The Girl on the Rush Street Bridge

by Gary Inbinder

Table of Contents

Chapter 23: Max and Boss Mahoney

Ed switched on the electricity in the main saloon; shaded globes suspended from the overhead and sconces on the bulkheads filled the room with light. The area was furnished with tables covered in green cloth. Mirrors on the bulkheads made the large cabin seem even more spacious.

“What do you think, Max? You’re looking at the finest casino on the Great Lakes. We got everything: blackjack, craps, roulette, poker, slots. And I got the ship’s Marconi system working with the onshore wire service. With my operation, we can sell East Coast race results to the bookies hours before the news breaks on the street. We’re raking in millions. After the election, we’ll move into high gear. Sky’s the limit, Max.” Ed lowered his voice and turned to his old pal with a sober frown. “With all that jack and power to be had, there’s gonna be blood on the streets. Can’t be helped.”

“Hasn’t there been enough blood already?”

Ed sighed and shook his head. “You know how the game’s played, as well as anyone in this town and better than most. Politicians, moneybags, cops, newspapers, the rackets: we all operate in the same system. We all feed at the same table. We live high off the mugs, the suckers. You’re the one who reads books, talks about the old Romans, the Caesars. That’s Chicago; that’s the world from beginning to end. Have and have nots, the winners and losers. The strong survive, the weak go under. So, there’ll be blood all right; the losers’ blood.” Then he put his hand on Max’s shoulder and added with a sly grin: “We’re winners, you and me.”

“I didn’t know you were so philosophical. Compared to you, I’m just a shamus working a tough case.” Max’s icy grin matched Ed’s.

“Come off it, Max. We’re two kids from the slums who made it big. You’re the Hawk and I run the biggest gambling racket in the Midwest. You need my help and I want yours. And what I’m offering you is a piece of the action, something big, beyond your wildest dreams. What do you say, pal?”

“I say my dreams are small compared to yours. I just want to protect my clients’ interests, do my job and do it well.”

“OK. What do you want?”

“I told you what I wanted before Harry Schmidt went cowboy on us. I want to know who killed Peg Rooney, and why. As I recall, you started answering that one. I also want to know who kidnapped Bob O’Neill and what happened to O’Neill’s sister Mary. And I do believe we can work together on this one, for our mutual benefit.”

“All right, Max. We’ll work together like you said. But for now, I want another drink. There’s that bottle of Scotch waiting for us in my cabin. Let’s go back, have a snort and I’ll fill you in.”

* * *

Back in the cabin, Max and Ed faced each other from the comfort of oversized leather armchairs. They enjoyed Ed’s best whiskey and Havana double corona maduros. During this moment of silent contemplation, each recalled memories of a relationship spanning three decades. From kids boosting apples and bananas from pushcart peddlers, juvenile back-alley brawlers running from the law, to young gangsters leading a mob that terrorized the old neighborhood, to a fork in the road where Max went straight as a cop and later as a private investigator while Ed went crooked as a soldier, then lieutenant and eventual leader of the North Side mob.

Max tried to maintain a rough sort of morality, or at least a code of honor, in a corrupt world while Ed fully embraced the Darwinian ethos of Chicago’s mean streets: survival of the fittest. But beneath his hard-shell exterior Ed had a soft spot for the one man he still considered a friend, and a sense of honor that acknowledged a debt to that man.

Max blew a smoke ring and watched as it drifted into nothingness. Is life as insubstantial as a puff of smoke? he wondered. He abandoned the thought and broke the silence with small talk: “How’s Vi?” Violet Novak was Ed’s mistress; several years earlier she had left Max for Ed. But there was no animosity between them on Vi’s account. Max figured he was better off without her. As for Ed, he kept her for the same reason many people stay married: custom and habit.

“She’s OK, Max. A little plumper and a few more wrinkles but still a looker. She does like to spend my money, so I guess I just gotta rake in the jack to keep her happy.”

“Yeah, more dough, which brings us back to business.” Max put down his glass and rested the cigar in an ashtray. “So, tell me what Peg had on Davies?”

“You remember Sally Bates?”

“Sure, she was Peg’s friend. She was killed in an accident; car crash up near Lake Geneva.” Max thought a moment before adding, “Wasn’t Davies’ son the driver?”

Ed nodded. “Yeah. The local coroner ruled it an accident. Junior swerved to avoid hitting a deer. Now here’s the real dope. Junior gave a big party. Lots of swells on the guest list, fountains flowing with booze, not to mention a liberal supply of cocaine. And of course, girls like Peg and Sally were brought in for entertainment. Sally and Junior got really chummy. The kid was smashed when he invited her out for a midnight spin in his new Mercer Raceabout. You can imagine the rest.

“The cops, coroner and the newspapers covered it up. Of course, the swells weren’t talking, and the few remaining girls were paid a grand each to keep their mouths shut. But that wasn’t all Peg had on Davies. You see, before Sally went on her last wild ride, she told Peg something she picked up from the drunken kid. Old man Davies had just bought an interest in the Lady of the Lake with the intention of fitting it out as a gambling boat to compete with my Potawatomie. And he was gonna let his son run the casino. Frankly I don’t know whether that part about the kid is true or not. Maybe Junior was just talking big to impress Sally. But it don’t make no difference. Imagine what would happen if City Hall found out that the so-called reform candidate was part owner of a gambling boat. Davies would be finished. He paid Peg once; maybe he didn’t want to pay her again.”

