by PJ Eiden
Hank approached the front passenger car. Through the steam, he saw a dark figure carrying a small case emerge. He approached the reverent man and reached out to shake his hand. “Father, thank you for coming on such short notice.”
“Henry, I finally get to see where you’ve been hiding out.” Father Whelan looked out across Clark Lake. “Oh, it’s beautiful here. I wish we were here under different circumstances.”
Warren was laying in the bed with his sleeping shirt unbuttoned at the chest while the doctor examined the sound of his heart. Kate was acting as a nurse while Albert tended to the resort affairs outside.
Harriet met the men at the entry. She held the screen door open and greeted Hank and his guest as they climbed the porch steps. “Welcome. Please come right inside. I hope you had a good train ride from Chicago.”
Harriet’s haggard appearance and forced smile were clues of how bad things were. Exhaustion was apparent in the dark circles beneath her eyes. It appeared she hadn’t slept nor eaten since Warren fell ill.
Father Whelan arrived in his standard collar with a light overcoat.
“Hello, you must be Father Whelan. I’m glad to see you.” Harriet gave the priest an uncharacteristic hug and turned to Hank. “Thank you for arranging his visit.”
“Of course, Harriet.”
“Father, welcome to the north woods. While you’re here, please make yourself at home. We have a cabin ready for your stay. You can leave your bag here in the lodge for now. Albert will deliver it for you.”
The priest removed his traveler’s hat. “Thank you, Harriet. I appreciate your family’s hospitality.”
“Oh, it’s no trouble at all. It’s what we do around here,” she said from habit.
The men stood and looked upstairs when Doctor Thomas pulled the bedroom door closed behind him. He took a moment to stow his stethoscope in a black leather bag as he prepared to leave.
“Would you like some coffee before you head up to see Warren? We also have water, or lemonade if you like.” Harriet tried to sound cheerful, but the words came out strained.
Father Whelan replied, “Oh no, ma’am. I’m fine.”
“It looks like the doctor is finishing with his daily check-in.” Harriet walked to the foot of the stairs. She met the gray-haired physician as he came down. “Doctor, how is Warren doing?”
The solemn man looked up and scanned the visitors waiting at the landing with Harriet. He noticed Father Whelan’s collar and felt at ease sharing the report. He took Harriet lightly by the arm. “Well, Harriet, while I’m certain Warren suffered a major heart attack the day he fell from the ladder, it’s not clear how much permanent damage was done to his heart. For such a strong strapping man to be cut down like this, my assumption is the damage was quite severe. His heartbeat today remains very faint and somewhat irregular.”
The statement confirmed her worst fears.
“I’m Father Whelan.” The priest shook the doctor’s outstretched hand. “I’m just now learning about Warren’s condition. Do you mind explaining, what does an irregular heartbeat mean?”
The physician paused and took a breath. “Well, the sound of the heart is faint at best. At times, it skips a beat or two before it resumes. It may never return to a normal rhythm. I’m afraid at some point, he may even have another attack.”
Harriet stepped closer. “What are you saying? Please, don’t beat around the bush, doctor.”
The physician stroked his bushy eyebrows. “To be honest, I don’t know how long Warren has to live. His heart doesn’t sound strong enough for a man his age.” His sympathetic eyes focused on Harriet. “This is a difficult message, but I believe Warren should get his affairs in order.”
Harriet stood silently as tears streaked down her face. She didn’t try to wipe them away. Father Whelan stepped up beside her and put an arm around her shoulders. He retrieved a handkerchief from his pocket and offered it to her.
The doctor excused himself to visit another patient. Without a word, Harriet started up the stairs with slow deliberate steps followed by Hank and Father Whelan. She eased the door open to Warren’s room. She took a moment to compose herself then moved close to the bed. “Warren dear, Hank brought a visitor to see you.” She motioned to the men to join her at the bedside.
Hank and Father Whelan approached the foot of the bed and studied Warren. His pale face had deep creases in his forehead, which made him look aged far beyond his fifty-one years.
Warren stirred when Harriet massaged his hand. He looked at the two men at the foot of the bed and a slight smile came to his face. He addressed Hank with a raspy low voice. “This must be serious Hank if you’ve dragged a priest up here all the way from Chicago.”
Hank had a difficult time hearing his uncle.
Harriet waived them closer to the bedside. “I’m going to let you men talk a while.” She leaned down and gave Warren a kiss on the cheek before she left. “I’ll see you later, dear.” Harriet closed the door behind her.
Father Whelan made his way around the right side of the bed. Hank took the other side. Warren turned toward the priest. “Father, it’s good to see you. What’s it been, almost eight years?”
Father Whelan smiled. “Yes, Warren, it’s been too long. I wish I were here for better reasons.”
Warren turned his head toward the priest and waived him in closer. “Father, I’m ready now.”
Father Whelan could see the hungry look in Warren’s eyes. Hank stood up and started to pace near the door.
Warren continued, “Father, you and I went through a lot in the old days.”
The priest nodded. “Yes, Warren, but your past is all forgiven now. God doesn’t see those things anymore when he looks at you.”
