by Alice Addy
* * *
“About time, Tony,” Grant hollered across the room, as his rather disheveled friend stumbled through the door. “I thought I’d have to come up and drag you out of bed. You look as if you’ve had a rough night after the mess at the docks. Didn’t you get any sleep?”
Tony ran his fingers through his long, dark hair in a feeble attempt to look better groomed. “Can I get you some coffee or juice? Have you had your breakfast?”
Grant closed his eyes and smiled. He knew his friend was avoiding the subject of sleep. “This is what I missed most about the early years; the civility of the upper classes. When we entertained a guest, or when we visited friends, we could always count on being well fed. We dressed for dinner and we were always exceedingly polite to one another—even when facing each other from twenty paces. Ah, yes. I remember the duels. Great fun, eh?” He chuckled at the macabre thought. “Where has it all gone? Now, I drive up to the golden arches and order a Mc-something or other, and I get hot water in a paper cup, disguised as coffee. More is the pity.”
Tony grimaced at the thought. Much had changed, but not always for the better. “I guess that’s why I stay here, in this mausoleum. I don’t approve of anything that has changed in the last eighty or ninety years, except, perhaps, for electricity and indoor plumbing. The kitchen is very well equipped, and I do adore the Jacuzzi.”
Grant stared at his friend for several minutes before he chose to speak. “Would you change who you are, if you could? If there was some way to reverse this gift...”
“Don’t you mean curse?” Tony argued.
“Curse, then. Would you reverse it?”
Tony poured himself a glass of water and went to the door to talk to Ibsen. “Order us some breakfast, juice and good hot coffee. Throw in a carafe of hot chocolate. Make it for three.”
Grant raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.
Tony made certain Ibsen had left his post and he closed the pocket door, securely. He spoke softly. “I would give anything to be mortal. It’s not that I want to die. I just want to finally live. Do you have any idea how long it’s been since I’ve had a relationship with a woman I cared about? Sixty years, Grant. It was 1950, and she was beautiful—right up until the cancer killed her. At least by then I had the good sense not to have children. I’ve watched a few of my babies die, too.”
Both men sat quietly, each recalling his own ghost. There were good memories, too, intricately woven through the minefields of life, but it was the pain, Tony remembered most clearly.
Grant cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, Tony. I, too, have lost loved ones, but I wouldn’t give up one second of the time I spent with them. They were good times, right up until the bitter end. If the opportunity ever again presents itself, I will love another, but I have no desire to be fully human, again. What we do, our special gifts, are important, Tony. The rogues must be stopped and only we have that capability. I’ve enjoyed watching technology develop, offering mankind the previously unimaginable. I wish you could look at life that way. Sometimes, I worry about you, brother.”
A light knock at the door ended their discussion.
“Come in, Ibsen,” Tony said, without looking up.
A delightfully feminine voice giggled, “I’m not Ibsen, silly, but may I come in, too? I’m famished and I believe you men will be eating soon, yes?”
“Sophie. What are you doing here? Did you spend the night?” Grant shot a reproachful glance toward Tony, as he walked toward Sophie and took the lovely girl in his arms. “You look fit as a fiddle, kitten.” He gave her a good, strong hug. “Sit over here, by me. Tony’s man is, indeed, bringing our breakfast, and I believe he ordered hot chocolate for you. Isn’t that right, Tony?”
Tony stood by the open door, watching his two co-workers embracing. “Yeah.”
“Ah-humm,” was heard from the doorway. “May I bring in the tray, sir?”
“Oh, yes, Ibsen. Place the food in front of her. She’s starved,” he said, rudely.
Sophie either chose not to react to his insult, or she simply did not notice his lack of good manners. Grant did notice, however, and scowled at their host.
“Sophie, dear, let me pour. You fix your plate. I don’t believe our host is very hungry, this morning. His stomach is sour.” Grant was not totally successful in hiding the slight smile on his lips. “Are you quite recovered from your fright of last night, dear?”
