right hand cradled the gun in his lap, pushing the muzzle against his belly. Eddie came in behind her. The door creaked slowly open. Eddie let his shock out in a whispered exhale. Emma stepped forward. She stepped to the desk, putting her fingertips in front of the brass nameplate that read Josiah Farnsworth, Owner . Emma stepped to one side, moving carefully to avoid brushing against the broken picture frames and scattered papers. She kept her eyes off the blood and focused on the gun instead. She gingerly lifted it from her dead father’s fingers.
“What in blazes are you doing, Emma Girl?” Eddie gasped, looking more haunted and harried than she’d ever seen him. Emma didn’t respond at first. Then time snapped back to normal for her. She took careful steps to avoid the debris around the desk, and marched for the door when she was clear of disturbing anything. Eddie followed close, ducking to hide behind her. They got back to the car and Eddie slouched in the front seat to completely hide from view.
“Lovebird, what…”
“Nitti did it. So I’m going to do Nitti.”
Eddie stayed down on the drive over to his place. Crossing the Chicago River, they could both hear the hum of the police airships overhead. Emma drove a steady course through the city, weaving a path away from her father’s plant and into the South Loop neighborhoods where Eddie lived. Airships circled the central districts and over the waterfront. Their searchlights cut through the small hours, slicing the darkness into curtains of night and shadow that threatened to peel back and release every one of their worst nightmares.
#
Brand settled himself back at his rooms. He kicked his shoes off by the door and enjoyed a few deep breaths in his favorite chair with his feet aimed at the radiator. The warm air just filled that corner and then dissipated into the surrounding cold of the room. He hunkered into the cushions, wrapping an old afghan around his shoulders and neck. As the first nods of sleep came on, he heard footsteps echoing in his mind as if in a half-dream, and then something heavy dropping to a wooden floor. Voices argued in Brand’s drowsy thoughts. A frantic hammering on his door startled him awake and sent him lurching up from the chair.
Foosteps, real ones, retreated down the hall. Somewhere outside, Brand heard a car engine revving against the cold. He went to the window. Outside two men in dark coats got into a long sedan. The door snapped shut and the car pulled away from the curb pretty as you please, like nothing in the world could be wrong. Brand watched it go, reminded of how Frank Nitti’s sedan had rumbled away from him in the yard outside of the Farnsworth plant. Was it Nitti’s car? He couldn’t tell for sure through the gathering snowfall.
The car slunk down the street, rounded a corner and was gone. Brand shivered as he stood by the window and moved to his chair. He’d lifted the afghan over his chest and then remembered the sound of something heavy falling to the floor. Muffled voices arguing, the pounding on his door. A body lay on the floor outside his door, wrapped in an old threadbare coat. Peeling back the blood soaked fabric, Brand saw a young face bruised so badly it was almost unrecognizable. But Brand knew it, he knew the boy it had belonged to before The Outfit took it from him and made it into a message. Brand learned to shut himself off in the trenches. Too many times he’d been forced to look into the dead faces of young men only moments after they’d told him about the girl waiting for them back home, or the baby brother or sister they hadn’t met yet. Just before they climbed over the trench wall and threw themselves into the arms of death. But they’d known what they’d signed up for. They knew the job could be deadly. Probably would be.
A newsboy’s gig wasn’t supposed to get him killed. It wasn’t supposed to end with him being taken apart by the mob just for shipping papers around the
“What in blazes are you doing, Emma Girl?” Eddie gasped, looking more haunted and harried than she’d ever seen him. Emma didn’t respond at first. Then time snapped back to normal for her. She took careful steps to avoid the debris around the desk, and marched for the door when she was clear of disturbing anything. Eddie followed close, ducking to hide behind her. They got back to the car and Eddie slouched in the front seat to completely hide from view.
“Lovebird, what…”
“Nitti did it. So I’m going to do Nitti.”
Eddie stayed down on the drive over to his place. Crossing the Chicago River, they could both hear the hum of the police airships overhead. Emma drove a steady course through the city, weaving a path away from her father’s plant and into the South Loop neighborhoods where Eddie lived. Airships circled the central districts and over the waterfront. Their searchlights cut through the small hours, slicing the darkness into curtains of night and shadow that threatened to peel back and release every one of their worst nightmares.
#
Brand settled himself back at his rooms. He kicked his shoes off by the door and enjoyed a few deep breaths in his favorite chair with his feet aimed at the radiator. The warm air just filled that corner and then dissipated into the surrounding cold of the room. He hunkered into the cushions, wrapping an old afghan around his shoulders and neck. As the first nods of sleep came on, he heard footsteps echoing in his mind as if in a half-dream, and then something heavy dropping to a wooden floor. Voices argued in Brand’s drowsy thoughts. A frantic hammering on his door startled him awake and sent him lurching up from the chair.
Foosteps, real ones, retreated down the hall. Somewhere outside, Brand heard a car engine revving against the cold. He went to the window. Outside two men in dark coats got into a long sedan. The door snapped shut and the car pulled away from the curb pretty as you please, like nothing in the world could be wrong. Brand watched it go, reminded of how Frank Nitti’s sedan had rumbled away from him in the yard outside of the Farnsworth plant. Was it Nitti’s car? He couldn’t tell for sure through the gathering snowfall.
The car slunk down the street, rounded a corner and was gone. Brand shivered as he stood by the window and moved to his chair. He’d lifted the afghan over his chest and then remembered the sound of something heavy falling to the floor. Muffled voices arguing, the pounding on his door. A body lay on the floor outside his door, wrapped in an old threadbare coat. Peeling back the blood soaked fabric, Brand saw a young face bruised so badly it was almost unrecognizable. But Brand knew it, he knew the boy it had belonged to before The Outfit took it from him and made it into a message. Brand learned to shut himself off in the trenches. Too many times he’d been forced to look into the dead faces of young men only moments after they’d told him about the girl waiting for them back home, or the baby brother or sister they hadn’t met yet. Just before they climbed over the trench wall and threw themselves into the arms of death. But they’d known what they’d signed up for. They knew the job could be deadly. Probably would be.
A newsboy’s gig wasn’t supposed to get him killed. It wasn’t supposed to end with him being taken apart by the mob just for shipping papers around the
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