Post by Admin on Jun 16, 2022 0:57:26 GMT
Introduction
Chicago is suddenly home to a host of wee folk!
Setting
Chicago, Illinois : Spring 1960
A Very Eventful Day
It had been a great day for Barney Buchanan, who had a couple years ago had a short career as the mystery hero Captain Democracy, and who now was a teacher in the great city of Chicago. The White Sox and Cubs had both won last night. The sun was out, and it looked like summer was just around the corner.
And based on the achievements of his students, it looked like he was improving as a teacher, too. Two of the kids in his senior physics class had just been awarded scholarships to the University of Chicago to study nuclear physics. Two of the girls in his ninth grade general science class had won a prize in the West Side Science Fair last weekend. And tonight he got to tell his latest naturalization class that they had all passed the citizenship test, and that their naturalization ceremony was scheduled the week after next. It didn’t get any better than this.
He was enjoying the walk from the high school to the courthouse where the evening citizenship classes were held, despite the constant pain in his lower back. In his aborted career as Captain Democracy, he had been hit by steel shrapnel while fighting the mystery villain Discharge.1) in 1955, and one of the shards was so close to his spine that the surgeons hadn’t dared to remove it. He walked with a limp and a cane, but he had learned to ignore the pain — most of the time, anyway.
Bad Day
When he rounded the corner onto Stutgart Street and saw the restless crowd around Mama’s Corner Store, his day started downhill fast. The people in the crowd were fighting for a better look inside the store, and a number of cops were trying to keep them back. Barney’s stomach dropped to the ground when he recognized Captain Tony Spinelli of Homicide through the front window of the store.
The previous owners, Mama Kelly and Papa Carlo, had owned this store for almost half a century. Papa had retired last year after Mama passed away. He couldn’t find any local buyers, so he’d finally sold to a couple who lived in another neighborhood some distance away.
This neighborhood was old, the residents were mostly descended from immigrants from Germany, Italy, and Ireland, the unusual diversity brought together by their common religion. In fact, the grandparents of many of these folks had moved to this neighborhood to help build the cathedral where their descendants now worshiped. They lived together, usually peacefully, because that’s the way it had been for generations. But the demographics of Chicago were changing. It had begun with refugees from World War II, and increased as living conditions in the Soviet Union worsened. A lot of Eastern European refugees ended up in Chicago, and most of them were followers of a different religion than most of the residents of this neighborhood.
The new owners of Mama’s Corner Store were a refugee couple from Eastern Europe. They had been shopkeepers all their lives, and they realized that the people of Chicago needed shopkeepers, just as the people in the old country had. When they saw Mama’s for sale, they jumped at the chance. But someone in the neighborhood had resented them for being different. Didn’t matter that they did most of their personal business in this same neighborhood and kept their store and the sidewalk in front spic and span, or that they sold the same goods at the same prices that Mama and Papa had. They were different — and that’s really all the reason a thug had needed to take a violent action.
If the couple hadn’t tried to defend themselves, and instead had let the thugs destroy their store and their new lives, they probably would have lived through it. In the old country, though, they had been powerless against their thuggish government. Here the thugs were criminals, and free men and women could resist. They had resisted, and now they were both dead.
Spinelli knew he would catch the thugs. A lot of people in the neighborhood probably had a pretty good idea who had done this and sooner or later, someone would talk. Nobody would speak up right now for fear of retaliation, but over the next couple of weeks, every time someone was inconvenienced by not having an inexpensive local market, resentment toward the thugs would grow. Sooner or later, someone would secretly snitch to the beat cop, and then, Spinelli promised himself, he would come back and make the bust. It wouldn’t take long; he could wait. But he hoped nobody else got killed in the meantime.
Barney’s day got even worse, as very close to him, one of the cops struck a frantic bystander in the stomach with his nightstick. ‘Probably a relative of the new owners,’ Barney thought. The civilian doubled over in agony, and the cop started an even more painful blow, swinging the weighted nightstick down in a vicious arc toward the back of the man’s head.
Barney’s walking stick, an honest-to-goodness blackthorn shillelagh, a gift from one of his former citizenship students, flashed out and deflected the blow. The enraged cop turned his attention to Barney. He grinned when he saw Barney move with a limp.
“Shouldn’t have butted in, gimp. I was gonna break that bum’s head, but you’ll do just as well!” He swung the nightstick at Barney’s head, but the shillelagh easily blocked the blow. The cop changed tactics and stabbed the stick at Barney’s solar plexus, but his weapon was again knocked to the side. He was reaching for his pistol when he heard a chilling sound.
“Officer Magoon — stand down, now!” Magoon very carefully moved his hand away from his pistol. Captain Spinelli was not someone you wanted mad at you. “Murph, get a doctor over here for this guy!” He pointed at the civilian. One of the other cops ran for the radio in the squad car.
Magoon complained to Spinelli, “This guy here was attackin’ me, and I wuz just doin’ my job.”
“Not the way I saw it. And I saw the whole thing. You had no reason to attack that civilian, and all this guy did was keep you from maybe killing an innocent bystander. As it is, you’re on report, and fined two weeks’ pay. And if anything funny happens around you again, you’re out.” Spinelli’s voice was flat and quiet.
“Why, you greasy–! Do you know who I am?” Magoon swelled with indignation. He was about to continue, but Spinelli cut him off again.
“You’ve told everyone you’ve ever met, over and over again, that you’re second cousin to the mayor. We’re all sick of hearing it. It’s the only reason you ever got through the Academy, and everyone knows that, too. Now shut your yap, or I’ll bust you out of the force. And have someone arrest you.”
“You’re gonna regret talkin’ to me like that, you w–”
Once again Spinelli cut him off before he could say something that would get him in even worse trouble. He doubted that Magoon would thank him, though. “Tell you what, Officer Magoon, I’m actually having lunch with your second cousin the mayor tomorrow. Why don’t you join us, and we can discuss today’s problems with him? I’ll call him as soon as we get back to the office and tell him to have three places set at the table instead of just two.”
Spinelli waited. Magoon didn’t say anything. There were rumors that Spinelli was about to be promoted to vice-commissioner of police, so he would be experienced enough to take over when the current commissioner retired next year. Magoon was starting to sweat as he realized that the captain probably had a lot more pull with his second cousin than he did. Finally he shook his head and hurried away.
Tony turned to Barney and spoke in mock anger… “Just what I needed — a crippled civilian beating up one of my team during a murder investigation!” Then he smiled warmly. “How you doing, Captain Democracy?”
“Nice to see you too, Tony!” The two men shook hands warmly. “You know, that name is finally starting to feel right, a much better fit than the first time around! Every time one of my students takes the oath, I get chills.” Then Barney’s good cheer at seeing his friend vanished. “So what happened here?”
