Chicagoland by Gail Martin (important books to read TXT) 📕

“That’s our working theory,” Ness admitted. “Which is why I hope you two gents can help us sweep up the mess.”

I glared at him. Ness had the good sense to look nervous. “You want our help? Then you level with us. Secrets get people killed. We’re either full partners and you share what you know—everything you know—or we get back on the train and go home.”

Personally, I kinda hoped Ness decided to be an asshole about it so we could leave before someone got hurt. We’d come up from Cleveland in Sarah McAllen Harringworth’s private Pullman car, and I’d be just fine going back home without getting bloody.

It didn’t help that Ness was a hotshot wonderboy as well as a Fed. I’d seen that sort get everyone around them killed, and while I wasn’t worried about myself, I didn’t dislike West as much as I pretended. West could be a real prick, but he was honest, smart, loyal, and a damn good shot. I could do worse for a partner on cases where I needed his government connections as much as he needed my monster know-how.

“I’m sorry.” Ness looked like the words tasted bad, but I was so surprised that he managed to say them that I let it slide. “I should have told you everything. You’re right. It’s just…I’ve had to play things close to the vest for a long time, not trusting anyone except my team…keeping secrets becomes second nature.”

West and I exchanged a look, and I saw that he was as dumbfounded by Ness’s unexpected change of attitude as I was. Maybe Ness wasn’t a complete asshole, after all.

“How about we go back to my office, and I’ll fill in the blanks,” Ness said, a peace offering. “It’s the one place in Chicago that I know for sure isn’t bugged. And since Capone’s boys want my head on a platter for sending their boss to prison, and the rest of the Mob wants to off me so I don’t come after them, it’s likely to be better for our health than standing around yakking in a back alley.”

West and I followed Ness, feeling more like bodyguards than partners. I intended to change that, fast, since I wasn’t kidding about hopping the next train to Cleveland if this didn’t shape up to be an equal investigation. I’d stopped being anyone’s lackey when I died at Homestead, and I wasn’t about to pick up where I left off.

I had no idea what to expect Ness’s office to look like, but I had a vague thought that it might be a posh place like a mansion’s drawing room, all wood-paneled walls, shelves of antique books, and leather club chairs.

Ness led us into a fairly new brick high rise, the Transportation Building. This was the headquarters for the team the press nicknamed “The Untouchables,” Ness’s hand-picked men who were immune to the Mob’s attempts at bribery and intimidation.

We rode the elevator to the third floor, and West looked as on edge as I felt. Ness might be a real hero, but I’d been disappointed in heroes before, so I reserved judgment.

The doors opened onto a floor with a small vestibule guarded by two heavily armed officers and a wall that closed off the rest of the space from easy access. A steel door made it clear that casual visitors weren’t welcome. The lobby’s gray walls and nondescript white floor tile epitomized government bureaucracy, completely devoid of decoration or personality.

The guards stepped aside, and Ness unlocked the door, ushering us on ahead, then closing and locking it behind him. I noticed the keyed deadbolt, presumably to keep Capone’s goons from getting in. I hoped Chicago managed to avoid having another epic fire because we’d never make it out in time. Fire was the one thing that could destroy me, and I didn’t want to find out whether a high rise burned as hot as a steel mill’s crucible.

Inside, standard-issue metal desks sat row on row, a dreary bullpen for Ness’s team who were part secret agent and part drudge accountant. Only three men sat at their desks, absorbed in their tasks, and they barely looked up when Ness entered.

Ness headed for an office against the wall, which showed no more hint of personality than the rest of the floor. His desk was the same gray-green steel as those in the main area. A diploma hung in a plain black frame on one wall. The functional blotter and desk surface devoid of clutter or personal objects made me suspect Ness was compulsively organized and probably equally good at compartmentalizing his emotions too.

He waved us toward two cheap wooden chairs and went around to sit behind the desk. The only touches that might indicate higher status were a high-backed swivel chair and a classy fountain pen, which I guessed might have been a long-ago graduation present.

“I used to think that catching Capone would be like grabbing the brass ring,” Ness said, with a note of weariness in his voice that was too strong to overlook. “Turns out, it’s more like slaying the hydra. Cut off one head, and more grow from the stump. Capone’s organization is tight. He’s in jail, but his lieutenants aren’t, so the machine carries on without him.”

Ness sighed, and I had the impression of a man who couldn’t abide loose ends. “My team might be incorruptible, but Eastern State is a big prison, and we all know there are guards who can be bought. Capone will find a way to remain in control of his operation from the inside. It galls me, but nothing’s a surprise anymore. I’m resigned to a long, messy mop-up. But I don’t know how to deal with the monsters he left behind.”

“The wendigo wasn’t the only problem?” West asked. He wore the “evaluating” expression normally reserved for witnesses who might or might not be hiding something.

Ness hesitated, then shook his head. “No. It’s just the one we’d gotten a good enough