The Girl on the Rush Street Bridge
by Gary Inbinder
Chicago, 1910. The mysterious death of detective Max Niemand’s former girlfriend launches Max on a dangerous investigation involving gangsters, corrupt politicians, crooked cops, a missing key witness, and Max’s client, the missing witness’s attractive sister. Max will need all his skill and resources to stay alive and solve the case of The Girl on the Rush Street Bridge.
Chapter 20: Meet Me Tonight in Dreamland
Meet Me Tonight in Dreamland. A well-tuned piano. Voices singing, laughing, not too far away. Flashes of light; dim, yellow. An ache, a dull throbbing, a semi-conscious awareness of pain. Something cool, soothing; a damp cloth pressed against his forehead. A fresh scent, like a flowerbed after a soft, spring shower. Perfume? These sensations rolled into Max’s consciousness like waves breaking on a shoreline. His eyelids flickered, then opened. A shape appeared, vague, formless, ghost-like.
His eyes became accustomed to the light; a single bulb glowing from a ceiling fixture. The shape transformed into something recognizably human; a young woman.
“Who are you? Where—”
A small hand covered his mouth. “Keep quiet. I’m Dora, Pat Tracy’s girlfriend. You’re in Minnie’s basement. You’ve been here for hours. It’s after midnight. They think you’re out cold. You weren’t just sapped; they drugged you, too.”
Dora. Pat Tracy. Minnie. The cabbie, his girlfriend, the whorehouse in Forest Park. His brain turned over like an engine with a low battery. Then it caught; cylinders fired; memory kicked in. He raised his hand slowly and placed it on hers. His eyes widened and he nodded to show he understood.
She removed her hand from his mouth and whispered, “There’s one guy upstairs, guarding the door. He ain’t so tough. Think you can take him?”
He flexed his arms and his fists. “Yeah... Help me up,” he said with a grunt.
She grabbed him under the armpits and helped him to his feet. Max felt strength in her small hands and, as his eyes and head cleared, he noticed she was a fresh-faced kid with silky, light brown hair; she was no more than nineteen or twenty, tall, a little plump, cute. Tracy had good taste.
“Thanks, kid,” he said. He felt the lumps and clotted blood on the back of his head. “Sapped like a sucker,” he muttered. Then he felt for his wallet and his .38. “You know who lifted my wallet and heater?”
“Yeah, Gino took ’em.”
“Is he the mug who’s guarding the door?”
“Uh-huh,” she said with a nod.
“OK. Here’s the play. Go tell Gino I woke up goofy, groaning, shaking and foaming at the mouth. Get him down here. I’ll take care of the rest.”
“What about me?” she asked with a worried frown.
“I’m gonna put Gino’s lights out. Don’t worry. I won’t kill him... unless it’s necessary. I’m afraid I’ll have to slug you too, but not hard. You’ll have a bruise and be a bit groggy for a while. Then, when I’m gone you can scream like hell. Tell your boss I acted sick, then I jumped you and Gino and made my getaway. That’s your cover.”
“All right. Do you know where to go from here?”
“Yeah, I remember how to get to the train. By the way, was there a guy being kept here? Young guy name of Bob O’Neill?”
“He was here. Two guys took him somewhere, this morning. That’s all I know.”
“Can you describe them?”
She shook her head. “Afraid not. I didn’t get a good look at them.”
Ritter and his side-kick? He wondered. “Time to fetch Gino. There’s cash in my wallet. If it’s still there, there’s twenty bucks for you. If the dough’s not there, I’ll need change for the EL.”
“Don’t worry about the dough,” she said with a grin. “If it ain’t in the wallet, I’ll lend you the car fare.”
“You’re a swell kid, Dora. I won’t forget it.”
She turned and walked toward the stairs. Max lay down on the floor and started his loony act, shaking, moaning, frothing at the mouth and rolling his eyes. A moment later, Dora returned with the pimp. They watched Max for a moment, then Dora said: “You think the sap and the shot of dope messed up his brain?”
Gino shook his head. He hunkered down to get a better look. Max struck like a pissed-off cobra. He grabbed the pimp and got him in a choke hold. The pressure compressed the jugular veins on either side of the neck. Within seconds, Gino drooped like a rag doll, unconscious.
Max searched the pimp’s pockets and found the .38 and the wallet. He checked the cylinder and found a full load; the wallet was full, too. He pulled out two ten-spots and handed them to Dora. She tucked them down her blouse for safekeeping.
Max pocketed his .38 and wallet. Then he said, “Brace yourself, kid. I promise I won’t break nothing.”
She smiled. “Fire away. My old man belted me plenty. I can take it.”
“Good girl,” he said. Then he decked her with a right cross to the jaw. She collapsed to the floor and rolled over, out cold.
“Sweet dreams, doll,” he said. Then he crept up the wooden staircase, opened the door a crack and peered up and down the hallway. All clear. Everyone was having a jolly old time in the parlor: champagne corks popping; laughing and singing; the professor banging out a ragtime tune on the baby grand.
Max sneaked to the entrance, opened the door, dashed down the porch stairs and was out on the dark sidewalk before anyone noticed he was missing. For an instant he thought about going back into the house and using the .38 as a persuader. He had questions. Lots of questions. He wanted answers, quick. He could start with the pimp, Gino, and work his way up to the Madame.
But then he figured the answers he wanted would be found elsewhere and the best place to start was the West Side brownstone where he had been sapped. He ran up the street to Harlem Avenue, then headed north toward the Lake Street terminus.
Proceed to Chapter 21...
Copyright © 2018 by Gary Inbinder
