Chicago Noir

by Neal Pollack

  A few feet behind, Zoe battled to keep up. "Con permiso, con permiso," she repeated as the waters closed in on her. Then the crowd crushed around Destiny when she and Virginia hugged across the bar, the old woman shaking from so much emotion.

  "Listen, I'm with Destiny, really!" Zoe yelled, reaching so that she caught Destiny's arm with her fingers for a second. But no one could hear her. The shouting and whistling was thunderous. The DJ immediately injected a battery of percussion into the club, the clattering beginning of a salsa roundup they'd later learn he'd titled "Destiny's Cuban Fiesta Mix."

  "Destiny! Destiny!"

  Zoe was just about to give up hope of ever reaching her when suddenly a gunshot rang out. Then another and another. She leaped through the mob and yanked Destiny by the arm, pulling and pushing through the masses of sweaty human flesh until they were back outside, breathing the carnitas -infused air of 26th Street.

  "You've gotta tell me the truth!" Zoe demanded, leaning up on her toes to get in Destiny's face.

  "The truth? What the fuck are you talking about?" Destiny asked as she jerked her arm away and straightened her dress. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

  "What the … ? Just tell me, okay? What it is? What do you still have of Beto's that made you run, huh? What is it—an address book? The last two digits of a Swiss bank account? The combination of a secret safe? C'mon! What do you have that would make somebody want to kill for it twenty-five years later?"

  Destiny grabbed her by the shoulders. "Are you out of your mind?"

  "Am I … ? What? You didn't hear those shots in there?" Zoe asked, indignantly shaking herself loose.

  "Oh, for god's sake, Zoe—it's 4 o'clock in the morning and everybody in there has had three bottles of who-knows-what and they're out of control. It's a crazy, violent bar—that's all!"

  "That's all? But you've never been back—that has to be for a reason!"

  "Is this what you've really been getting at? Is that what all your interest has been about? This ridiculous telenovela scenario where I have some terrible secret that someone wants to avenge? Oh, Zoe, you're so much more Cuban than I ever gave you credit for!"

  Destiny started to laugh.

  "But …"

  A crowd was forming again.

  "There's got to be a reason …"

  "There is," she said, and she strolled back into La Caverna.

  Hours later, Destiny found herself back home, inhaling another Romeo y Julieta, and sucking on a cup of Cuban coffee with Quique, who'd gone to La Villita to pick her up. The sun was starting to gain power outside her window.

  "It was never about what you took from that place …" he said.

  "But what I left behind," said Destiny.

  Destiny ground the thin cigar out on her pink caiman ashtray. She sighed.

  "Got it back, though," she said, and patted the place on her chest where her heart beat.

  THE GREAT BILLIK

  BY CLAIRE ZULKEY

  19TH & SACRAMENTO

  The new neighbors moved in the winter of 1905 to a small place a few houses down. We'd come by to say hello to Mary, who was frightened and intrigued by the additions to the area. She sat in the front room, peering through the curtains to see if she could monitor the family's activities. She seemed jumpy and skittish as usual, but also excited.

  Our poor sour cousin Mary. Ginny and I didn't mean to make fun of her as much as we did. We probably had some leftover resentment from when our mothers told us to look after her when we were younger. It was hard not to mock someone who took herself so seriously. Granted, she didn't have all the opportunities in the world for excitement; she'd been appointed caretaker of the house when her mother died. But she acted like an old maid, so it was hard not to have fun at her expense sometimes, especially as life grew brighter and the city grew more exciting, while she grew more determined to stay away from it. So we tried to stay kind, because without us around, she'd have nobody to talk to other than that old clammed-up father of hers.

  "I hear they're Bohemians," she said. "Come from Cleveland."

  "Wouldn't they be coming from Bohemia?" asked Ginny, sipping her tea. Mary looked at her sharply.

  "Mrs. Vzral says that he's got three kids," Mary continued, "but I haven't seen any yet. Just his wife. She looks like a horrid woman."

  We gasped when the neighbors' front door opened, as if the aforementioned wife were going to come out and berate us after somehow hearing what Mary had said. Instead, out came a man. He was stout, with pale skin and short ginger hair, with black eyes that Mary called "piercing." I found them beady and ratlike, but she never listened to me. I preferred blue eyes anyway.

  The man stepped out in front of the house, carrying a sign. He took a hammer from his pocket and tacked it onto the front of the house. The sound carried into Mary's front room. The man looked at his sign brusquely, straightened it, and turned and walked back into the house.

  "For sale already?" asked Ginny again.

  "Shush," Mary said. "I wonder what that really is."

  "Well, we can't walk right up right now and look at it," I said, "or else he'll know we've been spying on him. Let's wait and have another cup and then we can walk by." I was just trying to torture Mary. She seemed like she wanted to run out the door. I found her small life irritating. Rushing into the street to see a sign tacked onto a little old house was the highlight of her day.

  After about twenty minutes, we got up. Ginny and I pretended to make a great deal about properly putting on our coats to stay warm, even though it was a mild day. Finally, we strolled outside, acting as if we were chatting about the weather.

