Jack's Mess (Prt2 - Murder In Blue)

Jack looked at his watch. It was two thirty in the afternoon.
"What time did he say he'd be here?
"I told you, Jack, two twenty.
"Well, he's late. I'll wait another ten minutes, then I'm
leavin'. I still haven't eaten lunch.
"Hold on, replied Detective Gray. "I think I see him. Yeah
that's him, look at the third elevator from the left. Remember
his photo?
"Yeah, I remember. Keep your eye on him. You can bet he's
packin'. They all do.
Detectives Jack Carter and Jim Gray watched as the
informant they were supposed to meet that day walked toward
them and started his way down a long flight of steps to where
they were standing. As the man came closer, the detectives
could tell that he was very slight of stature at about five-foot
seven inches tall. Judging from the reputation this gangster had,
Jack expected someone much bigger than the person walking
toward them. Can't judge a book by its cover, I guess, thought
Jack, as he focused more now on the man's face. The closer
Louie Ancona got, the more prevalent a large knife scar
became. It was once a very deep wound on the left side of his
face, that ran from underneath his eye down under his chin. A
wide fissure of scar tissue that the awful cut left behind told its
terrible story, as the gash tried in vain to close and heal, but the
bearer of this wound seemed to wear it proudly.
"I wonder what the other guy looked like? whispered Jack
to his partner.
"He's dead, came a faint reply.
Suddenly, the gangster stopped his descent down the long
staircase. He seemed to smile as he made eye contact with Jack,
and began slowly to reach into the inside pocket of his black
suit coat. Without notice, or hesitation, Jack threw his coat back
to reveal the forty five caliber automatic he kept with him at all
times. Pulling it quickly from its holster, and aiming directly at
their informant's head, he pulled the trigger twice. The shots
were deafening as they rang out in the huge enclosed lobby of
the courthouse. Blam, Blam they seemed to say, as the terrible
echo which followed filled their ears with shock and pain. The
two projectiles found their mark, one in the middle of the
forehead and one square in the chest, and as the gangster lay
dead and bleeding, Jack and his partner strode up the flight of
steps to meet the body where it'd fallen.
"You sure don't like to miss, do ya, said a bewildered Jim.
Kneeling down, he put his hand under the man's head to find
out if there might still be a breath of life left in the body.
"He's dead, said Jim. "He ain't breathin' worth a damn.
"It's just as well, replied Jack. "He was goin' for his gun,
wasn't he?
"Don't think so. Look here. This is what he was pullin'
out, said Jim, as he removed a small box wrapped like a
present from the gangster's inside pocket.
"Looks like one a the shots went right through it. What do
ya want me ta do with it?
"Open it up, said Jack, insensitive to the entire scene as
usual. "The anticipation's killing me.
As detective Gray pulled on the curled gold ribbon to untie
its knot and tore away the red wrapping paper, he reached down
into the small box to reveal a man's ring.
"Look here, said Jim. "He musta spent some money on
this.
The white gold setting of the ring once held a beautiful blue
sapphire in place. So shiny was it that the two detectives could
almost see their faces in it, but now it was a shattered mess. The
second shot Jack had fired tore into the stone and destroyed it.
Like the broken fragments of a mirror, it reflected only garish,
distorted images and as Jack stared into it, even he felt almost
bad that he'd destroyed such a beautiful stone.
"Too bad, Jack remarked. "Give me a second to look at
that thing, would ya?
As Jack spoke, a small crowd of onlookers arrived at the
scene one by one to stare at the fallen gangster.
"Hey, there's an inscription on the inside, said Jack.
"Read it, what's it say?
"It says, To my new friend, Jack, from Louie Ancona.
"It was a kind of peace offering, wasn't it, said Jim. "He
must'a wanted to make a good impression.
"Guess so. Hey, look here, Jack said, as he pointed to the
top of the stairs at the elevators. "Don't we know him?
A tall, fierce looking man had emerged from one of the
elevators and stood looking around himself, eyes darting back
and forth, and finally, at the crowd that had gathered around the
detectives. His eyes locked with Jack's momentarily in what
seemed to be a kind of struggle for power and dominance, and
in the seconds that followed, Jack realized the familiar looking
man's intentions.
"Watch out! screamed Jack, as the angry onlooker threw
his overcoat open to reveal a deadly Thompson sub-machine
gun. Neither of the two detectives had time to get a single shot
off as the tall malevolent man began to spray the entire scene
with 45 caliber rounds. None of the crowd that had gathered
around Louie Ancona's body had time to take cover, as scores
of bullets found their mark in the bodies of the innocent. All
Jack had time to do was grab Detective Gray by the coat and
hide behind a wall at the bottom of the staircase. The two of
them watched in awe as the fifteen to twenty people who were
only moments before standing and gaping, now lay either dead
or dying. Whole chunks of the polished granite stone that made
up the beautiful motif of the lobby had become projectiles
themselves, as they were shot away by the raging storm of fire
power.
"You know that guy? asked Jim, nervously.
"I'm pretty sure I do. He was Louie's buddy and right arm.
They were always together. Figures he'd be here. I remember
seein' his mug shot, replied Jack.
"Wait a minute, said Jim cautiously. "I don't hear him
anymore. He stopped.
The two listened, but the gunfire had come to an end. Jack
slowly peered out from behind the corner of the wall at the
carnage all around him, and the two walked slowly up the
granite staircase with their guns drawn, stepping carefully
around the bodies and jagged pieces of stone.
"Where'd he go? asked Jack, as the two of them got to the
top of the stairs.
"There, replied Jim. "Look, he must'a made it down the
fire escape. You wanna see if we can catch up with him?
"Nah, he's too far ahead of us. Let's get back to the station.
His name's on the tip a my tongue, I just can't remember right
now.
It was only a short walk back to the police station, but
before going up to their third floor offices, Jim thought he'd
better notify the Baptist Medical Center.
"You go on Jack, he said. "I'll meet you downstairs. It's
not every day a bunch a people get cut down in front a you like
that.
"Yeah, right, responded Jack in a hasty tone. It just wasn't
like Jack to worry about how many deaths had just occurred or
how well the Chief of Police might take it. His instincts were
plain and simple and had nothing at all to do with emotions like
sympathy or pity for the dead and dying. Jack walked the steps
downstairs to the police archives alone, but that was just the
way he was. He was hunting now, and like any other selfassured
predator, hunting alone made him feel even more
secure and sure about himself. After all, he didn't want to share
in the act of killing if he didn't have to. For Jack, that was the
climactic end of the pursuit. He rarely brought people back
alive. There was always some excuse. He was about to draw on
me or he was about to run. Always some kind of excuse.
It didn't take long for Jim to catch up with his partner.
When he found Jack, he was pacing up and down the long aisles
like an animal in a cage, depleted of patience and growing more
irritable with each passing moment. Even though he was only
a few brief minutes away from finding the file he was looking
for, paperwork just wasn't Jack's forté.
"Why you gettin' so worked up? asked Jim. "We'll find
the shooter, he's here somewhere.
"I don't have time for this shit. Help me out would ya? If we
look up Louie here, we're bound to find a lead on that bastard,
said Jack. "There's a picture of them sitting together in some
restaurant here, I've seen it before.
"Taken by a reporter, no doubt, replied Jim.
"Yeah, you're right. It was a newspaper clipping from
about two years ago, in thirty-three, I think. As Jack finished
his sentence, he paused, put his hands around his waist and
looked around himself expressing his confusion. "Okay, he
continued, "where the hell do the A's begin?
"At the beginning, replied Jim mockingly, but he full well
knew that the archives were a vast collection of files dating
back before either of them had begun their jobs on the force.
Just the floor space they took up amounted to at least a thousand
square feet, and it was hard to tell just where they began and
where they ended.
"Just find Ancona and cut the crap. We got plenty to do
before the day's up.
"Okay, okay, said Jim. "I wanna find the bastard just as
much as you. Here, he continued, "here's Louie's file.
Jack couldn't wait to get Louie Ancona's file in his hands.
