“Don’t worry; I’ll be all right to drive by the end of the night,” Vic said.
A Violinist accompanied by a piano played softly as the room filled and the re-union crowd continued greeting one another as they continued searching for long lost friends. Promptly at eight the music stopped and the bar stopped serving so people could find their tables.
Jim Vogel went to the microphone at the front of the bandstand. He waited, waving and shouting out greetings and then held up his hands trying to get the crowd’s attention. Smiling, he waited until the room was quiet and everyone was seated. Tapping the microphone and making a face when it rumbled, he started.
“It’s my pleasure, as the Reunion Committee Chairman, to welcome you to the ten year reunion of the Von Steuben High School Class of 1948. I see that with a little help from Estee Lauter, Coco Chanel, some plastic surgeons, a lot of dieting, hours at the beauty shop, some comb-overs and loads of exercise, everyone looks wonderful.” He waited for and got a few laughs, then continued. “I promise to keep my remarks short so we can all have plenty of time to visit and catch up.”
He took a few minutes to recite statistics pertaining to the class members: the total of those married, divorced, the alum with the largest number of offspring, the one with the oldest child, and several other details. Next, he read letters from classmates that were unable to be at the celebration, but wanted to be remembered by those in attendance. Lastly, he read the names of the three class members who had died since graduation and asked for a moment of silence in their honor.
A minute later, raising his glass, he offered a toast to the Class of ’48, followed with a signal to the band for a downbeat and started singing in a loud voice, “Let’s Wave on High the Banner of Our School,” which brought the class members to their feet, joining in to sing at the top of their lungs, whether they remembered the words to the school song or not; coming to an end with loud shouts and thunderous applause.
Dinner was served and conversation at the tables was animated. “Hey,” someone called from nearby, “everyone from Mr. Mitchell’s home room stand up,” followed by cries around the room for the other home rooms. Club names were shouted and got loud responses. Dinah Blonskey got a laugh when she stood and loudly announced, “Remember me? Dinah Blonskey, Greenberg, Greenberg,” and kissed her husband, fellow class member Al, whom she married and divorced and remarried.
Reminisces of the high school years and quirks of the teachers and school characters erupted in howls at tables throughout the room. Before desert was served, people started roaming about and table-hopping to renew old friendships.
Back from a short break, the band resumed playing Chattanooga Choo Choo, followed by other tunes from the high school days. Vic danced with Darlene to a couple of numbers, stopping in mid-step a few times to socialize. Before long, most of the dancers just seemed to stop and sway or stand in place, talking and greeting old friends. Darlene watched, laughing, as the crowd around Vic got larger and larger and moved off the dance floor. Catching his eye, she wagged her finger pointing to the drink in his hand as she walked across the room to sit with Jim and Esther. He grimaced and turned away laughing as he talked with his former classmates, loving every minute of it. The noise settled as the evening wore on and most of the guests returned to their tables as the band continued to play.
Only a few couples were dancing as they struck up “Little Brown Jug.” As Vic scanned the room for Darlene, he saw Shirley sitting alone and looking beautiful, glancing his way; Howie nowhere in sight. He looked at her again and slurring his words slightly, said to no one in particular, “There’s something I have to do.” Walking onto the dance floor and tilting his head toward the band, he made a little dancing motion with his hand in Shirley’s direction, mouthing “Let’s dance.”
She jumped to her feet, took his hand and pulled him toward the center of the floor. As they picked up the jitterbug beat, a lot of heads turned to watch. Just about everyone recalled that they were high school sweethearts who’d had a bitter break-up that neither of them would ever discuss.
Now, as they danced and held each other, they somehow looked like they were alone in the ballroom. Shirley, a frown on her face, said softly, “You owe me an apology, Victor Wayne.”
“An apology?” he muttered, raising and eyebrow.
“Yeah, I waited an hour that night at Vinny’s.”
“Oh Jesus, I forgot, that was such a long time ago. But if it helps, I’m sorry; I just couldn’t do it.”
