In any case, the bell was a good idea, and it had seen a lot of action since then.
“Boys, girls, come inside,” Sister Katherine called out. “Father Fanning has an exciting announcement to share with you.”
Everyone began to breathe again.
It was something good.
They were ushered into the lunchroom—the only room big enough at the orphanage to hold all the kids at the same time—and Father Fanning climbed up on one of the tables.
“Boys, girls,” Father Fanning said with a beaming smile. “In two weeks, everyone from Our Lady of the Open Arms is going to St. Louis for the Boys Town movie premiere, starring Spencer Tracy and Mickey Rooney.”
The kids began cheering, not because they knew who Spencer Tracy or Mickey Rooney were—the vast majority of kids had never seen a movie—they were excited about being anywhere other than the orphanage for a few hours. And though St. Louis was only fifty-seven miles away, it was as if they’d been told they were going to the moon.
Even Declan and Tommy were excited.
The Boys Town movie was based on a Catholic priest, Edward J. Flanagan, who’d opened a refuge for underprivileged and delinquent boys several miles west of Omaha, Nebraska.
The effort was a great success.
Word of the Boys Town story eventually came to the attention of Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Studios in Hollywood, who offered to donate $5,000 to Father Flanagan in exchange for the rights to make a motion picture about the enterprise.
Spencer Tracy signed on, as did a brash, young actor Mickey Rooney—both at the peak of their careers. The movie was guaranteed to be a box office success, with a grand gala premiere to be held at the Omaha Theater on September 7, 1938.
When Father Fanning heard this, he saw an opportunity and wrote a personal letter to Studio Chief Louis B. Mayer, making the case for a second showing of the movie the following week in St. Louis. Father Fanning tugged on Mayer’s heartstrings, highlighting the stories of a number of the boys who—due to no fault of their own—found themselves as wards of the state. This was made especially difficult with the Depression, which significantly decreased both adoptions and donations.
Included among the stories highlighted by Father Fanning were those of Declan Mulvaney—who’d come to Our Lady of the Open Arms sixteen years earlier after his mother was killed in the Sulphur Springs train wreck of 1922—and Tommy Bilazzo, who lost both parents in the Tri-state tornado that took 695 lives in March of 1925.
Louis B. Mayer was sold.
Two weeks after writing his letter, Father Fanning received word that a second screening would be held at the Ambassador Theater in East St. Louis, a week after the showing in Omaha.
Fanning was elated.
The fact that neither Spencer Tracy nor Mickey Rooney would attend—nor would there be any of the other hoopla of movie premieres—searchlights visible in the sky, red carpets, limousines, throngs of cheering fans, and the like—was of little consequence.
He’d asked for something for the children—his children—and God had answered his prayers.
Chapter Thirty
Las Vegas, Nevada
January 6, 1936
The Spilatros were getting nowhere in their search for Ulrich Schröder, so the reward being offered to anyone who could lead them to the German—or to the woman who went by the name of Onyx Webb, believed to be Schröder’s wife—was doubled from $1,000 to $2,000.
Family patriarch Faustino Spilatro—known to most people as The Owl—knew four things:
One: Schröder had stolen over $30,000 from the Night Owl Saloon, a portion of which belonged to the Chicago mob, not counting the $9,000 in gambling debts the German owed…
Two: Schröder was responsible for the death of his son, Flavio, who’d been found at the bottom of the stairs leading into the rear of the building.
Three: Schröder and his wife must have holed-up somewhere remote, probably in another state. Three months without a sighting was a long time.
Four: Schröder couldn’t hide forever.
The thing that bothered The Owl most, however, was how Schröder knew about the secret space in the floor where the money was hidden each night after closing.
Satisfied that his two remaining sons—Fabrizio and Fortunato—were not to blame, The Owl flashed photos of both Ulrich Schröder and his wife, Onyx, to his daughter Claudia.
“Do you know either of these people?” The Owl asked.