He hurriedly flipped through the pages of investigation until he
found what he was looking for.
"There he is, he said. "There's our man.
"What's his name?
"Let me read the story, hold on, said Jack. "Says here: Well
known gangster and alleged accomplice to Al Capone, Louie
Ancona enjoys a night out on the town with long time friend,
Frank Bari, photographed late last night at the Hickory Inn¦
"Frank Bari, Bari¦ain't he the guy who gunned down that
mobster last year? asked Jim. "What's his name? Cagliari,
Joey Cagliari.
"You're right. It took the best defense lawyer money could
buy to get him off. He should be doing time in the slammer.
Everyone knew he did it.
"What else does the article say? asked an even more
interested Detective Gray.
"It goes on to talk about how Ancona started out as a bag
man for Capone and graduated to hit man and bodygaurd.
"Hmmm, Capone musta trusted him. It's not every guy off
the street gets next to Capone like that.
"Trusted isn't the word, said Jack. "You know as well as
I do, Capone never trusted anyone. He liked him well enough to
move him up, that's all. But what I'm wondering is¦ Jack
stopped short in his sentence to think to himself and question
his attentive partner.
"Yeah, what are you wondering?
"What the hell were Ancona and Bari doing this far south
anyway?
"I don't know, replied Jim. "He kinda got shot in the head
before he could tell us.
"You feel sorry for that bum?
"No, but he was bringing you a present.
"Think about it, Jim. It was part of a pay-off. I'd put money
on it.
"Pay-off for what?
"For us ta keep our mouths shut while they start a branch of
the mob down here, that's what.
"Sounds good in theory, anyway.
"I'll bet I'm right too, said Jack. "'Course now, he said
smiling, "there's no way to tell for sure is there? What we gotta
do now is find Frank Bari an' give him some a his own
medicine.
"Jack, the right thing to do is to bring him in. Why do I find
myself in the same argument with you time after time?
"Because you don't know these guys the way I do, that's
why, replied Jack. "You're too soft.
"Jack, you know somethin'? You're as bad as the guys you
chase, you know that? Sometimes I think you're on the wrong
side.
"Yeah, sure. Look, said Jack, pointing at his partner with
his forefinger outstretched. "I'll do this alone if I got to. I don't
need you holding me back.
"Nobody can hold you back, said Jim. "That's the
problem. Today was a bloodbath and you're still not satisfied
are you?
"I'll just go it alone, said Jack, without looking back, as he
walked up the long flight of stairs to the ground floor and made
his way to the building exit. Jack was resolute in his conviction
to kill the killer he was after, and nothing, or no one, was going
to get in the way to prove otherwise.
A warm, rainy day in August waited for Jack as he stepped
outside. It'd been several weeks since he'd returned from
furlough and recovered from the accident he had in New
Mexico. His rib cage still felt sore, and from time to time it
reminded him of the day which very nearly cost him his life.
The day he learned of his one weakness, his mortality. Still,
Jack didn't feel at all deterred from the course of his actions. As
usual, instinct took over in him, and any and all fear of any
living man was quelled by the excitement of the hunt, and the
kill at the end of it.
Sliding behind the big wheel of his nineteen thirty-four
black Ford sedan, Jack drove himself to one of the well known
watering holes in town. It was a bar called Shay's Lounge on
Hull Street. He knew it might be possible to pick up some
information on his shooter from some of the seedier patrons he
had in mind to question, and as he walked in through the door,
he could smell the aroma of stale old beer mixed with body
odor. The heat of the summer worsened the effect, and filled his
mind with disdain for the barroom customers, as he reached
into his suit coat pocket for the newspaper clipping he brought
along with him. Finding a seat at the bar, he laid the article out
in front of him, and methodically smoothed out the curled
edges of the paper as if it were an important religious scroll.
"What'll it be? asked a curious bartender.
"You ever see this man? asked Jack, holding up the
newspaper clipping and pointing to the picture of Frank Bari.
"You come here ta talk or drink, mister?
"I asked you a question.
"You a cop?
In answer to the bartender's question, Jack said nothing, but
reached into his pocket, pulled out his badge and laid it on the
bar.
"This place is lookin' dirtier by the minute, you know that?
When I first walked in, I didn't realize just how dirty it is. I can
shut it down for ya for a few weeks, if you like. Give you a
chance ta clean it up and all.
"No, said the bartender, "we don't need that. I operate a
plain, simple business here, and I don't look for trouble. If I talk
to you¦ you know the rest, I don't have ta spell it out, do I?
"If you don't, you could have an accident right here, today,
said Jack, reaching into his shoulder holster, removing the
forty-five from underneath his coat and laying it down, muzzle
end pointed in the bartender's direction. "I don't have ta spell it
out, do I?
With a look of frustration and fear, the bartender stubbornly
began to give Jack the information he'd come in for. Any clues
as to the whereabouts of Frank Bari.
"Last Saturday night, I saw him come in here with another
guy. A little guy with a big scar on his face. Tough looking little
guy he was.
"Did you hear anything they were sayin'? Anything at all?
"Yeah, I did. Something about a hotel.
"The name, did you catch the name?
The bartender hesitated and looked around, searching for
anyone who might be watching or eavesdropping as they
spoke. "The Madison, somethin' like that. I couldn't tell for
sure. There were a lot a other people talking. Some of it
sounded like gibberish, ya know. That's all I know I swear.
"Here, this is for your trouble, said Jack, as he handed the
agitated bartender a crisp, new ten dollar bill. "And don't worry
about word gettin' around. This is our little secret. Just between
you an' me. There's just one more thing.
"What's that? I told you all I know.
"How about a scotch. On the rocks.
"What's a matter, mister, no twist? I got a wife an' two kids.
Please, you gotta go after this. I can't let anybody see me talkin'
to a cop. And you gotta get this gun off the bar, it's makin' me
nervous.
"Okay, okay, answered Jack, as he picked up the heavy
pistol and returned it to its holster. "I won't take long. The
sooner you pour the booze, the faster I can get outta here.
In two long chugs, Jack drank down the entire contents of
the glass, stood up and headed for the door. He doubted word
would leak to Bari before he could find him, but he was anxious
to begin his search. He knew it was only a matter of time before
he'd be called away and forced to give his attention to some
other crime, either in progress or after the fact, and
coincidentally, the time had arrived¦.
"Car fifty-eight, car fifty-eight¦ The police dispatcher
was calling Jack over his car radio.
"Shit, he said to himself. "Wouldn't ya know it. Just when
I'm gettin' somewhere.
"Car fifty-eight here, over, responded Jack.
"Lieutenant Carter, we've got a robbery in progress at the
First National Bank Of Montgomery on Union Street.
"Roger that, Jack replied. "I'm on my way.
This might be fun, Jack thought, as he rolled down the
window of the big sedan, put the car in drive and sped away to
the scene of the crime. Haven't been on a robbery case in a
while. I could use a change of pace.
Driving to the robbery scene, Jack calmly parked across the
street from the bank and watched as the crime unfolded before
him. He arrived just as two men with stockings pulled over their
heads were seen jumping into a dark brown, nineteen thirty
sedan, but instead of bursting out of his car with his gun in hand,
he decided to do something a little more unusual. Like a cat
with a live mouse, he decided to have fun and play with his prey
before destroying it, and as the three men sped off, Jack quietly
wrote out their license plate number on a scrap of paper he took
from his glove compartment, just in case he lost them in traffic.
It might be some time before they get where they're goin', he
thought. Better be safe than sorry.
Driving carefully behind the criminals so as not to attract
attention to himself, Jack allowed other cars in front of his and
slowed his vehicle down, making it appear that he was in no
great hurry. After a short five mile drive, the three fugitives
turned their car into the parking lot of the Flamingo Motel,
parked, and as Jack looked on from across the street, he could
see the driver get out of the car and walk into the motel office.
"It doesn't get any better then this, Jack said to himself, as
he removed his gun from its holster and checked its
ammunition clip. "All I gotta do is wait.
