Miserable Business

by PJ Eiden

  “I also shared, ‘Years ago, the family attended my church. I knew Hudson, Hank’s father, too. He worked for Dean O’Banion sometimes. There’s been so much death in this family. Rumor is Hank’s mother even died from being poisoned by a rival mob. His dad could never prove it. Either way, this was a tragedy.’

  “He then asked, ‘Father, I’m curious. Will you conduct a funeral for this type of known mobster? I’ve heard some priests refuse to give Catholic burials to those who wouldn’t change their ways.’ The man had raised a good point.”

  Hank took notice of this question.

  “I said, ‘Well, I don’t know for sure. You are right. We can deny a Mass of Christian Burial for any person who has deliberately chosen to live in opposition to our faith and refused to repent. We also consider the impact of holding such a service on the rest of the truly faithful who may consider it a dishonor to the beliefs they hold fast to.

  “I pointed out the inclusion of other church leaders. ‘I must reach out to the church diocese for their final say. Hank has a sister who lives out of state somewhere. If she’s in good standing with the church, we’d consider her faith in the decision, too.’

  “A few days after you made your escape to the north woods, I held your funeral Mass.”

  Henry pondered the strange deception. “Oh?”

  “Yes, and by the way, the church was pretty full for a guy who works behind the scenes.” The priest gave a faint smile. “When your sister Gloria stood near the casket in the back of the church, I consoled her while she wept. She said, ‘I’m surprised to see so many people here today. My brother was not a good man, and he kept to himself mostly.’

  “I shared my sentiments with her. ‘I want you to know, Henry has been coming to see me the last couple of years. Deep down, despite his business, your brother was a type of good man.’

  “So, you see, Henry. In Chicago, no one is looking for you anymore. Your slate was erased, just like your Uncle Warren’s, or should I call him Edward.”

  Hank was moved by the thought of his funeral being attended by many people who thought he was dead. “It’s hard for me to believe. You have covered my tracks and made it possible for me to start a new life.”

  “I’m sorry I had to include your sister at your funeral. But Gloria had to believe you were dead to keep everyone safe. You’ll need to speak to her right away. At first, she might be frightened by the sound of your voice, but she’ll rejoice when she hears the truth and why this happened. Be sure to tell her you didn’t even know about the funeral.”

  Kate had prepared a light meal. Father Whelan sat with Hank. The priest had only planned to sit for a few minutes before returning to the bedroom, but Harriet approached the table. Father Whelan pulled a chair out and said, “Harriet, please join us.”

  Harriet took a seat on the edge of the chair. Father Whelan motioned to Kate, but Harriet held her hand up, “No, I don’t want anything to eat.”

  The priest looked at her with compassion. “You should eat something, Harriet. You’re withering away.”

  Hank changed the subject. “Harriet, Warren mentioned the barn when we spoke to him. Do you know what he might want us know?”

  Harriet struggled to look at Hank. “I can’t imagine why. I have a notion to burn the old barn down tonight. Warren spent too much time out there. The work might have killed him.”

  The statement hung there with an air of condemnation.

  Hank looked at the practical side of the decision. “If you do want to torch it, we should pull Albert’s old car out of there first. There may be a few other tools out there to collect as well.”

  Father Whelan spoke to both men. “I assume the local priest would be happy to come out to take your confession and deliver the sacraments. But Warren, I know the life of secrecy you’ve been living. It delights my soul to be able to help you today. But I have to tell you something. When I asked to join Hank on this trip, I was thinking mostly of myself.”

  Hank looked at Warren and then at Father Whelan with a furrowed brow. “What are you trying to say, Father?”

  The priest wiped his already dry lips and exhaled with the weight of his shame. “I didn’t exactly come all this way to take your confession, Warren. I came here to speak to both of you and to give you mine.”

  Hank raised his hands in the air He had a dazed look on his face. He stood and walked around to lean on the footrail of the bed. “Father, what is it you could have done?”

  The tone implied a priest, of all people, would never sin.

  Father Whelan held his hands up in front of him. “Now take it easy, Henry. I want a chance to explain things to you both.”

  The priest took a deep breath and sighed. “It all started in the early days when St. Mary’s Church opened over in Cicero. At the time, Chicago was growing fast, really fast. The new church saw members pour in every day.

  “I was a bit jealous since things weren’t happening at the same pace in my part of town. But they were short priests to take care of their growing flock. It’s when I got the call to help them take confessions during the week. This seemed like a reasonable request and the least I could do.”

  Hank interrupted, “But what does this have to do with your confession? So far, you sound more like a saint than a sinner.”

  Father Whelan looked at each of them and returned to baring his soul. “At St. Mary’s, we had many young families coming to confession as I had expected. At times, I had a few local mobsters come through as well. Now, while I won’t break the sacred seal of confession, let’s say this last group often carried a heavy burden and was hungry for absolution.”

  Hank looked over at Warren and shared a nod.

  “Now, I’m a priest, so these things shouldn’t affect me. But at the same time, I was taking confessions back at my parish from people like your father, who was working for the other side. I’m human, so I couldn’t help but compare these conversations as if listening to the different sides of the same story.

