A Quiet Vendetta (53 page)

The first call came on Monday 22 November, three days before Thanksgiving.

‘It’s time,’ Ten Cent said. ‘Come to the house.’

I walked back from the front hallway to where Angelina sat in the kitchen with the children. They were six months old by then, growing by inches each day, it seemed, and only the previous day Lucia had uttered her first barely identifiable word.

‘Da . . . da . . . da,’ she’d said, and reached out her arms towards me. That simple action, the sound that had accompanied it, had brought tears to my eyes.

‘You away for long?’ Angelina asked.

I shook my head. ‘I don’t know.’

She looked distressed. ‘You tell Fabio Calligaris from me that you are a husband and a father now, and he shouldn’t be involving you in anything that will cause trouble.’

What she meant, though she could never have brought herself to say it, was that I should tell Don Calligaris to leave me in an office somewhere counting stacks of dollar bills, that he shouldn’t be sending me out to engage in actions that would risk my life.

I told her I would pass on her message, but I knew, and she knew also, that no such message would ever reach him.

I reached over and touched the side of her face. She turned her face and kissed my palm.

‘It will be okay,’ I whispered.

‘Will it?’ she asked. ‘You promise?’

I nodded, ‘I promise.’

‘On the lives of your children, Ernesto?’

‘Don’t ask me that, Angel.’

‘Then give me your word, as my husband and as their father.’

‘I give you my word.’

‘Then go, do whatever you have to do . . . I will see you when you come home.’

I kissed my children. I went upstairs. I put on a clean shirt and tie, a suit, an overcoat. I took my .38 from a bundle of socks at the bottom of the dresser, and I tucked it into the waistband of my pants. I lit a cigarette and stood there for a moment looking out through the window into the street. Cars went by, carrying people who knew nothing of my world and all it entailed. They were blissful in their ignorance, and I envied them that.

Downstairs once more, I stood on the lowest riser from where I could see through into the kitchen. Angelina busied herself around the children, feeding them, cleaning up after them, and there was an emotion I felt as I watched her that could never have been defined. It was beyond love. It was beyond the physical and emotional. I believed that it was something spiritual. I thought of something happening that might take all of this away, and for the first time in as long as I could recall I experienced a moment of such deep, profound panic that I had to hold onto the banister so as not to lose my balance. I closed my eyes and breathed deeply. I willed myself to think of nothing negative.

I shook my head, and once more looked down into the kitchen. Angelina had moved out of sight, but the children were there, both of them wide-eyed and smiling. Neither of them could see me, but in their expressions was something that I believed I would never achieve for myself. A sense of true happiness, of peace perhaps, and I wondered if ever there would be a time I could escape this life and take them away from my past.

I breathed deeply. I stepped down and walked along the hallway to the front door. I let myself out quietly, and closed the door behind me.

Don Calligaris was waiting for me in the kitchen of his house. With him were two men I had not seen before. The older man had red hair speckled with gray at the temples, the other, jet-black eyes that looked like the coals one would use to make a snowman.

Ten Cent came into the room behind me and we all sat at the table near the window.

‘There’s a lot of history here,’ Don Calligaris said, ‘and a great deal of it goes back to Dion O’Banion. There was bad blood back then in Prohibition, but bad blood runs good with time, and the northside, the turf that Johnny Torrio gave to O’Banion and the Irish gangs, is still a good part Irish. We are here to work out some things, because Tony Accardo wants us to work with the Irish and make the northside more profitable. You got hookers down there, right?’

The older, redheaded man nodded.

‘And there’s the narcotics and gambling, even the slot machines are owned by the Irish, and they need a little help handling some details that are jeopardizing their territory.’

The two men signaled agreement but said nothing.

‘This man,’ Don Calligaris said, indicating the older of the two, ‘is Gerry McGowan, and this man here is his son-in-law Daniel Ryan. Mr McGowan—’

‘It’s Gerry,’ McGowan said. ‘No-one calls me Mr McGowan save the fuckin’ priest.’ He laughed. His accent was Irish-American, a thick brogue, and when he smiled I could see that three of his front teeth were half-capped with gold.

