by Thomas Laird
“You never talk about work. You talk about your partner. Yes.”
“I have to be boring to you.”
She stopped and dropped the plastic bag of crew socks back onto the display. Venture wasn’t busy, yet. They became crowded when lunch was over. Then it was packed in here.
How many years ago was this?
“What brought all this on?” Erin demanded.
“I can’t think of my life if you’re not in it.”
“You’d keep living.”
“I don’t think I could. I know I wouldn’t want to, anyway.”
“Cut it out! Why’re you getting all sentimental on me, Parisi? What’s the problem?”
“It’s too good. That’s all. I keep hearing footsteps.”
“Footsteps? Whose footsteps?”
Jimmy took her right hand in his.
“I’m getting soft. Too many crazy bastards in my life. You’re all I’ve got that’s sane.”
She laughed, but she wasn’t blowing him off. She never did.
That was then. Now he ate alone. Now he went to a movie just to get out of the house, whenever Eleanor was there to watch the kids.
But there’d come a day soon enough when Mike and Mary were gone, off to college. Just gone somewhere else.
And then what?
The stories were legion about coppers eating the blue barrel, but Jimmy didn’t think he was capable of pulling his own plug. There was the Catholic thing, of course, but it went much deeper than that. The old man had died young in the accident at the house, on the stairs, and Parisi was never certain if his mother hadn’t caused the lethal tumble. Every time he thought of her, he seemed sure she could not have pushed Jake down the staircase.
But there was always the lingering doubt, and the CPD had sent a detective to the house to question Eleanor. Jimmy still remembered the hatred he harbored for that detective. He knew the cop was only doing his job, but Parisi remembered the hardened tone the guy used on Eleanor. He made her cry. Then she’d sent Jimmy out of the kitchen until the interview was over.
Baggage. Everyone had some, and it wasn’t the kind with handles and locks. With Jimmy Parisi it was the death of his father. And he could never muster the will or the courage to ask Eleanor that single direct question:
“Ma, did you shove the old man down those steps?”
*
It was an armed camp at Lake Forest. Calabrese was about to entertain another bellicose raid on his property. There had to be thirty soldiers positioned at his front door and on his lawn and more were scattered on his spacious grounds. It would take a battalion to approach the estate, these days. And Bonadura and Carbone had their own assault troops gathered at their homes in the suburbs of the city.
Mack Davis, Captain of Homicide, had Jimmy Parisi and Doc Gibron on his carpet, and it wasn’t for a friendly word or two. Davis was military, just like about 80% of the CPD. They had roots in the service, and when their tours were finished, the next logical stop was the police. It was hard to find a cop who wasn’t a veteran. They could tell you stories about Southeast Asia, Korea, and, the older guys, Europe and the Pacific Rim in the 1940s.
Davis fit the same bill. He was tall, maybe six-three, and his shoulders looked to be about the same width as his height. There was some remaining blond stubble atop his head, but he might as well have shaved it all off. There was a gleam up there from the overhead lights.
“You’re wondering why the command performance,” the Captain stated.
“Not really,” Parisi replied.
Doc had to stifle a guffaw.
“Something funny, Gibron?” Davis barked.
“Not a goddam thing, sir.”
“So you two think you know from whence the shit is flowing.”
“It usually comes from on high,” Parisi grinned lamely.
“Not that high, Jimmy. Just from the Mayor’s tower. You know that prick?”
“I’ve met him, yes,” Jimmy replied with a straight face.
“I’m not here to threaten you, and I know none of this is your fault. But the Mayor does not want to remind anyone of his previous mayoral brethren from the 1930s. You know of whom I speak?”
“There’s not much we can do, Captain,” Jimmy said. “These guys like Calabrese don’t even live in the city proper, so we’ve got our hands tied.”
“You think that Mick gives a shit? They do business on our blocks. We all know that. And we’re going to take the heat if someone doesn’t put a stop to what’s been happening and to what’s to come. We’re sort of guilty by association.”
