Embers & Ash

by T. M. Goeglein

  All I heard in his screed was the term, “man’s job.”

  Knuckles thought of me, and all females, as inept and of a lower intelligence, and choked on the fact that I served as counselor-at-large. The belief in gender superiority was endemic in the purely male Outfit—except for Tyler. If I had to choose a boss, of course it would be him. But I was unsure that he would agree to it, unwilling to go any deeper into the Outfit he despised. I’d never use cold fury to force him to serve, which left me with a true conundrum—who would I name as Lucky’s replacement?

  And just like that, I had the perfect answer, and a plan to save my family.

  On the danger meter, it pushed the needle past red.

  I put the aspirin back in the bottle. If the plan went awry, which was very possible, I’d need the voltage to zap my way free. “Anything else?” I said impatiently.

  “Just remember, counselor, I’m at your service at any time of the day or—” Knuckles said, as I hung up on him and hurried into the other room.

  Doug was slumped on the couch like a depressed burrito, brown eyes gone red from crying. I sat on the other end with Harry’s curling-up spot miserably vacant between us. “I know that I should apologize for everything . . . messing up your chance to reach Czar Bar, losing the Lincoln, and oh my god . . . especially the notebook,” he said. “I’m so sorry, really, but none of it compares to the fact that I brought Harry along, and he—”

  “It’s not your fault.”

  “Yes it is,” he said, wiping his nose. “I was trying to be your hard-ass partner, ready for action with a gun and a tough little dog, and . . . I got him killed.”

  “Doug,” I said, “Vlad’s men in the garbage truck were onto me from the beginning. They cut off the Outfit guys. I would’ve been walking into Czar Bar unable to use cold fury, without backup—who knows what would’ve happened to me? If you hadn’t hidden in the Lincoln and brought Harry, I might have been dead.”

  He sniffled, looking at me. “I’m still responsible. But they are, too.”

  “Which they?”

  “All of them,” he said bitterly. “Elzy, those Russian assholes . . . and the animals that make up the Outfit, it’s their fault, too. Everyone striving for ultimate power, and all it led to is the death of my friend. It makes me want to . . . to . . .”

  “Give up?”

  Doug’s eyes were suddenly dry and hard. “Kill every one of them.”

  An image of that homicidal fantasy rose up before me, the still, cold bodies of my enemies, all the threat and danger vanquished in one fell swoop. If I had the chance, would I do it—could I do it? It chilled me thinking about that scope of murder, hundreds of lives, maybe more. “There’s a difference between wanting to do it, and doing it,” I said.

  “I know.” He sighed. “That’s why I’m just sitting here. There’s not a damn thing I can do.”

  “Yeah, there is,” I said. “You can drive a stick shift.”

  I told him about Lucky and then explained my plan, starting at “Volta.” With every Rispoli bone in my body, I was sure Uncle Jack’s scrawled Buondiavolese revealed that ultimate power was actually billions of dollars’ worth of gold. But there were factors on my side—it would take time for Elzy to dig through the notebook, and even longer for her to force my dad to translate the last chapter. She didn’t know that I’d located ultimate power, so before she made any progress or hurt my dad further, I’d beat her to the punch.

  I’d tell her what it was.

  Doug listened to the details, and said, “You mean you’re going to lie.”

  “Am I going to tell her about the gold? Hell no—at this point, why should I? Look, according to the rules, I’m supposed to name either the VP of Muscle or the VP of Money as the boss, but screw the rules. Elzy thinks the notebook will lead her to total control over the Outfit, so I’ll give it to her,” I said. “In exchange for my family, I’ll name her as the new Outfit boss, and I’ll present it—that level of total control—as ultimate power.”

  “That’s some risky business,” he said, sitting forward, throwing off the blanket. “Lying to her about what it is when she has the notebook. Using your role as counselor-at-large to sell out the entire Outfit. It’ll cause a genuine shit storm.”

  “There’s no way to avoid it.”

  “So,” he said, “what does driving a stick shift have to do with all of this?”

  “If Elzy agrees to the deal, I won’t waste a second waiting for her mind or mood to change. I’ll go directly to Czar Bar and get my family,” I said. “That means a hasty retreat. The Lincoln’s gone, all we have is the Ferrari. You’re the wheelman, Doug—the getaway driver.”