Warren shook his head. “No, Father. I’m still as guilty of those things today and even worse.”
Father Whelan squinted, and his mouth drew to one side. He was surprised by the statement. He made the sign of the cross over himself, folded his hands, looked down, and became silent.
“Father, for all the years since I left Chicago, I’ve never cut my ties with the North Side Mob,” Warren said.
Father Whelan sat upright and gasped. He stared into Warren’s eyes.
The room became as silent as a winter night. When the floorboards outside the bedroom door creaked, Hank opened the door. Harriet stood there with a water pitcher in one hand, covering her mouth with the other. Tears dropped down to the insides of her forearms. When Hank moved closer, she shoved the pitcher at him and backed away shaking her head. She descended the stairs alone.
Hank delivered the water. “I should go now.” He left Warren and Father Whelan alone, closing the door on his way out.
Warren resumed his confession. “When I left Chicago to save my hide, I had no intention of living a life of crime anymore. After the first couple of long winters here, my prospects were still thin. I needed more for survival but couldn’t find a way to get it.”
Warren began to wheeze and cough. The priest poured water and offered a glass. Warren sipped and coughed a little more to clear his throat.
“One day by chance in the village of Nisswa, I ran into a couple of Chicago thugs who were here trying to set up a small casino in an abandoned building. Though they were friends from the past, I told them to knock off the local gambling. They might blow my cover if the Feds came around.”
Warren paused to rest a moment. “The next thing I knew, a week later, they closed up shop and the whole thing disappeared. Before they left town, one of the goons reached out to see what else they should be doing. We talked a lot about the liquor business and bringing booze in through Detroit.”
Father Whelan nodded and listened with his eyes closed.
“A couple of weeks after that, I got a call from Tom at the general store across the lake to let me know I had a visitor interested in lodging. In the early
days, I didn’t have a lot, so this was a big deal for me. I took the boat over there, and a familiar man stood on the dock in a suit looking straight out of Chicago. It was Dean O’Banion.”
The priest looked down at Warren.
“One of the goons told him where I was hiding, and he came to see what I wanted to do with my share of the business.
“To be honest, I thought I had walked away from it all when I left Chicago.
“We spent the next four days in the original farmhouse here working out the North Side’s plans for how to run our side of Chicago. I agreed to oversee entertainment for the clubs, find quality liquor supplies, and distribute the goods. Dean took care of the speakeasy owners, gambling, protection, and directing the guys on the street.
“We also made plans for how I could remain anonymous—do my part from behind the scenes. We planned for a few of my head guys to see me from time to time by coming here. Most posed as ministers or salesmen when they came north on the train.
“Hank was one exception who just stumbled in here while trying to get away from the killers on his tail.”
Father Whelan studied the grave-looking man unable to leave his bed. “Warren, did you decide who would be killed in Chicago?”
Warren took a few deep breaths. “Father, I’ve committed about every sin there is. I used people and endangered lives while stealing liquor. The men killed people for me who posed a threat to us or the business. We were guilty of cheating in gambling. We regularly took the Lord’s name in vain. We celebrated gluttony, malice, and drunkenness, and we hoarded lots of liquor. It’s been so long since I’ve attended Mass regularly, I can’t even recall when. We broke the law on almost all of these things, and, when we were caught, we lied to the cops and even judges and juries while under oath. I’m sure I’ve missed many sins on this list and for those unknown, I confess as well.” His tone was one of deep regret.
Father Whelan sat still and stared down at the floor for several minutes as he considered the confession. “Are you sorry for the sins you’ve committed and resolve not to commit them again?”
Warren focused his thoughts on the question. “Yes, I am, Father.”
Father Whelan gave Warren a prayer penance and offered forgiveness.
Warren faded back on the bed as if all his energy was gone from purging the darkness from his soul.
Father Whelan caught Henry out on the landing. “You can come back in now.”
Hank took his place in a chair alongside the bed. He reached in and squeezed Warren’s shoulder. The muscles seemed weak and loose on his bones.
Warren’s eyes closed on the edge of sleep, but he stirred once more. “Out there.”
Hank was nearest to Warren. He leaned down and gave his shoulder a gentle shake. “Warren, what did you say?”
Warren’s eyes flickered open for a moment. “Out there.”
Father Whelan glanced at Henry and turned back to Warren. “Warren, what’s out there?”
Warren’s right arm wavered as he raised it off the bed a couple of inches and pointed. His arm collapsed back down on the blankets.
Hank guessed, “There is an old barn here on the property. I understand it was part of the farm Warren bought many years ago.”
Warren mumbled inaudibly with his eyes shut. His breathing faded to puffs of exhales as he slept.
The priest looked at Henry. “What would a barn have to do with anything?”
Hank shrugged his shoulders. “I have no idea. It’s where he fell off the ladder when he had his heart attack.”
“What was he doing when it happened?”
“Harriet said he was painting the faded red siding on the barn.”
There was a pause in the conversation. “Warren isn’t a spring chicken anymore. Why wouldn’t he have his son Albert do that type of work?”
Hank rubbed his face. “I couldn’t say.”
