Unremarkable

by Geoff Habiger

  I walked with my hands in my pockets, my collar pulled up, and my hat pulled down as far as it would go. It didn’t help. A bitter wind was blowing in from off the lake and seemed to cut through me like a knife. I watched taxis and busses head up and down the street, carrying all sorts of people. Ladies in furs and men in evening dress walked out of fancy restaurants and probably more than a couple of speakeasies.

  I paused and turned my back to the wind to light up a cigarette. I continued on, finishing my smoke as I approached the door to the Green Mill. Moira and I had come here the first night after we’d met in the diner, so as I walked toward the club, I half expected to see her saunter around the corner leading to the club door like she did that night.

  It had been almost as cold as it was tonight, and she had turned the corner wearing a black flapper dress, fringed with red beads and she was wearing a long string of white pearls. She wore a red cloche hat with a mother-of-pearl cameo of a rose set in it. A lit cigarette had been nestled delicately in her left hand. She leaped into my arms, wrapping herself around me. I was unprepared and almost lost my balance as I tried to hold on to her.

  She gave me a peck on the cheek, then jumped down and grabbed my hand. “Come on, Saul.”

  “Aren’t you cold?” I asked. I was bundled up and I was freezing.

  “Don’t be such a wet blanket.” She pulled me forward and knocked on the door. A narrow window slid open and a rough, Italian-accented male voice said, “Wha’dya want?”

  “Hey, Vinnie,” Moira said.

  “Moira,” Vinnie sighed. “You know the rules. Ya gots to tell me the password.”

  “Oh, come on, Vinnie,” she pouted, but Vinnie didn’t budge. “Fine. Pineapples.”

  The window slid closed and Vinnie unlatched the door.

  Now I stood outside the door to the speakeasy again. Nobody came to jump into my arms. Considering that a burly guy in worker’s overalls came around the corner right then, I was pretty happy about that.

  I walked down the narrow, brick-lined corridor and up to the thick wooden door. I knocked. The window slid open. I could see a pair of dark eyes look out at me. I could smell cigar smoke and cheap booze. “Wha’dya want?” I thought I recognized Vinnie’s rough Italian voice.

  “Pineapples,” I said.

  “Hmph.” The window slid closed and the door opened. I couldn’t tell if Vinnie was annoyed that I was able to gain access, or if he was just bored. I nodded to Vinnie as I walked through the door, but he ignored me.

  The interior by the door was dark, but I knew my way, and after a few steps I walked through a dark curtain into the saloon. The room was brightly lit and I could hear a jazz band tuning up. Joe Lewis had sung jazz here until a couple of years back. The rumor around town was that Lewis had tried to leave the club to sing at another joint. A few days later, Lewis was found in his hotel room with his tongue cut out. Moira told me on our first visit here that she knew that the Green Mill’s owner, Jack McGurn, had planned the attack on Lewis, not that the cops could ever pin anything on him. She had also hinted that Lewis’ tongue hadn’t been cut off using a knife but instead had been bitten off. She had laughed when she said it, so I wasn’t sure if she was joking with me or not.

  I walked past an empty booth near the middle of the bar. Moira had said it was Capone’s reserved booth where he could sit and enjoy the music and still be able keep an eye on both the front and the back doors. It was always kept open in case Capone came in, even when he was out of state like he was now. I had been impressed on that first date that Moira was so well connected. She seemed to know everybody in the place, and everybody seemed to know her. At the time, I was happy just to bask in her glow—we’d gotten our drinks for free—but I’ll admit that I was also a little jealous. I hoped now that Moira’s popularity would work in my favor and that somebody would know how to find her.

  I walked around the bar, my eyes scanning the crowd for any sign of Moira. The place was pretty crowded and noisy. The jazz band had started their set and was jamming away on the small stage at the back with a good crowd watching them play. The sounds of bass, sax, and trumpet rolled through the air and filled me with memories of Moira and me watching a band play here last week.

