Unremarkable

by Geoff Habiger

  “Your lady friend is quite nice looking,” she said, changing the subject. “You should invite her over for tea someday.”

  “Thank you,” I said. “I’ll do that.” I could tell she was fishing for information. It didn’t surprise me; Mrs. R. had been a true busybody since the day I had moved in. But in this case, I was pretty sure she was fishing on my Mom’s behalf. I had casually mentioned Moira to Mom the day after I had met her. Since then, she’d been trying to find out as much as she could about Moira. Unlike me, apparently. Mom would have preferred that I find a nice Jewish gal from the neighborhood, like Melissa Adamovicz, and she was looking for any opportunity to find Moira’s flaws and weaknesses so that she could parade them before me. Mrs. Rabinowitz was a willing accomplice in gathering this information.

  “She does keep strange hours doesn’t she?”

  “Hmm?” Now I was curious. Did Mrs. R. know something that could be useful to me?

  “Well, she left your place so late in the afternoon the other day. Such an odd time of the day to be heading out. Well, that is to be leaving without you, of course. It’s probably a normal time for a couple to head out for going to dinner or something, but she left without you, so that was strange. And she headed out in weather like this without a coat. You should tell her she’ll catch her death.”

  I sighed. She was almost as bad as Joe. “There’s nothing weird about her leaving in the afternoon. We spent the day talking and since I work nights I was ready to go to sleep. It would be very imprudent of her to stay while I was sleeping.” I smiled at my ingenuity. I had managed to answer Mrs. Rabinowitz’s question in such a way to make me seem like the height of purity and innocence with my girlfriend.

  “Well, that’s nice to know. But why did she come back later?”

  Wait, what? “She came back later? When?”

  “It was last night.” She paused in thought. “Though apparently she didn’t stay long as she left just a few minutes after arriving. Did the two of you get into a scuffle? It looked like her lips were bleeding.”

  “No, of course not.” I was confused. Was I so out of it last night that I didn’t remember Moira coming by? Why would she come by and not wake me up? Mrs. Rabinowitz must be wrong.

  “Look, Mrs. R. I need to go meet my parents.”

  “Of course, dear. You’re such a good son.” She waved as I turned to head down the stairs. “Say hello to your mother for me.”

  Chapter 13

  Outside it was cold, but sunny, with only a slight breeze coming in off Lake Michigan. I turned up the collar on my coat and pulled my hat down as far as it would go. Why would Moira come back and not tell me? I was confused, and the only way to find the answers was to find Moira.

  We had first met at the diner at the Post Office and she had continued to meet me there every morning except for St. Valentine’s Day. She’d only come back to my apartment once, and we had met one time for drinks at that speakeasy. I had never been to her place and I didn’t even know in which part of town she lived. She had always wanted to talk about me, and to be honest, I was really only interested in trying to get into her pants. As long as she came to me, I never bothered to learn where she spent the rest of her time.

  As I walked to the L, I wracked my brain to try to remember if Moira had ever said anything about where she lived, or even just a place where she hung out. I thought back to our first meeting at the diner. I had just gotten off of my shift and Joe and I had gone down to the diner for breakfast. I was still getting used to working the night shift and chatting with Joe was helping me to get into the routine. The booths had been full that day, so Joe and I had sat at the counter.

  Right after I sat down a woman’s voice asked me, “Is this seat taken?”

  “No,” I said. I caught a glimpse out of the corner of my eye and turned to look at her, a wolfish grin on my face. As I finally got a good look at her, I was stunned. She was the most beautiful person that I had ever laid eyes on. Her skin was a pale alabaster, with a little color on the cheeks and full, red lips. She was wearing a low-cut sky blue blouse with a matching skirt and a long string of pearls. Perched on top of flaming red hair was a white cloche hat with blue trim decorated with tiny blue flowers. She was dressed like she was ready to go out on the town.

