Gods of Chicago: Omnibus Edition (29 page)

Chapter 49

The couple to her left stayed tucked into the corners around the stove. Emma curled up by the door, trying her damnedest to keep her body heat where it belonged. It wasn’t doing any good though, even with the stove as close as it was.

“C—  can you send the fire this way?” she said, not lifting her eyes.

The dirt floor showed tracks leading in and out from the door. Emma wondered how often prisoners were brought into the shed. A man to her left mumbled something to his neighbor across the shed floor. Then a woman’s whispered voice broke the silence.

“It’s her,” the woman said.

“Can’t be,” said the man. “Look at the clothes. And the hair. Can’t—”

“It is,” Emma volunteered, letting her voice rise to a normal pitch. What was the point of secrecy now?

“Emma Farnsworth?” the man asked, still doubting her identity. She turned and looked him full in the face. The left half of his face stood out in the darkness of the shed, reflecting the glow from the stove. His round cheeks hung heavy with sadness and fatigue, but Emma couldn’t feel anything like sympathy for him. His curiosity picked at her, like curious looks always had whenever she’d spent more than a minute in a public space. The whispers about the power plant owner’s daughter. His single, unattached, unmarried twenty-five year old daughter. And the eyes that followed her into Macy’s, around the sales floors, into the restaurants when she’d allowed some friend of her father’s to wear her on his arm like a cufflink.

“Yes, I’m Emma Farnsworth. The woman who killed Archie Falco in the airship that’s hanging outside. I’ll be hanging soon enough, so get your looks while you can.”

The man shivered, but Emma could tell his reaction was only from the cold of the shed and not the ice in her voice. She thought about giving him another helping. The woman saved her the trouble.

“I told you, Al. Hush up now, leave the poor thing be.”

“Thing?” Emma rasped across the shed. “Save your sympathy for the animals, sister. I don’t need anybody feeling the sap on my account.”

“I only—”

“You only. Yeah, I know you only. Like everybody else in this city only.” The woman squeezed herself into the corner to escape Emma’s anger and the man called Al coughed up his own in protest.

“Hey, my wife ain’t did nothing to you. She’s just being nice is all, so how’s about you do what the law man said and play nice, too?”

The mention of Wynes put Emma’s thoughts back on what would happen to her next. Nothing that came to mind felt pretty or kind or nice, but she let her anger fade just the same.

“What’d you do to get Wynes on your tail anyway? How come you’re in here?”

The man, Al, huffed out a breath. His wife nudged his foot with hers. “I don’t know,” Al said. “These G-men, they came into our house asking about our son, my boy, Aiden. He’s out and about looking for work, I tell them. Got put off the job hawking papers, so—”

“They were rough,” his wife said. “And they talked like gangsters. Like we didn’t have any reason to worry but they’d give us one if we gave them any trouble. Then they shoved us into their car and drove us out here. Aiden’s lucky he wasn’t home,” she finished, stifling a whimper.

Emma turned to face the other end of the shed. The glow from the stove was behind her now, and facing into the darkness made the chill air creep in again. She fought against a shiver that forced its way through her chest and down her legs. At the far end of the shed, a figure was wrapped in a tattered blanket or piece of canvas. His legs stuck out from beneath his covering like a pair of coat tails. She kept her eyes on him and asked the couple behind her, “Why is he down there?”

“He’s a negro,” the man said. “We don’t know why he’s here.”

Emma felt heat in her veins that sent crimson through her cheeks as she turned to face Al and his wife. “I didn’t ask why he’s in here. I asked why he’s
over there
.” When neither Al nor his wife replied, Emma turned to the shivering figure. “Come over here. This fire’s not getting any brighter.”

At first the man didn’t move. Then he shifted and slid across the floor a ways, but still not near enough to feel the heat from the stove. “All the way,” Emma said. “Come on.” After a long silence, the negro moved again. Emma saw he had an iron ball chained to his ankle. He dragged it behind him as he slid on his hip holding one arm against his side.

“How long have you kept him over there?” she demanded, sending an angry glare at Al and his wife. “The man’s hurt and you don’t have the heart to help him stay warm. Your son’s lucky he wasn’t home when the G-men came, sure he is. Now he doesn’t have to live with a couple of monsters for—”

As the words left Emma’s mouth, Al’s wife gained her feet and had a hand raised in front of Emma’s face. Al was up, too, and stepped halfway in front of the woman. She spat at Emma over her husband’s shoulder.

