by Sikes, AJ
Chapter 14
When Brand woke up, his feet yelled at him to get them covered. His jaw yelled at him to get it iced. And his head yelled at him to quit while he was ahead and just wait for the coppers to show up or eat a bullet from Nitti’s gun, whichever was quickest. Sliding on his hip, Brand edged closer to Nitti’s bloodied remains. The monster was gone, it’s acrid musk nowhere that Brand could place. The shop door was open, too, a cold wind blowing in from the street. The G-man wasn’t around. Nitti and his gang were ground beef on the shop floor. Brand was broken, scared, and scarred, but he was still a newshawk with a story to tell. After what he’d just seen, he wondered if anyone in Chicago City would listen. Should mention the monster or not? At least one person in the Mayor’s circle had heard of it. He corrected the thought as he closed in on his goal: the former Mayor’s circle.
He made it to the first of Nitti’s legs, near the furnace. The other was halfway to the foyer entrance. The gangster’s shoes fit a little loose. Better than tight, Brand thought as he let out a cry of pain when his tortured feet scraped against the leather. He risked standing, holding the chair he’d sat in for support. Nitti’s .45 rested against the chair legs. Brand reached down and picked up the gun, checking the chamber. It still had one in the pipe and two cartridges in the magazine. On shaky legs, Brand shuffled in a circle, scanning the shop room for any signs of the monster and doing his best to avoid looking at the rest of Nitti. It was hard to do. Nitti was all over the place. The room closed in on Brand, like the trenches had during the worst battles. Walls and floor and ceiling pinched together like a shroud over his face, blackening his vision. He forced his eyes to clear with a fierce shake of his head. That set his jaw to aching even worse. Stumbling in the too large shoes, Brand made his way along the room to the side door. He could have looked for the key, or just gone out the open front door. But he knew what was in the foyer. Brand had seen enough.
The side door creaked open after he’d blown the lock out. It took all three shots, and he held the gun with both of his unsteady hands. The gun fell into the oil-stained dirt of the yard beside the shop and Brand took his first halting steps to freedom and safety. Somewhere between the machine shop and the Vigilance, his feet went completely numb from pain or cold, maybe both. Coming to the shop, the trip had taken five minutes at a good clip. The return trip took nearly half an hour with Brand stopping to lean against buildings and lamp posts along the way, doing anything he could to give his dogs a break. Above him, clouds swelled in angry masses of dark gray and near black, reminding him of the roiling fog that blew from Nitti’s open mouth before the monster appeared.
At the mooring deck, Brand struggled up the steps, crying out when his numb feet clumsily banged against the icy metal. The shoes helped, but his ravaged soles howled at him with every step. He stood at the base of the airship’s ladder, gazing into the open cabin door. Something twitched in his mind, but the pain and horror of what he’d seen took over before he could make sense of his thoughts. His hands were numb, too, and he had to wrap both arms around the ladder to climb it. More than once he ended up pressing his cheeks to the stinging cold metal. Flopping into the cabin, he yelled for Archie to get them moving as he crawled to his desk. There was a smell in the air, something he recognized but couldn’t place. He rolled a cigarette and then realized the ship hadn’t moved. The engines idled in the background, vibrating the cabin in a steady cadence of revolutions.
Brand let the paper and tobacco drop from his hands. Archie sat in the pilot’s seat with his head slumped forward. A dark stain covered the cockpit windows and the controls. Brand thought about tossing the hokum broadcast he’d worked up to satisfy Nitti, but he held onto the paper, dangling it above the waste chute by his desk. Someone was coming to replace Capone’s mob. Somebody with a lot of pull and a lot more punch than Capone and the other gangs in Chicago City could ever hope to match. That G-man in the shop. He said Nitti did a good job and then flubbed it when he shot the Mayor. A bad hand played wrong.
Brand picked up the rolling paper and swept the spilled tobacco threads together. He thought about his next play. Everyone around him had bet big and bet wrong. So what should he do? The Mayor had taken down Capone hoping to find better digs. That meant a move to Detroit and to a chair that wasn’t vacant yet. The Mayor was a sap, plain and simple. The Governor had contacts in every office from Green Bay around the bend to Rochester; he’d have known about the Mayor’s game. Hell, the Governor’s boys were at the bust. Taking out Capone might have netted the Mayor a new stenographer, a little extra juice come Christmas. But any gifts would have come with a message to stay put, cool his heels and enjoy the good life he had. Of course, Nitti had seen to it that those messages weren’t necessary, and it had cost him big. So why couldn’t he have held off on doing Archie?
Brand had promised Nitti the broadcast thinking it was a bluff. With the Governor in the shadows now, Brand knew the broadcast had to go out. It was hokum, but he needed to give the Governor a reason to ignore him. Making himself out to be snowed like the rest of Chicago City was the only play for a man holding a handful of junk.
Good evening, Chicago City. This is Mitchell Brand. I have just received formal notice that The Outfit is leaving the city.
Brand stopped to roll a new cigarette.
