A Harsh and Private Beauty

by Kate Kelly

  Daniel takes a deep breath as a sudden realization passes through him. He thinks of himself as a moral man; he thinks of his brother as a good man, although perhaps too caught up in the machinations of the city’s gangs. In France, Daniel saw moral men doing immoral things; the compass somehow never finding true north, and war called for desperate measures. Is this war? He looks at Ruby sitting in the sunlight at the window and thinks of Jeanie. Handing him his glass, Michael interrupts the reverie.

  Michael is smiling at the story he is about to tell, warming to it like a cold man before a fire. “Things pretty much settled down after that. There were a few more sit-downs, and Dean promised to keep the status quo, but we hit the Gennas two more times and nothing happened. Torrio didn’t even come after us for restitution for the score, Dean went to Torrio with a proposition, telling him he wanted to retire.”

  “Dean’s retiring? Good idea. Maybe you should consider it yourself, Mick. Buy a big house down by the lake and find yourself a wife!” Daniel, suddenly happy at the turn of events, can’t keep the excitement from his voice.

  Michael’s look is flat, his voice clipped. “Dean’s not retiring. He told Torrio that he was so’s Torrio would buy him out of Sieben’s.”

  “Sieben’s?” Daniel thinks for a moment. “Oh yeah, that’s right. Dean owns fifty percent of that place. Gambling and alcohol, always the best money makers.” Daniel’s irony is lost on Michael.

  “Yeah, that’s the one. Best money-maker on the North Side. Well, Dean got tipped off that they were gonna raid the place. I mean, Torrio ain’t the only one with politicians in his pocket. So, Dean convinces him that he’s ready to retire and work at the flower shop with Viola—he’s always here anyways—and that he wants Torrio to buy out his shares.

  Daniel shakes his head, his thoughts racing. “I find that hard to believe. That Torrio would think Dean is ready to retire. God knows he’s got the money to retire, but Dean’s addicted to this.” Daniel lifts his arm, but he’s suddenly not sure what he’s indicating. The room, the criminal world, the influence, the power?

  “Well, maybe he did, maybe he didn’t. But I guess he figured Dean wanted to sell his shares for whatever reason. And you know Torrio—he’s always up for an opportunity to increase his holdings in anything and everything.”

  Daniel nods. He doesn’t know Torrio and doesn’t want to; he’s happy to stay on the periphery of things. He’s frightened for his brother. The momentum of Michael’s lifestyle seems to grow exponentially with every passing day; it’s like a vortex of power, sucking morality from a man with dizzying speed, a game of chance with an inevitable outcome and the highest possible stakes. Daniel feels the weight of worry, cold and gnawing in the pit of his stomach.

  Still unconvinced by Michael’s story, he asks, “So, what happened?”

  “Torrio had his lawyers there. He paid. Dean signed.”

  “Do you know how much?”

  “Half a mil.”

  Daniel’s whistle is low and long. “Sweet Jesus!”

  “Dean signed over his shares, and now Torrio owns the Sieben, lock, stock, and barrel. They met there the following week to finish the details. They were sitting at the table in the back of Sieben’s with the lawyers, the deed done, so to speak”—Michael slaps his knee, anticipating the punch line—“when they got raided. Chief Collins and his captain, Zimmerman, and the boys in blue came hauling in and arrested twenty-eight guys, including Dean, Hymie, and Torrio. They also confiscated thirteen trucks loaded with liquor.”

  “Dean got arrested?”

  “Yeah, but because he ain’t got no interest in the brewery, they can’t hold him. He knew that would happen, and he also knew what they’d do to Torrio.”

  “What?”

  “They handed him over to the Feds cause it was Torrio’s second arrest for violating prohibition. Torrio was caught with some egg on his face, boy! It was the best sting I ever heard of!”

  “Torrio must be beside himself. This is serious, goddam business, Michael.”

  “I’ll say. But that guy plays his cards pretty close to his chest. Hymie is worried sick. He thinks Dean is thumbing his nose at Torrio and there’ll be trouble.”

  “What does Dean think?”

  “Dean thinks it’s the best prank he’s ever pulled. Told Hymie not to be so frightened of those ‘gutter rats,’ as he calls them.” Michael laughs.

