Dark Storms, Dark Secrets, Dark Love

Chicago. Jack’s town. The night swirled around him, a steady drip of rain covering his footsteps as he followed his latest quarry. Distantly a dog barked, a cat yowled, and the sounds of a sailor and his girl in the alleyway greeted his ears after the screeching of the “L” had deposited Jack and his objective both on this street.

Jack was recruited into the Office of Strategic Services, the OSS, to be a spy hunter. They needed someone to ferret out Nazi spies in the Windy City, and Jack grew up here, so it was fortunate for him that they sent him here. It had been several months, and now at almost the end of October 1942, and nary a German spy had he found. However, he had in the large Italian population of Chicago, discovered a rot of Mussolini sympathizers.

Even after the declaration of war between Italy and the United States, there still were pictures of Il Duce in kitchens and living rooms in Chicago. Industrial information and secrets were collected and sent back to Europe. This latest wop Jack was following was an assistant tire plant manager, Charles Scassioni.

Scassioni wore a gray suit, a floppy fedora, and his neck length black hair stuck out the back of the hat. His hollow steps spoke of worn shoe leather, and he swung his arms like a gorilla as he whistled. Jack kept his brim low, and checked his 38 Special Roscoe, making sure it was loaded. His orders were to take them alive if possible. Dead men couldn’t answer questions.

Scassioni turned down an alley, and Jack picked up his steps to reach the corner. He pressed himself against the bricks, and as he turned the corner, Scassioni jumped out, and grabbed Jack by the coat. “What-a you doing, Yankee?”

Jack swept his left arm through Scassioni’s, breaking the hold. He thrust his knee into the man’s gut, causing Scassioni to go “Ooof”. Jack pushed him back, and with a right cross dropped the wop into a heap. Jack stood over him, and fished out his Lucky Strikes, putting two in his mouth. A flip of his Zippo and they were lit, and Jack offered one to Scassioni, sitting on the ground and brushing the dirt off his knees.

“So, jack, you know why I’m here.”

“A-no. I’m just a...just a...plant manager,” the wop’s lips quivered.

A plant doing vital war work. He knew Scassioni was sending back techniques to reclaim rubber and make functional tires. Jack wondered why they would risk so much for this, but his bosses in the OSS seemed very pleased when Jack reported what he uncovered, and told him in no uncertain terms to root all members of this spy ring, and find out everything that they passed on to the Italians.

“C’mon now, stronzata. I visited your dear momma not three days ago. She spoke with great pride of her two sons, fighting for mother Italy. Her son Ameodeo, with Il Duce’s ear in the OVRA, and her son Charlie running a plant here in America.” Jack had embellished slightly. She never said the name of the Italian Secret Police. He could have just as easily been a member of the Servizio Informazioni Militare.

Scassioni gulped, and waved his hands in front of him, sucking and blowing out smoke rapidily. “No, no. She would never say that. She knows better. You need to forget what you heard.”

Jack knelt down, at eye level with the spy, “The only way you get out of this is to confess everything. Who was your contact? Who else is in your ring? What information are you trying to get? Otherwise, its jail, or even worse, deportation back to Europe. We’ll drop you off in Switzerland, with fanfare so all of Mussolini’s friends know why you are back.”

The color drained from his face. His mouth went agape, and the cigarette dangled slightly from his lower lip. “Oh momma mia, I’m screwed. I did nothing. I don’t need the vedova nera. No. No.” His hands began to shake.

Jack plucked the cigarette from Scassioni’s mouth, and flicked it into the dark alleyway behind them. “Okay, lets go down the station. Get a cup of coffee.” He reached behind him to get his handcuffs, when Scassioni reacted faster than Jack thought possible. He pulled his trouser leg up with his left, and with his right yanked out a Baretta M1934 from his ankle holster. POP! POP! POP! POP! POP!

Fortunately for Jack, Scassioni was a horrible shot, and missed each shot from the short distance that they were apart. Jack wasn’t.

*****

Jack sat on a barstool, sipping his third highball and his fourth Lucky Strike. The gunshot’s ring faded by the second drink, and his nerves finally steadied by the current cigarette. He had never been shot at before, and found it not to his liking. He was about to call the bartender for a beer when she walked in.