The Outfit leadership feels that Chicago City is no longer a place where they may safely conduct business. They have secured a new center for their operations, which, they are sad to announce, will prevent them bestowing any benefits upon our city such as they have in the past. Mr. Capone would also like to express his sadness. . .
Brand paused, lit his cigarette, and added,
and remorse, for the loss of his dear friend, the Mayor.
One more piece needed fitting in, and he couldn’t let it go.
Since the events of yesterday morning, beginning with the Saint Valentine’s Day Massacre, Chicago City has seen a lot of killing. A lot of death.
Why were those seven men torn apart in that garage? Why did Josiah Farnsworth take his own life? Why was an employee of the Daily Record killed? Why was the Mayor assassinated tonight?
Questions. A lot of them. And this reporter thinks the answer is always the same. It pays to remember that the house always wins.
Stay tuned, Chicago. And stay in touch.
Brand let a few minutes of silence fill the cabin as he finished his smoke, then he thought about tapping out a wire to the police. Turning to stare at Archie again, Brand noticed the unmistakable outline of a revolver on the floor. As he moved to stand, he heard the click of the galley door and in that moment he knew what he’d smelled when he came in.
“Hello, sister.”
Emma Farnsworth came a few steps into the cabin. Brand settled back into his chair and let the scent of roses fill the air between them. Her outfit was different than the one she’d had on last night. She hadn’t been home, the coppers had checked. So that meant she had a safe place to stay somewhere in town. The way she looked now, Brand figured she’d like nothing better than to be in that safe place again. Her sleeve was torn and her hair hung out in tangles on one side.
“You’re okay now, sister,” he said as the story came together for him.
She pulled it in after a few more sobs and stood up straight. Brand met her gaze and watched her eyes go cold.
“Looks like I was wrong. I thought Nitti had his boys do Archie. But it was you.”
“I was going to kill Nitti for what he did to Dad. When he shot the Mayor, I saw the Vigilance above. I got here right after you left. At first I waited, but you didn’t show and I didn’t want to lose Nitti so I came up. Your pilot let me in. He told me you were going to get the scoop on the Saint Valentine’s Day killers. He said I could wait for you to get back, but first I had to give him a little sugar. He tried to kiss me and I turned away. So he got rough. He had me against t
he cabin door and said I could take a jump or give him a tumble.”
Brand wasn’t surprised Archie had done it. He had a dirty past and now Brand knew how dirty. He wasn’t surprised she’d done it either. Nobody deserves being forced into anything. That didn’t mean murder was the way to solve it, but some things can’t be forgiven. And some things can force a person to do the unforgivable.
“Listen, sister. I don’t make the laws, but—”
“I had no choice. He was calling his pals. He was on the radio.”
Brand stood up and motioned to the door she’d come through.
“C’mon. We should get out of sight.”
Brand struggled on his feet, sucking in air and staggering against the cabin wall. Emma recoiled when she took in Brand’s condition, looking him up and down with a bent eye.
“I ran into some trouble on that last story. C’mon,” he nodded at the doorway again and she stepped aside so he could go through first. She followed him a few steps into the darkened hall. Brand looked her in the eye.
“Tell me everything. Make it quick. Coppers’ll be swarming this district before too long.”
Her eyes shot open when he mentioned the law, but she pulled herself together and gave him the story. The first few lines of it anyway.
“It’s like I said. I came out and he was calling his pals.”
“Yeah, you said. How’d you get from Archie hanging you out the cabin door to being back here? How’d you get behind him with a pistol he didn’t know you had? You played him, and it worked out in your favor. But now we’re stuck unless you’ve got an ace up your sleeve.”
Emma stood back from him. She looked at him hard, with eyes like ice. “I told him I needed to freshen up first, so he let me go back to the washroom. I had the gun in my handbag for Nitti. When I came out he was on the radio. He was talking to one of Nitti’s boys and saying he’d take care of you after you gave that last broadcast. Then he said for the guys to come over to join the fun. I knew what he meant. I didn’t know what I was going to do next, but I knew he’d pay for whatever happened. He was laughing when I shot him.”
Brand thought about what Emma had just told him. Now he knew Archie’d been playing both sides all along. He’d sold him out to Nitti. Archie had done a stretch for running liquor after the war, but he played it off like it wasn’t him being connected. Brand never figured him for being in that deep. But just like Capone, the Mayor, and even Brand himself, Archie had bet on a losing hand.
A voice came from outside the cabin, pleading and half-hushed, like the speaker wanted to stay hidden.
“You expecting company?” Brand asked.
“It’s. . .,” she turned and went to the cockpit, scooping up the revolver and holding it down by her leg. “Go see who it is, Brand.”
“You want to try that again, sister? I’ve had one too many gats pushed in my face tonight already. How about you tell me who you think is out there and then I’ll see about letting them in?”
“It’s Eddie. My. . .”
Brand figured it then. She had a guy nobody knew about, someone she wanted to keep hidden. Someone she probably made eyes at while he played horn on the jazz stage.
“Eddie’d be your negro then, is that it?”
