Unremarkable

by Geoff Habiger

  “Moira likes to work in her own special way,” Capone continued. “She spotted you on her first day. A green mail sorter, desperate for a little love and attention. You fell for her so hard; she barely had to use any of her ‘special’ charms on you.” Capone laughed, a couple of sharp sounds that were suddenly ended. “But then, just when she should have been making her move to get you to do this job, she goes and gets herself shot. Because of this, you are not yet aware of the important part that you will play in making my wishes come true because she fucked up. She fucked up so badly that I had to come back to Chicago to get this fuckin’ mess straightened back out.” Capone’s voice rose slightly at the end, but he seemed to quickly regain his composure. He sat up and reached for the cigar on the desk.

  “So now, Mr. Imbierowicz,” Capone turned his gaze upon me, his eyes went cold and his voice dropped a bit, into a soft, polite tone. “You will get the books the Feds have and deliver them to me.” Capone smiled as he puffed on the cigar.

  I had been expecting Capone to ask me this since I had walked into the room. Even so, I was still a bit shocked by his demand, and I was a bit incensed at the way he had insinuated that Moira had failed him. Like she got shot on purpose? Doesn’t he understand the pain and suffering that she went through? And just how am I supposed to get these books for him? As soon as I do, Moran will take out his revenge against my parents. It was a long-shot, but I needed to see if I could make Capone see reason. He obviously didn’t know that Moran had already made basically the same offer to me. Maybe if he knew, he could relieve the pressure on my parents.

  “No,” I said.

  “What!” Capone exploded into a rage. His face turned a deep crimson-purple color. “How dare you say no to me! Me! I own this fuckin’ town, and no two-bit, lowlife kike is going to tell me no!” His voice had gone from silky smooth to rough, back-alley hood in an instant. The words and his attention had been directed at me, but Capone quickly shifted his gaze to Moira. “How does a little shit like him dare to stand up to me?”

  Capone turned his attention back to me, his face contorted by anger and rage. The blood had completely drained from his face, leaving it ashen. His eyes were wide and his nostrils flared. “You’ll get me those god damn books, you fuckin’ kike, or I’ll chop your dad’s head off, disembowel your mom, and throw your sister into the worst hell-hole of a brothel that I own, where she’ll spread her legs for every lowlife in the state.” He shoved the cigar across the desk and pointed it at me. “And then I’ll string you up and bleed you dry.” He stood up from the chair. He seemed to tower over me, or maybe I had shrunk down into my own chair. Fear curdled my stomach, not only for my own safety, but also for that of my parents and sister. It was my fault that now I had the two biggest gangsters in Chicago using my family as leverage against me. I was in a corner, and my only option, to use Moira to help me with the Feds to get the books for Moran, had just gone up in a puff of smoke when Capone had exploded.

  “Okay, yes, yes,” I stammered, holding out my hands defensively in front of me. Capone was leaning so far over his desk, I half expected him to leap on me and tear my throat out right there. Even though that wouldn’t have helped his cause in the slightest, I still had that impression. “I know where the Feds are keeping the books, and I can get them for you in a few days, once I figure out how to get into the room.”

  Capone seemed to immediately relax, as if somebody had thrown an electric switch. He smoothed down his suit coat and tie. He passed a hand through his hair, even though it had stayed perfect throughout his tirade. “That’s good to hear, Mr. Imbierowicz. Very good.”

  Capone sat back down and took another puff on the cigar. The bluish smoke rose up around his eyes, which I swear seemed to have been cast in shadow. It must have been a trick of the light. “I apologize for my outburst. I’m a man who is accustomed to getting what he wants.”

  “No, Mr. Capone,” I said. I felt that I needed to settle things down, to reassure Capone that I wanted to help, but that things were tricky. “I’m the one who should apologize.” This seemed to have had the desired effect, as I could see Capone relax.

  “I should have explained myself better,” I continued. “I would like to get the books from the Feds for you, but I’m in a real bind. You see, Mr. Moran has already asked me to get the books for him, and…”

  Capone’s face reddened again, but he seemed to be able to control his anger better this time. He did give Moira another long, meaningful look.

