Boystown 7: Bloodlines

by Marshall Thornton

  I checked the Metropolitan phonebook first and found that The Nose still lived at the same address. Well, he didn’t live there; he’d been dead for two years by then. But in 1981 there was still a phone listed in his name. Widows did that. They left a phone in their husband’s name so that people didn’t make obscene phone calls. It was strange that more people didn’t unlist their phone numbers. Yeah, the phone company charged about a buck a month to not list your number, which didn’t make a whole lot of sense. But if people realized how easy it was to find them and find out things about them, they’d probably pony up the money. Then I checked the Oak Park Forest Park River Forest phonebook and found that Nino Nitti still had a phone at the same address on Thatcher in Forest Park. I had five hours. If I walked over to Aldine and found my car I could be out in Forest Park in about forty minutes. I grabbed my overcoat and was out of the office in two.

  It took three tries to get the car started—I hadn’t used it in a while—and then I had to find a gas station. I made the mistake of filling up the tank, which set me back nearly thirty bucks. For a small car, the Nova has a big tank and gas prices in the city are larcenous. Nearly a buck and half. Since I’d divested myself of all my cash, I had to stop at a Cash Station and pull out thirty bucks for my date with Joseph. I could have done that later, but I had the feeling I was on my way to torture an old lady. When I realized why I was stalling, I promised myself I’d be nice no matter what and got on the road.

  The Nitti house looked like something out of Leave It to Beaver . A two story, clapboard with a New England feel, it was yellow with white trim. It looked like the kind of house where only happy things happened. There was not a single thing about it that said it had been purchased, at least in part, by money made killing people. Across the street was a thickly wooded area. The trees and grass were struggling to come back to life, but tentatively, since even the plants knew we sometimes got snow in April—as we had two days before. It crossed my mind that those woods were a great place to dump a body. As I walked up to the house I wondered if any of The Nose’s handiwork was buried across the street from his house.

  I rang the doorbell and waited. I thought I might have to wait awhile. If I remembered The Nose’s arrest record correctly, he had been in his early sixties when he died five years before. That meant his widow had to be around retirement age. I didn’t expect she’d be moving quickly. But then the door was opened abruptly by a man of about my age. He was bland-looking and a little pudgy around the middle. I started to tell him who I was, but he interrupted me. “You’re a cop. You think I can’t tell a cop when I see one.”

  Still? was my first thought. My second was that I should play this honest. “I used to be a cop. Now I’m a private investigator. My name is Nick Nowak and I’m doing some work for Jimmy English.”

  He laughed. “A cop and a gangster. Welcome to Chicago.”

  “I’m getting the impression you’re pissed off. You want to tell me why?”

  He looked at me suspiciously. I didn’t think he was expecting a friendly response. “Cops were out here. They wanted to talk to my mother. Wanted her to say that she remembered dad talking about killing the Perelli’s for Jimmy.”

  “And does she remember that?”

  “My mother’s got early senility. She can’t remember how to feed herself.”

  “I’m sorry about that. It sounds terrible.”

  “Thank you,” he said grudgingly. “So you work for Jimmy English?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Here’s the thing. When they found out about my mom they put all sorts of pressure on me. They wanted me to say I remembered my father talking about those murders.”

  “But he never talked about them?”

  “He never talked about any of that. He kept us separate. Look, I’m a CPA and I live in Indianapolis. The only mob guy I ever met was my own dad. He was proud of that. He would rather die than talk to me about the shit he did.”

  I took one of my cards out of my pocket and wrote down the number for Cooke, Babcock and Lackerby, and Owen’s name.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Same as my dad’s.” I hoped he meant he was Nino, Jr. and not The Nose, Jr.

  “Nino, this is the name of Jimmy’s attorney. If anyone—”

  “I don’t want to be involved. I’m putting the house on the market. Moving Mom to a nursing home in Mooresville. I’m done with Chicago.”