“Somebody trashed the place and bumped off the couple who owned it. Looks like the wife tried to stop someone who wanted a five-finger discount; she got knocked down, the husband picked up a baseball bat, and that someone shot them both.”
‘It sounds so simple and neat, so routine, summed up like that,’ Spinelli thought. ‘But it isn’t. Two human lives, with all their stories, secrets, and potential, ended.’
“Sometimes I hate this job.” He wasn’t talking to Barney, but his friend responded anyway.
“Tony, if it weren’t for you, a lot of the guys who do this kind of thing would get away. And there would be a lot more of it. Never forget that!”
Spinelli nodded, just barely. “Thanks, Cap! Say, I gotta get back to work.” Spinelli turned back toward the store. He stopped and looked over his shoulder. “See if you can leave the scene without provoking any more of my boys, will you?” And then he was back inside.
Citizenship Class
Tonight’s naturalization class was informal, the sole purpose to review Friday’s upcoming ceremony so the students would be more comfortable. Barney Buchanan wasn’t surprised to see that most of his students were there; they were a good bunch. He was glad; teaching was always a good anodyne to sadness for him. So even though the class was technically completed, he used the occasion for a little more teaching.
“What is the official oath of citizenship of the United States?” Several students raised their hands. This was a trick question, so he asked his brightest student. “Yes, Miss Ming?” Anna Ming was a short Chinese girl with a sunny disposition.
“No specific oath is required by law, Mr. Buchanan,” she replied earnestly. “According to the Immigration and Nationality Act of 1953, any oath that meets the five principles is legal.”
“Thank you, Miss Ming. Mr. Regan, what are those five principles?”
Donal Regan was a big, beefy guy with red hair, a red Donegal beard that left most of his face clean-shaven, and a twinkle in his eye. He’s been in the special forces in the British Army, and was an engineer. He still spoke with the trace of an Irish accent, it had been difficult to understand him a couple of months ago, but he’d worked hard on his speech, along with his classwork. Donal squinted, then counted on his fingers.
“One: renunciation of prior allegiances to other countries. Two: support, and three: defense of the constitution. Four: service in the armed forces when required. Five: performance of civilian duties of national importance when required.”
“Very good, Mr. Regan. Mr. Habasinski, what else?” Jozef Habasinski wasn’t sure, and he fidgeted until Barney gave him a hint. “The last sentence of the oath you are going to deliver, Joe.” That got him going.
“I take this obligation freely and without any reservations.” That wasn’t it exactly, but close enough.
Somewhat heartened as always by teaching, Barney wrapped up the class. “Remember, there’s a party at my place after the ceremony, but you gotta bring something — you wouldn’t want to eat my cooking!” It was now his tradition to have a potluck dinner after each new class took the oath of citizenship. He encouraged his students to bring dishes that were popular in their native countries, and he was gaining a reputation as a very cosmopolitan gourmet, even if he couldn’t cook.
Unusual Mugging
Barney, Jozef and Donal usually took the same bus after class. Donal waved his friends on. “I want to walk Anna to her car. The bus won’t be there for a half hour, I’ll catch up with you.”
Just before the two men reached the bus stop, another man approached and, without warning, yanked Barney’s shillelagh away from him. As he crumpled to the ground with a moan of pain, his assailant pointed a gun at Habasinski.
“Don’t ya be movin’, now!” Barney immediately recognized Magoon’s voice, though it was muffled by an improvised mask, a kitchen towel draped over the man’s head, with cutouts for eyes. As Habasinski raised his hands, the thug kicked Barney in the back. With an enraged roar, Habasinski rushed at the bad guy, who immediately shot, and the young man dropped to the ground.
A rock thudded into Magoon’s head, and he was hit at virtually the same time behind the knees. As he started to fall backward, something smashed into his head from the left, and then something else slammed into his chest from the right. He cracked his head on the pavement, dropped the gun and the shillelagh, and writhed on the sidewalk, no more than semiconscious. Fighting the pain, Barney crawled to the gun, then struggled into a sitting position. By then, whatever had attacked the gunman was gone.
A siren, quickly growing louder, attested that someone nearby had already called the police. A half-dozen people were rushing from nearby buildings, and one had taken charge of Jozef Habasinski.
“I was a medic in Korea! You–” He pointed at one of the approaching people at random. “–call for an ambulance! You and you–” He pointed at two men in suits, who must have been working late. “–I need your shirts for bandages.”
At that second, the beat cop arrived. The medic saw that Barney’s face was white and that he was shaking violently and spoke to the cop. “He’s in shock,” he said, pointing at Barney. “You better take that gun away from him and keep an eye on that guy on the ground.” Another bystander took off her coat and wrapped it around the violently shivering teacher. Realizing that he wasn’t needed any more just now, Barney surrendered to the pain and passed out.
Hospital Bed
A couple of hours later, Barney Buchanan was sitting upright in a raised hospital bed, making his official police report to Tony Spinelli. He was fighting the effects of the morphine and resolved never to let it be used on him again.
“Thanks for coming personally, Tony, ‘specially ’cause there’s no murder involved.”
“Magoon worked for me, though. I’m sorry, Barney.” He paused, then continued apologetically. “Habasinski confirms your story, and some night security guard saw Magoon knock you down and shoot Habasinski. So even though Magoon says you attacked him, you’re off the hook.” Barney saw pain on his face, pain that any cop could act like that, and then Spinelli changed the subject. “How’d you recover enough to knock him down like that?”
“Wasn’t me! It was hard to shee — see, damn it! — from the ground. I thought I saw… no, it must have been the pain. A hunka-hunka burning pain!” He shook his head. “Sorry. I thought I saw a kid, couldn’t have been more than four or five, but he had a full beard - red it was, red like Lucy… Sorry. Anyway, this bearded kid tried to tackle him at the knees, but wasn’t big enough, and then another bearded kid… man, this stuff is messing me up. There were four… four kids with red beards… Sorry, again. They all looked the shame… same! and familiar as heck…” Barney was silent for a while as he tried to pull together his concentration. “And then Magoon fell, and I was scramblin’ to get the gun, and then I was here. I can’t remember much more, but it wasn’t me who knocked him down..”
“On top of the paperwork, and all the crap I’m gonna take about Magoon, that’s just what I need most right now: a bloody mystery!” (Well, maybe he didn’t say bloody.) “Good to hear you’re going to be out of here tomorrow, Cap.” Nobody but Barney and Tony knew the true derivation of that nickname.
“Thanks! You and Barb are comin’ to the post-grad dinner, right?”
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” They shook hands, and Tony went back to his desk to finish the paperwork.
