FRANK JAGGER Rum Runner

Copyright (c) 2018 by Randall R. Peterson ALL RIGHTS RESERVED This is a work of fiction. All persons, locations and actions are from the author's imagination or have been used in a fictitious manner.

FRANK JAGGER

Rum Runner

By R. Peterson

I talked a pal with some extra flashbulbs into lighting up the back entrance of the Black Cat just as the Honorable G. A. Grumley, one of Bugsy Moran’s stooges, staggered out at three am with a bearcat wrapped around his neck like a mink coat. The judge swore he’d have me and my newspaper friend locked up for eternity, but I was hungry and his wife’s divorce lawyer had already paid me for the eight by ten glossies.

I stopped by the Hyde Park Candy Store; I’d had a sweet tooth for weeks and figured I’d better feed it now before my landlord found out about my cabbage and took every leaf for rent. I ignored the racks filled with Double Zero Bars, Milk Duds and Nut Zippers and slipped behind a curtain in the back that hid a set of stairs going to the basement. I fed the door guard a sawbuck, and then another because he remembered me from before, and after being bounced off a concrete wall a few times I found myself combing my hair inside Clide’s Oasis … and looking for a place to park.

-------2-------

The joint was like hard corn in a hot pan. Jelly Roll Morton was banging a piano onstage while three air-tight ­­­­­­­­dames danced the shimmy. When they finished, a take-your-breath-away Sheba the MC introduced as Kit Malone slinked onstage in a sequined pastel-green chiffon dress. A hopelessly in love string quartet stared as she crooned Am I Blue? I was at a packed table with friends and I knew she was singing the song just for me. My heart melted and made a puddle on the floor. I guess I was obvious. The club-bouncer, a six-foot three-inch Cigar Island gorilla called Willis the Yo Yo Florez, bigger than the one who had welcomed me at the door, walked over and slapped my head down hard on the table. “Look, but don’t touch,” he warned, “no echar pila!”

I don’t speak Cuban, but the message was clear. Dames like Kit Malone always belonged to someone. My head hurt but when I glanced at the songbird again she smiled … and it was all worth it.

The next two acts were great, but I’d already been to the top. There was a hole in my wallet and I don’t mooch off friends so I said my goodbyes. I didn’t want to dance with Yo Yo again … so I left by the back door.

-------3-------

My mind was elsewhere I almost walked past a leggy silhouette smoking next to some wooden crates. When she spoke I fell into love although I was scared out of my mind.

“You’re Frank Jagger aren’t you?”

I looked up and down the alley, then said “Yes.” wondering how Kit Malone knew my name.

“I need your help,” she said. “My little sister is missing.”

“Have you been to the cops?” She was even better looking up close.

“No. I think my fiancé, Angus McGooganheimer, is somehow connected to her disappearance. He and the chief of police are … too friendly.”

When she said Angus, my blood ran cold. Why couldn’t her mass murderer boyfriend be just another mobster? The Scottish/German gangs weren’t as established as the Italian or Irish mobs in Chicago but what they lacked in organization they made up with sophisticated weapons and violence. Machine-gun McGooganheimer ran the top painting business in in the city. The only color he used was red and even the big boys like Capone and Moran left him alone.  The chief of police was no doubt on McGooganheimer’s payroll and even he wouldn’t mess with the madman from Berlin.

“Are you afraid of my boyfriend?” Kit smirked.

“I’m afraid of anyone with five or more syllables in their last name,” I told her.

            “What makes you think dear Angus is involved?” I couldn’t help myself; I was scared and jealous.

            “Molly warned me about him. She said he and his associates were under investigation by the F.B.I. … and that he was very dangerous.”

I wondered how her little sister had so much information.

            “Right after she came up missing, I heard Angus talking to the sea captain whose ship is anchored in the bay. He said he didn’t want Molly touched before she could be interrogated by someone named Hermann Goring in Berlin.”

Kit was getting closer. I didn’t know if it was her … or me. “How long before the ship leaves?”

            “Tomorrow night!” I could feel her breath ticking my ear. Her lips brushed my cheek. “I don’t have a lot of money. Angus pays for everything. I do have a small allowance that he gives me to buy clothes.” I felt her thrust a wad of bills in my hand … I glanced at the hundreds and fifties. I felt like scum because a gentleman would tell a lady to keep the dough … but I still took it.

