The Cassidy Posse Read Free

dings as how many whoors I can stick in mine paddy vagon.” He turned back towards the young uniformed officer sitting high on the seat with the reins clenched in his hands. “O’Brien, do ve have any more room in der vagon?”
    O’Brien winced at being drawn into the confrontation. Lieutenant Mike McGhan was a near legend in his Bridgeport neighborhood - the hero of the Haymarket riot. It was said he shot at least four German anarchists. Old men stood in line to buy him a drink. Sergeant Van Ech, on the other hand, was an incompetent buffoon but still his immediate supervisor.
    “Ah, well, I don’t know, sir,” he said diplomatically. “It may be a wee bit crowded.”
    “Vell, I guess I should have known better dan to ask another Irishman for an opinion,” said Van Ech with a wry smile. He wheeled his hefty frame around and headed back towards the paddy wagon.
    “Don’t worry, Mike,” shouted Bockleman. “If he would have got through you, he’d have had me to deal with.”
    He had already crossed the street and was sitting on the steps under the blue awning.
    “You’re forgettin’, yuh skinny-arse Hun, that I’ve seen yuh fight before.”
    “I’m a new man though,” announced Bockleman. “I’ve been taking advantage of Chief of Detectives Stewart’s generous offer for the improvement of the physical condition of the department.”
    “Dun’t tell me yuh been down tuh duh Bathhouse doin’ callystennicks.”
    “That’s right. Push ups, sit ups and jumping jacks. It wouldn’t hurt you for once to follow one of the Chief’s progressive exercise programs. I’ve noticed you’re putting on a little weight around the middle.”
    Mike jumped a puddle to reach the sidewalk and bounded up the steps. He caught Bockleman by the collar and pulled him through the door. Bockleman grabbed him by the leg and brought Mike down in a heap at the feet of an elegant redhead.
    “You boys are going to have to grow up a little before you’re old enough to enter this establishment,” said the stately Nell Quinn.
    Mike looked up at the beautiful face looking coyly down at him. “Me last birthday yuh was worried I was too old tuh get it oop anymore.”
    “Well, thirty-two is an awkward age,” she said with a teasing smile.
    He untangled himself from Bockleman’s long legs and picked up his Derby, placing it jauntily over his unruly shock of sandy brown hair. Mike followed Nell up the staircase to a luxuriously decorated room on the third floor. It was a large living area graced with two elongated windows facing the street. On a clear day they provided a view of Lake Michigan. Tonight a spring rain had beat against them and beads of water ran in curious channels down their impressive length. Nell drew the blue velvet drapes closed and lit the gold-trimmed gas chandlier.
    “I want to thank you for saving me from one of those embarrassing raids,” said Nell. “I’ve taken a ride in a paddy wagon before and do not wish to have the experience again.”
    “Sergeant Van Ech is just pissed because he’s got ten more years on duh force then Bockleman or me and he’s still wearin’ that silly looking unifarm. What that stupid Dutchman dun’t understand is no matter how much he kisses Chief Stewart’s arse, he still’s not gonna make him a detective. That sorry bastard couldn’t find a hole in duh ground with a shovel.”
    “Well, I just want to thank you anyway,” she said politely as she picked the long pins out of her hat and removed it. The sight of her slender white arms high in the air excited him. She shook her long red hair loose and began to look around in her purse. Mike scrunched up his pug Irish nose. She wasn’t going to give him protection money, he thought. That would take the magic out of their relationship. Instead, she pulled out a small mirror to check the back of her hair.
    “Ah, but you’re uh vision of looveliness,” said Mike as she disappeared behind a dressing screen to