by carl ashmore
Uncle Percy walked over to Becky, Joe and Will.
‘You didn’t mention any other travellers being here?’ Becky asked.
‘I’ve invited Keith for a reason,’ Uncle Percy said mysteriously. ‘And now we’re here, I’m rather glad that I did.’
‘Why?’
‘Well, before –’ Uncle Percy stopped mid-sentence; his face turned deathly pale.
Becky knew immediately something was very wrong. ‘What is it?’ Uncle Percy didn’t reply. She tracked his eyeline and a lump caught in her throat. A group of men had entered the viewing room, colossal men wearing heavy black coats and mirrored sunglasses. However, it was only when she saw the towering, flaxen-haired man at the rear of the group that she felt sick to her core.
Otto Kruger’s eyes locked on Becky, and a heartless smile crossed his lips.
Becky sensed movement to her right. Will had spotted Kruger and was marching over to him, fists clenched.
Uncle Percy threw himself into Will’s path. ‘Will, please,’ he begged. ‘Not here. Not now.’
‘No, Will!’ Joe said,
Upon hearing Joe’s voice, Will’s anger faded.
The disorder, however, seemed to delight Otto Kruger all the more. He nudged his companions and they walked over.
Kruger moved promptly to Will, his smile widening. ‘Please, groundsman … carry out what I know you are keen to start. Nothing would give me more pleasure.’
For once, Will maintained his composure. ‘Our day is coming, Kruger.’
‘Make it today.’ Kruger’s huge hands fanned the collection of weapons lain on the tables. ‘Pick one, and we shall do this now…’
Before Will could respond, a tall, willowy man with a gaunt face and a thick dark-brown moustache approached them. He was carrying a two-handled leather briefcase. ‘Mister Kruger, this is not a place for brawling,’ he said, a trace of a European accent in his voice. He turned to Uncle Percy. ‘Could this be the Percy Halifax? The one I’ve heard so much about.’ He glanced at Kruger who nodded.
Just then, Becky remembered Bruce’s words: ‘This was some gangly dude with a thick walrus moustache. Strange accent.’
Scalpel Man!
Uncle Percy turned to face the man. ‘And I can only assume you’re another one of Emerson’s little errand boys, eh?’
‘I’m much more than that,’ Scalpel Man replied icily. Then his sunken black eyes fixed on Becky. ‘My, my …what-a-pretty-thing!’ His hand drifted to her cheek.
Before he made contact, however, Becky slapped the hand away. ‘Don’t touch me, freakoid!’
Uncle Percy swelled with rage. ‘Don’t you ever try and lay a finger on her again, do you understand me?’
‘Is that a threat?’
‘It’s considerably more than that, I assure you,’ Uncle Percy fired back.
Scalpel Man smiled coldly. ‘How very exciting!’ He glanced at Otto Kruger. ‘Mister Kruger, entertaining though this affair has been, I think Mister Drake would prefer it if we focused our attentions on the auction.’
Kruger nodded.
Scalpel Man’s gaze fell again on Uncle Percy. ‘I shall look forward to seeing you again, Mister Halifax. I believe it’ll be sooner than you think.’
Uncle Percy hesitated. ‘Who are you?’
‘I have many names…’ And with that, Scalpel Man walked away.
Heart thumping, Becky watched him disappear into the bustling crowd like a snake in long grass, quickly followed by Otto Kruger and the Associates.
For what seemed like an age, no one said a word, as if not one of them dared voice what they were actually thinking, that they had just been in the presence of something inhuman, something monstrous.
Absolute evil.
- Chapter 15 -
Scars, Stars and Cadillac Cars
‘Who-was-that?’ Joe said.
‘No idea,’ Uncle Percy said. ‘Anyway, we haven’t got time to worry about him now, the auction’s about to start…’
If Becky hadn’t felt so anxious, she knew the Grand Ballroom would have taken her breath away; eight chandeliers, glittering with thousands of hand-cut crystals, shed a warm flush over the tables below, sitting at which were stylishly dressed people talking very loudly, as if mere volume alone would secure their standing in the cream of Chicago society.
Uncle Percy escorted them to a front table where a satin-trimmed place card read ‘The Halifax Party.’
As Becky sat down, she felt like she was being watched. Looking to the back of the room, she saw Scalpel Man studying her, an ugly glint in his eyes. A shiver shot down her spine. She nudged Uncle Percy and whispered, ‘At the back.’
