After battling some trolls in Missouri, Runner and Fairweather are directed toward Detroit Michigan. There they meet the widow of Harry Houdini, who was expecting them for some reason. She claims that she received a phone call from someone in Chicago who gave a code word that her and Harry had agreed would be a signal that he had reached the afterlife. She wants Runner and Fairweather to track down whoever called her and find out how he heard from Harry. To aid in the possible communication with the dead she sends along a young medium named Rosemary…
And now…
Runner Ramirez & The Great Ghost War
Chapter 2
“I’m so excited to be going with you on this mission or do you call it case? I guess it doesn’t matter but I am really excited to actually talk to Mr. Houdini it’s going to be great! I’ve talked to plenty of ghosts or should I say recently departed but never anyone famous. I think Mr. Houdini has real power even though Ms. Bess says he didn’t I just want you to know that I’m pretty good at telling fortunes and reading auras and dozens of other things that should be a real help…”
Rosemary said all of that in just the first 30 seconds we were in the car. Then she KEPT going.
“It seems that something changed earlier in the year, maybe March, when it seemed like the spiritual realm got a bit more noisy with ghosts, recently departed, talking a lot more nad displaying a lot more power. Don’t know if that has anything to do with anything but it might Oh! Ms. Bess gave me some of Houdini’s things like a set of handcuffs and part of a chain with the hopes we could use them to contact him in Chicago…”
It went on like this for the entirety of the 5+ hour drive from Detroit to Chicago. It was unending. The only time she stopped talking, or the only time I couldn’t hear her, was at the gas station where we stopped at about the halfway mark when she went to use the facilities. I couldn’t relax much however because as soon as the attendant started to fill up, the shocks from last time I got gas returned. These were even worse, making me rather nauseas and a bit dizzy.
“That girl got you all sick too?” Fairweather asked as he returned with a bottle of pop.
“I am getting an earache,” I replied as the electricity faded. Kinda funny, Rosemary had him sick for an entirely different reason. “Hey, do you know if demons have an aversion to gasoline?”
“Not that I know of,” Fairweather replied after a bit of thought. “Why?”
I relayed to him what I had just experienced along with what happened at the Illinois border gas station. He had no explanation so we put it all away for the time being. Rosemary returned with even more energy than before, somehow, and resumed her incessant talking. After about 30 minutes of continuous chatter Fairweather managed to get her into a much more laid back discussion concerning the differences between demons and ghosts. Now he did not tell her about my situation but was glad to talk with her about his experience with exorcisms and the like. She was intensely curious as she had never met an exorcist before. That curiosity along with Fairweather’s soft voice tamped down her own volume. This and the roar of the car’s straight 8 engine enabled me to successfully ignore the conversation as I drove the endless stretch of road toward Chicago. It also allowed my mind to wander a bit. When that happened I invariably began to think about the Great War. I know an even worse one would later come along but that’s how it would always be known to me.
As I told Bess I did not have the ability to speak to ghosts. Had never tried at least. I sure could see them though. For me, the war had ended nearly 8 years prior but the memories remained. Vivid, strong, visible. Frankie floated off to the left, Jonesy to the right. Ben sat on the hood, Earl Jr hung out in the rearview mirror. They were always there, always. Best friends I had ever had. Gone way too soon. I had gotten used to their presence, it only jarred me during periods of reflection as I was experiencing in that moment. I had long since stopped being sad but never stopped feeling guilty.
But enough of that. Before long the conversation between the kids faded and they both fell asleep. We arrived in Chicago about an hour later. Normally when we enter a new town we are kinda forced to wander around a bit before getting any direction from my ‘friend’ concerning why we were there. That’s generally why I head for the closest diner. That and the fact I’m always hungry. This time was different. The directional shocks started as soon as we entered the city limits. My ‘friend’ led me on a weaving route through the city until we came to a small diner near 63rd and Western. Either something was to happen near here or my ‘friend’ had finally adapted to my tastes.
