From the Chicago Tribune, March 18, 1930, page 8
“Police are investigating the body of a man found on the pavement in front of the Hotel Concorde, the legendary hotel that Al Capone is rumored to have a penthouse suite in. The man was found dead with six gunshot wounds and multiple broken bones. His age is determined to be early thirties but he had no identification on his person. If anyone has information, they are asked to go to Police Substation 8 and speak to the homicide detectives. All sources will remain confidential.”
I tossed the newspaper to the floor. The words hadn’t changed in five months even though I wanted them to. Whoever wrote that article wasn’t going to win any Pulitzers. There were a lot of words there but no information. I suppose that was good, but it would have been nice to hear that someone was screaming and yelling and beating their chest over my death.
Of course, there was Mars.
When Jupiter got my telegram, he’d dispatched Mars to collect my “body.” Longest fucking two weeks of my life, laying in that morgue pretending to be dead. Mars and I had never been close, but we looked a lot alike so it wasn’t a stretch for Mars to claim to be my long lost brother. That and he had experience as the Roman god of war.
He and I were holed up just outside of Chicago, waiting for my wounds to heal and the shit to blow over. Capone had headed to Miami right after he killed me and, according to today’s paper, the big shot was ailing from an “unknown” sexual disease and languishing in prison. He had syphilis. I could have told them that. Whether from the ladies he frequented or from me spitting in his drink, he was on his way out of this world. He was already out as the head of Chicago.
Didn’t mean there weren’t people still gunning for me if they saw me.
I heard the front door of our hideout open and close and then the footsteps of Mars as he came to my door.
“Hey, shithead,” he greeted me.
“I feel the love, brother.” I grinned.
“Yeah, well, some of your old friends just found me.”
I sat up. “Which ones?”
“Said he was Capone’s brother. He wants me out of town.” He pulled up a chair then stacked his feet on my bed. “I’m inclined to agree with him. So what are we still doing here.”
I thought of Charlotte. No doubt she was safe back in Nebraska by now. Mars knew that I was protecting someone. Probably a bunch of someones. He could relate because he had his own someones to protect.
“You keeping an eye on the boy and the old woman?”
Mars rolled his eyes. “Yeah. I watched them again today. They’re fine. Why they didn’t get out of town when all this went down, I’ll never know.”
“Mrs. Dorchester’s son is still shell-shocked from the war. He’s in a group home,” I said softly. “Deats didn’t want to leave her because she sure as hell wasn’t going anywhere.”
Mars folded his arms over his chest. “I see. That all?”
How much to tell him? “No.”
“Now it makes sense.” Mars snorted. I could hear the sarcasm and I didn’t appreciate it, but let’s face it, the guy had put his life on hold for me.
“There’s a few other people.”
Mars watched me. “Let me guess. A dame is at the heart of this.”
“Look—”
“No, you look. I’ve got shit to do, man. I can’t be hiding out here forever. If you’re healed enough, we need to bug out. Tonight. I’d rather not get shot at again.”
“They shot at you?”
He snorted. “Let’s just say they’ve got interesting ways of getting your attention.”
I was silent. Baby was safe, I had to remember that. If none of those beasts had gone after her yet, they wouldn’t now. Watching them, even from a safe house on the outskirts of Chicago wasn’t helping her. And Deats and Mrs. Dorchester were going to be fine, too. There wasn’t much I could do for them anymore. Wasn’t much that Mrs. Dorchester wanted me to do for her.
I slid to the edge of the bed. My worst wounds had been the broken legs. I can take a beating, but damn, those fuckers hurt. They still did. But I was getting better. Maybe Mars was right.
“Look,” the infamous god said softly. “You want to go check on the kid and the old woman? We’ll go tonight. But then you’ve got to let go. Move on. What are you so afraid of?”
“I’m not afraid,” I retorted.
“Could have fooled me, you bastard.” Mars rocketed to his feet and went to the door. “Pack up your shit. Now that I’m made, we can’t stay here.” He clomped out of the room.
He left me with my thoughts. And shit, I didn’t want to be alone with those.
****
Deats and Mrs. Dorchester lived in a second floor apartment on Chicago’s North Side. Mars and I hit up the place as soon as the sun went down. There were babies crying and people yelling and I nearly lost my mind. I’d never known where Mrs. Dorchester lived until now. If I’d known, I would have gotten her outta here.
“Shithole,” I muttered, stepping over a drunk.
“Maybe to you,” Mars shot back.
I glared at him, but I didn’t say anything else. Mars nodded to a door across the hall and I crossed to it while he hung back.
Deats answered. His mouth dropped open when he saw me.
“Hey, shut your mouth, man,” I said with a grin.
I felt Mars walk up behind me. “Can we come in, kid?”
Deats still didn’t say anything, and he fell back easy enough. He shut the door and leaned against it while Mars and I faced him in the entryway.
“You got a job, Deats?”
His eyes flicked from me to Mars and back. “You-you died—”
“Yeah, about that.” I took my hat off and ran my hand over my shaved head. “I didn’t really. And you’ll have to keep it quiet.”
“Um, yeah, yeah, I will.”
“You got a job, Deats?” I asked again.
Again that eye flick from me to Mars. “It isn’t easy, Angelo….”
“I know. You got enough for now?”
“Yeah. We’re both good.”
“Kid, you see any of Capone’s men around?” Mars asked.
Deats swallowed and looked at Mars. “Yeah.”
“They offering you anything?”
Now I understood the nervousness. “They approached you, Deats? For info on me?”
He shook his head. “On Baby.”
I looked up at the ceiling. “Fuck.”
“I haven’t told them anything!” Deats said quickly. “They don’t have anything I want anyway.”
“What about the old lady?” Mars asked.
“She doesn’t know where Baby is,” Deats responded. “And I’ve only sent her a couple of letters. One had the article in it. About you dying.” He lowered his head. “They wait for us, though. When we go to see her son—”
“You’ve got to get out of here,” Mars interrupted.
“She won’t go.”
“Maybe you ought to save yourself, son,” Mars retorted. “I’m out. Wait for you outside.” He pushed past us and left the apartment.
Deats blew out a breath. “He’s scary.”
“Yeah. Regular asshole.” I put my hands on Deats’s shoulders. “Look, I’m heading to her, okay? Leaving tonight. You do what you’ve got to do, but be careful, all right?”
Deats nodded, his head hanging down.
“What is it?”
“I just— I don’t know—I just wish…”
He didn’t finish, but I didn’t need him to. “I wish things were different, too, Deats.” I squeezed his shoulders. “Be careful.”
“Yeah.”
I left without looking back.