His Name Is John

by Dorien Grey

  Elliott shook his head in disbelief. “Incredible,” he said.

  Brad merely repeated his shrug.

  Cessy interrupted the conversation with a “Dinner’s ready” call from the kitchen.

  Reluctantly, Elliott got up, quickly stepping out of the way of the kids, who came pounding down the stairs and through the living room, then followed Brad into the kitchen.

  “Can we talk about this a little more sometime?” he asked Brad as they approached the door to the kitchen.

  “Sure,” Brad agreed.

  * * *

  “Dinner with the Priebes,” as Elliott liked to call his frequent visits, went well, as always, and it was as usual a comfortable evening despite the subject matter of his interrupted conversation with Brad. As always, Jenny insisted that he sit beside her. Unlike her brother, who seldom volunteered any information on anything, Jenny kept up a running commentary on everything going on in her life.

  “I have a new teacher,” she said, turning her head to direct her comments to Elliott.

  “Oh?” he replied. “Is she nice?”

  “Very nice,” Jenny verified. “I really like her. Her name is Sister Marie. Mommy used to know her.”

  He looked questioningly at Cessy, who nodded, waiting until she had swallowed a forkful of salad before saying, “You know her, too, Elliott. She used to be Marie Collina. I haven’t seen her since we were kids, but I recognized her immediately from that wine-stain birthmark on her forehead.”

  The Collinas again! Marie Collina was Al Collina’s adopted sister. He hoped for Jenny’s sake that she had turned out nothing at all like her brother. He remembered Marie as being very self-conscious about her birthmark, and almost painfully shy.

  Much of the rest of dinner was spent discussing the family’s plans for a long-anticipated Florida vacation, and Elliott volunteered to come by every day while they were gone to look after their dog Bozo, though it would require two trips a day to feed him and let him into the fenced-in backyard in the morning, and bring him in at night.

  At around nine thirty Cessy, despite his protests that he could easily call a cab, drove him home. He watched a little TV, then, exhausted, went to bed.

  He dreamt, not in visual images, but in emotions, the primary one being confusion. Did he have a sister? Did he have any family at all? Did anyone love him? And it wasn’t until morning that he realized with an odd mixture of fascination and mild horror that the dreams had not been his.

  CHAPTER 2

  Over the next several days, he spoke several times with Cessy, but heard nothing from Brad. There had been no repeat of John’s dreams, though he knew John had not gone away. Every night at some point he was subtly aware of John’s presence. Even when he could not clearly sense him, he felt that John had simply withdrawn momentarily to sort things out and to come to terms with his situation, and that he would be back.

  Elliott concentrated on his recovery and was relieved, at his next doctor’s appointment, to be told that he could stop wearing the sling if he promised to be careful of his shoulder. As if he had to be reminded—any sudden movement did that for him quite effectively.

  The doctor had specifically advised him against doing any physical labor, but he spent a large amount of time checking with his crew on the progress of his nearly completed current project. The question of his next project was resolved subsequent to a phone call from Jim Brewster, a guy with whom he’d had a casual but very pleasant relationship several years before. Jim worked for Central Property Management & Realty, one of the oldest and most respected in the city. Elliott had bought a building or two from them in the past, which is how he’d met Jim. They hadn’t been in touch in quite a while.

  “Jim! It’s good to hear from you. What’s up?”

  “That’s what I’d like to talk to you about,” Jim said, a little cryptically. “Could you meet me for a drink after work? Gentry on State, maybe?”

  “Sure,” Elliott said. He’d not really been out much since his return from the hospital, and not to a bar. “What time?”

  “Five fifteen, five thirty be okay?”

  “Great! I’ll see you there.” They exchanged good-byes and hung up, leaving Elliott mildly curious about the reason for the call.

  * * *

  His hair was starting to grow back in the shaved area. He’d thought about having his entire head shaved to match, but decided against it. The scar and the whole top of his head were still sensitive to the touch and he didn’t want a barber, however careful, to go running around the area with a pair of clippers. So when the time came to leave to meet Jim, he put his baseball cap back on.

