Irish Whiskey

by Andrew M. Greeley

  “Ah,” says Jimmy, as smooth and slick as he ever was. “I’m glad to hear that.”

  “Turns out,” Nitti goes on, “you did our mutual friend a favor.”

  “Always happy I can do that.”

  “Them dopes were in with the Gennas.”

  “I have suspected as much.”

  “They were trying to make trouble between you and our mutual friend.”

  “They will never learn, will they?”

  Nitti touches his head to his finger to indicate that the Gennas are crazy.

  “Will you be so good as to tell our mutual friend that I am delighted there are no ill feelings.”

  “I will, Jimmy. He’ll be glad you feel the same way he does. As far as he’s concerned the old system is still in place.”

  They talked about the weather and baseball and then Nitti gets up to leave. He is very respectful to me as they always were. At the door, Jimmy stops him.

  “Frank, will you do me a favor?”

  “Anything, Jimmy. Anything. You name it.”

  “In a week or two I might want to have a confidential chat with our mutual friend. About the future.”

  Nitti looks at him with those cold expressionless eyes, and says, “Anytime, Jimmy. You know where to get me. I’m sure he’d be glad to chat with you. Some place you both agree on. Maybe out in Melrose Park.”

  “What do you want to talk to Al Brown about?” I ask him after Nitti has left.

  “It’s time to get out, love. This peace isn’t going to last. Al Brown has made himself a worldwide figure. The killing will go on. The Federal government will have to put him in jail eventually. The fools have ruined the business, but what’s done is done. I have three choices. The first is that I go to jail, probably on some trumped-up charges, the second is that I get killed, the third is that I get out. Now. While there is still time.”

  “I’ll vote for the third,” I say firmly.

  He nods and smiles. “Funny thing, love, I was thinking the same thing. Johnny Torrio, who brought Al Brown along, was shot up by the Spike O’Donnells and decided to get out. He turned things over to Al. Maybe I should do the same thing.”

  “Turn all your business over to him?”

  “Why not? We don’t need any more money.”

  “And you’ll survive, like you have always done.”

  “You got it, love,” he said with another grin. “I’ll have to see if Al and I can negotiate an agreement in which he and his successors take care of my men and my friends like Bill Ready, and the unions I’ve protected from the extortionists. I think we can do it.”

  “Then let’s do it,” I say.

  “There’s one problem.”

  “What’s that?” I say, feeling the kid inside jump for the first time.

  “Al Brown has often said he’d like to do the same thing Torrio did—get out while he was still alive. Only he says it’s too late. There’s too many people who want him dead and too many government people who want him in jail. He could never get away. I’m very much afraid, love, that I might have to say the same thing.”

  “No,” I say. “You can’t let that happen.”

  “I have to figure a way to do it,” he says slowly. “There must be some strategy that would work.”

  I had been learning about the gangs and their wars only in the last few days. So I didn’t know enough to keep my crazy suggestions to myself.

  “Get yourself killed,” I blurt out.

  He looks at me like I’m crazy. Then he gets that slow smile which I always loved so much.

  “Get Al Brown to rub me out?”

  “If you’re going to give him all your business, that’s the least he can do.”

  So we begin to work it out. He was very proud of me, because I’m good at working out a lot of the details. I never thought I could be such a conniver. We figure out who we have to bribe. It turns out not to be that many people, some cops, the chief at the Chicago Avenue Station, the ambulance people, Doctor Herman Bundesen the coroner who later ran for governor and lost, the undertaker. We don’t have to bribe the little priest at the Cathedral, because he likes us both and will be delighted that we’re getting out.

  Gorman, you must bring me another small drink. And for our guests, too. These memories excite me more than they should.

  Those were very exciting times. Al Brown looks at us like we’re crazy when we meet him at a little restaurant out in Melrose Park. First he’s surprised that I’m there. They never bring the women, and he knows Irish women because his wife is Irish. And she stayed loyal to him like Irish wives do. Then he’s astonished at our scheme. But before the lunch is over he accepts the whole plan and swears a solemn oath that he and his followers will never breathe a word as long as either of us are still alive. They’ve kept the promise.

