Chicago Prime, 1931-v2

The Silver Slipper, Atlantis

8:00pm

1. Between a Mr. Rock and a Hard Place

The door to Senator Sean Callahan’s home closed, leaving me and The Bull Elephant Twins in the hallway. Alone.

The various doors hugging the wall on either side of us stayed silent as the night, the several feet of wall between us and whoever was tucked neatly inside. Unless you were standing right in front of the door, there was no chance you could hear or be heard from the inside out or vice versa.

I weighed my options carefully, hoping and praying the Twin Towers wouldn’t make a move here when witnesses were a potential. They wanted to get me alone, give me what was coming to me, courtesy of Don Caroselli. Their presence alone would be enough to scare a regular man into hiding forever, but I was no regular man, and I needed to make that clear.

“Howdy, gentlemen.” I said turning to face them. “Nice night for a walk.” I had to keep any sense of doubt and fear out of my mind. If I remained calm, they’d remain calm. Hopefully.

I started walking down the hallway, but the titan on my left blocked my path. He didn’t even sidestep to prevent me. He didn’t need to.

“Well, if y’all are wanting to be this intimate, let’s at least get to know each other a little.” I had to take control of the situation. “I assume you already know who I am. What about y’all?” I pointed to both of them with the index and pinky finger on one hand, making sure not to break eye contact. My neck would start hurting after too long if I kept looking up this much.

The one on the right smirked, amusement beginning to fill his giant face, “You may call us Mr. Rock,” he said, thumbing himself, “and Mr. Rumble. We represent Don Caroselli.”

Now, I knew they were Caroselli’s men. The black pinstripe suits gave that away. What I didn’t expect was the posh British accent. At the very least, I’d expect cockney, but Mr. Rock was speaking Victorian English. His voice, expectedly, was deep with a rich, full timbre, like a timpani drum was speaking.

Mr. Rumble didn’t speak, but grunted in agreement.

I replied, “Nice to put a name to a couple of faces, even if you’re identical. I’ll figure out how to tell you two apart somehow. But, in the meantime, if you two would be so kind as to excuse me, I really need to get going.”

Mr. Rock and Mr. Rumble would not be so kind.

Mr. Rumble placed a giant hand on my shoulder. Mr. Rock spoke, “Mr. Jones, we are under strict orders from the don to bring you in personally to him. The boss wants to have a word with you.”

“Tell him I’ll have to take a raincheck.”

They both snickered in amusement. I felt the weight of two cars pressing on either side of my shoulder as Mr. Rumble tightened his grip. If there’s anything I learned growing up in Yazoo, it’s that you never let a predator know that it’s got the advantage, even if that’s an undeniable fact. I gave Rumble a stoic look, my brain catching on fire from the pain signals my shoulder was sending. Without flinching, I said, “Fine.”

Rock and Rumble looked at each other, smiling at their apparent victory. They parted, giving me an alley to walk between them. I knew they were fast, so running was a futile option. They were formidably strong, so fighting was out of the picture. I was between a rock and a hard place named Rumble.

But, as water eventually cuts through a mountain, I had to be persistent and unyielding, even if at first I take the path of least resistance.

I stopped for a moment and said, “One second, fellas. I just need to tie my shoe.”

Mr. Rock and Mr. Rumble stopped on either side of me, not giving me any space to run in case I was pulling a fast one. What else could I do? I had gone through the security checkpoint that takes everyone’s weapons. I was a foot shorter than them, half as strong, and there were two of them.

But, there’s one thing my father always taught me when teaching me sword forms, which was distance management with a blade. No matter how big or strong someone is, no one wants to get cut.

I bent down, the shadow of each giant casting over me. “We don’t have all day, Mr. Jones. Stop stalling.” Mr. Rock said, crossing his arms.

I came up fast as lightning, knife blade slashing in a horizontal arc. Rock and Rumble jumped backwards. I was between them and the elevator. They looked at each other in whatever ESP twin language they spoke, then at me, then at my twelve inch buck knife.

Rock, meet water.

2. 33 Steps

Mr. Rock and Mr. Rumble were in a defensive posture. I slowly backed up, keeping at least three to five feet between myself and them. I remembered it was exactly forty-two steps from Callahan’s door to the elevator. I had taken six with Rock and Rumble before my surprise, and then I took three more before I was facing them, knife in hand. Thirty-three steps to go. Might as well be a mile away.

Mr. Rock decided to break the silence, “You know you can’t defeat us, Mr. Jones. We’ll find you. We always do.” Mr. Rumble growled in agreement.

Thirty steps now.

 I said nothing. Nothing was left to be said at this point.

Mr. Rumble had a look of primal hunger in his eyes, like a bear when it sees a stream full of salmon. Mr. Rock looked calculated and cold, measuring every thought he had against the facts of the situation. A twelve inch blade in the hands of a capable and cornered man was a monkey wrench in any calculation.

Twenty-five steps.

A door opened behind me. A man and a woman who were both in their underwear stepped out, looked at the three of us, and immediately stepped back in and closed the door.

I was eyeing both of them, but keeping a much more watchful eye on Mr. Rumble. He was the brawn to Mr. Rock’s brains—although I’m sure Mr. Rock was plenty physical.