  She pulled a cigarette out of a mother-of-pearl case and tapped it twice. “Do you have a light?” Her voice was sultry.

  In reply, I pulled out my Ronson and lit her cigarette.

  “Thanks…,” she paused, prompting me.

  “Saul.” I smiled at her. “You’re welcome…” I returned the favor.

  “Moira.” She took a pull on her cigarette. “I do love a man who’s helpful and polite.” She smiled at me, revealing perfect teeth.

  “I’m always happy to help a beautiful lady.” I know it wasn’t the best pick-up line in the history of the world, but give a guy a break. I had just gotten off of a 10-hour shift.

  “You must be new around here,” she stated as Francine poured her a cup of coffee. “I usually come in a couple times a week after a long night, and I think I would have remembered seeing you before.” She gave me a small smile.

  “I just started a few days ago,” I said. “And I know I would have remembered seeing you before.”

  “Well, I’m glad I decided to stop in this morning.” She reached out and lightly touched my arm. An almost electric shock ran through me. “Had I gone straight home, I would have missed meeting you.” Her smile warmed.

  “Do you live nearby?” I asked, not really caring. I was trying to make small talk so that she’d stay around. My plan was to offer to walk her home and see what developed.

  “I get around.” She took a sip of coffee. “What about you? Do you like working for the Post Office?”

  “It’s pretty good so far,” I shrugged, feeling that I needed to say more. “It’s allowed me to meet some ‘interesting’ people.” I nodded toward Joe. I tried to give her my best smile. My heart skipped a beat when she smiled back.

  “So what do you do when you aren’t delivering mail?” She ran a manicured finger around the rim of her coffee cup.

  “I don’t actually deliver the mail. I work up on the third floor in the sorting room. It’s not the most glamorous job in the world, but it has to get done.” She looked at me expectantly, her green eyes seeming to bore into me as I realized I hadn’t actually answered her question. “Well, not much really. I like to go out dancing, and having the occasional drink.”

  She laughed, “So I guess that means you aren’t dry.”

  “Heck, who is these days?” I laughed as well. “You know, you and I could go out some night for a drink.”

  “Are you asking me on a date, Saul?” She smiled coyly at me. “Are you always this forward with women?”

  “Well.…I mean…uh…” I stammered, and I could feel my face turning red.

  “Slick move, man,” Joe laughed at my expense.

  Moira took a pull on her cigarette. “I like a man who takes charge of things.” She gave me a wink. Joe’s laughter stopped and he mumbled something about “of all the luck” as he got up from his stool and headed out of the diner.

  “We should get together tonight,” Moira suggested.

  “Uh,” I hesitated. I had to work tonight and I knew that if I missed work I would be out of a job, but I also didn’t want Moira to think that I was a nebish. “I can go out for a bit, but I have to be at work by ten.” There—an almost perfect balance of commitment and refusal.

  “Have you heard of the Green Mill Lounge?”

  “Over on Broadway?” I asked.

  Moira nodded. “Meet me there tonight at seven.” She patted my hand and got up from her stool, crushing out her cigarette before she headed for the door. I stared after her, watching her gams as she strode across the diner. I turned in my stool to follow her path out the door as she tu
rned and headed up the street.

  Francine stuck a napkin in my face. I look at her quizzically. “To clean up the drool, hon.”

  I snapped out of my reverie as the L stopped at Canal. I got off the train and headed out of the station. I was thinking that I would start my search at the Green Mill, the speakeasy we went to on our first date, but I knew that they wouldn’t be open until later in the evening. I guess I should have thought this through more before leaving my apartment, but the smell of fresh-brewed coffee coming from the diner reminded me why I had left early.

  I walked into the diner and sat at the counter. The place looked different in the day. I was used to the bright lights at night; the diner was a shining beacon in the dark. The muted daylight spilling in through grimy windows made the place look run down. The light seemed to accentuate the nicks in the countertop, the tears in the seats, and the stains on the floor.