“What the hell do you know about being a mother? You’re nothing but a damn chippy! And a killer!”

Emma stared knives at the woman who towered above her. She had a mousy face made all the more unpleasant by the snarl on her lips and the venom that dripped from her angry eyes. Still, Emma was ready to give back as good as she got. Then Wynes’ voice broke in on their shouting match.

“I said play nice in there, didn’t I? Cool it, or you’ll all be in cuffs, and gagged, too.”

His feet marched away through the gravel and Emma watched Al coax his wife back to where she’d sat by the stove. She shrugged his hands off and moved to his corner instead. Al sat next to her, so he was now between her and where Emma sat.

“He can have that side,” the woman said, flapping a hand to indicate the opposite corner.

“Awful kind of you,” Emma said, feeling another shiver race through her legs. The negro moved forward and into the corner where he resumed his half-prone position, hunched and wrapped under the ratty piece of canvas. But Emma saw the man’s shoulders relax as he felt the warmth from the stove.

Before he got fully settled, the man lifted his good hand and mumbled across the space to Emma. “M’obliged, Miss.”

Al and his wife curled together in the corner, as if they feared the negro might somehow infect them. Emma felt a manic laugh building in her gut. She almost let it out to them, figuring why not show them the face of a crazy woman. Why not let the rage and sorrow turn into mania now when there really was nothing left in the world for her to lose? Emma yanked on her cuffs and grunted in pain when the metal rings cut into her wrists. She hunted the dark shed for anything she could use as a weapon or to help her get free. The dirt floor and bare wooden walls stared back, empty as a beggar’s bowl.

Then Eddie’s voice came through the cracks around the door and Emma felt her chest heave with hope just as her mind burned with remembered fear. “Lovebird? You in there, Emma?”

She wriggled onto her other hip to reply. “Yes. I’m here, Eddie. I’m here.”

“Gotta be fast. Think that law man’s around the other end of the yard now. Something happening over there. Hold on.”

Emma heard the chain rattling against the door, then the sound of metal sliding across wood. Eddie grunted and groaned. Emma felt the wooden wall behind her resisting his efforts. A loud metallic
pop
sounded and the door opened. Eddie stood there with an iron bar in one hand. The other hand he had wrapped over his side, clutching his ribs where Wynes had struck him with the baton.

Eddie’s face still showed angry marks and ragged flesh. Blood caked his lips and cheeks. His left eye was still swollen closed. But he was here. He’d come to set her free. And the others. They could leave now if they wanted to. Emma turned her head to let them know.

“You can. . .Well what are you waiting for?” she said, gaping at the prisoners’ vacant stares and frightened eyes. “Go on and run. You’re free. Eddie’s—”

“Eddie’s showed up right on time. Just like we wanted him to,” Wynes said from outside. “Ain’t that right, boy?”

Chapter 50

Bullets spit up tufts of dirt. Mr. Brand pulled them to a halt. He spun in a circle, all the while holding Aiden by the sleeve. A park bench they’d used earlier was the closest cover Aiden could see.

“The bench!” he yelled, but his boss didn’t hear him. His eyes seemed blank and Aiden worried it was all over for them both. Then he spotted the old well, across the lawn. Fires from the nearest houses lit up the scene around the pile of bricks. A body was lying on the ground next to the well and another was draped over the lip, like the person had been trying to get into the well for cover.

A burst of gunfire came down, pattering into rooftops of houses that hadn’t burned yet. The fires at the far end of the park were growing, and the smoke around them thickened. Aiden tasted the soot in his throat. He stared into his boss’s frightened eyes once more and then ran for it, tearing his sleeve from Mr. Brand’s grip.

His boss yelled after him. Aiden tore through the dirt and snowmelt, stumbling when he hit muddy ground. He went down on his stomach and crawled the last few feet to the bench. Mr. Brand came up behind him and seemed to snap out of his spell as they tucked under the bench.

Another round came in close by, throwing dirt into the air. Another fell and then another. The last one hit close to the well. Aiden watched the smoke and dust rise through the soot-stained flurries of snow. After the haze cleared, he got a good look at where the well had been. Only a smoking hole remained.

#

Brand saw the fields of No-Man’s Land spread out before him. Gunfire broke him from his waking dream, but he couldn’t help but grasp at the tendrils of memory and sensation leaving his mind. Brand steeled himself, clenched his jaw and fought back the urge to flee. He was here for the long haul, but that didn’t mean he had to risk the kid’s life, too.

