Twenty minutes later two men entered the room and made introductions. The middle aged man was Detective Sergeant Coleman; a younger detective was introduced as Detective Roger Warren. Coleman was getting pudgy and smelled of smoke and cheap aftershave.
Clay and Coleman sat in straight backed metal chairs opposite each other at a steel table. Warren leaned against a wall across from Clay and watched him intently while Coleman spoke.
“I understand you were at the home of Tony and Anna Giliano for several weeks after Mr. Giliano was shot?”
“Yes, I was.”
“Would you care to tell us why you were there; what your connection is to the Gilianos?”
“I’m a family friend. Tony and Anna’s youngest son, Jimmy, was my best friend before he died. I comforted Anna and accompanied her to the hospital daily to visit with Tony.”
“You had no other involvement?”
“No.”
“Who else was staying at the house besides you?’
“There was Anna, her mother and father and Tony’s mother, plus the staff.”
“No one else?”
“No one.”
Warren spoke up, “Were there any visitors during the time you were there?”
Warren was slim, of average height, and wore his brown hair in a crew cut. Clay guessed him to be five or six years older than himself and noted what he assessed to be a very self controlled and serious manner. Clean, well groomed, clothes pressed and tailored to fit, shoes shined, fingernails clipped. He appeared solid and impressive, but not glitzy or attention getting.
“No, I don’t recall any visitors, except for Joey Tadono.”
Coleman spoke again, “And what did Mr. Tadono want?”
“I wouldn’t know; he spoke to Anna. He and I aren’t friends; I just know who he is.”
“Would you know what he does for Mr. and Mrs. Giliano?”
“No.”
“Where were you the evening of Saturday May 29?”
“What, a little over two weeks ago? The thirty first was Memorial Day; I went to a family bar-b-que. The Sunday before I went to visit Tony; I had a hang over from the night before. Saturday evening I was at the Twelfth Street Saloon.”
“Who else was there?”
“When I got there I talked to John the bartender and a couple of guys I had seen there before, but I don’t know their names.”
Coleman frowned and asked, “I want you to think about this real carefully before you answer. How long were you there and who else was there before you left?”
“About mid evening I had too much to drink so I went upstairs to a room to lie down and went to sleep. I got up around midnight, went down the back stairway, and drove to Tony’s house and went to bed. I don’t remember seeing anybody when I left; I was still pretty well shot.”
“Warren, do you have any more questions for Mr. Albrecht? If not, I’m done and he can go.” Coleman rose from the table.
“The only question I’ve got is how Mr. Albrecht hung around the Giliano house and bar for two weeks, and visited Tony Giliano every day in the hospital and doesn’t know a damned thing about plans to kill twenty people?”
Clay shrugged and said pointedly to Detective Warren, “I don’t know a thing about any plans to kill anyone. Do you have evidence linking me or the Gilianos to those murders?”
“No, we don’t have evidence pointing to you or Tony Giliano. But I can't believe complete strangers retaliated in his behalf after he was attacked, can you?”
Coleman stepped over to stand in front of Warren. “Knock it off Roger, Mr. Albrecht volunteered to come down and tell us what he knows.” Turning to Clay he said, “You’re free to leave Mr. Albrecht."
After Clay left the room Coleman confronted his partner, “I don’t think the kid knows anything about this.”
Warren was silently fuming, “He was too calm and prepared to be as innocent as you think he is. People without a record of previous arrest are always nervous and talkative when they’re interviewed. He's too cool, he’s knows what went down.”
“You and I know what happened and why, and the kid and most of Chicago does too. If we come up with something leading back to him we’ll call him back, otherwise we leave him alone.”
Two weeks later Clay stopped at the bar to visit. It was Tony’s second day back at work and he was at the round table. The wheel chair he was in looked like it was a size too small under his bulk. A walker had been placed against the wall where he could get to it easily.
As Mickey moved to the beer taps to draw a draft beer, Clay pulled change from his pocket to pay for the beer, but Mickey said with a knowing wink “Put it away. The boss says your money’s no good here. Anything you want is on the house; forever.”
Mickey had been the day bartender for years and was considered a fixture in the bar. This was a draft beer and straight whiskey type place; even a woman would get laughed at for ordering a “Pink Slipper”, a “Manhattan” or any of the other fancy mixed drinks. Mickey would have his usual “chew” in his cheeks; a large plug of “Redman” tobacco in the right side and a whole pack of “Spearmint” chewing gum in the left cheek. And never was the man seen to spit! He looked like a toad with those huge cheeks puffed out both sides of his face. Mickey had been a boxer in his youth, but now was over weight and diabetic. Still, when there was trouble he could be counted on to rush to the appropriate area of the bar and grab the Louisville Slugger, the .38 caliber automatic or the 12 gauge shotgun, depending on what level of trouble needed to be dealt with.
Tony looked up from the paper he was reading, stuck out his right hand in greeting to Clay and said, “While I was laying in the hospital I got to thinking. What have I always had a yearning to do and haven’t done yet. So, ole Tony’s going to buy himself a boat. Next summer we’re going boating.”
“What kind of boat Tony; a fishing boat, cabin cruiser, or a real yacht?”
