Unremarkable

by Geoff Habiger

  She pulled away and placed the bloody nipple before my mouth. I was drunk with lust and I weakly lifted my head to kiss her breast, sucking off the blood. I wanted to continue. I didn’t want to disappoint her, but my head was heavy and flopped back onto my pillows. She smiled and let go of my hands, placing her hands on her hips.

  “I’m sorry,” I managed to croak out. “I guess I’m more tired than I thought.”

  “It’s okay, baby. It happens to a lot of guys.” She licked one of the scratches she had made on my chest, then rubbed her bloody tongue against her lips and perfect teeth. She leaned down and gently kissed me again. By this time, my long day yesterday, long work shift, and the emotional shock of finding Moira alive caught up with me. I tried to keep my eyes open as she kissed me again, but my reserves had been used up, and I fell asleep.

  Chapter 10

  I awoke alone. I didn’t remember anything after our love-making—I didn’t even remember dreaming. Moira must have pulled up the quilts and laid them over me at some point. It was evening; my room was dark except for a pool of light from the kitchen. I could smell coffee brewing. I smiled. It’s awfully nice of Moira to make me coffee.

  I stretched, and winced in pain. I had forgotten how ‘physical’ Moira’s love-making had been. I pulled up the quilt and looked down at my stomach. I thought it was a little bite, that she had just gotten carried away, but what I saw looked more like I’d been bitten by some wild animal. Blood had congealed around a deep bite mark, and as I gently touched it some blood oozed from the wound. “Man, I like a woman who gets physical, but this is crazy.”

  I got out of bed and padded to the bathroom, the floorboards cold against my bare feet. I clicked on the light and looked at myself in the mirror. In addition to my ‘love bite’, I had about two dozen long scratches down my chest. They were red and puffy and dried blood was clinging to a couple of the scratches. “I don’t know if I can handle any more love from her,” I said to the mirror.

  I ran the tap and used a wash cloth to clean up the scratches and some of the blood around my stomach. The scratches looked red and raw, but at least they weren’t still bleeding. The bite on my stomach still bled a little. I couldn’t do anything about it; I didn’t have any bandages or anything in the apartment. Shrugging, I walked back into the bedroom and pulled on my pants. I found my shirt and put it on, forgetting that half the buttons had been removed when Moira had ripped it off of me.

  “Hey, doll,” I called out to Moira. “Pour me some of that coffee.” I pulled off the shirt and tossed it toward the bathroom, grabbing another shirt from the wardrobe.

  I headed to the kitchen, yawning and rubbing my hand through my hair. Instead of Moira, there was a strange man sitting patiently in my favorite kitchen chair. He had a cup of coffee in front of him. I stared at him for a moment, confusion on my face as I tried to figure out who he was and how he’d gotten in. Curious, I walked over to the door and clicked the lock, then tried to open the door. It didn’t budge. I shrugged, turned around and sat down in the other chair.

  The stranger was about my height, which put him at about 5’8”. He had dirty brown hair that was neatly combed and glistened a bit in the light from the kitchen bulb; pomade, I guessed, since it didn’t look like Dapper Dan. He had brown eyes that looked at me curiously, like I was some kind of animal on display. He looked young, maybe a year older than me. He was dressed in a dark blue suit, with a white shirt and black tie. The suit looked like it was a little bit too big for him, almost like my bar mitzvah suit fit me. I didn’t think that he was somebody from Moran’s or Capone’s gangs, as they tended to dress a bit snazzier in tailored suits. He was dressed too nicely to be a private dick, but there was an air of cop about him.

  “Good evening, Mr. Imbierowicz,” he chuckled. “Or should I say good morning.” He slid the coffee across the table to me. “I’m assuming you take it black since I found neither milk nor sugar in your kitchen.” He sounded apologetic and embarrassed by my lack of groceries.

  I didn’t say anything, but grabbed the cup and took a drink. I was a bit surprised since my crap coffee actually tasted pretty decent. I wondered what he did to make it taste so good, but I was determined to force him into telling me what was up. I figured it was the least he could do since he’d broken into my apartment.

