Fool's Gold

Chapter Eight: Raid

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Chapter Eight:

                                      Raid

Leo and Florence make the drive back to Chicago in record time. The Duesenberg proves itself to be just as fast as Silas had said, and its black paint helps it to look as nondescript as possible. They eat deli sandwiches wrapped up in wax paper for lunch and stop, at Leo’s insistence, at the nearest drugstore for a tin of Brylcreem hair pomade.

          The city is growing dark and lights are beginning to flicker on all around them. It looks like some sort of surreal fairytale before Florence’s eyes and it only becomes more wondrous as Leo points out his favorite spots. A large townhouse where Christian Lloyd throws the city’s second best bashes. Leo’s own parties always come in first, of course. The Biograph Theater and Washington Square Park, both teeming with people, are also indicated as preferred destinations for Leo to collect his thoughts.

          As the Duesenberg swings into the long drive, both Leo and Florence gasp at the sight of the house. Every light is lit and the white curtains have been drawn back, making every window a sort of frame for a portrait into the rooms. The grass and trees are illuminated by the light and the house looks like a shining beacon amidst the dark. This sight is all very lovely until their eyes fall upon the fleet of police cars that line the front of the drive. It is then that Leo notices the police officers that move from window to window inside and hurry back and forth carrying objects out the front door to examine them on the gravel.

          The car halts entirely too quickly with an angry squeal of brakes, causing Leo and Florence to fly forwards. Leo jumps out and slams the door so forcefully behind him that the car shakes. The look that his rivals have dubbed “Grey’s Glower” suddenly pales in comparison to his seething face.  His eyes flash as he moves with swift strides towards the men that have invaded his home. The officers in training, brought along to observe how a raid should be conducted, rapidly stumble out of his way and hide their faces and identifying badges. They were told of Grey’s temper and how he would react to the situation, but not one of them had imagined this picture of hell.

          Edward Woolridge, a portly man with a large mustache who is the chief of police, meets Leo halfway. It appears to be a gesture of politeness, acknowledging the man whose home his officers are currently tearing apart, but it is truly to stop him from coming any closer and seeing the details. Woolridge twirls the ends of his mustache around his fingers as he contemplates a suitable explanation to give to Mr. Grey. Leo taps his foot impatiently at the chief’s hesitation, his teeth grinding together.

          “Well,” he says brusquely, “out with it.” Woolridge gapes like a fish for a few moments, his mouth forming the beginnings of silent words and excuses. “What could I have possibly done to send your pack of flea-ridden dogs after me this time?”

          Woolridge draws himself up, the effect being quite comical due to his squat height. Leo is several heads taller than him- and glaring down upon him quite enraged as well- and this fact makes him quite anxious and he begins to twirl his mustache furiously. “A source tipped us off of your activities the previous evening, Mr. Grey-”

          “My activities? Are you feeling ill at the moment, Mr. Woolridge?” snaps Leo. “Because I can assure you wholeheartedly that I have done nothing to provoke your men to search my home.”

          Edward Woolridge smiles at him and the two dead men come rushing back to Leo all too quickly for his taste. He feels a severe wave of nausea; wants to go and shut himself inside of his room. His tongue turns to cotton inside of his mouth and he feels as though he cannot move or think or speak. However, if his Uncle Theodore had taught him anything about slipping out of a noose such as this, it was to keep a straight face and pretend that he wasn’t sweating buckets underneath his mask.