Ghost Hunt

John checked his pocket watch. It was already half-past nine and he had been waiting at the rifle range on the west side of town for well over an hour. They had other things to do today besides practice with guns and his patience was wearing thin. "You know, Henry, my brother wants us to be hunting down whoever shot Al and Elio."

Without even looking up from his rifle, Henry responded. "Would you prefer we face our enemies using pistols?"

"Well, not if we can help it."

"Then I need to make sure my marksmanship is still the best. There isn't a place in Chicago to practice like this." Henry then reloaded his rifle with another five cartridges tipped with large eight mm bullets. Taking a moment to adjust his peep sight out to the maximum range, he settled down into his prone position and controlled his breathing. The bead rose and fell, easily covering the small black target at the far end of the range. His finger caressed the trigger, feeling it pull back gently. One more breath and—

"Can we move this along?" John interrupted. Henry growled to himself in annoyance. He momentarily glared at John before taking a deep breath and letting the transgression go. "I will be done shortly, now if you're looking to do something useful, go over there and ask the range master when the last time that farthest steel target was hit.

Rolling his eyes, John did as he was bid. In the background, Henry took his first shot and barely missed, sending it up and to the right. Approaching the range master's booth, John tapped on the glass. The rangemaster looked up from his score cards. "Yeah?"

"My friend wants to know when the last time someone his that farthest target." John pointed out to the far end of the range.

"Oh, well, let's see here. The last time anyone even tried was two months ago when the national sharpshooters came through."

"Hmm… so a bit far then?"

"It's measured at a full 1,000 yards. Only range in the area with that distance."

Squeezing off another round, Henry let a bullet fly. It arced through the air before punching the target squarely in the center. Wit his lead established, Henry repeated the shot three more times in quick succession. Three more bullets found their mark on the swinging target which was now defaced with four small craters.

The rangemaster witnessed the three shots after hearing the first. "Dear lord…" He said while peering through binoculars. "I've never seen that before!"

John too was impressed and he briskly walked back to Henry's station on the firing line. "Where did you learn to shoot like that?"

"Not Chicago."

"You know, if we're going to be working together, I think we ought to be honest with each other. I don't like working with people I don't know."

"It's hard to know who to trust these days, John. I might not like the city, but at least in Chicago the Outfit's civil war is easy to read. But everyone knows the water is muddier in St. Louis."

"So I need to earn your trust, is that it? Fine, I can do that. But if you aren't going to give me your real name then let's start with something easy, like the rifle you're carrying. I haven't seen one like it."

"This thing? I used to use a different gun, but injuries on the job have prevented me from getting up close and personal, so I shopped around and found this. It's a customized Gewehr 98. The barrel can't take a bayonet anymore, but now it doesn't touch the fore-end of the stock. This, combined with the aperture sight, makes the rifle more accurate than anything else gangs are using these days. As for the bullets, they are eight-millimeter Mauser. One shot is all I need to get rid of a target."

"I am impressed, but a custom gun isn't going to get us closer to solving anything, now if you're done…"

"Yes, we can get on with the day. It gladdens me to know I haven't lost my skill."

The two began their work by driving back into town. John noted that the skies were darkening above them. That could only mean a late-season rainstorm. Henry occupied himself with studying Elio's picture. "The boy was a handsome devil."

"And was a devil in other ways. My sister never disciplined him and given the status of our family he never really had to work like we did."

"It's a tale as old as time. One generation works hard and the next takes it for granted." Henry added. "But it sounds like this one's pride got the better of him. Where did he go right before he died?"

"He went down to a little hole-in-the-wall gin joint for poker and a few drinks."

"So whoever attacked had to ask around, and that's going to mean there should be at least someone in the area that knows this person. Where was he at previously?"

"Elio apparently had gotten into a fight with a patron at a deli up on the Hill."

"Then that's a good a place as any to start."

The pair soon found themselves inside the deli. An aging man behind the counter instantly recognized John. Henry noticed that John knew the man as well. "Alessio," John said as he greeted the man. "We are investigating an incident from three weeks ago that involved your deli. Mind if we ask you a few questions?"

"Uh, of course. But let's go into the back. More private for us."

