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Suddenly figures emerged from the dark doorway, and hands grabbed her arms more forcefully than she was accustomed to.
"She means us."
They pulled her inside, shut the door in the little girl's face, and Mary was pulled forward into a huge, dimly lit space the size of an airplane hangar by a trio of beefy thugs.
The Hall of Transportation had been stripped of any transportation whatsoever. The towering space was empty except for a single wing-footed statue of Mercury in the center, to which the three thugs chained Mary, and as they closed the shackles around her wrists and ankles, she felt all her hopes fizzle.
"Which one of you buffoons is Pugsy Capone?" Mary snarled, disturbed not only by her situation, but by the viciousness of her own voice. She thought she could find poise in every circumstance. Apparently not.
"The Death Boss has better things to do than deal with prisoners," said the largest of the thugs. It appeared the "Death Boss" chose his personal foot soldiers for their strength, their intimidating faces, and for the clothes they had been wearing when they died. All three of them wore suits. From different time periods, of course, but suits nonetheless. They were all fifteen or so, although they looked older in their suits. The gray-suited thug to her right stepped forward, and recited for her the same thing he probably recited to every Afterlight unlucky enough to stumble into this miserable enclave.
"You are now a subject of Pugsy Capone, and as such, you have no rights beyond the ones Mr. Capone gives you, if any. You will speak only when spoken to, you will perform all tasks given to you. You will cast your eyes to the ground when Mr. Capone or any of us pass. Should you disobey any of these orders, you will be gagged, tied to a cinder block, and hurled out into the living world, where you will sink quickly to the center of the earth. Do you understand these things as they've been explained to you? Do you need anything repeated?"
They waited for Mary's response, but she said nothing, just glared at them, refusing to cast her eyes the slightest bit downward.
The gray-suited thug got right in her face and shouted, "I said, do you need anything repeated?"
"No," she finally said. "How long will I be imprisoned here?" "No questions!" he shouted. Then he said, "You'll stay like this as long as he wants you to. Maybe a month, maybe a year, maybe forever."
Speedo had been right--if only she had listened to him. She could only hope that Pugsy Capone would be curious enough to come see her himself--if only to gloat over his victory. A face-to-face encounter could only help her situation.
Mary finally cast her eyes down, and, satisfied, the gray-suited thug stepped back. "Your blimp is now the property of the Death Boss," he said, "and so are all your Afterlights."
Mary tugged at her chains but it did no good. Her miscalculation had not only cost Mary her own freedom, but her children as well. The anguish stabbed as deep as a blade in living flesh, but she would not let it show. Instead, she said with all the defiance she could muster, "It's not a blimp. Any imbecile can tell you it's a rigid airship."
To which the largest of the thugs calmly replied, "It is whatever Pugsy Capone says it is."
Then they left her there to stew in her own intentions, chained to a flying statue that couldn't fly.
Pugsy Capone, Death Boss of Chicago, Lord of the White City, was a very shrewd Afterlight. Shrewd enough to have trapped almost a thousand Afterlights under his "protection." He was a spirit who not only saw afterlife as a competition, but as a competition where points were scored by creating the greatest amount of misery. The thought of dethroning the infamous "Mary Queen of Snots," was the stuff of dreams for him, and had a very high point value, indeed. However, as Mary had hoped, the thrill of capturing her eventually gave way to his curiosity. It took a while--mainly because he had a new toy: the Hindenburg, which he insisted on calling a blimp, and no one dared to correct him--not even Speedo, who was told he'd be sleeping with the magma if he didn't pilot Pugsy anywhere he wanted to go.
It took a week for him to tire of tooling around the airspace above Chicago, and then his thoughts turned to the legendary girl sealed away in the Hall of Transportation. He would not lower himself to go to her; however, he had his three favored foot soldiers bring her to him.
After a week, Mary's spirit had not been broken. It would take more than shackles and solitude to humble Mary Hightower--although there were a few times that she became a bit delirious, and fantasized about Nick putting their battle aside, and barreling into Chicago on his train to rescue her. Her own fantasy infuriated her, because Mary was not, nor would ever be, a damsel in distress.
Finally Pugsy's boys arrived, unshackled her, and led her out into daylight, toward the giant Ferris wheel. She held herself high all the way there. Her presence there drew crowds that were quickly dispersed when the thugs gave them the evil eye.
The Ferris wheel was more than a mere amusement park ride. Its long rectangular gondolas were the size of railroad cars, each one capable of carrying dozens of people to vertigo-inducing heights. The door to the lowermost gondola was open, and Mary was led inside to what must have been the Death Boss's throne room.
The throne was a red leather armchair, and the boy who sat in it was not at all what Mary expected. Pugsy Capone was a chubby thirteen-year-old in a pinstriped double-breasted suit that was noticeably tight. Mary wondered whether Pugsy immediately decided that since he was stuck wearing the clothes of a gangster, he ought to be one, or if he had simply forgotten who he was, and so defined himself by his attire. Mary suspected he had been in Everlost at least fifty years, by the style of his suit.
It was easy to see how Pugsy had gotten his name. He had unpleasantly bulging eyes, and his nose was pushed up and back, exposing his nostrils, as if he had died while pressing his face up against a window. He looked so much like a pug dog, Mary half expected him to bark.
His thugs took their place behind him, and folded their arms, taking on a posture of invulnerability and arrogance. There was also someone else present--a girl who lurked in a corner, looking on with mild interest. She had waves of unkempt blond hair filled with nettles and thorns, skin so tan it was difficult to determine her race, and a gaudy pendant with a sky-blue gem hanging around her neck. Mary found the girl's cool gaze more disconcerting than Pugsy's bug-eyed glare.
"I'm willing to listen to your pleas of mercy," Pugsy said in a voice that would forever crack between octaves, having not finished changing while he was alive.
"I'm sorry to disappoint you," said Mary, "but you'll be hearing no pleas of mercy from me."
Pugsy shifted uncomfortably in his big armchair.
"What have you done with my children?" Mary asked.
The thug in the gray suit spoke up. "Who said you could ask questions?" But Pugsy put up his hand to silence him. "I've put them in storage until I decide what to do with them. As for you, I was thinking it might be fun to chain you to the center of the Ferris wheel and watch you go round and round. What do you think?"
Mary fought back her urge to scold him for being such a thoroughly vile little urchin, and instead offered him her kindest smile.
"Come now," she said, "surely the Death Boss of Chicago is above such pettiness. You must realize I'm far more useful as an ally than an ornament."
