Tower
of the Blue Horses Tower
of the Blue Horses 
The cold dead body of Jake Caulder lay on the steel metal table in the coroner's office covered from head to toe with a white linen sheet. The examination had already been underway, the medical examiner inspecting the body of the deceased mob boss. Outside, in the dimly lit tunnel-like hallway, stood the blue-eyed man with short blonde hair, just a stone throw's away from the huge swinging doors that led into the dreary examination room. He stood there, impatiently, glancing every few seconds at the clock on the wall, awaiting the arrival of his fellow officer. William F. Cody paced back and forth, wearing out the same trail of footsteps he had taken, over and over again. He wasn't known for much patience and was referred to by his friends as the wild one of the bunch; never hesitating to take action, he was always ready for a good fight. The cockiness in his manner made Kid and Jimmy shake their heads. He was bold and didn't hesitate to speak what was on his mind. They liked that.
Cody preferred to be addressed by his surname. Didn't care too much for William or Billy, except for fond memories when his grandmother used to call him by his given name, which was now replaced by the caring voice of Rachel. After her passing, he joined the Academy, graduating with honors. Making Chicago his new home from Philadelphia, he was at once recruited by Jimmy who fell in love with his persona. Just the addition they needed for their new team. Cody accepted the assignment at once. Adventure was his ran thick through his veins and he sure wasn't going to get that walking a beat. So he joined up with the team of young detectives, itching to taste the real action behind the glamour of a badge.
Cody continued the pace; the swishing sounds of his long trench coat matched the rhythm of his steps. He held his hat in his hand, tossing it up in the air on occasion, attempting to distract himself from the wait. He stopped in the midst of his well-traveled route to take off his coat. Underneath he wore a gray, two-piece suit, the fit that was rather becoming. Cody was a sharp dresser and prided himself of the fact. "You never know when you might meet the woman of your dreams," he was often quoted as saying. And since that was his motto, he always made it a point to look his best, wearing the best. He loved attending the nightclubs and his popularity with the ladies was rather well known. Jimmy didn't approve of his chosen type of recreation but Cody was Cody. He was going to do what he wanted. He respected Jimmy, but his life was his after hours. Jimmy came to accept it, though he felt that the line Cody traveled was a fine one. Didn't make any sense putting your neck in the noose for people who were looking to put it around your neck for you.
He at last heard footsteps approaching, echoing down the hall, and breaking the deafening silence that was just about driving him insane.
"Was about time you got here!" he reprimanded, seeing he'd been waiting almost an hour.
"Sorry, but I had to stop and give Jimmy a call."
Cody shook his head as Kid joined him. "Boy is he gonna chew your ass out for leaving him out of this one."
"Well it won't be the last time," Kid said reassuringly.
"I told you we should've let him know. You know how much this means to him!" Cody cried, still not believing that he'd allowed Kid to keep Jimmy in the dark.
Kid shot back, "It does to all of us!...but Jimmy doesn't know when to ease up!" His glaring blue eyes matched those of Cody's. "I'm not going to stand by and watch my best friend dig his own grave. I lost a father to those sons-of-bitches...I'm not losing a brother."
Cody's eyes fell away. He knew Kid's pain all too well. He sighed. "If you say so Kid." Then as to lighten the mood he quipped, "One thing though, I'm glad it's your ass and not mine." And as if on cue, that famous, impish grin followed.
There was a small furrow forming on Kid's brow at the joke. "Cody, I can always count on you for such great backup."
"Anytime," he smiled as he followed Kid through the large doors.
Kid hated coming down to the Coroner's. Everytime. The images were dark and gruesome, paralleling his own memories. He remembered that day as if it were yesterday. The day he had to accompany his mother down to this very place. This dark place that reeked of death. What he saw was his father, dead. His once living body, laid there, lifeless, pierced by what seemed like a hundred bullets. There were so many of them. He couldn't count after the first five, his eyes blurred by his own tears, though he didn't realize he was crying. He heard the wails of his mother in the background but couldn't look at her. He knew she suffered. Maybe her pain was deeper than his, but how could that be? This was his father. He wasn't really dead. Not his father. Not his hero. But there he was, and Kid understood that his world had changed forever. Forever.