“Eddie Collins,” she said, lifting the gun to aim at him. “Now go see if it is him.”
“And if it is?”
“Let him in.”
Brand let his mouth form a sneer to show how he felt about it, then shook his head and chuckled. “Well why not, right? It’s everybody’s day to point a gun at Mitchell Brand. Quick one-two and tell him what to do. Watch him jump, folks,” he kept up his bitter muttering as he took halting steps to the cabin door, Nitti’s shoes sliding around on his ruined feet. Outside, a dark figure hunched in the hollow of a covered waiting area at the edge of the deck. As Brand watched, the figure, clearly a man, poked out from hiding and cupped his hands around his mouth. A few plaintive words came into the cabin.
“. . .please, Lovebird. . .gotta go. . .”
“I’d say that’s him, Miss Farnsworth. That is, if you go by the name of Lovebird.”
She stepped closer, still holding the pistol at him.
“Let him in.”
“Stop waving that thing in my face.”
They held the stalemate, eyes meeting across the battle lines between them. Brand wasn’t sure she’d shoot him, but he wasn’t sure she wouldn’t either. “I’ll make a deal with you, Miss Farnsworth. You put that thing down, aim it somewhere else at least. Then I’ll open this door. Otherwise, fire away and let him in yourself. And have fun explaining it to the coppers when they track you down.”
Her face still burned with anger, but she lowered the revolver. It stayed in her hand, by her leg. Brand popped the door and leaned out into the snowy night. The figure stepped out and then ducked back into hiding.
“It’s okay,” Brand said. “She’s up here.”
Emma pushed to stand beside him and called down to the man below. He came out of hiding and darted looks to either side before launching up the ladder in a hurry. Brand helped him on board and stood back to give the lovers room to embrace.
“I don’t mean to be rude, Miss Farnsworth, but we need to figure out what we tell the coppers. Then you and your friend might want to think about copping the sneak and pronto.”
“Who’s this?” the negro asked, eyeing Brand with a mix of fear and suspicion.
“His name’s Brand, and he’s nobody we need to worry about. Is he?” she said, looking hard at Brand. He noticed she still had the revolver in her mitt.
“No, you don’t have to worry about me. The last thing you need to worry about is me blabbing on the radio about Miss Farnsworth and her negro.”
“He’s not just a negro,” she said. Her face shifted from cold fire to burning rage. “He’s a man and a musician. He’s a woman’s son and a girl’s older brother. So he’s dark skinned! What of it? We’re in love and that’s all you need to know about it. That’s all anybody ever needed to know about it, but they’re all too busy knowing that color leaves a stain that won’t wash out.”
Emma’s eyes searched Brand’s face. He kept his thoughts on the QT, letting her press her point as far as she liked.
“Now you know why I hate you and every newsman who ever stuck a camera in my face.”
“Keep your fire for someone else, sister. You got me figured wrong if you think I have any beef with your choice of lips for kissing. A man measures up for me with what he does, not what he looks like.”
“You expect me to believe this won’t end up on the front page?”
Brand felt his own anger rising and let it out. “That’s the problem with you society types. You grow up hearing you’re the most important people in town and one day you start believing it. Then you can’t stop believing it. Well believe this, sister. I wouldn’t put a story about you on the front page if I owned the Daily Record.”
I should—”
The negro came to Brand’s rescue just as Emma raised the gun. He put a hand on her arm and the other around her shoulders. The man turned to look Brand in the eye.
“Name’s Eddie Collins,” he said. “People ain’t my friends call me Mr. Collins.”
“Pleased to meet you, and thanks,” he said and nodded at Emma. “If you’re ready to play nice, we need to work out a story about what happened here tonight. Otherwise all of our names are going to be mud with a capital M for murder.”
Emma and Eddie had no reply to that, so Brand went with his only idea.
“I can tell the coppers I came up and found him like this. Our one problem is that you used your father’s gun.”
“How did you—”
“It wasn’t in the old man’s office. And the coppers can add as well as a
nyone, including me. They’ll match the slug they pulled out of the wall in your dad’s office to the one that went through the cockpit window. We can hope they don’t find it, and maybe they won’t with all this snow on the ground and more coming. But the coppers know their stuff, and one thing they know best is how to find evidence that’s just waiting for them to pick up.”
“So what? They can’t prove I took the gun.”
“That’s true. They can’t, and I sure as hell won’t help them. But we have to expect they’ll be looking for you. You disappeared the night your old man cashed in, and his gun disappeared, too.” For a moment, Brand thought about telling Emma he’d seen her father. But the tension between them kept his tongue calm. Now was the time for facts, not fairy tales.
“They’re probably after you as a person of interest, and if they find you with that gat, they’ll lay a charge of concealing evidence, which’ll lead to murder once they match up the slugs like I said. Our one safe bet is this. The Outfit’s done in Chicago City; they’re over with and I know why. The game that’s coming to replace them won’t waste a chance to swat me like a fly if I connect them to this, but I can steer it so Nitti’s crew takes the fall for you shooting Falco.”
