by PJ Eiden
He took a moment to think about it. “It’s not a scheduled thing for me. Generally, I find it soothing to play a quiet joint when I have a lot on my mind.”
Evelyn sat back in her chair. “Well, I’m glad I caught you. It was certainly a pleasure to listen to you unwind. Have a good evening.”
Evelyn’s feeling of triumph was obvious.
Rachel sensed she had something to say. “What is it now, Evie? Out with it!”
Evelyn beamed. “There! That is how you meet an interesting man.”
Rachel chirped, “Oh really? Thanks for the lesson. So, I’m curious now, what’s his name, Evelyn, and how would you ever see him again?”
Evelyn bristled at the challenge. “Oh, hush! You know what I mean. Even you must admit, there are better ways to meet men than to hang out with a crowd of drunkards because they look like they might have money. Anyone can shine up their shoes for a night.”
Chapter 5
The Dance
The current nightmare wasn’t over yet. Even with his side stitched, Hank was in pain and somewhat light-headed as he kept quiet while lying on the table with one hand gripping the wine bottle standing beside him. Down the hall, Father Whelan turned on the entrance lights to the rectory and unlocked the door.
Two weary-looking uniformed police officers stood on the stoop shoulder to shoulder. One held a flashlight in his hands and the other removed his hat and placed it beneath his arm. “Evening, Father. We are sorry to disturb you at this hour, but we might have a dangerous situation here in the neighborhood. We wanted to ask you if you might have seen anything suspicious tonight.”
“Good evening, officers. I’m glad you’re out patrolling, keeping us safe. Even with all the arrests being made lately, there are still many reports of crime in the city. I’m curious, what are your names?”
“I’m Officer Mulaney, and this is my partner Officer Richter.”
The priest reached out and put his hand on Officer Mulaney’s shoulder. “Your accent sounds familiar. Are you by chance from central Ireland?”
“Why, yes, I’m from Roscommon. My parents still live there. Did you grow up in Ireland too?”
The priest smiled. “Well, it’s awful dark out there, would you men like to come inside for a while?”
Officer Richter spoke, “Thanks, Father, but we don’t have time. We need to talk with all the neighbors along this street if possible. Can you tell me, was the church open tonight?”
Father Whelan nodded. “Yes, of course. Every week we take confessions on Wednesday evenings.”
“Did you have any unusual visitors or thugs come into the church tonight?”
Father Whelan studied their faces. “Well, I spent most of my time in the confessional. But I checked the church over before I closed up and the sanctuary was completely empty. We had a small group this evening, and I knew each of the church members in attendance. There were no strangers in the crowd. Why do you ask?”
Officer Richter continued, “As we were patrolling tonight, we spotted a Lincoln V8 parked just down the street. We’ve never seen expensive cars in this neighborhood. Besides, this one had been through a storm of bullets. We found a submachine gun inside and empty shell casings strewn about on the ground.”
“Jesus save us! The thought of armed thugs lurking outside the church is alarming,” Father Whelan gasped. “Confession night is always rather quiet in the church. I didn’t hear gunfire or sounds of any disturbance. We have elderly people attend on Wednesday. I wouldn’t have let them leave if I thought there was a dangerous criminal loose in the neighborhood!”
Officer Mulaney raised a hand. “We don’t know if the driver is still around or not. Our squad is investigating some sort of mob shootout a couple of miles from here. Most likely one of these thugs ditched his car on the street and either got picked up or headed out on foot.”
The priest crossed his arms. “Well, it still doesn’t give one any comfort until you arrest him. At this point, all we can do is pray for our safety and his repentance. Speaking of prayers, would you men like to bring your families to Mass this Sunday? I could do a special blessing for your safety on the job.”
“Oh, thanks Father. We’ll think about it. For now, we better keep moving. Please call the police station if you think of anything or notice anyone in the neighborhood who doesn’t belong.”
“Yes, officer, I will. Sadly, these are dangerous times. Thank you for your bravery. Good night.”
Father Whelan watched the two officers walk back toward the street and turn next door to interview the neighbors. He turned the lights off and picked up the small candle once again.
Hank was sitting upright when the priest returned to the study room. “Let me help you stand. I’ll find a spot for you in the rectory.”
“First, who was at the door?”
Father Whelan had the upper hand now. “It was the cops who found your car. They wanted to know if I had any fugitives come into the church tonight.”
“What did you tell them? Did you lie for me?”
The priest paused for a dramatic effect. “I did the dance.”
Hank blinked twice in rapid succession. “What do you mean?
Father Whelan tried to conceal his smile. “I’m a priest and I try to live by the Ten Commandments. I stepped carefully around their questions with truthful answers. I also invited them to our worship service on Sunday.” Father Whelan chuckled. “It made them squirm and go away.”
Hank showed the first smile since he got off the operating table. “Say, if this priest thing doesn’t work out, you may have a future in the business.”
Father Whelan shook his head. “Don’t count on it, wise guy.”
Hank laughed at the reference until he felt a pain surge through his sutured side.
“All right, Henry, you need some rest. This will likely be a miserable night. If you were in a hospital, they would give you morphine and put you out for a few hours. Keep the wine bottle close.
