Chicago Max

by Gary Inbinder

Table of Contents

Chapter 7: Olga

Max put on one of his best business suits — nothing too flashy — and an almost new derby. Checking himself in a full-length closet mirror, he thought, You look like one of those brokers on LaSalle Street. However, under scrutiny. his cheeks, chin and shoes did not meet the standard. Therefore, he hopped on the cars and made an early morning excursion to Joe Vessio’s barbershop on South Halsted.

The morning was unusually mild, with clear sunny skies and the mercury bumping forty. As a result, piles of shoveled snow had melted, overflowing the gutters and transforming streets and sidewalks into rivers of slush.

As soon as he entered the barbershop, Max received a friendly greeting from Joe and his sons Tony and Sal, who were all busy attending to their early customers. Max was a regular, and Joe kept his mug, razors and special soap in a wall niche alongside the implements of the other regulars. This was a hygienic precaution, since a nick from another guy’s razor all too often led to blood poisoning and an early demise.

Joe was a good fellow to know, since he had connections with the police, politicians and the mob. His prosperous family business was a front for the local numbers racket, and he raked in plenty of dough from the suckers.

Max checked his watch and asked about the wait.

“Don’t worry, Mr. Hawk,” said Joe as he skillfully glided a razor across a customer’s well-lathered throat. “Take a seat and get a nice shine. I’ll be with you double-quick.”

Max grabbed a copy of the Police Gazette from a table and stepped up to a chair on the shoeshine platform. Little Eddie, the shoeshine boy, removed Max’s overshoes and guided his feet onto the brass foot-pedals.

“Yes, sir, Mr. Hawk, it’s a fine day for a shine. I’ll have them shoes sparkling like diamonds.”

“Go to it, Eddie. Make ’em extra shiny, and I’ll tip you two bits.”

“Yes, sir, yes, sir. Best shine in Chicago!” Eddie started whistling and went about his task with alacrity and skill.

Max lifted the paper and became absorbed in the grisly details of a triple murder and the equally gruesome narrative of the murderer’s “eye for an eye” lynching. Eddie finished his work just as Max came to the end of a paragraph describing how members of the lynch mob took strips of the still living killer’s flesh as souvenirs.

Max set down the paper and examined his shoes. “Just like you said, Eddie. The best shine in Chicago.” He reached into his pocket and tossed an extra quarter into Eddie’s eagerly waiting palm.

Joe’s chair was ready for Max, just as promised. Max took his seat and leaned back as Joe lowered him into shaving position.

“Nice and close, Joe. I got a special meeting with a young lady.”

A wide smile spread over Joe’s florid face. “Of course, Mr. Hawk. You wanna trim, too?”

“Sure,” Max replied. Then he gestured for Joe to come closer and lowered his voice. “In the next few days, I may need a little favor. You understand?”

Joe and Max operated within the same world of favor for favor. “I understand. You contact me in the usual way?”

Max nodded. Then he relaxed as the barber set up Max’s shaving utensils and retrieved a hot towel from the sink.

* * *

Max placed a long distance call from his office to Walt Wagner’s detective agency in Milwaukee. Wagner was a former Milwaukee Police detective sergeant who, like Max, had left the force to start his own business. Wagner’s agency had grown to the point where he could afford an assistant and three operatives. Walt and Max had worked together on a number of cases; over the years, they had developed a good reciprocal relationship.

Max provided Wagner with as much detail and background about Hills as he could gather from Gus and other sources. If Bob Hills were anywhere in or around Milwaukee, Walt would track him down with the understanding that Max had done similar favors for him in the past and would continue to do so in the future.

Max noted the long-distance call on his expense report and deposited it in the Levy file. Then he glanced up at the wall clock and checked it against his watch. He had time, so he decided to take advantage of the spring-like break in the weather to walk to the music store.

He walked east on Lake Street toward Wabash. Tall buildings and the elevated structure partially blocked the sun, its diffracted rays streaming down to street level. Trains rumbled on the overhead tracks, their brakes squealing as they slowed to round corners. A multitude of people of all classes, races and national origins tramped up and down the slush-dampened sidewalks. On the streets, clanging trolleys, horse-drawn vehicles of all descriptions, a few sputtering motor cars, and pedestrians vied for a right of way in a welter barely controlled by sullen, overworked traffic cops.

Amid the downtown bustle, Max took a moment to think about where he had come from, where he wanted to go, and how the Levy case and Olga might fit into his journey. The son of immigrant parents, he had been born the youngest of three children living in a shanty on Goose Island. A place that froze in winter and roasted in summer; a place of unpaved mud-puddles called streets; a place of fetid alleys filled with rotting garbage, rodents, and clouds of mosquitoes and flies.