  Jim was already there when he arrived, and Elliott quickly extended his hand as Jim got up to greet him, to forestall the possibility of a hug, which Jim began to give him anyway until he noticed Elliott wince. Jim backed off quickly, a look of mild surprise on his face.

  “Something wrong with your shoulder?” he asked as they both sat down.

  As he ordered and waited for his drink, Elliott quickly sketched in the details of the accident…neglecting, of course, to mention John; and he again wondered if John’s name really was John. If unidentified bodies were referred to as Heathcliff instead of John he’d have had a better idea.

  “I’m really sorry,” Jim said, sounding as though he meant it. “I’d have come to visit you if I’d known. You doing okay now?”

  Elliott grinned. “I’m fine, and I appreciate your concern. I’ll be good as new in no time.”

  His drink arrived and Elliott slipped a bill across the bar to the bartender, who took it with a nod and moved off to the cash register. Elliott waved him off as he started to return with the change.

  “So what has been going on with you?” he asked, turning his full attention to Jim.

  “Well, I’m leaving Central, for one thing.”

  Registering his surprise, Elliott said, “How come? It seems like you’ve been with them forever. What happened?”

  Jim took a long drink, then fished out an ice cube, which he crunched loudly and swallowed before answering. “My boss is selling the company. I hear we’ll be cutting the staff in half.”

  “Well, that’s too bad, but you shouldn’t have to worry too much. I’d think the new owners would want to keep the most qualified staff employees, and you’re one of the best.”

  “Thanks, but even so, I don’t think I’d want to work for them. You know Evermore, I assume?” Jim asked.

  Elliott winced, mentally. Evermore again!

  “Evermore’s buying you out? No wonder you’re leaving. I just lost a property to them.”

  “And do you know the guy who owns it?”

  “Al Collina. Yes, I knew him when I was a kid. His family lived right next door to my folks.”

  “Well, Evermore used to be a class outfit until Collina took over and started gobbling up properties all over town, especially in the older, close-in areas.”

  “Yeah,” Elliott agreed. “He’s apparently out to make himself Chicago’s Condo king. So when’s this all going to happen?”

  Jim signaled the bartender for another drink. “I’m not sure, but the boss has called a staff meeting for Monday morning. The only way I know about what’s going to happen is that I’ve got a friend at Evermore—Grant Tully. You know him?”

  “The name sounds familiar,” Elliott said, searching his mind for any specifics as to who Grant Tully might be, and failing.

  “Anyway, Grant called me last night to give me a heads up. He could get himself fired if anybody knew he told me. I started looking for a new job today.”

  “Well, I’m really sorry to hear that, Jim,” Elliott said. “But you shouldn’t have any trouble getting a new job if you do decide to leave, and I’m pretty sure you’ve been stuffing your commissions under the mattress for years. You’ll be okay.”

  Jim grinned. “Yeah, I suppose. But change is always a little hard.” He reached into his wallet for a bill, which he slid across the bar to the bart
ender before continuing. “But my employment woes aren’t the main reason I called. I’ve got a tip for you that you might want to follow up on.”

  “Ah?”

  “I don’t know if you’re in the market for another building right now, but I know how you like the older ones with character. We’ve been managing a twelve-unit on Sheffield for some time now. The owner lives there, but after his wife died, he didn’t want the hassle of managing it himself. The minute I saw it I thought of you. It’s been in the owner’s family since it was built in the mid-20s. But he’s getting older and his kids want him to move to Florida—you know the story. It’s been one of those ‘I want to sell/I don’t want to sell’ deals.

  “Anyway, he’s finally decided to sell, and I’ve got an appointment with him tomorrow morning to list it. I know it would be perfect for you. As I said, it’s twelve units, a nice courtyard, kind of run down at the moment, but it has a lot of potential and a lot of history from what I understand. I was going to call you on it anyway.”