  “Aren’t you a little early for work, hon?”

  I looked up at Francine. I didn’t realize that she worked this late in the day, or on Sundays for that matter. “Sometimes a creature of the night wants to see what life is like during the day.”

  She smiled and automatically poured me a cup of coffee. “Looks like you had a rough time of it last night.” She pointed to my bruised cheek with the coffee pot.

  “You should see the other guy.” I smiled and picked up the cup. As Francine turned away, I called after her. “Hey, Francine?” She stopped and leaned on the counter, probably because business was slow at this time of the day. Francine was nice enough, but in the mornings she was always busy. It was one of the reasons she gave Joe such a hard time for harassing her. “Do you know the dame that I met here and have hung out with for the past week?”

  Francine turned her pretty blue eyes up toward the ceiling in thought. After a moment, she looked back at me and slowly nodded her head. “Yeah, that pretty red-head with the green eyes. She always looks like she’s just come from a night on the town.”

  “Do you know anything about her?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Oh, nothing,” I said quickly. “I just wanted to talk to her and I don’t know where she lives. I was hoping you might know something.” Why did I feel ashamed for asking about Moira? Wasn’t it common for a guy to want to find out secrets about the woman he loves? Of course, most gals probably don’t keep where they live a secret from their boyfriends.

  Francine gave me a quizzical look, and then shrugged slightly. “Sorry, hon.” She gave me a sympathetic smile. “I wish I could help you, but I don’t think I ever saw her come in before you started working here. Besides, I’m usually too busy in the mornings to really pay any attention to what goes on outside the diner.”

  Another customer sat down at the end of the counter. Francine patted my hand and left to take his order. I sat and drank my coffee, brooding. It had been a long shot that Francine would have known anything. I could ask the cook, I thought, but he sees even less of what goes on in the diner than Francine does.

  I finished my coffee and pulled out a nickel and put it on the counter. I gave Francine my thanks and told her that I’d see her in the morning; I then headed back outside.

  A cold wind had picked up and was blowing in off the lake. I pulled up my collar and shoved my hands deep into my pockets. Despite the cold, there were a lot of people out on the street. I turned toward Michigan Avenue and away from the L. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do, but the cold air felt good and it helped to clear my head. I thought back to the morning of Valentine’s Day. Why did Moira insist on meeting her up north? Maybe she lived up there? It was another long shot, but I was getting desperate. I turned and headed north.

  Chapter 14

  I walked up Michigan Avenue and wandered through Lincoln Park. Despite the cold and wind there were a lot of people out enjoying the sunshine this Sunday. I still wasn’t sure where to start looking for Moira or where she lived. This was nothing more than a shot in the dark. I started thinking that this search was hopeless before I had even started looking. I was seriously considering just forgetting about it and heading to my parents for dinner.

  How would I even try to find where Moira lived? Should I go up to every building in the neighborhood and ask people if a Moira lived there? It’s not like I had a picture of her to show anyone, and I’m sure that if I started asking questions to complete strangers I’d be lucky to just get a door slammed in my face.

  Who am I kidding? I thought to myself. It was stupid of me to even think that I could try to find Moira.

  I stopped in frustration and anger at myself for being so stupid, ready to give up the search. As I looked around, I noticed that the building I had stopped in front of was the SMC Cartage Co, the site of the massacre. I hadn’t intended to end up here; I think I would have avoided the place had I been consciously thinking about it. But, as I looked at the plain brick front and the awning over the large front window, I was struck with an urgent curiosity. I had been so close on the day of the killings, and my life had been turned upside down since then, so I felt a need to see the place that, in my mind, had changed my life.

  I walked up to the entrance and looked in through the window. There was a short entryway with an open door just inside. Through the doorway I could see a door that presumably led to the back of the building and what looked like an office through another door on the left. I knew from the newspaper photos that the murders had taken place in the back of the building. I put my hand on the door knob and turned it, expecting it to be locked.

