Chicago Prime, 1931-v2
Atlantis, around 28th Ave.
4:01pm
- Unexpected Encounter
I stood, motionless, hoping that I was maybe becoming one with the wall.
The girl looked as though—-with enough effort—-she could literally shoot fire out of her eyes and burn me to a crisp.
“I do greatly apologize for this intrusion, ma’am,” I began, trying to let my southern accent do most of the de-escalating, “but, as you can see, I was in fear for my very life.” I said, spreading my hands.
She had eyes greener than emeralds. Her hair was red as garnet, curly and wild, like she was born in the wilds of Scotland. She wore a flowery dress, something a girl might wear on a warm Sunday to church. She smelled like lilacs and roses, but the look in her garish greens told me I was about to get the thorns.
“Who do you think you are, barging into a random apartment? Even without so much as a courtesy knock? What if we had been indecent?! We would’ve screamed, and then those brutes would have definitely found you!” I hadn’t noticed it before when she was talking to The Bull Elephant Twins, but her accent was that of south Georgia, likely around Fort Valley. She pronounced her R’s like aw, making words like apartment sound like a-pawt-ment, so what it really sounded like was Who do you think you aw, bawgin’ into a random apawtment?...
It was music to my ears. It also explained why my accent hadn’t charmed her the way I hoped it would have. She likely didn’t even really hear it the way the locals do.
“Ma’am, if it makes any difference…”
“I’m sorry, sir, did you just call me ma’am?” Her eyes lit up as she placed a hand on her chest, likely to catch herself from falling in her own shock. Her facial expression went from furious, to surprised, to confused, and then to pleasantly surprised all in a matter of milliseconds.
I noticed she grasped a cross necklace that was dangling between a very impressive pair of breasts that I was doing my absolute damndest not to stare at.
I realized when I had entered the apartment, I hadn’t spoken any words, and the only words I had heard her speak were being blasted at the Twin Titans. A mind can really lose the details when your life is on the line.
I straightened up, relaxing now, straightening my suit and removing my hat now that I was in the presence of such a lady. My hair hadn’t been washed in a few days, and I likely reeked of cigarette smoke and sweat.
I’ve smelled and looked worse.
I made a quick but subtle feel for my guns to make sure they hadn’t fallen out.
“Why, yes ma’am, I did.” My accent was coming out more naturally now that I was among one of my own. I extended my hand cordially, “Mercury Jones is the name. And you ladies are…?” My eyes darted between both girls.
The fiery one in front of me extended her hand out in a courtly gesture. She grabbed a part of her dress and curtsied as I took it, “Sophia. Sophia Anne Jameson. This is my sister Mary Grace.”
The one called Mary Grace, who was still standing up in front of the couch in the middle of the apartment, gave a similar curtsy. Mary Grace also had red hair, but not as bright as her sisters. Her eyes were a softer shade of green, but there was an innocence and wonder in her eyes that Sophia seemed to have lost somewhere along the way.
It seemed to me that Sophia was definitely the older of the two.
She also wore a dress, but hers was green and a little tighter around the chest and waist than Sophia’s flower dress. She was much more petite than her sister, but they had some obvious similarities.
I took her hand, but didn’t kiss it. I simply let her curtsy, and I let it go. I was already an uninvited guest, so I chose to let reason be my guide and not my hormones.
I put the charm I saved for the locals back in my pocket and allowed myself to relax into a feeling I hadn’t felt in what felt like ages. “Pleasure to meet you ladies. Now, Miss Sophia, do I detect a Georgia accent on you?”
“Why, aren’t you an observant one, Mr. Jones? I must say, I’m quite impressed! And perhaps I can forgive this…unexpected encounter,” she said. “Born and raised in Peach County! Where ‘bouts are you from? I can’t quite pinpoint your accent, though. I must admit I never was very good at differentiating.”
I smiled and gave a little laugh. I said, “I was born and raised in Yazoo, Mississippi. Moved here eight years ago.”
Sophia gave me a ponderous look, “What’s kept you?”
“Came here looking for someone, but somehow just can’t seem to find them.” I replied
I could see the wheels burning into the pavement behind her eyes, “Ooo, like a girl?! Or maybe a long lost family member!”
I smiled softly at her intrigue. I didn’t want to be dismissive, but I also knew that this wasn’t a conversation I could have with anyone, let alone a young pretty girl.
“I’m afraid that’s a story for another time, ma’am.”
She hit me on my shoulder playfully, “Oh, Mr. Jones, you can cut the ma’am business. I’m only twenty one!”
“And I’m nineteen!” Mary Grace chimed in with unrelenting vigour.
“What brings y’all to this part of the continent?” I asked, changing the subject.