Swapping Stories
That weekend, everyone went to the biggest wedding in the neighborhood in years. The bride was radiant and beautiful, the groom handsome and smug. Everyone was invited, and over three-hundred people filled St. Nicholas Cathedral for the wedding ceremony, with over a thousand attending the reception. The gift table in the reception hall was groaning under the weight of all the gifts; it was going to take a truck to haul them all away. Dinner was sumptuous, and the swing-era big band superb.
Barney Buchanan didn’t dance much; for years, his hip injury had caused him too much pain. Several of his close friends had joined him at his table during the dancing, and they were discussing the decline in the neighborhood. Barney was just finishing the story about his encounters with ex-Officer Magoon.
“I told Spinelli that it looked like a kid with a red beard tackling Magoon, but now that my head is cleared up, well…” He was embarrassed, but he was too far into the story to stop now. “I think it must have been munchkins. Well, something like munchkins, anyway. One hit him low, two hit him high, and then they ran off before I could really see them.” He finished, clearly waiting for his friends to laugh at him.
“Munchkins, eh? That’s wild. Listen to this!” This was Sean O’Leary, the owner and barkeep of The Sword and Flagon Pub, a neighborhood favorite.
Closing the Local Bar
“I’d just finished throwin’ out Old Snoddy, forty-five minutes after last call…” This was a typical night for Sean. “…and was starting to clean the place, when someone wearing a mask jumped out from under a table and started waving a gun at me. He took the register key and headed for the bar. And there’s old Sean O’Leary, standing around like a dummy, my own piece in a secret drawer behind the bar for all the good it does me there. I might’a took a chance and jumped him, anyway, but he was nervous as hell and wavin’ that pistol all over the place. Hard to know when he was going to point it back at me, you know?”
The crook sidled back to the bar, keeping his gun pointed in Sean’s general direction. He had to turn to flip up the gate in the bar, and Sean saw motion, close to the ground, in the shadows near the dartboard. Suddenly, the gunman screamed as three darts lodged in the rear of his pants. Sean dived toward the back door as several gunshots rang out, bullets smashing randomly into the walls and ceiling.
The screaming gunman leaped high in the air and came down on a patch of floor that was suddenly covered with soapy water. His feet flew out from under him, and he fell heavily, hitting his head on the bar on his way to the floor, landing face down. The gun went flying. Sean waited cautiously, and when he didn’t see any movement, he retrieved the gun and called the police.
“I normally put out a plate for the leprechauns every night,” he told his listeners. “I left a couple pints that night, too, and every night since!”
At Auction
“I’m sure they appreciate it, too, me boyo,” Donal sounded enthusiastic, as he stood to excuse himself. But the stories kept coming.
“You guys, too?” Jerry Karle. “Never seen no leprechauns, and I don’t believe in munchkins. But what do you fellas think about dwarves?” Heads turned but nobody spoke up, giving him the floor.
“I was minding the cash box at an auction last weekend…”
The auction had started well.The selection was outstanding and the bidding was brisk. Southside Estate Liquidation Service was making a good buck, and the auction attendees were getting great deals. Then, about three hours in, two glass bottles crashed through the windows in the front of the room and smashed, and the auctioneer’s stage was engulfed in flames. Most of the folks throughout the large room rushed for doors and windows. Several grabbed fire extinguishers and made sure the auctioneers on the stage were clear of the flames. Within a few seconds, someone had pulled the alarm, and soon the crowd could hear sirens from the neighborhood fire station.
In a small office off the main room, Jerry was tending the cash box. Another lucky bidder had just paid up and was off to claim his purchases when a man ran in from the main room, slammed the door, and shot at Jerry. He missed, but Jerry fell over backward in his chair trying to dodge. The thief scooped up the cash box and dashed out the outside door of the office into the alley behind the auditorium leased for the event.
But there was a rope stretched across the door six inches from the ground, and the gunman never saw it — he tripped and sprawled forward, and both gun and cash box went flying. He hit, and then there came some very distinct “thwock” sounds. Peeking out the door, Jerry saw that the gunman was lying unconscious on the ground, and near his head were a pair of rubber mallets. He would have sworn he saw several small shapes disappear into the shadows of the alley.
“The rope and the mallets were both from one of the auction lots. Good thing they were rubber! Still, they must’a been dwarves, using hammers like that!”
“Wow!” Pete exclaimed, excited. “A regular plague of wee folk!”
“I wouldn’t call it a plague, exactly,” Barney responded thoughtfully. “A plague is bad for you, but these guys have been nothing but helpful.”
“You’re not taking this seriously?!” Dave Lee asked in astonishment. “Leprechauns, munchkins, dwarves, running around the neighborhood helping people? You must be kidding!”
“In a world where men and women fly, where we’ve seen real mermaids and flying fire-breathing monsters, why not? We got a blue skinned female genie and a 5 foot tall woman who moves so fast she’s invisible. Now that stuff is hard to take seriously!” Jerry joked. “Say, the bride’s about to toss her garter!”
Everyone in the ballroom turned to watch — except one lady. She got up from her chair and casually walked across the room. When she reached the gift table, she swept all of the envelopes onto a big bag and darted toward the door.
As she passed between two tables, something wrapped around her ankle, and she crashed to the floor. She must have gotten tangled in the tablecloth of one of those tables, as everything on the table slid off the edge and crashed down on her. The bride and groom were aghast and fearing a lawsuit — until they saw the envelopes that had spilled out of her purse. The thief cursed profusely in Italian, the only word Barney really caught was ‘folleto’, an Italian name for the wee folk, yet another piece of this growing mystery.
Late Night Prowlers
The following Monday, Donal Regan was coming home late. He rarely stayed up past midnight, even on a Saturday. He worked construction six days a week, and he was always up early. But today his boss had told him that his application for the civil engineer position had been approved, the promotion to take effect as soon as he achieved his citizenship, followed shortly by a transfer to Phoenix. The boss had given him tomorrow off, do he could celebrate tonight and then sleep in.
He stopped at the corner pub, The Sword and Flagon, on the way home for a pint of bitter and a corned beef sandwich. When he had first arrived in Chicago, he’d been surprised and gratified to find a good Irish pub in his Southside neighborhood, though the clientele included people of all descents, not just the local Irish. He’d even made a few bucks in a dart game tonight, with a couple of strangers who thought they could hustle the locals. Maybe they’d learned a lesson, but though he doubted it, at least they probably wouldn’t hang out here anymore. Still, it was really late when he finally headed for home.
Donal was crossing a side street when he saw people in the parking lot behind the new Korean restaurant on the corner. The place closed at eleven o’clock; there shouldn’t have been anyone around at this time. He walked by, then slipped into the parking lot of the next place and carefully pulled aside branches in the hedge between the two lots. Two figures were moving along the back of the restaurant, carrying metal gasoline cans.
‘I’ll quick put an end to that, but nae as Donal,’ he thought. ‘Might be the same <thugs> that killed the poor store owners.’