“Conroy, I can’t ask you to stay here anymore. This is on me.”

“No funny stuff, okay, Mr. Brand? I’m in this now, same as you. Heck, what’s left for me anyway? My folks are probably gone. If what we just saw is what’s happening to people the Governor decides he doesn’t like. . .”

“Okay, then—” Brand said, cutting himself off as more gunfire peppered the soil nearby. “They’ve got us pinned down here. I need to get a hold of a crab. There’s nothing for it but to get one of those things and take it around with us, getting as many pictures into that viewer as possible. Now, when I give the word—”

Conroy was already moving, rolling out from under the park bench and racing across the lawn. Bullets licked the night sky and picked up dirt and dusted snow. Brand tore after the kid, yelling his name, but Conroy kept on and made a beeline for the remains of the old well. He reached it and slid onto his belly beside the hole. Then he was down and vanished from sight.

Brand raced for the hole as more gunfire crackled into the night. He felt the pills of lead whipping by him and picking at the earth, telling him to run faster and harder. Then he saw the crab. The tiny automaton cantered around the ruined well, its little legs picking a path over cinder and shattered brick. Conroy must have spotted it and gone after it.

Mortar rounds whistled in again, taking apart the treeline and benches in the far corner of the park. Roots and branches flew in all directions amidst clouds of earth and rock. The night shook and Brand felt his legs turn to jelly. He went down just shy of the hole and crawled on his belly the rest of the way. Inside the hole, Brand saw the splintered end of a ladder; its timbers poked up from the darkness, all bent and shattered like a thousand knives. The kid shouted up from the bottom and Brand spun himself around. He felt his knee brush against something hard at the edge of the hole as he slid his legs over the edge and felt for the ladder with his feet. A mortar round whistled down and Brand dropped into the hole. His feet hit mud at the bottom just as the round came in, sending earth and rock down on top of them.

#

Bullets hissed their deadly whispers overhead and Brand shrank into the mud, retreating further from the opening above. Conroy hung onto the ladder beside him, eyes wide with shock. His back pressed against the damp earth of the shaft, dislodging clumps of soil that tumbled to the pile of rock and mud below. Brand lifted his feet from the muddy earth and clapped a hand on the kid’s shoulder.

“Just keep your head down, okay? We’ll get outta this.”

Conroy nodded and lifted a finger to point up the ladder.

“The viewer. I—”

Brand followed the kid’s finger upward and saw the leather strap of his viewer hung up on the broken post of the ladder above them. Hazy smoke wafted overhead in the glow of firelight from the burning neighborhood. Brand tasted ash and then the shaft closed in around his vision. The splintered ends of the ladder stood, jagged against the sky, like the fangs of a giant serpent that threatened to swallow him and Conroy whole. Brand’s teeth chattered a cadence of terror. Conroy had a hand on Brand’s shoulder now, tugging or shaking. The kid’s mouth hung open, then he worked his jaw like he was shouting.

All around Brand was silence except for the shelling and the zipping passage of lead over the hole. Another mortar round whistled in and fell nearby. The shaft shook and sloughed off another layer of soil as debris rained down from outside. The musty taste of soil mixed in Brand’s mouth with the acrid flavor of gun smoke. Underneath it all, Brand caught the rich smell of burning wood.

Brand’s gut turned and twisted into a ball of agony. He looked over at Conroy. The kid had his head tilted back, looking up and out of the hole. Brand followed his line of sight up the ladder to where the photo viewer strap had hung up on the broken rungs at the top.

Conroy climbed the ladder and Brand shouted at him.

“Just leave it, Conroy. We can’t go up there. We can’t help anymore. We’re sunk.”

The kid was still moving. Brand lashed a hand upwards, grasping, frantic, and feeble.

“Conroy! Come back, Conroy! You’ll get killed!”

#

Aiden threw himself up the ladder. He could hear Mr. Brand shouting at him, but the gunfire and explosions outside muffled the words. Just before he reached the top, Aiden looked down into his boss’s face. He saw a man he’d never met. A twisted, terrified face stared up at him. Muddy streaks framed Mr. Brand’s shuddering mouth.

“I’m all right!” Aiden shouted down.

Mr. Brand didn’t seem to hear him. He was looking around the hole now, shaking and reaching out to touch the walls. When he looked back up at Aiden, his eyes were hollow, empty of everything but fear. Tearing his eyes away from that face, Aiden turned to the mouth of the hole. Clouds of oily smoke sailed overhead and bullets whipped at the air. Aiden’s heart dropped into his shoes when he saw the viewer strap hung limp against the ladder.

