Dollface: A Novel of the Roaring Twenties (34 page)

Part by part, Tony heaved Izzy’s pieces into Bubbly Creek. We watched them sink to the bottom, the gurgling bubbles popping up along the surface.

Once it was over, I vaguely remembered us hosing down the back of the truck along with the cleaver before hanging it back on the wall. The only thing left was the blood-soaked bedsheets and blankets. Tony found an old milk crate and shoved them inside before stowing them in the cargo box. It was going on four in the morning, and we had to hurry before the first shift came on.

None of us said a word on the way back downtown. Tony pulled up to a giant trash bin outside of Cook County Hospital—the same hospital they’d taken Izzy to the night he’d been shot—and there he disposed of the bloody bedsheets along with the milk crate.

When we arrived outside Evelyn’s apartment, Tony threw the truck in park and handed me the keys.

Before heading toward his car, parked around the block, he said, “You know what you have to do now?” I nodded, and just in case he thought I’d forgotten, he pointed to the third floor apartment. “You gotta clean up every trace of blood, every broken piece of glass. You gotta make it look picture-perfect. Like nothing happened. You understand? And you”—he said to Evelyn— “you get on the phone tomorrow morning and start acting like the concerned girlfriend. You don’t know where he is. You’re scared. You got that?”

Evelyn nodded.

“Let’s just hope they pin this on Capone.” He leaned over, gave my cheek a kiss. “You call me if you need me.”

I grabbed hold of his collar. I did need him now, didn’t he know that! I didn’t want to let him go.

“You’re gonna be okay. I can’t risk sticking around here. Just remember what I told you to do and everything’ll be fine.”

He kissed me again and then disappeared around the corner. As soon as he was out of sight, I felt abandoned. And terrified. Evelyn was still in shock. I was on my own now and the clock was ticking. We were operating in real time and every step, every move counted. We had to do everything just right.

Evelyn’s apartment smelled like death when we walked inside. The sun was just coming up, sending faint bands of daylight through the windows. The bedroom door had been left ajar. Neither one of us wanted to go inside, so we stalled for as long as we could, doing everything
but
. Evelyn poured us both a drink and we smoked a couple cigarettes. Eventually we filled buckets with soap and water and tore her tablecloth into rags. We couldn’t bring ourselves to speak.

The worst was behind us, but still, we had to finish the job. With just my knuckles, I pushed open the bedroom door. It looked even more gruesome in the daylight.

We shoved the bed aside and swept up the broken glass before we got down on our hands and knees and began to scrub. Every once in a while, one of us would start to gag. The buckets of suds had turned from pink to crimson. We must have dumped those buckets down the tub and refilled them two dozen times. Evelyn kept breaking down and sobbing, muttering, “I can’t believe it. I just can’t believe what I’ve done. . . .”

She said that so many times, over and over again, as if she were in a trance. The sound of her voice was pulling me in, too. What had we done?

It was almost ten in the morning by the time we’d finished and I left Evelyn. I had called Dora earlier and asked if she could keep Hannah for a few more hours. I couldn’t face my child right then. All I wanted was to go home, strip off my clothes, take a bath, as hot as I could stand it, and sleep until I’d be able to convince myself that it had all been a bad dream.

When I made it up the front steps of the house, the door was unlocked. I thought maybe in my haste I’d left it that way the night before. But I should have known better.

I stepped inside and ten months later, there he was. Home again.

“Hello, Dollface.”

THE HOMECOMING

“W
ell, don’t just stand there.” Shep held his arms open but I hesitated. How could I go to him knowing I had his best friend’s blood on me?

I covered my eyes with my hands and began to cry. “You’re home? Oh, Shep, you’re really home? Why didn’t Drucci tell me?”

“I didn’t want to get your hopes up in case things fell through.” He walked over to me and as he came closer, his expression changed. Reaching for my blood-speckled sleeve, he looked at me. “What happened here?”

“Oh.” I closed my eyes and shook my head, sending my mind spinning. “Just some trouble down at the slaughterhouse. I’ve been down there all morning. I’m just going to run upstairs and bathe and—”

“Hold on. Wait a minute.” Reaching around my waist, he pulled me toward him. “Come here first. Let me hold you.” He kissed me and held me tight.