Sophie nodded, while stuffing the fluffy eggs into her already full mouth. Her English muffin was dripping with butter and strawberry preserves, as she hastily took a very large bite. “I fe goo,” she managed to mangle, as she brought the cup of hot chocolate to her lips to help wash down the muffin. Rolling her eyes in ecstasy, she licked the delicious brew from her upper lip. “Orgasmic, Tony. You must try some.”
Tony stood and watched the little princess stuff her face with every item on the tray. How did she stay so trim, he wondered? Strawberry preserves and chocolate mixed together, on her lips, while butter dripped onto her napkin. As disgusting as it should have been, the only thing on Tony’s mind was licking it off. He wanted to taste her mouth, make her moan with pleasure at the feel of his kiss. He wanted to caress her plump little breasts and devour them for breakfast.
“Ahem.” Grant got Tony’s attention. “Close your mouth and reel in your tongue, brother.
Tony nodded and turned away while he shifted the hard erection filling his trousers. At times, it was damn inconvenient to be a man.
Sophie put down her napkin and gave one last glance at the breakfast tray. Nothing but crumbs remained on the plates. “Why is it that everything tastes so much better when you’re away? I never eat like this when I’m home.”
“That’s a blessing,” muttered Tony.
“What did you say, Tony?”
“Oh, nothing. Look here, Sophie. Isn’t it about time you went home?”
The drop of a pin could have been heard in the parlor, as Sophie took in Tony’s remark. Only a slight quivering of her lower lip betrayed her true feelings. She wiped her lips with her napkin and stood up to leave. First turning to Grant, Sophie spoke in a controlled voice. “I’m very happy that things turned out so well, last night. Please, fill me in later, if you don’t mind. The little boy is home safe with his parents, isn’t he?”
Grant nodded.
“Good,” she reiterated.
Then she turned to address Tony. “Thank you for taking care of my wounds and giving me a place to sleep. I will never forget your...kindness.” She held her lips in a firm line and did not smile. “Thank Ibsen for the breakfast.”
As she rushed past Tony, she hollered over her shoulder, “Call me a damn cab,” and she was gone.
“Just what the hell did you do to her?” Grant yelled at Tony. “I swear...if you took advantage of her, I’ll beat the living hell out of you. You really will wish you could die. Dammit, Tony. You know she thinks she’s in love with you. She thought she was in love with me, the first week she came to work here. She’s all alone in the world, and as innocent as they come. You should know better, Tony.” Grant paced back and forth across the luxurious carpet.
“Relax, Grant. I didn’t do a thing to her and she’s not nearly as innocent as you believe. She tried to seduce me! I told her I wasn’t interested, but …”
“Forget it, man. I’ve seen your face and your crotch come to life every time she enters the room. You definitely have the hots for her. Did you have sex with her?”
“No! I did not have sex with that woman.” Tony smirked, and then Grant started to chuckle.
“Point well taken. Well, be careful around her. I feel about her like I would a little sister, and I’d hate to have to make you beg for mercy.”
“Okay. I promise to be on my best behavior. How did last night go? What did you tell the cops?” Tony finally poured himself a cup of lukewarm coffee—just the way he liked it.
Grant helped himself to a similar cup and sat in Tony’s favorite leather chair. He
smiled. “It was the usual pack of lies. I’ve told them so many times; I could recite them in my sleep. I told the detectives about the graffiti picturing some pervert carrying a small child. They already knew about the stolen blankets and milk, and were clever enough to put two and two together. I told them I heard a child crying, as a man rushed by me, knocking little Sophie to the ground. I grabbed for the kid and the man jumped into the Hudson. They’ll be dragging the bottom for a week before they give up. I never mentioned the tunnel, and they have no reason to search it. The Undertaker already has the body...both parts.”
“Will the authorities want to speak to Sophie?”
“They might. I’ll coach her on what to say. It’s simple enough. After all, she wasn’t really involved. A man simply ran into her as he tried to flee the scene. She didn’t know him or see anything.”
“Well, that’s great, Grant. Looks like our work is done, and I think I’ll leave town for a while. I need a vacation. Maybe I’ll get myself laid.”
