by Chip Yde
“Knock yourself out.”
“What is the name of the killer from the Torso murders?”
“His name was Billy. Orphan from the points. If he had a last name he didn’t even know it.”
“Where can I find him?”
“Cut out after the killings. Got drafted. Back in ’42. Died on Utah Beach.”
“It can’t be true.” Eliot said in disbelief.
“Believe what you want Ness.” Al smiled. “Bad as I’m bleeding right now I really enjoyed our little tussle tonight. It reminded me of the good old days back in Chicago.”
“They were old days Capone, but they were not good.”
“Guess you solved the Torso case after all. Nice police work. Conspiracy to commit mass murder. I always wanted to go to the joint for a blood crime. Less chance anyone will mess with you inside. They messed me up pretty good in Alcatraz. I always blamed you for that.”
“Blame yourself!”
“Thing is I won’t even serve a fraction of my sentence this time.”
“We’ll see about that.”
“Don’t you want to know why I let you know the truth now? When I was free and clear. That’s the real mystery detective.”
Eliot looked around still wary of another trap.
“Got syphilis. Maybe in the pen. Maybe from a hooker. Don’t know. Don’t care.” Al spit a wad of blood on the ground. “It’s terminal. They wanted to give the penicillin, but I didn’t trust them doctors. They’ve killed more people than the mob and the feds put together.”
“You wanted to die with a clean conscious.”
“No. No that’s not it at all. I wanted you to kill me. Or for us to kill each other. That would’ve been the best. You’re at the end of your leash too.”
“No. You’re going to jail and I’m going home.”
“Home. To what? Roaming bars hoping to find someone to listen to your old stories and buy you a drink? Come on. Doesn’t Chicago haunt you?”
“No.”
“Do me Ness. Pull the trigger. Finish the job fucker.”
“I’m a crime fighter not a murderer. Not like you.”
Al laughed.
“You’re exactly like me.”
“No.” Eliot took a step back.
“I’ll make it easy for you. I’ve got another razor in my left shoe. Let me get it.”
“Don’t move.” Eliot cocked the pistol.
“I start taking this to your face and you’ll have no problem doing what’s gotta be done.”
“I’m warning you.”
“Do it!”
Eliot did.
He popped Al in the nose as he tried to rise. Dizzy the old gangster went back down to his knees. Eliot used a law enforcement technique pioneered by a Marshall in Dodge City. He buffaloed Al. When the butt of Eliot’s pistol hit the base of Al’s skull it knocked him unconscious.
“Goodbye Al.” Eliot said as he walked away.
Eliot left him lying there.
As he left the train yard Eliot, still disoriented, took a few minutes to find his car.
As he walked he pondered what Al had said about Torso. Eliot still knew people in the bureau. He could contact them and do some digging. If what Al said was true this could be the beginning of a comeback.
As Eliot reached his car he gave up on the idea. He had lied to Al. He was not a crime fighter anymore. It was best left to the next generation.
Eliot drove away thinking about writing his memoirs. He had some great stories from Chicago. People would pay to read about Chicago, the mob and the Untouchables. He would not write about Cleveland though.
Eliot thought that some things were best forgotten.