A distant observer watching Donal would have sworn that he had simply vanished — but that observer wouldn’t have been able to hear the soft sighs of displaced air that accompanied his disappearance.
A Change in Plans
Jonny “Hots” Flambeau wasn’t superstitious, and he didn’t believe in ghosts or fairies. When he saw a very short figure slip onto the back porch of the house next door, he figured it was a kid sneaking out late. Still, his partner “Spike” Van Dyke would kill him if there were any witnesses. A week ago, Hots wouldn’t have believed he or Spike could kill anyone, but things had changed since then. Word was out that the Korean couple who ran this restaurant knew who had done for the store owners and had been talking about going to the law. Well, losing this place ought to make them think twice, or three times, and if they didn’t get the message, he and Spike would be back, and who would miss a couple of Koreans, anyway?
So he sneaked up to the porch, and thought he heard someone drinking. He silently pulled out his torch and aimed carefully, flicking it on and then off real fast. It couldn’t be, but it was — an honest-to-God leprechaun, drinking the pint of beer the homeowner had left out for the wee folk.
“Aiee!” the little man cried, and quick as a wink, he was over the front of the porch. “Ye’ll nae be gittin’ yuir big, clumsy hands on me pot ‘o’ gold!”
Once he was on the lawn, Hots could see him fairly clearly in the light from the nearest street lamp. He was running right toward the parking lot where Spike was dousing the back wall of the restaurant with gasoline. What could he do? He didn’t dare wake up the neighborhood, but he was determined not to lose this leprechaun’s pot of gold, either. He risked a quiet shout, cupping his hands.
“Spike! Coming your way!” Suddenly, the little man just seemed to disappear in the shadows. Hots kept running toward the spot where he’d vanished.
Spike was livid with anger. As quiet as Hots had been, they couldn’t risk it that someone had heard. They were going to have to give up tonight’s little lesson and get out of here as soon as possible. Suddenly, though, right in front of him, a little man appeared. He seemed startled to see Spike, but he reacted instantly.
“Another one of ye big hairy sassenachs! Well, ye won’t be a catchin’ wee Paddy on this eve nor me gold!” The small figure danced nimbly between his boots, somehow managing to kick the gasoline can, which spilled all over Spike’s legs. “I’d would nae be settin’ nary fires tonight, me boyo!” And he was gone, heading toward Hots’ voice. Spike headed after him, then stopped in dismay when the wee laddie vanished.
“Hey, lummox! Over here!” the high voice taunted him. “Did yuir sainted mum leave ye with but half a brain?”
Hots was surprised when he heard the leprechaun behind him. “Begorrah, laddie! Ye could nae sneak up on a rock, clumpin’ around like that. Here’n I were hopin’ for a little sport this fine noight!” He turned around, and the leprechaun zipped between his legs, laughing maniacally. He reached down to grab the annoying sprite, but something crashed into his rear, and he fell and rolled heavily, ending up flat on his back. The leprechaun leaped onto his chest and danced a couple of jig steps before hurrying away.
“Heads up! Comin’ through!” Hots heard the leprechaun’s shrill voice again, from off to his left, and then suddenly, the little man was rushing toward him at high speed. “Oop, oop, and awayyy…” the magical being shouted as he leaped over the prone thug. And right behind him came Spike.
“Look out!” Hots shouted, as loud as he could, forgetting that the two thugs didn’t want to be caught.
“Oh, sh–” Spike didn’t have time to finish, as one of his feet kicked Hots in the side of the head, knocking out the prone thug, and then Spike was flying headlong, but not for long. He did a bellyflop onto the lawn, and his head bounced off the grassy soil.
“And lucky he is there’s nae a drought,” came a voice from the shadows.
“Aye, though with a head that hard, he’d likely have cracked even the sidewalk.” The same voice, from another direction in the dark.
“I think I hear a siren; sounds as if the coppers are on the way!” Same voice, different location.
“I think me work here is done for the night. A foine way to celebrate!” There was laughing from four directions, then a rustle of grass, and then silence, except for the painful moans of the two would-be arsonists.
And, later on that day, well after the sun came up, Captain Tony Spinelli was pleased to find that these two were the missing murderers.
On the road to Phoenix
“So, you’re moving to Phoenix?” Barney Buchanan asked his ex-student Donal Regan as they sat down for lunch at The Sword and Flagon.
Donal was very excited over the move. “Y’know, I was a principal architect back in County Cork.” He had worked very hard, and his Irish accent was barely audible now. “They’ve nae got a position for me here, but the business is boomin’ in the Southwest. So it means a promotion and a big raise fer me.”
“That’s great. The neighborhood will miss you, though,” Barney replied. “Been some excitement since you moved in.” Donal changed the subject.
“Yuir lookin’ a lot better these days, boyo! Better color in yuir face, ye’ve put on some healthy weight, and y’r moving a lot easier.”
Barney’s smile lit his face as Donal had never seen it before. “It seems like a miracle! You remember when Magoon kicked me in the back?” Since Barney’s mugging a couple of weeks before, he’d spent a few days in the hospital. Donal nodded. “Well, somehow, he dislodged the shrapnel in my spine without severing it — and the doctors were able to remove it. There’s scar tissue built up all around it, and I’ll always have a limp, but I’m not in pain any longer!”
It was a miracle, but Barney wasn’t totally surprised. Not long after Captain Democracy had been crippled, Barney had become acquainted with the powerful mystical Spirit of Liberty, and he occasionally saw indications that the Spirit was still interested in him. This could be another such sign.
“So what do you think happened to that Zing gal, anyway?” Barney asked. “For a couple weeks, she was all you heard about, and then, all of a sudden, she’s gone like she never existed.”2)
“I heard a rumor that the coppers almost caught her,” Donal responded cautiously. “Maybe that shook her up, and she retired. Who knows? Say, you going to the Sox game today?”
Barney wasn’t ready to change the subject. “Spinelli told me that his team had help when they almost caught her — a team of bearded, red headed leprechauns, no less! And then they vanished afterwards, like magic. Strange, huh?”3)
“Strange, indeed, I naiver heard of leprechauns working in teams,” Donal agreed. “Maybe they’re the native wee folk, like the Dogwood people.”
“Spinelli said there were definitely four of them, and they were definitely leprechauns, with a brogue so thick it would sink a barge.. Said they all looked alike, and they reminded him of someone he’d met recently, but he couldn’t quite place the resemblance. I wonder if it was someone in one of my classes?” Spinelli gave a talk to each of Barney’s citizenship classes, he was a prime example of how the children of naturalized parents could succeed in America. “We might even know him!”
“I suppose. I’m a wee bit more interested in who’s pitchin’ t’day,” his friend responded. With a grin, Barney let it go. He was pretty sure, though, that Phoenix would soon have a new protector.