A few minutes later, Jack saw the driver come out of the
office and walk back to the car. His two friends each grabbed a
suitcase from the car and walked to their room on the second
floor of the motel. The driver carried a slender, light brown case
that looked familiar to Jack, and he suspected there was
something other than bank money inside it. It was the kind of
case you could conceal a weapon in, and Jack suspected it was
either a sub-machine gun or automatic rifle. He was only too
aware that at times, the cops were outgunned, and that was a
constant source of irritation to Jack, and to others as well.
Taking note of the room the three walked into, Jack didn't
waste time. He walked up to the second floor and prepared
himself. "It's show time, he mumbled, as he nonchalantly
adjusted his tie and straightened his suit coat. I'm a
professional, he thought, I gotta look like one if I'm gonna get
respect, and after brushing the dust off his shiny, black leather
shoes, he knocked cheerfully on the red motel door with the
barrel of his .45 automatic.
"Who's there? came an apprehensive voice from inside.
"It's the manager, replied Jack. "I got some room service
for you guys. Compliments a the house.
"Fine, just leave it there. We'll get it later.
"Sir¦ Jack hesitated as he searched for words. "There's
another problem. It's about your bill.
The three men inside the room stood looking at each other.
They all realized something was wrong, and neither of them
was about to take any chances. They knew if they were caught,
they'd go to jail for a long, long time.
"I told you we shoulda kept on drivin', whispered the
driver to one of the other men. "Now what the hell is this?
"Shut up an' put it together, replied the ringleader of the
group, as he pointed to the brown case Jack had spotted on their
way in. "I'll keep him busy. Get to work.
"We paid, didn't we? What's wrong now? answered the
criminal suspiciously, as he renewed his conversation with
Jack.
"You overpaid. You got five bucks comin' back to ya.
Dont'cha want it?
"Sure we do, replied the gangster, as he nodded to his
partner. "Just gimme a minute, I'm gettin' ready here.
As the leader of the group kept Jack busy talking, the driver
was hard at work assembling the pieces of a Browning
Automatic Rifle or B.A.R. The small-time hoodlums had
several, twenty round, armor piercing clips ready to go, and
they knew the rifle would come in handy if they met up with any
opposition, or anyone unfortunate enough to be standing in
front of them.
"Okay, announced the self-assured bank robber. "I'm
ready!
And just as he finished speaking, his accomplice opened
fire on the motel door, and anything standing behind it. Within
sixty seconds, the once thick, solid wood door had become a
splintered mess, with one huge gaping hole that had been shot
out perfectly at head height.
Standing in the smoke filled room, the lead criminal turned
to his two friends and laughed loudly as he slapped his knees
with his hands.
"So, he proudly exclaimed, now laughing hysterically.
"Where's my five bucks!? I'm waitin'.
After a few moments more of raucous laughter, the smoke
in the room began to clear and the three hoodlums stared at each
other in uncertainty.
"There's nobody there. How could I a missed? questioned
the shooter.
"Lucky for you, you did, replied Jack, as he came out from
behind the wall with his gun raised. "Otherwise, I couldn't get
you guys your change. Here ya go¦ take it, he continued, as
he fired one lethal shot each into the bodies of the misguided
bank robbers.
"Don't spend it all in one place now, said Jack, while he
calmly looked about the room. "Looks like we'll have to add
that messy door ta your bill.
What have we here, thought Jack to himself. An old B.A.R.
Finders keepers. I just might be able ta use this later on. Never
can tell.
And as Jack's gaze fell on the other suitcases the gangsters
were carrying, he knew he'd found what he was looking for.
Opening the latches on the cases, he looked on in awe at all the
crisp new bills, neatly wrapped in bundles of different
denominations.
Quite a haul, he thought. These boys have been busy.
"Gotta giv''em an 'A' for tryin', Jack said to himself, as he
slipped a bundle of hundred dollar bills into his pocket. "I love
this job, he remarked, as he walked out of the motel room with
all three cases in tow.
Getting into his car, Jack started on his way back to the
police station. Once there, he dropped the two suitcases of
money off with the police chief's secretary and walked his way
up to his third floor office in search of Detective Gray.
"Hey buddy, where ya been? asked Jack's partner, seated
at his desk and concerned that he'd missed out on whatever it
was Jack had been doing.
"Nothin' special. Bank heist, that's all. Just dropped off the
goods with the chief. What you been up to?
"Just sittin' here going through old files, lookin' for clues
on our guy, Bari.
"Find anything? asked Jack.
"Yeah, seems Bari has quite a long history a small time
crime. Nothin' really spectacular until he met his friend
Ancona.
"Then what?
"Then he turned killer like Ancona, only worse.
"What'd he do?
"Remember St. Valentines Day in Chicago? replied
Detective Gray. "Cops there think Bari was a gunner that day.
There were two hoods with machine guns. The cops know
'cause they picked up exactly seventy shell casings. Fifty from
one drum operated gun and another twenty from a clip the other
guy used. Is that bad enough for ya?
"I see your point, Jack said, now more impressed than ever
with Frank Bari's track record. "Then today was just another
day on the job for Bari. Nothin' out of the ordinary for a bastard
like that.
"You got it.
"All right, I got a lead on him today from a bartender.
Tomorrow, I'll head out to the Madison Hotel. He might be
stayin' there. If he's gone, maybe I can find someone who
knows where he went.
"What's wrong with right now? asked Jim.
"Gotta get some shut-eye. I'm beat. I'll see ya in the
morning, how's that?
Without waiting for an answer from his partner, Jack
turned, walked out the office door and left the police station for
home. The truth was, he had other things planned for this
evening that didn't include tracking down Frank Bari. There
was a big meeting about to take place on the outskirts of town,
and Jack very much wanted to be a part of the festivities.
The first thing Jack did when he got home was walk over to
the closet in his bedroom. It was there that he kept the white
sheet and hood which he wore to every meeting he attended
with his fellow Klan members. Since the end of the American
Civil War, every Klansman wore the robe, and every Klansman
knew the oath they had to take when they were sworn in. Jack
remembered the questions the Grand Wizard asked him like it
was only yesterday¦
Are you now, or have you ever been a member of the
Radical Republican Party?
Did you belong to the Federal Army during the late war,
and fight against the South during the existence of the
same?
Are you opposed to Negro equality, both social and
political?
Are you in favor of a white man's government in this
country?
But Jack's hatred was more far reaching than even these
questions could attest to. Jews, Roman Catholics, Socialists, or
any other person identified as a foreigner could be a target of the
Klan, and often enough, they were.
Tonight's meeting would be no different. Jack even knew
the night's itinerary. He was an important, trusted member of
the Ku Klux Klan and always did whatever was expected of
him. He liked it. It got his mind off work and the sometimes dull
routine of the day, but best of all, it was another outlet for his
bloodlust, and as he neatly folded the trademark robe and
placed it in the trunk of his car, he whistled a cheerful tune to
himself. This outta be a night ta remember, he thought, as he
turned the key in the ignition, put the big sedan in gear and
headed out of town for the city limits.
The boys in the Klan liked to refer to nights like this as a
double header, since there were two people to lynch instead of
just one. One of the victims was an unfortunate Negro who
happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. A Klan
member swore he saw him looking into a bedroom window in
an all white neighborhood, hoping, no doubt, to get a glance at
one of the men's wives while she undressed, but that was, of
course, a lie. The unfortunate black man had been hired on as a
handyman and was merely doing the job he was hired to do,
washing windows and maintaining the grounds of the home.
That not being a good enough explanation for most, (after all,
what good was the word of a black man compared to the word
of a white) the greater body of Klansmen believed they could
use him as an example, and send a message home to other black
folks, dissuading them from similar criminal acts. When in all
actuality, the whole concoction was just one more lame excuse
to lynch another innocent Negro.