Uncle Percy didn’t have to look. ‘I know,’ he replied. ‘But don’t worry, they won’t start any trouble here. And between you and me, I have prepared for certain eventualities.’
‘What d’you mean?’
Uncle Percy’s response was lost amidst an excited round of applause, as a skinny, dark haired man with a head that narrowed to a point so he resembled a pencil, mounted a raised podium. He picked up a gavel and brought it down three times, bringing the room to a hush.
‘Good morning, Ladies and Gentlemen, or should I say -’ The auctioneer’s voice turned into a snarl. ‘- AHOY, ME HEARTIES.’ The room rang with laughter. ‘I’m Timothy Cheeseman and on behalf of Christie’s, I bid you welcome to the ‘Taste of the Caribbean’ Charity Auction. And what an honour it is to be here in such a salubrious setting as the Palmer House Hotel’s Grand Ballroom. Anyway, without any more ado, I say we stop shivering our timbers and travel back two hundred years on a daring quest for hidden gems.’ He paused for effect. ‘Let the auction commence …’
Although each lot drew loud, appreciative reactions from the room, Becky remained silent throughout. She couldn’t relax. Uncle Percy, on the other hand, seemed to have forgotten any worries he may have had and was thoroughly enjoying himself. His eyes twinkled at the array of objects paraded before them. To Becky’s surprise, he even bid on a few; these included an unopened keg of rum that supposedly belonged to Mo Baggely also known (to Joe’s delight) as Gingerbeard; a stuffed blue parrot nailed crudely to a plinth, the beloved pet of Norwegian pirate, Magnus Magnerson; and a gigantic iron anchor from the pirate ship, The Bigby Hind.
It was twenty minutes in when two burley assistants heaved the portrait of Blackbeard onto the platform. Applause filled the room.
Cheeseman seemed particularly happy with the impact it had made. ‘Yes, you’re quite right, ladies and gentleman. This is a wonderful item. It’s the only known portrait of Edward Teach, otherwise known as the most famous buccaneer of them all, Blackbeard. This lot is one of a kind. The artist was Blackbeard’s trusted lieutenant and sail master, Israel Hands. Now, it may not be Da-Vinci, but it is an impressive piece and certainly one for the collectors. So dig deep, and let’s see where the bidding takes us. There’s a guide price of four hundred dollars, so shall we start at - what … two hundred?’
Becky glanced behind. With a slight turn of his head, Scalpel Man acknowledged her and smiled cruelly. Then she looked at Uncle Percy, who winked back, before shouting at the top of his voice.
‘FIVE HUNDRED THOUSAND DOLLARS!’
A loud gasp stunned the room.
Cheeseman looked bewildered. ‘I’m sorry, sir,’ he panted. ‘C-can I confirm you said five hundred thousand dollars?’
‘You can, and I did.’
‘But…’ Cheeseman’s voice became little more than a squeak. ‘Err, very well. I can only assume that will be the first and final bid on - ’
‘Six hundred thousand dollars!’
Even though she expected it, Becky’s stomach churned. Scalpel Man’s hand hovered high in the air.
The crowd went wild. Riotous applause and deafening cheers echoed on all sides.
‘Seven hundred thousand dollars,’ Uncle Percy pressed.
The crowd didn’t have time to respond, when Scalpel Man bellowed, ‘Eight hundred thousan
d!’
As the crowd went crazy again, Uncle Percy fell silent. For a moment, it looked like he’d given up. Then he turned, stared with disdain at Scalpel Man, and his mouth formed the words, ‘Nine-hundred-thousand-dollars!’
‘One million dollars!’ Scalpel Man spat back.
The room exploded. Amid the uproar, Becky saw a wide, bull-like man to the left of Otto Kruger leave his seat and stride purposefully towards them, his features shrouded by a cloud of smoke that rose from the giant cigar in his right hand. Then Becky saw something that filled her with dread. Each person the man passed stopped clapping and gawped at him with a mixture of surprise and horror. Even Cheeseman noticed, his eyes widening.
The man reached their table, stared coolly at Uncle Percy and said, ‘The bidding stops now.’
Uncle Percy looked up and his expression morphed into one of dismay.