The philosopher Nietzsche might have imagined Max Niemand when he wrote, “Out of life’s school of war: what does not destroy me makes me stronger.” By his eighteenth birthday, Max was on his own, his parents and siblings having succumbed to their disease-ridden environment.

Having won his battle with the microbes, Max struggled for survival on the streets until a new influence entered his life in the form of a settlement house worker. Miss Virginia Wells was a well-bred young woman who seemed as out of place as a flower on an ash heap. She took a singular interest in the young hoodlum, and he found her attention flattering.

On fine days, he took her for strolls around the neighborhood, talking about his experiences on the street while she listened attentively. The locals gossiped about their relationship, assuming the worst. However, what the neighbors thought about the couple did not matter to Max. To him, the young woman was a creature from another world, a place he wanted to explore.

One day, they took a long walk to the lakefront, past the castle-like mansions of the rich. Indian Summer had come, with its yellow, gold and russet haze. Men and boys around Lincoln Park busied themselves with rakes gathering dead leaves in large piles. The smoke from the bonfires stung eyes and lungs if you came too near.

Max and Miss Wells walked from Lake Shore Drive to the North Avenue Beach breakwater, where they settled near the top of the stepped concrete structure. The great, sparkling lake lapped calmly at the breakwater’s edge.

They gazed at the towering gray skyline of a new Chicago that had risen from the ashes of the great fire. A few noisy gulls circled overhead. Small steamers tooted their whistles as they passed. Farther out in the lake, a large freighter trailing brown smoke steamed north toward Milwaukee.

Miss Wells turned to Max. She smiled and spoke softly and sympathetically. “If you were given an opportunity to change your life, would you take it?”

Max pondered the question for a moment before answering, “I guess that would depend on what was offered, Miss.”

“Have you ever considered becoming a police officer?”

Max almost burst out laughing but, with effort, he controlled himself. He liked Miss Wells and would not say or do anything to offend her. “I never thought of it, Miss. Do you think I’d make a good cop... I mean officer?”

“Oh, yes, I do. Will you give it some thought?”

He did think about it. The more he thought, the more it seemed as though Miss Wells had shown him a doorway that opened onto a better world in which she and others like her lived. Nevertheless, you needed “pull” to open the lock, but Max need not have worried on that account. Virginia Wells was the daughter of a judge with plenty of pull.

Max told her he wanted to become a policeman and she was delighted. Her father used his influence with the department. All that was needed was a baptismal certificate that aged Max another three years. Father Quinn, the parish priest, was more than happy to oblige.

Max smiled fondly as he remembered the nice young woman who took an interest in a lad from the slums. Miss Wells gave me my first real break. Where is she now? Max had turned from Lake Street onto Wabash. A three-car “L” train screeched to a stop at a station; the grating noise snapped him out of his reverie. He glanced down the block in the direction of the music store. Olga was already waiting for him out front. As he came nearer, he could see how pretty she looked in her long, plaid woolen coat and feathered hat. She smiled and waved at him and he picked up his step. I never realized it till now, he thought. She looks a lot like Miss Wells.

* * *

Henrici’s on Randolph Street was a popular German bakery-restaurant. Prominent Chicagoans — merchants, commodity traders and brokers, politicians — ate there regularly, and it was a favorite eating and meeting place for stars appearing at the downtown theaters. The room was large, bright and noisy with waiters shuttling back and forth between tables.

Max and Olga sat at a small corner table near a mezzanine dining area. The waiter brought them coffee and a house specialty, a thick doughy pancake filled with large apple slices covered in caramelized brown sugar.

“Oh my,” Olga said as she watched the waiter slice the pancake in half and serve her portion straight out of the warm pan. “I’m afraid I can’t eat all that.”

Max smiled at her delicacy and then attacked his lunch with gusto. After he washed his first mouthful down with coffee he said, “Don’t worry, Miss Boyer. What you can’t eat, I’ll finish for you.” He noticed a slight frown as she picked at her piece of pancake. “I...I’m sorry, Miss. I guess that’s my bad manners showing. You see, I never got enough to eat when I was a kid, so I sort of make up for it now.”

Her frown softened into a forgiving smile. “I understand, Mr. Niemand. You needn’t apologize. After all, you were kind enough to treat me to lunch, and I’m grateful.”

“I guess I came up rough, and I need improvement. That’s something I admire about you. You speak perfect English and have such fine manners. Not at all like a greenhorn, if you’ll excuse the expression.”

