The Cassidy Posse (32 page)

Now he was a judge awaiting a possible appointment to the federal bench. His station in life had risen far above Mike’s, but in two days their relationship seemed to be returning to childhood. Mike was totally out of place in a classroom but out on the street, he had no peers.

“Kevin, quit daydeamin’,” shouted Mike. “Get on board.”

The electric train had pulled up so quietly Kevin had not even noticed. Mike and Bockleman had jumped onto the grated metal gangway, pulling Sean Daugherty behind them. Now Mike was impatiently waving him aboard.

Karl Van Dersel, alias Mr. Simms, looked over the seat of the milk wagon he had carefully situated in front of Henry Bockleman’s apartment. To make things look natural, he had sent the driver to a few doors with a carrier full of milk bottles. Karl didn’t want to arouse any suspicion in the men slowly opening the glass door across the street. He was dealing with two detectives so he had to assume they were fairly observant.

Mike McGhan and Henry Bockleman descended the stairs and began walking north on State Street flanking their prisoner on both sides while a small, bookish-looking man followed a few steps behind.

“Okay, kid,” said Karl. “Let’s see if you can run as fast as you say. Tell that fat ass Van Ech the two dicks are walking north on State.” The street-wise teenager crouched behind him quickly exited the back of the wagon and disappeared into the mist.

Walking. They were walking in the fog. This would make it easier
, thought Karl. The smaller man with the horn-rim glasses would be the judge. His orders were quite clear on how the judge was to be handled. Kevin O’Day was to be removed from the scene of the crime but not harmed. The death of Mike McGhan and his partner would cause enough clamor. He had been told killing a judge would be unacceptable. It irritated Karl that they would even mention these little political nuances. He had the savvy to understand that if a judge from outside Chicago was killed, it couldn’t be handled inside the city limits. It would bring in outside investigators. Questions would be asked.

He employed two con men, Walter and Binky, to act as shills to draw Kevin O’Day away from the scheduled unfortunate attack by crazed German anarchists seeking revenge. They had given a creditable performance drawing Walter’s Aunt Edith away from the carriage so that he had Nell Quinn alone. Karl was using people whom he knew had proven themselves. He was taking no chances after the debacle in Wyoming. His highly placed employers had thought him brilliant when he devised his plan to dispatch Mike McGhan in the middle of a range war. He had turned the unforeseen escape of Sean Daugherty into an advantage. Then the unexpected turn of events in the mountains had led him to hire the unstable Kid Del Rio. Five hundred dollars in gold gone. No wonder his judgment was being questioned. Karl slammed his fist down on the seat in anger.

“Something wrong, Mr. Simms?” asked the terrified driver. The force of the blow had lifted him off the seat. Karl had given the milkman a hundred dollars to be part of the little charade, and he was sensing the man was already regretting it. He would be another loose end to tie up. Someone had said that dead men tell no tales. That was sound advice.

“Speed up a little,” Karl said, ignoring his question. “Keep close enough that you can see Walter and Binky.”

“Yes, sir,” replied the nervous driver. “Is this good?”

“Just don’t get so close that you can see McGhan through the fog. If you can see him, he can see you. If he sees a milk wagon behind him for several blocks, he will get suspicious.”

“Yes, sir, I’ll keep back.”

Walter and Binky were doing a fine job
, thought Karl. They were about fifty feet behind Kevin O’Day, pretending to be a couple of fine young dandies on their way downtown. They seemed to be carrying on a lively conversation and paying no attention at all to the group ahead of them. The taller, more assertive Walter was the perfect foil for the nervous, talkative little Binky. They were well seasoned for this kind of caper, having been taught the gentle art of the con by Aunt Edith at a tender age. Last night he had the whole outfit meet in a room at Berghoff’s to go over the final plans. Walter insisted on auditioning for the job by performing the pigeon drop right in front of the restaurant. While Karl and four other implacable killers watched from the alleyway, Binky smeared his face with whisky and pretended to be a drunk who passed out near the entrance of the restaurant. Walter knelt over his prostrate body and called over the mark they had selected. Binky had a roll of official looking negotiable bonds supposedly worth a thousand dollars. Walter appealed to the larcenous side of the mark’s nature by suggesting they split the bonds. The man was drunk, Walter reasoned. He deserved to get rolled. Unfortunately for Walter, he was on his way to catch a boat to Canada where, as the story goes, he would not be able to cash his half of the bonds. He offered his part of the loot to the stranger in exchange for all the money he had on him. That was only fifty dollars. Walter complained earnestly to the stranger that he was taking advantage of him, but he had to catch the boat and there was nothing he could do. Karl and his group stepped back into the alley as the gleeful mark walked by them counting the handful of worthless paper.

They all retired to the restaurant again where Walter used the ill-gotten money to buy drinks for the group. Karl had to admit he was amused. Walter and Binky were playing to a tough crowd; everyone sitting at the table was a multiple murderer. Walter was doing his best to assimilate into his new environment. He stated he was tired of penny-ante grifting. He knew Mr. Simms was connected to the highest level of power in the state. Binky, however, was uncharacteristically quiet. He seemed more intimidated by the company. Karl doubted that either one of them would hold up in a tight situation.