The other man they intended to hang that evening was
thought to be a no good Jew. Since he drove into town in a big
fancy car, inspiring jealousy, and puffed away on expensive
cigars, he garnered suspicion from the start. The reality of the
matter was, the man was a traveling salesman for a farm
equipment company, and was only trying to make himself
comfortable while he endured the hardships of traveling for
weeks at a time. He was doing well enough to make ends meet,
but living beyond his means, stretching his budget wherever he
went, hoping to make the one big sale that would make up for
all the losses he incurred on his road trip. He was innocent of
course, the only crime he'd committed was driving further
south than he should have, and the star of David he wore around
his neck didn't do much to help his case.
Both of the men were being held temporarily in an out-ofthe-
way farm house owned by one of the Klansmen. For the
past two days, they were fed just enough to keep themselves
alive until the Klan could get word out amongst themselves that
there was to be a big meeting and initiation at the Willoughby
place just outside of town. Besides the hanging, the night's
festivities were not scheduled to end until the Klan got a chance
to welcome a new member into their own beloved, malevolent
group. All the members knew the young teenage candidate
almost as well as they knew his father, the prominent Sheriff of
Montgomery County. The young boy was surely the product of
his environment, and made his family proud of him by taking
part in those same traditions that got his father elected to office.
He knew the questions he'd be asked that evening, and he'd
rehearsed his answers well, but the one question that stood out
mostly in his mind was the one which very nearly assured the
success of his father¦ Are you in favor of a white man's
government in this country? Undeniably, he knew that when he
said yes in response, he was almost sure to be rewarded with
some kind of high level position in his future. After all, his
father had already paved the way, all he had to do now was walk
in his footsteps, and nobody had to coax him into doing it.
When Jack drove up to the Willoughby farm, he was
intrigued by the many cars he saw, all brimming with
enthusiastic people, anxiously waiting for night to fall. It was a
long time tradition of the Klan to become active at night and not
during the day, since after the civil war when riders dressed in
white sheets with white cardboard hoods, posing as the ghosts
of dead confederate soldiers. At that time, their main purpose
was to scare and admonish blacks into behaving themselves.
Klansmen threatened these people with more visits if they did
not. It didn't take long before the threatening visits became
more violent in nature. Whippings were used at first, and soon
after, lynching grew to popularity.
As Jack parked his car and walked around to the trunk to
retrieve his sheet and hood, he had to smile to himself as he
recalled an old tactic the ghostly riders used when the Klan first
took hold in war-torn Alabama. It wasn't rare for a single
hooded Klan member to ride to the home of a black family and
demand water from their well. After appearing to gulp the
water down, when actually he was pouring it into a rubber hose
that flowed into a leather bottle, he would demand more and act
as if he'd drank that also. This would go on until the thirsty rider
had appeared to drink several buckets, he'd then exclaim that
he'd not had a drink since he died at Shiloh, and ride off into the
night. That story always got laughs from the men when they
gathered at restaurants and bars, but meetings like tonight's
were not meant to inspire laughs, they were meant to be serious,
deadly serious.
Jack donned his robe now and walked to the barn with
another Klansman. They knew what had to be done now and
performed the task as smoothly as if they'd rehearsed it. With
guns drawn, they unlocked the barn doors and summoned the
two prisoners with a kick to the side of each.
"Get up, nigga, said Jack menacingly, as he pointed his
loaded Colt .45 in the black man's face. "You too, Jew boy, on
your feet. Nobody gives a shit if I kill you both right now, there
just won't be no show, that's all.
"Don't kill us, mister, implored the salesman. "I got three
kids at home, what are they gonna do without me?
"That's a cryin' shame, said Jack. "If they were here, we
could lynch them too, just like one big happy family!
With that, the two Klan members couldn't help but laugh.
Jack was proud to exert his wit over the downtrodden Jewish
man now standing before him, it made him feel superior.
"Get movin' boys, said the other Klansman, "You don't
wanna be late for yer own party now do ya?
"It ain't no party, replied the angry, harassed black man.
"Why sure it is, replied the Klansman, as he garnered a
smile. "It's a necktie party, an' the both a you gonna be the most
well dressed there! C'mon now, he continued. "Let's not keep
yer fans waitin'.
As Jack and his partner in crime pushed the two men out
into the waiting crowd, dusk had fallen over the town of
Montgomery, and the creeping darkness that followed seemed
to set the stage for the task at hand. Even as they walked through
the thick crowd of anxiously waiting ghouls, Jack and the
others could see the stage getting closer and closer, and the
cross which now burned over it lit up the night sky like a huge
bonfire. The two victims could clearly see the Grand Wizard as
he stood on stage with arms outstretched. One could have
mistakenly taken his posturing as a welcome to his two newly
invited guests, but the strange leader's malicious intent was
made only too clear to the revelers around him, as the gallows
behind him and ropes which swung in the cool night air would
testify. As the Grand Wizard spoke about the dangers of
allowing blacks to vote and live among good, law abiding white
people, his words seemed to blend, becoming meaningless
gibberish in the minds of the two men who awaited their fate.
Nervous tension, fear and the adrenaline which pulsed through
their bodies made it impossible for them to listen, as the Klan
leader's words droned on and on.
"¦And, my friends, continued the Grand Wizard, "we
cannot, and will not tolerate the Jew either, as we all know him
as the puppeteer. The controller. We cannot allow ourselves to
be victimized any longer by any Jew! We are the superior race!
Only we will govern over this fine country, and any stain on our
flag, he continued, pointing to a confederate flag waving in the
breeze by the side of the stage, "or blemish on the face of this
land will be dealt with severely, I promise you!
The crowd roared in approval of the Grand Wizard's
speech, and the anticipation of the event which followed
caused near hysteria as some of those in the crowd shot off guns
into the air and screamed with excitement.
"On with the show, on with the show, chanted the crowd,
again and again until the Grand Wizard gladly gave in to his
faithful followers and motioned for Jack and the other
Klansman to begin pushing the two unfortunates up the steps of
the stage. Lining each man directly under his respective noose,
Jack made sure the ropes were firmly tied and adjusted around
the necks of first the black man, and then, the Jew.
"Now my brothers, let this be a lesson to all who would defy
my grand wizardry or dare to undermine this great nation! And
as he finished speaking, with a wave of his arm, the Grand
Wizard gave Jack the order to drop the floor beneath the feet of
the two condemned men, causing them to dangle in mid air like
the lifeless puppets he made reference to, only this was no
longer a harmless metaphor, this was premeditated murder of
the first degree.
Soon after the cheering and loud laughter of the crowd
culminated and died down, the Grand Wizard again addressed
the gathering, and as he spoke, the young sheriff's son proudly
marched up the stairs of the stage and took his place in a chair
behind the Grand Wizard himself.
"¦and it is my esteemed pleasure here tonight ta introduce
to you a new member of the Klan. The son a the good Sheriff
Wilson.
More cheering and clapping ensued as the Grand Wizard
spoke and gestured to the youth seated behind him to come
forward. As the young man rose from his chair, he never gave
thought to the gruesome backdrop of corpses behind him, and
gladly greeted his fellow Klansman with a gracious wave of his
open arms. The boy was so adept that it seemed to the crowd as
if he'd spoken many times before in front of a large group, but
in fact, this was his first time.
"Thank you for coming here tonight! he said, and even as
he spoke, the Klan cheered him on. They could see the nerve in
the boy from the very start and at once, he'd become a favorite
in their eyes. "As you all know, he continued, "my father is a
highly respected man in this town. I have a lot to live up to
where his reputation is concerned, and with every new step I've
taken as a boy, I've done my very best to make him proud of
me. Interrupted by loud cheers, the teenager hesitated in his
speech. "But tonight is a special night to me, not just because it
marks the beginning of my destiny as a member of this proud
group of people, but because it means that God has given me
another chance, an open doorway to a better life, and another
way, I hope, to become the man my father always wanted me to
become, and the man I've always wanted to be.
The entire crowd now cheered at the top of their lungs to see
such fine attitude and deep moral conviction in a boy who had
this very evening, in their judgement, become a man. He
proved to be the envy of many of the older men, who could only
wish they had a son like him at home. One who could speak
with such ease before a large group and show such strong will
and determination. Molding and grooming himself to become
the perfect image of the Klan's ideals, he was a success.