I squirmed in his arms like a girl on a bad first date. “I’m a mess. I stink.”

“I don’t care.” He kissed me again. “Don’t you know how much I’ve missed you, Dollface.”

With my palms plastered to his shoulders, I pried myself out of his embrace. “Just let me freshen up first, okay? I’ll only be a minute.” Before he could protest I scurried away, stopping at the top of the stairs to look back. Shep didn’t resemble the man I’d seen in prison. He was dressed in a beautiful double-breasted suit, clean-shaven, hair slicked back, exposing his widow’s peak. Aside from being a bit thinner, he looked the same, as if he’d never
gone away
. “I’ve missed you too, Shep.”

I drew the bath, scalding hot, and submerged myself. My mind was racing, spinning with what-ifs. Izzy had a habit of staying out all night, so it wasn’t unusual for Evelyn to call around looking for him. . . . But still, I knew it was only a matter of time before the others noticed him missing, too. . . . I could hear the clock ticking out in the bedroom. With each passing second, I grew more anxious.

As soon as the water covered my shoulders, I sank down in the tub until my entire face was underwater. At first I held my breath, my eyes wide open, staring at the ripples along the ceiling. But then I thought about what was left of Izzy, lying on the bottom of Bubbly Creek, and I bolted up, sitting in the tub, shivering as I began to gag.

•   •   •

L
ater that day, with Shep home and in my bed, I felt him curl his body around my backside, his lips grazing my shoulder and the back of my neck. I was glad he was out of jail, yet I couldn’t say I was relieved to have him home. I’d always thought that once Shep was here with me again I would relax, let my shoulders drop, that I would be the Vera I was before he went away. But with him home, I felt more tense than ever. I was hiding so many things. So much had changed while he was away. Including me. I wanted to put everything back the way it was before he went away, but it was too late for that.

“Do you want to talk about it?” I asked finally, clutching his fingers.

“It’s over,” he murmured. “The past is in the past.”

“Was it awful?” I guess I was the one who wanted to talk about it.

“It wasn’t so bad. I’m just glad to be home.”

“That was the longest ten months of my life,” I said. “Hannah and I were so lost without you here. The guys tried to help us out, but after Hymie was killed . . .”

“I know. Vinny told me he did the best he could, but I know it wasn’t enough. It was killing me to think about you and Hannah having to go without. How did you manage?”

“I cut back wherever I could. I put Hannah in secondhand clothes. Had to let the housekeeper go. Had to let a lot of things go. . . .”

“I’m going to make it up to you. Just let me get back on my feet and I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

“You don’t need to make it up to me. I’m just glad you’re home.” There was a long pause. “Did you get my letters?”

He kissed my shoulder.

“I wrote to you. Almost every day. Why didn’t you ever write me back?”

“They only let us write once a week.”

“And?” I turned and looked at him.

He closed his eyes. “C’mon, you know I’m no good at writing.”

“I wasn’t looking for poetry.”

“I just . . . I couldn’t do it, okay?”

“Shep, don’t get upset.”

“Don’t you think I feel guilty enough as it is?”

“I’m not trying to make you feel guilty. I was lonely. I was worried about you. I wanted to hear from you because I missed you, that’s all.”

He got up, lit a cigarette and walked over to the windows. It was only then that I could see his ribs and just how much weight he’d lost in prison.

I closed my eyes and lay back. My mind drifted; glimpses of that severed head came rushing back to me. Sometimes I saw Izzy’s face clear as day; other times the face I saw belonged to my father. My God, could I ever get myself past this? Would I go to hell for it? Had I gone too far to protect Evelyn? I could go to jail. I was guilty. I had no defense.

“New drapes, huh?” he said.

“What?” I opened my eyes and propped myself up on one elbow.

“I see you got some new drapes in here for the bedroom.”

“The other ones were never really the right shade. . . .”

He reached over and ran his fingers along the fabric. “They’re nice. . . .” He continued to study the draperies. “Things must not have been all that tight while I was away.” He took another drag off his cigarette and fingered the drapes while streams of smoke curled past his shoulder. “I noticed you had some new dresses in the closet. You hired the housekeeper back, too. How’d all that happen?”

