Toast

Taylor Beaumont was set to eat his eggs and pork chops when you get inside Wills. He stands up to shake your hand. He catches a waiter and you order toast and a cup of coffee.

“Honestly, Mr. Johns,” Taylor says, “I was thinking that I’d heard the last from you after our conversation months ago.”

Coffee’s served right away. You light a smoke. “Found myself in the neighborhood.”

Taylor hacks away at his pork chops. “Well, sir — I’m glad you did. It’s a very pleasant surprise indeed.”

“So, what do you have in mind, Mr. Beaumont?”

“Call me Taylor, sir. Can I call you Samson?”

“Call me Sam.”

Taylor’s a rumpled, puffy fellow who wears horn-rimmed glasses and a boyish smile. “Not much has changed, I’m afraid — as far as my situation’s concerned. I still need someone — and, Sam, you come highly recommended. Chief Halper said that you and he used to work the Southside back in the day for the Chicago PD. And legend has it — you saved Capone’s life.”

“That was a long time ago.”

“Well, sir — Hot Springs is Capone’s town. A legend like that will get you a long ways round here. He’d pretty much taken over ever since he started vacationing here fifteen years ago. After he got incarcerated, his brother Ralph’s been overseeing the day-to-day — with direction from Cook County Jail. Nobody does anything in Hot Springs without the Capone imprimatur.”

The toast came late — right after Taylor was finished with his breakfast and they’d taken his plate away. Taylor lights up a smoke.

“Sam — doesn’t Ralph Capone have you on a retainer?”

“Not anymore,” you answer.

“Why not? Ned said you were.”

“I was. Just not anymore.”

“You’re not in a bad way with Ralph, are you, Sam?”

“Ralph and I are good friends.”

“Good. It’s always good to have good friends.”

“Is that what you’re looking for? A good friend?”

“In some ways, yes. Someone I can trust — with my life.”

“A bodyguard?”

“For starters.”

You put your smoke out on the toast. “Why do you feel like you need a bodyguard?”

“I’m just a journalist, Sam,” Taylor says, exhaling a cloud of smoke. “All I’m good for is running a paper and reporting the news. Sometimes people don’t like the news. Sometimes people who don’t like the news like to send anonymous threats, break windows, pop guns. Someone fired on the Picayune storefront a week ago.”

“You think I can stop folks from firing on the Picayune storefront?” you ask him.

“I bet your reputation can. Samson Johns, ex-Chicago PD — a friend of the Capone family and Chief Halper? That’s enough to provide a lot of cover here in Hot Springs.” Taylor’s smiling, an attempt to cover the desperation in his voice. “A good friend with good friends.”

You almost say yes. “I don’t know, Taylor. I’d like to think that I’m on vacation right now.”

“Well, sir — tell you what. I’ll give you a quick day tour of the city — if you truly are on vacation,” Taylor says. “Say we start with the Fordyce Bathhouse and get us a Monday morning rejuvenation?”

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