Dollface: A Novel of the Roaring Twenties (28 page)

As soon as Drucci left, I grabbed Shep’s keys from his desk drawer. The car was brand-new and had been sitting idle since Shep had gone away. I’d never driven that car before and wasn’t all that keen on driving to begin with. Still, I got behind the wheel of Shep’s new Cadillac and made my way to a part of town I’d never been to before and hadn’t even known existed. I accelerated on the gas, moving past the broken sidewalks and unpaved roads that led to California and Twenty-sixth Street.

I parked outside a stretch of windowless brick buildings with a tower in the center. There was a chill in the air and a cloudless sky. The sun was trying to work its way through the golden autumn leaves and it was an oddly beautiful sight, given that I was standing outside a prison gate. There were guards positioned all around with all their guns and badges, their billy clubs and handcuffs.

After looking inside my pocketbook, the guard had me empty my coat and dress pockets before leading me back to see Shep. The hallways were narrow and poorly lit. Cigarette butts littered the filthy floor, along with spit, clumps of dust, and God knows what else. The smell was horrendous, a combination of body odor, stale smoke, urine, and shit.

I stared straight ahead, though I was aware of the men perched at the edge of their cages, gripping the bars, watching me walk past, escorted by a guard who thwacked the iron bars every couple of cells when the men whistled and made lewd comments.

Finally, I arrived at a small concrete room with a wooden table and two chairs in the center. The guard stood by the door, and from the opposite end of the room, a second guard appeared through another doorway. Behind him was Shep.

I felt like someone had kicked me in the gut. I bit my lip and held my breath to keep from crying.

When he saw me, Shep perked up. “They didn’t tell me it was you, Dollface. I would have cleaned myself up if I’d known.” He smiled and tried to shrug but his hands were cuffed behind his back.

All I could do was stroke his unshaven face. I couldn’t speak.

“C’mon now. This is why I didn’t want you to come here,” he said, after I’d lost my fight and broke down in sobs. He kept saying things were going to be fine. Said his lawyer was going to get his case before the judge by the end of the month.

“Hey, Leon.” He turned to the guard. “Do you mind?” He gestured as best he could to the handcuffs.

Leon looked around, making sure the other guards were out of sight, and then unlocked the cuffs. Shep’s wrists were raw with fresh cuts. Scabs had already formed over his previous wounds.

“Do you have a cigarette?”

My hands were trembling as I reached inside my pocketbook and took out one for him and one for myself. His guard, Leon, stepped in and produced a light for us both. Shep inhaled deeply and asked about Hannah. He asked about the girls and my women’s group meetings. He even asked about my mother. When I told him we were running out of money, he assured me he’d talk to Vinny.

“I know things are tight now, but don’t worry, Dollface. You’re gonna be fine.”

I grabbed hold of his hands. They were blistered, chapped and dirty, but still I brought them to my lips while he leaned forward and kissed the top of my head. I squeezed my eyes shut and said a prayer asking that he’d be home soon. He was right in front of me and already I was missing him. He didn’t deserve to be locked up like an animal. I didn’t want to leave him behind. I wanted to take him home with me. I wanted to wrap my arms around him, and for once I wanted to be the one protecting him.

We smoked another cigarette together and with tears streaming down my face I watched the guard put the cuffs back on, making Shep wince as the metal rubbed against his open cuts. He kissed me good-bye, told me to be strong and was walked back out the door and into one of those awful, crowded cells.

When I left Shep, my head was pounding. I could smell leaves burning in the distance, a scent I normally loved, but now it was too sharp, too much. The sun was glaring in my eyes and my legs felt like they were made of rubber. I was dizzy and queasy. Once I made it to the car, I leaned over and vomited on the side of the road.

MAKING DO

I
could tell by the look on Shep’s face that the news wasn’t good. His case was supposed to have gone before the judge that week and I was holding my breath, waiting to hear the outcome.

Shep grasped the iron bars and hung his head. “They said it’s gonna be another month.”

“Until you’re released?”

“Until the judge hears my case.” Shep squeezed the bars even tighter.

“But, Shep—”

“Nothing I can do about it.” He shook his head. “But the lawyer promised it would go before the judge next month.”