“You do that. And while you’re at it, try to forget about our little Sophie. She deserves better than freaks like us.” Grant curled his upper lip in disgust.
“What’s this I hear? You just said you liked your circumstances, and now you’re calling us ‘freaks’. What gives?” Tony was surprised to hear his friend make such a disparaging remark. Usually, the man felt some empathy for the poor beings he tracked down and disposed of.
“This guy was different. For a moment, I saw us through his eyes. At one time, during his long life, he’d had his skull crushed. It was obvious at first glance and truly grotesque. Maybe that’s the cause of his insanity. He’d filed his teeth and nails to sharp points; the better to rip you apart, I suspect. It helped him tear through the flesh of his victims, in a short amount of time. He’d turned feral, living like a rat in the darkness. My guess is, he was lonely and he needed a pet. He ate dogs and cats, so he found a laughing, cooing toddler to play with.
“I separated his head from his body and the Undertaker will remove the heart. It’s a horrendous thought, being alive and trapped in a concrete vault, knowing you’ll never escape. To be just a head and a beating heart that refuses to die.” He visibly shuddered. Grant wondered if he’d ever get over the revulsion he felt, at the final judgment for the criminals of his kind.
Grant stood and extended his hand to his friend. “I need some sleep. Will I see you anytime soon? I’m certain a particularly pretty office assistant will be inquiring about your whereabouts.”
“No. I’m definitely leaving town for a while. I need to put some distance between Sophie and myself. You’re fairly perceptive for an investigator,” Tony remarked. “I do have feelings for her, but I can’t commit to her. She’ll expect marriage and babies and I can’t do that again. As bad as watching your loved ones grow old, it’s much worse to watch them die young, while you just stand around, unable to do anything to save them. I’ve loved my wives and children, with all my heart…only to have it shredded to pieces when they died without me. I can’t do it again.” Tony’s voice grew hoarse with unspent emotion.
“Okay, friend. You have valid reasons. I’ll contact you if we have to go in search of another brother. Take care. I’ll let myself out.”
Tony heard the front door close and listened for his loyal servant, Ibsen, to walk away.
He felt much the same way as Grant, when it came to the entombment of the rogues. They would suffer for all eternity. “Surely the fires of hell would be more merciful,” he whispered, remembering his good friend, Thomas. For years, after Thomas sacrificed himself, Tony tried to forget with liquor. He drank to excess. In fact, there was a time when he felt he was in real danger of going rogue...until he met a woman. Her name was Giada Bruncato.
* * *
It was 1923, and Chicago was the place to be. The food was good, the entertainment was lively, and the women were beautiful. Anthony was there for the booze. In spite of being illegal, it flowed like water in all the best speakeasies and infamous dives. Of course, he had to keep an eye out for the local cops and the Feds. He was lucky.
There was this one little joint, he frequented, called the Paradise Lounge. It was out of the way and not well known, which was perfect for him. Their liquor was the real thing, smuggled down from Canada. Soon, he was their favorite customer. Sometimes he would eat, but mostly he just drank until he passed out. Every night, just after close, Max Foerner, the burly bartender, would pick him up and dump him in the back of his chauffeured car. No one knew his business. Hell, they didn’t even ask his name. His money was good and that’s what was important.
Anthony wasn’t sleeping, as the familiar nightmares continued to flash through his mind. Terrifying visions of his best friend, screaming in agony and knowing there was nothing he could do to put an end to it, was driving him to the brink of insanity. Thomas was no longer with the living, and it left an enormous hole in his own life.
After the war in Europe, Anthony couldn’t face returning to England, the land of his birth, nor did he want to retrace his steps in the American West. He was alone—completely alone—now that he’d lost Thomas. Day after day, month after month, passed by him, unnoticed. It was his interminable future, he dreaded. Forever more, he was destined to live the life of a freak of nature, an immortal with frailties. It was a life unthinkable, and he was quickly losing his grasp on his humanity.
“Where do you think he goes every night, after he leaves here?” the pretty dancer asked Max.