Kid couldn't stand the stench. The smell was the same, didn't matter how many times he'd stepped foot through those doors. He immediately took a handkerchief from his inner jacket pocket, covering his orifices so he wouldn't puke.
"You alright?" asked Cody. He knew the experience was trying for Kid. He seemed to turn all different shades of green whenever he came down here. Kid always told him it was therapeutic. Cody of course never believed it did him any good.
"You could've sent Ike or Noah."
"I'm fine," he mumbled through the kerchief, his stomach beginning to churn. "But thanks."
Cody nodded. He admired the guy's determination but this therapy stuff was not his cup of tea.
"Hey Kid, Cody!" came the muffled greeting from the gangly medical examiner as he stood next to the covered body, his white coat slightly stained apparently with the blood from a body. Kid wondered if it belonged to the man that he was soon about to look down on.
"Johnny," greeted Cody in return while Kid simply nodded. His mouth and nose still covered.
"What have we got?" asked Cody, nodding at the covered corpse.
Johnny swallowed the half-eaten
jelly doughnut he'd shoved into his mouth, the corner of which donned a glob
of the raspberry filling. He wiped the corner with his tongue,
scooping most the filling into his mouth. Another glob of filling sat on the
chest of his white coat. Johnny, not being one to let anything so delicious
go to waste, scooped the filling with his forefinger, leaving a bright red smudge
on his overcoat. Bringing his finger between his lips, he sucked the jelly off
as Kid looked on with disgust. This was the sort of thing that would make him
lose breakfast which he was trying very hard to keep down.
"How can you eat at a time like this?!" he frowned, gasping for a breath.
"Hey, I gotta eat sometime. Pulling long days in this hell hole until the new hire gets here. A man's gotta do what a man's gotta do...capice?" he emphasized the popular Italian word with his mock Italian accent.
"Whatever. Just don't eat while I'm around," Kid insisted.
Johnny smiled. "Whatever you say chief," and plopped the rest of the sugary treat in his wide opened mouth, licking his fingers to follow.
Kid grunted and charged him to get on with it.
Johnny wiped his hands on his coat and fetched a pair of surgical gloves. He slipped them on and pulled the cover off the body down to its torso as he began his commentary.
"This was a bad one," he shook his head.
Cody winced as he saw the dead man for the first time. "Ain't no doubt about that."
Johnny tilted the body onto its left side. "Shot in the back of the head three times." he said, pointing to one of the bullet holes as he moved the hair aside. "This one, exited...right here," he commented, laying the body back on it's back as he showed them where the bullet had pushed straight out.
He continued. "Massive trauma to the head," he indicated, the blue contusions showing on the head. "Meaning, they probably beat the crap out of him before they shot him."
He lifted up the dead man's arm. "Ligature wounds on both wrists."
"They had him tied up? The bastards!" came the angered remark from Cody.
"While they beat the crap out of him, before they shot him," Johnny frowned. He next pointed to the purplish bruises on the torso. "Three broken ribs...looks like they went batting practice."
The two detectives had no words. The injuries were massive. They wondered how long the man himself had lived before they decided to put him out of his misery.
"Want my opinion?" asked Johnny.
"You're the best at this so shoot," Cody encouraged.
"From the injuries to his chest, and the break of the ribs, tells me he was tied up this way." Johnny demonstrated with his arms above his head, his wrists crossing each other. "They hoisted him up and used him as a pinata. I'd guess he was barely conscious by the time they shot him."
"Probably didn't feel a thing," Cody said dryly.
"What's the time of death?" inquired Kid.
"I'm guessing he's been dead at least twelve hours."
"Twelve hours?!" exclaimed Cody.