“So, you think Davies had Peg iced to shut her up permanently. Did Davies bribe the coroner to rule it an accident?”

“That’s right. And if our side wins the election, there’ll be a new coroner.”

“Do you know who killed Peg?”

“Don’t know, but I’d guess either Ritter or Lewis.”

“You think they iced Abe Levitsky, too?”

“Probably.”

Max frowned and shook his head. “Ritter’s dirty, and I know why. He needs the dough for his sick wife. But I doubt he’d go that low. Killing a girl for money isn’t his style. And I had a good look at Lewis. He didn’t impress me. What do you know about him?”

“He looks like a fresh-faced kid and, by all accounts, he’s not the brightest bulb in the box, but he’s a stone-cold killer from the Detroit mob. He wouldn’t have hesitated to kill Peg and Levitsky for the right price.”

Max sipped his Scotch. A showdown with Ritter and Lewis seemed unavoidable. Sharkey was on the list, too. He put down his glass and said, “I found a body in a West Side flat. It might have been Bob O’Neill, but that doesn’t make sense. His sister Mary was at the flat, and she’s disappeared. That doesn’t make sense, either. There was a ransom demand and Tim O’Neill wanted to negotiate. I tailed Mary to the flat. Someone sapped me and I woke up in the basement of a Forest Park whorehouse. Don’t ask how I got out.

“The straw-purchaser of the whorehouse is a dead guy named Regis Goonan. I assume the real owner is the same Indiana mob that owns the Lady of the Lake. What’s more, Mueller and Big Mike are looking for me. I figure someone is trying to frame me for the corpse I discovered in the flat. You know anything I don’t?”

“Maybe. You heard of an Indiana outfit called Hoosier Shipping?”

“Yeah, I’ve heard of it.”

“Tim O’Neill and his associates were Hoosier Shipping. They bought the Lady of the Lake with the idea of making her into a gambling boat and joining up with me. Their boat would work in the Indiana and Michigan trade while we’d work Illinois and Wisconsin and split the profits. We were negotiating when Davies and his Indiana loogans muscled in and hijacked the boat. They used it to smuggle whores and dope with the notion of making it into a gambling boat after they knocked me over and Davies won the election. To make matters worse, O’Neill’s knucklehead son signed on to the boat’s crew without knowing the owners were now his old man’s worst enemies.”

“Sounds like both Davies and O’Neill weren’t blessed in their sons and heirs.”

Ed laughed. “That’s for sure. Then, if that ain’t enough, idiot boy O’Neill becomes the only witness to Peg’s ‘accident.’ Brother, you can’t make this shit up.”

“Yeah, and assuming ‘idiot boy’ is still alive, my job is to save his life, and his sister’s, too. Mary O’Neill said her brother had about ten grand in gambling debts. She also said his creditors sold the markers to a Chicago syndicate, and the syndicate sold him to the outfit that’s holding him for ransom. Know anything about that?”

Ed shook his head. “All I know is he didn’t owe me or the South Side mob. That means he’s most certainly being held by Davies’ goons, the Indiana loogans trying to muscle in on our territory.”

“I’ll take your word for it. Can we rely on Chief Crunican?”

“Absolutely. He’s our man, and Mueller and Mike take their orders from Crunican, not Captain Donavan.”

“Then Donavan’s the odd man out. He comes between Mueller and Mike and Crunican.”

“That’s right. If we can’t buy Donavan and turn him, then he’ll need to be dealt with some other way.”

“Getting rid of a police captain won’t be easy.”

“Even police captains have accidents.”

Max nodded. Then: “I met with Joe Vessio before I came out here. He said—”

“I know what he said,” Ed broke in. “I already talked to Colosimo and Torrio. With Crunican, Judge Moran and my City Hall connections, I’ll take care of Davies and the Indiana mob. We’ll stick to our territories like before. I’ll control the gambling boats, the wire service and all the rackets north of the river. The wops will control the South Side whorehouses, dope, loan sharking and the numbers, and that includes all the rackets that’ll move to the suburbs when City Hall cleans up the Levee.”

“Looks like you got your work cut out for you, and I got mine. And I’m sure you won’t object if I take out some of your enemies in the process.”

“Not at all, Max,” Ed said with a broad smile. “You gotta admit that shootout was fun, side by side, just like the old days. Better than sex, booze or cocaine. Nothing like it, except maybe hitting the jackpot or winning an election.”

“Nothing like it, if you don’t mind killing or being killed.”

“That’s the game, Max, and you play it better than anyone else I know. You want one or two of my boys to watch your back?”

Max shook his head. “No, thanks. But I’d like to keep the Luger. It’ll come in handy, along with Schmidt’s Mauser pistol. And, if you don’t mind, I’ll take the bomb, too.”

“Looks like you’re going to war.”

“Maybe.”

“Good. I’ll call Slim to bring up the launch.”

Max grinned. “Slim makes a good stand-in for Charon.”

“Who the hell’s Charon? Is he from out of town?”

“Yeah, way out of town.” The grin widened.

Ed shrugged. “Max, sometimes your humor escapes me.”

Proceed to Chapter 24...

Copyright © 2018 by Gary Inbinder