  “Getaway driver? I’ve been waiting to do something like that since forever!” he said with a fist pump.

  “You won’t panic and freeze up?”

  “No way. I’ll be thinking about Harry the whole time,” he said, the ruddiness coming back to his pale face. “Make the deal and I’ll drive like hell.” I held his gaze until his determined grin died, frowning at him. “What?” he asked.

  “What you just said about the deal. How do I contact Elzy?”

  He went to his laptop on the control center, tapped some keys, and pointed at the screen. “There it is. Czar Bar’s phone number.”

  “Wait, you think I should just call her?”

  “Why not?” he said. “Just ask for the boss.”

  “What if they don’t believe it’s me?” Doug raised an eyebrow in a seriously? look. “Right. Of course,” I said. “How many me’s are there?” I lifted the phone, took a deep breath, and dialed. It rang once, twice, and then the phone on the other end was lifted from its hook. It was quiet, not even an intake of breath. “It’s . . . Sara Jane Rispoli,” I said.

  There was no reply, but something lived in the silence, evoking an odd memory.

  I was seven or eight, with my mom at a crowded street festival, and we stopped to have our palms read. The fortune-teller peered at my hand, and then into my eyes, and while I couldn’t recall what she’d said, the experience then and now was the same—the creepy feeling of being known.

  “Elzy?” I said.

  The pause was filled with dead air and breathing, replaced by the sound of a palm held over the receiver. Behind it, I heard a muffled conversation, and then a familiar voice said, “Hello, baby!”

  “Vlad . . .”

  “You should’ve checked brakes on that clunker! Shame, shame! No safe-driver award for you!” He snuffled. “Hey, by the way, thanks for notebook and, oh so sorry about your friend!”

  “My friend?” I said, looking at Doug watching me.

  “It’s no fun, dying that way, drinking Chicago River water, but hey, he had a big goddamn mouth so maybe it happened quickly, yes?”

  “Yes,” I said quietly, “I hope so.”

  “At least you got his body, so maybe you have nice little going away party. The doggy, on the other hand, the fish are chewing on his furry ass by now, I bet. He was a fighter, though. You should see my nose, or what’s left of it! He bit, he clawed, and then, how do they say? All dogs go to heaven?”

  The cold blue flame danced in my gut and a line of electricity crept up my spine as I said, “I want to talk to your boss.”

  “You go through me or I hang up.”

  With supreme effort I choked back the rage coursing through my body. “You’ll find out soon enough, but I’m telling you first. The boss of the outfit, Lucky, is dead.”

  Vlad repeated it with his hand over the phone, and said, “So?”

  “So, tell your boss I want to make a deal. An exchange. Give me my family, and I’ll give up . . . ultimate power.”

  The line was quiet for a moment. “Go on,” he said.

  I explained the counselor-at-large’s responsibility to choose Lucky’s heir—if they didn’t believe me, they co
uld ask my dad. “That’s the deal. The entire Outfit will be gathered when I name her boss. At the moment of the announcement, all eyes will be on me, and I’ll enforce the decision with ghiaccio furioso,” I said. “But that’s all I’ll do for her. I won’t serve her as counselor. From then on, she can use her soldiers to keep the rank and file in line.” Vlad covered the receiver and the muted conversation grew more urgent. One voice, high and commanding, rose above the garble.

  Vlad returned to the phone and asked, “Who else in Outfit knows you’re offering deal?”

  “No one,” I answered.

  “You have officers, yes? VPs you call them. Muscle and Money, your comrades? You didn’t warn them?”

  “No.” I swallowed, thinking of Tyler.

  “Good. Easier to get rid of them when time comes.” He chuckled. “So how soon until you use that witch power to make Outfit obey your decision?”

  “The sit-down is a week from today, with every member present.”

  He relayed my message, and then said, “Do it, and you can have family. By the way, don’t be disappointed. They look much like my nose.”

  “No—I get my family first, now.”

  Vlad chuckled again. “You have sense of humor. In another time and place, we could’ve had fun. I would’ve shown you tricks I learned in prison,” he said, and cleared his throat. “Okay. We’re all businessmen here—businesspeople, I mean. You take mommy and brother. We keep papa until deal is done.”

