D. MacHale - The Never War

I wanted to believe it was possible. I really did. But it just seemed too incredible. The idea that we could do something to stop the worst war in history was a total fantasy.

“If you’re right,” I said, “and I’m not saying you are, then it would have to have something to do with the gangsters Saint Dane sent to the flume to kill Uncle Press.”

“Now you’re thinking!” Gunny exclaimed. “If we find a connection between those thugs and what’s brewing overseas, I’m guessing it’ll lead us straight to Saint Dane.”

The three of us looked at each other. Was that it? Was our mission to figure out how Saint Dane was using some gangsters in New York to cause World War II?

“It sounds crazy,” I said. “But one thing is for sure: Whatever Saint Dane is doing here, it’s definitely got something to do with these mob guys. I don’t know if it will have anything to do with the war, but it’s where we gotta start.”

“Right,” Spader said. “With the gangster-wogglies.”

Gunny stood up and straightened his suit. “That’s where I come in. I’ve got friends in a lot of places; not all of them are good. I can ask some questions to get us started.”

I had no idea where any of this would lead, but I felt confident that we were starting in the right place. Where it would take us was anybody’s guess.

“Get some rest,” Gunny said. “I’ll come get you in the morning when it’s time for work. Be ready early.”

Gunny took the cart and wheeled it toward the door. “Oh, one more thing. Before work, we’ll stop by the barbershop in the lobby. We can’t have you two working here looking like ladies.”

I hated to admit it, but Gunny was right. My hair was getting long and shaggy. Spader’s black hair was almost to his shoulders. These were definitelynot1937 cuts.

“What’s a barbershop?” Spader asked.

“G’night, gentlemen,” Gunny said. “Sleep tight.” He opened the door, then turned back to us and said, “How’s this?” He rapped twice on the door, then once, then three times.

“The perfect secret knock,” I said.

“I always wanted to be a G-man,” Gunny said with a smile. He closed the door and we were alone.

“What’s a G-man?” Spader asked again. ”It’s not important,” I answered.

“Then tell me about this World War Two. Is it really the natty-do you’re saying?”

“Worse,” I answered solemnly. “I don’t know the words to describe how bad it was. If there’s a chance we could stop it, it would be beyond incredible.”

Spader stood up and smiled. “Right then! I have a sudden urge to pee. Not that I’m nervous mind you. I’m just… scared to death.” He went for the bathroom, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

The ideas we were throwing around were too huge to comprehend. Was it possible that we might find the trigger here in New York that would start a chain reaction to prevent World War Two? A horror like that war was right up Saint Dane’s alley. Of course, that meant Saint Dane would be doing his best to make sure we wouldn’t find that trigger. That would be the challenge. Same old, same old.

Then three knocks came at the door.

I got up to let Gunny back in, figuring he had forgotten to tell us something. I hoped it was about breakfast. I was stuffed, but the thought of bacon and eggs was a sweet one.

“I can’t believe you forgot the secret knock already,” I called out as I headed for the door. “You’d make a lousy G-man.”

I opened the door and instantly got shoved back into the room. I fell down on my butt, hard. At first I didn’t get why Gunny would have done that. When I got my wits back and looked up, I had my answer.

It wasn’t Gunny.

Standing over me were the two gangsters from the subway station. The nasty one had a black revolver pointed right at my nose.

“Ain’t no G-man around to help you now,” he snarled.

Iwas on my butt, looking up at two guys who only a few hours before had tried to kill me. They didn’t even bother covering their faces with handkerchiefs this time. They were a couple of gnarly-looking dudes too. The nasty one was, well, nasty looking. He had a pudgy face and dark, wild eyes. He was one of those guys who had to shave every hour or he’d have a Fred Flintstone thing going on.

The other guy, the tense one, looked a little less tense than before. I’m sure that was because he didn’t have an audience now. He had thin features and a sharp, beaklike nose. He still didn’t look all too happy about what was going on though. I glanced into his eyes and thought I caught a hint of sympathy. But not enough to call off his bulldog partner. The nasty guy held his pistol on me. It was an old-style revolver with a long barrel. It wasn’t high-tech, but I’m sure it could get the job done.

“How did you find us?” I asked while crawling backward.

“We got eyes everywhere,” said the nasty one, with a touch of cockiness. “You can run, but you can’t hide.”

“Why are you after us?” I asked. ”I got nothing against you,” Nasty said. “But my associate is another story.”

His associate. Who was that? Saint Dane? I wanted to keep these guys talking. Maybe I could use my Traveler hypnosis on him. But that would be tough, seeing as I was too scared to think straight, let alone concentrate enough to use mind powers I wasn’t even sure I knew how to use in the first place.

“You have the wrong guy,” I said with desperation, though I knew he probably had the exact right guy.

The gangster bent down and stuck the muzzle of the gun in my face. “Winn Farrow don’t make mistakes like that.”

Winn Farrow. Who was Winn Farrow?

More important, why did he want us killed? It was then that I saw something move out of the corner of my eye. It was Spader. He was behind the gangsters. I tried not to look at him because that would give him away.

“I… I don’t know any Winn Farrow,” I said.

Spader cautiously moved behind one of the sofas that was standing on end.

“I’m not here to argue with you, sonny boy, I’m here to tell you how it’s gonna be. Don’t go sticking your nose where it don’t belong,” he said. “If somebody gets in Winn Farrow’s way, he won’t be there for long, if you catch my drift.”

The sofa behind the gangsters started to move. Spader was going to topple it over on them. I had to use every ounce of willpower to keep the gangsters’ eyes on me.

“Okay, I hear you. Can I ask you a question though?”

“What?”

“Can I have my ring back?”

The question caught the gangsters off guard. They both looked at me as if I were nuts. Here they were putting on this big strong-arm intimidation show, and all I cared about was my ring. It confused them. Good. It was the perfect time for Spader to make his move. But it didn’t exactly work out that way.

Instead, the nasty gangster got this evil gleam in his eye and said, “The hell with orders. I’m gonna end this right here.”

Uh-oh. He pulled the hammer back on his revolver. I willed Spader to hurry.

He did.

With a giant shove, the sofa came toppling over. The big couch first nailed the nervous guy, then continued down to take out Mr. Nasty. The gangsters didn’t know what hit them. I had barely enough time to roll out of the way before the two thugs hit the floor in a pile of gangster and sofa. I sprang to my feet and dove over the pile toward Spader.

“What took you so long?” I shouted at him.

“It was heavy!”

“C’mon!” I bolted out of the room with Spader right behind me. Those gangsters were going to be back on their feet in seconds, and I didn’t want to be anywhere close when that happened. We ran down the hall, turned right, and blasted for the elevators. I hit the button and looked to see that the needle pointed to “1.” Bad news. I looked over the second elevator. That needle pointed to “30.” Worse news. We were on 6. Not even close.