Mickey's Wars

by Dave McDonald

  “My brother is in the Guard, and the talk is they’ll be going. What’s it like?”

  I let her question hang in space as I watched the bartender poor my beer and set it in front of me. “All I can say is that I’m just glad to be here.”

  “Were you at . . . what was that place called where all those Marines got surrounded?”

  “The Chosin Reservoir.”

  “Yeah, that’s the one. Now that had to be scary. Were you there?”

  I stared into her eyes for a few long seconds. “Think it’ll rain today?”

  “Oh,” she said. She sipped some more rye. “You sound like my dad.”

  “How’s that?”

  “He’d never talk about his experiences in World War Two either.”

  I nodded. “Was your dad in the Marine Corps?”

  “Yes.”

  “So was mine and my grandfather as well.”

  “You didn’t have a chance did you?”

  I chuckled.

  “Let’s switch the focus. What do you do for a living, Kate O’Shaughnessy?”

  “I’m a cop.”

  I sat up taller. “Really? Now talk about scary.”

  She looked both ways and then lowered her voice to a whisper. “Yeah, today just before my shift ended, I gave out three parking tickets in less than fifteen minutes. I’m here to tell ya, it was hair-raisin’.”

  I chuckled, and she joined me.

  “Well, Kate O’Shaughnessy it can’t be easy for a woman to be a cop in this man’s world. I’m impressed.” I raised my glass to her.

  She tapped my glass with hers. “What do you do at Parris Island?”

  It was my turn to case the place with my eyes. “I’m a firing range instructor,” I whispered, “and Friday thirty-seven targets were blown to bits. We took no prisoners.”

  We exchanged grins and tapped glasses again.

  “It just doesn’t fit, you being a small town cop; maybe a model or a movie star, but not a cop.”

  “How sweet. I had plans to go away to college and become a nurse, but . . . but my mom got sick and . . . well there weren’t that many choices for employment.”

  “How is she?”

  She averted her eyes. “She passed this spring.”

  “Sorry.” I took a swig of beer and wondered how I would feel if I lost my mom. Mom was my rock. I blinked away the horrible thought. “So why are you still here?”

  “My dad, he was fine until Mom left, and now . . .” She shook her head.

  “My dad would be lost without my mom.”

  “My father’s worse than lost, he’s given up.” She downed her drink.

  “Can I get you another?”

  “Yes. Thanks. Then I’ll have to go.”

  “Fred, another shot for the lady, please.” I turned to her. “You’re from here, is the Biltmore worth seeing?”

  “Oh yes, it was built in the late 1800’s, and it’s amazing how far advanced it was for its time. I’ve probably been to it six or seven times, and I still love to go. There’s a feeling inside the place, I don’t know, it’s strange. It’s like . . . well it’s like you can imagine the people who lived in that mansion back then living there now.”

  “You mean like ghosts?”

  “No. It’s more an aura.”

  “Sounds fascinating.”

  She took a sip of rye. “I never get tired of going there. I’ve studied the family history. I should apply for one of those docent jobs. I’d love to do that. My father tells me I could.”

  “Then do it,” I said.

  “I’d need to practice.” As she raised her glass, her eyebrows arched. “Wait a minute, would you like your own personal tour guide?”

  I fixed on her eyes and saw only a friendly offer. No guile. No seduction. I shrugged. “I’d love to have my own tour guide.”

  “When are you going?”

  “Tomorrow, early.”

  “Tomorrow’s Sunday. Ah, I have to . . . could I bring my dad?”

  Chapter Seventy-Eight

  The parking lot of the Biltmore was about half full Sunday morning when I saw the police cruiser roll in and park near me.

  Kate O’Shaughnessy jumped out of the driver’s side, smiled, and waved at me. Her red hair swayed and returned to caress her shoulders.

  Her joy was infectious, and I couldn’t help but return the smile.

  The feeling reminded me of how I felt when I saw my friends. Then I realized I hadn’t made any new friends since Tony Sculini. Although Sara had been my best friend, I kept her in a far more intimate category.

  Kate wore a blue ‘Duke’ sweat shirt, black slacks, and tennis shoes as she walked to the passenger’s door and opened it.

