Eli's Promise

by Ronald H. Balson

  “And I suppose the CIA is now operating out of a one-bedroom apartment in Albany Park?”

  Mimi winked. “They can be very covert, you know.” She put her finger to her lips and whispered, “Shh. We better be careful what we say in the hallways.”

  * * *

  The TV above the bar at the Earl was displaying the news and a segment on Vietnam. The camera panned the military base at Danang: GIs in T-shirts, cigarettes hanging from their lips, and boxes upon boxes of supplies stacked on the ground. Many more were being unloaded from C-130s. Sandbags were piled around guard posts. In the background, fighter jets of the Eightieth Tactical Fighter Squadron were taking off, and the roar forced the reporter to pause his narrative. He had been talking about the rapid buildup of men and supplies. He pointed to the sky; “Operation Rolling Thunder,” he said. “Those are F-105 Thunderchief fighters, headed north toward the DRV.” Going back to his script, the reporter quoted the State Department press officer, saying, “President Johnson announced today that if requested by the South Vietnamese government, he has authorized General Westmoreland to commit American soldiers to ground combat.”

  Nathan’s eyes were locked on the TV screen. The news clearly upset him. “Jesus, now he wants ground combat. This war is getting bigger and bigger. We were just supposed to maintain a base. Provide logistical support for the South Vietnamese. This damn war is getting way out of control and my brother is headed over there. More men, more equipment, more planes, more money—where does it all end? Ground combat forces. Shit!”

  At the other end of the bar, a muscular man in a khaki T-shirt was nursing a beer. He slowly turned his head. “Have to,” he said. “Ya can’t just stand guard with a rifle on the edge of an airbase, fella. The VC launches rockets and mortars from the trees and bushes. You wanna maintain a base, you gotta extend the perimeter fifteen, twenty miles. You gotta go flush ’em out. So now you’re talking operations that run deep into the jungles. That’s what they call ground combat, buddy.” He shrugged. “The VC are smart. That’s the way the weak fights the strong. They pick the time and place of the battles.”

  Nathan retorted, “Isn’t this the same LBJ who said, ‘We are not about to send American boys nine or ten thousand miles away from home to do what Asian boys ought to be doing for themselves?’ So why the hell aren’t the South Vietnamese doing the ground combat?”

  The man broke into a laugh. “Right. The mighty army of South Vietnam. You guys are a scream.”

  “I don’t want my brother going to Danang,” Nathan said to Mimi. “He’s just a kid.”

  She put her arm around his shoulders. “Right now, Billy’s just going to basic. He may never end up going overseas.”

  Preston gave Christine a nudge and whispered, “Aren’t you glad I’m not going? Getting married sure has its advantages.”

  Christine glared at him. “You can be such an obnoxious jerk at times, you know that?”

  “Aw, Chrissie, he didn’t hear me. Besides, I can be a jerk? Me? How about the fact that you’ve been working till ten o’clock every night this week with Fast Nicky?”

  “It’s my job, Preston. He pays me overtime.”

  Preston’s voice was getting louder. “Why is it necessary to work till ten o’clock in a lousy cartage company? What’s Nicky shipping at ten o’clock?”

  Christine tightened her lips and glared at Preston. “First of all, it’s not a lousy cartage company. We are a big-time logistics company. Nicky sends shipments to New York, Norfolk, San Diego and Long Beach every day. And they’re loaded with steel and iron and important military parts. For your information, a lot of it is top-secret Pentagon stuff. He needs me there to do the clerical work, making sure the deliveries are on time and the paperwork is done. And he has meetings with clients that go late into the night. Big important people.”

  Preston scoffed. “Top-secret, my ass. You know that’s bullshit; you could do your clerical work when you come in in the morning. I know your father got you the job, but you could work anywhere. You’re a talented girl. Tell your dad you don’t want to work there anymore.”

  “I’m not going to embarrass my father, Pres. He asked Nicky to give me the job.”

  “Yeah, well, the job description failed to say you’d have to work nights until ten o’clock with a pervert who wants to get into your pants.”

  “Oh, give me a break. He’s not making moves on me.”

  “Didn’t he offer you a glass of wine last week?”