  “All right. Take the card though. If they come back again Jimmy’s attorney will stop them harassing you. Okay?”

  Reluctantly, he took the card from me and then, without a goodbye, shut the door. I walked back to the car slowly. It was barely three. I had plenty of time. And I was near Oak Park. I should go see Jimmy , I thought. I had questions I needed answered. But I also knew I probably shouldn’t show up on his doorstep. Even if he was okay with it, I doubted that Owen Lovejoy, Esquire would appreciate my going without his knowledge. Still, I had the time and a full tank of gas and it was a short drive east to Oak Park.

  Jimmy’s house looked the same as it had on my two previous visits. It was a two-story brick colonial. The shrubs in front were evergreen and looked good even in the dank gray of early spring. There was a black Sedan DeVille sitting in the driveway. That was not the same. It was brand new. Every time I visited there was a new Cadillac in the driveway.

  I parked on the street rather than in the driveway. Even though Jimmy had given me the car I wasn’t sure he’d want it seen in his driveway. Electric green with black stripes and mag wheels, it was an eyesore and sooner or later I needed to get rid of it. When I got to the front door, I rang the bell. It only took a few moments for a black maid with a Jamaican accent to answer. She was new, but she was just as haughty as the last maid. After giving her my name, I told her I wanted to see Jimmy and that he wasn’t expecting me. If he didn’t have time to see me I understood. She looked me up and down, and left me where I was, closing the door nearly shut.

  It took a long time for her to come back and I was afraid he wouldn’t see me. I was a little nervous. Jimmy had been kind to me and had shown a great deal of generosity when I’d done work for him, but he was still part of the Outfit. I had a pretty good idea of what he was capable of if you got on the wrong side of him. Finally, the maid came back. With a sniff and her nose in the air, she led me through the house, through the kitchen, to a door that led to the basement.

  In the basement, Jimmy had built a full bar complete with red leather stools and a dartboard. I expected to find him behind the bar waiting for me, but the basement was empty. I sat on one of the stools and wondered if it would be okay to have a cigarette. There was a glass ashtray on the bar that had a matchbook inside of it that was embossed with the words, “Jimmy’s Place.” I decided to take that as an invitation to light up. I was two drags in when Jimmy came down the stairs. Slowly. He looked as though he’d aged quite a lot. I wondered if he was eighty now. He’d lost weight and there was a curve in his back that I didn’t remember. When he reached the bottom of the stairs he looked up at me with a certain curiosity.

  “I was in the neighborhood, Jimmy. I hope you don’t mind me stopping by.”

  “Should I mind? Are you bringing trouble?”

  “I’m bringing questions. You know I’m working with your attorneys.”

  “I know that. I still pay my own bills.”

  “Thank you if you had anything to do with my—”

  “Do you want a drink?”

  “Sure. Do you want me to get—”

  “I like to do it.”

  He walked slowly around the bar, picked out a rocks glass, and filled it with ice from a small ice machine. I wondered if the maid came down every so often to dump out some of the ice in order to keep it fresh. Without asking he poured me a Johnnie Walker Red. He slid it in front of me on a cocktail napkin. Then poured himself a Coke from a soda gun.

  Abruptly, he said, “My wife passed away last year.”

  “I’m sorry Jimmy. I
didn’t know. Last year was kind of rough on me. I wasn’t paying a lot of attention.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  I wasn’t sure whether he meant he knew I’d had a bad year or if he was saying he’d had a bad year, too. I wasn’t sure if it mattered. I took out and a pen and wrote on the cocktail napkin he’d given me. IS IT SAFE TO TALK?

  “I have a guy. He comes in and waves this little transistor radio thing around. It’s like magic. He says we’re okay.”

  “So, you know I’m going through the materials I was given.”

  He nodded.

  “There are notations, page numbers and comments that seem to refer to a journal or a diary. Did you keep any kind of records like that?” The question made me nervous. Basically, I was asking, “So, Jimmy every time you broke the law were you stupid enough to write it down?”

