“What’s the matter, Paul?” growled Ettore. “Are killing Koreans and Chinese and Vietnamese good enough for you, but not the murderer of your sister?”
“It’s absurd!” snapped Paul, throwing up his hands in disgust. “We’re not Sicilian peasants with a blood feud on our hands. There is law in this country, and it will punish the one responsible.”
Ettore snorted. “Before I explain some of the facts of life to you, Paul, learn to curb your tongue when you speak to me. You may be a colonel and tell thousands of men what to do, but here you are my son. If that is beyond your capabilities to understand, then get up from this table and get out of my house.”
Paul’s face grew red with indignation. He pushed back his chair. Suddenly he stopped, for out of the blue the voice of Mama came to his ears saying, “He’s your father,” as it had sounded in the ears of Vincent just a few minutes before. The anger inside him ebbed as swiftly as it had risen at the remembrance that they were of the same blood, and that no rank or difference in their present way of life, or even manner of thinking, could alter the fact that Ettore stood at a special level and must be regarded as a special person. Paul drew in a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Papa. I apologize.”
Ettore nodded, but there was no sign of relief in his face that the confrontation had been won. He was fully prepared to send out of the house, and out of his life, any of his children who showed lack of respect, and they were fully aware of it. “The DiStephanos,” he said grimly, “will make their own investigation, will find the murderer of your sister, and will then take their revenge. All of you will help.”
Anthony let out his breath in a great sigh. “Papa,” he said slowly. “I am your son, and I am a brother of that poor child who was buried today, and I am a man whose life is dedicated to God. You are a religious man, so I do not have to repeat here the commandments of God. If you ask me to walk the streets day and night to knock on doors to help you find the one who has violated God’s laws, I will do so. If my life is endangered to find him, I will not shirk from doing so. But I forbid you and the rest of you here to take any step against the life of the person responsible. Thou shalt not kill. There is no right, be it moral or legal, which supersedes the commandments of God.”
“Tony,” said Ettore. “I won’t argue with you. You may leave us any time you want to, and when you leave here, you go with my blessing and the knowledge that this house is yours to enter whenever you wish.”
“I cannot leave while you are dominating the others.” He leaned forward and clasped his hands. “God’s way is often hard to understand, but it is His way and we must think of that before our own sorrow and desire for revenge. I cannot walk out, and you more than anyone understand why. You are wrong, and you understand that also. Do not bring sin on the heads of your children.”
Ettore stood up, his face a grim mask. “Goodbye, Tony.”
Anthony shook his head. “I will not go.”
“You will go when I come around this table and smack your face before I throw you out of this house.”
Anthony placed his folded hands in his lap and lowered his eyes.
Ettore’s jaw tightened as he started towards the priest who was his son. Michael was suddenly standing in his way.
“Papa,” said Michael. “I won’t put up with you striking Tony. No more than I would allow you to strike any of us who spoke what was in our heart. You have your right to your opinions, and not only do I respect them, but I agree with them. I vote to carry out our own investigation to seek the person who murdered Maria. What we should do later on is something I can’t honestly say now, and you must respect us enough to permit us to consider that question when and if the occasion arises.”
Ettore looked around the table. “What do you say, Vince?”
“I agree with Mike. It makes a lot of sense.”
“Tony?”
“It is not the way it should be, but I agree to the search.”
“Rose?”
“I agree, Papa.”
“Paul?”
“I agree, Papa.”
“Dom?”
His eyes glittered as he nodded his head.
“Vito?”
“I’m with Rose, Papa, right down the line.”
“You youngsters?” he said, pointing at his grandchildren.
Their chorus of approval came at once.
Ettore resumed his seat at the head of the table. “Very well, we will do as Mike suggests. Who will stay to help?”
“I will be on vacation soon, Papa,” said Vincent. “I will come.”
“I’ll put in for a couple of months of leave,” said Michael. He pursed his lips. “I’d rather the kids stayed out of it, though.”