  I shook my head; I couldn’t continue dwelling on the past. I needed to find Moira today. I turned away from the band and surveyed the bar again. A couple walked away from the bar with their drinks and that’s when I saw her. She was standing at the bar with her back to me, watching the band, her left hand holding a cigarette aloft as the fingers of her right hand twirled around the rim of her glass. She was wearing a blue jacket and was talking to a guy in glasses. I had a quick flash of jealousy, but shook it off. Hell, she’d flirted with practically everybody in the club the last time we’d come here. Why would now be any different?

  I walked up and put my hand on her shoulder. “Moira, I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

  She turned to look at me. Out of the corner of my eye I could see that the man she’d been talking to was turning red in the face. That should have been my first clue. I looked again and realized that this was not Moira, although she looked a lot like her, especially from the back. She had the same cut of hair, but her face was not as pale and her brown—not green—eyes were looking at me like I was some sort of slug. I quickly pulled my hand off her shoulder. “Uh, sorry…I’m sorry,” I stammered. “You looked like somebody I know. Sorry.”

  I stepped back and turned away, coming face-to-face with Jack McGurn, who was laughing loud and hard. “You sure are some kind of suave son of a bitch.”

  I could feel my face reddening rapidly. I tried to laugh at myself, but it came out more like a strangled choke. I managed to say, “Give me a yak yak.”

  McGurn was still laughing when he grabbed a glass and a bottle. Even though he was a part owner of the place—some people said that he ran it for Capone—McGurn liked to tend bar. McGurn set the glass down and poured me a couple of fingers worth of the drink. Yak Yak was an ugly ‘bourbon’ that was really just pure grain alcohol mixed with burnt sugar and iodine. I know, it sounds pretty bad but to be honest, the taste sort of grew on you. “Have you seen Moira?” I asked.

  McGurn looked at me like I was drunk. “Who?”

  I was a bit stunned. I’d spent a long night in this place with Moira, sitting at the bar as she held court with everybody around us, and as McGurn poured her glass after glass of gin that she never paid for. “You know, Moira. Moira Kelly. I was in here with her last week. Short red hair, green eyes, kinda pale skin.”

  Jack nodded. “Sounds like a lovely doll, but I don’t remember her.”

  “How can you not remember her?” I pleaded. “You were giving her drink after drink on the house the last time we were in here.”

  “Now I know you’re full of shit.” McGurn laughed again. “Good lookin’ dame or not, I don’t give away drinks.” To emphasize his point he held out his hand and I dropped a quarter into it. McGurn turned away.

  I took a sip of the yak yak, my mouth grimacing at the taste. Yeah, I know I said that the taste grew on you. I didn’t say that it was a good taste though. Fungus can grow on you, too.

  I swirled the brownish liquid around in my glass wondering what I was going to do next. The band continued to play, starting a riff that proceeded for several chords before the saxophonist started in on a solo. I needed to find Moira, and the one place that I felt would be a sure bet to finding her was turning out to be a dead end.

  I didn’t have a clue as to where to look next, but I couldn’t continue the search tonight. I needed to get to work. I couldn’t afford to lose my job. There was no telling how Moran would react to me not being able to be his errand boy after all of his effort to make the offer.

  I gulped down the last of the yak yak, my face contorting at the taste. I think McGurn, or whoever mixed this stuff up, had put a bit too much iodine
in this batch. As I sat the empty glass down on the bar, the sound of an explosion came from behind me. I jumped and my hand slipped, causing the glass to slide across and off the back side of the bar. There were several screams and yells coming from around the speakeasy and the band had stopped playing. I turned around toward the noise along with everybody else in the joint.

  Standing in the doorway stood a tall, plainclothes detective holding a shotgun, smoke lazily rising from the end of the barrel. Two uniformed cops stood just behind him, also holding shotguns at the ready. The detective yelled, “Nobody move! This is a raid!”

  Oh shit, I thought. Just what I didn’t need.