Once in the back of the kitchen Alessio pleaded with the two gangsters. "Please, Johnny, I don't want to be on your brother's bad side!"

"And you won't be. You've been making your payments on time and haven't caused us any trouble. However, we need to find out who killed my nephew and as I understand it there was a fight of some kind. Tell us all you know and we'll be on our way."

"It was a young couple. Elio had been talking to the young woman, she looked uncomfortable. Her friend wasn't much bigger than her, but he was bold! Elio pulled his gun but the boy turned it on him!"

"Wait, you mean to tell me someone disarmed Elio and turned his own gun on him?"

"Yes. He then put the gun in Elio's mouth like this…" Alessio then mimicked the pistol begin stuck in his mouth. "And then he was pushed out onto the street."

"That is bold." John said. "Impressive." Henry added.

"Yes, and get this! He left the pistol here. Said I should turn it into the police."

"You didn't did you?" John asked. "Because talking to the cops about this stuff—"

"No, no, of course not! Please, I just want to run my deli in peace. The pistol is in my desk." Alessio then walked over to the tiny, worn-out desk in the corner of the kitchen. "Here, I don't want it around." He placed the revolver in John's hands. John inspected the weapon, confirming by the initials under the trigger guard that it was Elio's. "Any you didn't think to tell us about this earlier? You could have saved us a lot of time if you had contacted the Green Ones."

"I-I was afraid. I did not think… please, just don't hurt me or my family!" The man pleaded once more. John rolled his eyes, patting the man on the back. "Of course I won't hurt you! Like I said, you've cooperated with us just fine. However, if something like this were to happen again then I expect a phone call, understood?"

The man nodded in agreement. "Excellent. Because if not, then I cannot guarantee what happens. Now, do you know what this cat looked like?"

"H-he was small. I don't know the number, but about this tall." The cat held his hand out, showing that the cat was a little on the short side. "He had orange fur and yellow, wild eyes!" Alessio then widened his eyes to mimic what he saw. "And he said something in another language I did not understand so good."

"So not Italian? Sicilian?"

"No, not Sicilian! It was, uh, like what you hear down in Carr Square."

"Polish?" Henry asked, confused. "The Poles have a gang?"

"No, not Polish. Uh, I have been here a long time. It was who came before the Poles."

John then realized what the man was describing. "Irish. It was an Irishman, wasn't it?"

"Y-yes, that sounds right. Irish. But he did not speak English."

"No, he spoke Gaelic. Henry, right this down while I think for a minute."

"Hey, I'm your secretary!" Henry spat back.

"No, but you've got two good hands and haven't done anything else useful. Write every detail down, I need to check on something…"

John walked out of the deli after pocketing the revolver. In his mind he could see the scene unfold. He remembered one of the associates mentioning that Elio later gave someone a good beating in an alley. Running quickly down the street, John made two turns before finding an alley. This was it, the scene of the attack. Examining the area closely, John overturned some fallen leaves and discovered a few stray orange hairs that the wind hadn't blown away yet. Something shiny caught his eye and in the corner there was a small lapel laying in the dirt. It looked like a small, three-lobed club.

McMurray's Dilemma

The sudden gust of wind would have grabbed Freckle's had if he hadn't caught it in time. He pushed the fedora as low as possible onto his head, but the action caused his card to dislodge itself and immediately fly off with the wind. Though he tried to grab it, Freckle was too slow. The card tumbled in the air as it sailed down the street. Abandoning the card to its fate on the wind, Freckle's eyes caught the first glimpse in months of his childhood home. It looked the same though all the lights were off. Even so, the car was in the front yard. He had done most of the driving since Nina was not comfortable with the contraption, but he supposed she had to drive herself now.

He wondered how he'd be received. Would she hug and kiss him? Nah, that probably wasn't likely. Nina showed her love in different ways, but affection was not one of them. Would she even care? Of course she would! He was her son, her only child. Even if she kicked him to the curb, it would be out of principle, not from a lack of love. As he thought more about what would happen, the creeping feeling that he'd be punished severely for walking out on her overtook him.

