Brown College Question 3B
Oct. 28th, 2009 12:42 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
foolish_m0rtal
“Honey, of course I knew who he was. Everyone knew who he was. They called him Mr. Clean in the Chicago underworld. He never left evidence behind that pointed to him or who was behind the job. Best goddamn hitman in the business. And then one day, he just disappeared.”
- Mrs. Joy “Beretta” Butterworth, 1924
“Ma, where did I come from?” I’d asked once before I was old enough to know any better.
“The Vlasic Stork brought ya, Sunny,” Ma had replied hazily and took another swig from the bottle. I’d heard she’d been one pretty dame once, before the liquor and pills had sucked it out of her. She’d started taking the pills after her boyfriend Brawny left for some lumber job in Canada and never came back. She hadn’t worked for ten years, not since poor Betty Crocker next door had been killed in a hit and run. Betty had been the closest Ma’d had to a friend, so she’d taken it pretty hard. I earned most of our income now, working at the grocers and doing jobs for Lucky down in the General Mills district. Ma would’ve had a fit if she found out. If she ever found out what I was doing this time.
I was at Boyardee’s for lunch. The chef over there was one of the guys I could go to if I needed information or a crew for a job. Boy was I gonna need some of both this time.
“Ernie Keebler.” Boyardee repeated as he put the steaming plate of Spaghetti-O’s in front of me. “Sunny, what do you want with him? The man is filth.”
“He’s also taken over half the companies in Chicago,” I shot back through the pasta I was shoveling into my mouth. “Or did Green Giant shoot himself in the back of the head five times? Did Quaker’s car blow up because he forgot to change his oil? Don’t futz with me, Mr. Boyardee. We all know he’s pickin’ off the chairmen and buyin’ up their businesses.”
“But you cannot just kill the most powerful man in Chicago.” Boyardee looked up and over my shoulder. “Horatio! Talk some sense into this woman.”
‘Horatio’ sat down next to me at the table, and my back snapped straight instinctively. He was a retired navy captain who had been wounded fighting the Soggies in World War I. He and Boyardee had been living together for almost ten years, not that it was anyone else’s business but their own. I was scared stiff of him.
“Captain Crunch,” I said politely.
“Ms. Sun Maid,” he growled back. “What’s got Hector upset this time?”
Now I was no squealer, but I trusted this fella. “I…I’m doin’ the hit on Ernie Keebler, sir.”
He nodded, drank his scotch, and slammed it back down. “Good for you.”
“Horatio!” Boyardee looked shocked. “It is madness, too dangerous. She is only a girl.”
“She and Morton and Robble are the best we’ve got on our side,” and it was the first time he had ever said that out loud, the first time he’d admitted there was a side, there was an ‘us.’ “And I don’t like Keebler stinking up my streets.”Boyardee still looked disapproving.
The door bell dinged. Speak of the devil. “It’s raining outside,” said Morton and shut her yellow umbrella. Robble came trailing in after her. He looked so small and gangly. No one would think he was the notorious Hamburglar who had stolen near half the loot in Chicago. No one would ever suspect any of the people in this seedy little bar were what they were.
“Mr. Robble, Ms. Salt,” the captain said and took his scotch over to the table of people playing cards so we could have our privacy.
“Found more information.” Morton sat down and slid a blurry photograph over. “Keebler’s henchmen. They do all his dirty work.” She pointed. “Pop does the artillery and sniping- he’s the one that took out Green Giant. Crackle does all the fireworks- the car bombs and the arson. This is Snap- he’s the muscle of the group. The bone breaker, the interrogator. Do not futz with this guy. He’s insane. ”
But Robble didn’t have her patience. “We can’t take them alone- we need more guys. Did you find…you know, him? Did you tell him what we were doing? Is he going to-”
“-Yes, I did.”
‘Chiquita never told you about your Pa, and Brawny never knew. She was…scared. They say he never left a trace of himself behind in Chicago,’ Aunt Jemima had said once, looking as solemn as I’d ever seen her. ‘But he did. He left you.’
That had been three years ago. Three years of working for information and following up on any lead I could get. So I could find the man that couldn’t be tracked. Mr. Clean. My real father.
I finally found him in July of 1924 at a bar in Alton meticulously cleaning up the crumbs from his lunch with a paper napkin. He stuck out with his shaved head and the gold ring in one ear, and I was hit with the fact that this guy was really Mr. Clean, the most legendary hitman in Chicago. Somehow, he knew it was me.