"Now, son, spoke the Grand Wizard, "raise your right
hand and give your solemn oath that you will at all times, follow
and obey the laws of the Ku Klux Klan and all that it
represents.
"I do solemnly swear.
"And now, before us, give answer to the following
questions, continued the Grand Wizard.
Silent now, the boy stood ready to reply exactly as he'd
rehearsed.
"Are you now, or have you ever been a member of the
Radical Republican Party?
"No sir, I am not now nor have I ever been a member of the
Republican party.
"Excellent. Now then, asked the Grand Wizard, more out
of tradition than for any other reason, "did you belong to the
Federal Army during the late war, and fight against the South
during the existence of the same?
"No sir, never in my life would I.
"Very good. Are you opposed to Negro equality, both
social and political?
"Very much sir, I am.
"Excellent. Are you in favor of a white man's government
in this country?
"Sir, that is exactly what I'm here tonight to tell you. My
answer is yes, most assuredly.
"Then by the power vested in me, I do hereby grant you
membership rights and all the benefits of those rights duly
noted by myself and all other members of the Ku Klux Klan
here this evening, so help me God.
And of course, the entire crowd cheered the boy on with
loud cries and raised right arms. Fists clenched, and flailing
about in the air, for a short time, seemed to increase the
momentum and emotion of the crowd, but in the minutes that it
took the group to calm, the burning cross behind the Grand
Wizard had all but come to its fiery end. Slowly flickering now
in a last burning effort to recover its former glory, it died, and
as it did, the great throng of people began to fall from their
ranks, first group by group, and then finally, one by one.
The next day when Jack arrived at his office, he found
Detective Gray hard at work, deeply absorbed in police files,
continuing to look for clues or connections to the notorious
Frank Bari.
Jim noticed Jack's lack of interest in his paperwork when
he found Jack standing at the window watching the cars go by,
and the routine passing of pedestrians rushing back and forth on
their way to work, or to some other indistinct destination.
"You're gonna do something today ain'tcha? Or you just
gonna watch traffic all day?
"I'm just a slow starter in the morning, Jimbo, you know
that. I get the job done, don't I?
"Yeah, one way or another, I guess you do, answered Jim.
"By the way, the chief wants to see ya.
"What about?
"Don't know. I am but the messenger, replied Detective
Gray, as he leaned back in his chair and propped his feet up on
his desk. "All I know is, he said somethin' about a trip out west.
Ya might be gone for a few days.
"Great. What about catchin' up with Bari? We can't just let
the bastard run around loose.
"I'll do what I can, Jack, but people like that don't usually
take a cotton to gettin' arrested. I can't make any promises.
"What ya gotta do is put those files down and get out there
on the street, that's whatcha gotta do, said Jack. "I'll see ya
later.
All the talk about Frank Bari got Jack worked up, and as he
left Detective Gray's office, he didn't mind slamming the door
behind him for exclamation. Whatever the chief had in mind
for him to do meant that he'd lose more time looking for Bari,
and that put Jack in a most ornery mood. When Jack arrived at
his boss' office, he found him quietly reading the newspaper,
drinking a cup of coffee. That also seemed to irritate Jack at a
time when he was feeling the urgent need to move quickly on
the number one issue on his mind; to track down Frank Bari,
and destroy him.
"Don't just stand there, said Chief Thomas Ryan. "You're
making me feel uncomfortable. Why the anxious look on yer
face anyway? Sit down.
"It's Frank Bari on my mind, that's all. I hear ya got a job
out a state for me an' it's just gonna take my time away from
catchin' up with him.
"That'll have to wait, Jack. What I want you to do is even
more important. Here, continued Chief Ryan, "have a cigar,
it'll calm ya down.
Jack leaned back in his chair as he lit the big cigar and
disquietly puffed away on it.
"There now, said the chief, "you look better already. Now
hold on ta yer hat, this is what I got in mind. You know those
two crazies, Bonnie Parker and her boyfriend, that no good
Clyde, what's his name?
"Barrow, replied Jack. "Clyde Champion Barrow. A
pretty rough little guy, I hear.
"Damn tootin' he is. He got more weapons then the police
armory, an he ain't afraid to use 'em either, on anyone,
continued Chief Ryan. "I can't say how many a those notches
on his machine gun was cops, they ain't no way a knowin' right
now.
"Don't tell me, said Jack. "That's who you're sendin' me
after? Them two?
"You got it. But you ain't just goin after 'em. Orders are ta
kill 'em on sight, an' that's just what you gonna do. You'll
cooperate with the Louisiana and Texas State Police an' I want
this ta go as smooth as possible. You'll be representin' us back
here in Montgomery, so you jes' follow orders an' everything'll
be okay, do I make myself clear?
"Yeah, said Jack, lacking enthusiasm in his voice. "I read
ya.
"All right then, answered the chief. "You leave tonight,
an' by the way, he continued.
"What's that, replied Jack, as he stood up from his chair to
leave.
"This here is just between us. Nobody else gotta know.
Read me?
"What about Gray? He knows don't he?
"Gray is sworn to secrecy, don't you worry about him. He's
a good man, by the way, you lucky ta have him for a partner you
know that? You neva know, he might save your ass some day.
You are a kinda cowboy, you know.
"That's what they tell me, said Jack, as he walked out of
the office and closed the door behind him.
When Jack got back to his desk, he found Detective Gray
putting on his hat and coat, getting ready to leave the office.
"Where ya off to? asked Jack.
"Off ta fight crime, where do ya think?
"I didn't know you'd take me seriously, but anyway, there's
somethin' I gotta talk over with you.
"About your trip? Where they got ya goin'? I don't know
for sure.
"You won't believe it, answered Jack. "I'm off ta
Louisiana. Gonna help the cops there kill Bonnie an' Clyde.
"You gotta be kiddin', replied Jim. "How many men they
need anyway? Hell, it's just the two a them.
"I know, said Jack, "but with all the hardware those two
carry, they're a little bit harder ta stop than just two people.
"You be careful out there, said Detective Gray. "You're
gonna need somethin' more than that pea shooter you carry
around too. Ya got any ideas what you can take?
"I do, replied Jack, as he reached under his desk for the
slim brown case he acquired from the bank robbers he
dispatched.
"Damn! remarked Jim excitedly. "Where in hell did you
get that? That's an automatic rifle ain't it?
"You know it. Got some real fire power now. I shoulda got
me one a these a long time ago, but, Jack continued, "better
late than never right?
"Hey, next time you come across somethin' like that, keep
me in mind, would ya?
"I will, but in the meantime, if you're goin' looking for Bari
by yourself, you oughtta at least stop by the armory an' get
yourself a twelve gauge. You know what that scum'll do if ya
give him half a chance. Saw off the end like the bastard
gangsters do an' carry it under your coat, that's my advice ta
you, Jimbo.
"I'll keep that in mind, said Jim, as he adjusted the hat on
his head and walked out the door.
I wonder if he knows what he's up against, thought Jack, as
he leaned back in his chair, propped his feet up on his desk and
shut his eyes. Jack knew he had a long night of driving ahead of
him, eight hours at least, and thought he'd better get some shuteye.
If I'm tired when I get there, he thought, I won't hit the
broad side of a barn. I'm gonna leave a lastin' impression on
those State boys, or my name ain't Jack Carter. And soon after
that, Jack fell into a deep sleep. The thought of killing always
perked up Jack's mood, and although he rarely felt fear, he
knew especially he had nothing to worry about when he killed
in the name of the law. That thought appealed to Jack very
much, and especially rested his mind.
When Jack awoke, it was late afternoon. Walking to his
office window, he watched as the sun cast its long shadows of
nearby buildings and trees, and then, looked on as the soft glow
of twilight turned from dim to dark. Time to get movin', thought
Jack. "The show must go on, he uttered to himself, as he
opened the case of the disassembled automatic rifle one last
time to check it. "We were made for each other, Jack said to
himself, as he lightly caressed the blue metallic gun barrel.