“Where are we going?” Rosemary asked at one point. She actually stayed quiet for most of this part of the trip, in awe of Chicago as she had never been.
“A diner to get something to eat.”
“How did you learn about this place?” she asked as we pulled into the small parking lot.
“From a friend.”
~~
The Sun had fully set as we got out of the car and headed into the diner. I grabbed the evening edition of the Chicago Tribune and led our little group to a booth in the corner. The place was pretty much like every other greasy spoon I had ever been to, complete with the myriad smells of coffee, bacon, and dirt. I ordered the works as usual along with a piping hot cup of coffee. I found that my ‘friend’ gave me a much higher tolerance for all things heat. Go figure.
Our food arrived quickly and if Rosemary was surprised by the size of my order she didn’t say. In fact, she hadn’t said a thing in nearly 5 minutes, already a record for her. She sat across from me beside Fairweather. She absently ate some pancakes and carefully folded a shirt I assumed to be Houdini’s. I tore into my eggs and perused the newspaper. Nearly every article, at least on the front page, concerned the ongoing actions of Chicago’s many gangs. It seemed to me that those gangs had pretty much full control of the city since 1920. The old backwoods bootleggers of the early days of Prohibition had blossomed into a full-on urban enterprise of violence and death. And lots of money. All sounded pretty crazy to me, especially in regards to alcohol. Never understood people’s love for those drinks.
It appeared that there were two main groups that dominated the alcohol trade in Chicago, along with gambling, racketeering, prostitution, and who knows how many other criminal activities. One controlled the north side while the other controlled the south. There were at least 5 articles detailing the war those two had been waging over the past two years. Shootings, kidnappings, bombings, you name it. This definitely wasn’t a place where I would choose to come believe you me. At least not back then. Heck, it sook a demon to get me there at all.
I had flipped to the second page when I noticed Rosemary. She had pushed her plate to the side and had started sprinkling salt on the shirt in front of her. Well, it looked like salt but was pink instead of white. She then raised both hands and began to wave them back and forth. She mumbled something under her breath. She looked…strange. And others in the diner were starting to notice as well.
“Rosemary, psst,” I said. She either didn’t hear or was ignoring me. I leaned across the table and waved one hand. “Rosemary! Hey!”
Still nothing. I glanced to Fairweather and gestured toward Rosemary. He nodded and elbowed her upper arm. She dropped her head and sighed. Her eyes slowly rotated up to stare at me. She had a slight scowl that really didn’t fit her face.
“I was in the middle of something,” she said in a low voice.
“Which was?”
“Running a ritual,” she said as she pointed to the shirt. “Which could show us where Houdini was contacted.”
“I appreciate that,” I responded as I made a subtle gesture toward the rest of the diner. “But you’re drawing attention. With what we’re trying to accomplish here, we don’t need any of that.”
The previous scowl turned into more of a petulant frown. She frumped back in her seat and crossed her arms. Looked a lot like my sister when she was in trouble.
“Just trying to help find Mr. Houdini,” she huffed. “That’s what we were sent here to do right?”
“I know,” I said with a stifled sigh. This case or mission or job, never really came up with a good name for what we do, was going to be a long one, having to be around and babysit this kid. Less than a day had already lasted forever. I pointed to the shirt. “I’m not saying you don’t do this, um, stuff, just not where a bunch of people will see you. People will call the police if they see anyone acting crazy. And sorry, that’s how you look. Why don’t you do go your, um, ritual in the car?”
She frumped for a few more moments then grabbed the shirt.
“Fine,” she said as the smile returned. She pushed Fairweather from the booth. “I’ll let you know what I find.”
She gave a wave and strode from the diner. Fairweather watched her go. He sank into his chair and let out a very long breath. Looked like he’d been holding it in for a week.
“She’s something else isn’t she?” he said after a few moments. “Talks a lot huh?”