“You have her hair,” he said without looking at me as I casually sat down and ordered a drink. And then, “Seems I’ve been hearing a lot about you lately. The Trix robbery, the Domino district fraud- Little Caesar sends his best, by the way.”
He acted as if he’d been expecting me. I wanted to ask so many questions, to accuse. I wanted to punch him for walkin’ out on Ma. But the job. This was about the job. “We need your help,” I said through my teeth. “If you’ve been keepin’ such good tabs on me, you’ll know the job I’m workin’ now. And you know we need people. We need you.”
“I can’t,” he said, looking tired. And that did it. The way he thought he could just say no and get out after all this.
“He’s destroying Chicago! He and Milburn Pennybags've got a monopoly on everything from the banks to the damn cookies in our lunchboxes! You know how many people’ve died? How many of your pals have died?”
“I can’t go against Ernie Keebler, Sun,” he said, and there was a suspicious finality in his voice that stopped me.
“You work for him,” I said numbly, everything making so much sense now. “You work for Keebler.”
“They were going to kill you and your ma if I didn’t,” he said. “What was I supposed to do?”
“You! No, don’t!” I stood up angrily and almost knocked over my gin as I saw him open his mouth. “Is this the famous Mr. Clean? They still talk about you in Chicago, you know. Do they know you’re just some scumbag’s lap dog?” I fumbled with the Colt revolver in my pocket. He worked for Keebler. He knew I was doing the hit. He-
“-I haven’t told anyone,” he said, his eyes going to the hand in my pocket. “I’m not gonna.”
I let go of the gun and pointed my finger in his face instead. “I don’t back down from a job. I’m takin’ him down. And I don’t care if I take you down with him.”
He nodded, his eyes cool. For a second, I thought there was gonna be a fight. Then surprisingly, he smiled. “That’s my girl.”
I slammed down my money and walked out, angry at this man I had thought I could feel proud calling my father. This sap that was too pathetic to even fight back.
“Sun.”
I turned around. He was staring into his empty glass.
“I won’t be around here for long. They’re doing construction at the factory in Chicago. Really noisy, you know.”
A silence. “Is that the best you can do?”
He looked remorseful. “Yeah.”
Bushwa.
“He’s not gonna help us,” I said. “But he did tell me Keebler’s factory here is gettin’ some construction done, so I think we should plan for two weeks.”
“What do you mean he’s not gonna help us?” Robble burst out. “He’s Mr. Clean! He’s-”
“-He…needs to lie low,” I said, surprising myself by lying. It was better than the guy deserved. The bar door opened, and I instinctively ducked close so Morton could quietly put away the photos of Snap, Crackle, and Pop. I looked over to the table of people playing cards and caught Captain Crunch’s eye. He nodded stiffly once. Well, at least we had one guy at our backs—never thought it would be him. “Look, Boyardee can get us other guys. We don’t need him. Just…stick to the plan. Stick to the job.”
“Oh yeah!” the guy beside Crunch shouted drunkenly and slammed down his cards.
“Kool-Aid, would ya shut up? You’re not even winning, geez.”
And I wheeled around on the stool, because I knew that voice.
Mr. Clean was standing there in a low brimmed hat and white coat smiling at us tentatively. “I figured I should be doin’ the hits instead of puttin’ them out.”
I must have looked like a dope. “You…I didn’t…”
He sat down on my other side and signaled for Johnnie to get him a whiskey. “Didn’t think you would be doing the job. Got me thinkin,’ what you said back there in Alton.”
“This doesn’t get you off,” I muttered, looking away. “Keebler’s not gonna let this go. He's gonna take you down with him. We can't protect you.”
He nodded slowly. “I know. But I’m not gonna have my daughter do my dirty work for me.”
I just stared at him. It was the first time he’d called me his daughter. Just when I’d decided I wasn’t gonna have anything to do with the guy. I wondered where he was staying in Chicago, if he was planning on seeing Ma again.
He smiled. “So, where are we?”
Morton got out the pictures again and spread them across the table. “We hit ‘em in two weeks.”
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Date: 2009-11-03 04:37 pm (UTC)ILU SO HARD MAN
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Date: 2009-11-03 06:07 pm (UTC)I tried really hard to cut out as much as I could, because I didn't want to submit some huge thing they wouldn't read.
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Date: 2009-11-04 05:59 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-11-04 06:09 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-11-04 04:37 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-04-02 01:27 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-04-04 12:10 am (UTC)Sure, I'm glad you like my stuff and would be quite alright with you adding me to your friends list. ^_^