A Lesson in Love and Murder (28 page)

“Pure?”

“Without any kind of stain or footprint. Just a blank, wonderful canvas with all measure of possibility for adventure.”

“You go dream about that adventure, Ben.” Jonathan rose and took the two strides to the door.

“What are you going to do?”

“See the streets of Chicago one last time.”

“Jonathan, surely you can't think that… ”

“It's not quite our northern wilderness,” Jonathan said with a gruff chuckle. “But it will have to do.”

*
Merinda would never admit to the slight pang in her chest at the realization that Benny would miss her golden moment.

†
Benny could rant and rail about his reputation as a member of the Force, but in this instance, Merinda would compel him to rely on something more concrete than his reputation and good name.

‡
This was one word he had not yet used to express his disdain at Merinda's plan. He had exhausted every other adjective he could think of.

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY

In legends of great hunters throughout history, cursorial hunting refers to the painstaking process of outpacing one's prey. Though the hunter may be slower than their prey over short distances, a careful combination of running, walking, and tracking can exhaust the prey.

Benfield Citrone and Jonathan Arnasson,
Guide to the Canadian Wilderness

B
enny and Merinda took the South Loop at a quick pace in the rising humidity. They strode Wabash in the direction of 15th Street. Merinda looked about her at the policemen guiding traffic in white gloves and hats, the automobiles skidding to a halt, at children weaving out of traffic with yoyos and toy boats, women pushing prams, and a group of musicians striking up an impromptu ragtime tune.

Finally, as a horse-drawn cart turned off the road, the Coliseum came into view and she saw it clearly in daylight. With turrets and banners on display, it reminded Merinda of a gated, moated castle. It was broad and spacious enough to hold hundreds for political rallies, entertainment events, and even sporting matches. The passersby were as interested in the excitement surrounding the place as the events therein.

Benny and Merinda strolled over echoing stone through a wide corridor to the auditorium.

The speakers droned on for hours, and even though a new progressive party was on the brink and an ideal was rolling out over hundreds
and hundreds of eager attendees, it was achieved tediously. Committees! Credentials! Merinda was tempted to set off the bomb herself if required to listen to another report.

M.C. Wheaton said that crime was easy to spot when you knew what you were looking for. A wink, a nod, a slight flick of a suit jacket, and Benny and Merinda knew who to follow and engage amid the milling men and women wearing boater hats and feathers. The people Ross had paid for their easy access inside.

Time ticked by and the Coliseum became overcrowded. Benny and Merinda were in their position as journalists, dignitaries, and men and women jostled in. The high arched ceiling made every lapping voice echo in a dizzying whirr. Jem was first inclined to think of the opulence she had read of in Rome—the lore of the gladiators and centurions—but Chicago's assembly space was far more modern, if just as overheated.

Merinda smoothed her striped day suit, adjusting her smart spectacles to look the part of a lady reporter. Ross had secured her an identification card and assured her no one would think twice about a lady reporter from a Canadian women's magazine. It was easy for her to make her way to the front. Benny's identification read “
Yukon Gazette
.” A paper no one had ever heard of and Benny assured Ross and Merinda didn't actually exist.

A gavel rapped on the podium, and silence fell over the throng. The last seats scraped their legs over the cement floor. Then, in a sudden growing symphony, a thousand voices lifted a lilting, patriotic song of several stanzas. Merinda pretended to sing, presumably being the only person who didn't know the words:

My country, 'tis of thee,

Sweet land of liberty,

Of thee I sing;

Land where my fathers died,

Land of the pilgrims' pride,

From ev'ry mountainside

Let freedom ring.

Stanza after stanza, until a prolonged final note was warbled by some of the lady delegates.

The Reverend Andrew Spetz was introduced to give the divine blessing, and the place was shrouded like a solemn church service, with only the occasional cough to rattle the hallowed silence.

An achingly long time after (she had the scrawls and scribbles from nervous exertion on her reporter's pad to prove it), Merinda's stomach gave a little leap as the chairman introduced the guest of the committee and every delegate rose to attention as President Roosevelt entered the hall, escorted to the platform by several men. The room erupted.

And something was stirring: a collective hope. Even in this grand place with these finely dressed people, their banners, and their songs, it was not completely different from the feeling she'd had standing in the midst of the Goldman rally. People wanted to believe in something. People needed to submit to something.

Merinda could feel something beyond herself, and she even found her thoughts tugged from the imminent and explosive danger in the explosives temporarily in repose. Mr. Roosevelt's clear, clipped voice filled the auditorium, making it seem smaller. His presence diminished everything. This man had these people in the palm of his hand, for he had a history of driving people into battle, whether by words or on a bloody field.