"We'll make beautiful music together, you'll see, he
continued, closing the case and snapping its latches shut.
Putting on his overcoat, gun case in hand, he walked calmly
out of the building to his waiting black sedan. Delicately, he
placed the case beside him in the front seat of the car, like the
proud father of a newborn child, or the caretaker of some other
type of cargo, equally as precious. Starting down the road,
headed west, he felt relaxed and well rested. The kind of clear
mind and boundless energy one feels after a perfect night's
sleep. A cup of coffee was all Jack needed to top off his
exuberant mood, and so coming across the first diner in sight,
he stopped for a cup to go.
"What'll it be, mack? asked a burly looking man from
behind the long counter. "We got a burger special tanight. What
do ya say?
"Not hungry, said Jack. "Just black coffee ta go, gotta get
movin'.
"Oh yeah, where ya headed?
"Near Shreveport.
"Got family there? asked the inquisitive cook.
"No, sir, replied Jack. "Only family I got is in the car out
there.
"I don't mean ta be nosy, mister, said the cook as he
poured out Jack's coffee, "but I don't see nobody in that car a
yours.
"They're just restin' that's all, replied Jack. "How about
that coffee?
"Sure thing, replied the cook. "You come back now, you
hear, he continued as Jack walked toward the door, "and next
time, you bring your family along. We a family type a restaurant
here!
"I'll do that, answered Jack, as he walked out of the diner,
took a deep breath of warm night air and resumed his journey.
Earlier that day, late in the morning when Detective Gray
left the police station, he'd taken Jack's advice and went
directly to the police armory. He knew he needed something
more impressive than his police issued forty-five if he was
going to go up against the likes of Frank Bari. The officer in
charge of munitions was standing behind the chain link fence
that separated the armory from the rest of the archive space in
the basement, when he saw Jim Gray walking towards him. Jim
had a desperate look on his face and wasn't entirely pleased
with the mission he was faced with.
"What'll it be, Gray? How can I help you today? asked
Officer Grady. "We aim to please, he continued jokingly.
"That's our motto here. Hey, someday I'm gonna write that on
the wall there, he said, as he pointed to a blank spot on the
concrete block wall behind him.
"Cut the crap, Grady. You wouldn't believe who they got
me runnin' after if I told ya.
"So, what ya want me ta do about it. It's a cold, cruel world
out there, buddy.
"Tell me about it, replied Jim mockingly. "Look, I need
some fire power. Whaddya got?
"Tell ya what I'm gonna do, ya say you're not satisfied, ya
say you want more for your money¦
"C'mon, c'mon, I ain't got all day, replied Jim, at a loss for
patience.
"Okay then, the good lieutenant wants fire power, does he?
Let's see now¦ Officer Grady stood for a while in a
thoughtful pose with his hand on his chin as he considered what
weapons he had available.
"I got one Thompson with a fifty round drum, said Grady,
"but you're gonna need the chief's signature for it.
"I can't waste any more time, said Jim. "What can I get
right now?
"I got a regular cornucopia a rifles and shotguns. Take your
pick.
"I'll take a twelve gauge.
"Very well then. Shall I wrap it, sir?
"Ha, ha. Just gimmie three boxes a shells an' I'm outta
here.
"Here you are, sir, replied Officer Grady, as he handed the
gun and ammunition through the now open chain link door.
"You have a good day now.
"My day'll improve when I'm done with this bastard, said
Jim, as he turned away, walked up the basement steps and
headed for his unmarked squad car. His destination, the
Madison Hotel.
Driving up into the parking lot of the hotel, Jim looked for
an inconspicuous place to leave his car, and decided on a spot
behind the building, as much out of view of any pedestrian as he
could find. He sat for a while and leaned his head back, staring
at the ceiling of his car, wondering to himself how he'd gotten
into this mess to begin with. But at the same time, his strong
sense of duty and justice took over in his mind, as he opened a
box of shotgun shells and dumped them into the pockets of his
long overcoat. Better take another, he thought to himself, as he
poured out another box of twelve gauge shotgun shells, filling
his pockets to the brim. The next step of preparation was, of
course, loading the weapon itself, and Jim methodically
unlocked the long barrel and deposited one shell in each side.
The last step of preparation was the one he dreaded most, that
being the life or death struggle which was about to ensue.
With the long, bulky weapon under his coat, Detective Gray
walked around to the front of the hotel and made his way to the
office. An aged attendant was sitting behind the front desk,
reading a magazine and chewing on the remnants of a cigar that
was, with all due regards, ready for the trash weeks before.
Looking up, he finally noticed the lieutenant standing before
him.
"Didn't see ya standin' there, he said. "Kinda crept up on
me didn'tcha. Need a room, sonny?
"No, said Jim solemnly. "Don't need a room. I'm a
detective, he continued, as he took out his badge and held it up
so the old man could see it better. "I'm lookin' for someone, I
think you can help me.
"Oh yeah, how so?
Removing the newspaper clipping he was carrying with
him from the inside pocket of his overcoat, Jim laid it on the
desk before the attendant, hoping he'd recognize the hatchetfaced
gangster in the picture.
"Ever see this man? asked Jim, pointing to the small photo
of Frank Bari. "Take your time now. Look real close.
"Hold on, lemme get my specs, answered the old man.
"Can't see worth a damn no more. Hmmm, he went on,
"seems ta me I seen him come in here, yeah. So what?
"He's a fugitive of the law, that's so what. Let me put it this
way, if you don't help, I can run ya in for aiding and abetting a
criminal, obstruction of justice, and the list gets longer the
longer I'm left standin' here. Should I go on?
"No need ta get all hot under the collar now, sonny, replied
the attendant as he fumbled with his glasses and put them back
in his shirt pocket. "I'll tell ya what I know, just gimmie a
minute here.
Reaching under the counter, the old man pulled out the
heavy hotel register from its shelf and deposited it in front of
Detective Gray with a loud thud, as if to emphasize the weight
of the matter at hand.
"I know now, just gimmie a minute. I remember I put him
on the first floor somewhere. Oh, what's his name? I'm tryin' ta
think. Wait, I remember. I put him in room six, here he is¦
Joey Cagliari. Yep, that's his name.
"That ain't his name, but I bet you're right, replied Jim.
"You want me ta knock on his door an' see if he's in? We
can find out right now if ya want to.
"No, said Lieutenant Gray. "Just let me have the key to his
room. I'll find out. He's armed and dangerous. Believe me, he
continued. "You don't wanna be around. Just stay here. You're
safer right where you are.
Walking down the concrete path to room six, the weight of
the shotgun Jim carried began to wear away at the endurance of
his grip, and as he put the key in the door and turned its lock
counter clockwise, he could feel the strain of the weight now
beginning in the top of his shoulder and running down the
length of his arm. Listening, as the tumblers of the lock came to
rest, he slowly turned the door knob and opened the solid core
wood door. To Jim's surprise, sitting in his underwear on the
bed was the man he'd been looking for, face epitomizing the
life of crime he'd led, scraggy and jagged in appearance,
wearing an expression of disbelief, he rolled quickly off the bed
and reacted more suddenly than Jim could ever have expected.
Before Detective Gray had time to raise his tired arm and aim,
Bari had already picked up his sub-machine gun from the floor
beside his bed. The terrible noise that ushered from the muzzle
of the weapon sounded like a rag tearing, as the forty-five
caliber slugs found their mark in the lieutenant's body. One by
one, the entry wounds they left gave rise to little circles of blood
on his clothing, and little by little, the circles grew wider and
wider. Finally dropping the shotgun he came in with, still
standing near the door, Jim looked down at his own body, and
for a brief moment, ran both of his hands over the wounds.
Then, with eyes fixed on his assailant, and an expression on his
face that seemed to say, How in the world did this happen to
me? he dropped to his knees, and finally, fell prone to the floor,
face first.