“Oh, Shep, I’m sorry.” I reached over and ran my fingers through his hair.

We stood there side by side, saying nothing. There were no words to comfort him. Or me. Eventually I wrapped my arms around his waist and we held each other until the guard told us our visit was up.

“It’s okay, you’re going to be okay. We’ll get through this, Shep,” I told him.

“You’re coming back next week?” Though initially Shep had asked me not to visit him, I knew he needed to see me.

“I’ll be back. I’m not going anywhere.”

For the past month I’d been going to see Shep once a week, sometimes twice. The guards, especially Leon, got to know me and they let me bring Shep pictures of Hannah, a few books, a blanket, cigarettes, and even some cigars—as long as I had a few extras for the guards as well. I was almost getting used to our routine when they moved Shep again.

“They moved him?” I glared at the lawyer. “Why did they move him?”

“Cook County’s too crowded. They needed to make room for more inmates.”

“So where did they take him?”

Henry Brice bobbed his head, staring at his polished shoes.

“Henry? Where?”

He glanced up, steepled his fingers and said, “I’m sorry, Vera. They transferred him downstate to Southern Illinois Penitentiary.”

I went home and drank for the next day and a half. He was so far away now, down along the Mississippi, and worst of all, he was in the state penitentiary. I remembered what Cecelia had told me about that place. And Drucci and Bugs begged me not to go see him there. They said Shep specifically had asked me not to come.

“Not down there,” said Bugs. “It’s no place for you.”

I went back to Shep’s lawyer but again got no real answers. So I went home and wrote more letters and sent care packages that I knew would probably never reach him.

The next couple of months were rough. What little savings I had deteriorated rapidly.

Each time I asked Drucci for more help, I heard the same thing: “Be patient. Shep’ll be home soon. Learn to make do.”

Making do meant cutting back everywhere I could. For the first time in years, I threaded a needle and sewed loose buttons onto my dresses and Hannah’s clothes. I canceled my weekly beauty salon appointments and went back to trimming my own bangs, tweezing my own eyebrows and polishing my own fingernails. Much as I hated to do it, I had to let the housekeeper go. Even an extra ten dollars a week was more than I could manage. Thankfully Dora was happy to look after Hannah whenever I asked, always willing to give her baths, read her bedtime stories—whatever she needed. And Dora was good enough not to say, “I told you so,” about not having my own money.

Money.
That was all I thought about. Winter was coming and the buttons on my daughter’s coat were straining to close, and her shoes were so small they hurt her feet.

I went to a pawnshop and got a pittance for my jewelry, at least for the jewelry I was willing to part with. Though it wasn’t a time to be sentimental, I couldn’t pawn my wedding ring or the first diamond necklace that Shep had given me. The pawnshop put some cash back in my pocket, helped me cover some bills, but there were more bills coming and I had new fears forming.

Finally I realized I had no choice but to put the house up for sale, along with Shep’s car. Almost immediately people came in droves to see the house. I stood by feeling violated as strangers and even some neighbors romped through my home, opening closets and cupboards, going into my bedroom and Hannah’s room. A young married couple stood in the drawing room, staring at the photographs on the fireplace mantel. “That’s him,” I heard the wife say, pointing at a picture of the three of us, taken the summer before, Shep and me with Hannah on my lap. “He’s the mobster.”

I stepped in, snatched the photograph from them and put it away, but the couple hardly seemed to notice. The husband turned around and said, “Let’s get a look at the upstairs. I want to see where he slept at night.”

I stormed out of the drawing room and headed for the parlor where I overheard two women clucking. “So this is the way a gangster lives. Not bad, huh? Do you think anyone was killed in this room?”

“Not yet,” I said furiously. “But there’s always a first time.”

The women looked at me, the color draining from their faces.

I was through being the neighborhood spectacle. “Ladies,” I said, “this showing is over.” I turned to a roomful of gawkers and calmly addressed them all. “Everyone, if I could please have your attention. This house is no longer on the market.”

After I’d shooed all of them out, I marched outside and found a group of men circling Shep’s Cadillac, talking nonstop among themselves.

“I tell ya, this is the car,” said one of the men, his hand on the hood. “This is the one they went after Capone in.”