  “For the most part, I’ve found gangsters are pretty skittish about giving traditional confessions.” Father Whelan looked at Hank. “I think it’s the issue about knowing right from wrong but choosing to ignore those beliefs to do the Devil’s work.

  “The ones I got to know the most preferred to talk to me from time to time but only outside the confessional.

  “This is where things get tricky. A confession is unloading the list of sinful acts that happened in the past. Over time, I noticed these informal talks were usually discussions about things they planned to do in the future.”

  Hank leaned in. “Wait a minute! So you’re telling me you knew about Torrio and Capone’s plans even before they took place?”

  Father Whelan looked out the bedroom window. He stared at the pine boughs waving in the breeze. “Yes, Henry, sometimes I did. It was the same as when I heard about the Northsiders plans from your father and you.”

  Hank rubbed his face with both hands. “But hold on. This was outside the confessional, so you could flap your gums about these things with others anytime you wanted?”

  Father Whelan gave a slow nod. “That’s true, Henry.”

  “So, Father, whose side are you on anyway?” Hank stepped closer to the priest. “Did you have something to do with the deaths in my family? My mother?”

  In the bed, Warren leaned toward the holy man with raised eyebrows.

  “No, no, Henry. You have this all wrong!” Father Whelan ran two fingers underneath the shirt collar cutting into the back of his neck. “No, it wasn’t a matter of which gang I favored. I was always on God’s side. I wanted all the sin, violence, and killing to stop!”

  Hank’s cranberry-red face steamed with anger. “What have you done? What have you done?”

  There was no turning back now. “Well, I didn’t mean for anyone to get hurt. I thought if liquor loads were slowed from comi
ng in, the source of all the evil would be cut off for a while.” After a moment, the priest’s confession continued. “So, on occasion, yes, I did share delivery plans for booze shipments I knew were coming in.”

  “So, after all this time, you are the leak I’ve been searching for?” Hank thumped the top of the dresser with his closed fist. “The guy who helped Capone in whacking our loads?”

  The priest hung his head.

  The longer Hank listened, the more the discontent grew within. “Father, I trusted you for who you were. How could you of all people do this to us? This is the reason Allen and Remi got shot up!”

  Father Whelan squirmed like he was twisted in a trap. “I know, I know. I felt terrible about those two. I admit there was always risk. The information wasn’t perfect. I never knew who was going to be there. The few details I got were usually about what loads were planned and maybe when they would move.”

  Father Whelan cowered near the bedside. “I thought if the speakeasies closed up shop early sometimes, drunk husbands might not beat their wives for one night, and we’d have a few less men in prison or in the coffins rolling down the center aisle of the church.”

  Warren closed his eyes, and Hank shook his head in disbelief.

  “Henry, I want you to remember I helped you, too.”

  Hank took a step back. “What do you mean?”

  “The river route. You know where Capone was sneaking his loads in. You hijacked two of his liquor loads, didn’t you?”

  Hanks mouth fell open for a moment. He gasped. “I didn’t know you got information directly from one of Capone’s thugs. I thought you stumbled across a rumor somewhere along the line,” Hank stammered, as he paced around the bed. “This is why you showed up at the warehouse fire the day you found me near the river! Because you told them we were hiding liquor there?”

  Father Whelan looked down and made a couple of slow nods. He stared at the foot of the bedpost. “I was horrified by so many dead bodies. They didn’t try to steal the booze, they tried to have you killed! That’s the day I stopped trying to meddle in everyone’s affairs.”

  Hank was in shock. He had heard enough. He raised his hands in the air. Father Whelan had betrayed the trust given him by the family. “Father, you need to give me some space on this. It might be best if we call it a night.”

  Chapter 34

  Search for Answers

  Three days after Warren’s death, the twilight air chilled to fifty degrees with barely any wind. Next to a can of kerosene, Harriet stood, holding a lit lantern at the foot of the barn. She turned with tears in her eyes toward Hank and Father Whelan who stood beside her. “It has to go. Warren worked himself to death out here, and I want those memories gone.”

  Hank nodded. “Let’s do a walk through one last time before you start the fire, Harriet.” Father Whelan and Hank lit a couple of lanterns.

  Remembering Warren’s last words, Father Whelan stepped forward. “There has to be something here. Henry, are you positive he never mentioned anything specific about the barn?”

  Hank shook his head. “No, nothing particular comes to mind. I was out here plenty of times with Warren while he worked on equipment for the lodge. I never saw anything unusual.”

  Hank swung open the large doors. In the gray light, the sounds of their voices echoed inside the nearly empty barn. Gone were the cars, ladders, and tools. Father Whelan stepped inside, raised his lantern, and looked around. Faint light filtered down through gaps of missing floorboards above.

  Harriet noticed his curiosity. “Oh Father, Warren warned the kids and I to stay out of the old hayloft.” She pointed to the end wall of the barn. “He even cut off the wooden ladder nailed to the wall over there so Albert wouldn’t be tempted and wind up getting hurt.”

  Hank walked along the perimeter and made his way back to the storage room at the far end. “This should be the last corner to check out.”