  Daniel is quiet, watching Ruby, who has looked over at the sound of her uncle’s mirth. She smiles at Daniel, and he returns the smile automatically, his mind struggling with the ramifications of what his brother is telling him. “I don’t know, Mick. It’s not that funny. It sounds pretty serious. I think Hymie is right. Dean should call a truce, make peace. Torrio isn’t going to take this lying down.”

  “Yeah, you’re probably right.” Michael says, sobering up. “And now Mike Merlo ain’t here to balance things out. Merlo prefers talk to violence, and all those Italian boys bend their knees to him.”

  “What do you think? What are you going to do?”

  Michael looks at Daniel, smiling in reluctant acceptance. “What can you do? Dean is the way he is. For months now he’s been saying ‘to hell with the Sicilians.’ He ain’t gonna start playing ball with them now.”

  “You’re going to have to be careful, Mick. Maybe the gang should break up for a while.”

  “No, nothing is gonna happen right away. They still gotta bury Merlo. Torrio’s boys have already been in here ordering roses like they’re going outta style. Torrio’s order is almost ten grand! And James Genna and Carmen Vacco ordered a seven-hundred-and-fifty-dollar wreath to be picked up today. Things will be quiet for a while. They gotta bury their king.”

  “If you say so,” Daniel answers, unconvinced. “But I think I’ll take the books home with me and work from there for the next few weeks.”

  “Good idea.” Michael stands, taking Daniel’s empty glass.

  “Why don’t we go grab some lunch? I’ve got to feed Ruby something or she’ll go all day without eating.”

  “No, Danny, but thanks for asking. I got some work to do with Bugs, and it’s a bit early for lunch for me.”

  “Okay. I’ll nip out with Ruby and grab some lunch and be back in an hour or so. You want me to bring you back anything? I hate to sound like Ma, but you need some meat on your bones.”

  “Yeah, you do sound like Ma!” Michael laughs at the serious expression on his brother’s face, a look he’d recognize anywhere. “Sure. I know I won’t get anywhere with you unless you have it your way. If you’re going to Grady’s, bring me back whatever the lunch special is.” He looks at Daniel. The space between them is charged with emotion, brotherly concern, familial assent, and something else. “Do you feel better now?”

  Daniel shakes his head, laughing. “Honest to god, Michael, you are worse than a child. I’ll bring you back something. And you better eat it!”

  HOLDING A PAPER BAG—the lunch special from Grady’s—in one hand and Ruby in the other, her sleepy weight comfortably against him, Daniel makes his way back to Schofield’s.

  Memory is a funny thing, easily disrupted and confused by traumatic events. The horrors of France never come back to Daniel as one chronological story; instead, without warning, they seep into his conscious mind like oily liquid, spreading in a deep pool of disorder. Bright, disjointed moments come back to him highlighted in surreal imagery, frightening in their unreality, as his mind rushes to understand, refuses to accept. He knew something was wrong before the door to Schofield’s had closed behind him. The stillness? The feeling of total emptiness? The smell? All of these things and something else, something indescribable, unrecognizable but present.

  The shop bell rings above his head, jovially announcing his entrance. He is aware of Ruby’s weight in his arms, her body warm against his chest, her sleepy breath on his neck, and her small whimper, a respo
nse to the tensing of his muscles

  “Dean?” Daniel calls out, circumspect, hearing nothing but the thin fall of his voice. It is hard to breathe after the cold air of the street. He feels overpowered by the heat of the flower shop and by the cloying odour of so many roses and something else he recognizes, sitting at the edge of understanding, the slight metallic smell of blood. He knows what he will find. And then, he is standing over Dean, whose body lies at the side of the counter, his eyes open in a look of surprise. Blood covers his face, his chest, his stomach, the floor around him, the corners of his mouth.

  “Shh…. It’s okay, honey.” Daniel reassures Ruby, who has stirred in his arms.

  A cold sweat has broken out all over his body; his coat feels heavy and restricting. He knows he is reacting to the horror; his body is reacting to the perceived threat. His vision narrows and he fights to control his breathing, willing his heart to slow and focusing his attention on his sleeping daughter. Tucking her head under his chin, he moves in a hypnotic state past Dean’s body and to the back room. The back door is open half way, the pale noon light falling across the floor and along the wall. Jimmy Dolan, the boy Dean employs to clean up and make deliveries, sits on the bottom step. He doesn’t notice Daniel approach him.

