Chapter 21

Outside the confines of Duck's hotel room, night retreated to the west and the sun rose on a new day. Duck sat, fully dressed and awake, on the plush king size bed with her arms wrapped around her knees. In her hands were the two pendants in her possession: the garnet one worn by her late mother, and the yellow one given to her by Mytho.

Locked up in her room, the only human contact Duck had over the course of a week was when food and books were delivered to her. Frankie and Paul barely spoke to her, and when they did it was mostly to complain about being Duck's wardens. Duck was therefore very appreciative of the mix of puzzle books and novels that were delivered to her on a daily bases, which Duck knew must have been arranged by Mytho to help her keep boredom at bay.

Still, even with the books to preoccupy her, Duck spent most of her waking hours thinking about everything that had happened to her since her kidnapping. There were no signs of Rue after their first meeting, but Duck could not forget the look of despair in the Corvo heiress's eyes.

The sight of Rue in so much pain made Duck wonder if her mother had experienced the same grief after she discovered her father had abandoned her. As a child, she remembered seeing Elsa sitting by herself late at night in her bedroom, looking pensively at the garnet pendant her husband had given her.

Duck had thought it was a look of longing; but now, after what Mytho had told her about Elsa's past, she could only imagine the complex range of emotions her mother must've felt at the sight of the pendant.

It must've been really hard for Ma, after what Pa did, Duck thought to herself. But unlike Pa, Mytho is still here, right next to Rue.

Thinking about the white-clad capo, Duck could not understand how anyone could give up their feelings of love. Even Elsa, who felt betrayed and abandoned, could not discard the love she felt for her husband.

Mytho is still capable of love, I'm sure of it, Duck repeated her words to Rue to herself. She had seen the warmth in his eyes and the gentleness in his manners in the brief time she'd met him, and she was sure what she saw was not an act.

But why would Mytho push Rue away? Could it really be that he no longer loved her?

Duck's thoughts drifted back to Loeguire, the father she never knew. While her father's actions were reprehensible and cowardly, if his letter was to be believed, he had a reason for deserting Elsa.

Could Mytho be in a similar situation? Was he pushing Rue away, not because those were his true feelings, but due to reasons and circumstances that no one was aware of? Judging by what Mytho said to her when he gave her the pendant, it wasn't just his love for Rue that he was trying to leave behind, but all of love itself as well. Though, what reason would Mytho have to do that?

Sighing, Duck leaned backwards and flopped down in her bed, her fingers closed loosely around the pendants. What would Ma say if she saw Mytho as he is now? Duck frowned sadly.

She knew that Elsa would have wanted Mytho to stay true to his dreams. But Elsa was gone, and Mytho was no longer the innocent young man he once was. The past was filled with so many regrets, so many sad memories. Could it have become such a great burden that Mytho would want to discard his love?

Yet, even if the past was filled with sorrow, Duck would not trade it for the world. Her memories and emotions were her own, and they were precious to her, just as her mother's pendant was precious to Elsa despite the sorrow it carried. The same had to be true of Mytho's love for Elsa, and for Rue.

The stream of thoughts in Duck's head was abruptly disrupted when a sharp knock came from her door. Duck sat up as the door clicked open and Mytho walked into the room.

Pendants still in hand, Duck climbed off the bed as Mytho closed the door behind him and walked towards her.

He smiled. "I'm sorry I haven't had time to see how you've been doing in the last few days, Duck. I hope your stay here has been well?"

Duck nodded, suddenly feeling at a loss for words. "Y-yeah…" she managed weakly.

What can I say to him? How can I make him understand how Rue feels?

Across from her, Mytho gave her another small smile. "I apologize for the abruptness, but we will be leaving the hotel now. Unfortunately, I cannot allow you to bring anything with you on this trip."

Hearing this, Duck's pulse quickened. "Eh? But…where are we going?" she asked, her palm beginning to sweat around the two pendants clutched tightly in her hands.

"I'm sorry; I can't tell you. However, you will see shortly," was the only answer Mytho gave her.

Trying to reassure her, he repeated, "Please, believe me when I say I will not hurt you." Turning away, he said, "Now, please follow me."

Seeing Mytho walk away from her, Duck realized this might be her last chance to speak one-on-one with him. She had no idea what awaited her outside the doors of the hotel room, but come what may, Duck knew there was something she needed to do before it was too late.

"Mytho, wait!" she called out, stopping Mytho just as he was about to reach for the door handle.

Hurrying to catch up to him, the capo looked at her in puzzlement as Duck took a deep breath and said, "Before you go, there's something that I need to give you."