“Take a seat here in the rectory study, while I set up a folding army cot.”
Hank fought his natural urge to help and took a chair next to a wall of bookshelves. He stared at the rows of volumes.
“Henry, we were interrupted by the police visit earlier. Now finish telling me why the Murder Twins are hunting you.”
A shiver spread over Hank. “Well, I told you how I got hired.”
“Oh, yes. I remember.”
Hank gave the highlights. “After the break-in and theft, the Oliver Sharpe Company decided to stop keeping their payroll cash on the premises until it was needed. They found the bank and trust located two blocks away was willing to help.”
Father Whelan unfolded a wool blanket and covered the cot while he listened.
“The new process for payroll day included the clerk preparing worker vouchers and envelopes for the bank to fill. In the afternoon, the clerk went to the bank to audit the count as the vouchers were filled. He carried the cash box the two blocks back to the printing office in time to hand them out at the end of the shift.”
The priest set a candle and box of matches down on a small table near the cot. “Sounds like a problem solved.”
“Not really. This only worked well until Sam, the payroll clerk, became crazy suspicious of people watching him. Sam believed he was being followed on the street. The company president didn’t feel it was safe for the nervous little man to walk alone with tens of thousands of dollars on him.” Hank took time for several deep breaths.
“OK, go on please.”
“I got involved when I hired on as the payroll guard to keep the money safe until employees collected their wages. It was legitimate.”
Father Whelan was waiting to hear about the pit Henry had fallen into. “What about Scalise and Anselmi?”
Hank swallowed and cleared his throat. “I didn’t know them unti
l my third week of escorting the clerk. I wish I’d never laid eyes on those barbarians!”
“Henry, be honest with me.”
Hank raised his hand, signaling to stop for a moment. He took another draw from the wine bottle, swallowed, and began. “It was a cold and windy Friday afternoon in April.
“I escorted Sam to the bank and trust, and everything was normal as a morning sunrise. I waited in the lobby while he and two bank clerks did the counts in the back room.” Hank snickered. “It always felt odd to me to sit in the bank with two pistols under my coat.”
Father Whelan shook his head.
“About 3:00 p.m., Sam was all set with the money. As was our procedure, when he returned to the front lobby, I stepped out on the sidewalk to look things over. With a nod through the window, he joined me for the march west toward the plant. He was a nervous sort like I’ve never seen.
“Sam hugged the storefronts as we walked and glared at each passing car on Thirty-Fifth. We were about a fourth of the way there when I noticed a sedan at the corner of Racine Street blocking our path. I told Sam to stay alert while I reached inside my coat. I had my hand on the pistol under my left arm just in case.”
Father Whelan leaned in close to Henry.
“We passed another couple of shops when two men got out of that car. One of them disappeared around the corner on Racine. The other walked straight toward us. I noticed the bulge under the left side of his overcoat, so I alerted Sam. ‘Watch out! He’s packing.’ Sam scrambled into a leather shop while I took a position behind a metal lamp post. The shooter coming our way was Alberto Anselmi. Alberto held a pistol in his right hand and raised his arm straight out like a knight’s lance. He kept marching down the middle of the walkway, cocked the gun, and fired at me.
“When his shot shattered the glass in the car parked behind me, I lost it.”
The priest reached up to cover his mouth.
“I don’t think he expected me to be armed. I fired back. When my shot went off, Anselmi rushed to the nearest store entryway. He had the angle on me. As I ran across the sidewalk, Alberto got off another shot, which clipped my coat sleeve. I got behind a brick pillar at the leather shop. Through the store window, I could see Sam crouched between a couple of steamer trunks with his arms wrapped around the cash box. I waved at him to stay down. The store owner watched me while he tried to save his hide by kneeling behind the sales counter.
“I heard screams down the street behind me. When I looked back, the younger robber with drooped and misaligned eyes was coming from the east. This man turned out to be John Scalise. He had a pistol in each hand. I saw a young couple drop their packages and run straight out into the moving traffic to avoid being shot.
“I was in a bad location and had to move before they boxed me in. As a last-ditch attempt, I ran straight toward Anselmi. Before he figured out what was happening, I dove into an open stairwell leading up to the second floor. It wasn’t a great spot, but I wasn’t out in the open.” Hank’s voice dropped to a whisper. “That’s when it happened.”
“What happened, Henry? Tell me.”
Hank swallowed hard. “When Sam saw me run for cover, he decided he couldn’t wait any longer. He panicked and tore out of the store. Sam was a clumsy man. In his haste, he smacked right into the door frame and knocked himself to the ground. The cash box broke open on one end. I don’t think Sam saw it though, because he got up and kept running with those envelopes dropping out the box. I heard the commotion and shouted to him, but he passed right by me like he was in a state of shock. Before he got far, two different sets of shots rang out.
“I saw the profile of Scalise at one of the storefronts holding the gun out. Before he could shoot again, I fired in his direction.
“But Sam was already down. Scalise ran right through the street with his guns still in each hand. I heard car tires screeching to a halt up and down the block. Anselmi scooped up the broken box and ran toward their car still parked at Racine. I went out to Sam, but it was too late. His lifeless body was face down in a pool of blood.” Hank closed his eyes again.