  “I’m Agent Wright, Mr. Imbierowicz,” he pulled a wallet from his inside coat pocket and showed me a brass badge. It read BUREAU OF INVESTIGATION. I immediately began to sweat. Shit, just what I need, the Feds.

  “I think you know why we’re here,” Agent Wright said. “You have information that we need. If you tell me what I want to know then I can make sure that things go easy for you. If you don’t cooperate, then unfortunately I’m authorized to get the information we need by any means necessary.”

  Man, how could somebody who sounded so polite, be so threatening? I finally recognized his voice as being that of one of the two Feds that I had seen go into the janitor’s closet. That meant he was looking for information about Ralph Capone, or he knew that I’d been ‘asked’ to steal that information for Moran.

  “Look, man,” I set the coffee down on the table. “I want to help you.”

  “That’s good to know,” Agent Wright said.

  “But I need to know what you can do to protect my family. I won’t tell you anything until I have some assurances that the Feds can keep them safe.”

  The agent gave me a quizzical look. I plowed on. “Moran knows that you have the books on Ralph. He sent his goons after me the other day and told me to get the books for him. If I don’t, my parents are dead.” I looked Agent Wright straight in the eyes. “I need to know what you Feds can do to keep my family safe.”

  “That ain’t why we’re here, you kike.” The raspy, gruff voice came from the living room. Surprised, I bristled at the derogatory name and leaned my chair back to look in that direction as the floor lamp was clicked on. A heavyset, bear of a man sat on my couch. He wore a similar suit to that of Agent Wright, though his was even more ill-fitting; tight around his wide neck and belly. The left side of his face and neck was scarred. He held my only glass with the dregs of some coffee in it. “Where’s your bitch at?”

  I could see Agent Wright’s face redden out of the corner of my eye. “You mean Moira?” I asked. Yeah—I know he couldn’t be talking about anybody else, but I was a bit shocked. Why would the Feds care about my girlfriend?

  “Yeah, I’m talking about your fuckin’ dame,” Gruff said. He rose off the couch and walked toward the kitchen. “That kurva bitch you shtuped earlier today.”

  He stood in the doorway to the living room. I must admit I found his Yiddish to be pretty flawless, though I didn’t like him calling Moira a whore. I know she bit me, but when you’re in love you tend to overlook those things. “Hey, what gives you the right to call Moira that?” I rose from my chair. “And what the hell does she have to do with this?”

  Gruff laughed, a gravely sound. Agent Wright said, “Look, Saul—can I call you Saul? You know why Special Agent Truesdale and I need to see Moira. She came to us with information, but then she backed out on her promise to help us.”

  “Nobody breaks a promise to the Feds,” Agent Truesdale said.

  “What in the hell are you talking about?” I was flabbergasted. These two had to be pulling some sort of joke on me. “Why would Moira need to come to you in the first place? And even if she did, she’d never break any promise that she’s made.”

  Agent Truesdale finished off his coffee and set the glass down on the counter. “Listen, jerk. That dame is dangerous.” He pointed at the scratches on my chest, visible through the unbuttoned part of my shirt. “You should be more careful. She’ll chew you up and spit you out.”

  I involuntarily reached down and touched my bite wound. Man, was that an accurate statement.

  “Tell us where she went,” Agent Wright said leaning forwa
rd. He actually sounded like he was pleading. “Help us out, otherwise we can’t guarantee your safety. Or that of your family.”

  I had had enough. I was tired of people just waltzing into my apartment whenever they damn well pleased, and here these two jokers were talking nonsense about Moira. I might have been afraid to stand up to Moran’s goons, but I wasn’t going to let the Feds push me around as well.

  “I don’t know where Moira is.” I said, letting my voice rise. “And even if I did, I certainly wouldn’t turn her over to the damn Feds.” I pointed at Truesdale. “Especially a fat momzer like you.”

  “Wrong answer, pretty-boy.”