  A broad shouldered old man with a grey comb-over pulled himself up and out of the car. He towered over Kate.

  Kate took the man’s arm and led him toward me.

  “Mick Mackenzie, meet my dad, Patrick O’Shaughnessy.”

  The big man grabbed my hand, and shook it.

  “Semper fi,” Mr. O’Shaughnessy said. Still clasping my hand, he tucked his chin inward. “Don’t I know you?” His eyes studied me. “I may be old, and I may forget names, but I never forget a face. Have we met?”

  I eased my hand from his grasp. “Semper fi, Mr. O’Shaughnessy. Sergeant Mackenzie, sir, and I don’t think we’ve met. When did you serve and what division?”

  “World War Two, I was a Captain when it was over, I served in the Third Marines, First Battalion, currently deactivated.”

  “My dad was in the First Division, First Battalion. As am I.” I rubbed my jaw. “I read about the Three-Three. You were on Iwo Jima, weren’t you?”

  A distant look invaded his brown eyes. “Yeah.”

  I shook my head. “Wow.”

  He nodded. “And you were at the Chosin Reservoir, weren’t you?”

  I glanced at Kate. “Yes, sir.”

  “Touché,” he said.

  “I knew it,” Kate said. “Dad knows everything about the Marines. It’s become a hobby of his since he retired.”

  “Let’s go experience some other kind of history,” I said.

  Kate grinned and nodded. “Let’s do it.”

  We’d just walked out of the parking lot to where I could see the front of the Biltmore. I stopped. “Wow.” I had never been this close to such a large, ornate structure.

  “You haven’t seen anything yet, wait ‘til we get inside,” Kate said.

  Kate’s father snapped his fingers. “Oh my God. I-”he walked around me, slowly turned to face me, snapped to attention, and saluted.

  I wasn’t sure I’d ever get used to officers saluting me, even ex-officers. He knew who I was. I stiffened and returned the salute.

  “What’s going on?” Kate asked.

  Mr. O’Shaughnessy grabbed my hand and shook it again. “I knew I’d seen you before. It was on a newsreel at the movies.” He released my hand and turned to his daughter. “Sergeant Mackenzie is above and beyond other Marines, Katie; he’s a Medal of Honor recipient.”

  Chapter Seventy-Nine

  Kate impressed me with her in-depth knowledge of the hundreds of rooms in the Biltmore. And although the way she looked at me had changed since her dad recalled who I was, she had my attention with her finite details about the Biltmore.

  After the two-hour tour, I bought Kate and her father coffee at a shop on the grounds.

  “You should definitely be a docent here,” I said.

  “Hear-hear,” her dad said, raising his cup. “She’s a bright lass.”

  Her cheeks flushed. “You’re both too kind. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it as much as I always do.”

  “Well if the Biltmore doesn’t hire you, the US Marines should. You’re a natural-born teacher. With your memory and dedication to detail, along with you breaking the gender-barrier and becoming a cop, maybe you could become the first female Marine instructor. Imagine that. You’d make a great instructor. You could teach grunts how to disassemble, clean
, and reassemble weapons.”

  “That’s fabulous idea, Mick,” Kate’s dad said.

  I checked my watch and swigged the last of my coffee. “I’ve got to go. Kate, and Mr. O’Shaughnessy, I want to thank you for your company. It was great meeting both of you. And if you ever decide to go to Hardeeville to see your cousin, give a call to the Mackenzies in Bluffton and let us know when you’ll be there. Mom can always put a couple of more plates on the table.”

  Mr. O’Shaughnessy extended his hand. “It was both an honor and pleasure to meet you, Sergeant.”

  I shook his hand, and he rose and went outside leaving Kate and I by ourselves.

  “This is all happening too fast,” Kate said. Her eyes glistened with moisture. “I . . . I want to-”

  “Kate, why don’t we exchange addresses and write to each other. I would love to have you as a friend.” I glanced away from those wet green eyes and then back. “What I know about you, I like. And I think we could become good friends. But that’s all. I’m committed to a wonderful woman; a woman I want to spend the rest of my life with.”