  “Fantastic!” Elliott said. “There are several buildings on Sheffield I’ve had my eye on over the years. What’s the address, if you can tell me?”

  “I can do better than that,” Jim said. “Did you bring your car?”

  Elliott shook his head and indicated his left shoulder. “I’m trying to avoid driving for another couple of days,” he replied.

  “Well,” Jim said, “my aunt’s having me over for my monthly ‘you need a good meal’ dinner tonight, and she lives relatively close to you, so if you’d like, I can give you a lift home and we can drive by the place so you can have a quick look at it.”

  “That’d be great!” Elliott said.

  “I know damned well Evermore is buying us out mainly to get our listings,” Jim continued. “They want our name and our reputation, and they’ll run both right into the ground. Because we specialize in older buildings, they think that buying us out will let them con the owners into selling to Evermore. I think one of the things that finally convinced this particular owner to list with us was that somebody from Evermore actually approached him about selling. He turned them down because he knows they only buy to tear down.

  “And now I’m sort of between a rock and a hard place. He doesn’t know about Evermore buying us out and ethically I can’t tell him. But I’d feel rotten if he lists with us and Evermore takes over before it’s sold. Evermore’s bound to find a way to get it, and I’d hate to see that happen. I just thought it would be nice if I could yank something out from under them before I go.”

  “A truly noble thought,” Elliott replied. “They just outbid me on a building on Devon, so I’m definitely in the market for another one. I really appreciate your thinking of me.”

  Jim took another sip of his drink and said, “The minute I get his signature on the listing papers, I’ll tell him I know of someone who might be interested and try to set up an appointment to have you go through the place as soon as possible. Maybe tomorrow, even?”

  “That’ll be fine. I can’t guarantee it’ll be what I’m looking for, of course…”

  Jim gave a quick heads-up nod. “Understood,” he said. “But I really do think this place would be perfect for you. If you agree, it’s a win-win situation for all of us.”

  “I could use a win,” Elliott said. “Give me a call as soon as you can. I’ll stick around the apartment until I hear from you.”

  Jim glanced at his watch and emptied what little was left of his drink in one gulp. “Damn! Look at the time. Are you about ready to go?”

  Elliott drained his glass and got up from his stool. “Yep.”

  * * *

  The building in question was on Sheffield a few blocks south of Fullerton, and Elliott recognized it immediately. He’d actually had it on his “keep-an-eye-on” list for some time, and had on more than one occasion toyed with the idea of trying to find out who owned it and if they would be willing to sell.

  “Serendipity lives,” he remarked to Jim as they stopped momentarily in front of the building to give him a better look. He did not ask how much the listing price might be; he was already pushing his luck by having Jim tip him off on its availability. He had a general idea of what other properties in the area were going for, and figured that, all other things being equal, unless the seller was too far off base, he could handle it. But he also had faith in Jim’s skills in guiding the seller to a realistic asking price, and in his own in making the best possible deal.

  As he looked down through the courtyard to the building’s entrance, he suddenly felt an odd tingle of something he could not put his finger on—a flush of anticipation and excitement not unlike cruising someone across a crowded bar. He often got a feeling of anticipation when he first saw a prospective new property, but this was somehow different, more intense. He credited it to a certain perverse pleasure in knowing that if Al Collina were aware of what was going on, he would be mightily pissed. It may be only one building, but from what he knew of how Evermore was now being run, and what he could remember of Al from his childhood, he had no doubt but that Al would undoubtedly take Elliott’s depriving Evermore of it personally.

  For the rest of the ride to his condo, he managed to juggle a casual conversation with Jim with resurfacing memories of Al and the Collina family. Despite living next door to one another, the Smiths and Collinas had little contact. Vittorio, the family patriarch, was rock-bound first-generation Italian, having come from Sicily to Chicago as a teenager. It was rumored that he had been high up in Capone’s bootlegging operations, though he had never been convicted of a felony. He married relatively late in life and had been married only three years when his first wife, Al’s mother, died. Al was two and Vittorio was already nearly sixty. His second marriage, less than a year after his first wife’s death, produced another son, Johnny, and they subsequently adopted the daughter of one of Vittorio’s closest associates after the man and his wife both died in an automobile accident.