  “How do I know you’ll let him go?”

  “Because we don’t need him no more,” he said. “Your papa’s days as counselor are over.”

  “What does that mean?” I asked carefully.

  “It means he’s retired,” he said. “Mommy and brother only.”

  Elzy would have the same crimson eyewear as her Russians, which meant I couldn’t force her to free my dad. My mind raced, with one thought in the lead—saving my mom and Lou was better than saving no one. “Okay, I said, “I’m coming to get them now.”

  “No, no, no,” he said. “Don’t be silly. We need a time to spiff them up and, how you say, wash their brains? Make mommy and brother forget things they’ve seen and heard? We’re like Outfit, we have little secrets that can’t just walk out door.”

  There was no way to protest. All I could say was, “When?”

  “You call back, after weekend, Monday—no, Tuesday,” he said. “An extra day to make you suffer, yes?”

  “Tuesday,” I said.

  “Hey, look on bright side. We got no more reason to chase your ass. Or maybe we do it just for laughs,” he said, covering the phone again. “One more thing. My boss comes with you to meeting. Outfit sees new leader face-to-face so clear they are under control of Mafyia.” It was another deadly wrinkle, a dangerous complication that could ruin my plan, but I had no choice except to agree. “By the way,” he said, “notebook is fascinating! So many secrets! You want to hear my favorite?”

  “No.”

  “Those Capone Doors! I love them!” he barked. “Your daddy denied they were real, just made-up stories in case cops ever find notebook, until we use jumper cables to make him tell truth! Now I’m looking for those crazy doors everywhere! So anyway, we talk soon, yes?” And he hung up.

  I stared at the phone and looked at Doug.

  “Well?” he asked.

  “We have a deal.” I sat on the couch numbly and gave him the details. When I finished, I looked at him and said, “They think you’re dead.”

  “I’m a lot of things, but not that.”

  “They’re going to get rid of the VPs of Muscle and Money. Knuckles . . . he made his own bed,” I said solemnly, “but Tyler—”

  “You have to warn him. Soon.”

  “With Lucky dead and the Outfit in transition, it’s a chance for him to escape, the opportunity he’s been waiting for,” I said. “Same for you, Doug. Take the gold bar and get the hell out of here while you can.”

  “Where?”

  “I don’t know. New Mexico or Fiji . . . someplace where the Outfit doesn’t exist and there’s no Russian mob.”

  “And no you. I just lost Harry. You’re all I have left. Besides, I love Chicago. Those bastards can’t run me out of my town.” He pushed his bushy hair from his eyes, filled with resolution. “I’m in it to the end, friend.”

  I knew what “friend” meant; the perfect definition was sitting across from me.

  It was the other phrase, “the end,” that gave me pause.

  It meant that something stopped forever, but greed, violence, and deception—the things that breathed life into the Outfit and the Russian mob—would continue long after the sit-down a week from today. They would continue forever.

  I didn’t care. I could live with that as long as my family was free.

  20

  SATURDAY NIGHT. MEETING TYLER IN AN HOUR. Need to warn him, I wrote in my journal. I glanced at the clock, which read 7:01 p.m.

  I’d texted him yesterday and he’d responded immediately, relieved that I was okay. When I asked if he could meet this evening, he answered with a smiley emoticon, wondering if it was a date. I replied that it was business, and told him to be at the Davis Theater at eight, surprising myself.

  The Davis had been Max’s and my special place.

  The night my family disappeared had been the Fep Prep spring dance. Before we parted that evening, Max asked me to a movie the next day. Of course I never made it, but later, during relatively (understatement alert) calm periods, we saw an overblown action flick there, and then another. We ate salty junk, watched some great films, some crap ones, and yeah, made out like crazy, since the place is really dark, usually empty, and one of those special old theaters that seem to encourage playing around. The fact that I wanted to take Tyler to the Davis meant—what? That Max having a girlfriend meant that I was over him? That I wanted to make out with Tyler?

  It’s business, I wrote, underlining it. Serious business . . .

  Voices murmured from the other room followed by a muted shriek.