Jack had seen dames before, but never like this. Long black hair, partially covered by a black felt Monroe Hat holding up a black veil drew him in first. She had piercing blue eyes, and just a hint of rouge colored her olive cheeks, just above her raven colored lipstick on her lips. Her onyx colored dress’s neckline plunged to the edge of respectability, her arms covered by elbow length ebony gloves. She held in her hand a cigarette holder, the smoking cherry at the tip wafting smoke that trailed her like a beat cop after a purse snatcher. In that elbow a folded umbrella hung by its crook.

Her figure, a perfect hourglass, swayed as she walked on obsidian stilettos. Every pair of eyes in the establishment fixed on her, and hers met Jack’s. He pushed out the stool next to him with his foot, and she sashayed over to him, but did not sit down. “Its customary for a gentleman to offer a lady a drink.”

“I’m no gentleman. But what will you have?”

“A Gin Rickey. And bartender, bring my friend a sidecar. He needs a pickmeup.” She put her free hand on Jack’s shoulder. “Why do you look so glum, my friend? You don’t like the rain?” With that, the pitter patter on the roof jumped up in intensity.

Jack took a sip of the sidecar. It did perk him up. He decided that he liked it. “You can say that. It washes away a lot of sins. But not everything is cleansed in the gutter. The filth remains for someone to sweep it away.”

She pouted her mouth for moment. “So dark, I like it. You can call me Maria Ragno.”

“Jack Conkling.”

“So what do you do Jack? No uniform yet?”

Some people assumed the worst these days a man being out of uniform. And it was frowned upon telling people you worked for the OSS. You never knew who was listening. “I’m a private dick. IV-F.” That usually stopped questions about his service.

“Does that mean you have a firearm on you?”

Jack nodded. Maria moved her free hand to his knee, and slid it up his thigh. She puffed on her cigarette as her finger twirled around his belt buckle, and up his side to his holster. “There it is. I bet you could really hurt someone with that.”

Jack breathed her scent it, smoke mixed with a lilac perfume. “You sure can. But I don’t really need to shoot people with it. Most of the time, I just use my fists.”

She giggled, and put her cigarette in the ashtray. She grasped his right hand with both of hers, “They are so big. You got a girl Jack?”

“No, but I’m not really looking for one right now.” He couldn’t break off staring into Maria’s eyes. “Too busy.”

She batted her long eyelashes, “I see. Well, I have a way of freeing up a man’s time.”

“I’m sure you do. You should sit. Perhaps I need to hear how you can clear my schedule.”

*****

Neon light crept in through the blinds. Blackouts were not yet implemented here, Chicago was too far away to be bombed by the Axis. Sweat glistened on his chest as he poured himself another highball. Water struck the window, as well as the shower in her apartment. She hadn’t finished, and he could hear her softly sing some song.

It was a apartment five blocks from the bar, and he had walked it like it was two. It could have been twenty. He had never met someone like this before. Jack had been with several women in the last few years, but at the moment he couldn’t remember anything about them. His knees wobbled slightly, and he put his hand on the wall to steady himself.

He bumped into the table and a dark cloth fell that covered an empty aquarium. When Jack looked, it wasn’t entirely empty, it was full of spiderwebs. Inside, a black spider with a red hourglass on its abdomen held court, the bodies of its victims scattered around it. A buzzing sound from a large fly stuck on a strand caught his ear, and the spider slithered towards it.

“Found my pet didn’t you?” Jack turned to see Maria in the entrance to the bathroom, her wet hair loosely hanging on her shoulders. She took a small step towards Jack, a towel covering only her bottom half, her naked breasts pointing upward assisting Jack with looking at her eyes. “Her name is Rosa.”

Jack moved towards her, and took her in an embrace, locking his lips with hers. He broke the kiss, and held her out to look her over. His head swam as he drank her in. She smiled, and with a sway of her hips, turned around and walked back towards her bedroom. “I wouldn’t worry about Rosa. You aren’t a fly Jack, and she is pretty fragile. I would cover her back up, so she can sleep.”

Jack put the cloth back on the aquarium, and sat in a large stuffed chair, sipping his drink. He rummaged around in his pants for his Lucky Strikes, and his Zippo. He found them, lit it, and blew out a long stream of smoke. He could hear her in the bedroom, singing softly.

“Giovinezza, Giovinezza,

Primavera di bellezza,

della vita nell'asprezza

il tuo canto squilla e va!”

That song sounded somewhat familiar. He could hear it around Chicago, but not for a few years. He took another drink as he pondered it. “Jack, could you find my necklace out there?”

“Where is it?”

“I think its on my desk.”