When Jack arrived in Sailes, Louisiana, he met the posse of
officers from Louisiana and Texas that had assembled along
the highway, and were ready and determined to kill the two
notorious gangsters, Bonnie and Clyde. They knew the couple
would soon return from a party at Black Lake, Louisiana and
had concealed themselves in bushes along the road. Jack
wasted no time, and soon after introducing himself, he knelt on
the ground, opened the gun case he carried with him and began
to fit the pieces together.
"Damn! said Texas Ranger Frank Hamer. "Those are sure
hard to get. That's a B.A.R. ain't it? Do ya mind my askin' how
ya come across it?
Hamer was the oldest man on the posse at forty-six years
old, but he had achieved the rank of captain, and at two hundred
thirty pounds, standing at six-foot three, he was almost as big as
Jack. He had an eye for weapons and noticed right away that
Jack was packing the most fire power of all the men in the
group.
"I guess you could say I acquired it from a gentleman who
no longer had any use for it, replied Jack, with a smile.
"Dead, huh? Well, we got use for it right here, that's for
damn sure. C'mon, Captain Hamer continued, "get that thing
together an' take up your position. No tellin' when they'll be
here.
It was early in the day, about 6:00 a.m., and the only noises
anyone heard were the rustling of the leaves on the trees and the
lyrical mating calls of unusual indigenous birds. But suddenly,
the sound of a noisy nineteen thirty-three sedan could be
distinguished over the clamor of nature, and the team of police
officers, with fingers on their triggers, sat patiently waiting for
the unsuspecting pair as they drove peacefully down the dirt
road.
"Nobody fire till I say, whispered Hamer to the rest, as he
gently squeezed the trigger of his rifle a little more firmly than
before. Some of the men nodded to acknowledge the order, and
all were transfixed on the slowly moving target, coming closer
and closer, but still just out of range.
At last, when the car moved up just in front of the long
hedge of shrubs and bushes, Captain Hamer of the Texas
Rangers motioned to the posse of well prepared officers, and a
hail of bullets rained down into the solitary vehicle, killing both
of its passengers instantly and without mercy. There was no
time for a fair trial in the case of Bonnie and Clyde, they had
killed far too many civilians and police officers for far too long,
and for all the many times they'd struggled violently with the
law, they paid with their lives.
After a quiet, solitary celebration with a bottle of booze and
a good night's sleep, Jack began the long drive back to
Montgomery the next day. It was another beautiful summer day
in the south, and driving along with the car windows down all
the way, inhaling the pleasant, fragrant air as he drove, Jack
noticed in the distance, walking by the side of the road, the lone
figure of a woman. As he got closer to her, he could see her
beautiful blonde hair and make out the flowery print on her
light, nearly translucent summer dress. Deciding he had
nothing better to do, and becoming bored with the arduous task
of driving for many miles, Jack pulled up alongside the shapely
young woman, and asked her if she needed a lift.
"I was hopin' you'd say that, responded the pretty
hitchhiker. "I been walkin' for hours an' my feet are ever so
sore.
"Climb in, said Jack, as he opened the passenger side door
to help her into the car. "What ya doin' just walkin' along
here? he continued, questioning her more out of boredom than
of true interest.
"I ran away, she replied. "Couldn't stand my daddy no
more. That bastard hit me with a switch for the last time. I
promised myself I just wouldn't take no more.
As she turned to look at Jack to express her emotion on the
subject of her father, he couldn't help but be impressed by her
natural beauty and grace. Even though she wore no make-up to
embellish her skin and facial features, many a man would have
done all in his power just to touch her hand and sit next to her,
and as the sun shone through the car window, Jack couldn't
help noticing the outline of her breasts in the light dress she
wore, as they only seemed to exemplify the rest of her stunning
body.
"Well then, said Jack. "I'd say you did the right thing, if he
was such a bastard an' all. So, he went on, "where ya headed?
"That all depends¦ she said coyly.
"Depends on what?
"Depends on where you're goin'. The young girl tilted her
head slightly and pouted her lips as if to intimate her idea.
Ignoring her subtly, Jack responded by saying, "I'm headed
east to Montgomery. Outta be there in about five hours. You're
welcome ta come along for the ride if ya want.
"I'll just take you up on that if you don't mind. Neva been
ta Montgomery.
"Got any kin there? asked Jack, wondering what she was
going to do in town after they arrived.
"Not that I know of, she replied, "but who knows, they
might be some Anniston's that daddy just neva talked about.
"Might be, said Jack. "Anniston's a big name in Alabama.
What's your first name?
"Dora, she replied, as she looked out the window at the
slowly passing scenery. "What's yours?
"Jack, he responded.
"Well, Jack, she replied, turning her body in his direction
and resting her left arm on the back of the seat as she spoke.
"It's a long way ta Alabama, continued Dora, slipping off her
shoes to make herself more comfortable. "What can we do ta
keep ourselves from gettin' too bored?
"We can eat lunch pretty soon, said Jack, still unwilling to
read between the lines. "There's a diner I passed on my way
here, not too far ahead. I'm so hungry, I could eat a horse. What
about you?
"I guess I could eat somethin', she said, moving her body
closer to Jack's. "But that's really not what I had in mind.
"Look, Dora, said Jack, bringing the car to a complete stop
now, and turning his head in her direction for emphasis. "I'm an
officer a the law, a detective with the Montgomery police
department. That's all that's goin' through my head right now,
my job. My job means a lot to me¦in fact, it's everything to
me, he continued. "Do you see my point?
"I get it. You one'a those men that's married to his job, ain't
you, she said, as she moved back to her original position in the
passenger seat. "Must be lonely.
"It's all I need Dora, but I will say this¦
"Yes?
"You're a mighty pretty young lady. Mighty pretty indeed.
"That's what people tell me mostly, she said, leaning her
head against the car door and closing her eyes to rest.
"Wake up, Dora, we're here, said Jack, nudging her left
arm to rouse her. Jack parked the unmarked squad car in the
police station's lot, hoping Dora would wake up quickly from
her nap so he could get moving to his office. It was about 6:00
p.m. when they arrived, and the night shift of officers were on
duty now.
"What? she said, looking up at him and rubbing her eyes.
"Where are we?
"Montgomery, like I told you, remember?
"Okay, yeah. I remember, Dora answered, as she slowly
recalled the events of the day. "Well, what do I do now? Reckon
I'm on my own, ain't I?
"I can't do anything ta help that Dora, but here, replied
Jack, reaching into his pants pocket and taking out his billfold.
"Take this twenty dollars an' get yourself a room. That's about
all I can do for ya.
"Thank you, she said, pulling up on the door handle and
letting herself out. "Thanks for the ride too. It ain't like me ta be
ungrateful. Thank you kindly.
"You're welcome, replied Jack, now getting out of the car
himself, making his way to the long flight of concrete steps in
front of the police station. He turned and watched as Dora
walked across the street to the nearest hotel. Don't know what
that girl's gonna do, thought Jack to himself, but it just ain't my
problem. Walking into the building, he strode up the two flights
of stairs to his office, took his coat off and rested for a moment
in his chair. It was a long drive back from Sailes, and he was
feeling tired now.
"Hey, Jack, said Officer Atkins, rapping his knuckles on
the open door of Jack's office. "I saw ya come in. Mind if I sit
down?
"Pull up a chair, said Jack. "What's on your mind?
"It's Jim, said Atkins, in a somber tone.
"What about him?
"He's dead.
"What? How? How'd it happen?
"He went after Frank Bari alone. Never should have, he
continued. "Body's at the morgue. I never seen so many holes
in a man in my life. Getting up from his chair now, Officer
Atkins leaned his body against the wall, next to Jack's office
window. "He got more shot up than that bastard, Dillinger,
said Atkins. "Only a machine gun could'a done that.
"You're right, replied Jack, staring down at the floor.
"Only a machine gun.
The next day, Jack arrived at the office early. He needed
ammunition for his rifle, so the first thing he did when he got to
work was visit munitions. After filling six magazines with 30-
06 shells, Jack got in his car and headed for the Madison. He
knew Frank Bari had to have left the hotel, but he needed to
question the manager and search the room for any clues he
might be able to find.