"At least. Give or take an hour," affirmed Johnny, lifting the arm once again. It was stiff as a board, its blue fingers curled at the joints.
"Estimating the time he was found, and that rigor mortis sets in three hours after death...that's my best bet."
"The body was found nude and with the cold temperature at night, could've sped up the R.M.," Kid interjected.
"Maybe, but not necessarily. All I can do is estimate."
"That ain't good enough Johnny!" cried Cody. "That means he was murdered around 9 or 10 last night?! Come on! You gotta give us better odds than that!"
"HEY! I'm going with what I got," he frowned. "You pretty boys are the mystery solvers. I did my part, the rest is in your capable little hands," he added wryly. "Now if you'll excuse me, I've got another body to carve," he informed, as he stripped the rubber gloves off, dumping them into the covered bin, and turned to exit the room.
"Well thank you Johnny! THANK YOU!" shouted Cody. "Don't expect me to set you up with that blonde dame from the club you...piece of..." he trailed off.
"Save your breath. He's right," Kid charged. "Let's get out of here. We've got work to do."
After leaving his room, still disgusted over the events of the morning with
his wife, Frank made his way down to his office, then to his dressing room.
Frank always took his morning coffee there. Slipping through a small hidden
door in the back right corner of the room he walked down a short, dark hallway.
After opening another door to a medium sized room, he was there. This was Frank's
dressing room. It had a small couch, a rocking chair, and a mirror. Very little
decoration. No need for it.
The couch was more of a cream love seat. There were no windows in this room, so it was placed on the side wall. The mirror hung a full length directly beside the couch, and on the other side of the room sat the rocking chair. Next to the chair was the large closet, where Frank kept all of his stylish clothes. In the room there was also a porcelain tub and a changing curtain that was rarely used.
"Good morning Cecille," Frank greeted.
"Good morning Sir," she responded. Cecille was Frank's personal maid. She was almost twenty, dark black hair, dark brown eyes, and a figure shaped like the hull of a racing yacht. She was gorgeous. Of course, that's why Frank hired her. Only two women worked for him, and they were both the perfect Italian darlings. Frank affirmed he hired them because they were cheap, worked hard, and didn't speak enough English to spy. However, he knew differently. Cecille and Marie were everything he had always wanted in a woman: petite, dark, mysterious, and strong. He hired them because they reminded him of his mother. She was all those things and more. When he made his money, he was set on surrounding himself with his own world, and these women were the representation of his world. They were perfection. But, he never let them know his true feelings regarding them. There were certain things a man like Frank just needed to keep to himself. He guessed loyalty to his wife was a key in a sense. Yet he couldn't deny it, plain and simple, they were gorgeous.
Louise, on the other hand, figured Frank had a thing for those types of women, but she couldn't stand them. She was jealous. Louise was always jealous, but, then, Frank could be too. She couldn't understand how she did not fit into his definition of gorgeous. Being a woman she knew the looks all too well. Her husband had never voiced his inner desires but he couldn't hide the manly lust in his eyes. The way he watched them whenever he thought she was too drunk or too uninterested to notice. The way he shifted in his seat at dinner whenever they came in to serve. She wasn't these women, and she never could be. Her jealousy is what also got the best of her. Her anger and frustration is what led to the drink those few short years ago, and the same thing that keeps her drinking now. But, she loved her husband, no matter what trash he decided to hire. Besides, Louise wished she had no dealings with those women, they were Frank's 'private' maids or so they were labeled. But that was inevitable. Still, in this household she was the lady and her postition would never be threatened. She wouldn't allow it.
Cecille had the tub filled with steaming water, had Frank's clothes set out for the day, and already had a fresh pot of coffee for Frank's first cup. Frank watched the steam rise to Cecille's breasts. The low-cut blouse she wore left little to the imagination. He didn't blush. Cecille, noticing his stare, turned quickly away, but Frank did not. He stared at her backside. He had all of the power in their relationship and there was nothing Cecille could do about it. Frank played the villain and Cecille played the cheap maid/whore who did her job well, never to be fired. Though Frank would've liked to fulfill a fantasy or two with Cecille, he never touched her. He was too smart for scandal and he liked Louise where she was, at his side. A man of his stature couldn't afford having his beloved walk out on him. It was strictly unacceptable.
