Dead Sure?: A Paranormal Mystery (8 page)

Chapter 10
Sept. 14
th
, 1929

The Next day

September 14
th
, 1929

Charles woke up with a splitting headache, and it wasn’t from drinking too much, like usual.  No, this time it was from stress. Ever since his meeting with Angela last night he couldn’t seem to relax. He couldn’t stop contemplating whether he had pushed his luck too far.  Then again, he always liked to ride the edge. Life lacked excitement if you always knew what was coming next.

Although on the flip side, as he remembered, Angela had always been good to him from the day they had first crossed paths. He was a hard drinker and a heavy gambler; well, not much had changed there. But on the business side, now that was another story. He had been the boss of a small gang. They had made some scores sure enough, however, the money wasn’t flowing fast enough to feed Charles’ habits and addictions. It wasn’t long before he had pushed his gang into some dicey capers. Those bad choices had lost him several men in police shootouts and several others had been pinched. In the end it came down to him and his right-hand man Squints.

Instead of working to rebuild his gang, he borrowed money and gambled big and lost big. The hole he dug for himself became too deep. It wasn’t long before the crooks he borrowed from wanted repayment.

He and Squints were just hanging out at Hollyhocks Inn, their favorite speakeasy. Several toughs showed up demanding their money; said their boss wasn’t going to wait any longer. Before Charles could even think of a witty retort, one of the thugs whipped out a revolver and plugged Squints right in the forehead. It was gruesome: the back of his skull exploded, splattering his brain all over the surrounding tables and floor. The mere thought of Squints like that still sent a shiver down his spine to this day, seven years later.

Charles had always had a skill for playing his cards close to the vest and keeping his wits about him. As most of the patrons of the speakeasy scrambled over each other to get out of the place, he just sat there. Coolly, with an authoritative tone in his voice, he took control of the situation.

“Look fellas, killing me ain’t gonna pay your boss back or put a nickel in your pockets. Letting me get the money I owe, now that puts money in your pockets and makes for a happy boss. Am I right or am I right?”

Without waiting for a response or giving them a chance to disagree, Charles slowly and calmly reached into his suit vest pocket. Carefully, and ever so smoothly, he pulled out a gold pocket watch.

“Fellas, take this back to your boss. I figure it ought to cover the juice for at least a week. In the meantime I will come up with the rest of the money. This is a situation I am sure we can all live with.”

Benny, obviously the leader, moved closer and took the watch. Then he leaned in close: his rotten teeth and foul breath almost unbearable. “Listen, you bought yourself two days, you worthless bastard, and then you’re gonna end up like that sack of shit next to you.”

The three toughs turned and began making their way to the door, striding out as though they owned the joint.  Before they got halfway to the door Charles silently slid his chair back and jumped to his feet. His gun literally leapt out of its holster into his hand. He was no “spray and pray” shooter. Deliberate aim is what levels targets, and that’s all they were to him: targets. He didn’t care if he shot them in the back or not.

The first shot was perfect; striking the thug directly in the back of the head, killing him before his body even hit the floor. The second shot was a mirror image. The third, however, was just a little off. It grazed the side of the gangster’s temple. The thug quickly began to turn and face his opponent, grappling to pull his gun from his shoulder holster. A look of shock came over his face as Charles calmly squeezed the trigger the fourth time, putting a bullet through his forehead the same way he had done to Squints only minutes earlier.

Only after the bullets stopped flying did Charles realize the gravity of the situation: killing three of Murdering Mitch’s thugs that came to collect money. He was a dead man. It was only a matter of time. He stood there frozen, unsure. What should he do next?

Hearing soft footsteps on the floor behind him, he turned slowly, still in shock from it all. A beautiful lady in a red dress was approaching him. She sauntered up to him without even the slightest glimmer of fear in her eyes.  Behind her, standing next to the booth she had come from, stood two very tough-looking characters in dark suits.

“My friends call me Angela, what’s your name?”

Charles, who was normally very smooth with the ladies, felt himself almost at a loss for words. There was something almost magical, wild about this woman. He managed to say, “Chuck.” He detested being called anything other than ‘Charles’. ‘Chuck’ was too common, and he was anything but common, at least in his mind.

“Listen, Charles, I like the way you handled yourself. You’re very smooth and I could use someone in my company that is calm under pressure. I recognized those toughs as some of Mitch’s men the moment they walked in. How much do you owe him?”

This lady was unbelievable; somehow she knew to call him Charles without him even saying it. He was really beginning to feel a strong connection.

“I am into him for seven grand and some change, why?”

“Here is my card,” she said.

Where she pulled the card from, he couldn’t figure out. Her dress didn’t leave much to the imagination and certainly didn’t have pockets.

“Come by my office at noon tomorrow. I’ll take care of your debt to Mitch.  You’ll owe me now. I feel certain we can work something out.”

Then, gracefully, she strolled out of the joint with the two thugs not far behind her.

*    *    *

Charles did as she suggested and showed up at noon the next day. It was not as though he could resist. Something about her was so compelling; then again, a beautiful woman had that effect on a guy. Her office was downtown in the new Horner Bank Building. The whole place looked like it was on the up and up. Although, he was sure she wasn’t. Nobody calmly gave away that much cash without planning on getting a lot more back. Charles pulled out her business card.  It smelled of sweet perfume and read:

Torrelli Investment Management

999 West Main Street

Suite #713.

Charles got into the elevator and asked the operator for the seventh floor.  Charles thought everything about the place oozed class, from the marble floored lobby to this fancy elevator with polished brass doors.
An office in this joint must cost lots of money. Maybe my luck is finally changing for the better.