Chicago is suddenly home to a host of wee folk!
Setting
Chicago, Illinois : Spring 1960
A Very Eventful Day
It had been a great day for Barney Buchanan, who had a couple years ago had a short career as the mystery hero Captain Democracy, and who now was a teacher in the great city of Chicago. The White Sox and Cubs had both won last night. The sun was out, and it looked like summer was just around the corner.
And based on the achievements of his students, it looked like he was improving as a teacher, too. Two of the kids in his senior physics class had just been awarded scholarships to the University of Chicago to study nuclear physics. Two of the girls in his ninth grade general science class had won a prize in the West Side Science Fair last weekend. And tonight he got to tell his latest naturalization class that they had all passed the citizenship test, and that their naturalization ceremony was scheduled the week after next. It didn’t get any better than this.
He was enjoying the walk from the high school to the courthouse where the evening citizenship classes were held, despite the constant pain in his lower back. In his aborted career as Captain Democracy, he had been hit by steel shrapnel while fighting the mystery villain Discharge.1) in 1955, and one of the shards was so close to his spine that the surgeons hadn’t dared to remove it. He walked with a limp and a cane, but he had learned to ignore the pain — most of the time, anyway.
Bad Day
When he rounded the corner onto Stutgart Street and saw the restless crowd around Mama’s Corner Store, his day started downhill fast. The people in the crowd were fighting for a better look inside the store, and a number of cops were trying to keep them back. Barney’s stomach dropped to the ground when he recognized Captain Tony Spinelli of Homicide through the front window of the store.
The previous owners, Mama Kelly and Papa Carlo, had owned this store for almost half a century. Papa had retired last year after Mama passed away. He couldn’t find any local buyers, so he’d finally sold to a couple who lived in another neighborhood some distance away.
This neighborhood was old, the residents were mostly descended from immigrants from Germany, Italy, and Ireland, the unusual diversity brought together by their common religion. In fact, the grandparents of many of these folks had moved to this neighborhood to help build the cathedral where their descendants now worshiped. They lived together, usually peacefully, because that’s the way it had been for generations. But the demographics of Chicago were changing. It had begun with refugees from World War II, and increased as living conditions in the Soviet Union worsened. A lot of Eastern European refugees ended up in Chicago, and most of them were followers of a different religion than most of the residents of this neighborhood.
The new owners of Mama’s Corner Store were a refugee couple from Eastern Europe. They had been shopkeepers all their lives, and they realized that the people of Chicago needed shopkeepers, just as the people in the old country had. When they saw Mama’s for sale, they jumped at the chance. But someone in the neighborhood had resented them for being different. Didn’t matter that they did most of their personal business in this same neighborhood and kept their store and the sidewalk in front spic and span, or that they sold the same goods at the same prices that Mama and Papa had. They were different — and that’s really all the reason a thug had needed to take a violent action.
If the couple hadn’t tried to defend themselves, and instead had let the thugs destroy their store and their new lives, they probably would have lived through it. In the old country, though, they had been powerless against their thuggish government. Here the thugs were criminals, and free men and women could resist. They had resisted, and now they were both dead.
Spinelli knew he would catch the thugs. A lot of people in the neighborhood probably had a pretty good idea who had done this and sooner or later, someone would talk. Nobody would speak up right now for fear of retaliation, but over the next couple of weeks, every time someone was inconvenienced by not having an inexpensive local market, resentment toward the thugs would grow. Sooner or later, someone would secretly snitch to the beat cop, and then, Spinelli promised himself, he would come back and make the bust. It wouldn’t take long; he could wait. But he hoped nobody else got killed in the meantime.
Barney’s day got even worse, as very close to him, one of the cops struck a frantic bystander in the stomach with his nightstick. ‘Probably a relative of the new owners,’ Barney thought. The civilian doubled over in agony, and the cop started an even more painful blow, swinging the weighted nightstick down in a vicious arc toward the back of the man’s head.
Barney’s walking stick, an honest-to-goodness blackthorn shillelagh, a gift from one of his former citizenship students, flashed out and deflected the blow. The enraged cop turned his attention to Barney. He grinned when he saw Barney move with a limp.
“Shouldn’t have butted in, gimp. I was gonna break that bum’s head, but you’ll do just as well!” He swung the nightstick at Barney’s head, but the shillelagh easily blocked the blow. The cop changed tactics and stabbed the stick at Barney’s solar plexus, but his weapon was again knocked to the side. He was reaching for his pistol when he heard a chilling sound.
“Officer Magoon — stand down, now!” Magoon very carefully moved his hand away from his pistol. Captain Spinelli was not someone you wanted mad at you. “Murph, get a doctor over here for this guy!” He pointed at the civilian. One of the other cops ran for the radio in the squad car.
Magoon complained to Spinelli, “This guy here was attackin’ me, and I wuz just doin’ my job.”
“Not the way I saw it. And I saw the whole thing. You had no reason to attack that civilian, and all this guy did was keep you from maybe killing an innocent bystander. As it is, you’re on report, and fined two weeks’ pay. And if anything funny happens around you again, you’re out.” Spinelli’s voice was flat and quiet.
“Why, you greasy–! Do you know who I am?” Magoon swelled with indignation. He was about to continue, but Spinelli cut him off again.
“You’ve told everyone you’ve ever met, over and over again, that you’re second cousin to the mayor. We’re all sick of hearing it. It’s the only reason you ever got through the Academy, and everyone knows that, too. Now shut your yap, or I’ll bust you out of the force. And have someone arrest you.”
“You’re gonna regret talkin’ to me like that, you w–”
Once again Spinelli cut him off before he could say something that would get him in even worse trouble. He doubted that Magoon would thank him, though. “Tell you what, Officer Magoon, I’m actually having lunch with your second cousin the mayor tomorrow. Why don’t you join us, and we can discuss today’s problems with him? I’ll call him as soon as we get back to the office and tell him to have three places set at the table instead of just two.”
Spinelli waited. Magoon didn’t say anything. There were rumors that Spinelli was about to be promoted to vice-commissioner of police, so he would be experienced enough to take over when the current commissioner retired next year. Magoon was starting to sweat as he realized that the captain probably had a lot more pull with his second cousin than he did. Finally he shook his head and hurried away.
Tony turned to Barney and spoke in mock anger… “Just what I needed — a crippled civilian beating up one of my team during a murder investigation!” Then he smiled warmly. “How you doing, Captain Democracy?”
“Nice to see you too, Tony!” The two men shook hands warmly. “You know, that name is finally starting to feel right, a much better fit than the first time around! Every time one of my students takes the oath, I get chills.” Then Barney’s good cheer at seeing his friend vanished. “So what happened here?”