Yet here he was. It had been constantly nagging him for the last two weeks now that he didn't have anything to distract himself with. Something deep inside him urged Freckle to go and reconnect with Nina. Ivy had even suggested it. But Freckle was sure of one thing. If he went back now then the life, he had been starting for himself would be sacrificed. His mother would demand that much for certain. She had always sheltered him, fed him, and kept him on a strict path. Heck, Jesus himself probably couldn't meet her standards. No, that would be blasphemy, or at least Nina would insist it was. Giving up bootlegging was easy but leaving his new friends… and his new love was something he just couldn't bring himself to do.

There was also the problem that no matter what Freckle did, he couldn't measure up to Nina's requirements unless she was there to assist him. Perhaps that was intentional? Did his own mother want him to stay sheltered in her home for the rest of his life? For a moment the guilt he felt turned to anger. Perhaps going back home would be a mistake after all? This new thought brought him great sadness. If only there was someone with all the answers?

Then it dawned on him. Perhaps all those years of Sunday school amounted to something. Dropping to his knees, Freckle prayed for guidance. He didn't outwardly show his faith often, especially around Ethan and Rocky who each had their own brand of skepticism, but if anyone had an answer to this dilemma then surely the almighty would provide it?

He silently asked for an answer. Should he go home and abandon his new life completely, or push on into the unknown and accept that the familiarity of home would forever be lost in the past? Minutes passed, yet no answer came. Freckle slowly realized that he was making a fool of himself praying in the park just down the street from his mother's house. A deafening roar of thunder rolled overhead as the sky illuminated with lightning to the west. A single drop of rain found its mark on the tip of his nose, followed by another, and another.

Though he was uncertain about the shelter he would receive at his mother's home, the shelter the farm truck offered was more assuring at this moment. This decision would have to wait for another day, someone should be watching the farm during the storm. The roof was new as were the windows, so there was no telling where it could leak. Freckle also remembered that there was a certain young girl who would probably like a ride home from school. Ethan and Rocky didn't know about his detour this morning so it was unlikely they'd be traveling all the way out of town just to deliver Riley three miles to the farm.

Dark Omen

Driving the old truck tested Freckles skills as the rain got heavier. He was soon out of the city itself and on the dirt roads that meandered throughout the surrounding county. In addition to manipulating the steering wheel, the shifter, and the pedals, he also had to move the windshield wipers himself. At least that was one job Riley could handle when he got to the school. The going was slow, though, and it took twice as long to reach the little school house. Now the wind was howling and trees were swaying. Freckle knew he had seen worse storms, but specific examples weren't coming to mind. All the more reason to get Riley and himself home where they could be safe.

Mrs. Casewell didn't like the look of the storm. What started as an autumn downpour quickly became a torrent. Realizing that the children might be in danger if left to brave the elements, she had spent the better part of an hour phoning all the residents in the area to come and get their children. Three now remained, two of them lived near her house. But Riley was two miles in the other direction and no one had been around to pick up the phone. A knock on the front door of the school drew her attention away from the storm. A more frantic knock came quickly after and Mrs. Casewell hurried across the room to meet her guest thinking it was one of the parents.

As she opened the door she was greeted by a miserable-looking teenage cat in a fedora and a trench coat two sizes too big for him. "Oh dear, come inside and dry off. Did you get caught in the storm coming back from Bonhomme high school?"

"What?" Freckle asked before realizing that she thought he was a student. "No, I'm not a student. I'm here for Riley." As he said her name, Riley realized who had come for her and so she quickly gathered up her books and school work. "Hi Freckle!" She exclaimed. Mrs. Casewell made the connection. "Freckle! Oh, so you're the boy Ethan mentioned. You must have good intuition because I called the house twenty minutes ago and didn't get an answer."

"I… was out of the house. But the storm is getting worse so it would be good if Riley and I could get back home while the roads are still passable."

"Of course! Be careful on the way back, some of those old cottonwoods and oaks can topple over in winds like these."

"I will ma'am, thank you. Riley, are you ready?"

"Yep!"

"I'd have an umbrella, but it would probably be in the next county, so we'll just have to run for it."

At least the farm truck was only thirty feet out the door. In a matter of seconds both of them were safely in the cab, Riley letting out a little shiver from the sudden chill in the wind. "I'm glad you came; I didn't want to wait until Ethan and Rocky were done with work."