“No, Daddy,” Claudia said a bit too quickly.
“Take a good look, Claudia. I need you to be sure.”
“I said I don’t know him!” Claudia snapped. She knew there was no way she could admit she’d been involved with a married man—especially a married man who apparently had just killed her brother. Oh, and then there was the small complication that she was also carrying Ulrich’s child.
What was she going to do when her pregnancy reached the point that she began to show? The situation would need to be dealt with sooner or later, so why not now?
“Oh, Daddy!” Claudia said, bursting with crocodile tears.
“What, sweetie?” The Owl asked. “What is it? Something about the money?”
“No… no…” Claudia choked. “I was… I was…”
“What, Claudia?” The Owl asked, wrapping his arm around her shaking shoulders. “You can tell Daddy anything, baby.”
The Owl had just used the magic word.
Baby.
Claudia knew she owned him now.
“I was raped,” Claudia said finally.
“Raped? By who?”
Knowing she had to serve someone up, she turned and pointed at the bartender. Yes, it was a blatant lie, but someone had to pay.
Two hours later, Claudia’s two remaining brothers—Fabrizio and Fortunato—drove the Night Owl’s bartender twenty miles into the desert and made him strip naked. Then they broke both of the man’s ankles with metal pipes—despite his insistence he had never so much as made a pass at their sister—and left him there to die.
No one messed with the Spilatros.
No one.
Now all The Owl had to do was be patient until Ulrich Schröder grew tired of hiding and showed himself.
Chapter Thirty-One
Charleston, South Carolina
July 4, 2010
For most Americans, the Fourth of July is a paid holiday and a good excuse to drink a few too many beers. For Bruce Mulvaney, it was an opportunity to have friends, neighbors, and some of their best clients to the estate to show them how rich he was—with the entire thing written off as a business expense, of course.
The bash started at four in the afternoon. Friends and family, however, knew to get there by 2:00 p.m.—before the festivities officially began—to help set up. Naturally, Mika Flagler was the first to arrive, immediately inserting herself into the mix and taking over.
Koda found Mika’s insistence on turning the annual Mulvaney family event into another Mika Flagler production to be embarrassing, even if she was good at it.
Bruce Mulvaney found it inspiring.
“I keep telling Koda he can do worse than to marry that girl,” Bruce said over breakfast, watching Mika direct traffic like a New York City cop at the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade.
“I’m not so sure,” Declan said. “Just watching the girl makes me exhausted.”
“Thank you, Grandpa,” Koda said.
“Did you ask her yet?” Bruce said. Koda refused to take the bait and shoveled another forkful of eggs in his mouth instead.
“Just tell me we’re not doing fireworks again,” Declan said.
Now it was Bruce’s turn to ignore his father, following Koda’s lead and filling his mouth with food.
“We’re not doing fireworks, right?” Declan asked again.
“You ask the same thing every year, Dad,” Bruce said. “Of course we’re doing fireworks. Who in the hell has a Fourth of July party and doesn’t do fireworks? And yes, it costs money—tell me about somet
hing that doesn’t. What’s the point of having money if you don’t spend it?”
“Spending it makes sense. Blowing it up doesn’t,” Declan said. To say the Mulvaney’s had different thoughts on money was an understatement.
Declan had earned the first chunk of the family fortune scarfing up wide swaths of real estate in Orlando, Florida, just prior to Walt Disney’s big announcement to open a second park there. The result was a twenty-fold increase in land value, making Declan a multi-millionaire literally overnight. In Declan’s mind, the purpose of wealth was security—to know you would always have a roof over your head and the ability to put food on the table. Growing up poor in an orphanage had a way of doing that to a person.
To be fair, it was Bruce—Declan’s only son—who turned his father’s meager $200 million estate into the multi-billion-dollar juggernaut it would eventually become. The thing Bruce found most appealing about money was the image it allowed him to project. Since Bruce had been the one to leverage the family fortune, he felt entitled to be as extravagant as he damn well pleased—an attitude unintentionally passed on to his only son, Koda.