  I glanced around the bar. People were panicking, a few ladies were still screaming, and everybody seemed to be doing the exact opposite of what the cop had ordered. People were running around, trying to get out of the place through both the front and back doors, which was hard since the cops were standing in the front doorway and I could see a couple more blocking the back door. I turned to look at McGurn, figuring that I’d take my lead from him. I hadn’t heard of a raid on a speakeasy in a long time, certainly not since Mayor Dever had been in office. Sure, the distilleries and deliveries got hit a lot, usually by rival gangs, and sometimes Capone or Moran would let the cops make a big bust to look good for the papers. I figured that this was a case of the cops flexing their muscle, or maybe making a point about a missed payoff or something.

  I caught McGurn’s eye just as he was ducking under the counter. He gave me a smirk, as if saying “better you than me”, then disappeared. I gaped for a moment. Where had he gone? Then I remembered something Moira had said when we had first come to the Green Mill.

  “That booth there,” she said, pointing at an empty booth with her bright red, manicured finger, “is reserved for Al Capone. It’s kept empty in case he ever shows up.”

  “Wow,” I said. “Even when they know he’s out of town?”

  “You bet, sweetie. It’s better to be prepared and keep Al happy all the time.”

  “But what if the place gets raided when he’s here?” I asked. “I’m sure Capone wouldn’t want to get caught in a raid.”

  Moira looked at me, her green eyes flashing as she smiled. “Smart boy. I knew I liked you.” She pointed toward the bar. “There’s an escape tunnel under the bar that leads out of here.”

  “Escape tunnel?” I gave Moira a curious look. “How do you know that?” She looked at me like I was an idiot. “I mean, sure, I guess most of these places have secret ways in and out. I just mean, how do you know that it’s there behind the bar? I don’t think that’s the kind of info Capone would spread around.”

  She smiled and patted my knee. “I have my ways, dear.”

  Now, with people panicking and the cops rounding up everybody, I knew that the escape tunnel was my only way out. I shot a quick look around to make sure that the cops weren’t close, then vaulted over the bar. I landed on my glass and almost fell, but recovered. I looked around, but I didn’t see a door or anything at first. I crouch-walked to the spot where I had last seen McGurn.

  “Where’s McGurn? That lousy Irish prick.” The detective’s deep voice bellowed from the other side of the bar. “He’s got a lot to answer for, that son of a bitch.”

  Looking around I could see a small button on the bar near the floor. I reached out and pushed it. There was a click, then the floor opened up right under me and I fell several feet.

  “Ooof!” I landed hard. The fall knocked the wind out of me, but I couldn’t just lie here. Chances were that somebody else might know about this tunnel and point it out to that bellowing detective in order to save their own skin. Grunting with effort I pushed myself up, trying to take shallow breaths. The trapdoor was still swinging above me and I banged my forehead into it.

  “Shtup!” I swore, pushing the door up until I heard it click into place.

  Rubbing my head, I looked around as I caught my breath. There was a small passage leading away from me, dimly lit by bare bulbs spaced widely apart. I headed down the passage. It was narrow in places and I bumped my shoulders a couple of times, but after a couple of minutes I came to a set of steps leading up. They creaked under me as I climbed, coming to a door, which opened when I gave it a shove.

  I emerged into an alley across the street from the Green Mill. I could see a couple of cars idling out front and people milling about. I pulled up my collar and straightened my hat as I headed up the alley, trying to look casual and not attract notice from the cops. Luckily, they were all focused on the Green Mill and weren’t looking in my direction.

  As I headed out of the alley and turned up the street, a body loomed out of the shadows and blocked my path. It took me a moment in the dim light to recognize the face of Agent Truesdale. Just as I did, I felt a rock hard punch to my gut, knocking the wind out of me for the second time that night. I let out a loud gasp of air and doubled over.

  “Where do you think you’re going, Saul?” Truesdale asked. “You wouldn’t happen to be sneaking out of that speakeasy over there, would ya?”