  “Jimmy. Jimmy.” Daniel places a hand tentatively on the boy’s shoulder. Moving out of the flower shop has steadied Daniel’s resolve, but he struggles to raise his voice above a whisper. “Jimmy, son. It’s me, Daniel Kenny.”

  The boy looks up, his eyes focusing with effort. “Mr. Kenny?”

  “Yes, Jimmy. What happened? Where’s my brother?”

  “I don’t know, sir. I was just coming back and leaning my bike against the wall like I always do. I was going in to tell Mr. O’Banion that I’m back when I sees one of those Jewett’s touring cars pulling up in front of the shop. I didn’t think nothing of it at first, but I just stays behind the door here.” Jimmy stares off.

  “Jimmy. Jimmy!” Daniel shakes the boy’s shoulder gently until he sees recognition settle into his eyes. “Then what happened?” Daniel asks soothingly, leading Jimmy like a blind man back to the moment. “What happened after you saw the car?”

  “Three men come in. All three of them walking together right up to Mr. O’Banion,” Jimmy continues without looking at Daniel, his eyes focused into the distance. “The one in the middle is kinda tall, with a fedora and a long coat. Mr. O’Banion moves out to shake hands and asks ’em if they’re from Mike Merlo’s. They’re smiling, and the guy in the middle says, ‘Yeah, that’s right. We’s here for Mike’s flowers,’ and he takes Mr. O’Banion’s hand and pulls him in close and the other guys kinda surround him and they just start shooting him and before he even falls they’re coming toward the door and I move back and they push open the door and go up the stairs….” Jimmy’s words trail off, and he drops his head into his hands, taking deep ragged breaths.

  “It’s okay, son. Can you get up? I think you should head home. I’ll deal with this.” Daniel helps Jimmy up. The boy seems stunned, but there is little he can do for him. “Will you be alright to get home by yourself?”

  Jimmy nods, then holds out his hand toward Ruby and strokes her cheek. “She’s frightened.”

  Ruby’s face is white, her eyes large and luminous under her hat. She looks at Jimmy without seeing him.

  “She’ll be fine.” Daniel covers Ruby’s face with his hand, tucking her tighter under his arm and against his chest. “Are you sure you can make it home?”

  “Yeah. I’m all right now.”

  “Walk your bike home and remember to take deep, even breaths. All right? And Jimmy? No need to mention this to anyone yet. I’ll deal with this. All right, son?”

  Jimmy nods, hesitating before he leaves. “I heard shots up there too.” He indicates the office with a nod of his head; his eyes, locked with Daniel’s, flicker before he turns. When he moves through the back door, the weak light is momentarily obliterated, and then he is gone.

  Daniel climbs the stairs, a prayer like a mantra filling his thoughts. Please God, please God. His blood pounds in time with the chant. Pausing in front of the door, he tries to gather his thoughts, which are fracturing like glass before him. Ruby must be his only concern. He should leave now, follow Jimmy out the back door and into the afternoon light, but he is worried for his brother’s life. He already knows what he will find, but still he is compelled to push open the door.

  Michael is on the floor. There is a chair next to him, which looks to have toppled over as he grappled the air while falling back. Unlike Dean, he has not been shot at close range. This shooting was hasty; it stopped Michael in his tracks as he headed through the office, keeping him from intervening in the violence downstairs. He is not dead; his chest rises and falls with an effort that Daniel recognizes.

  “Michael?” Keeping Ruby’s head turned away, he kneels over his brother and watches Michael’s eyes flutter open. “Michael?”

  “Danny?” His voice is choked with the sound of liquid.

  “Yeah, Mick. It’s me. What the hell happened? Who did this?”

  “I didn’t know them, but they’re Torrio’s boys. They said they were here for payback….” Michael’s coughing halts his story, racking his body with violent tremors.

  “Don’t talk, Mick. I’ll call for help. We’ll get you to the hospital.”

  “No, Danny.” Daniel can feel the stickiness of his brother’s blood as Michael grabs his hand, his grip tightening with immediacy.

  “No…. Don’t … call. Listen … to me.”

  “Michael….” Daniel shakes his head, his eyes searching Michael’s.