  “And, well,” I continued. “Mr. Moran has also threatened the welfare of my parents if I don’t get the books for him. I hope you can understand my predicament.”

  Capone gave me a slight smile. “Certainly. I am a family man myself and I adore my wife and children. I can understand your desire to protect your family from the likes of Bugs Moran.”

  I nodded. Even though Capone had also just threatened my family, I thought it best to not make that comparison.

  “That is certainly a new development that I had not foreseen.” Again, Capone gave Moira a look that seemed to say that she’d failed him. “I will take that information into consideration. But you need to remember what is important here, Mr. Imbierowicz. You need to get me those books from the Feds,” he leaned across the desk, cigar clinched in his right hand as he braced it against the edge of the desk. Now his eyes really did seem to be cast in shadow, and took on a red glint—another play of the light? “Or all those things that you think Moran could do to your family will pale in comparison to what I will do to them if you don’t.”

  I nodded dumbly. People like Capone and Moran got to where they are today by making, and following through on, threats like this. It was pointless to think that, once I’d gotten into their sights, that I or my family would ever be safe.

  Capone gave a slight nod in acknowledgement at my grasp of the situation. He stood up, put the cigar in the ashtray, and walked to the door. “Moira, dear,” he said, grabbing the door handle. “Please take Mr. Imbierowicz home.”

  Moira nodded and stood up. She’d not said a word since we’d entered the house, and I was starting to wonder what had gotten into her.

  Capone smiled, but it was not a pleasant smile. It was more like the smile that a tiger might give to its prey when inviting it home for dinner. “Then come straight back here. You and I need to talk.”

  Chapter 21

  The cab was still waiting for us when we left Capone’s home. The driver started the engine and took off as soon as we closed the door; apparently the driver knew where to go, even though nobody had said anything. I started to ask Moira if Capone was always that excitable but I thought better of it. The only Capone I knew was the one that I read about in the papers: the guy who gave out presents to local kids at Christmas, the guy who provided meals to folks at Thanksgiving, the guy who generally helped out those in need. Everybody in Chicago knew that Capone was a mobster, but he was our mobster and we liked him. Moira just stared out the car window, her eyes apparently not focused on anything. I could tell that her thoughts were somewhere else.

  I turned my own gaze out the window and watched the city as we drove along. Last night’s snow had turned to grey mush on all the roads, giving the city a dreary appearance. As we passed the stockyards, I realized that I had just promised to deliver something that I didn’t have to a second person who had both the ability and the willingness to kill me and my entire family. Oh, don’t get me wrong—I knew Moran had the same ability—but after meeting Capone in person, and experiencing his anger first hand, I feared him more.

  Suddenly, I felt Moira’s lips brush my cheek. It startled me and I nearly bumped my head against the cold car window.

  “Don’t be so jumpy,” she giggled. Like Capone, she was able to turn her emotions on and off at will. I stared at her. She stared back at me with her deep green eyes. “Everything will work out.”

  “Yeah, I know,” I said. Som
ehow I felt better. I knew that Moira would make everything alright. The realization that she had been using me for Capone from the beginning was a forgotten memory. All that mattered was that she was back, and together we’d figure out how to get out of this mess. “It just seems like an impossible task.”

  “And I have complete faith that you can accomplish the impossible if you just put your mind to it.” Yeah, it sounded really corny, like something from a Hallmark card, but coming from Moira it sounded like the divine wisdom being handed down to Moses from on high. She leaned over and kissed me, giving my lips a little nibble as she pulled back. I breathed a sigh of relief.

  The cab pulled up outside my tenement. It had started to snow again, the fresh snow covering up the grey slush from this morning. I opened the car door and let Moira out. I started to pay the cabbie, and Moira leaned down and said, “Don’t worry, it’s been taken care of.” I gave her a look, then shrugged and got out of the cab. The cab pulled away as we turned and headed inside.