Frank finished his morning bath, dressed, and drank his first cup of coffee in time to have his second back in the office with his Dawn Breakers.
Jimmy sat on the swiveled chair behind the mess of his cluttered desk. It was the same old desk that belonged to Kid's father. The boys had been able to salvage it when the old police station with its tattered offices had been remodeled and now it sat in their office, a fitting symbol of a life spent fighting, warring and hoping. A symbol of justice and order. In this very office, on this very desk, Jimmy and Kid began recruiting their special task force unit. A unit composed of men from various tracks of life, each with a story to tell, each with a memory they'd rather forget, yet now they were more like brothers, they were kindred-spirits.
The newspaper article that fiercely jolted his emotions earlier, sat facing him, the words blurring all together as the headache he'd awakened with, became more intense. He squinted his eyes to regain a measure of focus and blindly opened the small drawer in front of him. He had made the sudden movement so many times now, it seemed natural. Opening a bottle of pills, he shook the container, spilling two white tablets into his palm and popped the medicine inside his dry mouth. The pills hit the back of his throat and he swallowed hard, forcing them down with simple ease.
Jimmy gripped the paper in both hands, straightening the page to read along yet again the story written. In actuality he hated reading the paper. Hated journalists even more. Jimmy had an aversion to the press. They made his job harder than it needed to be. Always sticking their noses in places they had no business. Always asking questions to which there were yet no answers. Always giving the bad guys a head start. That's the way Jimmy saw them. They were like pesky flies always looking for a bloody meal.
He snickered at the fabled name imposed on him and his men as he read along. It was bad enough that this ghost writer whatever his name was, Teaspoon, had fingered them as the ones assigned to the case but now hell, even a picture was plastered on the front page, the final touch to tie all the strings nice and neat.
On his desk, there lay strewn about in a jumbled maze, several confidential documents and affidavits, a stack of files with almost every detailed crime of the Mafia in this city. All bad memories, all worthless pieces of trash.
In the two years that they'd become known as the group of elite men sworn to bring down the mob in Chicago, they had barely made a dent in the underground organization. For every illegal gambling hall they raided and shut down, it seemed like two would spring up in its place. For every illegal distillery they smashed to bits, the Mafia seemed to replace overnight. Yes, the beast was immense but so was their determination. They had made a promise to each other and all would seek to keep it.
Jimmy opened the built-in file drawer in his desk, pulling out the most important file in his possession. It seemed to get bigger and heavier as the months went by. He dropped it on his desk with a thud and stared at it; another newspaper clipping to add to this gory collection.
The manila colored file looked well-worn, it's edges soiled and bent out of the straight shape it once had being as it was, the center of the boys' life. Opening the file, Jimmy passed article upon article of murders, arrests, shootings, bombings, busts, but the ones that got to him were the reverential community service awards, the facade of the face of Frank James. He read silently as his eyes scanned the heading on one of those praiseworthy articles, "Frank James Receives Award From Mayor" Jimmy's brown eyes slid down to the picture of Frank and his puppet Mayor, a man that slept in the palm of Frank; too weak and too affable to stand up to the gangster. Jimmy turned to the next article and snickered, shaking his head, "Frank James, Hero Of The People" Frank was no fool. He understood where his strength lay and it was with the people. He provided them with the things the government couldn't. In a time where The Depression had stripped a hard working man of his dignity, Frank James was there, giving back to the community. He established soup kitchens, put clothes on their backs, some of them even money in their measly, empty pockets and for others entertainment to escape their depraved lot in life. He had them where he wanted them; all of them. While the government scrambled for reform, they had Frank and with him as their savior, he had their loyalty and support thus prosecuting the James brothers was next to impossible.