And then Becky saw why. On the left hand side of the man’s face, just visible beneath a fine layer of talcum powder were three deep scars of various lengths. She remembered Joe’s earlier enthusiasm for a certain nickname: Scarface.
Al Capone had joined them at the table.
*
‘A-any advance on a million dollars?’ Cheeseman stuttered, his gaze never leaving Capone.
Uncle Percy stared at the painting and shook his head miserably.
Flustered, his hand trembling, Cheeseman slammed down his gavel. ‘Sold for one million dollars,’ he said quickly. ‘Now I think we all deserve a break. The auction will recommence in thirty minutes.’ And with that, he scrambled off the podium and disappeared from sight.
‘It seems you and your friends over there got your wish, Mister Capone,’ Uncle Percy said, nodding at Scalpel Man.
‘I always get my wish, buddy,’ Capone said.
‘You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into.’
Capone laughed. ‘Limey, you’ve no idea what yer already in. Now, my boys are on every door and I’ve a nickel plated .38 Special that says you’re all gonna come with me now.’ He opened his jacket to reveal a gun. ‘And in case you ain’t noticed, I could plug you full of holes right now and not one person in this joint would see a thing, know what I mean? He gestured for them to follow. ‘Get movin’...’
Petrified, Becky got to her feet, as the others did the same. She looked at Uncle Percy, fully expecting him to feel as concerned as she did. Instead, she saw him glance furtively across the room to give a small but distinct nod to Keith Pickleton, who nodded back, before burying his head in an auction brochure.
The group weaved through the tables and before Becky knew it, they were standing before Scalpel Man.
‘Very good, Mister Capone,’ Scalpel Man said. ‘Mister Drake will be pleased.’
‘You just make sure he delivers the cash as agreed, Chapman.’
‘He is a man of his word, I assure you,’ Scalpel Man replied. He turned to Uncle Percy. ‘Well, that was exhilarating.’
But Uncle Percy hadn’t heard him. ‘Chapman?’ he breathed. ‘George Chapman?’
Becky looked at him and fear shot through her. She had never seen him so alarmed. Will and Joe had noticed, too.
‘I see you’ve heard of me.’
‘But that’s impossible,’ Uncle Percy said. ‘You’re dead. They hung you in 1903.’
Delight spread across Chapman’s face. ‘I’m afraid not, Mister Halifax. Certainly the authorities declared as such, but I trust that was to save a measure of face, wouldn’t you agree?’
Uncle Percy was stunned to silence.
‘Anyway, Mister Capone, I believe it’s time to leave.’ Chapman leaned into Uncle Percy’s ear and whispered, ‘You see, I’ve arranged a little surprise for you. Mister Drake informs me that history can be changed. I want to test that theory…’ He turned to the Associate on his left and handed over his briefcase. ‘Pay for the portrait and take it to the rendezvous point. I shall see you there in one hour. Mister Capone, if you would lead the way …’ Capone grunted and moved away, tracked by Chapman, Kruger and the remaining Associates.
Becky, Joe, Uncle Percy and Will were suddenly surrounded by five of Capone’s men, a number of whom tapped their jackets to emphasise they, too, were armed. Uncle Percy sighed and moved towards the door.
Becky rushed to his left, keeping her voice down. ‘What’s going on? Who’s George Chapman? What did he say to you?’
Uncle Percy said nothing. Instead, he glanced at Will and the two of them exchanged a curious look.
Becky didn’t appreciate being ignored. ‘Will you answer me?’
‘We’ll discuss it later, Becky,’ Uncle Percy said. ‘Just don’t worry.’
‘Don’t worry?’ Becky blustered. ‘Al Capone! Scalpel Man! Otto Kruger! I think now’s a great time to worry.’
Uncle Percy forced an unconvincing smile. ‘Trust me. Everything is in hand.’
Becky didn’t believe a word of it.
The group entered the lobby. With Capone leading the way, the crowds parted quickly and without protest, Becky soon found herself standing outside the hotel, shaking as much from fright as the bitter Chicagoan wind. Capone tramped right and soon they were heading down a side street, staring at four vehicles: a large olive green Cadillac, two maroon Chrysler Imperials and a gigantic coal-black van. It was the van that caused Becky to do a double take; etched onto its doors were two large white stars, each containing the words ‘Chicago Police Department.’
‘Where are you taking us?’ Uncle Percy demanded, although Becky had a funny feeling he already knew the answer.
