“Just fine?” I looked at his dirty face, threadbare clothes, and those skinny arms and legs. Damn it. I pulled out my wallet and gave the kid a wad of bills.
“Baker,” Candy’s voice interrupted my plan to give the kid some money then shoo him away. “You can’t let him go like that.”
“Who asked you, lady?” the kid barked at her.
I hit him on the back of the head. “Show some respect.”
He backed away, but kept his eyes focused on the money in my hand.
“Where are you staying?” I asked him.
“None of your business.”
I looked back at her and shrugged. She motioned for me to keep trying. Dames.
“Look, I’ll buy you guys dinner.”
The kid folded his arms over his chest. “You on the level, Mister?”
“Yeah, I’m on the level. I knew your father. He was good man.” The kid nodded; his jaw tightened, and he swallowed hard. The last thing I needed was for him to start crying. “If we are going, we should scram now before he wakes up.” I nodded to Ricky.
“Follow me,” the kid said.
Candy was a peach. She took my arm and followed the kid with me as happy as if I was taking her out somewhere ritzy. She cuddled in closer, but never complained about the ice cold wind coming off of the lake that cut you to the bone.
The kid led us through alley after alley until he snuck into a vacant building through a broken window. No place for a lady. “You want to wait here?”
She laughed. “I’m no wet blanket. Lower me down.”
I shrugged and helped her in, following close behind. The building blocked the wind, but it was still freezing. The kid went into the third room on the right. Coughing and talking came from all around. It was an urban jungle—a place where homeless congregated. Huddled on old newspaper in the corner of the room were two tiny little ones. They looked at us with huge brown eyes, shivering.
“Beatrice and Otis,” Rupert said. “This fella knew Pa. He’s buying us dinner. Come on.”
The two smaller ones stood up, eyes trained to the floor. Candy squatted d
own in front of them. “How old are you?”
The little girl held up five fingers while the boy muttered, “Seven.”
“And you. How old are you, kid?”
“How old are you, grandpa?”
I laughed. “Too damn old.”
The kid smiled. “Ten.”
The building shook as the train went by. “Come on. Let’s get out of this dump.” I helped Candy up, and the five of us made our way out.
When everyone had exited the decrepit building, Candy leaned in and said, “We can’t take them to a restaurant like they are.”
“What do you want me to do? This was your idea.”
She smiled and laid her hand on my arm. “Take them to your house. I’ll make dinner.” This was not the plan I had for the evening. Damn kids. She leaned in and pressed her soft lips to my cheek. “For me, Baker? Please.”
I sighed. “Sure, doll.”
*****
The warm smell of the fireplace and food filled the house. Candy had the kids scrubbed and pink cheeked seconds after walking through the door while I made a fire. I turned on the radio for the three street rats, but they had no interest in listening to it. They wanted me to tell them stories about their dad. I tweaked the stories just enough to make their dad into the hero they needed him to be, and I embellished enough to keep their attention. Slowly but surely smiles started creeping onto their small faces as they edged closer to me. Candy moved to the doorway with a wooden spoon in her hand smiling at the kids in a wistful and dangerous sort of way.
“Shhh,” she told us. “Listen.”
Everyone went quiet. Outside the sound of singing came through. “Carolers,” I said.
She smiled her face rosy with warmth of the room.
Rupert stood up and went to the front door. He opened it and shouted, “Scram, you miserable bums.”
I fell back into my chair, laughing as he shut the door. Candy shook her head and went back into the kitchen. Bea and Otis giggled at me, making me laugh harder.
Rupert sat back on the floor. “So dad worked for O’Banion too?” The wheels were turning in his eyes, and the other two quieted. “How did it happen?”