The photo viewer had to be just beyond the shaft. If he kept down low, he could grab it and be back to safety inside of two seconds. Aiden looked down between his feet one last time. Mr. Brand’s empty eyes stared up at him, seeing nothing. Hissing out a curse, Aiden tensed to climb from the hole. He waited for the gunfire to break and sprang up, dodging around the split timbers of the ladder. He dropped flat and strafed his gaze around the hole, looking for the viewer. He spotted it as another mortar round whistled in.

#

Brand’s vision shook with the impact of the blast above. He clapped his hands to his head and tightened his guts. He looked up after the dirt stopped falling on him. The broken ladder extended from the mouth of the hole, but Conroy wasn’t on it. Panic rushed through his arms and legs and he flung himself at the ladder only to tumble backwards into a heap in the mud.

He’d been left to die again. Alone. They’d all gone over the trench wall and left him. All the young men he’d talked to about homes and wives, their mother’s cooking and their best girls waiting for them. Those boys never came back to the trench. They never showed up at Dearborn to meet him like they said. Never took him to meet their sisters or their wives’ friends. And how could they? Almost every guy he’d talked to in the trenches had been killed.

Brand shook and felt a shivering start in the seat of his pants. He looked around him and saw he was ass down and up to his hips in mud. With a disgusted grunt he pulled himself free, clinging to the rungs of the ladder in the trench wall. An explosion sounded above him and he put a hand to his belly, holding himself together like he’d learned to do. Like every man who’d stood in a trench learned to do if he wanted to sleep in clean pants. Brand let himself chuckle at the irony.

Debris came down into the trench and he put a hand over his head. A shower of dirt fell into the hole. Then something heavy came down, striking his hand and sending a dull ache through his fingers and wrist.

“
Aggh!
” Brand shouted, shaking his numb hand and looking around for a sign of what hit him. Nestled into the mud at his feet was a square leather case. A single lens, smeared with mud, stared up at him from the top of the case.

“No good for taking pictures with a black eye like that.”

Brand leaned down and scooped the case out of the mud. He rotated it and examined the metallic object held snug inside the worn leather jacket.

“What kind of dope makes a camera with no place for the film?”

A voice called down from the top of the trench in reply. “Did it break?”

Brand looked up, saw a kid’s face peering down at him, streaked with mud and what looked like blood on one side.

“Aw hell,” the kid said, his face bent around a frown.

“Conroy! Conroy, you’re alive! Get down here!” Brand climbed with all his strength, skipping rungs until he came eye to eye with the kid.

#

“Conroy. What’s it like out there? You made it back! Where’d you leave Jenkins and Gordon? Tell me they’re all right.”

“The photo viewer, Mr. Brand. I— Did it break?”

“What—” Aiden’s boss shook his head and cast his eyes around him, down into the shaft, up into the smokey sky, and then back into Aiden’s questioning face.

“Get in here you dunce!” Mr. Brand reached over Aiden’s shoulder and grabbed the heavy coat, pulling him into the shaft head first.

Aiden gripped the ladder and levered himself around his boss’s back. He walked his feet down the side of the shaft for support until they were in their original position, two startled men hanging onto a broken ladder to nowhere in the middle of a battlefield.

“Mr. Brand? You all right?”

“Yeah, Conroy. I’m fine. I’m fine.”

Aiden let his boss have a minute. Mr. Brand combed his fingers through his hair, scraping away dirt and splinters.

“How about that, Conroy? I thought—”

Aiden searched his boss’s face, watched it slacken and shift away from the tortured fearful mask it had been a moment ago.

“Mr. Brand?”

“Eh? Yeah, Conroy. It’s me. You did good getting this back for us,” he said, hefting the photo viewer. “Sorry I. . .I’m sorry, Conroy.”

Aiden took the praise in stride and ignored the apology. He worried more about what came next.

“Does it still work? I didn’t mean to drop it. Our good luck it wasn’t blown to pieces and then I go and drop it.”

“It works fine.” Mr. Brand fiddled with dials on the box and it gave a low hum.

Aiden flinched when his boss broke out in laughter and held the viewer out. Aiden took it and stared at the view screen.

He saw himself in snowy black and white reaching for the viewer, his face set and determined as a soldier’s.

“There’s a crab up there, Conroy. Now’s our chance to show the people what’s happening.”