He watched the bar for about an hour. At 12:30, Mr. Slipp walked down the sidewalk, glanced up and down the street and then went inside. So, Jim did have the right place. At 12:45 he thought he had better go in. He pulled his cap down over his ears, tightened the hoodie string, and entered. Solly's Bar and Grill was a typical low life bar that smelled of old booze and dirt. Neon beer signs were hung at random spots along the dark walls. The jukebox was playing "Gimme Shelter" of all things. There was a pool table on one side of the bar and round tables with a few chairs at each were scattered around the area. At the back was a heavy, dark curtain closing off what Jim expected was a back room.
There was a raucous sound of voices as some bikers entered. Jim made a beeline to the pool table. They got their beers from the bar and moved on behind the curtain. It was 12:50. Jim went up to the bar and ordered a beer. He found a table at the back just to the right of the wall with the curtain so as not to be seen by those coming and going. He faced the back wall and hunkered down over his beer. When the jukebox stopped, he could actually hear conversation in the back room. Someone was saying induction of candidate...Thomas... Yankee ...Thurman...garbled words, cheers,...keep it straight...do our best.... correct way...get the son uva...more garbled words. Jim knew he'd have to get closer to hear anything clearly. He got up and went over to the paneled wall on his left. If he could get closer to the room behind it, he might have more success. He moved along the wall toward a table in the corner. Above the table was a crack about one inch wide by three inches long. The voices were clearer here. He just hoped that no one in the bar would become suspicious because he was sitting in the farthest corner. Someone in the room behind the wall was introducing the prospective Quant, Steve.
"Yeah, he respects what we're doin' here. He's a loyal guy. I recommend him," said the voice.
Then Jim heard Slipp, his British dialect and higher pitched voice registering clearer than the others. He said, "I have full confidence that I will obtain the said document. In the meantime, we must proceed with our service. You must swear to uphold the statutes of the Quants. You know we don't receive full power unless we are repeating the words of our founder. In the meantime, we do what we can. We speak what we know. Right now, that includes the promise to obtain power whenever possible. That at least, was handed down through oral tradition. Swear your allegiance to the Quants, and then agree to take power no matter what the cost. And state that any power that you gain is under the control of our leader.
Another voice spoke, "David, do the honors." Jim heard the voice he had heard so many times, the unmistakably confident voice of Gerald McCann. There was the sound of a click as if a switchblade had been snapped open. Then Jim heard a rustling sound, as if some paper was crumpled. Silence. Then the group let out a loud, unified cheer. The cries of congratulations were all around. Then an odd thing happened. The Quants began a prayer, "Dark spirit, guide our ways. Keep us brave, strong, and unified. We are brothers. We seek your will in all that we do. Amen."
A chill seemed to come through the very wall. Jim had the distinct impression that he should get out of there now. He walked quickly to the door unseen by the bartender who was on his phone. He got past the building next to the bar and began running. Breathing heavily, he got to his car and sat down. In a few seconds he was driving away while checking his rear-view mirror. He saw no one following. He drove on until he reached the parking garage. He sat in the car, trying to recall everything he had heard. So they considered their initiations without the original document to be ultimately invalid. It was like having a temporary license or something.
His mind ran over all he had heard, trying to remember. McCann was definitely present. He had spoken to David. Who was David?
Maggie brought the kids back promptly at six. "What an awesome place that was, dad!" said Jay as he high fived Jim. "They had a space exhibit and we went into this WW II submarine!"
"And the fairy castle," Adrianna exclaimed flopping onto the couch, "was divine."
"Did you go to the whispering tunnel?" asked Jim.
Maggie laughed, "I couldn't get them away from there!" she said. "Did you know that Trey is coming back early?"
"No, he didn't let me know that," said Jim.
"His project was completed way ahead of schedule. He'll be home tomorrow," said Maggie.
The O’Neill’s persuaded Maggie to stay for a dinner of Trey leftovers. She explained that they had been dating a few months.
"Well, you have found a great guy in Trey," said Jim.
"He admires you as well," she said.
"I was leaning toward leaving tomorrow, but now I'm thinking that I'd like to go to that debate. Do you think that you and Trey might take the kids tomorrow night?" asked Jim.
"Absolutely! I think Trey would love it. Let me text him to make sure."
It was decided that the four of them would take in a show. Maggie would get the tickets.
The evening arrived. After Trey's crew left for the theater, Jim decided not to go to the University of Illinois where the debate was being held. Actually, he had had the alternative plan in his mind since the afternoon at Solly's Bar and Grill. Since this was the most important night in the candidate's schedule, he assumed that neither the candidate nor his staff would be anywhere near the offices of Gerald McCann, Illinois State Senator. The office building was a modest set of rooms above a bookshop on the west side of Chicago. Jim knew because he had scouted it out on Monday morning. He had visited under the pretense that he would like to campaign for the senator. He was asked his name, address, and phone. The given answers to which all were false, of course. But how to get in now?