"Yeah, it's looking pretty bad." Freckle said. He didn't have quite as many interactions with Riley as Rocky had, but he was still comfortable enough watching over her. They both shared a love of reading and it would be nice to have the house to themselves for a couple of hours where Freckle could enjoy some peace and quiet while Riley could feel safe knowing someone was there to watch over her.

"Okay Riley, do you know how to run the windshield wipers?"

"No."

"All you have to do is move this lever back and forth. If you can do that then it will be easier for me to drive."

Soon they had a system worked out and the school faded into the torrential rain behind them. The road had deteriorated significantly in the few minutes he had been off the road and the truck threatened to go into the ditch in the slick mud. The side wind rocked the body back and forth and the movement was enough that Riley grew concerned. About a mile from the school a large object loomed in the distance. Freckle was on a slight down grade and had picked up some speed. Distracted by the speedometer, he didn't realize that the road wasn't clear.

"Freckle, tree!"

Looking up just in time, he hit the brakes hard, sending Riley crashing into the dashboard.

"Ow…" She said.

"I'm so sorry Riley!" Freckle apologized as he wrapped his arms around the girl and helped her back up into the seat. "Are you okay?"

"I think so."

"Here, let me make sure you aren't cut anywhere…" Freckle checked Riley over in the dim light, but luckily there were no cuts or other injuries. She would just have a couple of bruises later. He turned his attention to the large tree blocking the road. "Damn… that was close."

"Maybe we should turn back?" Riley suggested.

"We're only a mile from the farm. I'll get out and check the road. Maybe there's a way around? Stay here with the truck, this shouldn't take long."

Turning his collar up, Freckle grabbed the torch from under the seat. Even though it was noon the storm had darkened everything as if it were the last light of a cloudy day. Exiting the cab, Freckle first checked over the front of the truck to make sure he didn't damage anything. He had managed to stop just a couple of feet from the tree. Another second and he would have wrecked the radiator and probably the headlights too.

The large oak tree was far too big to move and he wasn't about to walk a mile in a storm to get the axe. An area to the side of the tree's upturned roots looked solid enough for the truck, but on the back side Freckle immediately ran into yet another tree. "Two downed trees?" He thought. Unusual but not unheard of. But as he walked it became apparent that there were more than a couple of downed trees. The road seemed to disappear underneath an entire forest of flattened trees. Shining the torch around him, Freckle realized that this was the oak grove near Bonhomme creek. A great wind had come through and knocked them all down, which could only mean…

"Oh no!" He said to himself. Scrambling back to the truck, Freckle turned off the flashlight and shook off the water before putting the truck in reverse. Riley immediately sensed his fear. "What's wrong?"

"Tornado." He replied. "A tornado came through and knocked down the whole oak grove. We can't get back to the farm this way.

"Are we taking a back road?"

"No, we're going into town. Mom said tornados don't go into big cities. Something about the ground-effect wind. I'm not sure if that's true, but if we can get underground then we'll be fine anyway."

"Town? But that's twenty minutes away!" Riley protested.

"It'll be a half an hour or longer, but we can't be caught out here if there are tornados touching down. Besides, the storm shelter isn't finished at the farmhouse. If a tornado hit the house and we were inside…" Freckle didn't want to alarm the girl but the situation was serious. Turning around at a field access, Freckle put the truck into its high gear and retreated to the only safe place he could think of.

Downpour

"Operator, could you patch me through to 8102 Babler Park Drive?"

"Again?" The voice on the other end asked.

"Yes, I can't seem to get through to the house."

"Sir, I'm getting reports from our linemen that we've got destroyed phone lines all over the western end of the county. Is it ringing on the other end?"

"No, it's just… nothing. Maybe some static."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Kelly, but I don't think you're going to be able to call. Do you want me to still patch you through."

"Yeah, one last time please. Thank you, ma'am."

"Good luck, sir." The operator then plugged me into the right phone line, but there was no activity on the other end. The line was dead.

"Damn!" I said while slamming the receiver on the hook.

