Reverse Metamorphosis book one of the Irrevocable Change trilogy

by R. E. Schobernd

  “Mom...”

  “Be quiet! I’m not finished. Later when you were gone for several weeks on one of what you call antique trips, a man in New York City was shot dead and an entire building was blown up. And there are other instances since then. You can’t…”

  “Mom, stop it. I go on at least fifteen buying trips a year. Are you saying people are being killed every time I’m away, and you think I’m doing it?”

  “No, not every time you’re gone, but some times.” Margaret spoke softly, and as if she wasn’t entirely as sure of her position.

  “Well are people ever killed somewhere else while I’m here?” Clay asked, and moved to stand close to her.

  “Yes, but…”

  “There are no buts about it Mom. You’re adding one and one and getting six. I buy and sell antiques and make lots of money. I don’t need to go around killing people.”

  “But, when I read in the newspaper or see those things on TV it makes sense because you're gone when those people are dying.”

  “You need to start watching for bad things happening in other places when I’m home, then you’ll see they occur regardless of where I’m at, and I have nothing to do with them.”

  “I don’t know, I just don’t know. I get so confused and afraid. Sometimes I get so terrified I can’t function; I just huddle in a corner or get in my bed and cry.”

  “Then stop paying attention to the bad junk and concentrate on the good things in life.”

  “I’m sorry Clayton; I really don’t want to believe you are capable of those things; but I’ve always been afraid of what would happen to you since you’ve hung around with Tony.”

  As he pulled his mother close to give her a hug, and a kiss on the forehead, Clay was wondering if anyone else could have detected a pattern in his trips and might have connected them to his contracts. As for Margaret, he would make it a point to speak with her psychiatrist and learn more about her condition. Maybe medication would help her to deal with her fears. And perhaps it was time for a live in care provider to assist her and keep her company.

  The next day Clay called his lawyer and explained the circumstances of him and his family being harassed because of his friendship with Tony. The attorney felt it would be a simple matter to convince the district attorney to rein the police in; or face a lawsuit against the city for harassment.

  In October Clay visited Tony before leaving town for a week. A private investigator had located an ex-accountant who was scheduled to testify against people in New Jersey in a tax case. The man had been intimidated into testifying about money being transferred to offshore accounts before taxes were paid. The FBI witness protection program had relocated him to Alabama and put him up in a small town near the swamps where he could fish and golf all he wanted. A detailed account of his routine made the job simple; two shots to the back of the head from a silenced .32 caliber automatic while he was walking his dog in the evening. While the dying body was in the throes of its death dance another shot quieted the surprised dog when it started barking and jumping up and down. Two more bullets made mush of the turn coat’s brain and insured his death. The job was routine, but since the FBI was involved the clients wanted to be certain the hitter was capable of not leaving evidence behind. Seven days after leaving Chicago he was back home with a truck load of antiques; and more money to invest. The shop now had enough cash flow to absorb the extra money and even his accountant didn’t have a clue as long as he filtered it in slowly.

  Two days after his return Clay stopped at the bar to visit Tony and let him know the job had gone as planned. But, Tony had his own news to share.

  “I’m a pa pa! Adrianna had a baby boy last week. She says he takes after her old man already; weighed eleven pounds, nine ounces; twenty two inches long, and won’t let go of a tit once he gets a hold on it.”

  Clay had known about the pregnancy and tried to grin while replying. “Congratulations, you old grandpa. Do you feel any different?”

  “I feel a hell of a lot older. Me, a grandpa, can you imagine? Anthony Marshall Worthington they named him; after me and his daddy. Hope he calls me Pawpaw. Anna’s out there now and I’m flying out this weekend.”

