Chongo brushed himself off and headed down the alley away from what had once been Joe's. The sirens were starting to sing, and they weren't his song.
He took a quick look around at the corner. Nothing. He turned right, towards Michigan Avenue. He'd get there if he walked far enough, but it was too far away.
He ducked into Berghoff's. A quick lunch was in order. Colonel Thompson had spoiled his first one. And Berghoff's still made their own beer. He needed that, now.
He needed to think more than anything else.
First of all, get back to the office and pick up his other gat. The .357. A new caliber, just a few years old. Much more powerful than his trusty .38 had been; he picked it up because it could fire the same shells. He didn't like it, it kicked too much. But if there was a caper going on the size of which Chachi had hinted at he'd need that firepower and maybe more. Maybe he should pick up his sawed-off, too. And dig the Tommy gun out of mothballs.
Second, find out what Lenny's part in all this was.
Third, contact Drecker at the Police Department. Drecker was old and they kept him around because he was a master with the nightstick, didn't leave any marks and could make a prisoner sing like a canary. He'd been Chongo's teacher when Chongo had been been on the Ape Squad, before that punk had shattered his knee with his ball bat.