Chicago Max
by Gary Inbinder
1906. It’s a frigid Chicago New Year, and detective Max Niemand has a hot new case. A meeting between a high society playboy and an underworld denizen at the notorious First Ward Ball catches Max’s attention.
The chance encounter draws Max into a tangled web of murder, deceit, racketeering and corruption. He follows the clues and leads from Chicago’s most dangerous slums to the Gold Coast mansions of the Windy City’s social elite.
His investigation involves a variety of characters, both male and female, from all walks of life. They are playing a dangerous game for high stakes, and Max doesn’t know if he can trust any of the players. He’ll need all his detective skills to solve this case, and a mistake could cost him his reputation or even his life.
Chicago ain't no sissy town. — Michael "Hinky Dink" Kenna,
First Ward Alderman, 1897-1923
Chapter 22: A Confab at Otto’s
“You’re a credit to your profession, Max. We’re proud of you.” Captain Crunican eyed Max across the card table in Otto’s back room. In his late fifties, the once physically imposing captain had gone gray and paunchy; his watery blue eyes required the assistance of a pince-nez. Max once compared the captain to an aging, dissolute version of President Roosevelt, a Teddy gone rotten.
Like Max, Crunican was a product of Little Hell. He had climbed the political ladder, rung by slippery rung. On the way up, he had acquired a taste for fine English tailoring, scotch whiskey, and Partagás coronas, all of which were in evidence at this meeting.
Lieutenant Mueller sat between his boss and Max. The detective remained prudently silent while enjoying the fine liquor and tobacco provided by his captain.
“Thanks, Captain,” Max said. “Now what about Levy? When does he go free?”
Crunican smiled magnanimously. “Tomorrow for sure. I’ve given the evidence to Peterson, and he got an appointment with the judge first thing in the morning. And Mueller here has wired Nelson in Milwaukee regarding the Hills case. Bugsy’s signed confession clears the three murders. The rest is a mere formality. It’s a done deal.”
“OK,” Max said. “Have you given some thought to the matter of Prescott Fielding, Cora Brumstone and the West Side white slavery racket?”
The captain’s forehead wrinkled; the graying moustache drooped in a meditative frown. “Ah now, Max; that’s a delicate situation requiring the utmost discretion. Tell me again about your meeting with Nora Iverson.”
Max went over his role-playing as pimp for wealthy clients with louche tastes and the deal in the works with the West Side Madame. He also mentioned the Nan Evans matter tangentially and with caution, in consideration of the First Ward payoffs and cover-up in which he assumed the captain had been a major player.
The captain took a thoughtful puff on his cigar before placing it in an ashtray. “So, you were setting the house up for a raid. That makes sense. Have you said anything about this to Captain Morrissey?”
“No, I haven’t.” Max would say as little as possible. The two captains were not the best of friends.
The captain eased back in his chair. He hooked his thumbs in his vest pockets; the magnanimous smile reappeared. “Now don’t you worry about the West Side racket. We’ll take care of it.” Crunican glanced at Mueller. “Ain’t that right, Lieutenant?”
“Absolutely, Captain. We’ve got it covered.”
Crunican turned his attention back to Max. “We’ve had our differences in the past but, in my book, that’s all squared. And here’s something else to think about. You’ve made a fine impression on the aldermen. Just this morning one of them says to me, ‘Max Niemand will go far in this town. He’s a man worthy of respect.’ Now what do you think of that?”
Max grinned wryly. “That’s swell, Captain.” He likened Crunican to a smirking viper, but Max had to maintain the appearance of playing the game according to the bosses’ rules.
Crunican rose from his chair, and Max and Mueller followed the captain’s lead. “We’ll drink to our new understanding.” They lifted their glasses. “You do the honors, Max,” Crunican said.
“All right, Captain. ‘May the devil cut the toes off all our foes, that we may know them by their limping.’”
Crunican smiled to show his approval of an old Irish toast without considering its implications. They downed the shots and concluded their business in comradely fashion.
* * *
The following morning, Max opened the office early. He needed a change, a return to routine: coffee, kaiser rolls, and cases that didn’t push him to the edge of the abyss. Now that he seemed to have a future, he could go back to making plans. In the midst of reviewing his bills and monthly receipts, his thoughts turned to Olga. Max set down his fountain pen, leaned back in his swivel chair and closed his eyes. He visualized the young woman at her desk, greeting clients and answering the phone. The office door opened, ending his reverie.
Lil Diamond and Benny Levy entered, each carrying a suitcase. Max rose to greet them; he immediately noticed the change in the young man’s appearance. The short time in prison had its effect. Benny appeared a decade older. His wrinkled suit hung loosely on a malnourished body, his unshaven face had acquired a sickly pallor. The close proximity of Lil’s heady perfume could not cover Benny’s jailhouse smell. The couple stopped a few feet from Max’s desk and set down their bags.
Lil spoke first: “We’ve come to thank you and settle our account. We’re leaving town... for good.”
Max sensed the couple’s discomfort. They owed him and probably assumed he would demand more than they could afford to pay. He smiled warmly to put them at ease. “I hope you have time to chat? I have fresh rolls and coffee. Will you join me?”