  “I didn’t take it, Pres.”

  Nathan held up his hands. “Hold on, folks. How did this get from Vietnam to slamming on Fast Nicky?”

  Christine put her hands on her hips. “And I don’t appreciate you saying that you’re marrying me to stay out of the army, either.”

  Preston leaned over and gave Christine a hug. “Aw, you know that’s not why I’m getting married. I’m getting married ’cause I love ya.” Preston took a swig of beer. “You wouldn’t believe how many calls I get at the office every day from guys who just got their orders. They want Vittie to get them out of the draft. ‘Tell the congressman I have a sick mother, tell the congressman I have flat feet, tell the congressman I just took a new job. Please tell Congressman Zielinski I voted for him.’ Every excuse known to man. I must answer twenty of those calls a day.”

  “So what do you tell them?” Nathan said. “Do you tell them all to get married?”

  “No, I give them the pat response; Congressman Zielinski will look into it, but in the meantime, you need to comply with your orders and report on time.”

  “Look,” Christine said, “I just want to say for the record, I’m not the only one putting in long hours. Preston hasn’t been home before nine o’clock any night this week.”

  Preston groaned and nodded. “It’s true. The whole bunch is in town this week and it creates a lot of pressure on me. Mike Stanley’s in and out of the office every day, and he gets me rattled. He’s got those steel eyes like a leopard, and he glares at me like I’m his dinner. You wouldn’t believe the crap I have to deal with because of him. I have to write down every contact, every telephone call and file a report. ‘Get their name, address and telephone number, Preston. File a detailed report, Preston. Remember, you’re the face of the office, Preston.’”

  “That sounds smart to me,” Nathan said. “A congressman wants to keep track of his constituents. It comes in handy at election time. What’s wrong with that?”

  “Because I get a hundred stupid complaints a day. If someone doesn’t get their garbage collected on time, they call our office. Tell the congressman I want my garbage picked up. It’s not enough for me to tell the idiot to call the mayor’s office or the alderman’s office, that this is not a federal matter, but then I have to make out a report with the guy’s name, address and telephone number and how the issue got resolved.”

  Nathan laughed.

  “It’s not funny; it’s a waste of my time,” Preston said. “Just today, some crazy old guy wanders in off the street and says, ‘I want to see my congressman. I’m a veteran.’ Of course, Vittie’s not in and I tell him that. Then he points at Stanley’s private office and says, ‘I can hear people back there.’”

  “Stanley has a private office?” Nathan said.

  Preston nodded. “Oh, yeah. Locked up tight. Even I don’t have a key. Maybe it’s got something to do with security clearance, but they sure don’t want me to see what’s back in that office. On the other hand, Vittie’s office is always open. He has this fancy rosewood desk and a big leather chair and pictures of famous dignitaries all over his walls: there he is shaking hands with Truman, shaking hands with Kennedy, or Stevenson, or LBJ. Vittie doesn’t care who goes in, but not Stanley. He must have the Coca-Cola formula locked up tight in his office. It’s off-limits to everyone but Vittie, Stanley and the accountant. Anyway, this random guy hears Stanley and the accountant talking in the locked office, and he assumes it’s Vittie. He demands to see him. ‘Don’t lie to me,’ he says. ‘T
hat’s the congressman. I can hear him.’ I say, ‘That’s not him; it’s an accountant.’”

  Nathan’s forehead furrowed. “What does the accountant do in the top-secret room?”

  Preston shrugged. “How the hell do I know? He comes in once a month, doesn’t say a word to me, hustles into the back room, where he has a key, and he locks himself in. If he goes out for lunch, he locks the door. Sometimes Stanley will come by and the two of them will work through the afternoon behind the locked door.”

  “Does Vittie have some other businesses besides being a congressman?” Mimi said.

  “Not that he tells me about. I know that when he’s in town, there’s a lot of phone calls and meetings with bigwigs, but I’ve been told it’s not my business. I don’t go into the meetings, not even to bring them coffee. We have a receptionist who answers the phones, and she brings them coffee. That’s Vittie’s rules. Look, he’s a wealthy man and he probably needs the accountant to keep track of all his money.”