  It was just something Doug was watching on his computer. He was alone on the couch, and he’d placed a pillow where Harry usually lay, absently petting it from time to time. I read the journal page I’d just filled, trying to recall details from the previous day that I might’ve skipped, but it was all there, from Lucky’s death to the upcoming sit-down to the deal with Elzy. I bit the end of the pen and then wrote:

  After I name Elzy as boss, both of our worlds, Tyler’s and mine, will change. If possible, he’s in greater danger than me . . .

  I flipped forward, seeing that the journal was almost full, and backward, amazed at how much I’d written in just six months. I’d made the first entry the night my family disappeared and then, page by page, connected old secrets to new ones. The longer my family remained missing, the more detailed the information I’d recorded, linking the Outfit’s past with the present. Suddenly a lightbulb went on in my mind, and I carried the journal into the room, showing it to Doug. “We didn’t lose it, after all,” I said. “The notebook . . . it’s right here.”

  He looked up from the screen. “What are you talking about?”

  “I recorded everything,” I said. “Every fact and secret, every Capone Door, rule, and rumor. The entire notebook is in these pages.”

  “You should turn it in,” he said. “Give Thumbs-Up the surprise of his life.”

  “Not unless I want to graduate in handcuffs.” I glanced at the computer, seeing velvety flesh, oozing blood, and gratuitous cleavage. “What are you watching?”

  “Sucker for Love,” he said. “The vampire TV show. With Max’s girlfriend.”

  My stomach dropped hearing his name. Face burning, I said, “What the hell for?”

  Doug looked at me, saw my expression. “Oh . . . sorry. I just wanted to see what she looked like, and—”
/>   “Forget it.” I sighed, sitting next to him. “So. What does she look like?”

  “She hasn’t been on yet. I’ll tell you one thing, there’s a lot of sucking going on, but it’s mainly the acting,” he said, “and—wait! That’s her!”

  “Which one?”

  “The tall redhead in the thigh-high boots, with the crossbow made from a wooden cross. Get it?” he said, shaking his head. “Seriously, is there anything left in the vampire canon to exploit?”

  “She’s . . . curvy,” I said, staring at the screen, folding my arms over my chest.

  “More like buxom. Busty even.”

  “I’ve seen enough,” I said, rising from the couch. “Gotta get ready to go.”

  “I’d be jealous if I wasn’t so depressed,” he said, petting the pillow.

  I dressed in something other than a Cubs T-shirt (something with an actual collar) and the jeans I chose didn’t look as if they’d been stitched together from cast-off denim. I’d already subdued my hair with about a gallon of conditioner and now brushed the wild curls into black shiny waves. A smear of lip gloss, a mist of perfume, and I stared in the mirror at the final product. I still wasn’t wild about my nose—that Italian cliché in the middle of my face—but it was part of who I was. I was okay with it.

  Doug was slumped sideways on the couch when I crossed to the elevator.

  Going closer, I saw that he’d nodded off hugging the pillow.

  Onscreen, the busty vampire was literally sucking face with a guy who was either her victim or her boyfriend or both. I stared at her—sexy, tough, undead—and turned off the computer, her image disappearing in a flash.

  It wasn’t a stake through the heart, but it was the best I could do.

  • • •

  With no Lincoln and no time to uncover the Ferrari (it, too, was stored in the garage beneath the Currency Exchange Building) I was stuck with public transportation. It was a twenty-minute train ride to the Davis Theater; I hoped Vlad had been serious about not chasing me anymore. I took the elevator down from the Bird Cage and stepped through the Capone Door urinal in the Phun-Ho to Go men’s room, then into the fast food restaurant itself. The place was empty; it was always deserted, for both lunch and dinner. The fuzzy TV on the counter was blaring something screechy and joyous from an Asian channel while the guy who ran the joint leaned on the counter as usual, focusing on the screen. I’d realized months ago that it was some sort of Outfit front business, and that he probably knew who I was, since I used his men’s room as my own private entrance and exit. He was always there, in the same spot, early in the morning when I cut through with Harry (poor Harry) for a pre-school walk, and at all other hours; I wondered sometimes if he lived in the place and what type of criminal activity he fronted for.