"There's no need to curse the machinations of our age, Ethan. Taranis, is having a field day outside." Rocky said while trying to mop up the water that was draining into the cave.

"I just want to make sure they're okay, Rocky." I said, exhausted and frustrated.

"I've known Freckle all his life, Ethan. And if there is one thing, I can be certain of, it's that he's not dumb enough to put himself or Riley in any sort of predicament. They're both probably engrossed in the fantasy tales of their fiction books."

"Let's hope so."

"Aw man! Where'd all this water come from?!" Zib shouted from behind the stage. Slogging through puddles, Rocky and I made our way to the stage and found Zib soaking wet after laying directly underneath one area of the dripping ceiling. "What's happening?!" He asked, apparently no longer content to sleep the day away.

"Well you see, Zib, when water encounters calcium-dominant rocks such as limestone, a chemical reaction occurs which softens the rock and carries a microscopic portion of it downwards with the force of gravity. Over time the calcium resolidifies as a stalactite."

"That's not what I meant." Zib growled. All our instruments are at risk of getting soaked.

"Oh yes, that could be a problem. Someone save my violin!" Rocky exclaimed as he stepped over the puddle Zib found himself in. I shook my head. "You know Zib, for someone so wise you seem to pick the worst spots to pass out. Here, might as well get on your feet…" I lent him my hand and helped him up.

"So, "ghost" what's going on?"

"We're dealing with a flooding situation. Also, don't call me that."

"Why? You let Mordecai call you that, and Rocky, and—"

"You know very well that reasoning with Rocky is a futile task. And as for Mordecai, I hate it that he calls me that but I'm not going to put a bullet in his skull over something that petty.

"Fine." Zib then looked around, noting all the water. "The cave hasn't flooded like this before."

"It's bad outside. The streets are completely flooded. Water is even coming in through some of the air shafts, like the one above your head." I said while pointing at the ceiling. Zib realized that he had been sleeping right underneath one on his favorite chair, which was now soaking wet.

"I was afraid this would happen." Mitzi said as she and Wick carefully stepped around the growing puddles. "I take it the battle down here isn't going so well." Wick commented.

Zib shook himself dry and then went to help the band get their instruments to drier ground. I leapt off the stage and picked up Rocky's mop. "Yeah, it could be going better."

"Well, at least it's just limestone." Mitzi said while ducking around some of the dripping water to gain access to her personal stash.

"I don't mean to sound like a jackass, Miss M, but we could use all hands-on deck right now. Let's at least get the furniture and tables to higher ground so they don't soak up all this water and get moldy."

"Alright, but one drink first. You and Wick are welcome to some too."

"Yeah, I guess a couple of minutes isn't going to hurt." I said, joining the two of them. Taking a seat on one of the dry barstools, I propped myself up against the bar. "You know, when this would happen in the mines, we had pumps running."

Mitzi then remembered one of the features Atlas installed. "Ethan, you're right! We do have pumps, that's probably why the water is pooling up on the floor.

"Where are they at? I'll get them running."

There's one behind the stage and another near the freight elevator.

Five minutes later and the electric pumps were going. Finally able to relax, I sat back down on the barstool. "Have you been able to call the farmhouse?" Wick asked.

"No, phone lines are down west of town. Rocky thinks Freckle and Riley are fine though."

"I'm sure they are." Wick reassured me.

Just then the door burst open and, along with another 30 gallons of water, three soaking wet cats made their way inside. Shaking off the water, Freckle revealed his face from under his fedora. "Freckle, Riley! What are you doing here?"

"And Ivy!" Miss Pepper confirmed while shutting the door behind her and quickly putting the towels back in place.

"Ethan!" Riley exclaimed. "Freckle came to get me but a bunch of trees were blocking the road home."

"And more importantly, there are tornados west of town!" Freckle said as he helped Riley up onto a bar stool.

"Tornados?" Wick said. "I need to make a couple of phone calls to the quarry. Don't need any equipment or men getting damaged."

"You can use the phone here, hon." Mitzi gestured toward the wall phone behind the bar. "Better make those calls while you can."

As Wick dialed the operator, I kept asking questions. "Why did you bring Ivy here?"

"Because this is the safest place to be." Freckle replied, wringing out his shirt. "Where's Rocky?"