"Lieutenant Carter, said Jack to the manager, as he
showed him his badge. "Looking for a Mr. Frank Bari.
Remember him?
"How could I forget, answered the old man. "Shot my
room up, killed a cop an' left like his pants were on fire. You
wanna know where he is right?
"That's the idea. Did you ever have much conversation
with him? Did he ever talk about his interests?
"A little. He bragged about what a great pool player he was,
but that's about it. You ain't fool enough to go after him, are
ya?
"That's what I do, old man. I bring down bad guys, said
Jack ironically. "Got the key to his room?
"Here ya go, sonny, said the attendant, handing Jack the
key to room six. "I hope you know what you're doin'.
Saying nothing in reply, Jack's only response was to turn
and walk out the door. Time was of the essence now if he was
going to catch up with Bari.
Opening the door to room six, Jack proceeded to search the
room for anything that might be of help. He stood momentarily
in the same spot where Detective Gray had been shot and killed,
and couldn't miss the massive blood stains on the carpeted
floor. Musta lost half the blood in his body, he thought, as he
knelt down to get a closer look. Next, Jack noticed the many
spent shell casings strewn all over the floor by the opposite side
of the bed. There was no need to examine them further, he
thought, as he knew only too well where they'd come from. He
could also see that some of the bullets Bari fired had ended up
lodged in the door, some had passed through Gray's body and
made only slight impressions in the solid oak door, but some
were projectiles that missed their mark and were much more
deeply embedded.
Sitting on the edge of the bed now, Jack opened the drawer
of the night stand and noticed a copy of the New Testament.
Picking it up and leafing through it, he found a flattened out
book of matches from the Hull Street Bar & Grill. "It's nice to
know he's read up on his verse, said Jack aloud to himself.
"He'll need it where he's goin'.
Realizing this could be the break he was waiting for, he got
up from the bed and headed for the door, closing it shut without
so much as a glance behind him, he dropped off the key at the
hotel office and walked quickly to his car. It wasn't in Jack to
reminisce or feel remorse for the dead. He never did feel the
pain of others, as he felt none for himself.
Jack thought it was highly likely that he'd find Bari at the
Hull Street Bar since they not only served food and alcohol, but
they had a number of pool tables as well. Parking behind the
restaurant, he calmly put the pieces of the M1918 automatic
together and attached a filled magazine firmly in place. In broad
daylight, Jack carried the rifle with him as he walked around to
the front of the building to the restaurant's vestibule, and with
one grand display of boldness, pushed the door open and stood
in full view, eyes scanning the small crowd of patrons for what
he hoped would be, his target for the day.
Spotting Bari at the bar drinking, Jack screamed with
malice to the quietly seated criminal, "Bari! and waited for a
reply. As he put down his drink, customers fled from the scene,
some running to the rear exit of the restaurant made it out the
door to safety, but some tried to hide behind walls and tables
and became trapped in the fierce gun battle that was about to
follow. With the sudden swiftness of a cobra about to strike,
Bari pulled out a long barrel thirty-eight revolver from his
shoulder holster and jumped behind the nearest pool table in the
room. Almost simultaneously, the two gunmen shot at each
other and missed their targets. Jack's thirty caliber rifle shells
exploded into the leg of the pool table, sending fragments of
wood flying into different places throughout the room, and
Bari's first few shots came dangerously close to Jack's right
arm and head, whizzing past him and becoming lodged in the
wall behind.
For a full twenty minutes, the gun battle raged on, Jack
kneeling on the floor, with two spent magazines laying beside
him while Bari, who had reloaded his revolver many times, sat
motionless now, gun in hand, waiting for Jack to make his next
move.
"Give it up Frank! yelled Jack, now feeling overconfident
of himself. "You don't have a chance.
One shot, just one shot more came from the gun Bari held
in his hand and found its mark in Jack's chest, tearing its way
into flesh, surging past bone and cartilage until it tumbled one
full revolution inside Jack's body and exited from the back of
his neck. Now bleeding, and in great pain, Jack lay dying,
staring at the ceiling, silently wondering to himself what went
wrong.
Getting up from his position behind the pool table, Frank
Bari stood up and walked over to where Jack lay in a pool of his
own blood.
"What's a matter, cop, cat got your tongue? Don't look so
brave now, do ya punk, said Bari. And as Jack looked on,
unable to speak or lift his limbs, Bari took aim at point blank
range and finished the job he'd started, sending three more
slugs into Jack's upper torso until he was absolutely sure there
was no life left in Jack's body.
Leaving Montgomery and driving north, Bari made a hasty
retreat back to his home town, back to more familiar turf, and
the acquaintances he'd left behind. For days he traveled, doing
his best to avoid the law at every diner and hotel in his path until
finally, he arrived at his destination: Chicago, Illinois.
As Carl Sandburg put it so aptly, "¦They tell me you are
crooked and I answer: Yes, it is true I have seen the gunman kill
and go free to kill again. A credo for some to live by it seemed,
Frank Bari was no exception to the rule, and as he pulled his car
up to the curb near the intersection of State Street and Madison,
a familiar voice spoke out to him¦
"Frank, hey, Frank, you old son-of-a-gun! How was your
vacation?
"Oh, Eddie, said Bari, surprised. "I didn't expect ta see
you here. A little out a your jurisdiction aren't ya? What's up?
"Just comin' back from lunch, that's all. Hey, continued
the officer, "they got a surprise for ya down at the station. I'm
sworn to secrecy, I can't tell ya what it is.
"Go ahead then punk, keep me in suspense. I'll see ya
later, said Bari, smiling to himself as he got back into his car.
He would have stopped for lunch, but his curiosity got the
better of him and instead, he drove the rest of the way back to
the Chicago Police Department, Precinct No. Two, where he'd
embarked from. When he arrived, two other officers met him at
the door.
"Go on up ta the chief's office, said one of them. "He's got
a surprise for ya.
Now more curious than ever, Bari walked up the single
flight of stairs to the police chief's impressive wood paneled
office and rapped on the door.
"Come in, said Chief Clanton. "C'mon in and sit down.
Good ta see you, Frank. How was furlough?
"Good, good. Could'a been a little more restful, but all in
all, I can't complain.
"You know, Frank, the captain went on, "when you first
started here as an informant, I had my doubts about you. You
know how it is. Who knows who you can trust, am I right? the
chief of police gestured with his hands to articulate his
thoughts, hoping to placate the man now sitting in front of him.
"Yeah, replied Bari. "That's for sure.
"But you've helped us so much recently¦ well, I just
wanna say, welcome ta the family. C'mon with me, continued
the chief, rising from behind his desk and taking Bari by the
arm. "I wanna show you something.
"Oh, wait, said the captain, stopping in the hallway they'd
entered. "You did get that Carter bastard right?
"I got him. I got him good.
"Great, said Chief Clanton. "We don't need crooked cops.
I don't know how many people that son-of-a-bitch killed. You
really deserve this promotion, Frank, he said, as he opened the
door of the office in front of them. Freshly lettered on the
translucent glass of the door, Bari read his name and new title
aloud, "Lieutenant Frank Bari, Second Precinct.
"Hey, I like it, said Bari. "I like it a lot.
"Good, good. Now you get ta work, an' don't lemmie catch
ya standin' around the water cooler either! joked the chief, as
he turned and walked back down the hallway to his office.
Removing his coat, Bari hung it on a rack that stood in a
corner of his new office, and gently sat down at his desk chair.
Just as Bari was getting settled in and feeling at home, a knock
came at the door.
"Hey, Frank, said Eddie, the officer he'd met on the street.
"Got a minute?
"Sure, c'mon in. What's the problem?
"Oh, same old shit. It's hell out there on the street, he
continued. "Nuts runnin' around shootin' each other.
"Tell me about it.
"We really got our work cut out for us, replied Eddie.
"I'll bet, said Bari. "I'll just bet.