“You care very much about appearances, don’t you Mr. Niemand?”

“Sure, I do, Miss Boyer. Look around you. I could point out a couple of aldermen, a police chief, and several wealthy businessmen. They all work hard to keep up their appearances; like actors, they want to show their best face to the public. ‘All the world’s a stage.’ Part of the fun of the detective racket is to get a peek behind the curtain. That’s where the real play goes on.” He paused a moment to study her expression as if trying to read her mind before adding, “You are interested in detective work, aren’t you?”

“Well, as we’ve discussed, I do like reading about Nick Carter and Sherlock Holmes. By the way, I noticed you quoted Shakespeare. You’re full of surprises, Mr. Niemand.”

Max laughed. “I may be rough, Miss, but I ain’t ignorant. Shakespeare’s bully. And I suppose Nick Carter’s all right, but that limey Sherlock’s too clever for me. No real shamus is that perfect. Oh sure, you need keen observation to spot clues and use deduction to form hypotheses that can be proven or refuted by more evidence, and all that. But mostly you need information, and you got to know how to get it. And then you’ve got to separate the real dope from the... uh, baloney.” He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “I’ll tell you the two dirtiest words in the detective’s vocabulary: Trust me.”

Olga seemed shocked. “Goodness, I guess I never thought about it that way. But I suppose you must trust someone, sometime?”

Max shook his head. “Everyone lies, Miss Boyer, but not everyone has a bad motive for lying. You have to figure out why they’re being deceptive, what motivates them. That’s an important part of the job.”

“I see,” she said before returning to her pancake and coffee.

Max decided it was time to make his proposal. “Miss Boyer, I hope you don’t mind a personal question, but have you ever considered looking for something better? I mean better than your job at the music store.”

Olga set down her knife and fork, glanced at her plate and thought for a moment before looking back at Max and answering. “I won’t say I haven’t thought of other things, but it is a good position and very secure. You see, my aunt owns the store.”

Max tried to hide his disappointment. Well, that sure changes things. “I’ll level with you, Miss. I’ve been thinking about expanding my business, and I sure could use an assistant. Someone sharp who’d be good with the clients; a person I could, in time, train to be an operative. Fact is, certain jobs call for a woman. You’d be inconspicuous on a tail. They’d never see you coming. I... I thought you’d be perfect for what I had in mind. But now... well, I guess you’d have much better prospects with your aunt.”

“Excuse me, Mr. Niemand. Were you about to offer me a job as your assistant?”

Max was embarrassed, but he tried to remain cool. “Yes, I was. But I didn’t know about your aunt. She might not like you leaving her employment to work for a detective.”

“My aunt took me in and raised me after my parents died. She’s been very kind, but I am over twenty-one. I make my own decisions. If you’re going to make an offer, I’d like to consider it. How much would you pay?”

That’s laying your cards on the table. Good for you, Miss. “May I ask how much your aunt is paying you?”

“Ten dollars a week. Does that seem reasonable to you?”

Ten bucks a week! Is she serious? Max smiled and shook his head. “Miss Boyer, that’s more than I can afford. I was going to offer you seven.”

She rested her chin on her hand, as if in deep thought. After a moment she said, “You did indicate an opportunity for advancement? That is to say, assuming my work was satisfactory.”

“Yes, Miss. That’s what I was thinking.”

“Very well, Mr. Niemand; I’ll consider it. When would you need my answer?”

“Take your time, Miss. Think it over and maybe discuss it with your aunt. I’m working on a big case now and won’t be hiring until it’s over.”

Her eyes lit up with curiosity. “A big case? How fascinating. Can you tell me about it?”

“No, Miss. Confidentiality. Remember what I said about the two dirty words. When the case is over, maybe we can talk about it. We’ll see.”

Her lips curled up in a mischievous smile. “Don’t you trust me, Mr. Niemand?”

This girl’s really something. “No offense, Miss. To quote Mr. Dooley, ‘Trust everybody — but cut the cards.’ But if you were my assistant you wouldn’t be ‘everybody.’”

“I suspect, Mr. Niemand, that even if I weren’t ‘everybody,’ you’d still cut the cards.”

Max replied with a grin that, depending on your perspective, could be charming or frightening. “Wouldn’t you want to cut them if you were playing with my deck, Miss Boyer?”

She answered with an enigmatic smile. Then she glanced from his plate to hers. “I see you’re almost finished. Would you care for the rest of my pancake?”

Max bared his even white teeth. “In the words of our great President, I’d be dee-lighted!”

Proceed to Chapter 8...

Copyright © 2015 by Gary Inbinder

Proceed to Challenge 1059...