  “He’s always been a congressman, right?” Nathan said.

  “Far as I know, since the forties.”

  “Congressmen don’t make that much money, do they?”

  Preston smiled. “They don’t let me count it, Nate. They leave that for Stanley and the accountant.”

  “So what happened with the old guy?”

  “Okay. He starts complaining in Polish or Russian or something about his brother and his VA benefits. I can’t understand half of what he is saying. Something about his brother can’t get medical attention and he’s a veteran of World War Two. He’s got headaches and high blood pressure. Now I’m fed up and I say, ‘Do I look like a doctor? Is this a doctor’s office?’ He gets all pissed off. I give him the address of the VA hospital in Maywood. He says he’s been there and they didn’t help him. He wants the congressman to make a phone call. I tell him the congressman has better things to do than make phone calls about his brother’s dumb headaches.”

  “Whoa. What did he do?”

  “Just kept screaming at me. Finally, I had to show him the door. For an old guy, he put up a hell of a struggle.”

  “Did Stanley find out?”

  “No, thank God. He and the accountant didn’t come out of the office until after the guy was gone. I mean, maybe I was a little hard on the guy, but he was the umpteenth crybaby of the day.”

  Christine held up her hands. “Okay, enough. As I told you, Mimi, we’ve got a big announcement to make tonight. Are you ready?” She lifted her glass, bit her lower lip in a big smile and said, “Pres and I are moving up the wedding date!”

  “What? How come?” Mimi asked. “I thought everything was set for November.”

  “It was, but now it’s going to be August twenty-first. It was my dad’s idea. He asked that we move it up because of his congressional agenda. With the war going on, he expects a busy fall, and he prefers to have the wedding out of the way before the summer recess is over.”

  Mimi had a shocked expression. “I think I would die. How does Vittie think you’re supposed to arrange a wedding in six weeks?”

  “Oh well, he’s Vittie Zielinski, you know. He can do anything. He practically took the whole thing over. The wedding will be at Saint Hyacinth, and the reception will be at the Palmer House. He’s arranged for the buses. I’m supposed to call in the names and addresses of the guests to the stationery company next week so the invitations can go out. And, Meems, you wouldn’t believe the invitation list. It reads like a Forbes magazine top fifty—the rich and famous. It’ll be fabulous.”

  “Oh my God. What about the flowers? The dresses? The food? Is Vittie supposed to get all that arranged, too?”

  Christine shrugged. “He’s one of the most powerful men in the country, Meems. He makes phone calls and things happen. He promised me that everything will work out fine, and it will. All our dresses will be ready for fitting by July tenth. The florist only needs five days’ notice. They took care of everything for the reception and dinner, including, and get this, Steve Lawrence and Eydie Gormé and their whole orchestra.”

  “Steve and Eydie, are you kidding?”

  “He’s a friend of my dad’s.”

  “What about your honeymoon?”

  “We’ll still go in November. We have tickets to Maui; it’s all prepaid.”

  “Well, that calls for a drink,” Nathan said. The boys went to the bar for a pitcher, and Mimi said, “That’s great news, Chris, but I can tell something else is on your mind. What is it?”

  “There is, but don’t tell Preston. It’s Nicky. I lied when I said he wasn’t making moves. He called me into his office this afternoon to tell me how cute I looked in my miniskirt. He was sitting there with an open bottle of bourbon and a couple of glasses. I turned down the bourbon and told him he could quit looking at my legs. He laughed.”

  “Creep.”

  “When I turned to leave, I glanced to the side, and there was a briefcase full of cash underneath his topcoat. Nicky saw me staring and said, ‘Some lucky girl’s gonna get me and a whole lot of money.’”

  “Chris, you need to get out of there. You should give your notice. That place is nothing but trouble for you.”

  “I know, but I can’t. My dad doesn’t want me to. He got me the job, and he wants me to stay and keep my eyes open. I report to him on what shipments are going out, that sort of thing. But I’d quit if I could—Nicky’s getting way too friendly, and things are getting uncomfortable for me. Two nights ago, I came home at ten thirty and Preston was fuming. He said, ‘I’m going to pay Fast Nicky a visit; you work too many hours.’ I begged him not to. I know Nicky’s a jerk, but I get paid a lot of money.”