“Dad,” said Junior. “I don’t have to go back to college for almost three months. Also, I’ve gotten to be a big boy while you’ve been looking the other way.”
Michael gazed at his son. It struck him that Junior was as big as himself and probably in better shape. Also, that boys his age were the backbone of the army fighting in Vietnam. “Okay, Junior,” he said, unable to keep the pride from his voice. “I see you take after your grandfather.” He glanced at Eleanor. “You too, Honey,” he said softly. “We owe Maria that much.”
“I will remain here to help until the university reopens,” said Anthony.
“We’re here as long as you want us, Papa,” said Rose.
Paul shook his head. “I’ve got to pass, Papa. There are a lot of men waiting for me.”
Ettore shrugged. “All right, Paul. I’ll contact you when it is time to meet again.”
Dominic just nodded his head.
Vito placed his jet plane at Paul’s disposal, and within the hour Paul was on his way back to the west coast. As he settled in his seat, he swiftly reviewed the incidents which had taken place during the two days he was in Chicago, and came to the conclusion that he found nothing there. In fact, his family was as remote as the battalion he had commanded five years ago, and the brigade he had commanded two years ago before taking over the brigade he presently led. They were from a different world, of day to day doldrums, and it was impossible to feel the same sort of kinship he had known in earlier years. Vince had begun to deteriorate and become an old man, Mike couldn’t see any further than that blade in his hand and those kids he idolized, Tony was an overstuffed bore who wouldn’t last two minutes in his brigade without being given a first class ass-chewing, Rose was a hopeless romantic with overworked tear glands, and Dominic was so firmly headed for Skid Row that his movement there was perceptible even to a blind man. The only one who seemed to make sense was Vito, and he must have a weak spot inside to allow Rose to lead him about like a bull with a ring through its nose.
Papa was the strong one, though, and he would have made one helleva commanding general if he had chosen the army. He knew what he wanted, how to get it, and wasn’t going to be detoured by anyone. He was a lot tougher and smarter than most people thought.
With that out of the way, Paul turned his mind to the coming operation in Vietnam, pleased to know that he would be there in time to test his technique.
And back in Chicago, Kristine dialed the number of the house and her heart pounded as the phone rang. A firm voice answered.
“Is Colonel DiStephano there?” she asked.
“Sorry,” said the voice. “He’s already left for the coast. Hello, hello,” said Michael, wondering who was calling for Paul and why the line had suddenly gone dead.
The following morning, Vincent, Michael and Anthony left to settle their affairs at their respective places of employment. They each agreed to return within a week. Anthony took a train to his university town, relieved that speed was no longer necessary. Carol went with Michael, for she knew he was absolutely helpless packing the proper clothes, giving instructions to the servants to look after things, canceling their arrangements for the summer vacation, and the score of details unknown to, as Michael liked to title himself, “The Sharpest Blade in the West.”
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Vito had no trouble at all adapting to the new situation. He merely phoned his office in Boston, instructed his chief executive officer there to shift his personal staff to the Chicago office, gave a few quiet orders to his butler, and that was that. Well, not quite. Rose reminded him that their fifteen-year-old Bert had a dental appointment to adjust the braces on his teeth, so Vito scheduled his plane to fly him to Boston for the work, then bring him back.
Dominic spent the day purchasing clothing, amply supplied with money by Ettore, who placed twenty-five thousand dollars in a checking account for him. He did not shop alone. Junior and Bob, Rose’s elder son, attached themselves to his coattails and wouldn’t let him out of their sight. They regarded him as the most interesting person in the world. The two cousins were like peas in a pod, except that Junior was more brown than black, and both stood two or three inches taller than their uncle, with frames husky enough to handle themselves in almost any situation.