I could see the animal in him take over. He lunged at me, a swipe of his car door-sized hand aimed directly at the bladed hand. With a flourish of my knife, I dodged his swipe and countered, sending a stream of red blood spraying across the hallway wall. Mr. Rumble pulled his arms back, letting out a howl of pain, bracing his wrist with rage and frustration building in him.

Nineteen steps.

Mr. Rock reached out towards his brother, silently commanding him to hold back. If the two of them decided to attack me at once, it would’ve been over, but not without at least two of us dying in the process. I had to weigh their desire for self-preservation and following orders from Caroselli against them tossing all of that aside and just deciding to kill me and calling it an accident. Did they have guns on them? Probably. I highly doubted Virgil was going to subject these mammoths to a round of search-and-confiscate, but I have been wrong before. I barely got by with my knife not getting taken. Thank God for that.

The fact that they hadn’t pulled their guns on me told me that they weren’t going to use them either way.

“We don’t have to make this ugly, boys. I asked you politely if I could just leave.” I said, feeling the momentum swinging my way.

Mr. Rock spit, “You made this ugly when you decided to draw blood, Mr. Jones. We may lose you this time, but trust me when I tell you this: your end will be long and slow.”

Ten steps.

“Noted.” I said.

I heard a ding behind me, then an automated voice. The elevator had made its way back to this floor, unloading another haul of passengers. Folks began nervously sifting through us as they made their ways toward their rooms. I melted back into the elevator, not breaking eye contact with Mr. Rock and Mr. Rumble. Rumble’s sleeve was stained red at this point, small streams of blood lining his hands.

Zero steps.

I spoke to the gold-clad elevator attendant without looking at him, “Lobby, please.”

He saw the knife in my hand, trained in attack-position, and realized I would be a solo passenger.

The giant men walked towards the elevator in triumphant stride. I was cornered. Unless the doors could close at supersonic speed, they had made their decision. I had movement and room out in the hall, but now I was trapped in my own golden coffin.

The beautiful sound echoed in my ears as I saw Mr. Rock and Rumble stop in their tracks and slowly raise their hands. They began taking a few steps backwards in retreat before stopping.

I looked to my left and saw that the elevator attendant had a double barreled shotgun trained on them. My coffin had just become my refuge. A small space, but a bottleneck to guarantee that he couldn’t miss targets that size, no matter how quick they were.

As the doors began closing, I saw the two figures of Mr. Rock and Mr. Rumble quickly dart towards the stairwell.

Behind them, a silhouette of a man—about fifty feet away—in what appeared to be a large overcoat and hat, tilted his head upward causing the light above him to cast shadows around his facial features. He had deep, inset eyes of dark obsidian orbs. His teeth were jagged and irregular. His skin was unnaturally stretchy as his smile seemed to stretch all the way around his head.

The doors closed and he was gone.

3. Misdirection

The elevator mechanisms spun-up again as we descended. The golden attendant replaced his shotgun back in its hiding place just under the button panel. I took a rag out of my pocket, wiped Mr. Rumble’s blood off, and resheathed my blade back in its holster.

“I’m in your debt.” I said. “What’s your name, by the way?”

“Oh, uh, Leo. Leo Wells.” He reached out and took my hand in a handshake.

“Nice to meet you Leo. Thanks for the lift. And again, thanks for saving me.”

“It’s my pleasure, Mr. Jones.” He said, a smile pinned on his face. “Any friend of Virgil's is an enemy of mine. I had to take them up in the elevator earlier with that cop. I’ve never been so claustrophobic. Been riding this elevator for fifteen years, and never once felt that way. Didn’t help that they didn’t speak to me, not that anyone does. I’m a nice guy, ya know? But, they talked all about you. I’ll never forget you, Mr. Jones. Anything you need, I’m your guy.”

I smiled an appreciative smile at Leo. Even in the bowels of hell, there’s a glimmer of goodness to be found. And an ally on the side of good was invaluable.

“How fast does this elevator go?” I asked.

“It can go one-hundred and fifty floors in about three minutes.” Leo said proudly.

“So, for simplicity, we’re talking fifty floors a minute, or just under a second per floor. That’s pretty fast.” I said, a look of approval on my face.

“It’s a top-of-the-line elevator. Can hold up to five-thousand pounds without missing a beat. This baby is one of a kind.”

I did the math in my head. It would take my giant stalkers roughly thirty seconds to descend between floors, which means it would take them about fifteen minutes to travel down thirty-three floors. I could be out of the Silver Slipper and lost in the city before they even got down to the lobby. But I didn’t want to just get ahead of them only to be found again. I wanted them on a wild goose chase.

“I need to take a detour. How well do you know the layout of this hotel?” I asked as the ground floor rapidly approached.

“I know where everyone lives, if that’s what you’re asking.” He replied.

“Do you know where a Christopher Cavalier lives?”

“Well, that depends. Do you want his primary residence or his high-roller suite?”

“Are they far apart?” I asked. 

“His high-roller suite is on the second underground floor, WC two. His primary residence is on the ninety-ninth floor, room twenty-four.” Leo replied.

