— Chapter Twelve —

Glass of Water

F

elix got out of his D19 Speedster after driving only seven short blocks from the practice field. Felix found himself standing outside an apartment building. George Halas was renting a room in Chicago as he was trying to get his team up and running. Felix entered the building and glided up the stairs, two of them at a time in a long, smooth stride.

He came to a door in the hall on the third floor. The same door that Dutch had told him to go toward. Halas left practice to go home to shower and dress himself ready for a dinner meeting. That evening, he had to be on State Street in downtown Chicago. Felix wrapped his knuckles hard on the wooden door. He could hear a person calling out from inside, “Yeah, I’m coming!”

Felix wrapped his knuckles again on the door, this time louder and more demanding. He heard footsteps, and the voice inside yelled out,

“I said, I’m coming!”

The voice was now directly behind the door when he heard it.

“Who is it?”

“Felix Kendell!”

“Who?”

“Felix Kendell —we met last night. I was with Jack Tate!”

The door opened, and George Halas stood in the doorway with a bathrobe. He had come from the bathroom and had finished taking a shower. His head and face were still wet, and he had a towel around his neck.

“Jack Tate? My God, yes, I remember you. —Come in,” said Halas.

Felix walked into Halas’ apartment. The place was simply furnished for living. Felix could tell the living quarters were for a short-term stay.

“I read what happened in the paper. MY GOD, I’m sorry for your loss, Mr. Kendell. The news about your friend Tate came as a complete shock. Is there something I can do for you? —Anything at all?” asked Halas.

Felix stared at George Halas for a moment. He noticed a different man than the one he had seen less than twenty-four hours before.

“Well —I,” said Felix.

“You don’t appear well,” said Halas. “Here, come on in. Please have a set. Tell me what I can do? You must be here for a reason. HEY —Can I get you a glass of water?” asked Halas.

“Water?” said Felix, a bit confused. ‘How long has it been since I even drank anything today?’ Felix thought. —Felix nodded his head and said,

“Yes, thank you.”

“Sure! You bet, sit right down,” said Halas as he pointed to a wingback chair. “I’ll be right back.”

Felix sat down as Halas got a glass for him. The apartment wasn’t significant. He could hear Halas talking in the kitchen.

“Sorry for looking the way I am,” said Halas. “I got done with football practice, and I needed to clean up before leaving for dinner. But, don’t you worry about me —dinner can wait!” he said, walking back in with a tall glass of water. “Here you go.”

Felix took the glass and drank the water down without stopping. Halas observed Felix and said.

“Yeah, you looked thirty. I’m familiar with the ‘LOOK’ from all the years playing sports. Say, I found out you were on the Olympic polo team in Antwerp. I didn’t realize when we met last night. One of my players mentioned this to me today during our discussion about your friend Jack Tate. Again, I’m so sorry for your loss. SO, what can I do for you?” Halas asked again.

“Well, Mr. Halas —”

“Oh, no, please! Call me George,” said Halas.

“Okay —George. I’m here to find out about a pistol you had last week at O’Brien’s party?” asked Felix.

“Sure?” said Halas. “I’m not following? —But, sure. What about the gun?” he asked.

“Why did you have a pistol at the party?” asked Felix.

“Well, it was both a gift and an inside joke for Chris O’Brien,” answered Halas.

“A gift?” questioned Felix.

“Yeah, I got Chris a Colt .32 caliber pocket pistol,” said Halas.

“Did the pistol have a blued finish, pearl handle grip? With western engraving on the sides, and the words’ ‘1922 Chicago Cardinals’ on the side?” asked Felix.

“Sure did, why?” asked Halas

“That was the gun that killed Jack Tate,” answered Felix.

“Are you shitting me?” asked Halas with a hush, afraid of hearing the answer.

“No, I’m not,” stated Felix.

“My God, why would Jack’s death involve Chris?” Halas said aloud to himself.

“I wouldn’t know? I was trying to track down where the pistol came from,” said Felix. “Now the police have the gun as evidence. Why did you give him a pistol as a gift?” he asked.

“What?” said Halas, coming out of a dead stair. He was still trying to process what Felix had told him. “Oh —I —gave him the pistol as a joke on what he said to me.”

“And what was it he said?” asked Felix.

“What? Oh, right. Sorry,” said Halas. “I’m still trying to get a grip on what you have told me. So you need to understand, Chris had the right to refuse, a new team coming into Chicago and —”

“Yes, I know all this. Please tell me, why the gun?” expressed Felix.

