by Todd Downing
“Oh, hey, yeah, no problem. It’s not like I’m breaking the law or anything. Geez Louise, Edna, if you want it that bad, why don’t you go and hire a dick like anyone else?”
“One, because that costs money. You of all people sympathize with the pay of us public servants, and two, none of them want anything to do with me.”
“Oh, yeah, I forgot about that. When you send one of them to the clink, no matter how crooked, you get smeared by all of ‘em don’tcha? It wasn’t me who wrote that little expose was it?”
“Part of the job,” Edna shrugged. “What’re you going to do?”
“Cripes. I can’t believe I’m going to put my rear on the line for you. Again.”
“There’s a really nice bottle of the good stuff in it for you.”
Donny’s eyebrows rose. “How good?”
“Ten year scotch. Only the best for you.”
“Deal. But, if this comes back on me, I’m gonna roll over on you and sing like a damn canary.”
“I’d expect nothing less. Now, how about that number?”
Donny sighed in resignation. “What was it again?”
# # #
Alfonso Bianchi couldn’t be having a worse day. Thus far, his operations fell beneath the notice of the vigilante wreaking havoc on his competitors. This “Gunshade” broke up Carmine De Blasi’s network of fences less than a month ago and now it appeared to be his turn. Alfie had no plans to allow one man to take apart the business he’d built over years and the bodies of countless upstarts. His pride demanded this thorn in his side must be dealt with.
The mob boss glared at Joey and Dapper, two dimwits who at least had the decency to show up with the protection cabbage they’d been told to get. They’d both been lucky not to end up cooling on a slab downtown like so many others even if he now had to quietly get a shot up sedan repaired. Fortunately, it would only be money, and he had plenty of that to grease the proper palms. Money and plenty of willing gunmen were never in short supply in this town. All he needed was something to lure the Gunshade in with.
“Mister Bianchi.”
The mob boss waved his hand dismissively at the better dressed of the two men standing scared and uncomfortable in front of his desk and pasted a smile on his face. He needed two pawns and these two screw-ups would suffice.
“Boys, it’s fine. These things happen. All part of the business.”
The two thugs visibly relaxed.
He continued. “But I’m going to have to take you two out of sight for a bit until the heat dies down from this lunatic gunning for some of my best men.”
Joey glanced questioningly over at Dapper Colletti, his shakedown man partner and the brains of the two. Alfonso wasn’t even sure he could be that generous. The mob boss interrupted any words from the two idiots.
“I’m going to send you two to watch over one of my stills. It’s small-time bathtub hooch production, stuff beneath the two of you, but, if you can manage this, there might be better work for you in the future.”
Alfonso watched his two lackeys expressions light up with greed. Their kind was so predicable.
“Go and see Mike. He’ll give you directions and the password so you don’t get full of holes walking in there. And boys? Don’t let me down. I reward results.”
He fished a cigar out of his desk drawer and leaned back in his chair after the two stooges left. It’d be a damn shame to lose one of his stills but it’d be a very small price to pay if he could take the Gunshade out with it.
Yes, indeed, Chicago’s own man of mystery wouldn’t be any bother to him or anyone else very soon.
Alfonso picked up the receiver of the phone on his desk and waited a moment for the connection to pick up.
“Hi Mike. Yeah, I’ve got a job for Sally and the boys.”
# # #
Douglas Graves sat by his short wave radio set and heard the call that came in to the police at five minutes after four. Prowl cars were being dispatched to an attack on a delivery truck on Crawford Avenue. The gaunt listener sprang into action, grabbing his hat and jacket and running toward the waiting roadster parked downstairs.
For someone who resembled a cadaver, the Gunshade’s tailored suit and snappy C&K fedora were the height of fashion. Some might find this an odd choice for a man who looked like he’d spilled out of the nearest grave, but the well-fitted Londontown jacket gave him mobility you would not get from a cheaper off-the-rack one, and the hat? Well, he just enjoyed a really nice hat and Stetsons had been out of favor for at least a year. If there was sin in vanity, it was a small one compared to the pasts he was fated to atone for.
As he sprung into the seat of his automobile, all indications were leading to the conclusion of a mob hit against another family’s operations. Had Graves been a betting man, he would have placed heavy odds on the truck’s cargo being booze or the take from a gambling house. None of these hoods ever learned that the only thing accomplished by poking your enemy with a stick is that it brought reprisals, continuing the violence and invariably getting innocent people caught in the crossfire.
All the Gunshade could do was show them the error of their folly, leaving them a little more bloodied and with a few less violent men on their payrolls.
The powerful engine roared to life and the gray-clad avenger gripped the steering wheel, speeding toward a confrontation that he relished whether Douglas Graves cared for it or not. Someone would pay today as many had before.
# # #
Bernie Thomson jumped down from the cab of the truck and ran toward the nearest alley, nodding at the men who spilled from two waiting cars with their guns dawn. A mixture of pistols and shotguns barked, riddling the old vehicle with hot lead. Bernie could hear the cheap crates in the back break and the bottles they contained shatter under the volley of fire being pumped into it.