‘Gerry works for a man called Kyle Brennan, and Mr Brennan is the boss of the Irish family.’

‘Known as the Cicero Gang,’ Gerry McGowan said, ‘seein’ as how Mr Brennan’s family comes from Cicero, see.’

‘Mr Brennan owns most of the land that verges on the business quarter,’ Don Calligaris explained, ‘and there are some Chicago business people who have applied to the Mayor’s Office to have the land claimed back as part of Chicago city territory. They wanna make some developments, tear down the old buildings where much of Mr Brennan’s business is transacted, and Mr Brennan needs some help sorting these matters out. We have been asked, as a show of good faith and friendship, to help work out these problems and make them go away.’

‘Who’s back of it?’ I asked.

‘Asshole goes by the name of Paul Kaufman,’ McGowan said venomously. ‘Jew motherfucker from back east who’s come down here to make waves. He’s some bigshot city business type, no wife, no kids, maybe forty-five years old, and he’s got all the dollars in the world behind him. He’s into stocks and bonds and investment things, figures he can force Chicago City Council to flatten the back end of the northside so’s he can put up a shitload of office blocks and apartment buildings.’

‘And who’s his contact in the City?’

‘Senior Development Officer he is . . . goes by the name of David Hackley. The plans that Kaufman has submitted have to go through him, but he doesn’t get the final say-so. That comes to a board meeting of the Chicago City Council in January of next year, but Hackley is a serious contender, and whatever he advises is what the board is gonna recommend. If he says go then they’ll go, and there ain’t gonna be a thing we can do about it.’

‘So Hackley’s the man,’ I said. ‘You remove the connection between Kaufman and the City Council and he’ll be back at square one.’

‘Well, maybe,’ Daniel Ryan interjected. ‘It ain’t so simple as just whacking Hackley. You take Hackley out of the picture and they’ll just dust themselves down and get someone else in there who’ll give the word. What you gotta do is make sure that Hackley advises against the redevelopment plans . . . and he has to
really
advise against them, like he has to tell the Council that redeveloping the area would be a bad thing for Chicago.’

‘But he ain’t gonna do that, is he?’ I asked; a rhetorical question.

Gerry McGowan smiled. ‘Not unless he’s got a very good reason to do what we want, right?’

‘Right,’ I said. ‘But I don’t think this is gonna be a matter of breaking into his house and beating the crap outta him . . . this ain’t gonna fly with strong-arm tactics. This is politics, right? Politics is what got him where he is and politics has to be the thing that takes him out.’

‘Whichever way it goes, but we need Hackley silenced before the middle of next month, because that’s when he puts his final case before the Council. They’ll be away through Christmas sure, but when they meet again in January they’ll have had all the time in the world to consider the proposal, and I’m sure there’s gonna be plenty of sweeteners for these folks courtesy of Jewish hospitality.’

‘We know anything useful about Hackley?’ Don Calligaris asked.

‘Seems clean as driven fucking snow. Wife, three kids, married only once. Doesn’t use drugs or hookers, doesn’t gamble, doesn’t drink liquor by all accounts. Real hardworking all-American fucking genius from what I gather.’

‘Everyone has their Achilles heel,’ I said.

McGowan smiled with his gold teeth. ‘Sure as shit they do, but we been looking around this guy for the better part of three months and we ain’t found nothin’.’

I shrugged. ‘Man doesn’t have an Achilles heel, then you make one for him.’

McGowan nodded, ‘Well, that’s what we’re here for, and if you sort this matter out then the Irishers and the Ities are gonna get along just fine.’

‘You go back to Mr Brennan,’ I said. ‘Go back with our blessing and goodwill. Tell him he sent you to see the right people, that we will take care of this matter for you, and that by the middle of next month Hackley will stand up before the Chicago City Council Board and tell them that redeveloping the northside would be the very worst thing that they could do.’

McGowan smiled. ‘I have your word on that?’

I stood up. I extended my hand. McGowan rose also and shook with me. ‘You have my word,’ I said. ‘You have the word of Don Calligaris’s family it will be done.’

McGowan grinned from ear to ear. ‘This,’ he said, ‘is the kind of business we like to do.’