  Her shoulders slumped, and she nodded. “All the good ones are always taken.”

  “That’s not true. You’re not taken.”

  She grinned and pulled a pen and paper out of her purse and scribbled.

  We exchanged addresses and stood.

  “Be safe, Mick Mackenzie,” she said.

  She hugged me.

  It had been a while since a woman had enwrapped me. Her body was soft and warm and molded into mine. Her vanilla scent caressed my nose. My needs wanted the hug to last, but my instincts broke it.

  “Good-bye, Kate O’Shaughnessy. I’ll see you in your words.”

  I stopped at a gas station in Asheville to fuel up and to make a call.

  Dad answered.

  “Hi, Dad. I took a little trip this weekend. And I was thinking about staying overnight with you tonight and returning to the base early tomorrow. Would that be okay?”

  “Sure.” His tone was a touch higher than normal; his happy tone. “Can you be here for supper around six-thirty or seven?”

  I glanced at my watch. “I should be able to make that.”

  “That’d be great.” He called to Mom, “Honey, put another bean in the pot, Mick’s stopping by for dinner and spending the night.” He cleared his throat. “Mick, your timing is unbelievable.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Well, I’ve been wanting to tell you this for a while now, but . . . do you remember Lyle, Lyle Fitzpatrick?”

  “Yeah, he’s that investigator right?”

  “Yes, the Savannah private investigator I hired to find Sara.”

  “Sure, how could I forget him?”

  “Well, ah, I rehired him after Sara was taken a second time.”

  I felt a stab of fear for my parents. “Dad, you shouldn’t have-”

  “Son, it’s best to know all you can about your enemies.”

  “You should have told me . . . consulted me first.” The last thing I needed was my parents’ involvement in my mess, or for them to possibly be in danger again. But I couldn’t tell Dad that. “He has to be expensive for one thing.” I tried to reason. I took a deep breath. This wasn’t the time to point fingers. “So what’s so great about my timing?”

  “Lyle’s stopping by this evening to give your mother and me a report on his findings.”

  Chapter Eighty

  I had barely gotten inside the front door and was still shaking Dad’s hand, when Mom rushed in from the kitchen and pulled me into her arms. She hugged me like I had just returned from the war versus having seen her last week. There was nothing in my world like Mom’s hugs; nothing. Mom’s gentle, warm embrace always isolated me from the outside world and all of its problems and insecurities. I was briefly transported back in time when Dad was gone, back to the rocking chair and her nameless tunes.

  “Oh, Mick, it’s so good to have you here. So good.” She patted my sides. “You’re as skinny as a rail. Good gracious, I can feel your ribs. Haven’t you been eating? What are they doing to you out there on that base?”

  “I’m fine, Mom. I’ve been exercising a lot. I’m probably in better shape than when I went through Basic.”

  “I can still remember those days; lean and mean, a real fightin’ machine,” Dad said. “Good for you.” His smile faded. “Ah, you’re not going back, back to Korea, are you?”

  “No, sir. Just trying to feel better about myself.”

  Dad nodded, patted my arm, and smiled.

  Mom gave me another little hug.

  Dad half turned and motioned. “You remember Lyle, don’t you, Mick?”

  The small, bespectacled man, probably around Dad’s age, got up from the couch and ran a hand over his thin red hair. He approached and extended his right hand. “It’s an honor to meet you again, Sergeant Mackenzie.”

  “Call me Mick, Lyle,” I said shaking his hand. “I hear you have a report on Sara.”

  “Yes, I-”

  “That’s gonna have to wait,” Mom said. “Why don’t all y’all take a seat in the dining room. Supper is ready.”

  I clenched my jaws. I had spent the whole trip anticipating what Lyle had to say. The thought of putting his report off until after dinner was a horrific patience tester. But I knew Mom, and when dinner was ready we ate; no exceptions.

  A heaping plate of roast beef, mashed potatoes and gravy, and fresh-from-the-garden green beans, dabbled with nerve-grating small talk, and I was stuffed. I had eaten faster than when I was in Korea with a hot meal going cold.