Not skipping a beat, she slowly smiled, “I won’t tell you to forget it because I won’t, but for now, let’s just dance. I forgot how good we danced on the stage at school.”
“Yeah we were good, weren’t we?” he said missing a beat.
Giggling as he spun her around, her eyes sparkled, “Victor, you bastard, you are the most beautiful man I have ever known. And you know what? I think I still love you.”
“Careful, Shirley,” he replied with a laugh and a small stumble,” but don’t worry, I think you’re plenty gorgeous yourself.” He squeezed her waist a little more tightly. “When I saw you, I had to ask you to dance.”
With a blush, Shirley winked and then Vic heard her draw in her breath. She waved over his shoulder and Vic turned around to see Howie advancing towards them.
He raced up to them on the dance floor, abruptly grabbing Shirley’s arm and pulling her away, “Let’s get the fuck out of here, I don’t need this crap,” he snarled.
“Hey, take it easy,” Vic slurred. “I just wanted to catch up with my old dancing partner.”
“Go fuck yourself, asshole,” Howie yelled over his shoulder as he dragged Shirley away. “I still got a score to settle with you and your crazy brother.” The room, including the band got very quiet as Howie pulled Shirley back to the table.
Vic stumbled after them, but stopped short when he saw Darlene standing at the table, eyes glaring; her hand covering her mouth.
Jim Vogel got the attention of the band leader and motioned for him to start playing. They swung into “Give Me Five Minutes More,” and a few couples started dancing but half the room kept their eyes on Vic as he approached Darlene and the other half on Howie and Shirley.
“What’s going on Victor?” Darlene growled, as he held out his hand to pull her to the dance floor. She refused. Eyes riveted on him and jaw firmly set, she said, “Always the charmer, huh, Victor?”
Looking at the floor, he quietly said, “There was some old business between Shirley and me. I wanted to put an end to it and thought now was the appropriate time.”
Darlene paused and looked at Shirley, who had burst into tears and was arguing with Howie at the ballroom exit. Vic followed her gaze and watched Howie yank Shirley out into the hallway and then looked back at Darlene, noticing that her glamorous hairdo had wilted a little and that some of her lipstick had smudged onto her teeth.
“Don’t worry about a thing, Darlene; it’s you that I love and in some ways, it’s because of her that I know that. Shirley really taught me the right and wrong ways to love someone. Believe me you’re the real thing.” He put his arm around her shoulders and patted her hair.
Darlene pushed him away as he tried to kiss her. “You know what, Victor? I think you’ve had too much to drink.” Grabbing her bag, she headed for the door. He followed, not stopping to say any farewells.
The ride home was silent. Darlene insisted on driving and Vic slouched beside her, listening to her grind her teeth as she steered the car down Granville. When they hit the light at Western he tried to turn on the radio, but she slapped his hand away from the dial. He didn’t press her.
Once home, Vic sat alone in the living room thinking about Shirley and how she’d felt in his arms. He also thought about Darlene, alone in the bedroom and wondered what he could do to calm her down. She was right; he did have too much to drink and he’d a
cted like a fool dancing with Shirley. Sitting in the dark fully clothed, the TV flickering in front of him, he passed out.
Five miles away in Skokie Howie screamed and called Shirley a filthy bitch as he drove toward their house. Pulling up in the driveway, he slapped her and shoved her out of the car before throwing the gear in reverse and pulling away. She went in and put a cool washcloth on her slightly swollen cheek and stared at herself in the mirror, thinking about the state of her marriage and thanking God that David was spending the night at her mother’s. Walking into the kitchen, she poured herself a glass of wine and thought about Victor Wayne. Still restless at two in the morning, she went to bed and fell into a troubled sleep, tossing and turning all night. Howie didn’t return until midnight, the next evening.