“Bullshit,” Gibron declared.
“Of course it’s bullshit, but there it is,” Davis smiled.
The Captain was a Vietnam Vet, having fought with the first Americans to get involved with that ‘police action.’ He’d preceded Jimmy Parisi in that war by about ten years.
“And you expect us to end this skirmish exactly how, Captain?” Jimmy asked.
“Don’t shoot the messenger, Jimmy. Damned if I know. I’m just the relay boy. So now I’ve told you. Message received?”
“I guess,” Doc mumbled.
“You’ll forgive my lack of sympathy for you two. Now I’ll go clean the fertilizer off my clothing.”
They were dismissed.
*
“You think they’d can us?” Jimmy asked as he took the wheel of the Crown Vic.
“They’d never get anyone else to work this cheap.”
They pulled up to the gates of the Lake Forest estate.
Jimmy rolled down the window to talk to the punk at the entry.
“Tell him we need to see him now.”
The Outfit soldier called the house on the intercom inside his station at the gate.
“He wants to know why you’re here again so soon,” the associate smiled.
“For his ears only,” Jimmy told him.
The thug went back inside to relay the message.
“He ain’t happy, but he says to come on up.”
*
“This has got to stop. You two have heard of harassment, no?”
Calabrese was still in his burgundy robe and burgundy slippers.
They stood together in the foyer, just inside his elegant front door.
“We’re here to let you know that this shit has to stop now,” Parisi smiled.
“You two do understand what the word jurisdiction means?”
“We have the invite from our fraternal brothers of Lake Forest. They have weaker stomachs than we do, it seems. Anyway. Some of your dear friends in Chicago want you and your familia to cease and desist with the recent violence. If you do not, it will be our sad duties to shit all over your fucking parades. We will close you down, Tony C, and this time there won’t be any interference from all those folks from city hall you’ve got in your pockets. You know, all that Irish-American pocket change you carry around?
“Seems they’ve reached gag level. Too much blood cuts down on their business, Anthony. You better round up your mutts and tell them there’s a cease fire or you won’t believe what the health inspectors can do to all your taverns and tittie joints and restaurants. You’ll be closed for months. Your income will be terribly affected in a terribly negative way.”
“You got a lot of balls, Parisi.”
“No, Tony. I’ve got a very irate Mayor on all of our asses, and I’m just a messenger boy. So you either call a truce or you won’t believe what happens next.”
“Are you threatening me, goddammit?”
“I would never threaten such a powerful man like Anthony Calabrese in his own home. I’m not that stupid, Tony C. I know the power that you wield. And I know that all you are is a ruthless pimp and punk who rose up like some street filth to become a piece of shit in expensive threads. What’d that fucking robe cost? Couple grand? How many floaters did it take to pay for it?”
“Jimmy,” Doc interceded.
Calabrese flushed noticeably.
“Get the fuck out of my h
ouse.”
“Do your shit in Chicago so I can cuff you myself.”
“Get this little bastard out of my house,” Calabrese told Gibron.
Jimmy lunged at the old man, but Gibron caught him and hauled him toward the door.
When they were outside, Jimmy smiled calmly and looked at his partner.
“You think he bought my act?”
*
“Don’t you guys ever get sick of this shitty food?”
Her name was Rayleen, and she was on a first name basis with Parisi and Gibron at the 95th and Cicero White Castle.
She had to be pushing retirement, Jimmy thought. Rayleen looked every day of sixty-five, and she didn’t hide her age by dying her hair. It was silver and white. But the rest of her looked sturdy enough. They couldn’t recall a time or an era when Rayleen didn’t work at this fast food joint.
“Darlin’. Rayleen,” Doc told her. “We come here because of you, not because of your impeccable cuisine.”
“You’ve always been the wiseguy, Gibron. Now Jimmy, here, he’s a gentleman.”