  The sign was painted brown, with neat red and green lettering. It said:

  THE GREAT BILLIK CARD-READER AND SEER

  Mary's mouth hung open in a mystified gape.

  "Black magic," I said.

  "Rubbish," said Ginny.

  We tried to keep walking but Mary lingered, stupidly mouthing the words on the sign.

  For the next few days, Mary couldn't be budged from her home. She claimed she had housework to do but we knew she was keeping an eye on that strange man's house. I assumed she still believed what they had told us in Sunday School, that black magic was the devil's work, and she would keep the devil locked out of the house.

  Ginny rushed over one day. "You won't believe it," she said, and before I had a chance to respond, she told me.

  "My second cousin Ruth was downtown yesterday and she ran into her friend Sophia, who told her that she heard something unusual from Emma Vzral. Seems like Mary's gentleman friend is even stranger than we thought. Emma's father was delivering the milk to Billik and Billik stops him and gives him a strange look, and then says, 'Your enemy is trying to destroy you.'"

  "So the seer has seen something!" I said. "I hope the Vzrals got a good laugh out of it."

  "No," said Ginny. "Apparently they're quite frightened. You know how superstitious they are."

  "But I didn't think they'd fall for a shyster. I wonder if Mary knows more about this," I said, and we went to her house. When we told her, we realized that she hadn't heard the news, and was quite peeved that we'd found out information about him before she did.

  She was still infuriated a few days later. "I have walked back and forth in front of that house several times and even said hello, as new neighbors, and I don't know what is wrong with that man or that family," she said. "He won't acknowledge me at all." Apparently she was more intrigued by the magician than afraid.

  "So you have no enemy, let alone one that's trying to destroy you?" I asked.

  "No," said Mary, ignoring my joke. "But did you smell that foul odor yesterday?"

  "Was it Billik?" Ginny asked.

  "It was coming from Henry Reynolds's house, I found out. I just followed my nose," she said, proudly. "But do you know what Reynolds does for a living?"

  We looked at her blankly.

  "He's a milkman. Like Vzral! That's his enemy!"

  "So?"


  "I asked around, and one of the neighbors said that they saw Billik stride up to the Reynolds's house and pour a pail of some mysterious liquid on the front steps. He was cursing them!"

  "Mary, it doesn't seem terribly magical to me. A foul-smelling house is certainly a curse, but I don't think it's a mysterious one. What's wrong with you? I think you're a bit too caught up with this Billik person. Forget about him. Why don't you—"

  "No, thank you," Mary cut me off.

  A week later, Mary came over, looking smug. "Have you seen Mrs. Vzral lately?"

  "No, I haven't," I said, wanting to point out that I had better things to do than keep a watchful eye on all my neighbors.

  "Well, she's worn new dresses three days so far this week. And you know what that means."

  "Time for laundry?"

  "No, it means that the milk business is doing well. And you know why."

  "More cows?"

  "It was Billik! I told you, that man had powers!"

  I stared at Mary. "Have you spoken with this lunatic?"

  "Yes, I have," she said firmly. "And he was quite a gentleman. Anyway, he told me he had nothing to say to me."

  "So there you have it," I replied. "He's a charlatan, Mary, he's practically admitting it. Why don't you come back to us in the real world? Aren't you concerned at all about his intentions? Maybe this business is just a lure for gullible young women."

  Her face reddened and briefly crumpled.

  "Are you in love with him?"

  She was silent.

  "Mary, he's married. He's an immigrant. He's old. He's insane. He's ugly. Come on. You're almost twenty. Don't you want a man your own age?"

  "I have to go, I'm sorry," said Mary.

  And Mary didn't speak to us for several months. I'd see her in church, and she'd ignore me, but she'd stare venomously at the Vzral family, who appeared to Mass less and less frequently, looking worse and worse for the wear each time.

  Eventually curiosity got the better of me as well, and since Mary wasn't speaking to me, in spring I went up to Emma, the oldest of the Vzral children, after services one day. She and I had been in class together in elementary school, so it wasn't completely inappropriate, even though it was admittedly none of my business.

  "Is everything all right?" I asked, trying to seem casual. I couldn't tell if Emma recognized me or not but she looked pale and very thin, very tired.

  "My sisters Catherine, Elizabeth, and June are all working for that man," she said bitterly.

  "Billik?"

  "It's not enough that my parents have paid for his trips, new clothes, but now my sisters are working as maids and giving the money to him," she spat out.

  "But why?"

  "I see your friend creeping around him," she said, ignoring my questions. "You tell her to stay away from him."

  "Mary?"

  "Tell her to stay away," Emma said, and walked off.

  I went straight to Mary's house after Mass. She looked at me coolly when I answered the door but I ignored her expression.

  "Mary, have you been talking to Billik?"

  "Why do you care?"

  "Mary, I spoke with Emma Vzral at church—"

  "You did? What did she say? Did she tell you anything about Herman?"

  "Herman? "

  Mary fell silent.

  "Mary, what have you been doing?"

  "I don't know why he won't talk to me," she said.