  It wasn’t much warmer inside as we climbed the stairs to my apartment. Uncharacteristically we passed Mrs. Rabinowitz’s door without any interruption from her and headed up to my floor. As we reached the landing Moira stopped cold, her hand grabbing my arm in a painful grip.

  “Ouch,” I yelped.

  “Somebody is inside your apartment,” She whispered. I felt her body tense, her stance changing slightly. She reminded me of a cat about to pounce on a mouse.

  “Well of course there is. Everybody and their uncle has been in my apartment lately, so what else is new?” I reached for the door knob. “Let’s see who it is this time. Two bits says it’s my mom.”

  The door was unlocked and I opened it to see three men in my kitchen. Apparently, I was wrong. Bugs Moran was sitting in my favorite chair. Why does everybody pick that chair to sit in? Behind him, looming in the small kitchen space, stood Cup and Glass who had taken me to see Moran the first time. Glass glared at me from under his cheap fedora, and Cup gave me a slight nod as he pulled a toothpick from between his teeth.

  I sighed, shrugging off my coat and placing it on the back of the empty chair. “Mr. Moran, what a pleasure to see you again.” I didn’t hide the sarcasm in my voice.

  “I have been informed, Mr. Imbierowicz, that not only is the Beast back from his trip to Florida, but also that you have been to see him personally.”

  I started to reply but Moira cut me off. “No. Mr. Capone is still in Florida.” Her voice was silky and smooth. I seemed to recall that she’d used the same voice when we’d gone out to dinner and for drinks.

  Moran appeared to ponder this, then said, “My mistake. I must have been misinformed.” He gave a dirty glance to Cup who shrank back a bit. Turning back to us, he continued, “Either way, I can’t let Capone get his hands on those books. When are you going to get them away from the Feds for me, Saul?”

  “Look, I know where the Feds are keeping...” I couldn’t finish my sentence as Moira cut me off again.

  “Look, Moran,” she said, focusing Moran’s attention on her. Her voice was still smooth, but there was an edge to it now, almost a deep growl that underscored her words. “Saul will get the books for you, but you’re going to need to give him more time to get them away from the Feds.” She gave Moran a long, hard look. I swear that Moran actually flinched before he turned back to look at me.

  “Fine,” he spat the word out. “You’ve got two days, Mr. Imbierowicz, but that’s it.”

  “Then you’ll have the books and you can use them to get Capone out of the picture, just like we agreed,” Moira said.

  Moran gave her a glance and nodded his head. “But after the fiasco last Thursday, you’ve not completed your part of the deal, my dear. You still owe me—”

  Moira cut him off. Hey, at least it wasn’t just me she was rude to. “I know, and I’m working on it. But we can’t discuss it here.”

  I looked between Moran and Moira, confused. What the hell is going on here?

  “Moira,” I started to say, but she put her finger to my mouth and the words died on my lips.

  Moran stood up and gestured to Cup and Glass. They started to leave the apartment, but Moran paused in the doorway. “Two days, Mr. Imbierowicz,” he said, holding up two pudgy fingers. “Then I expect to have those books.” He turned, and I could hear the three of them head down the stairs. Moira closed the door behind them.

  “What the hell is going on?” I blurted out.

  Moira gave me a gentle look, her green eyes seeming to fill my world. “It doesn’t matter, Saul,” she said. “Just make sure you figure out how to get the books away from the Feds. Let me handle the rest.” She stroked her hand gently down the side of my cheek. I felt better knowing that all I needed to do was to figure out how to get the books away from the Feds and that Moira would handle the rest.

  “Oh, and by the way, you owe me a quarter.”

  Chapter 22

  Moira left a few minutes after Moran and his goons with my last quarter. It was almost one in the afternoon —where had the time gone?—so I was able to get a decent “night’s” sleep before getting up at 8 o’clock to get ready for work. I slept like the dead, and felt refreshed when I woke up. I noticed that the bite on my stomach was still not healing, so I was a little worried about that. I made a mental note to pick up some iodine from the pharmacist as I cleaned the wound again. I didn’t want it getting infected.