“WC? Like, the bathroom?” My eyebrow arched in sheer intrigue.

Leo laughed. “No, no, no, Mr. Jones. WC stands for Winner’s Circle. Only those who have won jackpot prizes get WC access, at least through the first few floors. The rest require higher privileges.”

“What’s the most exclusive floor?” I pressed.

“WC Nine. To be honest with you, Mr. Jones, I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who goes there. You have to be especially invited by the owner to go down there.”

“So, does this elevator go into the lower levels?”

“No. You’ll need to access the elevator behind the cashier’s desk. It has a red neon sign above it that says Winner’s Circle Suites. But good luck getting down there without a ticket. The only kind of people allowed down there without a ticket is God himself. But, if the rumors are true, God has never been down there.”

An ice cold chill ran down my spine. The decision right now was clear.

I was already on the elevator that would take me to the ninety-ninth floor, so I relayed to Leo where I wanted to go next, and he promptly pressed the ‘99’ button, causing it to illuminate.

The elevator decelerated, the floor indicator above the door showing Level One: Ground floor. The doors opened automatically before they could close and send us on our way. A roar of sound flooded into our tiny compartment. Gambling machines buzzed and rang out their tunes of victory and defeat. Conversations about food, sex, and money all congealed together in a hodge-podge of noise. The smell of chlorine hit my nose like a freight train.

The person standing in front of the elevator door as it opened was short, but muscular, even through a suit. His hair looked carved out of granite in a perfect part. His voice betrayed a subtle Irish accent as he greeted me.

“Jones! Why am I not surprised to see you here?” The short captain said.

“Captain Mahoney, what brings you out into the field?” I asked

4. Surgical Wrecking Ball

“We’re stretched pretty thin, Jones. Besides, I miss being out in the field, solving crimes. Life behind a bloody desk sucks!” He entered the elevator.

Leo’s eyebrows raised slightly in anticipation of location for Jackson Mahoney. The short captain didn’t look at him, but simply reached out and pressed the already illuminated ‘99’ on the panel.

The elevator whined to life again and started ascending. A minute and a half until we reached our destination.

“You’ve been to talk to Callahan, I presume?” Mahoney said in a more hushed tone, being ever mindful of our company. I looked down at the captain and saw his .38 Special tucked in his holster inside his jacket. I guess being a real cop makes you immune to having your guns confiscated.

“How’d you sneak that in?” I asked him, tapping his jacket where his gun sat.

“I didn’t. Cops don’t have to be searched just to get in. Don’t tell me you let them take your guns?”

I couldn’t hide the embarrassment from my face. “I just gave it to them.”

“If you were one of my officers, I’d have you punished.” He said, side-eyeing me. “An officer never lets his weapons leave his side.”

In my attempt to fool the guards into thinking I was Morrison and not raise any alarming suspicions, I just went along with the status quo of their process. Ironically, my apparent compliance likely raised some suspicions anyway.

“So, you’re unarmed?” Mahoney asked.

“Not quite. I managed to keep my old survival knife. If I hadn’t had it, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” I said.

“You run into trouble?”

“Big trouble. But, Leo here was my saving grace at the twelfth hour.” I thumbed over my shoulder to Leo standing in the corner of the elevator.

The captain nodded his head in acknowledgement and thanks to Leo.

“Who was it? Did you know them?” Mahoney pressed.

“You ever heard of Mr. Rock and Mr. Rumble?”

Mahoney nodded, his eyes narrowing slightly, like I had mentioned a long-time associate of his that he didn’t particularly like.

“Rocco and Ricardo Caroselli. They’re Don Marucci Caroselli’s nephews. They grew up in England, but they’re as wop as Caroselli. They’re bad news.” Mahoney said.

We were about forty-five seconds from our floor.

“Is there a reason only one of them talks?” I asked.

“Not too sure. Rumor has it that Ricardo—Mr. Rumble—was born a little retarded, but stronger and more ferocious than any man you could ever meet. His older brother, Mr. Rock, has always been the spokesman of the two. But don’t underestimate him. He’s nearly as formidable in a fight, but his ability to strategize and plan is nearly unparalleled. Together, they’re a human wrecking crew with surgical capabilities.”

I had faced down death and escaped.

Mahoney changed the subject, “Did you find anything out about Callahan?”

“Well, he didn’t kill his wife. But, he also isn’t the great man everyone might think he is either. Didn’t make any more headway into why his wife would’ve been a target. While I understand the pattern, it isn’t helping me understand why he’s choosing certain people to fulfill those roles. Anyone in the city could be a potential victim, so why these people in particular?”

Mahoney nodded as he followed along, “Well, can’t ever expect a politician to be anything he says he is. Did he give you any kind of names or anything? And we’ll figure it out, Jones. We always do.”

I decided I needed to keep things close to the chest. Rock and Rumble had found me twice, so I wasn’t sure who I could trust with new information. Not even Mahoney.

I shook my head. “Nah, he said they were at a fundraising banquet and she had to leave. That was the last time he saw her.”

The elevator dinged and the disembodied voice said “Level ninety-nine.”