  I don’t know if Truesdale expected an answer or not, but I was in no condition to say anything, so I just grunted.

  “I thought you were a law-abiding citizen, Saul. Sneaking out of a speakeasy during a raid isn’t something that an innocent man would do.” He turned his head, “What do you think led him down this horrible path of crime?”

  “I think it was that she-devil.”

  I now saw the slim form of Agent Wright standing behind Truesdale. I should have expected him to be here as well. She-devil? Is he talking about Moira?

  “Look,” I said, trying to summon some courage and get my breath back. “I don’t know what you are talking about.” I tried to stand upright. Truesdale put his bear-like hand on my shoulder and gave it a slight squeeze. I winced in pain.

  “Look, Saul, I don’t want to have to give you another bruise to match that shiner I gave you earlier.”

  “I think you already did.” I tried to pull free but Truesdale held tight.

  Truesdale turned and jerked his thumb toward a car parked nearby. “Let’s go for a ride.”

  Chapter 17

  It started snowing as Agent Truesdale led me to their car. It was a beat-up black Buick Standard Six, with worn paint work, rust along the fenders, and a crack in the front windscreen. “Wow, you Feds sure get some nice stuff,” I couldn’t resist the jab. At least when I’d been picked up by Moran’s men, they’d been civil and had a nice car to ride in. All I’d gotten from Agent Truesdale had been a swollen face, a punch in the gut, and now a ride in this rattletrap. “What, couldn’t Hoover afford to give you guys a decent car?”

  “No, he was too busy hiring morons like you to work in the Post Office,” Truesdale replied, though there wasn’t any real malice in the retort.

  Agent Wright jumped ahead and got behind the wheel of the Buick. The engine started with a cough and a cloud of exhaust, which only reinforced my first impression.

  “Get in, Saul,” Truesdale said, opening the door and half shoving me into the back of the car.

  “Look, Agent Truesdale,” I started as he climbed in next to me and closed the door. Agent Wright pulled away from the curb, painfully grinding the gears as he shifted out of first. “I’ve been trying to find Moira all day. By the fact that she’s not here, you can see that I’ve not had any luck.”

  “I can see that. But I don’t know if you were really trying. A late start this morning, followed by lunch and a leisurely stroll up Michigan Avenue. Then breaking and entering at a crime scene—what were you doing there, Saul? Followed by dinner at mommy’s place, then an illicit night cap before work.” Truesdale shook his head. “Yeah, you were trying really hard.”

  Ok, I know my mom raised a smart boy, but I was tired. How’d he know where I’d been all day? “Fuck you,” I said. Not really witty I know, but I had had enoug
h of Agent Truesdale’s bullshit.

  Truesdale’s right arm shot out and pinned my throat against the back seat. It hurt even more than it normally would as it was still bruised from my earlier encounter with Mr. Brown.

  “Listen, kike,” he hissed. His breathe smelled like rancid sauerkraut. “Don’t get smart with me. We know everything that you did today. Now tell me where your girlfriend is. Why are you protecting her?”

  “I’m…not…” It was a struggle to get the words out with Truesdale’s arm crushing my throat. “…protecting…her.” Truesdale finally released me, and I rubbed my throat. “Look,” my voice was raspy. “The only times I ever saw Moira were at the diner, my place, or the Green Mill.” I left out our trip up to North Clark on Valentine’s Day; I don’t know if it was by accident, or if my subconscious decided to do it on purpose. Either way I wasn’t going to correct myself and give these two even more information. “Hell, we went to the Green Mill just last week, and they treated her like royalty. Free booze, everybody there falling over themselves to be seen with her.” I glanced out the window at the falling snow. “When I went there tonight they’d never even heard of Moira. It was like she never existed.”

  “That witch must have had them under one of her evil spells,” Agent Wright said from the front. He ground down another gear as he pulled to a stop at a traffic light.

  “What the fuck are you talking about?” I asked. I didn’t like Moira being called names, but Agent Wright sounded like he was crazy or something.