  Fortunately, he didn’t take it that way. He just shook his head.

  “Was there anyone close to you who might have…written things down?”

  “No. No, I trust my people.”

  “The notes cover a very long period of time. It would have to be someone who has known you a long time.”

  He nodded, but that seemed to make no difference.

  “They’re focusing on the Perelli murders. Can you think of any reason why they’d choose those murders?” I didn’t want to ask him outright if he ordered them killed, first because it was a little insulting and second because after my visit to the Nitti house I was convinced he didn’t have anything to do with the murders.

  He thought for a moment. “Nobody knows much about the Perelli murders. We could say Harold Washington did it and if we got an all-white jury he’d go to jail.” The reference to our new mayor made me laugh. It was true, though. The evidence in the Perelli murders was so scant that even the appearance of evidence could get Jimmy convicted with the right jury.

  “What was Shady Perelli like?”

  “A loudmouth. Liked to brag. His wife was worse.”

  “Those aren’t good qualities to have in your business.”

  “No, they get you killed.”

  “You know who ordered them killed, don’t you?” I could feel my pulse beating in my throat when I asked that.

  “I didn’t order the hit.”

  “I don’t think you did. But you do know who did.”

  He frowned at me. “I can’t tell you that.”

  “Why not? You said the room isn’t bugged.”

  “It’s not safe for you to know everything.”

  A chill crept up the back of my neck and I nearly shook. But he’d told me what I needed to know. The order for the Perelli hit had come from someone above him. Someone who wouldn’t like my knowing about their involvement.”

  “The task force thinks that The Nose did the actual hit.”

  “That’s the rumor.”

  “I went to see The Nose’s widow. The task force had been there wanting her to say that The Nose confessed to her that you’re the one who ordered the hit on the Perellis.”

  “Is she going to do that?”

  “No. She’s senile, can’t remember much of anything. So they tried to get the son to say the same thing. He refused.”

  Jimmy nodded again. “They don’t have anything if they’re trying to convince people to say things they don’t want to say.”

  “All they have is their informant. They call him Prince Charles.”

  Jimmy chuckled.

  “According to Prince Charles you wanted Shady Perelli dead because of a border dispute. He was putting the squeeze on some restaurants that you…provided services to.” It’s not necessarily a good idea to call extortion by its right name when you’re talking to the extortionist.

  “That’s not true. What is true is that I got some of Shady’s territory after he died. A couple people did. It didn’t just come to me.”

  My scotch was almost finished. Jimmy poured me another without asking. I took a deep breath before I said the next. “Jimmy, there’s something I want…a promise. If I find Prince Charles nothing bad will happen to him.”

  “Tell me what you mean by bad?”

  “He won’t end up dead. If your lawyers know who he is they can find a way to shut him down.” I may have been over-estimating Owen Lovejoy, Esquire’s abilities.

  “Can I be persuasive?”

  I was asking a leopard to change his spots and I knew it. Beyond that I knew that the Feds were being pretty persuasive on their own. “You can be as persuasive as you want to be. As long as Prince Charles keeps all his body parts.”

  That made Jimmy laugh. “You’re an interesting young man.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I’m not sure I meant it as a compliment.” That was meant to chastise me. And it did. We were silent for an uncomfortably long time.

  “You know, I’m not sure I have any questions left, Jimmy.”

  “Then we’ll talk like old friends for a minute.”

  “All right. You’ll keep thinking about the diary?” I reminded.

  “I’ll think about the diary.”

  I had no idea how to talk to him like a friend. Was I supposed to ask about his family? I’d only met a few of his relatives, one was in prison, another was a sociopathic actress, and the third was a coed with a penchant for middle-aged mobsters. I wasn’t comfortable inquiring after any of them.

