Deadly Game

by R. B. Conroy

  Butch listened as a large lawn tractor groaned to life in the front yard. His groundskeeper had started his work for the day. He would work the front yard area until Butch left the premises, knowing better than to disturb his boss’s morning ritual.

  Butch Ferinni was a powerful man in the declining, yet still active, Chicago crime syndicate. Revenues from his construction business and waste management company, along with some diminishing revenues from bookmaking and gambling machines, allowed him to maintain a nice life style.

  Growing up on the rough West Side of Chicago in the heavily Italian neighborhood of Elmwood Park, Butch had known from the time he was a small boy watching the long black limos drive slowly down the red brick streets of his neighborhood that he wanted to be a made man. His quest began at age nineteen when he became an associate, running errands for the soldiers and capos in the Elmwood Park area. After a few years, he was elated when he was made a soldier himself. Possessing a charming personality and not afraid to use violence when called upon, he soon caught the eye of the Elmwood Park boss, Joseph “Jo Jo” Piazza. After taking out a couple of “bums” from an opposing outfit, he was elevated to capo by Piazza. Shortly thereafter, he was made an Under Boss when George “The Boogey Man” Egidi was arrested by the Feds and given ten to twenty for racketeering.

  A mercurial personality, whose emotions could turn on a dime, the young Under Boss soon became both respected and feared by the other mob bosses in the Chicago area. Although prone to periodic gestures of great generosity, he would cut the legs off anybody who stood in his way. A loyalist to a fault, he resisted the temptation to move to the exclusive River Forest community with many of his mob friends when he started to move up in the organization. Instead, he chose to remain in his hometown of Elmwood Park.

  Always in awe of his long-time mentor, Piazza, a devastated Butch was made boss in 1970 when Piazza came up missing while vacationing in the nearby Wisconsin Dells. Incensed by the death of his beloved boss, Butch vowed revenge against the rival gangs, but fortunately for his unsuspecting adversaries, a park ranger found the body of Piazza on a hiking trail deep in the Dells. The resulting autopsy revealed that Piazza had died of a massive heart attack while taking a hike in the scenic woods and a blood bath between rival gangs was avoided.

  “Hey, boss,” the gravelly voice shot out of the nearby speaker.

  “Yeah?”

  “Mr. Compano has arrived; he’s here at the gate.”

  The silverware jumped as Butch violently slammed his huge fist against the oak table. “He’s what?”

  The voice quieted, it was almost inaudible. “He’s at the gate, sir.”

  Embarrassed and red-faced, Butch tried desperately to compose himself. His old school chum had arrived and Butch was incensed by his guard’s action. He spoke with calm rage, “How long have you known Mr. Compano, Johnny?”

  “For many years, sir.”

  “And you have humiliated him by holding him at the gate?”

  “I’m sorry sir, but you said we had to be extra careful with all….”

  Butch interrupted, “You idiot! Apologize to Mr. Compano and then have Esther greet him at the door and bring him to me.”

  “Yes sir.”

  Butch abruptly clicked off the speaker, leapt from his chair and hurried around the room partially closing the blinds on the many windows in the large dining area. The rising sun was pouring into the room and he wanted the lighting just right. His anger over the incident at the gate was starting to subside and he was now excited by the arrival of his old friend, Louie Campano. Johnny’s behavior would soon be forgotten and there would be no retribution against the scolded guard—Butch loved him like a son. He could now hear Campano’s voice out in the main vestibule. He watched as the large doors pushed open and Esther escorted him into the room. Arms wide apart, Butch rushed forward.

  “Louie! Louie! How are you?” The two large men embraced, followed by several aggressive slaps to the back.

  “Come-in! Come-in!” Butch waved his arm toward the large oak table.

  “Coffee, Mr. Compano?” Esther asked at just the right moment.

  “Yes Esther, and sweetener please.”

  Esther smiled warmly and hurried off to fetch the coffee while the two men made their way to the table to talk and enjoy the beautiful view of the courtyard.