“Somebody trashed the place and bumped off the couple who owned it. Looks like the wife tried to stop someone who wanted a five-finger discount; she got knocked down, the husband picked up a baseball bat, and that someone shot them both.”
‘It sounds so simple and neat, so routine, summed up like that,’ Spinelli thought. ‘But it isn’t. Two human lives, with all their stories, secrets, and potential, ended.’
“Sometimes I hate this job.” He wasn’t talking to Barney, but his friend responded anyway.
“Tony, if it weren’t for you, a lot of the guys who do this kind of thing would get away. And there would be a lot more of it. Never forget that!”
Spinelli nodded, just barely. “Thanks, Cap! Say, I gotta get back to work.” Spinelli turned back toward the store. He stopped and looked over his shoulder. “See if you can leave the scene without provoking any more of my boys, will you?” And then he was back inside.
Citizenship Class
Tonight’s naturalization class was informal, the sole purpose to review Friday’s upcoming ceremony so the students would be more comfortable. Barney Buchanan wasn’t surprised to see that most of his students were there; they were a good bunch. He was glad; teaching was always a good anodyne to sadness for him. So even though the class was technically completed, he used the occasion for a little more teaching.
“What is the official oath of citizenship of the United States?” Several students raised their hands. This was a trick question, so he asked his brightest student. “Yes, Miss Ming?” Anna Ming was a short Chinese girl with a sunny disposition.
“No specific oath is required by law, Mr. Buchanan,” she replied earnestly. “According to the Immigration and Nationality Act of 1953, any oath that meets the five principles is legal.”
“Thank you, Miss Ming. Mr. Regan, what are those five principles?”
Donal Regan was a big, beefy guy with red hair, a red Donegal beard that left most of his face clean-shaven, and a twinkle in his eye. He’s been in the special forces in the British Army, and was an engineer. He still spoke with the trace of an Irish accent, it had been difficult to understand him a couple of months ago, but he’d worked hard on his speech, along with his classwork. Donal squinted, then counted on his fingers.
“One: renunciation of prior allegiances to other countries. Two: support, and three: defense of the constitution. Four: service in the armed forces when required. Five: performance of civilian duties of national importance when required.”
“Very good, Mr. Regan. Mr. Habasinski, what else?” Jozef Habasinski wasn’t sure, and he fidgeted until Barney gave him a hint. “The last sentence of the oath you are going to deliver, Joe.” That got him going.
“I take this obligation freely and without any reservations.” That wasn’t it exactly, but close enough.
Somewhat heartened as always by teaching, Barney wrapped up the class. “Remember, there’s a party at my place after the ceremony, but you gotta bring something — you wouldn’t want to eat my cooking!” It was now his tradition to have a potluck dinner after each new class took the oath of citizenship. He encouraged his students to bring dishes that were popular in their native countries, and he was gaining a reputation as a very cosmopolitan gourmet, even if he couldn’t cook.
Unusual Mugging
Barney, Jozef and Donal usually took the same bus after class. Donal waved his friends on. “I want to walk Anna to her car. The bus won’t be there for a half hour, I’ll catch up with you.”
Just before the two men reached the bus stop, another man approached and, without warning, yanked Barney’s shillelagh away from him. As he crumpled to the ground with a moan of pain, his assailant pointed a gun at Habasinski.
“Don’t ya be movin’, now!” Barney immediately recognized Magoon’s voice, though it was muffled by an improvised mask, a kitchen towel draped over the man’s head, with cutouts for eyes. As Habasinski raised his hands, the thug kicked Barney in the back. With an enraged roar, Habasinski rushed at the bad guy, who immediately shot, and the young man dropped to the ground.
A rock thudded into Magoon’s head, and he was hit at virtually the same time behind the knees. As he started to fall backward, something smashed into his head from the left, and then something else slammed into his chest from the right. He cracked his head on the pavement, dropped the gun and the shillelagh, and writhed on the sidewalk, no more than semiconscious. Fighting the pain, Barney crawled to the gun, then struggled into a sitting position. By then, whatever had attacked the gunman was gone.
A siren, quickly growing louder, attested that someone nearby had already called the police. A half-dozen people were rushing from nearby buildings, and one had taken charge of Jozef Habasinski.
“I was a medic in Korea! You–” He pointed at one of the approaching people at random. “–call for an ambulance! You and you–” He pointed at two men in suits, who must have been working late. “–I need your shirts for bandages.”
At that second, the beat cop arrived. The medic saw that Barney’s face was white and that he was shaking violently and spoke to the cop. “He’s in shock,” he said, pointing at Barney. “You better take that gun away from him and keep an eye on that guy on the ground.” Another bystander took off her coat and wrapped it around the violently shivering teacher. Realizing that he wasn’t needed any more just now, Barney surrendered to the pain and passed out.
Hospital Bed
A couple of hours later, Barney Buchanan was sitting upright in a raised hospital bed, making his official police report to Tony Spinelli. He was fighting the effects of the morphine and resolved never to let it be used on him again.
“Thanks for coming personally, Tony, ‘specially ’cause there’s no murder involved.”
“Magoon worked for me, though. I’m sorry, Barney.” He paused, then continued apologetically. “Habasinski confirms your story, and some night security guard saw Magoon knock you down and shoot Habasinski. So even though Magoon says you attacked him, you’re off the hook.” Barney saw pain on his face, pain that any cop could act like that, and then Spinelli changed the subject. “How’d you recover enough to knock him down like that?”
“Wasn’t me! It was hard to shee — see, damn it! — from the ground. I thought I saw… no, it must have been the pain. A hunka-hunka burning pain!” He shook his head. “Sorry. I thought I saw a kid, couldn’t have been more than four or five, but he had a full beard - red it was, red like Lucy… Sorry. Anyway, this bearded kid tried to tackle him at the knees, but wasn’t big enough, and then another bearded kid… man, this stuff is messing me up. There were four… four kids with red beards… Sorry, again. They all looked the shame… same! and familiar as heck…” Barney was silent for a while as he tried to pull together his concentration. “And then Magoon fell, and I was scramblin’ to get the gun, and then I was here. I can’t remember much more, but it wasn’t me who knocked him down..”
“On top of the paperwork, and all the crap I’m gonna take about Magoon, that’s just what I need most right now: a bloody mystery!” (Well, maybe he didn’t say bloody.) “Good to hear you’re going to be out of here tomorrow, Cap.” Nobody but Barney and Tony knew the true derivation of that nickname.
“Thanks! You and Barb are comin’ to the post-grad dinner, right?”
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” They shook hands, and Tony went back to his desk to finish the paperwork.