“Actually, gentlemen,” I said, “that one’s in the garage. It’s not for sale, and neither is this one anymore.” I folded my arms across my chest and said, “I think we’re done here.”

They looked up at me, stunned.

“I said, I think we’re done.” I went up the front stairs and when I turned back around they were already scurrying off the grounds.

•   •   •

T
he next day I went to the grocery store and when the cashier rang me up, I counted my money and realized I was a dollar and seven cents short. The woman behind me sighed as I removed the bacon, a sack of flour and a jar of jam from my bag.

“Still need another forty-seven cents.”

My cheeks burned red as I pulled a loaf of bread and a dozen eggs from the bag and set them on the counter.

When I returned home that afternoon the telephone was ringing. It was my mother calling. “...You know I’d help you if I could,” she said.

“I’m not asking for your help,” I said. “You’ve already told me your business is struggling.” I peeled back the drapes and gazed out the window.

“I still think you should reconsider selling the house. There’s plenty of room here for you and Hannah. . . .”

I closed my eyes and held the phone away from my ear. Every time she mentioned this it made my head throb. I’d never wanted to sell the house in the first place. I loved my home, and besides, to give it up made it seem like Shep was never coming back, like he was gone for good. “I’ll figure something out.”

“Don’t be so proud, Vera.”

But I was proud, and I’d left Brighton Park once and that was for good. I couldn’t raise my daughter in that house, not if I wanted a better life for her. I didn’t want her nose filled with the stockyard rot. I didn’t want neighborhood children teasing her that her grandmother killed stray cats and cooked them for supper. I didn’t want my daughter to be the fatherless girl others felt sorry for.

After I hung up with my mother, I fixed myself a drink and wondered what I was going to do. Out of desperation I went on a mad search through the house, thinking that perhaps Shep had an emergency stash tucked away somewhere. I looked everywhere, checked where he kept his guns, his cuff links and tiepins. I scoured his office, reaching inside the porcelain jars he had arranged on the fireplace mantel, along his bookcases and behind photographs on the walls, even inside his cigar humidor. Nothing. Then I turned to his desk, a sturdy oversize rolltop mahogany that he’d had specially designed.

He’d kept the bottom drawers locked at all times, but I knew where he hid the key. I fixed myself a drink and got busy, unlocking each drawer one by one. Hoping to find an envelope bulging with fresh, crisp bills, I pulled open the top drawer, sorting my way through loose papers and letter openers and scissors. I found discarded fountain pens and rubber bands. Then I unlocked the last drawer, housing dozens of file folders dating back to January of 1920.

I pulled out the first folder and leafed through it. The pages were divided into columns filled with names, addresses and dollar amounts—all typed and very official looking. At first I couldn’t decipher any of it but then I realized that some were customers and others were suppliers. And the merchandise in play was liquor. As far as I could tell, Shep and the North Siders were bringing in liquor from as far away as Detroit, Philadelphia, Cincinnati, even Ontario. Some of the names were scratched off, with new ones typed in underneath. The dollar amounts were staggering, ranging from fifteen dollars a case to forty-five dollars a case. Drucci’s words echoed in my mind:
Unless you wanna start hauling hooch. . . .

I pushed away from the desk and poured myself another bourbon.

SUPPLY AND DEMAND

D
rucci had promised to drop off some money by the end of the week. “But just so you know,” he’d said over the telephone, “it ain’t gonna be much.”

In the meantime, I’d run out of coal for the furnace, and there was such a chill inside the house that I kept Hannah bundled up in her coat and mittens while I tried to stay warm in one of Shep’s sweaters and two pairs of his socks.

I had chopped up a cheese sandwich in fine bites for Hannah, but she had already refused that, along with the gelatin, and was fighting me on the mashed-up banana.

“C’mon now, honey, just try it. Just try one bite.”

She clamped her lips tight and turned her face away.

“Please, Hannah! Just one bite!”

But each spoonful was met with angry protest, and in the time it took me to reach for a cigarette, she had made a mess, running her fingers through her food and then through her hair. I wanted to scream, but when I looked at that face, how could I be angry? She was smiling and so proud of herself. It was the first time I’d laughed in ages.