  The reserved Louie waited by his chair before sitting. Butch, already seated, pointed to the chair inviting him to sit down.

  “Sit down, Louie.”

  “Thank you, Curly.” Louie grinned sheepishly. He was the only human being on the planet that could get away with calling the hardened mobster Curly. A childhood nickname given to Butch because he had a mop of black curly hair as a boy, Ferinni had stopped the use of the old name long ago. He felt it was inappropriate for a tough guy gangster. Louie knew this and would only say it once as a gesture of affection for the old days; the rest of the time he would call him Butch.

  A seldom seen broad smile spread across Butch’s pocked face. He rubbed his balding head. “I wish I still had those curls. It is so good to see you my friend!”

  “Likewise, amico mio.”

  Still smiling, Louie scanned the lavish room, looking out toward the beautifully landscaped courtyard and the ever vigilant Saint Maurice. “You’ve done very well for yourself Butch. I’m always very impressed when I come to your wonderful home.”

  Almost without notice, Esther set a cup of coffee in front of Louie and refilled Butch’s cup, and left a warming carafe on the table before exiting the room.

  Butch smiled, “And who would have thought, when you were making those big holes in the defensive line for me so many years ago in high school, that you would end up the president of a large bank?”

  The humble Louie’s face flushed. “We have been blessed—that’s for certain.”

  “I agree and I thank you for coming, Louie. I hope I haven’t interrupted your busy day.”

  “Oh no! Since Midwest took over, I have plenty of time. They’re running everything out of Indianapolis now.”

  “Hmmm….I see, like I prefer to run things from my home,” the mobster laughed heartily.

  Louie wagged his head. “I guess so.” He stared at Butch, waiting for more information to explain why Butch had requested this visit.

  “I will get to the point, Louie. It’s like I told you on the phone. I am thinking about putting in a pool for my Maria. She has seemed down lately and I think it would perk her up a little to have a nice pool; it would give her something to look forward to each day. Come outside and I will show you what I mean.”

  Louie nodded. The two men picked up their cups as Butch led the way through a thick glass door and out to a large stone patio.

  “You see that landscaped area between my patio and the long courtyard?”

  “Yes.”

  “I was thinking that it might be a good spot for a pool. Do you think it is a big enough area?”

  A puzzled look crossed Louie’s face. “Well, actually, to tell you the truth, it looks a little small.” Not wanting to bring a negative tone to the upbeat conversation, Louie was a little tentative. “I’m….uh not sure a pool would fit there. But I’m a banker, not a contractor. I think you need to talk with a contractor.”

  The smile suddenly drained from Butch’s face. His dark eyes squinted into the morning sun. “I know you must think it is odd that I bring you out to my home and ask you such questions.”

  Louie stared quizzically at his somber friend.

  Butch exhaled and sat down on the stone wall that bordered the patio. “My life is not what it appears. I don’t want to build a pool, Louie, I need the cash for another reason.”

  A concerned Louie stepped closer to his friend. “What’s the problem, Butch?”

  “It’s Maria.”

  “Maria? What’s the matter with Maria? Is she okay?”

  “Well…uh physically, she’s fine. But she’s got this problem and I’m not sure what to do about
it.”

  “Please, go on.”

  The mob boss took a deep breath, “You understand the nature of my business.”

  “Why yes, of course.”

  “Well you see the Feds have been on a rampage lately and our bookmaking business has almost dried up. And, with the weak economy, the revenues from our other businesses have also been down. “ Tears glistened in the sagging eyes of the hard man, embarrassed by his diminished status. He continued, “And…uh Maria, well she has this problem.” He clasped his hands around the warm coffee mug and continued. “It’s not easy being married to someone like me. Maria has very little life of her own. Respectable ladies here in town don’t have much to do with her. And unfortunately, her family lives in Florida and Colorado, so she is alone a lot. This is not a very exciting life for her.”

  “I understand. It’s not what you see in the movies.”

  “No, it’s not.”

  “It must be difficult for her.”