Father Whelan settled into his cabin before walking over to rap on Henry’s door. “You got a minute?”
“Sure, Father. Come on inside and have a seat.”
The priest stayed standing. “There’s something I need to tell you.”
Hank remained in his chair. “OK, we’re alone here.”
“They won’t be looking for you anymore. You’re safe now.”
“Who won’t be?”
The priest came in and sat down. “Neither the Murder Twins nor Capone will be looking for you.”
Chapter 33
Erased
“Henry, it happened when you got burned in the fire. You know, after we got you all bandaged up at the church, I drove back to the old warehouse alone.”
“Yes, Father.”
“Well, I ran into the same young Irish policeman who came to the church the night you were shot. He said, ‘As long as you are here, Father, I have a request for you.’
“I was curious. ‘Oh, how can I help?’
“He made his grim request. ‘Well, you know so many local people on both sides of the law. I was wondering if you would also be willing to help confirm the identities of the dead victims?’ He tried to warn me that it might be gruesome.
“I can still feel the anxiety of being surrounded by those charred corpses. After all my years as a priest, I’d never thought I’d come face-to-face with hell.”
Hank’s mind was stuck on the fact that this occurred while he was making his escape by train.
“I kept a firm grip on my Bible. I told him, ‘If I can stomach it, then yes, I will try to help you. Of course, there is no guarantee I will know any of these hoodlums unless they attended a funeral Mass at my church or something. Most of them generally don’t come to Mass.’
“He nodded in agreement and said, ‘All right, let’s start by the door and work our way through the building.’
“Step by step, we walked the wreckage and looked over the remains. I asked questions like: ‘What are all these large metal rings? Was this a bicycle factory?’
“He was patient with me. ‘No, I’m afraid those are the barrel rings from stored whiskey, which remained after the fire.’ A corpse of a short man lay among the ashes and metal. I pulled back some smoldering wood slats and studied the gold dentistry work in the front teeth of the victim’s mouth. Officer Mulaney peered over my shoulder. ‘Do you know this one?’
“I was pretty sure. ‘Yes, based on the teeth, I think this is Tony M, as they called him. He had been a fighter in his younger days. He is a part of Capone’s Outfit.’
“While Officer Mulaney made notes in a small book, I continued the search crawling over the twisted building beams and smoldering wood debris next to the remains of a large freight truck. Down through the charred lumber, I saw a distinct patch of human skin. I pulled some loose timbers back. I let him know. ‘I think I may have found something under here.’
“The policeman looked up from his notes. ‘Wait for me, I’ll be right there.’
“So, I pulled back a piece of roofing tin. It was hard to look because the face of the victim was burned beyond recognition. ‘No rush, I won’t be able to give this one last rights.’
“It hit me just then. I still had your dad’s jewelry in my coat pocket. At the church office, we were marveling at how his initials were the same as yours.”
Hank’s eyes widened.
“Lying on my stomach, I stretched my arm down through an opening in the heap and tugged the man’s left arm into view. I retrieved the gold band from my coat and worked it on the deceased man’s ring finger. I smeared some ashes on the ring and replaced the cuff link on the man’s sleeve. I tucked the arm back into place under the pile. Before I could finish, Officer Mulaney came out of nowhere.
“He startled me. ‘What do you see in there?’
“I lurched back and turned to him. I’m sure my face was flushed. It took me a moment to regain composure. ‘This one sure a
ppears dead.’
“Mulaney had to notice how he surprised me like I was doing something wrong. But he brushed off my reaction by saying, ‘Even as a cop, I’ve never gotten used to dead bodies.’
“He wasn’t fazed. ‘Let’s pull back this mess and see what we’ve got.’
“I was nervous having him help because I still had one cuff link squeezed tight in my hand. When I got the chance, I slipped it back into my coat pocket.
“We took turns pulling the collapsed tin pieces and charred lumber back. When we created access to the victim, I could see the coat and shirt sleeves on the man’s right arm were melted to ashes.”
“The officer asked, ‘I don’t suppose you can help identify this one?’
“I stepped closer into the newly liberated space. I took a knee next to the victim. As I bent down close to study the remains, I told Mulaney, ‘It won’t be easy with his face and hair burned like this.’ I noticed a silver cuff link poking up through the ash around the right arm. This didn’t match the gold one I had attached to the left sleeve.
“So, I reached in my coat and took the gold cuff link in my hand. With a tight grip on the jewelry, I reached down and pinched the silver cuff link from the body. I rubbed them together and picked the gold version out for the officer. ‘Here’s something. Could this help?’
“The policeman rubbed the ashes off the gold. ‘Hey, there are initials engraved on this. It looks like HLM. Do you have any idea who this could be?’
“I had to be coy, so I took my time. I spoke in a confident deliberate tone. ‘Yes, I do. I can’t believe Hank Macklan finally met his match. He and his father both had long histories of working for the Northsiders. I believe they were beer runners.’”
Hank found it odd to hear a story of his death.
“The officer stood upright and said, ‘This one was important to the North Side. I’ve been told he was a right hand for George Moran.’”