Kit finished her cigarette then leaned forward and kissed me just before she opened the door. Her lips were like some soft, new electrical sockets wired for pleasure. It was like Christmas morning when you’re ten years old and I wanted to open my presents. My head wasn’t just swimming; it was going over Niagara Falls in a barrel.

 “Please help me; you’re the only one I can trust.”

I was lost in her green eyes as she pulled away and I almost forgot to ask. “What’s the name of the ship?”

            “Der Rum Runner,” she said … and then she was gone.

-------4-------

            I went back to my office and hoped my phone hadn’t been shut off due to non-payment. The wad of bills Kit gave me turned out to be two thousand dollars; that was some allowance! I set out to learn all I could about Der Rum Runner. I still had a few friends who worked on the docks. So I greased a few palms and word came back like lightning: She was a two-hundred ton merchant vessel with German registry. My contacts doubted if she was running cheap rum into Chicago. She would have been boarded a dozen times moving through the inland waterways. My best guess was that Der Rum Runner would be loaded up with high value Canadian whiskey (perfectly legal) that would later end up (illegally) in Miami. The question was why Chicago when she could have been loaded anywhere along the coast north of Maine.

            To find the answers I needed I had to get on board the ship. While I was wondering if I should go through with this and thinking up a plan, my landlord, Duke “the paws” Albertson barged in and pressed me for the back rent. He was a boxer in his former life and his fists suggested that I couldn’t say no. He left with two hundred bucks of Kit’s money. I tried to get some sleep; the best time to sneak aboard the ship would be after midnight.

-------5-------

It was two am. I had the cab drop me off two blocks from the waterfront. I didn’t want to wake anyone who might be sleeping. If the driver noticed my face and hands were smeared with black shoe polish he didn’t say anything. I slipped him a ten. I hid behind some crates when I got close enough to the Rum Runner to watch. Guarding a ship at night is lonely work. I watched for cigarettes being lit and hoped to see a bottle passed around. After an hour, I was sure there were only two sailors guarding the vessel. Everything was dark moving shapes that were distorted by light from the moon. The guards walked in opposite directions around the outside of the deck every fifteen minutes. When they met near the gangplank they’d have a drink or two from a bottle they pulled out of a ventilation pipe. The booze looked about half full but I wasn’t close enough to be sure. I hoped the tiny vial of knockout drops I’d brought along would be enough. I wanted them to fall asleep quickly but when they were away from each other. If one went down in sight of the other they might sound an alarm.

There was a cluster of pipes and I wasted precious time finding the right one. I found a bottle of Specht Pampelmuse schnapps two feet down resting on mesh wire. It was closer to two-thirds full and I didn’t know what to do. Damn teetotalers! The knockout drops might not dope this much booze and I was afraid to pour any out in case they noticed. I decided to compromise I took three large drinks and then emptied the vial into the bottle. I replaced it in the pipe and just made it back to the crates before they returned.

I cursed silently when they returned and didn’t drink or the time after. I was thinking I might have to come up with another plan when they finally pulled the bottle out of the pipe. Almost immediately they began arguing each one accusing the other of sneaking back for an extra drink. They ended up fighting over the bottle each one wrestling the minty booze out of the others hands and chugging like they were desert camels leaving a last oasis. When they realized they were still working they pitched the empty bottle over the side. I watched as each guard marched triumphantly off in opposite directions; then I waited.

Fifteen minutes later only one guard returned and he was staggering as he sang

“Am Brunnen vor dem Tore.

Da steht ein Lindenbaum.

Ich träumt in seinem Schatten

So manchen süßen Traum”

I couldn’t wait any longer so I hit him from behind with a length of broken wood from one of the pallets the crates rested on. He went down easy with a smile on his face. “Rest easy,” I whispered. “Drink from that fountain, open the gates and go home.”

-------6-------

I couldn’t find the other drugged guard. I figured he must have had a secret place where he slept off the booze. After searching half the ship, I found Molly Malone tied up and gagged inside a small cabin on deck. She cursed when I pulled a dishtowel out of her mouth. “What the Hell took you so long? Didn’t you get the message I sent to headquarters?”

I was staring stupidly. She had her older sister’s good looks but her hair was darker and her eyes were a vivid blue. The cranberry-red lipstick around her mouth was un-smeared. “You’re not an agent are you?”