  Had it been locked, that would have been enough to have blunted my curiosity, but the door opened as I turned on the knob. I was stunned for a moment. I idly wondered why the building wasn’t locked, then looked up and down the street to see if anybody was watching. Nobody was too close and so, without a second thought, I entered the building and quickly closed the door behind me.

  My heart was racing and my stomach was doing somersaults. I guess I had just committed a crime—breaking into the building—but I let this thought go. I was here, and I had already come this far, so I might as well see the scene of the massacre.

  I walked quickly through the reception area and opened the rear door, stepping into the garage in back. The room was dark with the only light coming in from the windows on the garage doors at the back of the building. I closed the door behind me and stood motionless for a moment. After a few seconds my eyes adjusted to the light and I could start to make out details.

  Half a dozen cars and trucks were parked in front of me. I sidled between a couple of trucks at the front of the garage and headed toward the back of the building. I walked past a Ford Coupe and a couple of sedans parked against the right wall when I got to the spot I recognized from the photos. The space was relatively empty, just some chairs along the wall to my left, and a table and some shelves on the wall opposite where I stood. There were saws and other tools hanging from the left wall at the far end. The room had a peculiar odor. It was a mixture of dirt, motor oil, and something else I couldn’t quite place. It sort of reminded me of Mr. Holtz’s butcher shop.

  As my eyes continued to adjust to the light, I could see that the wall on my left had several chips and holes in the brickwork from where the bullets had hit. I walked over and reached out with my right hand, touching one of the bullet holes. I recalled that the papers had said that 70 shell casings and some spent shotgun shells had been recovered from the scene. I tried to imagine what it must have been like, the sound of the Tommy Guns clattering away in the garage, the bullets hitting flesh and brick. A shiver ran up my spine at the thought of the noise and destruction and I looked down.

  I could see several bloodstains on the floor, some marking small trails where the blood had flowed across the floor. I was standing in a large bloodstain and I involuntarily jumped out of it even though the rational part of my mind knew there was no pool of blood there now.

 
I immediately recalled all the blood that had covered the frozen sidewalk when Moira had been shot. I could feel the bile rising in my throat. Why did I come in here? What had I hoped to see? There was nothing in here that would help me find Moira, or help me out of my predicament.

  In disgust I turned to head out of the garage but froze in my tracks. The door at the front of the garage was now open and I could see a body silhouetted in the doorway. I moved to my right, out of sight of the door. Who could it be? I thought, carelessly. Hell, I’m the one that wasn’t supposed to be here. It was probably the owner of the garage, or maybe the cops, coming to investigate a report that somebody had snuck into the place. Either way, I didn’t want to be seen.

  I heard the creak of the door being closed and a voice, “I still dunno why youse wanna to see da place. Wasn’t da pictures in da papers enough?”

  Shit! I panicked. I looked around frantically, searching for someplace to hide. I thought about hiding under one of the cars, but they would be sure to see me. I saw several boxes stacked behind one of the sedans along the right wall and ran for them. I managed to jump behind them, sliding to the floor just as the lights to the garage were flicked on.

  “If your brothers had been killed wouldn’t you want to see where it had happened?” A second voice. The first one had been nasally; this one had sounded a deep bass. I heard footsteps enter the garage and I tried to squeeze myself into as small of a space as I could.

  “I suppose,” said the first voice. “So, youse was related to some of d’ese guys dat got whacked?”

  There was a pause, then the second voice said, “In a manner of speaking.”

  “Well, whatever. Mr. Moran said to let youse look around all youse wanted.”

  Shit! They were with Moran! What are they doing here? I needed to disappear. If they found me here word would certainly get back to Moran, and I didn’t want to know how Bugs would react. The first guy sounded like one of Moran’s flunkies, but the second guy sounded like he was from someplace other than Chicago. He’d called the victims ‘brothers’, but something nagged in the back of my mind that he really didn’t mean that they were blood relations.