Rose converted part of the sitting room into a headquarters by moving out some of the furniture to one of the garages and installing desks, typewriters, file cabinets, and extra telephones in their place. Vito set up a cross index filing system for the information they expected to gather, brought in a high quality reproduction machine to run off questionnaires that he wanted filled out by the researchers concerning the persons interrogated, sent out several pictures of Maria to a nearby photographer to have copies made, collected telephone directories, newspaper clippings of the case, street maps of Chicago and its suburbs, and rented a number of vehicles for the eight or nine people in the household who were capable of driving, for there were only Ettore’s Cadillac and Maria’s MG available.
Ettore spent most of the day at the cemetery, supervising the laying down of turf on Maria’s grave and the planting of flowers around the family plot.
When he returned home for supper and inspected the new headquarters, the filing system, and the questionnaires, he nodded his head in approval. “You’ve done well,” he told Rose and Vito. Then he turned to Dominic and the young ones. “We are ready now,” he said. “Tomorrow we begin searching for the murderer of Maria.”
CHAPTER 4
“There it is, Uncle Dom,” said Junior, bringing the Chevrolet to a stop at the side of the narrow street. They both got out of the car and crossed over to a small restaurant that bore a long, wooden sign on which was written THE CHINESE PALACE above several Chinese characters that obviously said the same thing.
Dominic led the way inside. It was noon, the twenty tables or so occupied by young people whose dress revealed their occupations as secretaries and retail sales personnel.
He stopped in front of the cashier, a middle-aged Chinese woman, drew out a picture of Maria from his jacket pocket, and laid it face up on the stand.
“We’re relatives of this girl,” said Dominic. “Did she come here to eat supper eleven days ago? That’s a week ago Thursday.”
The Chinese woman looked at the picture thoughtfully for a few seconds, then shook her head. “I didn’t see her.”
“Did you work that Thursday evening?”
“Yes.”
“How many people are employed here?”
“Six, including myself.”
“Do you mind if I ask around? We’ll be quick about it.”
“We’re busy right now. It’s lunchtime. Could you come back afterwards?”
“That would mean a second trip. We’ve got a lot of territory to cover.”
“Are you from the police?”
“No. Like I said, we’re relatives of the girl.” When the woman hesitated, Dominic laid a folded five dollar bill on the stand. The woman’s hand covered it in an instant, then she rose from her stool.
“I’ll ask around,” she said, picking up the photograph and walking over to a waiter. Showing him the picture, she spoke rapidly in Chinese. He studied it closely, then shook his head. A second waiter entered the room carrying dishes which he placed in front of two diners. When he was free, the woman showed him Maria’s picture. He also shook his head after a few seconds of deliberation. The woman followed him into the kitchen. She returned shortly and passed over the photo. “She was not here that Thursday. As far as we know, none of us have seen her before.”
Dominic nodded as he took the picture. “Thanks.” He motioned to Junior and led him out into the street. Back in the car, he drew out a questionnaire from a folder and filled in the information he had obtained, listing the name of the restaurant, its address, the time of their visit, to whom he had spoken, the number of people who worked there, a description of the cashier and the two waiters he had seen, and a brief comment as to his opinion. He wrote that the restaurant was a mediocre one which would not have appealed to Maria or the type escort she would have been with.
When the questionnaire was completed, he replaced it in the folder with one other he had filled out so far that day.
“Uncle Vito sure didn’t miss a trick with his questionnaire,” said Junior, chuckling.
“It’s a good one,” said Dominic. “It’s thorough, and that’s the only way we’ll accomplish anything - by being thorough.” He opened a notebook containing the names of the restaurants assigned to him to check on that served Chinese food and crossed off the CHINESE PALACE. “The next one is the Green Jade. It’s about a dozen blocks straight ahead.”
Junior started the car and drove off. “You think they’ll remember her after all this time?”
“Probably. Waiters are pretty sharp. They can remember people longer than the average person. It’s habit - keeps them from mixing up orders.” He pointed ahead with his finger. “There’s a place to park. The Green Jade is only a block further up the street.”
