Shadow of the Bomb

Chapter 11

The next morning, I had been at my desk in the headquarters press room for only five minutes when I got a call from the Tribune’s South Side police reporter, Al MacAfee.

“Snap, I need a favor from you, a big one.”

“Okay, what have you gone and done, Mac? Do I have to bail you out? Were you caught in a crap game? Or a raid on a brothel?”

“No, no, you know me better than that.” He sounded flustered.

I did indeed know MacAfee fairly well. He was honest, earnest, hard-working, and a decent, thorough young reporter, if somewhat on the excitable side.

“Okay, try me,” I said. “Of course I make no guarantees.”

“Of course not, Snap, I wouldn’t expect you to. Well, here’s the situation: My wife, Flora — I think you may have met her at a party one time a couple of years back — anyway, Flora has been pregnant for seven months. She’s been having a lot of problems with this one — it’s our second. The first one, Liam, he’s almost two now, was a breeze. But this time, it’s been rough right from the start.”

“Sorry to hear that, Mac. But where do I come in?”

“I think you know that we live in Rogers Park, Snap, almost to the Evanston border. It takes me more than an hour to get from our apartment to even the nearest South Side precinct, Hyde Park. Streetcar, Elevated, Illinois Central train — most days my commute, morning and evening, is three hours, sometimes a little more.”

“Go on.”

“Well, the doctor doesn’t think Flora should be alone for almost twelve hours every day, not the way things have been going.”

“Why don’t you come to the point, Mac.”

“Well... I was wondering if you might be willing, just for two months to, well, to switch places. I swear, Snap, I’m not looking to take over your beat. But if we could swap, just temporarily, it would cut my time away from home by more than one hour, maybe closer to two. And you live a lot farther south than I do, so it wouldn’t be a great imposition for you.”

“Have you talked to anybody else about this?”

“Not a soul. I know it would have to be approved by Mr. Maloney himself, but I wanted to ask you first. If you don’t want to do it, I’ll try something else.”

“South police, eh? I haven’t done it in years, not since ’29 or ’30. You still divide your time among the Hyde Park, Englewood, Grand Crossing, Gresham, and Kensington station houses?”

“Pretty much, with occasional swings by Chicago Lawn, Deering, and South Chicago. But I spend most days at Hyde Park and cover the other precincts from there.”

“And why not — better restaurants, right? And better transportation downtown?”

“Well, yes. And nicer cops, by and large. What do you think, Snap?” MacAfee sounded tense.

“In my very limited experience with him, Pat Maloney seems like a pretty decent guy, as managing editors go. He’s no Edward Scott Beck, but then who is? They threw away the mold with Beck. Tell Maloney that it’s jake by me if we do a two-month switch, and I’ll bet you three-to-one that he gives it his stamp. Let me know what he says.”

MacAfee let out a sigh. “Thank you, Snap, thank you. I will call Mr. Maloney tomorrow.”

“Mac, you are aware, are you not, that you will be spending a good deal of time seeking information in the office of Homicide Chief Fergus Fahey?”

“Uh, yeah, I guess so. I do know that you guys hit it off pretty well.”

“That’s because I work at it. Fahey can be a tough customer sometimes, but always fair. And he loves Lucky Strike smokes, if you get my drift.”

“I do. I smoke Camels, but I’m willing to change.”

“Good strategy. And there’s a reward. When you’re in his office, which will be often, you will be drinking the very best coffee in the building, brewed by the comely and charming Elsie Dugo, Fahey’s Girl Friday. But you’re a married joe, so her appearance shouldn’t matter to you, right?”

“Uh, right, absolutely right.” MacAfee was a good man, but he didn’t have much sense of humor, and he didn’t know when he was being kidded. I knew he’d do fine if Maloney okayed the switch. I wasn’t worried that Mac would try to take over the Headquarters beat permanently. The truth is though, that I might not have been so willing to make the switch if I hadn’t come across this Bergman business. This seemed like a good time to be a reporter in Hyde Park.

The next day, a little before noon, I got a phone call in the Headquarters press room from J. Loy “Pat” Maloney, who had been managing editor of the Trib since 1939, when he took over the post on the death of Bob Lee.