  I never saw the punch that came from my right. Truesdale’s massive fist hit me across the jaw and actually spun me toward the table. I blacked out before I hit the floor. In retrospect, maybe calling him a bastard wasn’t such a good idea.

  Chapter 11

  When I came to, I was lying on my kitchen floor. As I stood up the room began spinning, so I grabbed the chair to support myself. I shakily managed to sit down, resting my elbows on the table and cradling my aching head. Even though my head felt like the L had run over it, at least it made me forget about the pain in my stomach. Once the carousel that was my kitchen stopped turning, I stood up and went over to the icebox to find something cold to put on my very swollen cheek.

  To my surprise, I saw a package of hamburger was nestled within the glacier that was taking over the icebox. I was briefly taken aback by the sudden image of my stomach wound and how much it looked like the chopped steak down at Mr. Holtz’s butcher shop. I shook my head to banish the thought, which caused the carousel to take a few more turns. I steadied myself against the icebox and managed to pull the hamburger out, pressing it gently against my cheek. As the frozen meat worked its magic my mind slowly cleared. Where did I get hamburger from? I realized that Mom must have brought it by the other day since I couldn’t remember the last time that I’d been to the butcher’s. I doubt any of my other recent guests would have been kind enough to leave me such a thoughtful gift.

  Once I sat back down, I noticed a folded scrap of paper sitting on the table. It looked like it had been torn from a stenographer’s pad. I unfolded it and at the top, printed in a careless and harsh hand that had to belong to Special Agent Truesdale, was written:

  Find the dame and bring her to us or I’ll even out your face.

  We’ll be watching.

  A post script was written at the bottom of the page in a neat, scholarly penmanship:

  Thank you for the coffee.

  ~Agent Wright.

  The note was insult added to injury. I crumpled it up and tossed it into the sink. My head was hurting and it wasn’t just from its encounter with Truesdale’s fist. Three days ago my life had been pretty normal. I had a decent job and a beautiful girlfriend. Since then my life had been turned upside down. “I think I’m starting to hate Valentine’s Day,” I said to the empty room.

  Once my face was finally numb from the cold of the now semi-thawed hamburger, I tossed it back into the icebox. Despite being unconscious for I don’t know how long, I was exhausted. I checked the lock again; I was starting to think that Mrs. Rabinowitz was right about getting a second one. I turned off the light and headed to my bedroom.

  I climbed into bed, trying to figure out what I was going to do next. I now had Bugs Moran and the Feds after me. I suppose I should consider myself lucky that at least they each wanted something different from me.

  Moran wanted me to get the damn books from the Feds so that he could make sure that Capone didn’t get them. That would give Moran some leverage against Capone. I definitely didn’t like the thought of being a part of a change in the balance of gangland power in Chicago. Being caught between the two biggest crime bosses in the city seemed like a very dangerous place to be.

  On top of that, I didn’t know what the hell the Feds wanted with Moira. Why’d they come to me looking for her? If they knew that she was here, why didn’t they come earlier to talk with her? For that matter, why didn’t they go to her place? They’re the Feds, so they have to know where she lives, even if I don’t. Besides, what information could Moira have that the Feds would want?

  I guess I had to admit to myself that I really didn’t know all that much about Moira. In addition to not knowing where she lived, I didn’t even know what she did when she wasn’t with me. She had to have some money, her clothes were too nice, and she always seemed to want to go to swanky places. I didn’t think she actually had a job—she’d never mentioned one—and she’d always been flexible with my schedule, so I figured that she never had to be anyplace in the morning to get to work.

  So what could the Feds want with her? Did they want to know about the gunfight on Valentine’s Day and why we had both been there? But if that’s what they wanted, why didn’t they ask me about it? And why would the Feds even care about one gang killing some guys from a rival gang? That was more of a police matter, not anything of interest for the Feds. Sure, there had been talk and such about getting Capone and trying to clean up the city, but the Feds usually didn’t give a crap about the rank and file gangsters.