Upon reaching the seventh floor he headed to the suite of Torrelli Investment. He knocked and waited, not knowing quite what to expect. One of the thugs from the night before opened the door and motioned for him to enter.

It was a big office with a large desk off to the left side and a sitting area on the right. Sitting in one of the wing chairs was another well-dressed bodyguard. The air was thick with sweet cigar smoke. Charles noticed that as the office chair swiveled to face him the woman in red from the night before was smoking a cigar. This lady was just full of surprises.  Today she was wearing a black business suit which was magnificently custom-tailored to fit her delightful curves.

She waived her right handed dismissively and uttered, “Boys, give us a few minutes, please.”

The bodyguards knew the drill and quietly exited the office. Charles could hear the door close, and their footsteps as they went down the hall.

“So, we were never properly introduced were we? Let’s fix that, shall we; my name is Angela Torrelli, and I run an investment company.”

“I am Charles Yates
.
I was the leader of the Plug Nickels, the meanest little gang in town. That is, until bad luck started coming my way.” It had to be bad luck. He would never admit to himself that it could have been bad choices.

“Well, Charles, I don’t believe in bad luck. We all make our own luck.  Today, for instance, a great opportunity has arrived for both of us. You are going to join my organization and become exceedingly wealthy and I am going to profit from this merger as well.”

“It seems like a great opportunity, but what makes you so sure I’ll accept? I do have my own plans to think about.”

“Charles, honey, I wasn’t asking--just simply making a statement. If you don’t accept my offer it could be bad for your health,” she uttered this statement with warm tones but her eyes where filled with an evil malice. She was able to change moods quickly, and the next statements coming out of her mouth became smooth and business like. Slowly she reached down to her desk and grabbed a folded piece of paper and handed it to him.

“Go to the address on this paper and ask for Old Lou. He is going to teach you a lot. I’ll see you tonight for dinner at the Uptown Club. I believe for now our business is done.” She gave him the same dismissive wave used earlier on the bodyguards.

She sure takes a lot for granted. What makes her think everyone is going to do things her way--although, she did save my ass by paying off my debt. What the hell? What have I got to lose?
And with that Charles strode out of the office. Another chapter in his life was just beginning.

Old Lou did teach him a bunch, a whole treasure trove of knowledge about safe cracking, and what a great set of skills that turned out to be. Dinner that night had led to a amazing on-again off-again affair with Angela. She was so addictive, yet any time they seemed to be getting really close she would break things off for a while. This habit drove Charles crazy.

It was a pattern that had repeated itself to this day. In fact, their most recent breakup was only a couple of months ago, although this one felt different to him. This one felt like it might really be the last time. He knew why, but was unwilling to look at the situation introspectively and rationally.

*    *    *

After getting cleaned up, Charles decided to spend some money and try to forget his worries. As he headed out of the house he was quite oblivious to the fact that he was being watched. Halfway down the block in a black Ford sat a man with a mission. Angela had instructed Max to keep an eye on Charles and that’s exactly what he was going to do.

As the day went along it was amazing just how much money this Charles guy was spending. Max was beginning to question Charles’s sanity; what was wrong with him?
If you’re going to rip off the boss, at least be discreet about it,
he thought shaking his head.
This guy has got some kind of death wish or some serious balls.

An hour later, when Charles went to an upscale automotive dealer and purchased a Duesenberg, Max couldn’t stop himself from chuckling out loud.
This guy has really got some style. He is a little crazy; okay, maybe a lot crazy; however, it seems to be working for him. He is number two in our organization. Telling this information to Angela is not going to be pretty. Maybe I should take a page from Charles’s book and use this knowledge to my advantage.

*    *    *

It was late evening and the sound of bawdy jazz music was spilling out of the open windows into the warm night air. Max knocked on the front door, telling himself to throw caution to the wind. He waited intently for Charles to get the door; instead his ears were met with the sound of glasses clinking and women laughing. Irritated by this and anxious to get this whole thing behind him, he knocked again, only this time it was more like pounding with the side of his fist. This method had the desired result. The sound of footsteps could be heard heading towards the door.

It wasn’t Charles that answered the door; it was some woman. She was half in the bag and the top of her dress was half off on one side.

She smiled with a warm clueless smile. “Whatta want honeyyy, Charles is very very busy right nowww,” she managed to slur out.

Max thought about trying to tell her to get Charles, but figured it wasn’t worth the effort and pushed past her. He headed straight back to the sitting room where he found Charles with another dame, her dress even farther off. Charles was so preoccupied he didn’t even notice Max’s heavy footsteps as he entered the room.

“Charles, we need to talk, and we need to do it now!” Max insisted.

Charles, his back to the door, turned around abruptly, apparently shocked by a man’s voice. His drunken eyes trying hard to gain some focus, he replied, “Hey Max, we’ll talk tomorrow at the office. I’m kinda busy right know.”

“No, we’ll talk now or there ain’t gonna be any tomorrow,” Max said very harshly, even surprising himself.

The message and the harshness of Max’s words snapped Charles out of his fog and into focus. He let go of his half-naked date and sat up. “Is that so? Well, then I guess we had better talk now, hadn’t we.” He got up and started walking towards his office. Turning back to the ladies he said, “Have some more champagne and hold those thoughts, I’ll be right back.”

Charles entered his office ahead of Max and proceeded to flop down in his big chair behind the desk. “Now tell me Max, what is so god damn urgent that it can’t wait until morning?”