‘An Irish buddy of mine owns a joint near here,’ Capone replied.
‘Let me guess,’ Uncle Percy replied coolly. ‘Is it a garage, by any chance?’
Capone appeared genuinely stunned. ‘Go figure, limey. No one told me you read goddamn minds…’
- Chapter 16 -
Street Fighting Man
Becky, Joe, Uncle Percy and Will were bundled into the back of the police van. Two of Capone’s men - one tall and lean with a long, slim neck, the other short and stubby with a wide, thick neck - trailed them inside, pistols drawn. A third gangster moved to the driver’s seat. Capone, Chapman and Kruger climbed into the Cadillac, while the rest of Capone’s men and Associates filled the Chryslers.
Inside the police van, Becky glanced round at the murky interior and saw two police uniforms folded neatly in the corner. Then she watched as the shorter gangster sat down opposite and trained his pistol on Will. She felt Joe tense beside her.
‘I hear yer somethin’ of a brawler, buddy,’ the short gangster growled at Will. ‘Believe me, one false move, and I gotta bullet here that’s faster than your fist.’
Will cast him an indifferent look and turned away.
Becky heard the engine turn over and her stomach reeled. Within seconds, the police van tailed the Cadillac onto the main street. Passing a streetcar, full to bursting with people, they were soon hurtling along, every rut in the road sending shockwaves through them, before turning down a narrow side road, lined with parked cars.
‘We’re going to die, aren’t we?’ Becky said to Uncle Percy. ‘I mean … this Valentine’s Massacre thingy - that’s us, isn’t it? We’re dead meat.’
‘I do hope not,’ Uncle Percy replied. ‘That would be a dreadful end to our day trip to Chicago. I mean - ’
The van squealed to a sudden halt.
Becky looked over at Uncle Percy, who appeared as confused as she was.
The short gangster struggled to keep hold of his gun. ‘What the -?’
Dazed, Becky peered through the front window. She couldn’t believe her eyes. ‘Oh – my – God,’ she said.
Some distance away, a large, gleaming motorcycle was blocking the road, making it impossible to pass. Bruce Westbrook was sitting astride Sweet Sue, his Stetson tipped back on his head, a long tubular object in his hand.
Capone climbed out the Cadillac, waving his pistol in the air. ‘GET OUTTA THE WAY, YOU GODDAMN BUM!’
‘T-that’s a bazooka!’ Joe stammered.
With a thunderous whoosh, a missile blazed towards them. BOOM! It slammed into a water hydrant, showering water everywhere. Confused and enraged, Capone gestured for his men to join him.
Bruce hurled the bazooka aside and pulled out a Winchester rifle. Then he kicked Sweet Sue into life. ‘Yee Haaww!’ he yelled, and powered down the road as if in a medieval joust, firing repeatedly. The gangsters took cover as he sped past, brought the Harley to a halt at the road’s mouth, and readied another assault.
Inside the police van, the short gangster, unnerved by the events outside, cocked his pistol and directed it at Will’s head. ‘Now don’t go gettin’ any crazy ideas.’
Will smiled. Then, in a flash, ploughed his fist into the gangster’s face. The other gangster turned his gun on Will, but wasn’t quick enough. With a terrible crunch, Will elbowed his nose and his eyes rolled white. The driver didn’t even have time to react when Will smashed his head against the steering wheel. In a matter of seconds, all three gangsters were out cold.
‘Whoa!’ Joe gasped, his mind playing catch up.
‘You really are very good at hitting stuff, William,’ Uncle Percy said.
‘Tis a poor talent,’ Will replied, ‘but can be of worth.’ He pulled the pump-like object and pencil case from his pocket. A thin cord was attached to the case, which he looped across his shoulder.
Joe pointed at the two strange objects. ‘What exactly are they?’
‘Your uncle is an admirable craftsman,’ Will replied. He squeezed the pump’s casing and a giant bow unfurled before them.
‘I call it the Joe-Bow,’ Uncle Percy said.
Joe’s eyes bulged. ‘That is the most awesome thing I’ve ever seen.’
Then Will removed what looked like a pencil from the case. With a click, it extended into a two-foot long arrow.
Joe looked as though he was on the verge of tears. ‘You really are the coolest uncle ever….’ Suddenly, they were all brought back to reality by the whip-like crack of gunfire outside.
