yen.”
“Lieutenant,” Harry replied calmly, “the man I shot was Japanese. The Chinese hate the Japanese’s guts. I’ll probably get a ticker-tape parade in Chinatown.” The bravado was all for the lieutenant’s benefit. His killing a Japanese terrorist would probably not balance out the damage he did in the brothel and restaurant.
Bressler leaned back, throwing his hands up. “Chinese, Japanese, is there really that much difference? They’re all crazy for vengeance. I really think you ought to lay low for a while, Harry. How about a week off?”
Callahan brought the talk back to its main subject. “Any positive I.D. on the man I shot?”
“None,” Bressler begrudgingly admitted. “Yet. But you know how close-mouthed the Orientals can get. See nothing, know nothing.”
“In this case, it’s true,” Harry said with conviction. “You’re not going to find anything in San Fran’s Japantown, Lieutenant, because the Japanese here have too much to lose by allowing this kind of thing to go on. The Japanese who kidnapped the girl were out-of-town talent.”
“All right, Inspector, that’s enough,” Bressler said flatly. “You don’t know anything for sure and there’s no way this department is going to let you continue with the investigation. I want you out of town too, Inspector. I thought I could reason with you, get you to agree to take some time off, but you seem to think you’re a goddamn member of The Untouchables. You’re taking a vacation, Callahan. Starting now. And that’s an order.”
Harry couldn’t believe how well it worked out. He was planning to lead up to asking for some leave, but the lieutenant had beat him to it. But he kept his face stoic and replied with a simple “Yes, sir.”
Bressler didn’t like it when Harry called him “sir.” It reminded him just how vulnerable he was to the screaming from upstairs in the department. “Look, Harry,” he said apologetically. “With you gone for a while, it’ll give everybody a chance to cool down and see straight. The press will get off the department’s back and the department will get off my back. I promise you. If we don’t make any progress by the time you get back, I’ll reapproach the commissioner about putting you on the case. But for now, enjoy yourself. Go on a little trip, ok?”
Harry allowed himself a little smile. “Ok,” he replied, turning to go.
“Callahan,” Bressler called after him as he reached the lieutenant’s door. Harry turned. “You, uh, have any idea where you might be going?”
Harry understood what lay behind the question. If Bressler knew where he was, he would know where to find him in case of emergency. And if he knew where he was, he could guarantee his superiors that Callahan would stay out of their hair. At least for a couple of days.
“I hear there’s a lot of good Irishmen in Chicago,” Harry told the lieutenant. “And a lot of beautiful women. I think I’ll check out the Windy City.”
Bressler smiled with relief. Harry smiled back. What he didn’t mention was the city’s Oriental population, nor the one particular beautiful woman he was looking for.
The plane took three hours to get from San Francisco Airport to Chicago’s O’Hare Airport. In that time, Harry tried to ignore the little plastic pouches of nuts, the little plastic-covered sandwiches, the little plastic glasses of booze and the little plastic smiles of the flight attendants. Instead, he tried to assimilate as much as he could about the Windy City. In three hours, he found the place had some things in common with his home town—most primarily a devastating natural disaster. In Chicago’s case, it was the Great Fire of 1871, after which the city was rebuilt brick by brick.
In the twenties, the city’s rebirth was interrupted by Prohibition and the gang violence that was brought to a head by Al Capone. Four years after the St. Valentine’s Day Massacre, Chicago celebrated its centennial with its
“Lieutenant,” Harry replied calmly, “the man I shot was Japanese. The Chinese hate the Japanese’s guts. I’ll probably get a ticker-tape parade in Chinatown.” The bravado was all for the lieutenant’s benefit. His killing a Japanese terrorist would probably not balance out the damage he did in the brothel and restaurant.
Bressler leaned back, throwing his hands up. “Chinese, Japanese, is there really that much difference? They’re all crazy for vengeance. I really think you ought to lay low for a while, Harry. How about a week off?”
Callahan brought the talk back to its main subject. “Any positive I.D. on the man I shot?”
“None,” Bressler begrudgingly admitted. “Yet. But you know how close-mouthed the Orientals can get. See nothing, know nothing.”
“In this case, it’s true,” Harry said with conviction. “You’re not going to find anything in San Fran’s Japantown, Lieutenant, because the Japanese here have too much to lose by allowing this kind of thing to go on. The Japanese who kidnapped the girl were out-of-town talent.”
“All right, Inspector, that’s enough,” Bressler said flatly. “You don’t know anything for sure and there’s no way this department is going to let you continue with the investigation. I want you out of town too, Inspector. I thought I could reason with you, get you to agree to take some time off, but you seem to think you’re a goddamn member of The Untouchables. You’re taking a vacation, Callahan. Starting now. And that’s an order.”
Harry couldn’t believe how well it worked out. He was planning to lead up to asking for some leave, but the lieutenant had beat him to it. But he kept his face stoic and replied with a simple “Yes, sir.”
Bressler didn’t like it when Harry called him “sir.” It reminded him just how vulnerable he was to the screaming from upstairs in the department. “Look, Harry,” he said apologetically. “With you gone for a while, it’ll give everybody a chance to cool down and see straight. The press will get off the department’s back and the department will get off my back. I promise you. If we don’t make any progress by the time you get back, I’ll reapproach the commissioner about putting you on the case. But for now, enjoy yourself. Go on a little trip, ok?”
Harry allowed himself a little smile. “Ok,” he replied, turning to go.
“Callahan,” Bressler called after him as he reached the lieutenant’s door. Harry turned. “You, uh, have any idea where you might be going?”
Harry understood what lay behind the question. If Bressler knew where he was, he would know where to find him in case of emergency. And if he knew where he was, he could guarantee his superiors that Callahan would stay out of their hair. At least for a couple of days.
“I hear there’s a lot of good Irishmen in Chicago,” Harry told the lieutenant. “And a lot of beautiful women. I think I’ll check out the Windy City.”
Bressler smiled with relief. Harry smiled back. What he didn’t mention was the city’s Oriental population, nor the one particular beautiful woman he was looking for.
The plane took three hours to get from San Francisco Airport to Chicago’s O’Hare Airport. In that time, Harry tried to ignore the little plastic pouches of nuts, the little plastic-covered sandwiches, the little plastic glasses of booze and the little plastic smiles of the flight attendants. Instead, he tried to assimilate as much as he could about the Windy City. In three hours, he found the place had some things in common with his home town—most primarily a devastating natural disaster. In Chicago’s case, it was the Great Fire of 1871, after which the city was rebuilt brick by brick.
In the twenties, the city’s rebirth was interrupted by Prohibition and the gang violence that was brought to a head by Al Capone. Four years after the St. Valentine’s Day Massacre, Chicago celebrated its centennial with its
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