  “No….” Struggling for speech and breath, Michael pleads for understanding. Tears slip from his eyes, bright with urgency. “Listen to me … please.” His words are sluggish, his breathing shallow, his heart slowing. Daniel nods his compliance, unable to answer.

  “You have to leave Chicago….”

  There is a long silence. Daniel knows his brother wants to say more, but the effort is monumental. It takes everything he has. “Take them … and leave.”

  Michael’s words hang in the air. His breathing is a harsh rasp as his lungs fill with blood. It’s a sound Daniel has heard too often. Micheal’s eyes close and then open again. He struggles to stay focused, stay conscious. The last of his energy is being given to this moment. There is nothing now for Daniel; the world has been narrowed to this experience, this place, the few inches between brothers. He strokes back Michael’s hair and looks into his familiar eyes, into his brother’s face strained with pain. “The … safe…. Take the money….” Michael’s eyes close, his face chalk white, the bones beneath pushing forward. With an effort, he opens his eyes. “If they’d a come in a few minutes earlier, the safe woulda been wide open.” He begins to cough, holding his hand over his stomach. Daniel holds Ruby’s head against his chest with one hand and supports his brother with the other. When he has calmed, Michael continues, “Better you take the money and get out, Danny. The boys will think it was swiped by Torrio.” He nods. His eyes close briefly, but he forces them open again. “Do it now … Danny.” His voice is a command, familiar and forceful, demanding a younger brother’s compliance.

  “I’m doing it, Michael. I’m doing it,” Daniel replies, taking Michael’s hand in his.

  “Good, Danny. Good.” Michael relaxes, his ragged breath slipping from his body. His eyes are open, but Daniel can already see the emptiness behind them.

  He stays with his brother, he’s not sure for how long. It’s not until Ruby moves that Daniel realizes he has been frozen in place. Ruby squirms in his arms but she is quiet, watchful. Reaching out, she touches the hand of her uncle, still held in Daniel’s own. She begins to hum a song, a nursery rhyme that Daniel recognizes but cannot name. His thoughts have deserted him, scattering like starlings roused from a tree and circling beyond the horizon. Now, they retur
n with a clarity that heightens his awareness. Gently, he lets go of Michael’s hand and takes Ruby’s. Holding it against his chest, he rocks her back and forth, looking around the room for the first time. He wonders how long it’s been since he stepped through the front door. It seems like hours, days even, but could only have been minutes. How long would it be before someone else comes into the flower shop and finds the bodies? Standing, he is cramped and sore. His arm aches with fatigue as he holds his daughter, pulling her tighter into his chest..

  “Ruby,” he whispers, moving her from one arm to the other. He goes into the back room and around the desk to the safe. He knows the combination, and he runs the tumbler with one hand, Ruby snug in the other.

  The safe is full; the smell of money wafts up to him in the small stuffy room. His mind racing, he begins to scan the office for something to carry the money in. There is nothing on the desk, but then, behind the credenza, he finds an old leather satchel. His from his school days he thinks, vaguely amused.

  It is awkward, holding Ruby and filling the bag, but he does it, stacking the money in as neatly and quickly as he can. He begins to sing the song Ruby was humming, “Ring around the rosie, a pocket full of posies,” distracting them both from the present. The sun has changed its angle; the afternoon has moved on. Before leaving the office, he thinks to take the last ledger. It’s more to carry, but he has been seen carrying ledgers back and forth from the flower shop for years. It seems natural, and he grasps for anything that can bring a sense of normalcy to this day, anything that can quell the sea of unease churning in his stomach. He is anxious to leave, to be out in the street and on his way home. The office is eerily quiet, heightening the sounds from outside: the traffic rumbling by, children’s voices carried through the tunnelled streets and floating up from blocks away, dogs barking echoing from distant corners of the unheeding city. All of this, and the room itself, make the moment surreal. He wishes he could walk out with his eyes closed and not have to see his brother’s body. He doesn’t want that final image of his brother to stain his memory forever. Moving into the room, he stays as far away from the area as he can, talking and singing to Ruby in soothing tones, focusing on his daughter and her safety. The stairwell is in semi darkness as he heads down; the back door is not quite closed, and the sunlight illuminates a strip of floor like a pathway to freedom. This is the quickest way out.