To Koda, however, the purpose of having wealth was to entertain yourself and have as much fun as humanly possible.
Three men with their own motives and beliefs—security, image, and entertainment—the perfect recipe for significant bickering and constant disagreement.
“I made it to the age of sixteen without so much as seeing a single firework, and somehow I managed to make it through,” Declan said. “I could probably open another ten Mulvaney Houses with the money you waste shooting the damn things off.”
“You’ve got plenty of your own money, Dad,” Bruce said. “Open as many orphanages as you want. No one is standing in your way.”
“Quit calling them orphanages,” Declan snapped. “The whole point is—”
“I know, Dad,” Bruce said, cutting his father off. “The point of Mulvaney House is to remove the stigma of the word orphanage and install a sense of pride, blah, blah, blah. You don’t have to go through the entire pitch every single time. I’m not a prospective donor. And while we’re at it, you might want to consult your love of kids before you go punching your grandson.”
“Let it go, Dad,” Koda said. “I totally deserved it.”
“Stay out of this, Koda,” Bruce said before turning back to Declan. “He was virtually defenseless, Dad—what was he supposed to do? Hit his eighty-seven-year-old grandfather back?”
In reality, Bruce wasn’t surprised in the least at Declan’s approach to things—the elder Mulvaney had given Bruce the back of his hand more than a few times growing up. And, truth be told, he was extremely grateful to Declan for getting Koda back in line.
“How’s the jaw?” Declan asked Koda.
“It’s fine, and, like I said, I deserved it.”
“No, you didn’t,” Declan said. “No kid deserves to be hit by a grown-up, not ever. I knew that once, but…” Declan let his words trail off for a minute. “You went through a lot as a kid, Koda, and I’m not sure that either your father or I were equipped to help, not in the right way at least. In fact, I know we weren’t.”
Bruce couldn’t believe his ears. It was the nearest thing to an apology he’d ever gotten for the many years of tough love he’d endured.
“And how’s the work going?” Declan said, directing his attention to his grandson.
“Good,” Koda said.
“Better than good,” Bruce said. “The change in Koda’s work ethic over the past couple weeks is nothing short of amazing.”
Now it was Koda’s turn to be shocked. It was the nearest thing to a compliment he’d ever heard from his father.
“Well, that’s wonderful,” Declan said. “You know, Koda—maybe, if you keep behaving, your father might even increase your allowance to a livable level.”
“Let’s not go overboard,” Bruce said, tossing his napkin on the table and getting up. “Two weeks isn’t exactly a career, but I am proud of you, Son. Now, if you two slackers will excuse me, I need to get outside and take over for your future fiancé before she kills someone.”
Declan waited until Bruce had left before he commented again.
“See what I told you? Buckle down, and good things happen.”
By two o’clock all the major pieces were in place, including the erection of a twelve-car, thirty-two-foot-tall antique Ferris wheel. It took six men a full ten hours to erect the magnificently refurbished carnival ride, but once it was up it instantly became the centerpiece of the entire party.
By three o’clock, the tables were set—forty rounds, covered by red, white, and blue plaid tablecloths, set for eight guests each—with matching red, white, and blue silverware, plates, and napkins. At the center of each table sat a bouquet of red roses, white carnations, and blue stargazer lilies—the lilies overnighted from New Zealand to ensure they would withstand twelve-hours in the South Carolina sun.
By 3:30 p.m., everything else was ready—thanks in large part to Mika, who barked so many orders at the staff it became obvious she was losing her voice.
“No, not there! There!” she rasped at a woman carrying two large trays of celery, tomatoes, and cauliflower arranged in the shape of the American flag.
At quarter of four, a variety of performers hired to entertain children began to arrive, including an Uncle Sam on stilts passing out cotton candy and the standard assortment of face painters, storytellers, and magicians.