The arrest records of Frank and Jesse James were next in order. Petty theft at the age of 12, car theft-age 15; robbery-age 17; attempted murder-age 21...the list was too long and bothersome to continue. Jesse had been arrested several times for conspiracy, bribery, and assault with and without a deadly weapon but even he slipped through the grips of the law, set free by the reputation of his brother and crooked judges suspected of being on the James' payroll.
One could get depressed and wonder why bother when the bad outweighed any of the good. But, lovingly, Rachel was there for them. She was their sanity keeper most of the time, helping them to refocus on their goal and see the progress they were making, even in the small things. It was hard from the boys' perspective at times but a minute of reflection never hurt, and seemed to nudge them along the way.
And Rachel was right. She was. All was not a loss. They had been able to put several top-ranking men of considerable positions away for some years and even a couple for life. They were all satisfying in themselves but the better ones were a couple of the captains affiliated with the James outfit. The thought was very satisfying.
These engrossing thoughts were interrupted when Rachel entered the office. A bottle of milk was in one hand and the last police reports she had just finished typing, under her arm. Rachel was a good-looking woman. Jimmy always thought so and wondered why she'd never remarried after the murder of her husband Henry. She was quite the looker, beautiful honey blonde hair, stunning green eyes and a knock-out body. He guessed the pain of losing one husband was more than enough for one woman to put stock in taking on another. Rachel loathed the mob just as much as her boys, her sons in a way, since she never had children of her own; the mob too robbed her of her life and she was more than happy to work for Kid's father and now for his two boys.
Jimmy watched her briefly as she made her way to the coffee cart, placing the bottle of milk on it and returned his eyes to the papers under his nose. She grabbed a mug from the cart, poured some of the milk in it and brought it over to him. Jimmy wasn't much of a coffee drinker nowadays. Their office had that distinct smell of fresh brewed java in the morning but since the headaches, the doctor thought it best he just never touch the stuff again so Jimmy settled for the white beverage instead. It seemed to soothe him a bit.
Rachel's voice soon filled the silent room. "You know, some days it seems like the world is in a never-ending downspin...others, the sun rises and everything is beautiful," she uttered, putting the mug down on his desk and then with the force of both hands, slammed the police reports over the James' brothers file. Jimmy's brow contracted as his steely eyes shot up to met with her softer ones.
"I was reading that," he said, his voice still, his eyes unmoving.
Rachel had that motherly, concerned look draped over her face again. He saw it, clear as day, not that she tried to hide it but how could he not stop and listen?
"Jimmy, I know at times things look worse than they did the day before. This is just another added piece in the game but you will nail them. And, when you do, there won't be a brighter day in the city of Chicago because you would've won the game."
A small snicker came through his lips. "Are there really any winners in this game Rachel?"
Rachel took a seat in the only uncluttered corner of the desk and said, "I don't know Jimmy. Maybe there are, maybe there aren't. But I've heard the cries of too many mothers walk through our doors, too many wives and children mourning as their families and their lives are torn to shreds by people like Frank and Jesse James. I've seen the faces of once young and beautiful girls all tired and used up; naive girls lured by the promise, by the glitz of a glamorous way of life." Rachel thought about her own life. How she herself fit this description to a tee. Before Henry, before she'd met Kid's father that's the life she'd lived. She knew it all too well. Continuing she added, "Are there winners? There has to be Jimmy or we are doing all of this for nothing."
Jimmy could see the pain in her eyes. How deeply that pain dug in her soul, he couldn't imagine but she was right again. Their work wouldn't be in vain. He took a hold of her hand and squeezed it. "What would I do without you?" he smiled, understandingly.
"I'd hate to even ponder that Jimmy Hickok; now drink your milk! I've got filing needs doing," she lightheartedly added. There was no time for sulking and self-pity. There was work to be done and a murderer to catch.
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