Chapter 19
Following a frantic, early-evening call with detailed instructions from Howie, insisting she meet him immediately at the A.B. Dick offices on Touhy Avenue, Shirley grabbed a kitchen knife, shoved it in her purse and drove to meet him. She kept her radio tuned to a news channel in hopes of hearing something that might tip her off to the source of Howie’s panic. Pulling into the lot, she parked in the rear, away from the lighted area. Cutting the motor and slumping down in the seat below the dashboard, she waited, her hand tightly gripping the knife. Clenching her teeth, she heard car doors closing and motors coming to life. Peeking into the side-view mirror, she saw two men walking her way in the shadows. Ignoring Howie’s orders, she quickly locked all the doors and slid down in the seat. She heard the men talking as they passed in back of her and then listened as a car pulled out nearby. Pulling her arms around her middle, she drew a deep breath and exhaled slowly, attempting to calm herself, but couldn’t stop glancing at her watch as the minutes ticked away. When a car pulled into the empty space beside her, she hunkered down and closed her eyes tightly, hoping it was Howie. The door slammed and she could make out the sound of someone walking away. In the background was the faint sound of traffic. Her watch showed twenty to nine. A moment later, she heard a light tapping sound at the back door on the driver’s side. She held her breath,
“It’s me, open up,” she heard him say.
Turning, she looked over the seat and saw Howie crouching at the door. She quickly released the lock and he slipped into the back seat.
“Stay down and don’t turn around, just listen,” he whispered softly.
She relaxed her grip on the knife but felt her shoulders stiffen. “What’s going on, Howie? Whatever it is, I know it’s not good.”
“Listen, Babe, this is important,” he said from the back seat. “Do not go back to the house. Is David there now?”
“No, he’s at his friend Phillip’s house. I’m going to pick him up on my way home from here.”
“Well, get him and then go to that motel with the small court yard on Kedzie and Lincoln across from Lincoln Village. It’s all arranged. Just tell them you want the room for Mrs. Howard. They’ll take care of you and won’t ask any questions.
“Why, what’s going on?” Her fingers curled around the knife again. “Jesus Christ Howie, are we in danger?”
“It’s Paschey. Something’s happened to him and I gotta get organized. You won’t be able to reach me for a few days.”
“Whatta you mean? Howie, I’m scared,” she said, her hand covering her mouth. Reaching up to adjust the rearview mirror, she saw Howie peering out at the parking lot.
“Look, I’m going to be out of town for a few days, but I’ll be in touch. Just remember whatever you do, don’t go home.”
Sliding down again, she snapped, “Howie, what the hell are David and I supposed to do for clothes and for money? Is he in danger right now? Should we—”
“Please Shirley, will ya shut up and listen? Wait two days and then call Fred Berman. You remember him, the lawyer who handled the closing on our house. Here’s his number,” he said, handing her a business card and an envelope. “There’s enough money for the next week and I’ll get you more through Fred, if you need it. Now, I gotta go and don’t worry. Just do as I say.”
The door opened and Howie slipped out.
Bewildered, she slouched down not moving for several minutes before starting the car. Driving to pick up David, she quickly devised a plan to tell him that they were going to a motel for a few days because of a suspected gas leak in the house and would return after it was fixed.
David did not take it well. “What kind of leak? Why can’t Dad get someone to fix it? And what am I supposed to do about school tomorrow?”
“Don’t give me an argument,” she shouted. “We have to do as Dad said, and don’t worry, I’ll drive you to school in the morning.”
He shrugged, raising his hands. “Mom, are you okay?”
“Please David, let’s not talk now, I just want to get to the motel.”
Arriving at the motel, they were ushered into a large room at street level with two king-sized beds. David sat on a bed, waiting while Shirley carefully checked out the room and then sat on the bed across from him.
“Mom, what’s going on? You’re acting strange. And where’s Dad?”