He arrived at twilight. It was midsummer now, and it didn't get dark until 8:30. He parked in front of the building and went around to the back. He had noticed when he was there before that the bathroom window was jammed and was kept open as a result. He had said to the secretary, "The window seems to be stuck in the men's room."
"Oh, yes," she replied. "They still haven't come to fix it. Probably never will. We just keep it open." The opening was big enough for a smaller man to fit through and Jim was just the right size. They must have figured since it was on the second floor, they were invulnerable, Jim thought. Jim looked up at the window and the brick structure on the outside wall. "That's a cinch," he said to himself. Jim had been a champion rock climber during his college career. With the array of bricks jutting out from the wall as a design element, he thought it would be an easy climb with a lot of footholds. He looked around for any observers. It was almost dark now. He set out on his quest. Within a few minutes, he was at the window and scrambling through.
He had to work fast. The debate began at eight and would be over by ten. He knew what to look for and had a hunch where to look. He went to McCann's office. The outer door was open which gave access to the secretary's office. He tried McCann's door. It was locked. He could try to break it down, but he didn't think that would work. He had come prepared. This was a typical tumbler lock. Jay's friend, Zack, had shown Jay how to use a code to start a motorcycle.
Jim also had a Zack in his life. He had practiced picking locks for fun with his high school friend. And Jim's intuitive nature helped him feel out the pins inside. How many times had Grandpa Mike done this same thing working for the mob? Jim felt like a criminal. But if this break in would yield the evidence he thought it would, then this was all worth it, as long as he didn't get caught. The lock yielded. He was in. Now with the light from his phone he would have to go through drawers and shelves until he found what he was looking for. He tried the desk first, a logical place. He went through every drawer, looking for an envelope. A standard sized one he figured. He was careful to put everything back so no one would know he had been in there. He tried a drawer in a small table He moved on to the closet. There he found shelves with boxes of files. Quickly he flipped through them. All of them. He had one more place to look and it was getting late. The pale blue light of his phone fell upon an unlikely spot.
There was a small, distinctive, oriental rug in the far corner of the room. It was an odd place for a rug since there would be no foot traffic there. He pulled it up. Nothing looked strange here. He scanned the room. He walked over to the large mantle above the fireplace. And there it was in plain view. The treasure box. It had come to him after all. No surprise there. He opened it and inside was an empty space. No jewelry. He pushed the button on the side that Jay had pushed for the secret compartment. It opened. Sure enough, there was an unsealed white envelope inside. He quickly opened the envelope. There was a paper, trifolded.
Suddenly, he heard a bumping noise in the outer office. He put the paper in his pocket, the envelope back in the secret compartment, and very quietly shut the drawer. He made sure everything looked as it had when he found it. Now he paused and listened. The noise had stopped. Risking all, he tiptoed to the door and peeked into the outer office. He couldn't see anybody. He stepped gingerly through the room and down the hall to the men's room. He squeezed out of the window into the darkness and climbed back down to the alley below. He hadn't seen anyone or heard any more sounds. He walked quickly but quietly to his car and made his gangster getaway.
He didn't need to check the paper. He knew it was what he had come for. The blood stains on the paper were the telltale sign. He parked in the garage and got out of his car. Leaning against it, he puzzled out what to do. Tomorrow was Wednesday. It was the third day and Slipp was coming back for an answer. But that wasn't important anymore. Jim had a bigger decision to make. He took the paper out of his pocket and unfolded it. He read, 'I, Gerald R. McCann, do solemnly swear to uphold the code of the Quants...' All the promises to take power for the leader at any costs were there. Yes, they did differ from the original. The details had been lost. But James O'Neill had found them. What did they say in the back room? They didn't have the power without the original words. They must think of the document as a spell or something. He read on, 'I swear to take power even if it means the taking of life. And I do hereby sign in my own blood.' This was the damning evidence.
"I need to take this to the police," Jim said out loud. "No, that's pointless. Who can I take this to? The chair of McCann's party?"
"There's no one you can take it to." Slipp's voice came from behind Jim.
Jim turned quickly around to face him on the other side of his car. "How in the..."
"I was there at the office. I left the debate early. Naturally, I saw the light from your cell phone. I followed you here."
"You just "slipped" in."
"I did make one slip up. I knocked into something in the secretary's office. I thought for sure you'd find me and tie me up."
"I figured you were the cat."
"I've been called that before."
"So, now what are you going to do with me?" asked Jim.
"We're going to go upstairs and get that document."
"I told you I don't have a document."
"Just like you don't have this one." said Slipp. He put out his hand in a gesture that said, "Hand it over."
Jim gave him the paper.
"All right. Shall we proceed up to the apartment and get it?" said Slipp.
"I told you..." Jim stopped short. He saw Trey's car pulling into a parking spot further down the row of cars. "Too late. The family has arrived with my cousin. I'm sure you don't want him to know what you're up to. I could tell him all. But I don't think you'd like that. You don't want to mess with him."
"All right, then," Slipp said as he glanced over to Trey's car. "Get in and don't make a sound," They both got into Jim's car. Slipp had pulled a gun out of his suit jacket. They sat in the dark of the garage and watched Trey, Maggie, and the kids go into the elevator.