  So the whole plan works perfectly. No one, not even the stupid reporters, smells anything wrong. And no one ever says what happened. There are rumors but they don’t mean anything. None of the guns are loaded. I don’t know what happened to the cornerstone at the Cathedral, but it wasn’t chipped that day. Even Anselmi’s wound was faked. Jimmy is hiding in a house in Oak Park and I’m at our apartment until a few days after the funeral. Then we’re ready to begin our new life.

  We had new identities, new names, new papers, new bank accounts. We’re now the Mangans, I’m still Marie and he’s Johnny. We planned to move to Portland because the Outfit wasn’t out there and no one would recognize us. We had even bought land out there which we thought was a good investment. It turned out to be a much better investment than we thought.

  Then one thing goes wrong. Somehow the Gennas suspected that there was more to Jimmy’s death than met the eye. They were too dumb to imagine something as elaborate as our scheme but they know something is going on in Oak Park, which in those days was solidly Republican and whose police force, astonishingly enough, is not corrupt. So they start nosing around. They find out about Al Brown’s safe house out there and are about to close in on it, just when I arrive to join Jimmy with Peggy in my arms. In two days we’re scheduled to get on the Empire Builder. It will take us to the Pacific Northwest and a new life.

  Jimmy doesn’t know what to do. Al has warned him on the phone that the Gennas are coming and that we should get out of the house while we can. We leave by the back door just as two Packards pull up to the front door. All we have is Peggy and some money and the tickets to Portland. But where should we go? We sneak down streets and alleys dodging the Genna cars. Jimmy says it’s like running from the police in Cork when he was a boy. I am terrified, but I try to hide my fears for his sake.

  Then I remember that the Readys have an apartment on Austin Boulevard. It’s almost completely dark and we can hardly see the street numbers on the two flat buildings. Every car that passes on the boulevard seems to have a Genna brother in it.

  Finally we come to their flat. We ring the doorbell. Naturally they’re astonished to see Jimmy, but also happy. We tell them we need a favor. Can we hide with them for a few days?

  This is a much bigger favor than they owe us. But they don’t hesitate a second. They take us into their apartment and treat us like royalty. The Gennas trash the safe house, but they don’t find anyone or anything. They give it up. We call Al Brown and tell him we’re all right and we’ll be leaving soon. He asks God to bless us, if you can imagine.

  Two days later Bill and Nell—you couldn’t keep that one out of the adventure—drive us over to Niles Center, where the Empire Builder stops briefly, and we say good-bye. We never see them again, though we did call them every year at Christmas while Jimmy was still alive. He thought it was unsafe to send Christmas cards. He was always very cautious, more cautious than I was. But no one ever found us.

  There’s not much else to tell. The rest of our life was peaceful. Jimmy was a very successful entrepreneur in Portland and we never needed money. We moved to San Francisco during the war. Jimmy became a colonel in supplies. He was such a brilliant organ
izer that they wanted him to stay in the army as a general. He knew better than that, at least after I told him not to.

  He made good investments to take care of me and the children. We had three more children, fifteen grandchildren, and twenty great-grandchildren, though Jimmy didn’t live to see any of the great-grandchildren. He missed the bakeshop, but we thought it was too dangerous to go into the same business again. He did a lot of baking at home. After a few years he turned to painting and became very good at it. You probably noticed the big portrait in the parlor? It flatters me more than it should, but it’s good work. He went to Mass with me every morning. In Portland Jimmy finally found some peace, not as much as I wanted him to have but more than he had ever expected.