“Mr. Malek,” he said, “I understand from Alvin MacAfee that you have agreed to switch beats with him during the last weeks of his wife’s difficult pregnancy. Is that the case?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, I must say that’s very generous of you. This is a little out of the ordinary, but I met with the city editor, and he has no objections. And neither do I.”

“I’m happy to help Mac, Mr. Maloney,” I told him, hoping he would remember my gesture the next time I requested assignment as a war correspondent.

“Good, good. After the baby comes, you can of course return to Headquarters. Everyone seems happy with your work, and I hear, again from the city editor, that you have particularly good sources in the Homicide area.”

“I like to think so. And one of the things I plan to do on Mac’s first day is to introduce him to Fergus Fahey and get him set up there.”

“Excellent, I’m glad to hear it! I know he can count on you to show him the ropes.”

So it was that two days later, I introduced Mac to all the members of the Headquarters press room and told them about the switch.

“Hah! Don’t give us that ‘temporary’ hogwash, Snap,” Packy Farmer gibed. “The truth is that the high muckety-mucks up in Tribune Tower finally caught on to your slothful ways and decided to replace you with this fine young fellow. He will indeed be a welcome addition to our intrepid band of warriors.”

“Mac,” I said, putting an arm over his shoulder, “beware of this questionable specimen. He will be all over you for information every time you come back from Fahey’s office. He can’t even spell ‘homicide’ without my help.

“This room is a den of rogues and rascals,” I went on, “with the exception of this fine lady, Joanie, who nobly represents the City News Bureau of Chicago. Would that these reprobates had her dedication to duty and to the high principles that exemplify our profession.”

“Quick, get the man a soapbox,” Dirk O’Farrell rasped. “He’s delivering one of his sermons.”

“You wouldn’t know a sermon if you heard one, Dirk,” I riposted. “I’ll wager you haven’t seen the inside a church in thirty years. Come, Mac, let us leave these knaves to their nefarious devices and call upon the estimable Chief of Detectives, Fergus Sean Fahey.”

We went down two floors and stepped into Fahey’s small anteroom, occupied as usual by Elsie Dugo. “Hello, you vision of loveliness. Is the high panjandrum in his sanctum?”

“Watch your tongue around here, mister,” she sassed. “We don’t allow that kind of language. Who’s your good-looking friend?”

“This, Miss Dugo, is Alvin MacAfee, an outstanding and intrepid reporter who is going to be replacing me for the next several weeks while I go on a super-secret spy mission. You must promise to be polite to him at all times.”

“Hah! I’m always polite — at least to those who are polite to me,” she said with a smirk.

“I’ll remember that. Can you announce us to his eminence?”

Elsie gave a toss of her head. “Mr. Malek and a gentleman to see you,” she pronounced into her intercom.

“I believe the proper phrasing is ‘Mr. Malek and another gentleman,’” I tossed off as we went into Fahey’s cluttered office.

“Morning, Fergus, I’d like to have you meet Alvin MacAfee, known at the paper as Mac. He’s going to be the Tribune’s man here for the next several weeks.”

“So they finally got wise to you,” Fahey said, rising and shaking Mac’s hand.

“Funny, that’s about what the others in the press room said, too,” I replied, trying to sound hurt. “This is only temporary, honest it is, but you’ll find Mac to be a first-rate reporter. Try to treat him with more respect than you’ve treated me over the years.”

“And you say that after all I’ve done for you,” Fahey fired back, dropping into his chair and turning his palms up. “All the exclusives I’ve handed to you on a platter.”

“No need to go on, Fergus. I’ve already told Mac all about you.”

Fahey nodded. “Then he must know my favorite smokes are—”

“Luckies,” Mac snapped, whipping a pack out of his pocket and slapping it down on Fahey’s blotter.

“This boy has promise, no doubt about it,” the chief said, beaming. “So, Snap, what’s to become of you while this fine gentleman fills your chair?”

“We’re doing a temporary swap, Fergus. I’ll be covering the South Side police beat.”