  “Say Hi to everyone for me,” was all Clay could manage to say before waving and making his way out the back entrance. He sat in his car in the parking lot thinking about Adrianna and the baby before starting it. He had last slept with her in January, shortly after Walter’s funeral. There was a strong probability the child could be his; his and Adrianna’s son. He could well be the father, not Marshall Worthington. She had confided in him how Marshall wouldn’t touch her in bed until he had a rubber in place; once he had spent ten minutes trying to find one while she lay there alone until she got disgusted with him and left. Clay was twenty nine years old and might finally have a child. He had paid for two abortions in the last three years, not knowing if the pregnancies were his or not; and not caring. Now he was almost certain the child he did want was his, and he couldn’t be a father to it.

  The following weekend Clay had a family party planned at his house. All of the invitees had been asked to show up at two in the afternoon; two hours ahead of the time he had invited his mother over.

  A professional clown took Tom and Maria’s children outside in the cool fall afternoon to entertain them in a tent set up in the back yard. With the adult family members gathered around he announced his proposal to hire a live in aide for their mother; some one who could spend time with her everyday, be there at night when she became frightened, keep the house clean and see to her dietary needs. “I’ve spoken to her physiatrist and she says Mom has serious depression and paranoia. She isn’t responding to treatment at all. She thinks if Mom is left on her own the paranoia will get more severe and she might become suicidal. It’s either help at home or put her in a facility where she gets around the clock care. I’ll hire a live in assistant if the rest of you will provide some other things she’s going to need.”

  Walter Jr. was the first to speak up. “I think Mom is just lonely since Dad died. Maybe if we each took turns taking her in for a month or so she would be O.K.”

  Lizzy jumped out of her chair, agreeing with Clay, “No, we aren’t going to drag her around from one setting to another monthly. Don’t you see Walter, Clay is gone for weeks at a time, Maria lives up in Wisconsin, and she’ll do better in her own home with her own possessions.”

  “I think Clay has made a very generous offer,” Maria chimed in, “but I think he shouldn’t have to shoulder all of the cost. The rest of us can each afford to pay our fair share.” Tom was sitting next to her and stated his agreement.

  Walter frowned in resignation, “Well, I guess this means I’m over ruled on the whole matter, but I’m not sure we’ll be able to contribute. I’ve had some investments go bad recently and business has fallen off. I’ll kick in what I can from time to time, but we’ll have to see how much this person charges to determine what we can afford to put up.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Clay cut in dryly. “My offer still stands. I’ll take care of the salary for the lady if the rest of you will see to it Mom gets surprise gifts and visits from time to time, just to impress on her how much she means to all of us.”

  “OK, it’s a done deal,” cut in Lizzy. “If you want help interviewing people Irish and I will be glad to help.”

  “Here comes the hard part. Mom isn’t going to want to accept having a stranger living in her house,” said Clay.

  “Now,” Maria said while looking straight at Walter, “is the time we all need to stick together to convince her it’s the right thing, and we’re not backing down. And Walter don’t you dare give her any support to continue living alone! And I don’t believe your crap about your investments and your business being bad; you’re just a tight wad and don’t want to pay your fair share to provide for your own mother!”

  It took three weeks to find a woman who was acceptable to Clay, Lizzy, Irish and most important of all, to Margaret. S
he finally agreed to the live in help when her physiatrist demanded she listen to her children for her own good, since she wasn’t showing signs of improvement.

  Maria had the whole family at her and Tom’s house for Thanksgiving, where Margaret commented she and her live in, Rachel McCormick were becoming close friends. Clay was relieved and began looking forward to Christmas with real joy. Everything was right in his world.

  Chapter 30

  At two in the afternoon Tony and four of his friends were studying their cards, and each other. Each player was trying to discern from the facial expressions of the men around the table how strong a hand the opponents might have. Three observers of the game sat in wooden chairs against the back wall, watching the game or reading the morning newspaper. Five men and one woman were tucked up against the bar; a typical slow winter weekday afternoon. Most had placed their coats on the rack mounted on the Gerson Street wall a short time after they had come in out of the fresh three inch layer of snow. Old snow had been on the ground for a week, since two days before Thanksgiving Day. A lone man sat in a booth with his back toward the main entrance door, staring intently in the direction of the card game. He had entered shortly after noon and was on his fifth glass of beer. A newspaper lay scattered on top of the table and in the seat across from him, but he made no move to read it. The old brown short leather jacket he wore had become too warm and he had unzipped it, but kept it on.