“Oh, well, after the dust cleared about whether I can have a team here in Chicago,” said Halas. “Chris said in a tongue-in-cheek way. ‘You would think I have a hole in my head by letting you come to Chicago.’ So, as a peace offering, I got him a pistol. He loved the gun—or so he said he did at the party,” he answered.

“So you’re not mad at him for painting you into a corner by taking on Jack?” asked Felix.

“Oh, Hell ya, I am!” answered Halas. “Having O’Brien pick up Tate with Paddy on the team? My crew would have had a tough time this season! HELL, O’Brien would have pulled quite the crowd with that combo of players. The Chicago Cardinals would have left me high and dry this year. —Yeah, I wasn’t too happy with that move. But I knew this contract would break O’Brien’s bank by keeping both guys. So last night, after the Elephant Tent party, Chris and I got to talking over the phone. Chris told me I could take Jack off his hands. But not Paddy. I told him he could keep both of them! Chris then said that would be a dumb move. And that the crowds would be lining up to watch his South Side team over my North Side team. I told him that those two men would eat a hole in his pocket, and I won’t take the bait,” said Halas.

“Then what did he say?” asked Felix.

“Chris said —Don’t you worry about me, Halas! Hell, even if I have to kill Tate myself to collect his insurance money, I’ll be fine. But only after I run you out of town. —” said Halas.

“Is that right?” said Felix in thought.

“The thing is, Mr. Kendell, I didn’t believe Chris truly meant what he said. But I know that Chris couldn’t finance his idea for that long. This football league is a rough business. And if you’re not making money every Sunday, you’re as good as dead in the water,” said Halas.

“And was that the last time you saw the pistol? —At O’Brien’s party?” asked Felix.

“Yes, sir —it was,” answered Halas.

“Okay, then I have one last question. —What is Chris O’Brien’s home address?” asked Felix.

Felix stood at the kitchen sink in George Halas’ apartment. He drank one glass of water after another as Halas got ready for his dinner meeting. Felix offered to drive Halas downtown since Felix had to go to the South Side. Halas took him up on his offer, and in return, he called up Chris O’Brien’s home to see if O’Brien was available.

Halas spoke with Chris’s wife, who said her husband would be home within the hour. That Felix can stop by then. Felix sat back down on the chair and closed his eyes. Before he knew it, Halas was waking him up and asking him if he was alright to drive. Felix said he was just resting his eyes.

“Well, I am ready whenever you are,” said Halas.

Halas was all cleaned up, wearing a suit, and he was holding a straw boater hat.

“What, no red Parisian scarf tonight?” joked Felix.

“What? —Oh? No, besides, I must have misplaced dang thing somewhere,” said Halas.

They both hopped into the D19 Speedster and went to downtown Chicago together. Halas tried to talk about Jack Tate, but picked up that Felix wasn’t in the mood. So Halas changed the topic to the 1920 Olympics, and Felix had him discuss his plans for the Chicago Bears instead. Halas loved talking about football and discussed the Bears the whole way. Felix dropped him off at State Street and Madison. They shook hands, and Halas again assured him that if he needed anything, he would be there to help. They both said their goodbyes, and Felix drove off.

Once Felix got past 18th Street, he found an auto service station with a gasoline pump. He had the pump attendant fill up his tank, check the oil, and wash the windows. Felix went to the restroom and took his time washing up. He walked back to his Speedster and paid the gas attendant for the service, leaving a generous tip. By the time he reached O’Brien’s house, the time was over an hour when Halas called.

Felix walked up to the house and rang the doorbell. A man answered, and Felix introduced himself, telling him who he was and why he had come.

“Chris O’Brien?” asked Felix.

“Yeah, I’m Chris O’Brien,” he answered.

“I’m Felix Kendell. I’m Jack Tate’s friend,” said Felix.

“Okay, how can I help you, Mr. Kendell?” asked O’Brien. “My wife told me George called and to expect you,” he said.

“I’m wondering if I may examine the pistol that Halas gave you last week?” asked Felix.

“Why would you need to do that?” asked O’Brien.

“I want to see if you do have the pistol, and I would like to examine it,” Felix restated.

“What do you mean —still have the pistol?” asked O’Brien.

“I believe your pistol killed Jack Tate,” said Felix.

“What? —I talked to the police late this morning,” said O’Brien. “They never said anything about my gun in the killing. —Mr. Kendell, I’m afraid we have a mix-up here. No one used my pistol to kill Jack Tate. I never took the pistol out of the box,” he told Felix.

“So, you do have the pistol in your position?” asked Felix.

“Of course, I do,” said O’Brien.