At precisely four o’clock, a magnificent, multi-tiered cake created by artist-turned-baker Polly Schoonmaker was carried in. At Mika Flagler’s insistence, the cake was displayed in the central foyer of the Forsyth Park Hotel, making it the first thing guests would see upon entering rather than in the backyard as originally intended.
In the past, an area had been set aside for guests to park their own cars. But, as with the placement of the cake, Mika had other plans. After a few phone calls and some arm twisting, a team of eight students from The Citadel—each of them clad in the school’s blue-and-white military uniforms—were stationed at the front gate. While the students parked the guest’s cars for them, the guests were directed to one of three horse-drawn carriages that would take them to the house.
In an attempt to avoid being drafted into doing some project or another, Declan and Koda snuck off to play a game of chess in the study.
Unfortunately, they didn’t stay hidden long.
“You two think you can hide from me?” Mika said.
“We’re trying,” Koda said, moving his knight to g3 on the chessboard.
“Any luck with that thing we discussed?” Declan asked.
“Done,” Mika said.
“What’s done?’ Koda asked.
“I asked Mika if she could arrange for a military honor guard to handle the taking down of the American flag at dusk.”
So much for avoiding excess.
“I’m going in to take a nap and do my beauty routine,” Mika said.
“Now?” Koda asked. “People are going to start arriving any minute.”
“Yes, so get moving,” Mika said. “Teamwork, remember? Don’t worry, I’ll be down before the fireworks.” She leaned over and gave Koda a peck on the cheek and whispered, “queen to h4.”
“Your father’s right,” Declan said after Mika left the room. “You could do worse. That one is a keeper.”
Koda knew his father and grandfather were right—he could do worse than marrying Mika Flagler. But he wasn’t sure Mika always had his best interests in mind and wasn’t really sure he could trust her.
But he moved his queen anyway.
Chapter Thirty-Two
East St. Louis, Missouri
September 14, 1938
Eight yellow school buses departed in convoy-fashion from the Open Arms Orphanage at promptly ten o’clock in the morning for the sixty-mile trip to the Ambassador Theater in East St. Louis.
Two of the eight buses were owned by the orphanage—one driven by Fathe
r Fanning, and the other by Sister Katherine—while the other six were charters provided by a local transportation agency in DeSoto. Hiring the charters required Father Fanning to dip into the Open Arm’s emergency fund, money that would need to be made up later through donations.
Try as he might, Father Fanning was unable to get Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer to pay for bus charters. But the studio had been gracious in allowing the showing at all, so he knew better than to push it.
The good news was that the studio agreed to send two lesser-known actors from the movie to the St. Louis showing—fifteen-year-old Gene Reynolds, who played the role of Tony, and Leslie Fenton, who played Dan Farrow—neither were as well-known as Spencer Tracy or Mickey Rooney. But Father Fanning thought it would be exciting for the kids to meet anyone who had appeared in a Hollywood movie.
Additionally—though Father Fanning had never met nor corresponded with Father Flanagan—the great man had arranged for six members of the Boys Town A Capella Choir to perform, a generous and greatly appreciated gesture.
Because the Ambassador Theater could accommodate nearly three thousand, and Open Arms would be sending just over 500 kids and fifteen staff—the studio opened the showing up to other orphanages in the area to ensure a packed house.
But it would be nothing compared to the Boys Town premiere in Omaha a week earlier, where an estimated twenty-five thousand people crowded the streets and jammed the train station in hopes of catching a glimpse of Hollywood stars.
No matter, the St. Louis showing would be, for the majority of the children from Open Arms, the biggest day of their entire lives.
Most of the kids on the bus spent the entire trip discussing what the theater would be like, if the movie would be any good, and what kind of candy might be for sale at the refreshment stand. They’d been given a nickel each to spend any way they pleased.
Onyx Webb: Book Two Page 11