  Whereas many first-generation immigrants were eager for their children to assimilate, Vittorio not only gave his two sons old-country names—Alphonso and Giovanni—but insisted they be called exactly that in his presence. But Giovanni was always Johnny to Elliott.

  They were both twelve years old when they met, and though the Collina children attended strict Catholic schools, he and Johnny managed to become fast friends. Al was four years older than Johnny, and Elliott’s limited memories of him were distinctly unpleasant.

  At 16, Al was already a hypocrite and a bully, making life miserable for his younger brother and sister, raising general hell when his parents weren’t looking, and instantly becoming the perfect, pious son when they were. He was a tyrant and a liar, and tormented both Johnny and Marie endlessly. He was, in fact, exactly like his father, and not surprisingly, was Vittorio’s favorite child.

  Elliott found it interesting that Marie Collina had become a nun. He distinctly remembered Al teasing her mercilessly about her birthmark and never let her forget she was adopted.

  Elliott had had almost no contact whatever with their father, but remembered him as a dark, brooding old man with an always-furrowed brow and a look of constant suspicion. He’d seen a photo of Vittorio as a teenager, and was struck by how much he had looked like Johnny. Johnny’s mother, Sophia, was much younger than her husband, and his exact opposite in looks and personality. Elliott had liked her.

  It was with Johnny he had first discovered sex. Once having discovered it, the two boys spent every possible moment practicing it, coming perilously close to being caught on several occasions. Their testosterone-fest continued until the boys were sixteen and the Collinas moved to an estate on Lake Geneva, just over the border in Wisconsin. They exchanged a few letters at first, and then, as so often happens, gradually lost track of one another.

  Elliott still had a framed photo of himself with Johnny when they were about 14. The last he had heard, Johnny, always a free spirit, had quit college to join the Peace Corps. Vittorio, he remembered havi
ng heard somewhere, had died three or four years later in a fall down the stairs at the family home.

  All these facts had become just bits and pieces of information, which Elliott filed in his mental trivia drawer under “Collina.” A succession of other partners had soon taken Johnny’s place in Elliott’s expanding world, and had Al not peripherally reentered the picture with his purchase of Evermore Properties, the whole family would have just faded to those bits of trivia.

  He vaguely recalled, too, that only a couple of days before his accident, he had read of the death of Sophia Collina. She had become well known for her various philanthropies, and news of her death made all the local papers. And while these reminders of the Collinas made Elliott curious as to what had become of Johnny, he had no desire to approach Al to find out.

  Having been lost in his thoughts, Elliott was almost surprised when Jim drove up the ramp to his building. Jim dropped him off at the front entrance, saying again that he would call as soon as he had officially obtained the listing and set up an appointment for Elliott to see it.

  He had a quick dinner, then went in to use the den phone to dial Brad’s number. BJ answered with a teenager’s bored “Hello?”

  “Hi, Beej. Your dad home?”

  “Yeah, just a sec.…Dad!”

  Elliott winced at the volume of the shout.

  “It’s Uncle Elliott.”

  A moment of silence was followed by, “Hi, Elliott. What do you need?”

  Obviously, Brad knew him better than Elliott thought he did.

  “Do you have a minute to talk before dinner?” Elliott asked.

  “Sure,” Brad said.

  “I’ve been thinking about this John Doe thing. I’m curious as to what happened to his body. What’s the process? Where does he eventually wind up?”

  “Unclaimed bodies from the City of Chicago are held at the morgue for a time, and if they’re still unclaimed or unidentified, they’re then sent to Woodlawn Gardens in Woodlawn for cremation. We keep whatever information we have on the body on file, just in case, but…”