Mary Grace answered very excitedly, “We want to be stars!” Her hands shot out like she was smoothing out a banner above her head.
“What, like movie stars?” I asked, rather surprised.
Sophia turned and gave her sister a betrayed look. I guess no one was supposed to know that.
She qualified her sister’s answer “Well, I wouldn’t say stars, per se. We were studying Theater at LeGrange when we decided we wanted to learn to make it on our own up here in the USA! We were tired of living down in the CSA, so we packed our things, kissed our parents goodbye, and moved up here!”
I scanned around the apartment from where I was standing. The room we were in was occupied by a torn cloth love seat, a sunbleached brown leather chair, and a rug that looked like they might have found it outside on someone else's curb. This was Atlantis, so it wasn’t a bad rug, but a throw away nonetheless.
I inquired the obvious inquiry, “Did your parents not send you with any money?”
The younger sister had a frozen look of excitement on her face. I could tell she wanted to answer, but she clearly was not in charge of the pocket book shared between her and Sophia.
The elder sister’s eyes darted down and to the left. She looked down and started picking at her fingers. “Our parents offered to buy us a house up here, but we wanted to prove to them that we were capable of doing things all on our own!”
I could see two other doors on the far side of the room that were next to the kitchenette, sink, and refrigerator. The two rooms—I could only presume—were a single bedroom and a bathroom.
Not exactly living in the lap of luxury.
I looked at Mary Grace standing behind her older sister. Her eyes had lost some of their luster. She looked less like a willful accomplice and more like someone who struggled with coming to the realization that she had followed her older sister deep into a bad idea. I fear she won’t realize it until it’s too late.
But, it wasn’t my place to tell two girls that weren’t my own children what to do.
I looked at Sophia and her sister and I could only feel pity for them. Georgia was one of the more affluent states in the CSA. Evidently, their parents did very well for themselves. Likely lived on a lot of land, and had a cash crop that kept a nice roof over their heads and fancy clothes on their backs. I could tell Sophia was fairly cautious and wise for her age–despite some obviously bad choices–but her little sister was a different story. She didn’t know the ugly side of life. I’m not sure even Sophia really understood it. A place like Chicago Prime would only teach them the hard way.
But college for women will fill their heads with ideas that they don’t need. Like thinking life will be fair to them. This was no place to make it. I was a grown man who could fight and carried two guns, and I felt like I was barely holding on sometimes.
I decided to do the only thing I could do to help them. I reached into my torn jacket and pulled out one of the few cards I carried. “Here. This town can be pretty crazy and dangerous, especially for young ladies. People aren’t as hospitable here as they are back home. This has my office number and address on it. If you ever need a friend.”
Sophia took the card in both hands, kind of like she was receiving communion. She looked down at it for a beat, then back up at me, tears beginning to fill her eyes. “Thank you Mr. Jones.”
“Please, call me Mercury.”
I decided to take the conversation towards fixing my, now, very dry mouth.
“I hope it isn’t too much to ask for a glass of water, Miss Sophia? I was also hoping you wouldn’t mind if I sat down for a few minutes. I’m not sure those thugs fully bought your story, so I’d like to give them every chance to lose interest.” I said, taking a nice big swig out of the glass of water she handed me.
The younger one in the green dress spoke up first “By all means, Mr. Jones! Stay as long as you like!” Not sure those Elephant Twins were strong enough to peel the smile off of her face.
“We haven’t met any men like yourself around here!” She plopped down next to me, pulling her knees up to give her elbows a surface to support her head in her hands as she stared at me. Here softer green eyes sparkled a little brighter.
The older one, Sophia, gave her sister an embarrassed side eye. “Not too long, though. We have places we need to be, and, well, quite frankly, you’re still a stranger! Even if you are a Mississippi boy.”
“Much obliged, Miss Sophia.” I raised my glass in cheers, turning to her younger sister sitting next to me, doing the same to her, “Miss Mary Grace.”
I sat back on the sofa, let my head drift backwards as my achy bones were being absorbed by the warm embrace of the cushion. The adrenaline I dumped in the chase, along with not having rested very much over the past few days, I could feel my body deciding—without my permission—that it was time to shut down for a while. I placed my hat over my face, and quickly fell asleep.
Chicago Prime 1931-v2
Jameson Sister’s Apartment
6:30pm
- Irish Goodbye
I woke up to an empty apartment. The girls were gone, along with the sunshine. I rose from lying down back to sitting on the couch, a soft throw blanket slinking off me as I did.
I rubbed my eyes and performed a back-cracking stretch. I don’t think I’ve slept that well in years. I checked my watch and the clock on the wall above the kitchenette sink. The wall clock read 6:25 while my watch read 6:30. Wherever it was those girls went, they were five minutes behind.