  "Mary, honestly, are you in love with this man?"

  "No!" she shouted, loudly enough to make me jump. "No, I am not, " she whispered. "I just wanted to know if maybe … he could tell me things."

  "You don't actually believe—"

  "A mystic! I know it's silly but how often do you encounter something like that? I wanted to see if he could tell me about my future, about my father, about falling in love…"

  "And?"

  "He tells me he has nothing for me. To go away and leave him alone. And I blame the Vzral's, really, I do. They are hogging him all to themselves and I don't know why. They're selfish. He's helped them with their problems and they should just help themselves now."

  "You go over to his house often?"

  "I just wanted to get to know him better … I thought that maybe if he knew more about me, he could tell me things. Or even just tell me about his travels, about his old home and his family. His mother was a witch, you know," she said, so matter-of-factly that I laughed out loud.

  "Mary, you're going to be burned for being a heretic. What's next, making offerings to the gods?"

  But she gazed out the window, eyes narrowing as she saw Mrs. Vzral hurry down the steps of Billik's house, something in her hand, her breath steaming in the cold April weather. Spring came late in Chicago, and briefly.

  "Mary, you are going to come out of town this weekend with Ginny and me," I said firmly.

  "What about father?" she asked dreamily, still looking out the window.

  "Ask one of the neighbors to take care of him. Ask my mother. No, you know what? Tell him to take care of himself."

  Mary let us drag her up to Detroit for the weekend. We stayed in a women's house, went to the theater and even a Tigers game, which was a little frightening but exciting to attend unescorted, although Mary kept wincing every time she heard the crack of the bat. Mary was quiet for the first half of the trip, but on Saturday she brightened and genuinely seemed excited by the city. By the time we returned, she was giddy and chatty, almost like we'd never seen her before.

  We returned Sunday night. Monday morning, we heard that Martin Vzral was dead.

  Mary was alarmed and unusually remorseful when we told her. It wasn't as if she'd been that familiar with Mr. Vzral. So I was surprised when Mary asked me to attend the funeral with her.

  You wouldn't know that it was a funeral if it weren't for the casket. I was surprised by how sparse the ceremony was. The Vzrals did well for themselves, I had thought, yet their clothes looked threadbare, there were no flowers, and the coffin looked as if it were made of plywood. I saw a hint of smugness in Mary's face as she took in the scene.

  "I always thought that family put on airs," she whispered to me, as we left the parish.

  The weather warmed up, and Mary proposed that we take a trip north to Riverview. Everyone was talking about the new amusement park and Ginny and I were surprised by Mary's proposal. It seemed too frivolous for her, but we attributed it to spring high spirits kicking in. Plus, we were excited to get a look at the new park.

  It was a wonderful day, much warmer than usual for May. We ate ice cream and rode around on a giant carousel and screamed down a toboggan ride. Tired, we strolled down the Midway, cheery German music pumping out from one of the tents, when Mary casually asked to stop by one.

  Set up under a dark purple tent was Billik, dressed impeccably in a new suit, with the sign reading the old words, "The Great Billik, Card-Reader and Seer."

  "Mary …"

  "For goodness sake, he's got a tent here at the amusement park," she said. "He wants people to come see him. He wouldn't be out here in the open if there was something wrong, would he?"

  "All right," I said. "Let's go. I want to get a look at him up close and personal."

  "No," she said forcefully.

  "You don't want to see him?"

  "No, I do … just, not, all together."

  I looked at Billik, who stared straight ahead at the fair, as if he were alone in his home, looking out the window.

  "Fine, Mary. But I'm going to see him first."

  She made as if to protest, but then thought better of it. "Good," she said sweetly. "I hope he has some good news for you."

  I strode up to the booth, but my heart was pounding. I wasn't sure why. Billik ignored me until I stood in front of his table and cleared my throat. He looked up and nodded at me to sit down, without saying a word. He began flipping some cards around.

  "She bring some friends?" he asked.

  "Who?"

  Billik jerked his head
in Mary's direction. "She bring you along?" His English wasn't completely right, but he spoke with hardly any accent. His skin burst out of his collar, but was clean and smooth, pale and shiny like a baby's. He barely seemed to look at the oversized cards that he was handling, as they made a slapping sound. A breeze started blowing and it began feeling more like May in Chicago.

  "Tell her to stay away," he said. "She waste my time."

  "I tried telling her to stay away. She thinks you have powers."

  He stopped and looked up at me with the blackest eyes I have ever seen. "I do have powers. She has nothing for me to tell her."

  "She thinks you do, or you will," I said.

  "Stupid girl." He looked up at me and grinned. "You want fortune?"

  "No, I—"

  "Give me your hand." He grabbed toward my arm.

  "No. "

  "Who are your parents? Where do they work? You have nice house?"

  I hurried away. Before I could even talk to her, Mary practically ran into the tent.

  "What did he say?" asked Ginny, as we saw Mary eagerly sit down in the chair in front of Billik, who looked supremely uninterested.

  "He says that Mary's bothering him. He seems like a complete farce. He's mean. You go up there and you'll see."