Diamond Dane Read online

  Copyright © 2020 David White

  All rights reserved

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  ISBN-13: 0000000000000

  ISBN-10: 0000000000

  Written by David White

  Cover Art by Larry Nadolsky

  Editors-Pete Hicks and Hoda Agharazi

  Print and E-Book Design by Emily Mottesheard

  [email protected]

  www.prose-press.com

  I sat in the office reflecting on a case I had finished, which was one of the toughest in more ways than one the focal point. I had been collecting notes on all my cases, a memoir of sorts. I will start from the beginning. Some of the details are first hand and others through the eyes of those in my opinion unfortunate enough to have been involved.

  July 8th, 1954

  It was a perfect summer day in Chicago, a bright sun, a nice breeze making its way off the lake and not a cloud in the sky. Crowds of people walked along, heading to the ball park where the Sox were getting ready to take on the visiting Indians. Neither team was looking like much of a contender, but division rivalry and all still meant the fans should be in for a good, if not great, game.

  Two figures walked along, blending into the crowd and going with the flow, which was becoming slower and slower. The man was dressed all in black including his fedora…closer inspection would reveal the collar of a Catholic priest. He was of average height and holding the hand of a young boy who sported an ox cap and a small child’s mitt. Hot dogs sounded like a good idea before the game, he was sure the child would agree, even if the thoughts that ran through his head were troubled. There was a lot he was unsure of lately, thoughts dark and foreboding. He struggled to clear his head, even grimacing and squeezing the young boys’ hand a bit too tightly, causing a slight squeal.

  He looked down and smiled, easing the pressure on the boy’s hand.

  “I am sorry, my son. Sometimes my mind is troubled. I will make it up to you, I bet you like hot dogs.” The boy smiled and they got in the long line to place their orders. Innocence, the definition is spelled best by a child. It is a shame that more times than not the world swallows it up and spits it out into something far less pleasing.

  The Father smiled as they stepped away with their hot dogs with the works: mustard, onions and an alien green relish, steamed buns and a side of tamales completed the wondrous feast. The two sat on a nearby bench and gobbled down the feast, runs of mustard flowing down their chins. The boys’ hair gleamed golden in the mid-day sun, almost as bright as the mustard. The man in the priest garb smiled for a brief moment…it was soon replaced by a grimace. The voices called out…no screamed really, so loud were they he felt his head might explode. Images of the past flooded his thoughts, nightmares that haunted him from a young age. They screamed and begged for release.

  He shook so ferociously that the hot dog fell to the ground. The young boy took notice.

  “What the matter, Father?” The man in black tried to calm himself, his pulse raced, his heart pounded in his chest. He looked down on the child, his eyes bulged like those of a madman. It was warm out, but that had nothing to do with the sweat on his brow. He tried to smile but instead grimaced and raised both hands to his temples. It just wouldn’t stop, he feared his head might explode. He stood, turned about in a drunken circle, finally raising his hands to the sky. The boy stared up, not understanding.

  It was fast and furious, the boy was grabbed up and dragged more then led away from the park. Protests were spoken upon deaf ears as the man in black moved with a speed born out of panic…nay, maybe necessity. Luckily all the people were in a mad dash to get to the game and get settled, none paid any attention to the man in black as he dragged a young boy. His blond hair ruffling in the wind, he tried to cry out, but a strong hand pressed against his lips. The muffled cry was heard by none, the boys’ heart raced almost as fast as the man who carried him away.

  It was a short distant to Armor park, a place normally alive with activity, but on game day…well it was as quiet as a cemetery. The man in black was breathing heavy…unsure, was he doing the right thing? All the pain he had suffered, all the betrayal, it needed to end, needed to be rectified. Finally, he made it to the tall walls that were erected for hand ball and other sport. The tall oaks provided shade from the bright sun, perfect for the man in black. The muffled plea was exchanged for a terrified scream that too was muffled.