I stood and patted myself down from head to toe.
Hat.
Guns.
Money.
Cigs.
Knife.
Other accoutrements.
All present and accounted for.
I strolled over towards the kitchenette—which was only a few feet from me—and ran the water, cupped my hands underneath it, and splashed some cold water in my face.
I found a once-folded note stuck to the refrigeration unit they had that said “Mercury” across the front of it.
That’s me. What a detective I am.
I opened it:
Mr. Jones,
If you’re reading this, it means you’re awake! Please forgive our absence from your company this evening. Like I had told you, we had places to be (much to my little sister’s dismay), and, well, you looked so comfortable, my sister and I didn’t dare wake you. We don’t have much food or anything, but if you find anything in the refrigerator, please help yourself! And don’t worry about locking the door behind you when you leave.
Love, Sophia and MG
I smiled and placed the re-folded note into my pocket.
I found a phone sitting right next to the couch. I dialed the number for The Silver Slipper. It rang once before a sultry female voice answered.
“Silver Slipper. How may I help you?” The voice said.
“Yes, I was supposed to have a meeting with Senator Callahan this evening, but he changed plans at the last second and told me to just come by his place.” I did the best Chicago Prime accent I could muster. I was pretty good at it.
“And your name is, sir?”
“Detective Gregory Morrison.” I lied.
I heard a rustling of some papers on the other end. “Ah, yes, Detective Morrison. You’ve already been pre-cleared by our security. We received a phone call from a…Lieutenant Delaney that’d you’d be coming by sometime this week. Just tell them your name and show them your badge and they should let you in. Please be advised that while we do respect your position in law enforcement, we will require you to check any and all weapons at the door.”
“Well, that shouldn’t be a problem. Not like I’ll need ‘em inside there, amiright?”
I wanted to slap myself for that one.
The voice gave a very gracious, but clearly unenthusiastic chuckle. “Most certainly. Is there anything else I can do for you, Detective?”
“No, I don’t think so! Thank you very much,” and I hung up.
I drank another glass of water from the tap and cleaned as much muck and grime off my face as I could in the bathroom. Morrison was a good guy, so I wanted to make sure I represented him well.
I double checked my personal inventory before I closed the door behind me.
I peeked over the rail lining the stairwell as I slowly made my way back up to street level. I figured The Twin Towers had retreated back to Caroselli’s compound with disappointing news, so once I made it to the top, I returned back to my original path towards Senator Callahan’s home.
I hopped off 28th Ave. and made a right back on Cambridge. The sun was all but down, a multicolored array of light silhouetting the buildings in front of me. My eyes adjusted in the shade, allowing me to see the hustle and flow of pedestrians making their ways either home from work, to work overnight, or out to a bar for an early bird special.
After ten more blocks of walking, I made it to where 17th Ave crosses over Cambridge. I made sure this time to utilize all reflective surfaces and occasional stops to check for any unwanted tails.
No one was following me this time.
I accessed my mind to remember where it was that Senator Callahan lived. I once spent a whole day filling out a map in my office, placing a red pin at each location where someone important lived. I never needed to write anything down, because remembering was clearer to me than words on a page ever could be.
17th and Houston. I took a left down 17th Avenue, crossing the street as I did. A car honked as I was jogging to get to the other side. I looked up and gave the fella driving the finger. He rolled down his window and decided to let me know he felt the same way.
I kept walking.
Houston Rd. was six blocks south of Cambridge, which would take me sixteen minutes exactly. 17th Avenue was full of shops for people who love spending money. Clothes from exotic animals, jewelry that cost more than Sophia and Mary Grace’s rent for several years, and foods that I wouldn’t dare try to pronounce at portions that wouldn’t fill a fly’s belly.
But, that’s Atlantis. Full of extravagance, but void of substance. People so terrified of death they’d much rather be distracted with shiny objects than invest in the future for their children—not that the people here want children. Hell, the abortion clinic in the middle of the city is sponsored by the central bank. This is so girls can get them for free. No financial barrier in murdering your children.
I really hated this place. It needed to burn.
I pushed the thoughts of arson aside as I approached my destination.
- The Silver Slipper
The casino-hotel stood fifty stories tall and took up 4 square blocks. It was a colossus. It was a virtual city within a fortress for the richest and most famous in Atlantis. The Vatican wasn’t this big.
There were eight ways to enter The Silver Slipper: four entryways on each corner, and one halfway down each length on the third floor. There were four bridges that ran from each building directly across from it. Each building was a separate high-security housing for those not wealthy enough to afford a place in The Silver Slipper itself.