Duck opened her hands to reveal the pendants to Mytho. She took one last long look at them before gently taking Mytho's hand and dropping the two items into his palm.

Perplexed by her behavior, Mytho frowned. "This garnet pendant belonged to Elsa. You should keep it…"

Duck silenced him with a shake of her head and smiled softly. "This pendant is the essence of Ma's love, and though she's no longer here, I think she would've wanted you to have it. It's a reminder of the Mytho she'd met, the same Mytho who Rue knew: the kind, gentle boy who loved ballet."

Mytho blinked, surprised that Duck knew about his relationship with Rue. "When did you…?"

But Duck continued, stumbling with her words as she barreled ahead. "I-I know it's none of my business, but I know for certain that Rue loves you, Mytho! Please don't push her away. Your love is a part of you, just like it was a part of Ma; even though it might hurt you, it's also a precious emotion that shouldn't be thrown away."

Touching the yellow cameo pendant Mytho had given her previously, Duck's smile deepened as she lifted her hand away. "I haven't known you for very long, and I only have an inkling of what you've been through in the last few years, but I know one thing: the real you is the Mytho that I met on the train, who took care of me when he had every reason not to be kind to me. Please don't discard that part of you; don't abandon your true self and your feelings of love—for Rue's sake, as well as your own."

Mytho silently looked down at the pendants in his palm. Outside, Paul's voice called out, "Boss? Everything alright?"

Mytho did not answer immediately. Instead, he closed his eyes briefly before closing his fingers around the pendants, his expression guarded and undecipherable.

"She's ready," Mytho said to the lackeys waiting outside.

Frankie and Paul opened the door, and with Mytho beside her, Duck was escorted out of the hotel and into a discreet black car parked next to the curb.

As the car pulled into the early morning traffic, Duck's gaze remained on Mytho who was sitting in the front passenger seat. She could not see his face, and there was no way for Duck to know if her words had reached him as they drove towards their destination in silence.

Eventually Duck lowered her gaze from the capo to the scenery outside the back passenger window. Unfamiliar roads, bustling avenues and lively shops gradually gave way to barren streets and gray factories as they drove from the busy city to the steel mills in the south.

The car they were traveling in eventually came to a stop outside a dusty warehouse, its roof, made of corrugated steel sheets, heavily stained with long rivulets of orange rust.

As she was led out of the vehicle, Duck could hear the chugging noise of a tugboat nearby. The caustic air smelt of industrial exhaust and gasoline runoff from the nearby garages and mills, forcing Duck to cover her nose.

Mytho took out a piece of black cloth from his coat pocket and began to cover Duck's eyes. "Wait, what are you—!" Duck began, panic in her voice.

"Shhh," Mytho whispered into the young woman's ear.

The thought of making a last ditch attempt to wrestle herself free and make a run for it crossed Duck's mind, but she just as quickly realized it was a bad idea. While Mytho had promised he would not harm her, Duck had a feeling his lackeys would have no reservation shooting her in the back if she tried to escape.

Thus, Duck allowed Mytho to finish tying the blindfold over her eyes. Unable to see, she could only hear the sound of the warehouse door being unlocked and opened, followed by the low growl of male voices.

"Wait here until I call for her," Duck heard Mytho speaking to the two remaining mobsters, his shoes making crunching noises on the loose gravel pavement before it disappeared as he stepped inside the warehouse.

With Mytho gone, Frankie grabbed hold of Duck's arm in a vice grip. Unable to see, Duck swallowed thickly. Inside her chest, her heart was pounding wildly as fear gripped its cold, clammy fingers closed around it.

It seemed like an eternity had passed, but in fact only minutes later, Duck felt a painful tug on her arm as Frankie pulled her forward. Making a small squeak of surprise, Duck stepped shakily into the pale electric light of the warehouse.

By the time Fakir made his way to the outskirts of Chicago it was completely dark. Despite facing freezing temperatures, deafening noise, and the possibility of running out of fuel midflight, the hardest part of Fakir's airborne journey prove to be shaking off Femio.

"As the champion de l'amour it is my duty to see that your mission is complete!" Femio declared as the two of them stood next to Le Taureau in an open field.

The farmer whose land they had touched down on was initially highly suspicious of the two strangers and their airplane, and had greeted the two men with a loaded shotgun. Thankfully, Fakir's quick thinking had saved them from being riddled with bird shot, as the sight of the nickel police badge put to rest some of the farmer's suspicions, and he agreed to help them call for a car to pick up Fakir and take him to the city.

However, when Femio heard Fakir was planned to go on alone he had vehemently insisted on tagging along. For several minutes he and Fakir stood arguing back and forth while the farmer and his family studied Femio's flying machine with the light of their kerosene lanterns.