“A yacht! A big white fucking yacht. I could have been dead instead of just shot up a little. And what the hell good would all the money I have done me. I’d be lying in the ground and some other fucker would be after my money; and my old ladies ass. So, from now on, if there’s something I want to do and I have the money, I’m going to do it. And right now I want a big boat so I’m going to get one, just as soon as I get out of this damn wheel chair and get on my legs again.”
Clay then extended his right hand to Tony and while both shook hands again said, “Congratulation Tony, and good luck on finding a boat, Skipper.” He followed up with, “Mickey told me what you said about my paying. Thanks.” He then raised his beer glass and gave Tony a salutation.
Tony motioned for Clay to lean closer and whispered, “Those two cops who talked to you, Coleman and Warren. Coleman’s one of mine, but Warren is going to be a pain in the ass when he gets more seniority on the force. Coleman say’s Warren didn’t like you, but he was able to get you deleted from the ongoing investigation. Let me know if you get any trouble from Warren and I’ll put a damper on him.”
Clay continued to make regular appearances at the union hall the rest of the year and on into the new year. He had conserved his funds and supplemented his weekly expenses by taking any work he could find, but it wasn’t enough to keep ahead of the expenditures. He had several things going and had unexpectedly secured a kitchen remodeling job which he finished early one Friday afternoon. After stopping for a few beers and shooting the bull with Mickey he headed home before supper.
When Clay arrived home he saw Tom and Maria’s pickup truck in the drive way. Then he noticed Walter Jr.’s Oldsmobile sedan. Somebody in the family must be having a birthday, or something bad happened. Then it hit him. His birthday, February 18, was in two days. It was HIS birthday party! It was the only time everyone in the family got together, other than for Thanksgiving and Christmas, or a funeral.
The high point of all this was his little buddy, Tommy, would be staying for the weekend. Clay and Tommy had developed a special relationship ea
rly in Tommy’s infancy. Clay didn’t fully understand it, but placed a high value on preserving it. One night when Tommy was nine months old he was having a bad time, cranky and irritable, wouldn’t go to sleep; nothing Maria or Tom did pleased him. Clay had volunteered to take him from Maria, and walked around the house holding him while softly humming a ballad until he calmed down. Everyone was amazed at how quickly the situation was altered, and remarked Clay would be called upon frequently to baby sit in the future. From there on there was a special bond between them. They had some inner connection drawing them together anytime there was an opportunity.
As Clay entered the back door into the kitchen he was greeted with loud “Happy Birthday’s” from Margaret, Maria, Lizzy and Hazel. Both of Maria’s kids came running into the kitchen from the living room, with Tom Jr. shouting “Uncle Clay’s here”! While he was trying to wipe his shoes on the throw rug at the back door and take off his gloves and coat, both children were pulling at him wanting attention. The coat and gloves were tossed in the corner, and then little two year old Maria and the rowdy four year old Tom Jr. were scooped up one in each arm for hugs and kiss’s. As Clay made his way through the kitchen he received greetings and kisses from each of the women, who were frying chicken and preparing the rest of the birthday meal. Entering the living room he was greeted with handshakes or waves, and birthday greetings from each of the men seated there. After getting settled into an overstuffed chair in the conversation circle, Clay began to take part in the conversation while paying attention to both of the small children. Tom Sr. was talking about the large amount of snow the eastern area of Wisconsin had received, and the impact it was having on livestock.
Clay listened to the three men talk while tickling both small children until they squealed like little pigs. Tom spoke passionately about his work with animals, and reflected on how he wished city people had the same respect for the animals they owned as farmers had for their livestock. Tom Sr. was twenty eight years old; three years older than Maria. He had graduated from college with high honors in the practice of veterinary medicine and had established his practice outside his home town. He and Maria had met years ago when she and Clay would visit Walter’s relatives in Wisconsin to spend a week or two in the summer on the farm. As they had grown older Clay had stopped going, but his sister had spent extended periods there, because of the developing relationship with Tom.
Little Maria grew tired of the tickling game, crawled down from Clay’s lap and wandered out to the kitchen with the women. Tommy quieted down, squirmed around a few times to get settled in comfortably while cradled in his uncle’s arm, and began to doze off. His eyes would slowly close, then he would fight off sleep long enough to open the lids half way, only to have the weight of sleepiness draw them down again, until finally they were so heavy they stayed shut and his breathing slowed for a deep sleep. Clay liked the weight and the warmth of the youngster close to him.
Clay listened as Walter Jr. directed the conversation toward him. “Dad say’s you haven’t been having any luck getting back to work since taking time off during the summer. Do you think things will open up later in the spring?”
“I’m sure it will. There are quite a few big commercial and industrial jobs scheduled to kick off this year.”
“Well, when you do go back you’ll have to be more loyal to your job and not be quitting on a whim. Good jobs are hard to come by these days and you don’t want to mess up your future. And while we’re on the subject, associating with those Gilianos is going to get you in even more trouble; I can see by the set of your chin you don’t like talking about this, but I’m your brother and I’m concerned. I don’t want to see you in trouble, or worse.”