  He died in 1961 of a stroke. Instantly and without warning. He was only sixty-four years old. I suppose all the stress of his early years took their toll. He smoked too much, too, as I always told him. He is buried in a cemetery in Portland and I will lie next to him when I die. I have missed him all these years. We’ll be together soon, I think. I’m sure God loves him as much as I do and understands that his early life influenced what he did. I know how sorry he was for the men he killed, so God must know, too.

  I thank God that I had Jimmy with me for thirty-four years.

  I came back to Chicago in 1970. For some reason all my children and many of my grandchildren moved to Chicago. They have never known that I was born and raised here. I see them often but I stay away from Chicago social activities, though there are very few people who would know me and none who would recognize me as the flapper deb who married the famous bootlegger.

  You recognized me at once, my dear? That’s very kind of you.

  I have a small studio in Streeterville where I stay overnight when I have some reason to be in town. The ride back and forth on the same day tires me. I go to Mass at the Cathedral. They tore down our store and Brendan parks the car in the parking lot that’s there now. When I get out of the car, I think about how we fooled everyone.

  Jared Kennedy is my grandson? You are clever, my dear. Yes, he does look a little like Jimmy, though he’s now much fatter than Jimmy ever was. He is clever like Jimmy too, but so twisted. His parents spoiled him terribly.

  I owe it to your grandparents to make him tell the truth. Will he risk jail if he does? Since a very large inheritance might be at stake, I think he will. Jared is very clever, even if he is usually too clever by half. I suspect he won’t have to go to jail.

  I will see what I can do about him.

  Come to your wedding my dear?

  I’d love to. Thank you for the invitation.

  Perhaps you are right; perhaps Nell would want me to be there.

  As for my story, after I’m gone you certainly may tell it. Indeed I hope you tell it.

  27

  “HE MUST have loved her even more than she realized,” Nuala Anne observed as we rode back to Chicago. “He forced himself to change completely to keep her happy.”

  “You think that’s what happened?”

  “He loved the excitement of battle. He gave it up for her.”

  “Capone might have killed him.”

  “More likely he would have killed Capone … You saw the painting in the parlor?”

  “I couldn’t take my eyes off you.”

  “Go long wid ya, Dermot Michael … He adored her even more than she realizes. She was his salvation …”

  “Women usually are.”

  “She idealizes him now, makes him seem almost innocent of his crimes. We don’t know whether he used force to succeed in Portland. Maybe he did. There were, I think, no more killings.”

  I did not argue with Nuala’s analysis. She had figured the whole story out before we had entered Marie’s house, including her relationship with Jarry. Who was I to second guess the Great Detective?

  “Do you think she will lean on Jarry?” I asked.

  “She said she would, and I believe her.”

  “She didn’t say when.”

  “Before the day is over, Dermot Michael,” she said impatiently.

  “Will he go along?”

  “She didn’t promise, did she now?”

  “No. She said she’d see what she could do.”

  “She seemed confident that he would. There must be a lot of money involved. We’ll have to wait and see.”

  I still felt powerful traces of the Uncanny which had filled that solarium while Marie told her story. Energies and dynamisms which I would never understand were unrolling in that room. Favors were being paid and repaid. My bride was riding the waves of the Uncanny as it swept through the house, directing them skillfully and wisely. How and why did I ever get involved with such a one?

  “Were we at the edge back there, Nuala Anne?”

  “You mean where the light begins?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Sure we were. Couldn’t you sense the angels all around us?”

  “I certainly sensed something.”

  “Wasn’t she the remarkable woman now?”

  “Marie?”

  “Her too. I meant your gram … I wish I were half the woman she was.”

  “You know what, Nuala love, I think I’m going to enforce a ban on that comparison. I don’t want you making it anymore. Ma was a grand woman …”

  “Super, brilliant,” she added with a giggle.

  “So are you, and it’s wrong to make comparisons like that. Do you understand, young woman?”

  “Yes, Dermot Michael,” she said obediently. “Aren’t you right, like you always are?”

  I didn’t want any comparisons between me and Pa either. I’d lose any way you looked at it.