“Really?” Fahey’s Irish face registered interest. “Mind if I ask whose idea this is?”

I turned to MacAfee. “It’s mine, Chief Fahey,” he said earnestly.

“Call me Fergus.”

“It’s my idea, Fergus,” he repeated, going on to explain the situation with his wife’s pregnancy. “And when I proposed the swap to Steve, he was good enough to go along with it. I really appreciate that.”

“Wonderful fellow, this Malek is,” Fahey said with a benevolent smile as he leaned back with his hands laced behind his head. “Always thinking of others, he is.”

“Well, he surely has helped me,” Mac said, apparently oblivious to Fahey’s sarcasm. “And I’m really looking forward to this assignment.”

“I’m sure we’re going to get along just fine,” the grizzled cop said, reaching into the pack of newly arrived Luckies and pulling one out. “And now, if you don’t mind, Mr... MacAfee, is it? I’d like to have a few words privately with the man you’re replacing. Some unfinished business.”

“Sure. And I look forward to working with you,” Mac said as he went out and closed the door behind him.

“So,” Fahey said, leaning back and clasping his hands behind his head, “this swap of yours really was the kid’s idea?”

“You heard him, Fergus. He’s not the sort to go telling tales.”

“Seems interesting though, that you’ll be down Hyde Park way a lot, what with your interest in that prof’s murder.”

“Chalk it up to coincidence. By the way, anything new on the case?”

Fahey shook his head and took a drag on his Lucky. “Not a blessed thing. My men have talked to damn near everyone on that campus, from professors to secretaries to an ex-wife to both the day and night barkeeps at the University Tavern, and if Bergman had any enemies, nobody’s talking. Seems he was something of a loner. Had been married and divorced twice. The other ex-wife lives in California. We’ve also talked to a lot of people in his apartment building, and hardly any of them knew him more than to just say hello in the hallway or on the stairs. The only one who had even talked to him much was an old spinster who lived down the hall. Said he was a quiet gentle fellow and a good listener. My man said she was very garrulous, so maybe the poor bastard never got a word in edgewise when they did meet.

“But why am I bothering to tell you all this? I’m sure you’ve been doing plenty of freelance investigating on your own. I should be asking you the questions.”

“Well, I have talked to a handful of his colleagues, but with about the same success as you’ve had. There’s one thing that came out, though, although it may not relate to the killing. Maybe your men heard it, too.”

“Oh? Try me.”

I helped myself to a Lucky from the pack. “There seems to be a suspicion among some of his colleagues that some sort of secret weapon could be in the works right down there on the Midway. You’ll remember I mentioned something similar to you right after the murder.”

“Yes, I remember. But our men haven’t heard about anything like that from the people they’ve talked to. Besides, that’s outside of my jurisdiction. If this is confidential war-effort stuff, we’re not about to mess with it.”

“Even if it’s related to Bergman’s murder?”

Fahey leaned back and drew in air. “I’d have to know more about it. Are you telling me everything you’ve got?”

“Cross my heart.”

“Well, there’s a switch, if true. Newshound tells all to copper.”

“That’s me, Fergus. Honest to a fault.”

“Yeah, right. Let me give you some advice, Snap.”

“Shoot.”

“It may have been his idea, but I know damn well that you let this MacAfee kid pull a swap because you want to sniff around down there at the university. Don’t bother denying it and don’t get in our way. But be careful. The Bergman murder may be strictly a private thing, but if there is a connection to some kind of weapons development — notice I said if — you could find yourself in far deeper trouble than you bargained for.”

“I appreciate your concern.”

“I mean it, Snap. This war has changed the rules, changed everything. You’ve seen it everywhere. Places that are all of a sudden ‘off limits’ to civilians. The Number One priority is winning the war, period. It’s more important than putting mobsters behind bars, than catching kidnappers, than nailing murderers. That doesn’t mean we’re going to stop doing our jobs, not by any means. But there’s been a shift of priorities, and sometimes we have to go along with the war effort. Quote me and I’ll deny I ever said any of this. But by God, Snap, be careful — it’s a new world out there.”

“Thanks for the advice, Fergus. I really mean that.” If only I had followed it.