"You can't come with me!" Fakir had said through grated teeth. "The people I'm going to find have guns! They'll kill you!"

"Nonsense! Love is impervious to earthly weapons!" Femio retorted.

Fakir groaned loudly as he struggled to contain the urge to punch the delusional barnstormer. For a supposed veteran of the Great War, Fakir had expected Femio to shun conflict. Instead, it seemed the barnstormer was more than ready to throw himself at dangerous situations.

Just as his patience was stretched to its limits, an old Ford Model T pulled up to the snow-dusted field.

Honking his horn, the driver stuck his head out the window and hollered, "Somebody here needs a ride?"

"Coming!" Fakir shouted. Not bothering to continue talking in circles with Femio, Fakir picked up his bag and began to walk towards the car.

"Attendez pour moi!" Femio started, but a tug from a small hand on his jacket stopped him as one of the farmer's children pointed her other hand at the plane.

"Mister, is this your airplane? Can we ride it?"

Another child popped his head up from the pilot's cockpit and waved at his siblings on the ground. "Look at me! I'm a pilot! Vroom!"

Femio gasped in dismay at the sight of the boy sitting in his machine and quickly went over to shoo them away.

Fakir, seeing Femio distracted, hurriedly got into the car and said to the driver, "Step on it, as fast as you can!"

The surprised driver obliged, taking Fakir away from the flustered pilot and his small gaggle of young admirers.

Finally able to breathe a sigh of relief, Fakir turned his thoughts to locating the warehouse Meerkat had given him the address to.

Fakir asked the driver to drop him off several blocks away from the location of the warehouse, which the driver was only too happy to do, as the area was not well known for being friendly to lone visitors after dark.

Covering the rest of the distance on foot, Fakir crept along in the shadows of buildings and warehouses, watching warily for any movement from the corner of his eyes.

At last, he arrived on the street where Meerkat had nearly been attacked earlier. A lone light bulb hung over the door of the warehouse, and with its light Fakir could see that across the street was a disused building with the familiar eagle and "Y" shaped façade. Next to it was a garage; a discolored billboard advertising motor oil hung above the shuttered front gate. In the distance, three tall smoke stacks stood like sentinels, smoke bellowing out even in the dead of night.

Fakir quietly fished out the photograph Mytho had sent him and compared the scene before him with the photo. This is the same place, all right, Fakir concluded, and tucked the photo back into his pocket.

It was now the wee hours of January 6th, but Fakir had no idea when Mytho might show up, or if the capo and Duck were already inside. The only way to know was to go in for a closer look.

As softly as he could, Fakir treaded over to the small alley next to the warehouse. Looking down the length of the narrow street, Fakir could see that the warehouse's windows had been covered with newspaper. Even so, thin slits of light could still be seen escaping from inside the warehouse.

Fakir crept towards the edge of the windows where a pile of discarded large wood crates and other refuse stood. Once he made sure the crate closest to the window could support his weight and that it would not creak loudly, Fakir gingerly stepped onto the wooden structure and peered into the warehouse through a gap in the newspaper.

Inside were a group of five or six men, some standing, some sitting, chatting amongst themselves. From the snappy jackets and waistcoats they wore, Fakir knew these were not blue-collared longshoremen. His suspicion was cemented when he glanced to the side and saw the distinctive outline of a Tommy gun propped against a stack of wooden crates.

Fakir's eyes narrowed. These must have been the same people who confronted Meerkat previously, and they were here guarding whatever was in the crates.

After watching from his vantage point for several minutes, Fakir stepped off the dusty wooden box to contemplate his next step.

He saw no sign of Mytho or Duck in the warehouse, so it was likely they were not in the warehouse at this time. However, it was impossible to say when they might show up, and in the meantime Fakir had to make sure his presence went undetected by the goons inside the warehouse.

Shifting his eyes back to the pile of debris, Fakir walked around the pile of discarded crates and saw that one had been turned on its side, with a torn and stained shipping blanket tossed haphazardly over the opening. Surrounded by piles of discarded tires and facing away from the street, the crate made an ideal hideout for a few hours, provided that Fakir didn't make any noise.

Carefully, Fakir climbed into the crate and pulled the shipping blanket back over the crate opening. The space was extremely cramped and cold, and it smelt of motor oil and rubber, but this was not the time or place to complain, not after he'd finally made it to the place he'd been searching so long for.

Taking out his Colt revolver, Fakir checked the gun and loaded its chambers with bullets. Clicking the barrel back into place as quietly as he could, Fakir leaned back against the rough wooden planks of the crate, and closed his eyes. The only thing he could do now was wait.