The GREEN JADE was almost a twin of the CHINESE PALACE. They took lunch there, then Dominic went through the same ritual of paying another five dollars to gain information. Again it was negative. Returning to the car, he filled out his third questionnaire and gave Junior the address of the next restaurant to visit.
They worked steadily until nine o’clock that evening, taking time off only for quick snacks. When they drove back to the house, they met Ettore and Bob getting out of their car.
“Did you have any luck?” asked Ettore of Dominic.
“No. How about yourself?”
Ettore shook his head as he led them inside. Rose met them at the door. “Have you all eaten supper?” she asked.
“Grandpa ate, Mama,” said Bob.
Ettore ruffled his hair. “He wouldn’t drive me any further until we ate a four course dinner.”
“There’s coffee and cake in the kitchen,” said Rose. “We’ll take your reports while you’re eating.”
When they had been seated and served, Vito took Ettore’s questionnaires, checked them off against his master sheet, then reviewed each one carefully. There were seven of them.
“The second, third and sixth ones,” said Ettore. “We’ll have to go back. Some of the waiters were away.”
Vito laid those reports to one side, then picked up the eleven filled out by Dominic.
“We have five we must go back to,” said Dominic. “One of them has a waiter who thinks he saw a customer resembling Maria, but it didn’t seem the sort of place where she would eat. The others had waiters off for the day.”
“Must we go to all of them, Uncle Vito?” asked Junior. “Why don’t we leave out the cheesy ones?”
“No,” said Vito. “We’ll always wonder whether we passed up the one she did visit. Some of these cheesy places serve fine food.”
“How about those out of town?” asked Dominic.
“I’m preparing a list now. I estimate it will take five or six more days to complete the coverage of those in town, then you can start on those in the suburbs.”
“I never knew there were so many Chink restaurants in the world,” said Bob. He drew back the skin next to his eyes. “Me velly, velly solly. No serve splaghetti.”
Dominic laughed as he lit a cigarette. �
��I’m beginning to feel like a plate of chow mein myself. How many places have we checked out so far?”
“With today’s production,” replied Vito, “we’ve finished off twenty-six. That’s pretty good for four days of work, especially with having to go back to most of them at least twice to speak to all the employees.”
The phone rang. A few moments later Mario came into the kitchen.
“Someone on the line for you, Ettore,” he said. “He wouldn’t give his name.”
“I’ll take it here.” Ettore rose from the table to pick up a phone hooked to the wall. “DiStephano here,” he said in the mouthpiece. He listened over the receiver. Dominic got up and walked over quickly when he saw a tense expression cross his father’s face. “Would you please spell your name,” said Ettore, taking out a pencil from his pocket and poising it over a telephone pad. “C...H...I...N...G.......L...I. We’ll be glad to meet you anyplace you want.....Very well, at Carpenter’s, off North Street. I’ll find it.” He glanced at his watch. “I can be there in half an hour or so.....Thank you, I’ll see you then.” He hung up the phone, his eyes gleaming. “It’s some Chineseman,” he told them. “He said he had information concerning the girl whose picture we are showing around. Get the car, Dom.”
Junior stood up. “Can I go, too, Grandpa?”
“And me,” said Bob.
“All right,” said Ettore, starting out after Dominic, the two boys hard on his heels.
Carpenter’s was a large neighborhood bar on the corner of two seedy looking streets. Dominic found a parking space across from the entrance.
“You two young fellows wait here,” said Ettore to his grandsons. “We’re liable to scare him off if he sees an army charging in.”
He and Dominic got out and walked through the entrance. It was a noisy place, a television set mounted on the wall showing a cowboy picture with the sound at full blast, three half-drunk youths throwing darts at a board, half a dozen bargirls cadging drinks from a solid line of middle-aged, workingmen types.
I Contadini (The Peasants) Page 8