That is why Karl surrounded himself with four highly recommended assassins who would be stationed at the bridge. When McGhan reached the Chicago River, the bridge would go up. That always created a crowd. If you couldn’t manage an empty prairie to kill someone, a crowd would do. Stacked shoulder to shoulder in a sea of faces, the actions of a few assailants were invisible. Knives would flash and quickly disappear. Nobody ever sees anything or remembers anything. It was the anonymity of the crowd. It would never fail you. The only credible witness, Kevin O’Day, would be drawn away from the crime scene on some ruse by Walter and Binky. When the crowd parted, there would be three bodies lying at the foot of the bridge. Karl already had the pictures of known German anarchists that the right policeman would swear he saw walking down State Street moments before the crime. If everything went right, Karl would not even have to get out of the wagon. Unfortunately, because of his size, people seemed to always remember him.

Karl was startled out of his musing by an unexpected turn of events. McGhan’s foursome stopped a moment, conversed, and then crossed State Street right in front of the milk wagon. They were going over to Dearborn. They traveled only a short way before ascending the steps of the platform to the new elevated train. Karl was furious. He reached forward and pulled the driver off of his seat and discarded him in the back of the wagon like a child’s doll. Screaming obscenities, he took the reins and whipped the horses towards Dearborn. It was Wyoming all over again. The trap was set. Everything was in place, and then McGhan would inexplicably wander off course. Whether the Oregon Trail or State Street, McGhan could be counted on to take the road less traveled. This would be the last time, Karl assured himself. He would finish it here and now.

Walter and Binky had halted their pursuit at the bottom of the stairs. They stood there perplexed, waiting for further instructions. Karl waved for them to go up the steps. He jumped off the milk wagon before it had come to a complete stop and bounded up the stairs three at a time catching Walter and Binky before they reached the top. He grabbed them both and pushed them ahead of him towards the train that McGhan and his party had just boarded. They seemed to have no enthusiasm for tangling with Mike McGhan. Walter kept ahead but Binky tried to drop back. Running full tilt, Karl picked him up by his belt like he were a piece of luggage and jumped on the back of the train as it pulled out of the station.

Mike found a pair of empty seats towards the middle of the brand new electric rail car. Luckily there were only about two dozen passengers on board. The springtime seemed to encourage more people to walk. He pushed Sean into the first bench while Bockleman and Kevin O’Day filled in the seats behind them. The handcuffs pulling across the newly varnished wood made the first scratch in the oak trim. Most of the freshly painted green interior of the car was already covered with advertisements.

“All aboard,” shouted the tall conductor in a crisp new uniform as he made his way down the aisle collecting money and making change. When he got to Mike and Bockleman, they flashed their badges at the conductor, and he just smiled and nodded. The unlocking of Sean Daugherty’s handcuffs did not escape his notice. Mike rotated his hand on his thick wrist to get the blood flowing again.

“We heard about this new elevated train in Joliet, but I never thought I would have the opportunity to ride on it so soon,” said Kevin O’Day enthusiastically. “It seems so clean and uncluttered next to the conventional trolleys. How come it doesn’t have that tangle of electric wires on top?”

“We’re already about thirty feet above the street,” said Bockleman. “I guess stringing wires this high around all these building didn’t seem like a good idea. They use what is called a ‘third rail’ that runs parallel to the tracks this car is sitting on. You can’t see it from our seats here, but see that arm-like gadget?” Henry pointed to a long metal arm that extended off the side of the railcar to an electrically charged steel rail concealed beneath a wooden cover.

“Oh, yes,” said Kevin. “I see it.”

“It makes contact with the third rail and supplies the power to run the car.”

“Ingenious,” declared Kevin.

“Just so it get’s us across duh river,” said Sean drearily.

“Dun’t be frettin’,” said Mike. “It will get yuh to a nice, safe cell. Anybody tryin’ tuh waylay us won’t have expected us tuh get on this contraption.”

Henry Bockleman shifted in his seat and cleared his throat loudly. He realized it was little use waiting for Mike to give him credit for the idea.

The tall, gangly conductor made his way to the end of the car and, satisfied that everyone had boarded, turned and faced the passengers with a broad toothy smile. He reached up and pulled a cord twice, which signaled the motorman that he was clear to go. They had barely picked up speed when the congenial conductor heard a disturbance from the back of the train.

As Mike turned towards the rear of the car, he saw the conductor reeling backwards towards him. Bockleman, who was sitting in the inside seat next to the window, pushed Kevin O’Day out of his way and into the aisle. Kevin tried to move forward to avoid the off-balance conductor but was unsuccessful. The taller man tumbled over the top of the crouching Kevin and change spilled everywhere. The chaos was complete when the younger passengers scrabbled into the aisle to recover the coins. With the conductor no longer blocking his vision, Mike could see he had been pushed backwards by two men: a little man who seemed to be suspended in air and a taller, distinguished looking man. Mike recognizes them as two harmless street grifters known as Walter and Binky.

Harmless except the taller one had a gun in his hand. Mike saw that Bockleman had already drawn his big .45 caliber Schofield. Mike was reaching for his service revolver when a gigantic fist came from behind the two con men and smashed Bockleman in the jaw. The force sent Henry careening into Mike, preventing him from getting off a clean shot at the taller grifter with the gun. He fired off-balance and the bullet struck Walter in the shoulder. Screaming in pain, he dropped to the floor. Mike froze for a second in amazement. There was the giant from Wyoming. He had been propping Walter and Binky up as a human shield.