  Strong hands were wrapped unmercifully around a tiny neck, a struggle was met with wicked and unrelenting rage. It was quick, and all coincided. The pulse that slowed and eventually stopped all together, played tune with the voices that ebbed to nothingness. The man in black was breathing hard and heavy as he knelt next to the body of the dead boy. He grabbed and clawed, at the boys’ clothes, tearing and ripping them. A climax to a deadly sin!

  ◆◆◆

  July 15th, 1954

  My heart raced as her hands caressed my breast and were followed by sumptuous lips. My hands clenched the sheets as my back arched and I closed my eyes, my body filled with passion. I felt a spasm run through me…a shudder if you will. It was all fulfilling and a joy I had not felt…well ever. It was not the norm, hell it was frowned upon and forbidden…but I couldn’t help it. I had been with many men in my life, but somehow they never achieved the level of fulfillment I now felt. It was a supreme tingling of nerves and everything in between: it was ecstasy, love, and heart pounding sex. It was a feeling of ultimate pleasure, and yes, it was fulfilled by someone of the same sex!

  Her name was Angela Scumaci, and she was old school Italian. Her family came in off the boat for a better life, but instead discovered Mafia ties. She was dark haired, eyes nearly black, with an olive complexion. She was a little tall for a Dago, as she called herself, almost five six, and she was soft in the middle, but only slightly, and her lips were full and a little on the pouty side. I watched as she fell asleep, and gently got out of bed. I headed to the office that sat in the front of our small apartment and stopped next to a full length mirror that hung on the back of the door. I was naked and a little disheveled, but after a romp with Angela it was to be expected. I stood for a few minutes looking over my five six frame that had curves in all the right places. I held my breast in my hands and moved them up and down a bit. They weren’t oversized by any means, but they were more than adequate…or so I had been told. I had pouty lips and high, but not too high, cheek bones. I smiled at how my eyes twinkled a wonderful blue even in the low lighting. I moved from the mirror and entered my office, sitting behind the large desk that was the only piece of halfway decent furniture we owned. The tall back leather chair was used, but still comfortable. I stared at the frosted glass of the door and its simple etching, Diamond Dane Private Investigator. I couldn’t afford the Gold Coast, so I settled for a spot on the edge of Chinatown. It was above the mandarin restaurant, which took up the corner of Cermak and Archer. It was actually a convenient spot. A dirty old man that worked in the restaurant, but was a fantastic martial arts teacher, improved upon what I had learned in my days in San Francisco.

  I had been in Chicago for a few years and decided to take a stab at the only way of life I knew. I leaned back in the chair, reached into the bottom drawer and pulled out a bottle of scotch, and a glass.. I poured myself a swig, and after swirling it about a bit, I downed it and poured a little more in the glass but left it. I closed my eyes and drifted back to a time that
seemed eons ago, and in truth I guess it was.

  It was 1946, the war was over and I had just celebrated my sixteenth birthday. When I say celebrated, I mean I swiped some crab from one of the vendors along the wharf in San Francisco. I was alone and homeless, but I had learned the ways of the street, pick pocketing was something I was aces at. I had finished eating my crab when I spotted him. He was older but still looked distinguished, blond hair with a touch of gray on the sides. He was sporting a nice tan trench coat and dark brown fedora, but all I had seen was a fat wallet. He was strolling along carefree, and I made my move.

  I hustled around so I could head towards him, I kept my head down and timed it perfectly, it was easy pickings. I bumped into him, slid my hand in his coat, and grabbed the wallet. That was as far as it got. I felt a hand like steel grip my wrist, and after a twist that felt like it broke my arm, I landed on my ass several feet away. I hurt all over, and my breath left me for a few seconds. My eyes were tearing from the pain and when they cleared he was standing over me, a handkerchief in his hand and a warm smile on his face. I still remember the piercing blue eyes that stared down at me, tough, but at the same time, gentle.

  He extended a hand as he spoke.