"He's helping the band move all their instruments out of harms way. Well, I'm glad you're here. I was getting worried when I couldn't get through on the phone."

Just then the lights flickered before going off completely. Riley shrieked but I heard Ivy calm her down. "Oh dear!" Mitzi's voice said. "Hey, what gives?" I could hear a voice in the distance, probably Zib.

"Hold on, I've got a light." Wick said. Two flicks later and he had a small lighter flame in his hand. "Here' I've got a torch." Freckle said as he felt around his coat. Finally get got the flashlight out and turned it on, standing it upright on the bar top.

"Well, that's inconvenient!" Rocky said as he popped up from behind the bar, scaring everyone at once. "How did you—" Freckle was cut off as we all heard, or rather felt, a low rumbling noise.

Hanging by a Thread

Water poured in through the rotten window frames of their small basement apartment. It had a total of two rooms and a shared bathroom. The run-down building was one of the oldest in the area and the landlord had neglected to maintain any part of it that wasn't load-bearing. Margaret was at the end of her rope. Seven years ago her husband had left to find work out west, but he disappeared around Cripple Creek, Colorado. Even after phoning the police there nobody could find him. It was like he had walked off the face of the Earth, and ever since there had been very little money or security. The two had left Glasgow together as newlyweds a decade ago and after their first attempt ended with a miscarriage, she had managed to produce a son for their small family. Yet the damp, cold, moldy conditions were taking their toll on their health and this month it was young Joeseph's turn to be ill.

"Mom, is it dark already?" little Joeseph asked, waking up after his fever had broken. The poor boy was still sick, but she was relieved he was getting better by the hour.

"No, dear, it's just a passing thunderstorm. Why don't you try to get some sleep?"

"I can't. Could you read to me?"

"We don't have anything new to read together. You've got to wait until the library is open again."

"Can we read this again?" Joeseph pulled out a small book. It was a "Dr. Doolittle" book, one of his favorites.

"Tell you what, try reading the first part on your own while I get the kettle going. Then we can read together with some hot tea in our bellies."

He coughed but nodded his head. As she heated the water, Margaret remembered the doctor's advice. They needed to find a better living situation before the mold killed them both. "Penicillin will only delay the inevitable." He had said. A loud clap of thunder and the flash of lightning striking a nearby building startled them both and Joeseph hid under the covers. A second later the power went out, leaving the two of them illuminated only by the coal stove and the dim light coming in through the basement window.

"Shhh… it's okay Joeseph. The electricity just went out again. I'm sure it will be up and running again in a couple of hours."

The two later sat in the darkness and sipped their tea. "Mom?" Joeseph asked.

"Yes, dear?"

"When are you going to find new work?"

"It might be a little while, but I promise we've got enough money to make it."

"If more people buy shirts, will the factory give you your job back?"

"I—I don't know, dear. But we've got to have faith. You're father always said not to worry about what you can't control. Life will happen whether you want it to or not, so we just need to focus on doing what we can."

Their conversation was interrupted by a low rumbling noise. It was almost like an approaching train. Their few belongings began to rattle off the cabinet and shelves. Outside the wind seemed to pick up speed. Now there was more than rain and hail moving past. Margaret was confused about what was going on outside, but a sudden fear overtook her as the ceiling groaned and creaked. A series of loud bangs in the floors above them made her realize that something was terribly wrong. The last bang was inside the apartment as the solitary window imploded, bringing with it stinging rain and small debris. Reacting quickly, Margaret grabbed her son from the bed and made her way for the stairway at the back of the building. The whole structure seemed to be weakening.

To her horror, on the other end of the long hallway connecting the tiny units together the ceiling gave way and a section of the building collapsed in on itself. This was quickly followed by another and another, each collapse nearing them. Running for her life, she dove under the only solid piece of the building remaining, the stairwell. Joeseph screamed in terror as their world was torn apart around them. He looked up and for a brief moment could see the sky, but that view closed up just as quickly when the building above them seemed to be disassembled by a massive wind. Large pieces came falling around them. Spying a little crawl space just big enough for one person, Margaret shoved her son into the cramped space and screamed as everything went dark around them.