Swapping Stories
That weekend, everyone went to the biggest wedding in the neighborhood in years. The bride was radiant and beautiful, the groom handsome and smug. Everyone was invited, and over three-hundred people filled St. Nicholas Cathedral for the wedding ceremony, with over a thousand attending the reception. The gift table in the reception hall was groaning under the weight of all the gifts; it was going to take a truck to haul them all away. Dinner was sumptuous, and the swing-era big band superb.
Barney Buchanan didn’t dance much; for years, his hip injury had caused him too much pain. Several of his close friends had joined him at his table during the dancing, and they were discussing the decline in the neighborhood. Barney was just finishing the story about his encounters with ex-Officer Magoon.
“I told Spinelli that it looked like a kid with a red beard tackling Magoon, but now that my head is cleared up, well…” He was embarrassed, but he was too far into the story to stop now. “I think it must have been munchkins. Well, something like munchkins, anyway. One hit him low, two hit him high, and then they ran off before I could really see them.” He finished, clearly waiting for his friends to laugh at him.
“Munchkins, eh? That’s wild. Listen to this!” This was Sean O’Leary, the owner and barkeep of The Sword and Flagon Pub, a neighborhood favorite.
Closing the Local Bar
“I’d just finished throwin’ out Old Snoddy, forty-five minutes after last call…” This was a typical night for Sean. “…and was starting to clean the place, when someone wearing a mask jumped out from under a table and started waving a gun at me. He took the register key and headed for the bar. And there’s old Sean O’Leary, standing around like a dummy, my own piece in a secret drawer behind the bar for all the good it does me there. I might’a took a chance and jumped him, anyway, but he was nervous as hell and wavin’ that pistol all over the place. Hard to know when he was going to point it back at me, you know?”
The crook sidled back to the bar, keeping his gun pointed in Sean’s general direction. He had to turn to flip up the gate in the bar, and Sean saw motion, close to the ground, in the shadows near the dartboard. Suddenly, the gunman screamed as three darts lodged in the rear of his pants. Sean dived toward the back door as several gunshots rang out, bullets smashing randomly into the walls and ceiling.
The screaming gunman leaped high in the air and came down on a patch of floor that was suddenly covered with soapy water. His feet flew out from under him, and he fell heavily, hitting his head on the bar on his way to the floor, landing face down. The gun went flying. Sean waited cautiously, and when he didn’t see any movement, he retrieved the gun and called the police.
“I normally put out a plate for the leprechauns every night,” he told his listeners. “I left a couple pints that night, too, and every night since!”
At Auction
“I’m sure they appreciate it, too, me boyo,” Donal sounded enthusiastic, as he stood to excuse himself. But the stories kept coming.
“You guys, too?” Jerry Karle. “Never seen no leprechauns, and I don’t believe in munchkins. But what do you fellas think about dwarves?” Heads turned but nobody spoke up, giving him the floor.
“I was minding the cash box at an auction last weekend…”
The auction had started well.The selection was outstanding and the bidding was brisk. Southside Estate Liquidation Service was making a good buck, and the auction attendees were getting great deals. Then, about three hours in, two glass bottles crashed through the windows in the front of the room and smashed, and the auctioneer’s stage was engulfed in flames. Most of the folks throughout the large room rushed for doors and windows. Several grabbed fire extinguishers and made sure the auctioneers on the stage were clear of the flames. Within a few seconds, someone had pulled the alarm, and soon the crowd could hear sirens from the neighborhood fire station.
In a small office off the main room, Jerry was tending the cash box. Another lucky bidder had just paid up and was off to claim his purchases when a man ran in from the main room, slammed the door, and shot at Jerry. He missed, but Jerry fell over backward in his chair trying to dodge. The thief scooped up the cash box and dashed out the outside door of the office into the alley behind the auditorium leased for the event.
But there was a rope stretched across the door six inches from the ground, and the gunman never saw it — he tripped and sprawled forward, and both gun and cash box went flying. He hit, and then there came some very distinct “thwock” sounds. Peeking out the door, Jerry saw that the gunman was lying unconscious on the ground, and near his head were a pair of rubber mallets. He would have sworn he saw several small shapes disappear into the shadows of the alley.
“The rope and the mallets were both from one of the auction lots. Good thing they were rubber! Still, they must’a been dwarves, using hammers like that!”
“Wow!” Pete exclaimed, excited. “A regular plague of wee folk!”
“I wouldn’t call it a plague, exactly,” Barney responded thoughtfully. “A plague is bad for you, but these guys have been nothing but helpful.”
“You’re not taking this seriously?!” Dave Lee asked in astonishment. “Leprechauns, munchkins, dwarves, running around the neighborhood helping people? You must be kidding!”
“In a world where men and women fly, where we’ve seen real mermaids and flying fire-breathing monsters, why not? We got a blue skinned female genie and a 5 foot tall woman who moves so fast she’s invisible. Now that stuff is hard to take seriously!” Jerry joked. “Say, the bride’s about to toss her garter!”
Everyone in the ballroom turned to watch — except one lady. She got up from her chair and casually walked across the room. When she reached the gift table, she swept all of the envelopes onto a big bag and darted toward the door.
As she passed between two tables, something wrapped around her ankle, and she crashed to the floor. She must have gotten tangled in the tablecloth of one of those tables, as everything on the table slid off the edge and crashed down on her. The bride and groom were aghast and fearing a lawsuit — until they saw the envelopes that had spilled out of her purse. The thief cursed profusely in Italian, the only word Barney really caught was ‘folleto’, an Italian name for the wee folk, yet another piece of this growing mystery.
Late Night Prowlers
The following Monday, Donal Regan was coming home late. He rarely stayed up past midnight, even on a Saturday. He worked construction six days a week, and he was always up early. But today his boss had told him that his application for the civil engineer position had been approved, the promotion to take effect as soon as he achieved his citizenship, followed shortly by a transfer to Phoenix. The boss had given him tomorrow off, do he could celebrate tonight and then sleep in.
He stopped at the corner pub, The Sword and Flagon, on the way home for a pint of bitter and a corned beef sandwich. When he had first arrived in Chicago, he’d been surprised and gratified to find a good Irish pub in his Southside neighborhood, though the clientele included people of all descents, not just the local Irish. He’d even made a few bucks in a dart game tonight, with a couple of strangers who thought they could hustle the locals. Maybe they’d learned a lesson, but though he doubted it, at least they probably wouldn’t hang out here anymore. Still, it was really late when he finally headed for home.
Donal was crossing a side street when he saw people in the parking lot behind the new Korean restaurant on the corner. The place closed at eleven o’clock; there shouldn’t have been anyone around at this time. He walked by, then slipped into the parking lot of the next place and carefully pulled aside branches in the hedge between the two lots. Two figures were moving along the back of the restaurant, carrying metal gasoline cans.
‘I’ll quick put an end to that, but nae as Donal,’ he thought. ‘Might be the same <thugs> that killed the poor store owners.’