  All four of us helped clear the table. Then we returned to the cleaned dining room table to hear what Lyle had discovered.

  Finally.

  Mom served coffee and a slice of pound cake to everyone.

  I sat across from Lyle. I wanted to absorb every word he said. He placed a thick folder on the table and opened it.

  “First of all, thanks for a great meal, Mrs. Mackenzie,” he said, smiling at my mom. His sunken little brown eyes beaming behind his rimless glasses. “Since we last talked, I’ve been traveling quite a bit. Oh, and don’t worry, I think you’ll find that I’ve earned every penny of my fee.”

  I sat up. My dad’s dad, my grandfather, always told me to never trust a person you employed who had to tell you they earned their money.

  After a bite of cake and a sip of coffee, Lyle cleared his throat. “The first place I went was Youngstown, Ohio. One to verify Sara was there, and two to learn more about her and the Venturini family. And Sara is there.”

  Another sip of coffee.

  “I found most of my information at the city library. Sara’s picture has shown up numerous times in the local papers’ society pages at various ‘highbrow’ functions in the past couple of months. There was no way to get copies of the newspaper pages without stealing them, and I wouldn’t do that. So, I took photos of them.” He removed several pages from his folder and held up the top one for all of us to see. There were two photos stapled to the sheet of paper; one a close-up photo of a picture and the other a photo of the paper’s entire page including the legible date. “I’m pretty proud of how much detail I was able to get. In case you can’t read it, I’ve noted the date of each article at the bottom of the pictures.”

  He passed a small stack of sheets to Mom, who looked at them and then passed them to me. There must have been a half-dozen. In most of them Sara was decked out in a long gown, often draped in fur, and always highlighted by sparkling diamonds. What bothered me most were the several pictures where she either had her arm entwined in Johnny’s, who wore a tuxedo, or he had his arm around her. She looked happy. How could that be? Was she faking, or was she a liar?

  I shoved the pages to my dad, as if they contained something foul and disgusting.

  “I also found several newspaper articles covering John Venturini’s so-called car accident,” Lyle said with a mouthful of cake. “Note the dates, it happened almost a year ago.” He pushed
more paper at Mom. “A point of interest is that John Venturini is a car collector. He must have fifteen or twenty vintage cars. But one day, for some reason, John decided to drive the 1949 red Packard, the only car registered to Sara. The car was a convertible and maybe it was a warm sunny day, I don’t know. When he started it, it blew up. It’s a miracle he survived. But his face was messed up. Hence the trip here because of a renown plastic surgeon in Savannah.”

  “Why would someone rig Sara’s car with a bomb?” I asked. “You’re right about Venturini having many classy cars and limos; I know I saw them.”

  Lyle’s arched brows turned to face me. “Exactly the same questioned I asked myself. Particularly since Sara has only one car for her personal use. Because of this conundrum, I decided to dig deeper into Sara’s family.”

  Lyle hesitated to take another bite of cake. I had to squelch an urge to take his fork and what was left of his cake away from him. I wanted answers.

  “And you were right, Mick, Sara was raised in Wilmington, Ohio. And her maiden name was Wiggs. Her dad, Melvin Wiggs, had inherited a fortune, but Sara’s mother didn’t marry him for his money. She had plenty of her own. Sara’s mother was from Pittsburgh and her maiden name was LaRocca. Her brother, Sara’s uncle, is John Sebastian LaRocca, second in command of the Pittsburgh Mafia.”

  “What?” Dad asked.

  I just shook my head in bewilderment. I had nothing to say. I didn’t know what to say. My mind had leaped to the night I had gone to rescue Sara. How could I ever forget that night? We were standing in an upstairs bedroom, alone, when Sara had told me John’s uncle was ‘one of the top bosses in the Pittsburgh Mafia’. Had she been talking about herself?

  “So I went to Pittsburgh and again to the city library where I checked newspaper files,” Lyle said. “Hence more pictures.” He removed another stack of sheets with pictures attached from his folder and handed them to Mom.

  “When Sara left Bluffton last Christmas she didn’t go to Youngstown; she met Johnny at her uncle’s home in Pittsburgh.”