  “It is. And my Maria, she gets depressed, and when she does, she shops and then she shops some more. Most of it is done on online. She has run up over two hundred thousand dollars in credit card bills in the past few years.”

  “Hmmm….”

  “I had no idea; the UPS man comes late in the afternoon when I am gone. She has been hiding most of the goods in our attic.”

  Louie sat down on the edge of the wall and took a sip of coffee. “I see, and you need two hundred thou-sand to pay off Maria’s shopping debts.”

  Butch nodded.

  “Maybe we could do an equity line.” He glanced toward Butch.

  “I refinanced the house two years ago. Remember?”

  “Oh yes, I forgot. We went to full equity on that one.”

  “Yes, I used that money to buy the waste management company.”

  “That’s right, I remember now.”

  Butch scooted over next to Louie and laid his arm across his shoulders. “Our friendship goes back a long way and I think I’m putting you in an awkward position. Please forget what I said just now. I will get the money elsewhere.”

  Louie spoke softly to his life long friend, “You forget something, Butch Ferinni. Many years ago your father, God rest his soul, loaned my father twenty thousand dollars on a handshake so he could start Compano Federal. There would be no Compano Federal or Midwest Consolidated, or whatever we call it, without the generosity of your father.”

  “But that was my father. It was not me.”

  “You’re right Butch, it was your father. But I know as well as I know my own heart, that you would have done exactly the same. I have no doubt of that. I will gladly do this loan for you.”

  “Thank you, you humble me.”

  Butch initiated another quick hug and the two men strolled through the house and out to the front drive. They paused by Louie’s truck.

  “I will have a six-month non-secured note for two hundred thousand dollars with an indefinite number of renewals prepared for you. I have several appointments Saturday but I could do your loan before office hours. Could you stop in early Saturday morning—say 7 A.M.?”

  “I’ll be there Saturday morning at 7:00 A.M. And, thank you so much Louie.”

  “My pleasure.” The two men shook warmly. Then Louie walked to his old truck, opened the squeaky door and climbed in.

  “Oh, Louie.”

  Louie paused, his generous posterior hanging awkwardly over the side of the badly worn driver’s seat, “Yes, Butch?”

  “If you ever need anything and I mean anything, you let me know, okay?”

  “Okay,” Louie said as he slid over, stuck the key in the ignition and started the truck. He slid the gear shift into drive, lifted his thumb in the air and pointed it toward Butch. As he pulled out of the compound, he repeated the same thumbs up gesture to a smiling Johnny and disappeared around the corner.

  Chapter 18

  Traffic was heavy on the Eisenhower and the exit ramp for Harlem Avenue was fast approaching. Uncomfortable driving on the crowded expressway in the best of circumstances, Alex truly despised the morning rush hour around Chicago. To add to the confusion, he heard a beep on his handheld. He quickly snatched his phone from the center console and attempted to read the text message while speeding toward his exit. The terse message, from Josh Dulin, read: Just finished review. Took longer than expected. Can we meet at your office at 8 A.M tomorrow?

  A horn blared as Alex swerved onto the exit ramp. He slammed on his brakes to keep from running into a beat-up Domino’s Pizza car in front of him. “Chicago traffic,” he mumbled.

  Once safely off the ramp and on North Harlem Avenue, Alex fumbled with his cell, attempting to send a quick text back to Josh. Not very adept at this new way of communicating, he found it maddening. He clumsily poked the letters o and k and then hit reply as he slammed on the brakes once again as the approaching stoplight turned from caution to red much faster than he expected. His anxiety level rising, Alex took the momentary pause to check out the GPS on his dash for the best route to Café Winberie’s on Oak Park Avenue.

  Louie had e-mailed him earlier that morning informing him that some surprise visitors would be at the meeting today. In order to accommodate the growing guest list, Louie had to relocate the late morning meeting to a larger room at Winberie’s, instead of their original meeting place, Big Al’s Bar and Grill in Elmwood Park. Alex was disappointed, he liked big Al’s.