Bernie weaved his way through the alley to a waiting car with the door open.
“Get in,” said the brunette he only knew by her first name, Sally. “We’ve only got three more minutes before the boys in blue are crawling all over this place.”
He could already hear the gunfire slowing down and imagined the “hit” already breaking up as the gunmen piled back into their cars and split.
Neither Bernie, and he suspected Sally as well, knew why Mike had asked them to shoot up one of their own trucks but he never asked questions. You lived longer that way.
Still, he couldn’t figure it as Sally leisurely drove away from the scene of their crime, why in God’s name would you mess up a perfectly good truck?
# # #
The Gunshade arrived moments after the police. A bullet-pocked truck blocked the intersection as the local lawmen took notes and shooed curious onlookers away. None of them looked especially happy to see him. Despite his connection with AEGIS, which gave him a wide berth of jurisdiction, he operated outside of the law. They knew he killed. Even if some of them secretly approved of his methods, they couldn’t allow vigilante justice, even if their own government condoned it through supporting AEGIS. It was a nasty double standard that left an uncomfortable taste in the Gunshade’s mouth as well although he’d be a fool to turn down the connections and benefits of such a partnership.
A burly officer who seemed to be in charge approached him.
“Don’t you have some place else to be?” he growled.
“Not unless you want to name one,” the Gunshade said.
“Oh sure, I can tell you a place right now...”
“That’s enough, Jones,” an older man in a tan suit stepped out of a car that pulled up next to them.
“Detective Harris,” the Gunshade acknowledged the man.
“You get anything?” the detective asked. “Jones is a good man but he isn’t the best in the brains department.”
“I just got here myself,” the Gunshade admitted.
“Well, let’s take a look and see what we’ve got. Looks like a mob hit to me.”
“I was thinking the same thing,”
&
nbsp; “Obviously a liquor shipment,” Detective Harris remarked, wrinkling his nose. “I can smell the cheap rotgut from here.”
“You can see it leaking everywhere too.”
“Thanks for pointing that out. I hadn’t noticed.”
“I wasn’t.”
“Calm down. I was making a joke, son.”
The police detective walked up to the truck, carefully stepping over alcoholic puddles and giving it a good look.
“Kind of waste isn’t it?”
“Of booze?” the Gunshade asked.
“Of bullets. This stuff is so poor it’s better paint thinner than tonsil varnish.”
The Gunshade opened the back door of the wrecked truck and stepped back as a few broken bottles fell to the pavement, followed by more liquor.
“They made a mess at any rate.”
“And left a present,” Detective Harris noted as he pulled a label off a broken crate. “Looks like the vice squad is going to get in on the fun. Nice of them to leave us the location of their shipping point.”
“Isn’t that kind of convenient though?”
“If you mean leaving a shipping label for illegal alcohol? Yeah, but I’ve also learned to never underestimate the stupidity of the common criminal. Heck, that’s how most of ‘em are caught in the first place, they do something incredibly dumb.”
“All the same, if you don’t mind, Detective, I’d like to take a look for myself.”
“Son, are you asking me to hold off raiding this place because you want to bust up this booze ring by yourself?”
“Something like that. Just give me a few hours, tops. Then you can send in the cavalry.”
“On one condition: Try to leave a few of them alive for questioning.”
“Trust me, Harris, I want names of the bigger fish myself. I’ll only act to defend myself.”
“That’s what worries me. I’ll give you two hours and then I’m not making any promises once the bulls are let loose.”
# # #
Edna kept her eyes open for anyone nearby as she wormed her way through an opening in the rickety wooden fence that walled off Bilonski’s Garage. This was crazy sneaking into a place possibly crawling with hardened gangsters in the bright of day. However, doing this at night could be even worse and at least she could probably make up an excuse for being here while the sun was still out. Donny’s help came through again as her license plate number hadn’t belonged to a person but to a business. It remained possible that it had been stolen so she had determined to do a bit of snooping to find out if this was a dead end.
She could hear the faint words of an announcer calling a baseball game from the small shack that served as the garage office as she flitted her way from vehicle to vehicle. Edna didn’t have much to go on, only a memory of a black car, which was all of these, and the number. She realized this might take a while and hoped Bilonski didn’t keep a dog to guard this place.
At the top of the sixth inning and a strongly-hit double, Edna found her car. The passenger side front window was gone and the plate matched. She would swear that, if she looked, she’d find a bullet hole somewhere in the car’s body as well.
Edna pulled in a few favors at the local precinct as well as with the courthouse clerk. No reports had been filed for a stolen car matching this description or a report of plates being taken. It wasn’t inconceivable for the garage owner to simply be taking a payoff to conveniently look the other way rather than being tied up with the mob. With times like they were, money was money and morality didn’t put food on the table.
A conversation, raising in volume, alerted her to someone about to discover her snooping around a car involved in a crime. With nowhere else to hide, Edna eased open the trunk of the car and slipped inside, slowly lowering the lid until it wasn’t closed but likely looked like it from the outside. She could only hope nobody bothered to open her hiding place. It would have been difficult enough to explain her presence out in the yard, this would be impossible.