Father Whelan used his shirt sleeve to wipe perspiration off his forehead. He admired Henry’s courage to face true evil and not cower when being attacked. “Henry, how horrible to see Sam get gunned down.” The priest took a moment to collect his thoughts. “So, if the Murder Twins picked this gunfight and got the cash, why are they still trying to kill you? Is it because you were a witness?”
Hank studied the floor. “Unfortunately, there is more to this story.” He took a breath. “It gets worse.
“After the shoot out, I grabbed a bag from one of those shops as it was my duty to protect the transport. I scooped up the litter of loose pay envelopes from the sidewalk and tossed them in the bag. I headed straight for the Oliver Sharpe Company to give them the bad news and the rest of their money.
“When I got to the Racine Street intersection, two police cars came up with sirens blaring. The officers in one of the cars thought I was leaving the scene with a suspicious-looking sack, so they slammed on the brakes. They were out of the car and had their guns on me before I could cross. I stood there with my hands in the air staring at the building I was trying to get to. Before I knew it, they took the money, both of my weapons, and put me in handcuffs.”
“But you were the payroll guard. That should have been easy to explain. Did they turn you loose?”
“No, they wouldn’t listen to me at all. I got thrown into a crowded holding cell at the jail until a judge could hear my plea. I was charged with the payroll robbery and Sam’s murder.”
Father Whelan protested, “That’s terrible! The company should vouch for you.”
Hank nodded. “There were many witnesses on the block mid-afternoon who, unfortunately, saw me running around shooting a pistol and bagging up money after Sam was killed. Based on the witness interviews, the police convinced the company president this was an inside job planned by me.”
Father Whelan pushed his chair back from the table. “Did you serve time?” He asked in a distressed tone.
Hank took a seat on the cot and tried to roll on his side. “The jail time was the least of it.”
The priest helped him get comfortable. “I don’t understand.”
“After I was locked up, the cops pinched Anselmi and Scalise with the rest of the payroll cash. The police threw them in the same holding cell I was in.”
The color drained from the priest’s face. “My God, what happened?”
In a somber voice, Hank mumbled, “They beat me within an inch of my life.”
The priest gasped with his hand covering his mouth.
“Crooked eyes took hold of me and Scalise did the slugging. I had three broken ribs before the police stopped the torture.”
The priest reached out and touched Henry’s arm.
“On this night, the joint was overflowing, so they cuffed us and pushed us back into the same cell with the other criminals. Before I blacked out, Anselmi kneed me in the kidneys and gave me another to the groin.”
“Did you see a doctor?”
Hank scoffed. “Why would they do that? They just blamed my condition on my bad behavior and said it served me right. I could have died from that beating.”
Father Whelan was puzzled. “Why are you still a target?”
Hank took a deep breath. “My case came to court first, and I was angry. My defense didn’t stop at just proving I was working for the Oliver Sharpe Company when I collected the loose pay envelopes. We also went so far as to prove the slugs collected from Sam’s body matched the guns Anselmi and Scalise had on them the day they were arrested. The ballistic evidence helped to set me free and later was used to put them in prison for a long stretch.”
“You did the right thing. Those murderers deserve to rot behind bars!”
“But there’s a problem.”
“W
hat are you saying, Henry?”
“They are well connected. The twins work for people who pay off prison guards and courtroom justices. In six months, they got some sort of retrial. No surprise, the witnesses each developed amnesia and the police couldn’t find the evidence on the slugs that had been used to put them in prison. The whole thing got tossed. They went free. Now they want revenge.”
The priest’s face was as pale as the collar on his shirt. “Henry, these men have no fear of hell. They deliver the Devil’s wrath wherever they operate!”
Turning to the patient, he added, “While these stiches will stop most of the bleeding, after you get home, you’ll need to take it easy for a few days and limit your activity while the internal wounds have a chance to heal.
“A free bonus will be the scars you’re left with.”
“Great, your fancy needle work is all I need to turn some heads at the beach this summer.”
Father Whelan had to ask, “All right, tough guy, before we call it a night, I’ve got one more question.”
“What do you want to know?”
“Aren’t you scared?”
“Do you mean am I scared of hitmen coming from the other side of town?”
“Yes, Henry. Aren’t you scared you will be the next person they assassinate?”
“No, not really. Even if I’m a marked man, I don’t care. If these thugs don’t stick to their side of town, the undertaker will be very busy.” Hank winced as he moved to get more comfortable. “You know, Father, in Psalm 68, it says, ‘Let God arise, let his enemies be scattered: let them also that hate him flee before him. As smoke is driven away, so drive them away: as wax melteth before the fire, so let the wicked perish.’ “
The priest took a step back and took a fresh look at the vigilante lying on his cot.
Hank was getting sleepy. “How well did you know my father?”
“I knew Hudson very well and your mother Mattie, too. Your uncle Edward was a friend. When I came to this parish from Ireland, they were the first members of the church I got to know. They reminded me of my family back home. I thought they were kind and generous. It took a couple of years before I figured out the family business.”