A sigh escaped her lips as her shoulders slumped. Shaking her head and looking down as he watched, not saying anything, she finally said, “look, honey, something happened to Dad’s friend Paschey and Dad is worried, so he wants us out of the house for a few days. I don’t know what it is, but he was concerned because he had to go out of town on important business for a few days and thought it would be better if we weren’t home.”
“What is it with that old guy? He’s so gross. I know Dad plays cards with him and whenever we go to a restaurant downtown, people always ask about him.”
“Look David, he does business with him and has to be nice to him.”
“Yeah, I know but don’t you remember that article in the Tribune last year that Dad brought home and got mad at me when I read it and asked him if the Paschey they mentioned in the story was the same guy as his friend.”
“Forget about it David. I told you they know each other and do some business together.”
“I know but it is cool that everybody on Rush Street knows him and Dad and ask them about the football and baseball games.”
“Enough already, We’re trying to be careful and if something bad happened to Dad’s friend, he’s upset and wants to make sure it’s not about some business deal they were in together.” That’s all.”
Turning on the television she tried to find a late news station, but finally settled on the Steve Allen show.
“Let’s watch for awhile and then try to get some sleep. We’ll have to be up early to get you to school in the morning and while you’re there, I’ll find out what’s going on.”
In the morning, while David was taking a shower, she slipped out and bought a newspaper at the motel office. Glancing at it, she ran out and leaned against the side of the building, trying to catch her breath.
“Mob Boss Found”, screamed the headline of the Chicago Tribune on Tuesday, April 3, 1961. Beneath it was a grisly picture of a blood-soaked Paschey curled up in the trunk of his Cadillac.
The story accompanying the photo read:
The body of reputed mob connected leader Paul “Paschey” Cohen was discovered at 10 p.m. Monday in the trunk of his late-model Cadillac Sedan de Ville, in the parking lot at Ravenswood Hospital. He had been missing since leaving his home at seven Monday morning.
Dwayne Cosgrove 32, a security guard at the hospital, noticed the Cadillac in a space reserved for doctors and went to investigate. He noticed blood leaking from the trunk and found the latch slightly open and lifted it, revealing the body. The police arrived moments later and identified Cohen, who had been stabbed and strangled.
Reports have circulated that Cohen, reputed head of a large illegal gambling organization and loan shark business, who has never been co
nvicted of a crime, had been feuding with Joe “Goggles” Angelo for more than a year over control of gambling operations on the north side of the city.
Three additional unsolved murders in the last eighteen months are believed connected to this latest slaying. The first was alleged Cohen associate Frank Klein, whose body was found in the parking lot at O’Hare Airport in August of last year. In December, two, reputed members of Angelo’s organization, Gerald “Jelly” Marrinella and Felix “The Cat” Lucaso were found beaten and strangled in an abandoned storage shed in Lake Zurich.
Angelo had met Cohen’s former boss, the late Frank Palumbo at Joliet State Prison while serving a seven-year sentence for a bank holdup in 1946 of Talman Savings on south Western Avenue. After his release in 1953, Angelo reportedly began staking out a territory for himself on Chicago’s Northwest Side. An alleged move by him into Cohen’s loan sharking turf ignited the current mob warfare, which police sources believe will lead to more bloodshed before this dispute is resolved.
Discarding the newspaper, Shirley returned to the room to find David waiting with his school books on the bed and the TV turned to the news.
Startled he looked up as she entered, “Paschey’s dead,” he said.
“Oh honey, I know,” she said putting her arms around him.
“What about Dad?” his voice shaking as he trembled in her grasp. “Where is he?”
“I’m not sure,” she answered. “He’s not involved with this.”
“Please Mom, I’m not such a baby that I don’t know something is going on. Dad always closes doors when he makes mysterious phone calls and then disappears without a word and doesn’t come home until the middle of the night. What is he doing?
Looking away Shirley didn’t answer.
“I don’t even know what he does for a living. Other kids father’s have jobs or businesses. All I know is he gambles and has some strange friends like Paschey. Most people go to work in the morning and are at home at night. Why isn’t he here?”
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