The weariness from his long journey soon caught up with him, and before Fakir realized it he had fallen asleep.

When he opened his eyes again, the sun had begun to rise, and the distant sound of factories and mills coming to life in the new day could be heard all around him. Beyond the background murmur of industry, Fakir could hear the sound of car tires crunching across gravel at the other end of the alley.

Quickly rubbing the remaining sleep from his eyes, Fakir perked up his ears and listened as car doors opened.

A number of male voices speaking in hushed tones could be heard, followed by the sound of a creaking metal door being opened and closed.

Fakir carefully lifted the blanket covering his hideout, and after looking around to make sure the coast was clear, he pulled himself out of the crate as quickly as he could, despite the soreness in his muscles.

In the light of dawn, Fakir could see that the back of the warehouse was only a few feet away from the cold Calumet River. Hoping there'd be a back entrance he could take, Fakir softly treaded his way to the back of the building. Keeping his body low, Fakir looked around the corner and was happily surprised to find an opened back door.

But before he could take a step forward, a gangster with a cigarette in hand appeared and planted himself at the front of the door, forcing Fakir to quickly retreat behind the building.

At the front of the warehouse, Fakir could hear the sound of more cars arriving and a hubbub of human activity.

Something's definitely happening, Fakir's mind raced. He had to get inside the warehouse as quickly as possible.

Looking around, Fakir noticed numerous pieces of loose gravel of varying sizes at his feet. This gave him an idea.

Picking up one relatively large piece of rock, Fakir waited until the gangster briefly turned his back towards him and tossed the stone as far as he could towards the Calumet River where it made a loud "kaplunk!" sound as it hit the water.

The sudden noise made the man at the backdoor look up. With his cigarette in his mouth, the mobster slowly made his way towards the river's edge to investigate.

Once he was sufficiently far away enough from the warehouse, Fakir quietly snuck around the corner and slipped in through the backdoor.

Weaving his way around large, disassembled machinery and disused automobile parts, Fakir edged closer and closer to the center of the warehouse where voices could be heard. However, he didn't travel far before the backside of a group of mobsters forced him to hide behind a set of large metal containers.

Looking through the gap between the containers, Fakir could see that at least fifty men had gathered inside the warehouse, split roughly into four groups.

Standing prominently in the center were three men who looked vaguely familiar to the detective, but before Fakir could try and figure out where he'd seen them before, the sharp tapping sound of a cane echoed through the air, followed shortly by the raspy voice of an old man.

"Buongiorno, signori."*

Domenico Corvo, with Rue in tow behind him, walked into view. Fakir's eyes grew wide, then narrowed. The sight of the Don made the wound in his right hand begin to throb, and Fakir could feel the years of revulsion he'd harbored for the don rise up to the surface.

The three men that Fakir had pondered about earlier shook hands with Don Corvo with varying degrees of frostiness. But despite the other men's indifference, Domenico Corvo made a show of greeting them, saying, "Jimmy Passeridi, Johnny Fringuello, and Hymie Rudzik.* How good it is to see you all! It is not every day that one gets to meet members of the Chicago racket all under one roof."

Fakir silently gasped at those words. No wonder those men looked familiar; they were the leaders of three of Chicago's most infamous gangs! He'd seen their faces in the newspaper and had heard of their deeds from other officers in the police force. None of these men were individuals one would want to trifle with. For Don Corvo to convince all three of them to gather under one roof, whatever the reason was, Fakir reasoned, it must have been something of great importance.

"Yeah, it's swell seeing you as well, Old Man Corvo," Jimmy Passeridi replied, his thin arms crossed over his chest as he and his men looked on contemptuously. "But who's this broad? And what is she doin' here?" Jimmy said, nodding at Rue.

"This," Don Corvo smiled smugly, "is my daughter, Rue. I've brought her along because I have an announcement I'd like to tell all of you about today."

"Oh?" Johhny Fringuello rubbed his chin and cocked a lecherous brow at Rue. "Well, I gotta say, she's quite the looker. But before that, shall we get down to the business that we all came for?"

"Yeah, let's cut the chitchat and get straight down to it. It's colder than hell in here, and I want to get this done and over with!" complained Hymie Rudzik, who shuffled his feet impatiently.

"Very well," Domenico Corvo made a gesture with his hand to a Corvo gang member who walked up to one of the crates and pried open the lid with a crow bar.

Brushing aside the packing material inside, Fakir could see thick packs of what looked like bags of flour in brown paper bags. The Corvo gangster took out a small knife and cut into one of the paper bags and a white, pearly powder seeped through when the knife was pulled out.