Levy glanced at Lil. After a steady diet of prison swill, Benny thought Max’s offer too good to refuse.
Lil understood and answered Max’s question. “Thanks, Mr. Niemand. We got a little time.”
“Take a load off your feet; I’ll be right with you,” Max said. He fetched a couple of clean mugs and the coffee pot; he set them on the desk in front of his clients. “I got a fresh bottle of milk, but I’m out of sugar.”
“That’s all right,” Benny said. “We both like it black.”
Max poured for them. He reached into a paper bag and handed each of them a roll. Then he eased back in his chair and watched Benny gulp coffee and wolf down the snack.
Levy finished in record time, wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and smiled. “Mr. Niemand, you don’t know how good that tastes to a guy just out of jail.”
“Tastes like freedom, don’t it?” Max leaned forward and folded his hands.
“Yes, sir,” Benny replied. “I guess it does.”
Max asked, “Now that you’re out, what are your plans?”
Levy turned to Lil, reached over and held her hand. Then to Max: “We’re getting married first thing we arrive in New Orleans.”
“That’s swell. Congratulations. But why New Orleans?”
“My family paid me to leave town. They’ll pay more to keep me from returning. As for New Orleans, they got a new style of music called jazz. It grew out of ragtime and the blues. A colored cornet player told me about it and taught me some; we played together in a small band. It’s my kind of music. I figure I can find work there, and Lil can sing and dance. With the money from my family, we’ll make out all right.”
Lil said, “We want to square up with you before we leave. You saved Benny’s life. We’ll never forget it.”
Max shook his head. “You don’t owe me anything. Your retainer covers it in full. Save your dough; you’ll need it.”
Bewildered, Lil stared at Max and then turned to Benny without saying anything.
“That’s too generous, Mr. Niemand,” Benny said. “If it weren’t for you, I’d be rotting in the county asylum.”
“Think nothing of it, kid,” Max said. “I like getting an innocent guy out of a jam, and it does my reputation good, too. I could have asked for more dough, but what the hell. Consider it a wedding present.”
Lil took a handkerchief from her purse and wiped away tears. She tried to say something, but it stuck in her throat.
“By the way Benny,” Max said, “did you make it up with Harry?”
“You mean the heir apparent?” Benny shook his head and smiled sadly. “He won’t go against the old man, not even to say goodbye to his kid brother. They sent a lawyer with the money and the deal to get rid of me. To them, I’m dead and buried. OK. Let Harry be King of the Red Hots and Salami. That’s not for me.”
Lil glanced up at the wall clock. She turned to Benny. “We better go, honey, or we’ll miss our train.”
They all got up. Max came around the desk, hugged Lil and shook Benny’s hand. “I like music, kid,” he said. “That new thing you call jazz interests me. Maybe it’ll come to Chicago, one of these days.”
Levy smiled. “Maybe, Mr. Niemand. And if I make it big, I want to be one of the guys who brings it to Chicago, whether my family likes it or not.”
* * *
In the afternoon, Max called the detective who was running the background check on Olga. A secretary answered and took a message. Max shuffled some papers and paid a few bills; then he decided to close the office and took the “L” to the music store. They were getting ready to close when he arrived. He scanned the premises, but saw no sign of Olga.
The manager approached him: “May I help you, sir?”
“I’m looking for Miss Boyer. Is she here?”
“No, she is not. She didn’t come to work today, and she did not call in. Are you a friend of hers?” The oily salesman’s smile soured into an irritated frown.
“An acquaintance. Did you call her boarding house?”
“Yes, I did. They haven’t seen her since yesterday.”
“I see. If she comes in tomorrow or telephones could you give her a message?”
“What message is that?” The manager’s eyes narrowed; the frown darkened perceptibly.
“Ask her to contact Max Niemand. She knows how to reach me.”
“All right, Mr. Niemand. If by chance you should come across Miss Boyer before I do, would you be so kind as to deliver a message from me?”
Max did not like the manager’s tone. He nodded his agreement without speaking.
“Please tell Miss Boyer that if I do not hear from her by tomorrow afternoon, she may look for employment elsewhere.”
“Right, pal. If I see her, I’ll pass it on.”
“Thank you, sir. Now, if you have no business here, I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to leave. I’m closing shop.”
Max glared at the manager, turned around and walked out the door.
Max worried about Olga. She did not seem like the type to take off without leaving word. When he returned to his apartment, he telephoned the boarding house and spoke to the landlady. The landlady had nothing to add to what he’d learned from the store manager. She said she had not seen Olga since she left for work the previous day. Olga was paid to the end of the week. If she did not show up and pay for the following week, the room would go to someone else.
“Does she have any friends at your place, anyone who might know where she went?”
“I asked around, mister. No one knows where she went or why.”
Max thanked the landlady, hung up and set down the phone. He poured a drink and eased back in an armchair. The apartment was dark except for one gaslight in the front hallway. A sudden downpour of freezing rain beat against the windowpanes; the radiator clanked and hissed.
What is she up to? he thought. Is she in trouble? He downed his shot and poured another. Whatever was going on with Olga, for the moment there was nothing he could do about it.
Copyright © 2015 by Gary Inbinder