  The sun had already set. Night was chasing twilight out of the sky. We’d be late for the dinner schedule with our respective parents. I asked Brendan to drive us to the Oak Park Country Club. We’d take a cab downtown after dinner.

  Huddling in the protection of the dark, Nuala laid out a scenario for our wedding night. She had obviously been reading a lot of books. The activities she proposed were all technically possible and every one of them would be delightful. It was doubtful, however, that either of us would have the stamina or the restraint to engage in all of them.

  I tried to listen to what she meant instead of what she was saying. It wasn’t hard to figure it out. Herself was confident about me and utterly insecure about her own performance. How should I respond to that fear?

  “It will be brilliant. Nuala Anne, even if both of us are nervous and inept, as I know I will be. Everything will be grand. We don’t need a touchdown on the first play, do we now?”

  She was silent, perhaps upset because she couldn’t say that I didn’t understand what she was talking about.

  “If you say so, Dermot Michael,” she said dubiously.

  “We love each other too much to worry if we don’t make the touchdown.”

  “Tis true,” she agreed. “But we should at least make a first down.”

  “Or second and short.”

  She laughed happily, her fears erased.

  “Och, Dermot, I’m such a worrywart. What would I do without you, me darlin’ man?”

  I had not done too badly in that little interlude, had I?

  I thanked the angels who might have been lurking on the edges of our conversation.

  YOU’RE GOING TO HAVE TO SPEND THE REST OF YOUR LIFE PLAYING THE SAME GAME, the Adversary warned me.

  “She’s worth it,” I told him.

  SO YOU SAY, he replied, and left the car.

  We were only fifteen minutes late for dinner. Cindy, who was not to be one of the guests at the meal, was waiting for us in the lobby, pacing restlessly.

  “Derm, wherever have you two been!” she said as she hugged me. “I’ve been searching all over for you. We were beginning to get worried.”

  “Didn’t we have some investigating to do?” Nuala answered for me.

  “I didn’t think they’d dare do it, but they have. Dale must really be out of her mind.” />
  “What did they do?” I asked.

  “They leaked the tape to the TV stations. They all played it on the five o’clock news. We have them, Dermot, we have them!”

  The ice, I thought, was beginning to crack. But we hadn’t won yet.

  28

  “I’M HAPPY that all of you have been able to interrupt your busy schedules this Friday afternoon to attend our little conference,” Wade Warren Winthrop said, caressing the diamond on the ring finger of his right hand. “I understand that some of you may miss planes up to Dorr County. I think you’ll find that you’ve made a wise choice before our little conference is over.”

  We were in Winthrop’s personal conference room. Floor-to-ceiling windows looked out over the Lake, McCormick Place, Soldier Field, the railroad tracks, Northerly Island with its Shedd Aquarium and its Adler Planetarium, and much of the South Side of Chicago, dull and somber on a cloudy October afternoon.

  W.W. (as he was always called) was a large man, not quite fat, in a perfectly fitting dark blue suit with a trace of weave in its fabric. His hair was long and silver and carefully groomed. His voice was resonant baritone. He looked like a supreme court justice or possibly a very corrupt divorce lawyer. He was in fact the managing partner of Winthrop, McClaren, Donovan, and Epstein, a model of probity and perhaps the last influential WASP in the Chicago Bar. His prestige and his prestige alone had constrained the representatives of the Chicago media outlets to give up their Friday afternoon.

  The other lawyers present were cut from the same bolt of very expensive cloth, senior partners all of them, and very heavy members (in both senses of the word heavy for the most part) of top-drawer Loop law firms, though none of them were anywhere near as shrewd as W.W. They did not seem very happy about being dragged to a “settlement conference” about which they were murmuring words like “premature” and “much too soon.”

  Three journalists were also present, probably because the lawyers were not able to keep them away—Jack Riordan, an anchor on Channel 6, Jena Lange, the news editor of Channel 3, and an assistant managing editor of one of the papers who apparently did not have a name.