  “Listen, sweetheart, what say we go get you a decent meal and a nice shower.” That was the beginning, but not the end…no the end was much tougher, at least for me. He took me home to his wife, and I became part of the family, the daughter they never had. It turned out he was an ace Private Investigator, and I was in awe!

  Months turned into years, and before long I was twenty and working cases with him. It was wondrous, he called me a natural, said I had instincts and things you just couldn’t teach. I learned everything: how to fight, how to follow a lead. We had worked side by side and I grew to love him, but not in a smart way. One day after we had solved a tough case, I wrapped my arms around him and bore my lips into his. He pulled away and pulled my arms from his neck. I knew then what I did was a mistake.

  “Sweetheart, I love ya!” he said. “But there’s only one woman for me, kid, I’m sorry.” I started to cry and he wrapped his arms around me and kissed my forehead. We went home and a word was never spoken, but things changed. It wasn’t long after that I left and headed here. I figured getting away and starting over was for the best. Chicago seemed like a good spot, so here I was. Diamond Dane, private eye!

  ◆◆◆

  I grabbed the glass of scotch and downed it, the burn warmed my insides. I sat back and closed my eyes, drifting into sleep when I was startled by a tap on the door. Jumping up quickly, I reached into the middle drawer and retrieved the .38 Special I kept there. I could see the shadow of a man through the frosted glass and decided to grab my robe from the back of the door. I was sure it wouldn’t be a good idea to conduct business in the nude.

  I moved quietly to the door and, holding the gun at the ready, I asked. “Who’s there?”

  “It’z Paulie, Paulie Gentile, I need to see you.” I thought for a second, the brother of a mob boss wanted to see me…why came to mind.

  “Ok, I’ll open the door, but come in slowly,” I said. “Just in case you get any bright ideas, I am loaded.” I turned the lock to the open position and moved quickly to sit behind my desk, the gun underneath, but pointed towards the door. “Ok, come on in.”

  He opened the door slowly and stepped into the doorway. He was dressed in a finely tailored tan suit, and a tan fedora with a dark brown band. Paulie Gentile stood about five eight and was slim but solid, maybe one seventy. His skin was olive colored, and his eyes a deep brown, and even with the scar on his cheek, if I was so inclined…he could be considered handsome…I wasn’t.

  I gestured for him to take a seat, and pulled the rod out from under the desk and set in on top, but in easy reach. I made sure he saw it.

  “So…tell me what brings a fine upstanding citizen like you to my office?” I said.

  “I want to hire you,” he said. I raised an eyebrow.

  “Now why would the brother of one of the top mobsters in Chicago want to hire me?” I said. He took off his hat, held it in his hands, and looked down.

  “I know you have heard about the murder of my nephew, right?” I nodded. “Also that they have arrested my brother Joe?” I nodded again.

  “Sure, it was in all the papers in bold print. ‘Priest kills nephew!’ I said. He took a deep breath.

  “What if I told you I thought he was innocent?” he said.

  “Well him and everyone in Joliet Prison. I still don’t see where I can help. I mean as far as I understand it, the D.A. has an air-tight case, witnesses and all.”

  “That is why I’m here, I don’t think there is a person out there that thinks he is innocent other than me,” he said. “I know it is hard to understand…but me and him being identical twins and all…well you just kinda have a sense of what the other is thinking, and trust me, no way he would do this.”

  I leaned back, opened the bottom drawer, and pulled the bottle of scotch out again, this time with two glasses. I poured a healthy three fingers for the two of us and slid one across to him. I grabbed the pack of Camels that sat on the desk, pulled forth two, and flipped them between my lips. I grabbed a match from the box in the middle drawer, flicked my nail across the tip, and sparked it to life. I held the flame to the cigarettes and breathed in deeply. I passed one over to my guest, who kindly accepted.

  “Look, Paulie, Angela speaks highly of you, but this stinks to high fucking heaven. I mean for Christ sakes, Paul, you are mobbed up and your brother is a priest! You’ll have to excuse me if that screams Fucked up to me,” I said. Paulie leaned back and took a drag of the smoke, tossed my thoughts around and blew a few smoke rings in the air. I was jealous, I never could do that.