  Arriving at Winberie’s, Alex turned off Oak Park Avenue and navigated his way through the crowded parking lot at the popular eatery. Finally locating a parking spot, he carefully pulled into the narrow space, glanced at his watch and hurried inside. A smiling hostess directed him to the meeting place at the rear of the warmly decorated restaurant. When Alex arrived at the room, Louie Campano was pacing outside waiting on the tardy Alex.

  “Alex, so good to see you!” The big Italian gave Alex a giant bear hug. “Betcha hit some bad traffic.”

  “There were two accidents—one near Gary and another just after I got on the Eisenhower.” Alex smiled and straightened his tie, still reeling slightly from the powerful hug administered by his old friend.

  Louie grunted, “Should have left a little earlier. Barnes and the others didn’t have any trouble.”

  Barnes! The name exploded inside his head. What in the world was Barnes doing here and who were “the others” Louie just mentioned. Alex now realized that his meeting was going to be much different than the one to which he had originally been invited.

  The observant Louie, sensing Alex’s concern, spoke up. “I’m sorry for the confusion. This all just fell together this morning; I wasn’t really certain who all was coming. Oh well, the more the merrier!” Louie smiled and pushed the door to the room open. “Follow me,” he said.

  Once inside, Alex quickly surveyed the room. Seated at the end of a long table in the center of the rectangular room was a man he had never met but recognized immediately from seeing him on television so many times. It was Ben Ramsey, the former college roommate of President Moretti at nearby DePaul University and now, his Chief of Staff. Alex was shocked to see Ramsey in attendance. His presence gave weight to the importance of this impromptu get-together. Insiders say the President takes his cue from the former Illinois Senator on topics, such as, the controversial health care legislation and cap and trade. His presence troubled Alex.

  Seated just to Ramsey’s left, a stoic Barnes sat staring straight ahead, still smarting from Alex’s dressing down a few days earlier. Begrudgingly, he turned slightly and acknowledged Alex with a rather weak attempt at a smile.

  To Ramsey’s right, two aides, who had several memos scattered on the table in front of them, busied themselves with various recording devices.

  Seated next to Barnes was Louie’s secretary, Ava. She smiled at Alex and mouthed the word hello. Louie quickly took a seat next to her. Behind Ramsey, two blocky security guys stood with hands clasped and legs apart. Slightly intimidated by a hard stare from one of the guards, the former
Navy Seal remembered his pledge to stay on game no matter what the situation. He gathered himself and smiled confidently at the guard as the aggressive Chief of Staff hurried around the table toward him with his hand outstretched.

  “Ben Ramsey, Alex, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” He smiled broadly. “I hope we haven’t overwhelmed you with this sudden get-together.”

  The two men shook firmly, Alex made direct eye contact. “Certainly not, I’ve learned recently to expect almost anything.”

  “Please, have a seat.” Ramsey pointed to the end seat.

  Alex dropped his briefcase on the table and found his seat. A single legal pad and ballpoint pen lay on the table in front of him. It contrasted greatly with all the recording devices, attaché cases full of files, and laptop computers being employed by Ramsey’s aides at the other end of the table. It was soon obvious who was in charge of this meeting.

  “Coffee, Crane?” the preppy Chief of Staff asked. The last name salutation was a mild power play by Ramsey. Slightly inappropriate, it indicated Ramsey’s need to show dominance.

  “Yes, thank you. Black, with a shot of Jack Daniels, please—I could use a drink right now.” Alex said dryly, exhibiting an irreverent sense of humor in response to Ramsey’s gentle put-down.

  Ramsey chuckled nervously; his brow lifted as he looked over at a dubious Alex. He turned to his right and mumbled, “Cybil.”

  A shapely blond in a gray business suit jumped to her feet and hurried to the coffee pot. She quickly poured a cup and delivered it to Alex. “Sorry couldn’t find any Jack.” She grinned flirtatiously at the handsome CEO and hurried back to her seat.

  Ramsey returned to the head of the table. Alex slumped back in his chair and assumed a relaxed position. Cool on the outside, he was buzzing with anxiety on the inside.