I approached the northeast corner of the fortress of greed and stood across the street from the northeast checkpoint. The height and breadth of the building couldn’t be captured in my single field of view. It was adorned with gold trim around each window and door, diamonds for the door handles and window locks, and each window pane was filled with sapphire glass,which were all opaque from the outside looking in.
Armed security stood point at every entrance, checking for valid identification. A man with a nice green italian suit had a stack of papers in his hand, flipping through it as his eyes darted back and forth between the person in front of him and presumably the names and pictures on the paper.
His two partners stood on either side of him with Tommy guns affixed to their hands. Each gun had a hundred-round drum mag secured in the mag well. These guys weren’t messing around.
I walked across and approached the guy with the papers. He had multiple scars on his right cheek that told me this man had been in his fair share of scraps.
He held up a hand the size of a catcher's mitt and said, “Name.”
“The names Detective Morrison of the CPPD. I’m here to see Senator Callahan.” I showed him a CPPD badge I nabbed a few years ago. Sometimes people were more willing to talk to actual cops versus a private investigator.
The green suited thug flipped through his papers. He finally got to the last page before he looked up at me and said, “There’s no Morrison on our list.”
“I was pre-screened. Lieutenant Delaney called it in already.”
The man snapped his finger and the armed guard over his right shoulder came sauntering up to him. He leaned over and whispered something into his ear. The guard nodded and quickly ran inside.
After a few minutes of staring at the world’s most unpleasant guard, his lackey returned, whispered something else in his ear, and returned to his post. The guy with the papers turned to me and said, “Right this way, Detective.”
I stepped up to the door as it appeared to open magically. Another green-suited man on the inside was holding the door as we stepped through into another checkpoint. He went to search me, but I stopped him and said “No need.” and handed him my guns. He looked pleasantly surprised at my willful compliance and said, “You can get these back at this checkpoint when you leave, Detective,” and he placed them in a bag and wrote Detective Morrison on the front.
This was the first time I'd departed with Delilah and Roxanne in a long time. I felt more naked than if they had actually stripped all the clothes off me.
The gilded inner doors hummed with whatever high-energy life it was containing on the other side.
“Right this way, Detective.” The inside green bean man said.
The inside looked like I was suddenly transported to another planet. I looked over the rail in front of us down into a lower level. For what seemed like a thousand yards, I could see row after row, aisle after aisle of tables full of people gambling, drinking, and smoking. But why? These people were already rich. How much more money does a person need?
In the middle of the tables were fifteen swimming pools, all weaving in and out with single-person offshoots that connected to the other large bodies of pool water. Where we were walking appeared to be the ground floor. I peeked directly over the railing and saw that the levels underneath the gameroom floor seemed to go all the way to China. The lights went from golden daylight to darker and redder hues as you went farther down into the tower.
Ice cold chills ran through my body like electricity. Who in the world would run a place like this? The easy guess was Gabridone. He seemed to own everything.
My head and eyes shot upward. The ceiling and walls—which extended for miles it seemed—were painted to look exactly like a summer sky: blue with some clouds here and there. The lights they had shining and moving in concentric circles gave it the illusion that the clouds were moving, but it was always daytime. A giant chandelier covered in precious amber stones hung in the middle of all of it, effectively serving as the artificial sun.
Cages descended from various anchor points, occupied by people—men and women—dressed in silver feathery sashes and nothing else, dancing and twisting to the big band music playing on stage hovering above the game room for full acoustic effect.
Trees were planted—real trees—along the walkways and scattered around the gameroom nearer the pools. Exotic animals—lions, tigers, monkeys, and even giraffes—were pacing back and forth in cages all around the tables and pool.
In the middle of it all was a monument—about the size of a Buick—of a shining, dazzling, beglittered Silver Slipper slowly spinning on its emerald green pedestal.
A commotion broke out on the gameroom floor. A man wearing the most flamboyant attire I’d ever seen began dancing and shouting “I did it! I won the jackpot!” while people gathered around him clapping and slapping him on the back in congratulations. Other men in green suits surrounded the crowd, presumably for crowd control.
An enthusiastic man’s voice came over the PA system inside, “Congratulations to Mr. Ramdansky for winning the coveted top prize! Please see the cashier for your winnings!”
“What’s the top prize?” I asked the green suited man leading me.
“Ha! Let’s just say, it’s not the kind of thing a copper needs to know about. Although, it's strictly legal.” He said. His voice was nasally and his accent was thick Chicago Prime.
“I take it you’ve never won anything down there then?” I asked, trying to dig.
“Hell no! I just work here. I’m not a freak like these people. Let me tell you, the things I’ve seen, when you got as much money as these people, nothing is illegal.” He replied.
“I take it, it's not a cash prize.” I inferred.
“You’d be right. But, that’s all I’m saying.”
We continued on the rest of the way in silence.