Don Calligaris rose also. ‘So,’ he said, ‘let’s eat.’

That night, McGowan and Ryan long since gone, I sat with Don Calligaris in the back room and we spoke.

‘You gave the word of the family,’ he said. ‘I understand why you did that, and that is what they came here for, but now you have said this you cannot go back to them and tell them it cannot be done.’

‘It will be done, Don Calligaris.’

‘You’re so sure?’

‘I am.’

‘How? How can you be so sure, Ernesto?’

‘Because when I say I’m gonna do something I’ll do it.’

‘I have to trust you,’ Don Calligaris said.

‘Yes, you have to trust me . . . and have I ever let you down?’

He shook his head. ‘No, you have never let me down.’

‘This is important, right?’

Don Calligaris leaned back in his chair. ‘I left New York for a reason,’ he said. ‘I am not going to tell you the reason because it is not important now, but the fact of the matter is that something that should have been done was not done and it caused some trouble for the family. In a way I am lucky to be alive . . . but then I never believed in luck. I am alive because I am valuable, because I am a made man, and once you are made there is no way you can be removed without the express permission of the head of the family. Tony Ducks, Don Corallo, did not want me out of the family, but he sent me here to make things good, to pay my dues.’ Don Calligaris looked away for a moment, and then looked back at me. ‘Sometimes we all arrive at a point where we have to make something good, where we have to pay the dues, you know. Anyway, this thing, this thing with the Irish family, we will make this work and I will have paid my dues, I will have served my time in the wilderness if you like. You say you can do this then I need you to do it. I need you to carry through with your word and the word of the family and make this happen. If you do this then I will owe you my life in a way, and there will come a time when you need something from me and I will make it happen. You understand, Ernesto?’

‘Yes, I understand, and I will make this happen, and the Irish family will keep the northside, and you will be able to go home.’

Don Calligaris rose and stretched out his arms. I rose also and he hugged me tight.

‘You do this, and in my eyes you will be a made man, Ernesto Perez, crazy Cuban motherfucker or not.’

He laughed. I laughed also.

I left after a little while, and even though I would now have to dedicate myself to ruining someone’s reputation, to ruining someone’s life more than likely, there was a sense of exhilaration in my heart. I did not have to kill anyone. That was the reason I had given my word. I would never have spoken such a thing, would never have told Don Calligaris my reason, but the fact of the matter was that I
wanted
to do this, to make this thing right, because I would walk away without any more blood on my hands.

That night I slept soundly. I did not dream. I did not fear for the safety of my family. And when I rose the next morning even Angelina noticed a difference in my manner.

‘Things went well yesterday?’ she asked.

‘Yes, Angelina, they went well.’

‘You have some work to do?’

‘Yes, there is some work to do.’

‘But it is safe,’ she said matter-of-factly.

‘Yes, it is safe . . . you needn’t worry for yourself or the children.’

‘And you? Need I worry for you, Ernesto?’

‘No, nor for me. I have some things to do but it is business that can be done with words. You understand?’

‘I understand.’

She did not mention it again; she asked me no more questions. The subject was closed, and I sensed in her attitude a deep relief and confidence that everything, just
everything
, was going to be alright. What she could never know, and never hope to understand, was the significance of this situation for me. I would perform an action, I would resolve this matter, and the simple truth was that no-one would die. I, Ernesto Cabrera Perez, would go out to fix something and kill no-one.

It seemed that Gerry McGowan had been right, I watched the comings and goings of David Hackley for the better part of a week and he seemed the model American citizen. I hated him for it. I had given my word. I had little more than two weeks, and before five days had passed I wondered what in fuck’s name I was gonna do.

I remembered then something Don Ceriano had told me many years before, about heading out for vengeance and digging two graves.

This matter was not one of vengeance, but one of territory, and with the word of the family and Don Calligaris’s position in the balance, I could not do anything but make this work. If David Hackley did not possess an Achilles heel, then perhaps his son did.

I switched my attention to the young man. I staked out his office and his apartment. I watched him leave his work late at night and go home. I believed him for a while to be a younger version of his father, and there seemed to be nothing to identify any weak point in his life.