  He pulled the door open and stared at some crates and a stack of firewood.

  One by one, Hank handed Father Whelan a crate, and the priest arranged them in the open space for Harriet to look through. When the firewood remained, Hank called out to Harriet. “Should we save this pile of wood, or do you want to let it burn up in the fire?”

  She poked her head inside the storeroom. She didn’t want to be a bother but thought about the long cold months ahead. “It might be nice to have the extra wood this winter.”

  Father Whelan didn’t hesitate. “OK. I’ve got this. I’ll fetch the trolley.” He headed outside to retrieve the wheelbarrow.

  Hank began to pull wood away from the back wall and carried the pieces to the storeroom doorway where the wheelbarrow stood ready. As he worked his way down the pile, he noticed an out of place looking handle fastened to the lower wall about a foot above the floor. He pointed. “Would you look at this?”

  Father Whelan had returned with the emptied wheelbarrow. “What is it, Henry?”

  “Step in here a minute with your lantern I need more light. What do you make of this?”

  The two men cleared away the last of the split wood, and Hank stepped to the wall. He tugged on the handle, but it held fast. He lifted his lantern and examined the wall up close.

  The priest noticed a metal latch fastened to the last piece of barn wood. Father Whelan reached over, rotated the latch handle vertical in its channel, and drew back the slide. He found a similar latch down next to the lower shelf. He loosened it as well.

  Hank pulled on the wooden handle in the middle of the wall once more. It seemed to give a little. This time, dust escaped from the seam of the wood boards near the two metal latches. The whole clad section swung out from the wall structure a few inches on blind hinges buried beneath the panel.

  Harriet heard the commotion and joined the men at the most opportune time. “What on earth have you found back here?”

  Hank dragged some timber bunk materials on the floor out of the way. He swung the six-foot section of barn wood open and raised his lantern. Harriet gasped. “What is this?”

  The three of them stood there staring at a narrow set of stairs cleverly hidden behind the secret panel. The stairs led up toward the hayloft.

  Harriet was dumbfounded. “But Warren said it was too dangerous to go up there.”

  At the top of the stairs, a wooden hatch door covered an opening to the loft. Hank braced for the climb.

  The precarious stairs were a narrow steep incline and lacked a handrail. In the dark shadows of the lantern light, Hank took one step at a time, keeping his left hand along the outer wall for balance while his right gripped the lantern’s wire handle. At the hatch, he hung the lantern from a nail protruding from a rough sawn floor joist, appearing placed for such a purpose. He used both hands to push the thick hatch door open into the hayloft. A light swirl of dust descended from above.

  After three additional steps, Hank paused, waist deep in the loft, to reach down and retrieve the lantern. He raised the light through the hatch and stood there on the stairs in silence. His upper body rotated back and forth with the lantern.

  Harriet looked up at Hank’s legs as he stood on the stairs and turned to Father Whelan. “What do you think is up there?”

  Father Whelan stepped to the stairs and raised his voice. “Henry, what do you see?”

  Hank didn’t move.

  Harriet could wait no more. “Hank, have you found anything?”

  Hank stirred. Backing down the stairs one step at a time, he reached the base once more and turned toward Harriet.

  “What is it, Hank? What did you see?”

  Hank looked at each of them and rubbed his bearded chin. “We can’t burn the barn.”

  Father Whelan placed a hand on Harriet’s shoulder.

  Her brow furrowed as she spoke. “Why not, Hank? What’s up there?”

  Hank looked up at the stairs. “I don’t know
exactly yet, but it looks like an office. Warren was keeping a lot of records up there.”

  Harriet moaned, “This is more of the lies and the secrets he kept from me! I’m going to burn this place right now.”

  Hank stepped in close. “No, Harriet, you can’t.”

  Her face was flushed. “Give me one good reason why not.”

  Father Whelan nodded, and Hank turned to face her directly. “Because it looks like Warren was keeping things up there you may need now.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, I don’t know exactly. There is information about the lake lodge and ledger books of some sort.”

  “Show me.” Her words echoed in the darkness of the barn.

  Hank put his hand up in front of her. “We could, but as you can see its tricky getting up there. We would be better off waiting until tomorrow in the daylight before climbing around in the old hayloft. As you showed us, some floorboards look pretty weak.”

  Harriet could still see the image of Warren falling from the ladder on the day of his heart attack. “OK, fine. We’ll wait until morning, but I still plan to burn this place. It’s evil!”

  Harriet stood in the dining room, holding a quart jar of cold coffee mixed with cream and sugar. She set it down on the serving counter for a moment while she liberated three porcelain coffee cups from a stack. She could wait no more.

  Moving to the table, she said, “Father, if you’re finished with your breakfast, I’d like to head back to the barn. I’m not sure why Henry is such a slowpoke this morning, but we don’t need to wait for him. He knows where we’re headed.”

  At the barn, Harriet scowled when she saw the large door left partially open. “That’s odd. I thought we closed everything up last night.”

  Father Whelan looked at her and shrugged. “I don’t remember closing it, but maybe Henry did.”