“Wouldn’t know. He’s got plenty of dough, so you don’t have to worry about him,” the big man grumbled, as he finished putting the last of the mugs away. “It’s time to lock up, Giada. Go get your things and I’ll walk you home. It ain’t safe for a young woman to be out on the streets, this time of the morning.”
Giada smiled at the burly bartender. He was gruff. That was his way, but she knew he had good reasons. The mobsters, who frequented the nightclub, had to respect him or they would think they could take over. He dared not show a soft side or a weakness in front of them. It was his job to protect the girls and keep the alcohol flowing.
“Thanks, Max. I’ll be out in a flash.” Giada ran to the dressing room and grabbed her thin coat and hat. She sighed. Both were dreadfully out of date, but she was lucky she had them. All the money she earned, by dancing in the Paradise, went to help support her family.
The cold air whipped around her short skirt as Giada stood in front of the club, waiting for Max to finish locking up. She hated standing on the deserted sidewalk. She had read the papers. A girl could get shot for just standing around.
Max took her by her elbow and they turned to walk toward State Street. As they rounded the corner, a red Lincoln Town Car pulled over to the curb. They both stopped.
“Girl,” Max whispered softly, “If I tell you to get down, you do just that. I’m not sure about this.” The big man pushed the small dancer behind his body in the hope of giving her some protection, in case trouble started.
Giada peeked around his shoulder. The rear door slowly opened, and the handsome stranger from the club, leaned out and wretched onto the sidewalk.
Immediately, she pulled away from her protector and ran to the man’s side. “Oh, you poor, poor man. Why do you do this to yourself?” She held his head, as he continued to empty the contents of his stomach. “When did you last eat? You’re all skin and bones.”
Anthony managed to smirk between his bouts of nausea. No one had ever said he was skin and bones. In fact, it was impossible for him to get into such a state, as his body would heal itself with strong muscle, at the first drop of nourishment. She was a pretty little thing, though. He was actually enjoying her feeble attempts at making him feel better.
After tearing his insides out, Anthony plopped his butt down on the cold, damp concrete and shut his eyes. The cool air refreshed him. Then he felt the tender touch of a handkerchief glide across his lips and chin. He opened his eyes.
“I hope you feel better, now,”
she said. “I see you almost every night at the club. Do you drink in excess every night?”
Anthony looked around for someone to remove the caring woman from his presence. He wasn’t proud of himself, at the moment, and the last thing he needed or wanted was a blasted female feeling sorry for him.
Anthony spied the big bartender standing guard, a few paces back. “Hey, you!” he shouted, weakly. “Are you with her?”
“Yeah,” the beefy man growled.
“Then do your job and take her home. You shouldn’t let her do this. I might really be sick, you know.”
The man laughed. “You’re sick all right, but it ain’t catchin’. You’re just a common drunk and I can’t stop her. This’un has a mind of her own. It’s the Italian in her, I guess. I’ll do my best, though.”
He gently lifted Giada to her knees and said, in his most unpleasant growl, “I’m taking you home, girl... like it or not. I got no doubt you’ll see this no-account again.”
She nodded and smiled her sweetest smile at the young stranger, still sitting on the pavement. I can’t let him destroy himself, she thought. Life is too precious.
* * *
Anthony managed to stay away from the Paradise for almost two weeks. He didn’t stop his drinking, but he chose other dives in which to do it. Some were known to belong to the biggest mobsters in Chicago. He particularly liked the Colosimo Café, run by Big Jim Colosimo—until Johnny Torrio had him knocked off. A new hit man, out of New York, by the name of Capone, was his number two man. All of this made no difference to Anthony. The booze was good and he minded his own business. However, one night, he, once again, found himself standing outside the Paradise. “What the hell?” he questioned, as he strolled through the doors.
The music was loud and the laughter was louder. This was his kind of place. He glanced at the stage and watched the girls shimmy and shake their risqué-fringed costumes. They were pretty, but it was the buxom brunette near the center that caught his eye. With lustrous black hair, big brown eyes, and the most inviting lips he’d ever seen, she was impossible to ignore. She also looked vaguely familiar. He raised his hand to the waiter.