The three Chicago dons walked up to the crate and, taking a small pinch of the powder in between their fingers, put it up to their nose and inhaled deeply. Even before Domenico Corvo spoke, from that action alone Fakir knew what it was that the men were sampling: high-grade cocaine.

"This is the purest cocaine that money can buy, gentlemen, imported directly from South America," Don Corvo said proudly.

Johhny Fringuello licked his lips, his rat-like eyes still on the packs of cocaine, and said, "I heard through the grapevine that folks in New York were getting their hands on some high grade stuff lately. But I didn't know it was from you. I'm taking you want to cut a deal with us?"

"Chicago is a big city, and a vast untapped market. It would benefit all of us if, with your assistance, we can get this product onto the streets. Think about it, gentlemen," Don Corvo whispered enticingly, "the benefit you will reap will make the vault in the Chicago Fed look like a child's piggy bank!"*

The three Chicago mobster's eyes lit up at those words. Eagerly, Jimmy Passeridi said, "How much are you askin' for?"

Behind them, the door of the warehouse creaked open and a figure clad in white stepped in. Fakir watched as Mytho casually walked into his line of sight.

However, there was no sign of Duck, and Fakir had to tell himself to sit tight and wait. It would be suicide to reveal himself right now, one cop in a room full of machine gun toting mobsters.

So he watched as Don Corvo smiled and proclaimed, "I will to leave that part of the negotiation to my new underboss, Mytho."

The three mob bosses and their underlings looked at each other dubiously as Don Corvo continued, "I am getting on in age, but in the years Mytho has worked for me, he has proven himself a capable and worthy man. He has also been going steady with my daughter for a number of years and the two of them are now engaged. Once they are wedded in a few months' time, he will take over the Corvo outfit as the new don."

Hymie guffawed and spat onto the ground derisively. "Is that your big announcement? You want us to talk business with some baby-faced kid? Are you off your nuts?" he jeered.

"I assure you, gentlemen, both Father and I are completely serious," Mytho replied as he took off his hat and hand it off to a lackey. "It would be advantageous for both sides if we can strike up a partnership. The world is getting smaller and smaller every day. If we can carve out a piece of it now, there is much we stand to gain."

"You have a point, sonny," Johnny Fringuello grinned. "But can we really trust you? I've heard that you've gotten yourself in some hot water lately, something about a witness you fellas couldn't flush out."

The Chicago mobsters chuckled, but Mytho did not flinch. Johnny continued, "If you're going to be taking over the Corvo crew that doesn't really inspire a whole lotta confidence, if you know what I mean. We'll need some reassurance from you as the future Corvo Don if we're going to throw our lot in with you."

Mytho glanced at Don Corvo, who looked at the young man expectantly, before Mytho returned his gaze to the dubious mobster.

The white-haired mobster answered evenly, "It's true that we've had a bit of trouble recently. But the witness you speak of has already been located. In fact, she's here right now."

He gestured to Paul, who went to the door and motioned for his brother.

A murmur rippled through the crowd as Duck was led in by Frankie. With a rough tug, Frankie pulled the blindfold from Duck's eyes while holding onto her wrists from behind her. Duck struggled a little, but she stopped once the blindfold on her was undone and she blinked fearfully at the ranks of hostile mobsters standing in front of her.

Seeing Duck, Fakir nearly jumped up from his hiding spot. But before Fakir could make a move, Mytho reached into his jacket and pulled out one of his pistols, its barrel pointed squarely at Duck's chest.

Duck's wide-open eyes flitted from Mytho to the gun and back to the mobster, her face ashen white as Mytho appear to go back on his words.

"As a sign of my sincerity, I will now put your concerns to rest."

With that, Mytho pulled back on the trigger. A loud "BANG!" echoed through the warehouse as Duck crumpled to the ground.

A/N

* Italian for "Good morning, gentlemen"

* Passeridi and Fringuello are Italian for sparrow and chaffinch respectively, while Rudzik is Polish for robin. All three of the fictional Chicago gangsters are named after songbirds (as opposed to corvids) and real life Chicago gangsters, i.e. Big Jim Colomiso and Johnny Torrio (both of whom are of Italian descent), and Hymie Weiss (who is of Polish descent).

*Chicago Fed refers to the Federal Reserve Bank of Chicago, which is operated by the US Department of the Treasury. When I first wrote this sentence I had Don Corvo compare the profit they would reap to the gold in Fort Knox, but when I did a quick search I realized Fort Knox didn't become a federal gold bullion depository until the 1930's, a decade after the events of this story.

Thanks to Tomoyo Ichijouji for her help with beta-ing and proofreading!