  “You got a filthy mouth, you know that?” he said.

  “Sue me, you want my help or not?” I said.

  “Not much choice,” he said.

  “My, but the sun doth shine on me always,” I said. “Listen, Paulie, I am a no nonsense kind of gal. I don’t need Bull-Shit, and I don’t put up with crybabies. The shit is gonna get a lot fucking deeper, and if all goes well…I hope to not step in it much!” I said. Paulie stared at me with a deep glare in his eyes I never thought was possible, he truly cared for his brother...this was gonna be tough!

  “Listen, you twat!” he said. It was my turn to raise an eyebrow. “There is no way you could ever understand what Hells me and my brother have been through. I am taking a major risk coming to you with this. I am dead meat if this gets out.” I saw tears forming in his eyes. I smiled.

  “Point taken. So lay it all out for me. I didn’t read that deeply into what the papers ran, so give me all the facts and don’t hold back, no matter how ugly it gets.” I looked up, and Angela was standing in the doorway, naked as a new born. Apparently, she wasn’t as modest as me. Paulie smiled when he saw her. There was a past between these two, but those ties had long since been severed. To my surprise, it was Paulie that spoke out.

  “Geez Ang, put some fucking clothes on, will ya! This is gonna be hard enough.” Angels smiled and turned to go grab a robe, she was none too quick about it.

  ◆◆◆

  July 9th, 1954

  The neighborhood that Sox Park stood in was known as Bridgeport. It consisted of a mix of Italians and Germans mostly. A lot of cheap two and three flats lined the streets, and many vacant lots from older buildings that had been torn down. Armour Park was located a few blocks from the ball park. It encompassed 33rd to 34th, and Wells and Shields as borders. It was a well-manicured park with many shrubs and large trees. It was a section behind some shrubs that was roped off, several officers and detectives stood within. One of them was Marty O’Sullivan, a tough nosed Irishmen who I had rubbed elbows with a few times since coming here. He was a large burly man, a solid six three and a solid two twenty. His eyes were the color of cold steel, and his hair brown and wavy. Despite the rough exterior he had a big heart, but it sometimes got buried dee
p within. I guess all the terrible sights he witnessed during his nearly twenty years had something to do with it. What he saw that morning wasn’t gonna do anything to change that fact.

  ‘Whatta we Av’ here, Burt?” Martin asked. Burt Risly had recently made sergeant and had done so quickly. He had just turned thirty, but he was apparently born to be a cop, solving some of the toughest cases the Chicago Police Force came across. Burt was a slim six foot with jet black hair and eyes that looked nearly as dark. I had met him a few times, but to me he was a bit of an ass. He definitely didn’t think a woman had any business being a detective.

  “Got a young boy, Marty, maybe eight or nine, someone killed him and left him here naked. The coroner puts the time of death roughly between two and three yesterday afternoon.”

  Martin nodded.

  “Ok let me go talk to that crazy coot and take a look for myself,” Martin said.

  “Prepare yourself, Marty…it isn’t very pretty,” Burt said. Martin nodded and headed back to where the coroner was standing over the body. Melvin A. Tucker was the coroner DuJour, he was in his fifties, what hair he had was gray, he was sickly skinny, with sallow skin and high cheek bones with a sunken face and recessed eyes that looked even stranger through the thick glasses he sported. He was definitely most at home among the dead. Martin approached the body Melvin was standing over, but was not prepared for what he saw.

  “Jesus Christ!” Martin said. He felt his stomach convulse and almost lost his breakfast. Melvin looked up and chuckled.

  “Never thought of you as a wuss, Martin.” He chuckled and smiled, revealing a mouth full of cigarette stained teeth. Martin stared daggers.

  “Shut it wise guy, I…well I just never expected to find a child murdered like this,” Martin said. Melvin nodded and became a little more human.