  “Who do you share your secrets with, Jimmy?” It felt like an intimate question but I had to ask it. And now we were old friends.

  “My priest. Well, the one I liked died. I don’t say too much to the new one. He’s too young to know that old men don’t change.”

  “And that’s it? Confession?”

  “The people above me. They know certain things.”

  That wasn’t helpful. It wasn’t how these Federal investigations worked. The task force had to turn someone on the bottom to get to the people on top. You didn’t turn the people on top to get to the ones on the bottom. It seemed too much of a stretch to think that Jimmy’s bosses had turned on him. In fact, part of the reason to go after someone like Jimmy was to see if he’d turn on his bosses.

  “When you reach the end of your life you start to think about what it all meant,” Jimmy said. “It’s important that it meant something. The thing that matters most in life is family. When it’s all over that’s what you have. Family.”

  I smiled weakly. If family was the thing that mattered I was screwed. Mine didn’t speak to me. Not that it bothered me much. It had been like that for a long time. I spent a lot more time worrying about my friends than giving thought to my relatives.

  Still, it seemed like a good idea to say, “Family’s important. Very important.”

  Chapter Nine

  I was back in my office by five-thirty taking notes on both meetings and strategizing on how I might tell Owen Lovejoy, Esquire I’d talked to his client without informing him first. It was unfortunate that I’d let our regular thing slide or that he’d replaced me—whichever had actually happened, I’d barely paid enough attention to be sure. Fucking him would have come in handy at that moment. He was much more likely to accept that I’d gone ahead and spoken to Jimmy on my own if I told him about it while I had my dick up his ass.

  But the visit had been worth it. I needed to be certain that Jimmy hadn’t kept the journal or diary himself. I believed him when he said he hadn’t. That left me thinking that Prince Charles had been the one writing things down. At the very least, he was connected to whoever had written it. If I figured out who he was, I could figure out what he had that was written down. Conversely, if I figured out exactly what the journal/diary was, then that could lead me to Prince Charles. I had a chicken and egg problem and no clue how to find the henhouse.

  There were two hang-ups on my answering machine. I figured it was the woman who called earlier. She kept calling, so I had to assume she’d actually talk to me if I picked up the phone. So, why wouldn’t she leave a number? Without even thinking about it, I found myself crawling
onto the sofa for nap. I tried to put together a plan for the next few days. I was going to spend them in the lobby of the Federal Building collecting for charity. I wondered if I should invest in one of those crazy little cameras they always showed in spy movies. That way I could take pictures of people as they came and went without being noticed. I realized it was actually a good thing I’d been in an elevator with those two Federal agents. If one of them walked in with Prince Charles I might have chance of figuring it out. Otherwise, I realized that the informant could walk by me twenty times a day and I probably wouldn’t know it. Staking out the Federal Building was a long shot but at the moment it was the only shot I had of any kind.

  I was nearly asleep when the phone rang. Springing up from the couch I grabbed the receiver expecting to find some strange woman on the other end. Unfortunately, it was Frank Connors, Harker’s former partner.

  “This is unexpected,” I said.

  “I got a call about you.”

  “Really, who from?”

  “Someone who’s looking into you.”

  “Why would someone look into me?”

  “You got a new job, didn’t you?”

  “Yes. Is that a problem?”

  “It seems to be, yes. You’re working on something that is pissing people off.”

  “It’s not the first time. It probably won’t be the last.”

  “They’re nosing around things I’d rather they didn’t nose around.” That was a problem. The night I drowned the Bughouse Slasher in the pond at Graceland Cemetery I’d dropped my gun and couldn’t find it. Connors had brought it back to me three days later. That meant other people might know about the gun. Connors had probably run the serial number to find out it was mine. If someone was looking into me that meant they could hurt Connors. They could hurt him bad.

  “Okay, I’m working on a couple of things. So what exactly is pissing people off?”

  “Jimmy English. You’re on the wrong side of things, Nick.”