A robust and powerful figure, with his customary circular glasses and broad, toothy grin, he was as large in life as she anticipated, and he brought to mind the similar command of Emma Goldman. Something about the candidate commanded the respect and attention of the room. But even as Merinda felt herself thrum with the possibility of every word, she knew that their immediate world was teetering on a blast. She couldn't forget the gunpowder and dynamite hibernating near her.

The bank was pristine in polished marble and large columns, its outer layer hinting at the extravagant glory promised therein once the final touches had been finished. But the closer they got to the side entrance per Hedgehog's instructions and the guard who had been paid a dividend of Hedgehog's promised sum, the clearer it became that something was amiss. And then it became glaringly obvious, for blood marred the marble floor. Unfurled like a ribbon from the doorway. Ray turned around suddenly, shoved Jem at Jasper, and went to investigate.

The corridor was quiet. Lumber and sawdust besmirched the cavernous main floor despite the opulent and ornamented terra-cotta and the chandeliers cascading from the ceiling.

Ray's steps sounded hollow crossing the floor as he followed the trail of blood and finally found its dismal source: Hedgehog's limp body shoved behind a glass case.

Ray looked around before quickly jogging back in the direction of the doorway.

“Get out of here now!” he said. “Go, Jem.”

Jem crossed her arms. “Not a chance.”

“Hedgehog is dead. His body is just lying there, and there is no one else around. Not even Tony!” Ray looked agitatedly about him. “And I don't know who else is here and… Jemima! Get out of here.”

Jasper handed her a bill. “Go wait for us at the hotel,” he said. “The coast is clear. We'll get this all solved.”

“No!”

“Jem, this took a decidedly different turn. I was stupid to let you near this in the first place.” Something about the blood trailing from the door slapped Ray in the face.

“Ray DeLuca, I am not budging an inch.”

“Do not make me pick you up and carry you to the trolley stop, Jemima!”

Jasper looked between them, a flash of impatience in his eyes. His hand moved to the firearm at his side. “Well, you two figure this out. Ray, I'll be looking around.”

Ray nodded then turned to Jem, tightening his hold. “You go now.” He flung his hand toward LaSalle Street.

“You need me!” She said. “Whither thou goest…or…or…something like that.”

“Whither thou what? No. You are leaving now.”

“Have you had much success in the past telling me what to do?”

“I am trying to communicate.” He hissed. It was hot. Jasper was inside facing heaven knows what. Hedgehog was dead, and they were standing on the precipice of disaster. If Merinda and Benny couldn't stop the explosives, an entire city might soon be smoking chaos. “I have so little control over what is happening. But I need this one certainty. Do it Jem.”

Jem floundered. Shook her head. Bit her lip. Crossed her arms over herself and tried to match his stubborn glare. “Ray, I am my own person.”

“I know that. But you could get hurt.”

“So could you.”

“Your life is worth more than mine!”

“Not to me.”

“Jemima!”

Jem exhaled. Tapped her foot and looked about her. It was better than staring up at the plain fear on Ray's face. He wasn't angry; he was terrified. This wasn't a marital spat. This wasn't her testing his will and standing off; this was him staring at her with sheer anguish on his face. She could stand firm or she could make this small sacrifice because she loved him. More than her ideas of independence or her need to be a part of an adventure. This wasn't weakness if it was borne of her choice to do something for him.

She nodded. “All… all right.”

Relief deflated Ray. He gave her a quick smile and a peck on the cheek and made to say something when Jasper's voice rang hollow through the corridor inside.

“Ray, you might want to… Ray!”

A shadow filled the doorway. “You said I couldn't provide for Viola.” Tony was obviously seething with revenge.

“Tony, Hedgehog is dead. Did you… ”

Tony grunted a quick affirmative while looking at Jem. “Convenient that you're here,” he said, grabbing her arm and tugging her through the door before Ray's reflexes would allow him to intervene. He dashed in after them.

“Tony!” Ray said to his brother-in-law's back. “Jem was just on her way. She isn't a part of this. She doesn't need to be.”

Tony swiveled, turning Jem with him. “This gun has already killed once today,” he said, pressing it to Jem's neck.

“We won't let you get away with it,” Jasper said evenly, summoning a courage he didn't feel.

“What you are going to do, Constable? Arrest me? In Chicago? With force? Wouldn't you need backup?”

Jasper removed his gun from the inside of his coat and pointed it at Tony. “This is my backup.”

“You have no intention of firing that,” Tony said, gripping Jem more tightly. Jasper set his face resolutely anyway and kept the weapon still and sure in his hand. Tony cocked his own weapon, and Jem jumped at the sound of the click. Jasper lowered his weapon and looked to Ray with a shrug.

“Tony, you've killed a man. Now your prints are identification on that weapon,” Jasper said. “So what do you plan to do? Add another death?