I chuckled and went back to my paper. I’m gonna go ahead and tell you now that Fairweather and Rosemary never got together although it was easy to tell how much he liked her. If you’ll notice I haven’t relayed much of what Fairweather had been saying since we left Detroit. That’s because he spent most of that time staring at Rosemary. It wasn’t much of a problem since we were just traveling and not engaged in anything dangerous. Plus it was also clear how little Rosemary paid attention to him. She really didn’t give him the time of day. Heck, when they were comparing demons and ghosts she never even looked at him.
I finished my food and ordered another round of everything. The waitress looked at me like I was some sort of freak, she didn’t know the half of it, before moving off to inform the cook. I settled into the paper and read some more about the colorful exploits of Chicago’s top gangsters. Fairweather leaned against the wall and fell asleep.
I had just another page when a series of short but intense shocks hit my neck and raced down my spine. I stiffened and slowly put down the paper. There was no Morse code here but I had learned that such a pattern only meant one thing…
Trouble was coming. I kicked Fairweather awake and put a finger to my lips before he could say anything. I could tell he understood. We had been traveling together enough by that time to develop a system of signals to communicate without needing to talk. He sat up and made like he was stretching and popping his back when in reality he was checking the rest of the diner. I raised my paper as if to read but did the same, casting a quick glance at everyone within range. There were only about half a dozen other patrons, including 3 tired-looking businessmen, a couple, and an older man in the corner booth opposite ours. None of them looked to be any sort of trouble. But that’s when I heard the sirens.
The sound grew louder and was followed a few seconds later by screeching tires. Several of the others drifted to the window so Fairweather and I did the same. The diner sat on a corner and the sirens seemed to be coming from the cross street in front of us. I could just see the reflections of blue/red lights off the windows of the building catty corner to the diner. A second later a car careened around the corner, turning to its left. It headed directly toward us.
The other patrons shrieked and backpedaled from the window, sure the car was about to plow through. I had seen enough car chases by that point to where I could determine the direction of a car’s travel. This one bounced over the curb and, as expected, did not hit the diner but slammed into the lamp post off to the left. I looked back to the intersection as two cop cars swerved into view. They must’ve spotted the wrecked car because they slid to a stop in a sorta V-formation about 15 yards away. Their doors flew open and 8 officers stepped out. Most pulled out revolvers with a couple holding Tommy guns for good measure. They aimed them at the wrecked car.
“We got you Genna! Come out with your hands up!” one officer shouted.
Four obvious gangsters emerged from the smashed car and surprisingly, held up their hands. Well, except for the man who stepped from the front passenger door, he had his hands on his hips and looked annoyed. The guy seemed familiar as well.
“We seen that guy before?” Fairweather asked.
Both our eyes drifted to the newspaper, still on the table. A small picture in the corner showed the very same guy outside. The caption indicated he was Mike Genna, one of the high ups in the south side group.
“What are you doing Jack?” Genna yelled. “This ain’t the deal!”
I stepped closer to the window and took in the scene. None of the gangsters held guns but their hands hovered near their jackets and the obvious holsters underneath. The police officers held their guns tight and looked rather jumpy. This was a shootout waiting to happen.
“Get on your knees Genna!” the officer, Jack I guess, hollered back. “Now!!”
Genna chuckled and took a step forward.
“This ain’t smart Jack…” he growled.
The other officers looked at their leader. Jack gulped, I could tell he had no idea what to do in this situation. I figured he was on the take and his comrades weren’t. His gun lowered just a bit as if he might just let the gangsters go. But then something happened that I’ll never forget.
I’ve seen a lot in my life, first in the war then in my time sharing a body with a demon. But in that moment I saw something I had never seen before. You know what appeared right next to Jack the cop?
A ghost.
~~
Whoa! Our crew is in Chicago for just a couple of hours and have already seen a police chase featuring one of the city’s most prominent gangsters! And now, a ghost?? Who is this ghost? Is Mike Genna going to go quietly? What has Runner gotten himself into this time?? Find out next week in Runner Ramirez & The Great Ghost War – Chapter 3!