“Well, look, sorry, I can’t do anything about the glass or the... hole, at least not for a few days,” a loud voice said.
Someone said something but Edna couldn’t make out their words and the louder voice continued. “Sure, I got guys to do the work. I ain’t got the right parts though. If you need this jalopy that bad, you can take her, but it’s gonna at least be next week before I can do anything about it.”
The indistinct voice became louder.
“Ain’t no call to get sore, mister. I’m bein’ straight with you. Take it if you need it that bad but I can’t wave no magic wand ‘n make things happen.”
Edna heard gravel crunch under someone’s heavy step and then the driver’s side door open and bang shut. The engine started and Edna became aware of both the fear of being discovered and the growing excitement building in her stomach about finding out something important to break the extortion racket wide open. A promotion to covering the crime beat would be amazing, especially if the current reporter, the always smug Dougan, got ousted by his ear!
# # #
Mike Sullivan leaned back and the heavy crowbar he wielded splintered the wooden crate. The neatly stacked sticks of dynamite within awaited the proper moment for use. The tall Irishman paused to wipe his brow and glance over the railing to the warehouse floor below.
His men scurried about setting up the calamity to come. Several guys were emptying barrels of rotgut whiskey onto the floor and splashing it over anything even remotely flammable. When things go “boom,” this old rat-trap of a building would go up like a dry twig, taking the Gunshade with it.
The gangster held no fear of the “ghost” that petrified the others. The dead didn’t need bullets. No, their troublemaker was a man using some kind of clever trick. Ghost or not, he would roast when they got him trapped.
Mike smirked when he saw McAdams, one of their new boys, douse a burlap sheet and drag it around the floor. That one was smart and might even have a future if he could keep his nose clean and his mouth shut.
“All right. All right,” Mike called out. “That looks good, real good. Let’s go over the plan one more time because I don’t want any slip-ups.”
Eight pairs of eyes raised to meet his.
“We’ve left the sky light unlatched in case he tries to come in from there and the front and back doors aren’t locked either. The moment I give the signal, give him a few shots to keep his head down. When I give the second, hightail it out of here. The guys outside will lock the doors after you. If everything goes the way it should, we’ll have one less crazy man gunning for our hides.”
McAdams spoke up.
“You ain’t gonna stick around to get blown up are you?”
Mike laughed.
“Naw, I got plenty left to live for still. Don’t you worry about that. I got my own way out. Now, anyone see Howard and the car? He should’ve been back from Bilonski’s by now.”
The battered sedan arrived a few minutes later and pulled onto the middle of the warehouse floor as Mike descended the steps to meet the driver.
“What took you so long?” Mike demanded.
The horse-faced gangster who climbed out of the car looked annoyed.
“The old coot hadn’t done a thing to fix this bucket.”
“Doesn’t matter, Howard, there’s been a change of plans. We don’t need it any longer. McAdams, Hodgson, flatten those tires and make sure this thing isn’t going anywhere. It’s gotten too hot to be seen, but it’s gonna get a lot hotter.”
# # #
Edna tried to make herself smaller against the wheel hump in the trunk of the car she’d hid herself in. Time and distance had become a blur to her. She had no idea where she was but the voices milling around outside the car told her that it would not be smart to leave her hiding place.
The young reporter knew she did not lack courage but Edna began to question her decision to chase this story, or at least how she’d chose to go about it. Hiding in a car trunk like one of those girl detecti
ves in cheap mystery novels was far less glamorous than they’d made it out to be. However, should she get an opportunity to get out of the trunk, she had no doubt she could break this story wide open.
Wherever she was, the pungent odor of alcohol assaulted her nose. Illegal hooch wasn’t much of a shock since most mob families kept their dirty hands in any and all vices. It was a short hop and a skip from protection rackets to stills and even more unsavory things.
Edna heard someone approaching her hiding place whistling and she froze as the distinct snap of a knife opening reached her ears. She heard a grunt and then the car leaned to one side and then a little more a moment later. However she was going to get out of here, it wouldn’t be riding back out.
It became apparent to her that she’d reached the end of the line.
# # #
The Gunshade observed the dingy warehouse from his hiding place across the street. Nobody had gone in since the old car entered ten minutes ago. It was still too early to crash the party yet. He’d sneaked around the building after parking the roadster and the lack of any obvious sentries put his nerves on edge.
Not that you’d want to advertise a moonshine operation even in this section of town, but there wasn’t even anyone “loitering” about unsuccessfully trying to not look like a watchman. This whole thing stunk and it wasn’t from the wharf either.
As tempting as it would be to go in through the front door guns blazing, it would likely be what they’d expect and he could only remain ghostly for a small amount of time. Graves glanced across at the building next to the warehouse. He judged that it wasn’t a jump of more than four feet. There must be a skylight up there for him to get in.
The Gunshade went into a crouch as he landed on the warehouse roof. Again, he had no problem reaching the fire escape of the neighboring building and scaling the ladder to the roof. He looked about, no guards.