I didn’t say anything. I wanted so badly to come clean, to tell him everything and be rid of my guilt. The bootlegging was minor compared to everything else. How could I begin to tell Shep that I’d been an accomplice in his best friend’s murder, that I’d brought in a rival gang member to help dispose of the body, a rival who also happened to be a man I was having an affair with. Even if Shep could have gotten past all that, was it fair to heap that much on him when he’d just gotten out of prison? I couldn’t ask Shep to be my confessor and absolve me of my sins. I couldn’t expect him to forgive me when I couldn’t forgive myself.

“You were broke,” he said, a little louder this time. “How were you able to do all that and make ends meet?”

“I did what I had to do.”

“And what was that?”

“Nothing you would have approved of.”

I saw the muscles along his shoulders flex. “Is there someone else?” He turned and looked at me. “Has someone else been taking care of you?”

A wave of guilt blasted me. I got out of bed and went to him, looping my arms about his waist. “I’d never want to betray you. Don’t you know that? And you’re home now. You’re back home, and that’s all that matters.”

“If there’s something I should know, you need to tell me.”

I shook my head and squeezed him tighter. I loved Shep. What good was the truth? It wouldn’t change a thing. It could only crush him. “You have to trust me, Shep.”

“I want to trust you, but it doesn’t wash, Vera. Someone had to be helping you out.”

“It was hard while you were gone but no one helped me out.” That was the truth. I’d made every cent on my own. “I swear. No one helped me.” I kissed his shoulder. “I don’t want to fight about this. Or anything. Can’t we just have this time together?” I felt his arms circle around me and I closed my eyes. “I love you, Shep. You don’t ever have to question that. Not ever.”

•   •   •

A
fter Dora brought Hannah back to the house that afternoon, Shep couldn’t get over how much his daughter had changed. She was talking in full sentences now. And running and going up and down the stairs, too. He crouched down for her, like a catcher waiting for a fastball, but instead Hannah ran to me. I wasn’t surprised. Why would she go to him? Despite all the pictures I’d shown her, all the stories I’d told her, she didn’t know this man in her living room. She’d no sooner warm to him than she would a total stranger.

“Just give her some time,” I said, looking at Shep’s wounded expression, remembering how I’d felt the day Hannah had run to Dora instead of me.

After ten months of his being
away
, Hannah may not have known her father, but when I saw the two of them together, side by side, their dark hair and eyes, the shape of their mouths, there was no doubt in my mind who her father was.

“Here,” I said, handing him an oversize picture book. “Why don’t you read her a story? She loves it when you read to her. This one’s your favorite, isn’t it?” I said to Hannah as I scooped her up in my arms and placed her in Shep’s lap.

Shep hesitated and then opened the book. Hannah broke into a smile, her fingers pointing to the pictures. According to the grandfather clock in the corner, it was almost three. Enough time had passed. Someone was bound to notice Izzy missing. Any second now I expected the phone to ring—someone looking for him.

Hannah giggled, clapping her hands while Shep thumbed through a few pages before he closed the book and set it on the table. “You don’t want to hear this same story again. How about I tell you a story instead?”

Hannah’s eyes were locked on the book, her tiny hands groping for it, her face scrunching up as her lungs gathered steam for a crying bout.

I picked up the book and handed it back to her, and that seemed to pacify her for the moment.

“I told you it’s her favorite. . . .” I leaned over and kissed the top of his head. “Daddy’s tired, honey. Mama will read to you later.”

I spent the rest of the day reminding myself that Shep was back home. I had grown so accustomed to managing without him. It didn’t occur to me to ask for his help when I was on my tiptoes, reaching for a bowl on the top shelf, or straining to open a jar.

While I was in the kitchen cooking, Hannah began warming up to Shep. Soon the two of them were in the drawing room and she was showing him her toys while I made Shep’s favorite dinner, a standing rib roast and scalloped potatoes. My family was reunited. I’d waited so long for this and yet I couldn’t take it in. I was a wreck inside.

The next day, Shep attempted to get his life back to normal. He put a call in for Izzy and I froze, praying that Evelyn was convincing on the other end. He didn’t seem fazed when he hung up and said he was going to stop by the cemetery to visit his mother’s grave and then he’d be back.