"You might as well let me go," said Jim. "They know my car is here. They'll be expecting me."
"I think we're going to change our location," said Slipp. "Start driving."
Slipp directed Jim with his gun in hand. .... They ended up at a deserted area on the south side of Chicago. Alongside the railroad tracks, were several beaten down looking warehouses. It was a perfect graveyard of former prosperity. Slipp ordered Jim to pull up next to a white wooden structure with the painted letters of old signage. "Murdock's Metal Works" had been the name of this establishment so many years ago. At Slipp's bidding, Jim got out and the two men went to the door.
"Since you're so good at breaking doors open, be my guest," He gestured toward the large sliding door in the front of the building. Jim pulled the door wide open as Slipp held the gun pointed at his prisoner. This wasn't an abandoned building after all. Inside was a makeshift meeting room. There was a large oval table in the center of the space with mismatched chairs placed around it. "Headquarters," said Slipp.
He motioned for Jim to sit down and they waited in silence for several minutes. Eventually, the sound of a car was heard outside and then car doors opening and shutting. In strolled four men. Two were bikers whom Jim didn't recognize. One was a younger man in his twenties with a bandage on his hand. The fourth was Senator Gerald McCann. The four sat down at various places. Jim felt squeamish. He was pretty cocky around Slipp for some reason but here was the boss, as far as Jim knew. Here was a presidential candidate. And then there were these three thugs who were undoubtedly capable of doing serious harm. What was this? Did Jim stumble upon a scheduled meeting? Or were they gathered because of him? What were they going to do? He looked around for instruments of torture but saw none. These men did not know that Jim had been at the bar this afternoon. He was sure, however, that Slipp must have told them, at least McCann, that he had been at the senator's office this evening.
"It's very fortunate that you were at the offices tonight, Slipp," said McCann. "Otherwise, we wouldn't have known that my paper was missing let alone who had taken it. I think it's very securely tucked in my office and then you show up O'Neill and surprise everyone."
"What do you want with me?" asked Jim.
"Didn't Slipp explain? Not only do you refuse to give us the document you're hiding but now you've seen my testimonial. It's too late. No doubt you were thinking of squealing like a stuck pig. There's really no one to tell my secret to. You see, just about everyone has been informed that I have an edge when it comes to power in this town. They may not know why but they know enough to keep their mouths shut."
Jim ventured an accusation. "So, you are saying that you are the power behind the Quant organization?"
The bikers smirked. McCann gave a sidelong glance at Slipp. "What do you say, Slipp? Am I the power behind the Quants?"
Slipp looked down at his hands.
In spite of his fear, Jim decided to prod McCann further. "Why do you believe that you have so much power?"
"I have influence around this city. We have had the financial means to pay people for what they do for us. We own a few businesses which operate unhindered because of the cooperation of many city officials and businessmen."
"If I may ask, what are your businesses, senator?" asked Jim.
"We provide certain services for the public that otherwise would be unavailable."
"And why are you running for the presidency?"
"What is this, an interrogation? I'm supposed to be asking the questions here. But I like your spunk O'Neill. You also have a sharp mind. So, I'll answer your question. There is no greater platform to accomplish what needs to be changed in this country than in the office of the President of the United States. When you know what's good for the people, you need to provide it. And they're grateful to you for that provision. Now, about that document. We can play nice. Or we can play dirty. Which is it going to be? I understand that the document is in the apartment where you have been staying. Mr. Slipp gave you a generous offer to return it in three days’ time. I believe that time has expired.'
"I told you. I have no document. What is this document that you're looking for?" asked Jim.
"All right, O'Neill, I'll play along. It will be entertaining and instructive for our new recruit. The Quants have k
nown for some time that they are missing the Magna Carta, the Constitution, of the Quant organization. This document is the basis for all we believe. Our founder, William Clarke Quantrill, was a master at organizing and controlling followers. We have idolized the man and his technique for generations."
"I've heard that he was a barbaric psycho," responded Jim.
"Be careful, Mr. O'Neill, you may hurt our feelings. Have you heard of Machiavelli?"
"Of course," Jim said.
"He is the true master of conquering the masses. You may recall his famous quote, '...it is better to be feared than loved.' He taught us that it is essential that a ruler attain and retain power no matter what the cost."
"It sounds like you have your manual for your methods right there in Machiavelli's writings. Why would you need anything else?"
"Oh, but you are missing the point, Jim. We have our own American master in Quantrill. His foundation for power is uniquely ours. His following began in the 1860s in your "neck of the woods" as they say. Gritty men who understood power followed him. Legends like Jesse James and the Younger brothers had the courage to step out of the mold of legalism. Unfortunately, these men didn't understand what their power could do. They remained small scale bank robbers. They had no vision of the future. They had no idea that they could wield their power to change government, to change institutions. The people could be managed to rise up against those institutions which hold men back."
Treasures of Darkness Box Set Page 8