She got them two more Cokes from the spigot behind her. The place was deserted. It was going on to the three in the morning. It was cold and damp on the outside. Early March seemed more like early January, this year.
“You should’ve heard how rude he was, earlier this evening,” Doc laughed.
“I don’t believe it. He could never be rude,” she rejoined.
“He just likes you, Rayleen,” Doc went on. “I think he’s kinda sweet on you.”
“I’m old enough to be his mom. Shut up, Doc.”
“Now you sound like my ex-wife.”
“She was smart to get out when she did,” the waitress cracked.
Then she went back in the kitchen to talk to Gus, the cook. Business was slow and Gus was likely bored, by now.
“Not very bright, James, threatening Tony Calabrese with bodily harm or whatever it was you threatened him with.”
“I lost my temper, Doc. Mea culpa. Mea culpa. I’ll talk to the padre about it someday.”
“It’s just that my Jockies developed a little bit of a brown stripe when you unloaded on the old fuck. Christ, it felt like those Brit troopers when they got themselves surrounded by all those Zulus. In Africa. Remember the movie?”
“He wasn’t gonna have us aced. Not there. Not then.”
“It’s nice to be confident, James.”
“He’s got bigger troubles than two Homicides.”
Doc took a long drag at his Coke, and then he munched on the ice.
“It was very exciting, anyway.”
“I said I’m sorry, Doc.”
“It’s all right. I’m over twenty-one. I just wish I’d said all that to the cocksucker. Did you see the color in his face? I thought he might stroke out on us. You got to him, guinea. Not many have lived to tell that tale.”
“It’s going to end badly, you know.”
He turned on the revolving stool at the bar and faced his older partner.
“For whom?” Gibron asked. “Him or us?”
“Now there’s the question.”
“I love it when you fake Shakespeare, Jimmy.”
Jimmy swiveled the stool back again. He took up his glass of Coke, but he didn’t drink from it.
“I would’ve much preferred shooting him in the eyes.”
“Me, too,” Gibron concluded.
*
Jimmy lay in bed as the sun was just coming up. He could see the faint rays trying to creep in through his bedroom blinds.
Eleanor was going to drop the kids off at school. She took Jimmy’s keys and told him to go to bed. He’d worked a double shift, and his mother could see the strain on his face. He looked pale and worn.
“I threatened a made man, Ma.”
She had looked at him across the breakfast table.
“You did what?”
“I told Anthony Calabrese that I was going to get him.”
“Really? Him? The Outfit guy?”
“Really. Him.”
“And you’re worried about that?” Eleanor asked calmly.
“It was unprofessional. I shouldn’t have done it.”
“You’re like your father. You’re just like Jake. He had a temper, too.”
“So you keep telling me, Ma. I still shouldn’t have done it.”
“Your father wouldn’t have threatened that man.”
“No?”
“No. He would’ve shot him dead.”
She waited a beat, and then she laughed.
“You’re tired. People regret things when they’re tired. Go to bed.”
When he lay alone on the queen-sized mattress, he thought again of his wife, Erin. And when her face appeared in his mind, he closed his eyes and fell asleep instantly.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
The meeting was held in the Grand View Ballroom in Evanston, not far from Northwestern University, by Lake Michigan. The March thaw had begun in the second week of the month, and the mercury was supposed to hit fifty degrees by late afternoon.
Carbone and Bonadura made their entrances into the highly-secured ballroom around 1:00 P.M. They were right on time. When Ben Rossi got there, the security guards were a little more fastidious in their pat-downs. No soldiers from any family were allowed in the meeting. All the button men had to wait out in the parking lot, which had ten squads from Evanston keeping an eye on them. Only the capos and Calabrese got past the interior security guards. No one wanted to take a chance on some new Gunfight at the OK Corral.
Tony Calabrese made his own grand entrance around 1:15. There was a lone table in the spacious area, and there were only four chairs around the circular piece of expensive mahogany. There was fruit in front of each placement, and there was a pitcher of ice water in the middle. No one touched the fruit, but Benny Bats helped himself to the water. The others watched as he gulped down the entire glass. Rossi smiled over at Tony Calabrese, but Tony C didn’t bite at his arrogance.