  The boys headed back with the beer, and Christine whispered, “Don’t say anything.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHICAGO

  AUGUST 21, 1965

  A pure-white satin runner covered the center aisle of the Basilica of Saint Hyacinth Catholic Church, and large pink-and-white rose bouquets punctuated the ends of each row. The theological center of Chicago’s Polish community was a colorful setting for the much-anticipated wedding of Congressman Zielinski’s daughter to Preston Roberts. As the wedding guests filed in, Nathan, Preston and Mimi stood off to the side in the anteroom. “It won’t be long now, Pres,” Nathan said with a chuckle. “Your single days are over. From now on it’ll be ‘Yes dear, no dear, what else can I do for you, dear?’”

  “Very funny, Nate.” But Preston was not amused. He took deep breaths and anxiously shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

  “Jesus, Preston, where did these nerves come from? This is definitely not like you. You’ve been dating Chrissie for six years. You know each other inside and out—sorry for the pun—and you’ve never been the least bit frightened by big crowds. I don’t get it.”

  Preston shook his head. “It’s not the wedding or the crowds. Something happened at the office yesterday, and I don’t know what I should do about it. What makes it worse, they’ll all be here tonight, and I don’t want a confrontation at my wedding.”

  “What happened?” Mimi said. “Who’ll be here?”

  Preston shook his head. “Meems, I can’t talk about it. Something I shouldn’t have done, shouldn’t have seen. I’ve been told not to do it, but I did it anyway, and now I know why the room is locked.”

  “Stanley’s top-secret room?”

  Preston nodded.

  “What did you see?”

  “I can’t tell you, and you don’t want to know.” Preston raised his eyes to the ceiling. “Son of a bitch—it’s major shit, Nate. I mean, maybe I’m wrong, maybe it isn’t what I think it is, maybe I need another look.”

  “You better be careful,” Nathan said. “Does anybody know you went in there?”

  “I don’t think so, but what if they found out? Stanley and the accountant, they’ve got eyes and ears everywhere. I don’t think Stephanie saw me, but who knows? I don’t want them to mess up my wedding day.”

  “Did Stephani
e say something?”

  Preston shook his head. “They left the room unlocked when they went out to lunch. It was too tempting, and I went snooping. Stephanie was at her desk in the front. I don’t think she saw me, but what if she did?”

  “So big deal,” Nathan said, with a shrug. “They didn’t say anything. Anyway, it’s just a room of accounting papers.”

  “No, not just papers. There’s a dozen ledger books, bank records, bills of lading, shipping forms. You know, you see things, you put two and two together and you realize you’re looking at major shit. Everything in that room is tightly organized, and everything is in a certain place. Maybe when I was snooping around, I moved something and didn’t put it back in the right place.” He drew a deep breath through clenched teeth. “I shouldn’t have been in there. But I saw shit, Nate. Major shit!”

  “What the hell is major shit?”

  “The stuff that could send people to jail for a long time. Let me know if you see a fat guy with greasy black hair and horn-rimmed glasses at the reception tonight.”

  “Who is that?”

  “The accountant, and I want to stay away from him.”

  Mimi heard organ music and said, “We have to go. They’re lining up. I’m sure everything will be all right.”

  “I agree,” Nathan said. “Tonight, you’re getting married to a fabulous girl. If anybody comes to bother you, you just tell me, and I’ll take care of it. Tonight, I got your back—I’m running interference. Tonight, you’re nothing but the luckiest man in the world.”

  Preston nodded. “Thanks, Nate. You’re the best! We are the two luckiest guys in the world. Chrissie and Mimi—they’re both terrific.”

  “Now you got it. Nothing to worry about.”

  * * *

  Following the ceremony, a line of limousines and buses waited to shuttle the wedding party and their guests from the church on the city’s northwest side to the reception at the Palmer House Hotel. As the formally attired couples stepped onto the hotel’s red carpet, there was a constant pop of flashbulbs from newspaper and magazine photographers. THE CONGRESSMAN’S DAUGHTER TIES THE KNOT.