  Mickey had sat down across from the stranger when he delivered the third beer and tried to strike up a conversation. The man seemed depressed and let the bartender’s attempt at conversation fall flat. He made no verbal replies, merely shook his head yes or no, or shrugged as if to say he really didn’t care one way or the other. Mickey was enough of an amateur sociologist to know the man was hurting inside and needed help to deal with what ever was bothering him. But the man obviously wasn’t ready to open up to a stranger in a bar to discuss his problem.

  Two of the men at the bar motioned for refills of their whiskey, and when Mickey turned back around after replacing the bottle, he noticed the booth was empty. The short, thin, quiet man had moved to the end wall, standing alone, watching the card game. Mickey served the drinks and got involved in a discussion about lake fishing and occasionally glanced at the group at the round table. Something wasn’t right! Excusing himself from the fish stories Mickey moved to the middle of the bar to draw three drafts. From the corner of his left eye he saw movement; un-natural movement, fast, exaggerated and out of place. Then he heard gasps from the table crowd as he turned fully to look in their direction. His first glance focused on the man in the brown leather coat. Then, he saw the pistols, one in each hand. Muzzle blast erupted as both guns were being fired, loud sharp blast interspersed with even louder large caliber shots. As quick as he could respond Mickey took two steps to his left to reach under the bar for the .45 caliber semi-automatic. Raising the gun, he saw bodies falling out of chairs around the table, other men scrambling away, going outside his field of vision; and then he felt the recoil from his own gun. Once, twice, before he felt a hammer blow to his chest as the assailant fired a single shot at him. The last thing Mickey saw was Tony lying with his back on the floor with his legs sliding off the frame of the overturned chair he had been sitting in; and then Mickey crumpled in a dying heap behind the bar.

  Clay was at the shop talking with customers when Gladys interrupted him to say he had an urgent personal call from a lady named Anna. Upon learning Tony, Joey, Mickey and several others had been shot, his mind recoiled and went back in time to another mass shooting. Surely Tony had not been attacked by another gang.

  It was close to three thirty when Clay arrived at Saint Mary’s Hospital and made his way to the emergency room. He found Anna surrounded by a small group of Tony’s men in the waiting room. As he approached, she saw him and broke away from the others. Her eyes were red and her head shook from side to side as she held her arms out to him. “He’s dead Clay, he’s dead. Tony didn’t make it Clay, he’s dead.” Clay couldn’t believe it; not Tony, not the Bull. He couldn’t be dead, there had to be a mistake. His best friend, his mentor, his pal who was like a father to him couldn’t be dead.

  Clay guided Anna over to the cloth covered metal chairs and made her sit with him. “Do you know what happened?”

  “No, I just finished talking to the Doctor on duty. Tony was dead when he got here, Mickey is dead and Joey is in surgery.”

  Clay turned to the group of men standing off to the side talking among themselves. “Were any of you at the bar when the shooting happened?”

  Two men nodded and said they knew what happened. Don Balzack started first, “There was this little guy who come in around lunch time and sat over in a booth all by himself for a couple of hours, drinking drafts. Then he moved over to stand behind the card table where Tony and the others was sitting. I was in a chair against the wall watching the game and talking to George Waller, when all of a sudden I hear shots. I see this guy with a gun in each hand calmly taking aim and shooting the guys at the table.”

  Emil Coulter cut in, “He was firing both guns at the same time he was, and hitting what he aimed at. Then I heard another canon go off and plaster flew off the wall; but then I seen the little guy kind of jump, like somebody hit him in the gut with a fist. He raised one of the guns and fired at Mickey and I seen Mickey drop. Then I dived to the floor and put my arms over my head hoping to hell he didn’t shoot me too.”