“Shall we begin?” Calabrese asked.
No one responded.
“I take your silence as a yes.”
There were a few subdued chuckles. Rossi sat with a grim countenance, across from the Boss of Bosses.
“The major bone of contention is with you, Benedetto.”
Rossi smiled widely.
“I never started a goddam thing, Tony. But I do react when someone strikes out at me.”
“We ain’t getting anywhere by placing blame. Let’s cut the shit, Benny Bats. You want my chair and the only way you’re getting it is by knocking me off and everyone in this room knows it. This meeting is my attempt at making the peace, at putting a halt to the violence, which is not productive for anyone sitting here. The powers that be in the city have informed me in no uncertain terms that if we continue to do as we have done, lately, they’re going to let loose with a storm of shit such as we have never seen. That means that business will cease, and we’ll all go fucking broke.
“And then what will all this blood achieve?
“I’m an old man, Benny Bats. The rest of you can decide who gets to be Boss, and it won’t be long before you do. But I intend to go out the natural way. I don’t plan on dying of lead poisoning or by the garrote or by the blade at my throat. If you attack me again, we’ll be forced to go to a full-out war. And that’s stupidity and it serves no one well.
“So what will it be? I’ve already talked to everyone else at the table, Ben. They are in agreement with me. We need to settle our difficulties immediately.”
Rossi poured himself another glass of water. The pitcher was now almost depleted.
“I’ve been your best earner for ten years, Boss. All of you know it. I’ve got four hundred men on the street who’re waiting to hear me say the word. But I, too, agree that a war will be far too costly. And I have my own reasons for being here today. I’ve been attacked unjustly for the tragic death of my neighbor, as you know. He has a brother who has killed three of my men, if you
count this latest death of David Serpella. Some of you have employed him before. The brother surely killed Serpella, and we don’t know where this ex-Army killer is, right now.
“I know you don’t give a shit about my personal issues, but I want you to understand that I’ve been under attack for a long time, now, and I’ve had to become overly wary about anyone with a hardon aimed my way.
“But I’m in favor of a truce, also, and I want it known by all here that I will not break the peace. However, if there are any more attempts at my life or my wife’s safety, I won’t hesitate to seek vengeance. And you know what I mean by my words. I won’t hold back if any of this shit happens again.”
Bonadura and Carbone remained mute, as usual. Their eyes were cast at the Boss of Bosses.
“Then we have accord. There will be no more attacks from any of us. We will be one family, as we were before. We will have peace.”
They stood up, but no one moved to embrace the others, and the meeting was finished.
*
Carmen walked out of the shower and grabbed the lush, pink towel from the chrome bar on the wall next to the bathtub. She rubbed herself vigorously, put on an equally lush robin’s egg blue robe, and then she walked into the bedroom.
She stretched out on the bed and lay in the middle of the mattress with the robe covering her torso and her thighs. She could have used a bout with Ben, about now, but he was at the big peace meeting in Evanston. She knew the whole thing was a sham. It would never last because Benny Bats was too much of a hothead to let harmony reign in the Outfit. He was an unreasonable man, her husband. She took Bertelli out to pave the way for her old man, but instead he’d made things worse by trying to hit Calabrese in Lake Forest. He’d take Carbone and Bonadura out right after Tony C was dead, and the war that he was making would take months, maybe years. The other three would not go down easily. They’d be fighting for their lives, and the full-scale combat inside the Outfit would serve no purpose except to drain everyone’s coffers. The cops would step in. There would be public moral outrage, and no one would be making any money while the captains and Calabrese bled each other dry.
Men were fools. They had no tactical sense. Especially her husband. He was the bull in the fucking china shop, head down, blasting away at anything and everything. He’d make a fine mess that no one could clean up.