“Then, may I see this pistol?” asked Felix. “Once I eyed the gun, I’ll leave you to your evening. But if you won’t show me the gun. I’ll go down the street to the nearest drug store and call Detective McMann. I’ll tell him that the weapon in evidence is the same pistol that you received as a gift from George Halas last week. Then you and the detective can argue over whether the pistol is yours or not,” said Felix.

“I believe that someone has led you on a crazy goose chase, and my gun had nothing to do with Tate’s death. —LOOK, Mr. Kendell, I have had a long, bad day, and this is the last thing I need right now,” said O’Brien.

“I assure you, Mr. O’Brien, I, too, have had a long, bad day. A dear friend of mine is now dead. And I, too, want to leave. —BUT not until I look at the gun,” demanded Felix.

“NO,” said O’Brien as he crossed his arms over his chest.

“Mr. O’Brien —I will see this pistol one way or the other,” said Felix. “The question is, do you want the police at your house tonight or not?” he questioned.

“FINE —Follow me,” said O’Brien. “When I’m done with this horseshit game, I expect nothing less than a full apology. To my wife and me for dragging us into this,” he said. O’Brien walked to his study as Felix followed him.

Felix could view the cherry-red wooden box behind O’Brien’s desk. It was sitting on a credenza as they walked into his office.

“THERE.” As I said to you, Mr. Kendell, that is the box, and inside is the pistol,” said O’Brien. “Once I show you the gun. You will go to my wife and apologize to both of us. After that, you’ll leave my house immediately,” demanded O’Brien.

Felix stood in front of the desk, and O’Brien took the box and placed it in front of Felix. O’Brien had the box’s mouth toward Felix as he opened the wooden case. Felix’s eyes fix on the container.

“As you can see, MR. KENDELL —” said O’Brien.

Inside, the lined box was a deep, rich red. In the center was an indentation for a semi-automatic pistol—but no gun.

“I-I don’t understand? Where’s the gun? It was right here, the last time I saw it?” said O’Brien.

“And when was the last time you saw the pistol, Mr. O’Brien?” asked Felix.

“Well — I — don’t know? Let me think. —I guess it must have been when I placed it in my office,” said O’Brien.

“When was that?” asked Felix.

“During the party last week,” said O’Brien.

“And THAT was the last time you looked at it?” asked Felix.

“Why —yes. I’m not into firearms. So, I didn’t need to see it after George gave it to me,” said O’Brien.

“Did anyone break into your house since the party?” asked Felix.

“No, —not that I’m aware of,” answered O’Brien.

“Who was at your party last week?” asked Felix.

“A lot of people,” answered O’Brien.

“Like WHO —Mr. O’Brien?” asked Felix.

“You know —family —friends. My football players —all their wives. The staff who served at the party and a couple of politicians,” said O’Brien.

“Was there anyone on the night of your party who wanted to kill Jack? Or even said they want to kill him?” asked Felix.

“No,” said O’Brien.

“Did Paddy take the gun?” asked Felix.

“What? NO, what are you saying? Of course not. —Paddy doesn’t have a problem with Jack,” said O’Brien.

“Then who had a problem with Jack at the party?” asked Felix.

“NO ONE. —Jack was here all night, and we all got along. HELL, there was excitement from the players to have him on the team,” said O’Brien.

“Then you kill him, Mr. O’Brien,” said Felix.

“ME? No. —Why would I kill one of my players?” asked O’Brien.

“Because THIS player was worth four thousand dollars to you dead,” said Felix.

“You’re talking about the life insurance, aren’t you?” asked O’Brien. “Well, the insurance company told me today I have no claim,” he said.

“Why? —Didn’t Jack sign the papers as you being the beneficiary?” asked Felix.

“Yes, BUT —I haven’t turned in the paperwork ‘officially,’ and I haven’t made my first policy payment. The insurance company told me I wouldn’t get a dime. I’m out of four thousand dollars. —I stand to gain nothing with Jack being dead,” said O’Brien.

“Still doesn’t mean you didn’t do it,” replied Felix.

“Look, Mr. Kendell —I swear, I had nothing to do with Jack’s death,” said O’Brien.

“Someone did —and they did it with your gun, Mr. O’Brien,” said Felix.

“That’s it, Mr. Kendell! —I must ask you to leave my house immediately,” demanded O’Brien. “I will not answer any more of your questions,” he said.

“FINE, you’ll be answering them to the police,” said Felix.

“I assure you, Mr. Kendell, I’ll be calling the police when you leave. I’ll also be telling them everything that has happened here,” said O’Brien. “In the meantime, you will not be coming around my house. Or we will have a problem. —GOOD NIGHT, MR. KENDELL,” he said.

Felix turned and walked straight out of O’Brien’s house. He got into his D19 Speedster and drove off.