  I actually had time to cook the hamburger that mom had brought over, and I was able to make a decent pot of coffee for once. I even managed to relax a bit as I ate my “breakfast”. Finished with my meal, I put my dishes in the sink. Grabbing my coat, I headed out, being sure to lock the door—though, for the life of me, I don’t know why.

  It had stopped snowing, and it looked like the clouds had gone away as well, since I could see a couple of stars twinkling in the cold winter sky. I walked to the L, my breath freezing in the air as I whistled some jazz tune that I’d heard last week at the Green Mill with Moira. I felt refreshed and relieved. Sure, I still had to figure out how to get into that room where the Feds were camped out and steal the books, but that seemed like it would be a piece of cake now.

  I got on the L and rode to the Post Office. I was a few minutes early and I managed to get clocked in and to my sorting station before Joe arrived. I was still whistling to myself when Joe came in and tossed his coat onto the rack in our sorting room.

  “Why are you so damned chipper?” he asked.

  “I finally got a decent amount of sleep today, for a change, and I even got to see Moira.” Oh, shit. I regretted the words as soon as I said them, since Joe immediately started pestering me with questions. Me and my big mouth. I had to think quickly, and I spent the next hour explaining to Joe how Moira had come back to me, feeling sorry that she had run out, and that she had lied to me about seeing her sick aunt. Joe was of the opinion that Moira was just too flaky and that I could do better. I asked how he and Francine were getting along, which got me off the hook for a little while.

  A few hours later, Joe was discussing the prospects for a Blackhawks win in a couple of days. They were on a four game losing streak, on top of an already dismal season. “I don’t know why Gardiner can’t seem to stop the damn puck from getting in,” Joe was whining. “Hell, my blind grandmother could tend goal better than him.”

  I picked up a stack of letters from the basket. I was about to retort that it wouldn’t matter how well Gardiner did if the rest of the team would actually score some goals, but I was distracted as I saw Mr. Dickenson walk onto the sorting room floor, leading two men I had seen too much of lately; Agents Truesdale and Wright.

  “Ah, dreck,” I swore under my breath. I thought about trying to make a run for it, or maybe just hiding, but Mr. Dickenson was already pointing at me and Agent Truesdale was striding over.

  I tried to focus on the task of sorting the letters in m
y hands, but I couldn’t see any of the addresses. Suddenly, my palms were sweating and my mouth had gone dry. I don’t know why I was feeling so nervous, other than the fact that each time I’d met with Agent Truesdale he had either left me unconscious or out of breath.

  I could feel Agent Truesdale as he loomed behind me. Joe also noticed his presence and stopped his discourse on the Blackhawks. “Whadda you want?” Joe asked.

  Agent Truesdale didn’t say anything. He just stared at Joe until he went back to sorting his letters. Truesdale had an intimidating way of looking at people, almost as good as Moira and Capone. I bet he could stare a statue into changing its pose. He turned toward me, pulling out a wallet from his coat. “Agent Truesdale, with the Bureau of Investigations,” he announced as he flashed his badge. I stared at him open-mouthed. I was wondering what was up, since he had to know that I knew who the hell he was; then it dawned on me that he was making a show so that everybody else in the room didn’t know that fact. For as much rest as I had that day, I was really slow on the uptake. “We need to ask you a few questions, Mr. Imbierowicz. Please come with me.”

  I thought about asking him what was going on, but I didn’t want Joe to get any more curious than he already was. I tossed the stack of letters that I had been holding back into the sorting bin. I gave Joe a shrug, as if to say “I haven’t got a clue what this guy wants” and followed Agent Truesdale out of the sorting room.

  Agent Wright fell in step behind us. I looked back at him, and he smiled politely, but didn’t say anything. Agent Truesdale led us to the elevators, pushing the button for the sixth floor. When the doors opened, Agent Truesdale led the way down the hall and around the corner, stopping in front of the same janitor’s closet that I had seen the two of them use before.

  I couldn’t resist a jab. “You Feds seem to be as cheap with your offices as you are with your cars.”