  As I lay under the quilts, my mind wandered back to Valentine’s Day morning. Why did Moira ask me to meet her so far north from our usual place? Did she live in that area and wanted to meet somewhere close to her place? When we had left the diner Moira had insisted we walk toward the garage where the murders took place. Was that a coincidence? Was her place near the garage?

  Suddenly, a new thought struck me —could Moira have known about the gang hit? I laughed it off almost as soon as I thought of it. That was such a preposterous idea that I couldn’t seriously consider it. Sure, the hit had to have been planned by somebody. You don’t just stroll into a garage armed with machine guns without having planned on using them. It was too far-fetched to think that Moira was even remotely connected to the massacre.

  As I started to drift off to sleep, my thoughts circled back to the Feds and Moran. I didn’t like the Feds; they seemed like a pair of cock-sure asses, but I wasn’t scared of them. They wouldn’t do anything to my family if I failed to help them out. Moran, however, scared the shit out of me. He was the one I needed to keep happy. But if I could do that and help the Feds at the same time…

  I figured that the simplest thing to do was to convince Moira to help me out. I could tell the Feds that Moira and I would talk to them, but only on the condition that they give me the books, which I could then give to Moran. Simple.

  The way that things had been going, though, I wasn’t going to hold my breath. None of this could happen until I found Moira.

  Chapter 12

  It was actually morning when I woke up on Sunday. Weak winter sunlight trickled in through my bedroom window. I lay in bed for a few minutes, listening. I couldn’t hear anything to make me think that there was someone else in my apartment, and I didn’t smell any coffee. Just to be sure, I called out, “Hello? Who’s there?” but nobody answered. “What, no visitors? I’m verklempt.”

  I finally got out of bed and went to the bathroom. After relieving myself, I checked my various wounds. The right side of my face was bruised and slightly swollen, but not too badly. The scratches on my chest looked okay. They appeared to be superficial and most had already started to heal.

  My ‘love bite’ wasn’t doing so well. It was tender and bruised, and it was still oozing fresh blood. Despite my feelings for Moira, and the great sex, I was concerned by the wound. “Next time I’ll have to show her who’s in charge.”

  I opened the medicine cabinet looking for a bottle of iodine, thinking that maybe Mom had left some on one of her many visits, but I didn’t see anything. I grabbed the washcloth and soap and gingerly cleaned the bite. Blood sluiced off and I winced at the pain. After a couple of minutes I managed to clean most of the bite. I thought about going to my parent’s house; I knew that Mom would have s
ome iodine, but I also knew that she’d pester me with questions that I just wasn’t ready to answer.

  I finished up in the bathroom and went into the kitchen to make some coffee. As I dumped the coffee grounds into the pot, I wondered what the Feds had done to make such good Joe. I had never brewed a pot so good. Despite their arrogance, I wished that they had told me what they had done to get such a good brew.

  I finished brewing the coffee and cleaned the cup that Agent Wright had used last night. I filled the cup and grimaced at the first sip. “Must be a government secret,” I concluded.

  I gave up on the coffee and poured the rest of the cup out into the sink. I was planning to head out to look for Moira, so I figured I’d start at the diner at work since that was where we had met. If nothing else, I’d be able to get a decent cup of Joe and something to eat there.

  I finished getting dressed, left, and locked the apartment. I paused outside my door and tried the handle a few times, pushing the door and twisting the knob. It didn’t budge. I sighed and headed down the stairs.

  I walked past Mrs. Rabinowitz’s door and wasn’t surprised when it quickly opened. “Good morning, Saul,” she called to me.

  I briefly thought about ignoring her, but my mother had raised me better than that. I stopped and smiled at her. “Hello, Mrs. R. How are you this morning?”

  “Goodness gracious, Saul,” she exclaimed. “What happened to you?”

  I unconsciously reached for my stomach before I realized that she was talking about my face. I had already forgotten about the bruise. “I slipped in the bath,” I lied. She looked at me with a critical eye, but then seemed to decide that what had actually happened didn’t really matter.