Jack stood up, and walked over to her roll-top. He pulled it open, and there it lay, a string of black pearls. He picked them up, and was about to pull the desk closed when he spotted a corner of a photograph peeking out from a manila folder. He opened it, curiosity peaked. It was a series of photographs of the docks, with clear intention to gather the names and registries of the ships there. The last picture was of him, staked out outside of the tire factory.

His heartbeat jumped up, and he looked over his shoulder. She was still in the bedroom. Jack pulled on the drawers of the desk, all of which opened save one. Containing only junk and blank papers, the locked one drew all of his attention. There was no key he could see laying out on the desk. It must be on her person, or in her bedroom. He was distracted the last time he was in there, but didn’t remember seeing anything like that.

Jack walked over to his chair where his shoulder holster lay. He donned it, and pulled out the Roscoe to check it. Still loaded, minus the shots he had taken earlier. He replaced those bullets, and with a spin put the gun back. “Maria, could you come here?” Perhaps it was all a mistake, but he needed to be careful.

She came into the room, a gray skirt and a black lace bra her clothing. “What do you need, love?”

“An explanation. And a key.”

She frowned, and put her hands on her hips. “Now why would you go snooping around like that?”

The door to the apartment flew open, and two armed men with pistols charged in. Jack unsheathed the 38 and fired two shots. Both men dropped before they could pull their triggers. To her credit, Maria barely flinched as Jack killed both of them.

“Who are they?”

“Patriots. Dead patriots.”

Jack motioned with the pistol for her to back up, and he knelt down next to the bodies to search them. Both men were very physically fit, and had no identification on them. “Where is the key?”

“Its in the bedroom. I will go get it.”

Jack followed her, as she went to her dresser and pulled out a long stem key. He pointed with the 38 towards the desk, and watched her as she walked over and placed the key in the lock. She backed away, and Jack turned it, and opened the drawer.

Inside was a technical document, pictured on it some kind of crazy gas mask. He couldn’t read much of the writing on it. “What is this?”

“Its a rebreather. For diving.”

With that, it all clicked. They not were just here for espionage. The two he killed were frogmen, and they were likely cooking up a plan of sabotage of the harbor. He remembered the newsreels talking about Italian frogmen sinking a battleship in Alexandria last year. The song clicked then too, the Giovinezza, Fascist Italy’s national anthem. “Were you expecting to get away with all of this?”

“Yes. Until you came along, no one suspected. And after tonight, you wouldn’t have mattered, one way or another.”

“One way or another?”

She smiled at him. “Yes. The original plan was to kill you, after I had my fun. But I decided that I wanted to see if you would join us. I like you Jack. You can still get out of this. You can still have me.”

Jack’s hand trembled. Her smile was real, her moans had been real. When he peered into her eyes, he knew it was real. And it was real in him. They had told him about this at OSS training, but those words faded into the ether. “So its a straight up and down proposition then.”

“Yes Jack. We can clean this mess up, and continue with our lives. You don’t even have to do anything you don’t want to. Just tell your bosses that the well dried up.”

It would be easy. There was no indication to the OSS of a sabotage ring, and he had killed the only lead for the espionage group. He thought for a moment. Then he pulled back the hammer with his thumb. “No, I need to take you in. For questions. Get dressed.”

She pouted, and held out her hands. “I can’t go in for questioning. Do you know what will happen to me as a spy? I’ll likely hang, and after betraying my country I’ll deserve it. Or I’ll go to jail, to rot with the murderers and thieves. Do you think I will survive amongst all those vicious women who have killed their husbands and lovers? What will they do to me?”

“What are you suggesting?”

“Let me walk away, Jack. I’ll leave Chicago, leave the ring behind. I’ll leave and never come back. Maybe after the war, I’ll find you, and we can pick up where we left off. There might be a chance for us. For us to be happy after this dreadful conflict. We could even visit Prato together, my familial home. We have a villa just outside the city.”

Jack lowered his gun. She smiled and came up to him, and wrapped him in her arms. She planted her lips on his and stuck her tongue in his mouth. She held the kiss for several moments and broke away. “I’ll get dressed. Pack a bag.”

His heart melted, and ached at the same time. He couldn’t bring her in. She wouldn’t survive prison. How could he subject her to that? Far better for it to be quick.

“Maria.”

She turned around, smiling.

“Yes.”

“I love you.”

“I know.”

Jack raised the Roscoe up.

A flash competed with the neon lights outside for a brief moment. The rain tapered off, lightning thundering in the distance, not even noticing.