A distant observer watching Donal would have sworn that he had simply vanished — but that observer wouldn’t have been able to hear the soft sighs of displaced air that accompanied his disappearance.
A Change in Plans
Jonny “Hots” Flambeau wasn’t superstitious, and he didn’t believe in ghosts or fairies. When he saw a very short figure slip onto the back porch of the house next door, he figured it was a kid sneaking out late. Still, his partner “Spike” Van Dyke would kill him if there were any witnesses. A week ago, Hots wouldn’t have believed he or Spike could kill anyone, but things had changed since then. Word was out that the Korean couple who ran this restaurant knew who had done for the store owners and had been talking about going to the law. Well, losing this place ought to make them think twice, or three times, and if they didn’t get the message, he and Spike would be back, and who would miss a couple of Koreans, anyway?
So he sneaked up to the porch, and thought he heard someone drinking. He silently pulled out his torch and aimed carefully, flicking it on and then off real fast. It couldn’t be, but it was — an honest-to-God leprechaun, drinking the pint of beer the homeowner had left out for the wee folk.
“Aiee!” the little man cried, and quick as a wink, he was over the front of the porch. “Ye’ll nae be gittin’ yuir big, clumsy hands on me pot ‘o’ gold!”
Once he was on the lawn, Hots could see him fairly clearly in the light from the nearest street lamp. He was running right toward the parking lot where Spike was dousing the back wall of the restaurant with gasoline. What could he do? He didn’t dare wake up the neighborhood, but he was determined not to lose this leprechaun’s pot of gold, either. He risked a quiet shout, cupping his hands.
“Spike! Coming your way!” Suddenly, the little man just seemed to disappear in the shadows. Hots kept running toward the spot where he’d vanished.
Spike was livid with anger. As quiet as Hots had been, they couldn’t risk it that someone had heard. They were going to have to give up tonight’s little lesson and get out of here as soon as possible. Suddenly, though, right in front of him, a little man appeared. He seemed startled to see Spike, but he reacted instantly.
“Another one of ye big hairy sassenachs! Well, ye won’t be a catchin’ wee Paddy on this eve nor me gold!” The small figure danced nimbly between his boots, somehow managing to kick the gasoline can, which spilled all over Spike’s legs. “I’d would nae be settin’ nary fires tonight, me boyo!” And he was gone, heading toward Hots’ voice. Spike headed after him, then stopped in dismay when the wee laddie vanished.
“Hey, lummox! Over here!” the high voice taunted him. “Did yuir sainted mum leave ye with but half a brain?”
Hots was surprised when he heard the leprechaun behind him. “Begorrah, laddie! Ye could nae sneak up on a rock, clumpin’ around like that. Here’n I were hopin’ for a little sport this fine noight!” He turned around, and the leprechaun zipped between his legs, laughing maniacally. He reached down to grab the annoying sprite, but something crashed into his rear, and he fell and rolled heavily, ending up flat on his back. The leprechaun leaped onto his chest and danced a couple of jig steps before hurrying away.
“Heads up! Comin’ through!” Hots heard the leprechaun’s shrill voice again, from off to his left, and then suddenly, the little man was rushing toward him at high speed. “Oop, oop, and awayyy…” the magical being shouted as he leaped over the prone thug. And right behind him came Spike.
“Look out!” Hots shouted, as loud as he could, forgetting that the two thugs didn’t want to be caught.
“Oh, sh–” Spike didn’t have time to finish, as one of his feet kicked Hots in the side of the head, knocking out the prone thug, and then Spike was flying headlong, but not for long. He did a bellyflop onto the lawn, and his head bounced off the grassy soil.
“And lucky he is there’s nae a drought,” came a voice from the shadows.
“Aye, though with a head that hard, he’d likely have cracked even the sidewalk.” The same voice, from another direction in the dark.
“I think I hear a siren; sounds as if the coppers are on the way!” Same voice, different location.
“I think me work here is done for the night. A foine way to celebrate!” There was laughing from four directions, then a rustle of grass, and then silence, except for the painful moans of the two would-be arsonists.
And, later on that day, well after the sun came up, Captain Tony Spinelli was pleased to find that these two were the missing murderers.
On the road to Phoenix
“So, you’re moving to Phoenix?” Barney Buchanan asked his ex-student Donal Regan as they sat down for lunch at The Sword and Flagon.
Donal was very excited over the move. “Y’know, I was a principal architect back in County Cork.” He had worked very hard, and his Irish accent was barely audible now. “They’ve nae got a position for me here, but the business is boomin’ in the Southwest. So it means a promotion and a big raise fer me.”
“That’s great. The neighborhood will miss you, though,” Barney replied. “Been some excitement since you moved in.” Donal changed the subject.
“Yuir lookin’ a lot better these days, boyo! Better color in yuir face, ye’ve put on some healthy weight, and y’r moving a lot easier.”
Barney’s smile lit his face as Donal had never seen it before. “It seems like a miracle! You remember when Magoon kicked me in the back?” Since Barney’s mugging a couple of weeks before, he’d spent a few days in the hospital. Donal nodded. “Well, somehow, he dislodged the shrapnel in my spine without severing it — and the doctors were able to remove it. There’s scar tissue built up all around it, and I’ll always have a limp, but I’m not in pain any longer!”
It was a miracle, but Barney wasn’t totally surprised. Not long after Captain Democracy had been crippled, Barney had become acquainted with the powerful mystical Spirit of Liberty, and he occasionally saw indications that the Spirit was still interested in him. This could be another such sign.
“So what do you think happened to that Zing gal, anyway?” Barney asked. “For a couple weeks, she was all you heard about, and then, all of a sudden, she’s gone like she never existed.”2)
“I heard a rumor that the coppers almost caught her,” Donal responded cautiously. “Maybe that shook her up, and she retired. Who knows? Say, you going to the Sox game today?”
Barney wasn’t ready to change the subject. “Spinelli told me that his team had help when they almost caught her — a team of bearded, red headed leprechauns, no less! And then they vanished afterwards, like magic. Strange, huh?”3)
“Strange, indeed, I naiver heard of leprechauns working in teams,” Donal agreed. “Maybe they’re the native wee folk, like the Dogwood people.”
“Spinelli said there were definitely four of them, and they were definitely leprechauns, with a brogue so thick it would sink a barge.. Said they all looked alike, and they reminded him of someone he’d met recently, but he couldn’t quite place the resemblance. I wonder if it was someone in one of my classes?” Spinelli gave a talk to each of Barney’s citizenship classes, he was a prime example of how the children of naturalized parents could succeed in America. “We might even know him!”
“I suppose. I’m a wee bit more interested in who’s pitchin’ t’day,” his friend responded. With a grin, Barney let it go. He was pretty sure, though, that Phoenix would soon have a new protector.