  Don continued, “The guy fired a couple of more times and then he limps out the back door, calm as could be.”

  “So Mickey must have hit him?” Clay asked.

  “Yeah, he was hit, in the leg, the right leg I’m sure; nobody else even had time to pull a piece.”

  “Does anybody know who he is?”

  All of the men had gathered around to listen to the details of the shootings and all shook their heads negatively or said no.

  “What did he look like? Describe him.”

  Several men started talking at once. From them he learned the man was about five feet nine inches tall, slender, with dark hair cut short and in his early fifties.

  Clay got up to go to the bathroom and headed down the hall, following directions from a floor nurse. Inside the bathroom standing at the urinal he saw one of the men from the waiting room enter and take the urinal next to him. The man looked around before speaking. “I don’t know the guy’s name, but I’m sure I saw him about three months back at a hardware store over at Seventy Second Street and Jurguson. Mortons is the name, it’s just around the corner. He’s a clerk there, I was buying some plumbing parts for my mom’s house and he waited on me.”

  Clay thanked the man they called “Shiner” and told him, “When the police come around keep the information to yourself. I’ll make sure it gets to the right people.”

  Back at the emergency room nurses station Clay learned Joey was out of surgery and had been moved to the post surgery recovery room. No visitors were being admitted. Clay located a nurse in the hall outside the recovery area and stopped her. “Miss, I’m Joey Tadono’s brother, Donnie. I’m a Presbyterian minister and would like to be with my brother to pray for him.” The nurse smiled and nodded and said, “Of course Reverend. Follow me.”

  When the nurse had left them Clay raised his head and stopped praying, so he could shake Joey out of his drug induced slumber.

  “Joey, wake up, it’s Clay. Tony’s been shot and killed. Joey, can you hear me? Wake up damn it, wake up. Joey’s eyes blinked as he slowly fought his way out of the grasp of a heavy fog to focus on what was being said.

  “Tony’s shot?”

  “Yes, the man who shot you killed Tony and Mickey.”

  “Who was it?”

  “I was hoping to hell you could tell me.”

  Joey was drifting from consciousness into sleep and Clay shook him again. “Joey, who would have done this and why?”

  “I don’t know. Everything has been quiet and running good, no problems; no probl
ems. You sure Tony’s dead?”

  “Yeah, I’m sure he’s dead.”

  “Ole Tony; he was something wasn’t he, just knocked up some young gal half his age and paid her a couple G’s to get an abortion. Ain’t it just like him, always after that young pussy.”

  Joey was still grinning when he faded out again. Clay tried again to wake him, but this time to no avail.

  When Clay got back to Anna she had regained her composure and was talking to a hospital administrator about arrangements to transfer Tony’s body to a funeral home. Some of the men had left and Anna had kept Donnie Palmotto with her. Clay felt she had accepted Tony’s death and was now taking command of the situation. The real Anna had emerged. Clay said the required “If there’s any thing I can do,” and left to deal with his own emotions.

  First Jimmy and now Tony, both of the closest friends he had ever made were dead. He knew from experience there was no choice but to learn to live with it, but damn it hurt. The friendship he had developed with Jimmy was of boys and young men still searching for their identity. His friendship with Tony was more, much more. It was based on ties between two mature men who had found individual success and were comfortable with themselves and their own achievements. They could meet on even ground and just be friends. But inside, Clay knew there was even more to it. There was a special bond holding them together; it made them want to be in each others company, caused them to want to share stories and important events in their lives. Their friendship was the stuff legends were built on, stories of relationships where men’s lives depended on one another; and where each could trust the other completely. Well, almost completely. He had screwed Anna when Tony was in the hospital. He grinned a grin Tony would understand. Hell, if he were married and Tony screwed his wife he would probably blame the wife for being a slut and forgive Tony. And he was sure if Tony had known about his one night with Anna he would maybe throw a punch and then help Clay get up off the floor and shake his hand. Their friendship was that strong.