“Walter, I understand your concern, but I have a life to live the same as you do, and I’ll make the decisions about what I do and who I do it with, the same as I give you your right.”
“Well little brother, I know Mom and Dad are both concerned, as am I, and we just don’t want to see you get caught up in big trouble....”
“Walter, I know how you and Mom and Dad feel, but frankly it’s none of your business. I’ve not ever told you who to associate with or who to have for clients in your business. You’re out of line bringing it up, especially at a family function. And don’t call me “little brother” as if you’re so much older and wiser.”
“But you…” Walter tried to continue the conversation.
“Can it Walter. End of discussion. Got it?"
Clay and Walter both tried to speak at the same time until they were stopped.
“Ha! Enough, you two! Knock it off already. We’re here to celebrate a birthday,” their father cut in calmly but with understated authority.
Clay and Walter Jr. exchanged sheepish looks and both realized the discussion had gone too far. Clay heard Tom change the subject as he was leaving the living room to take Tommy to his father’s bedroom where he laid the sleeping boy on the double bed and pulled the cover over him. When he returned, the men were standing and heading toward the kitchen for supper.
The men congratulated the women on the superb meal of fried chicken, mashed potatoes and milk gravy, corn, green beans and home made biscuits. The biscuits were one of Maria’s specialties and all of the men looked forward to a meal where they were included. Everyone ate too much and was too full for desert, so Margaret suggested the women wash the dishes and they would serve desert later after Clay opened his birthday presents.
After leaving the table Clay headed for the back door to step outside and have a cigarette. Before he could close the door Tom slipped out with him. In the below freezing temperature both knew their smoking would be very quick. Staying close beside the house and out of the cold breeze, Tom struck a wood match to light his Camel and then extended his cupped hands over to Clay.
“I know little Walt pissed you off before supper; he has a way of turning everyone off. No finesse there; but he does mean well. I don’t want to do the same thing, but the family members, including me and Maria are hoping you don’t get in serious trouble by hanging out with some of the people you have as friends. End of lecture and no discussion required.” As Tom took another drag from his cigarette, Clay smiled, “Thanks Tom; I will be careful.” Both flipped their butts onto the driveway, shook hands, and returned to the house.
Lizzy was waiting for them to return and coaxed him into sitting in on a pinochle game just getting organized in the living room. She took his arm and escorted him there and then watched as the game heated up, cheering for he and his partner Walter Sr. to win.
Chapter 13
It was the second week of March and Clay was still out of work. He had checked in at the labor hall weekly for the past six months and had watched as some of the laziest laggards on the unions membership roles were put on jobs; while he was passed over time after time. The B.A. was out to teach him, and through his example, all other members a lesson. When you’re assigned to a job you stay on it to the end; or until the union tells you to move if you want steady work.
During the six month period of unemployment he had spent some of his savings and was becoming aggravated at not advancing financially. He had made some side money buying used items at yard sales and selling them to antique shops and second hand stores. He had also started hanging out at the bar more frequently. One day while they were upstairs talking Tony said, “I got a call this morning from a fella in Memphis who wants a hitter to take somebody out. I told him I don’t have anybody in the highly skilled professional league so he’ll have to keep looking. But listen to this. He said some guy he never saw before walked into his place, demanded to talk to him, and then threw down an envelope with twelve thousand dollars cash onto his desk. The guy said he didn’t know how or where to hire a killer but he needed one. Seems some pervert killed his young boy twelve years ago. The pervert got caught and did time. But, a year ago he got released and right away killed another young kid. Then some slick lawyer got him off on a technicality and he’s running around t
he streets again. So then, the caller say’s he’ll throw in another three grand to get this pedophile taken out, cause he don’t like those kid killing perverts either.”
“I’ll do it,” Clay said quietly, without even thinking through what he was committing himself to. “Don’t look at me like I've got two heads. Why should it surprise you I’d take a job like this? It’s something I’ve already proven I’m good at, so why not make some money by taking out a low life scumbag?"
Tony leaned forward, utterly amazed! "Kid this isn't...."
"Look, the labor B.A. wants to make me squirm and suffer before he puts me back to work, if he ever does. I’m at the point where I don’t ever want to go back and have to crawl for the bastard. This gives me a way to go around him and make money to last until he gets tired of fucking with me or I tell him to go to hell.”
Tony had a look of incredibility on his face as he tried to reason with him. “Clay, listen to me. This is not something you just jump into, going around whacking strangers. The guys who become hitters are different and everybody treats them like they’re different. You don’t realize what you’re getting into. Are you thinking about the emotional strain of whacking people you don’t have any personal grudge against? There’s a big difference between taking somebody out who’s a threat to you or your job, and killing people just for the money. And are you prepared to be a loner the rest of your life? Most of the guys don’t want to associate with professional hitters because they get uneasy around them. You’re always wondering if there’s a contract on you and the hitter is just getting close to you to set up a clean hit.”
“No, I really hadn’t thought any of this through because there wasn’t a need to. I didn’t think I’d ever have to kill anyone again so the possibility of doing this never came up. But now my situation is different. I don't have any other options and I need money.”
Reverse Metamorphosis book one of the Irrevocable Change trilogy Page 12