I introduced myself and told her I’d been hired by her sister. “We’ve got to get out of here now,” I said. “It’s almost dawn and at first light the docks will be crawling with trouble.”

            “A secret compartment in the hull of this ship is filled with chemicals and lab equipment that can be used to make a type of mustard gas ten times more powerful than that used in the Great War,” she said. “We can’t let McGooganheimer and his associates get their hands on it!”

            “What does a cheap thug like Angus want with mustard gas?”

            “Most of the illegal clubs in the city are in basements,” Molly said, “with no windows and only one exit. It’s the perfect setup to gas your competitors out of business with no damage and take over their establishments.”

            “What’s Germany’s interest in seeing someone like Angus take over Chicago?”

            “All nations are on the verge of economic disaster and Germany has its own gangsters,” Molly said. “Men like Heinrich Himmler and Rudolph Hess have grand ambitions to eventually take over the world. Establishing a foreign base at the center of America’s railroad system would give them a great military and political advantage. The National German Worker’s party has been supplying McGooganheimer with machine guns and advanced weapons for years.”

            “What do you want to do?”

            “Blow this ship up,” Molly said. “There are more than a hundred clock timers hidden in the hull connected to explosive packs that they were going to use in the clubs. All we have to do is attach a few charges to the fuel tanks and set the timers to go off at the same time.”

All I wanted was get her and myself off the ship. I agreed to attach three of the timers to the fuel tanks in the prow while Molly took care of the stern. We agreed on 4:19 AM as the detonation time. It was already past four we were cutting it close!

I finished by 4:10 and went looking for Molly. I had a hard time finding the stairs to the fuel thanks. I was just starting down when I heard her voice. “Looking for someone?” she smiled from the railing on deck. “You finished?” I asked.

            “Of course! I’ve been waiting for you!”

Just then a door behind Molly opened and the guard I’d drugged earlier stumbled out of a storage room. “Wie vermasseln wir dies so schlecht?” he yelled as he grabbed her from behind. Molly struggled but the brute had a knife at her throat. Strange, but she looked too calm.

            “Leave me behind!” she told me. “I don’t have time to explain!”

I lunged toward them just as the German pulled her back inside the room and slammed the door. She wasn’t resisting enough. I beat on the metal with my fists but the bastard had it locked. I could hear what sounded like a conversation going on inside. “Get away from here now or I swear I’ll kill you myself,” Molly screamed through the door.

I looked at my watch … five seconds left! I waited for another second before I vaulted toward the deck railing. I thought I heard the door open behind me. Three seconds!” I leaped on the rail and glanced at my watch as I jumped. Two seconds … and I was falling. I thought I heard two splashes just before I hit the water, but it must have been my imagination. I was swimming down when a horrendous flash of light, and then a second one, lit up the harbor bottom like a desert. The resulting concussions tumbled me end over end through the water.

-------7-------

            I was half drowned when I climbed a ladder onto a pier about a quarter of a mile from the explosions. It looked like half the shoreline was in flames.  The sun was just rising and the sound of sirens and flashing lights made the whole scene look like some kind of nightmarish dream. I walked back to the carnage and stood in a crowd of rubberneckers as several bodies were pulled from the wreckage; most were burned beyond recognition.

It took almost two days before I could sleep; when I finally did I couldn’t wake up. I didn’t want to face myself in the mirror and felt like a louse for leaving Molly behind. Guilt kept me inside my tiny apartment and I stopped eating. It’s hard to live with yourself when even you hates you.

I got a phone call from detective “Dutch” Winze. I could see his smile over the phone and smell sweet onions on his breath. He told me a case of Royal Canadian whiskey had been recently discovered in the trunk of a vehicle registered in my name. (My Minerva Town Car had  been in a police impound lot for over two months.) He urged me to turn myself in, but he hoped that I wouldn’t. My arraignment on the new charges was the following Tuesday before you-guessed-it … the Honorable Judge G. A. Grumley.

Finally the next day, after posting bail, I got a post card in the mail; there was no name and no return address … just a cranberry-red lip print with the words give this to Kit written under. I cried and I promised her that I would do just that.

I smiled as I walked downtown for a cup of Joe. The day was looking better.

THE END?