The Ryer Avenue Story: A Novel

by Dorothy Uhnak

  “We did what we had to do, Dante. There’s a vast secret network of arms dealers operating below the surface, and I can tell you, our government and other governments not only know about it, but are the ones who permit it and even encourage it. That way, they let countries like Israel be armed and ready without having to take a public stand.”

  Ben interrupted. “You know that better than anyone, Dante. You’re part of the government, for God’s sake.”

  Without responding to the implications, Dante said, “For a minute, let’s go back to the killing of the SS men. That was all documented by Army Intelligence at the time, right?”

  “Two suicides,” Ben said. “A couple of commanding officers were transferred for incompetence. End of investigation.” Ben shrugged. “And he accuses all of us of killing Stachiew. That is all officially recorded too. His old man was tried and executed for that crime. So?”

  Dante held his hand up. “Let’s get to that later.”

  Megan spoke up. “Except me. I wasn’t there, remember?”

  “According to Willie you were there, sweetheart, swinging hot and heavy,” Ben said.

  Megan raised her eyebrows and her voice was very soft, almost childish. “Who? Me?”

  “Let’s get on with it, all right?”

  Eugene cleared his throat and took a deep breath. “Let me address his charges against me. During all my years at the Vatican, I was very popular with women who made substantial donations to various building funds. And it pleased them to give me valuable gifts, which I turned over to the different curators. The tailor-made suits they provided, mea culpa. It made me a more compatible dinner guest. Generally, these were very decent women, some of them quite troubled in their personal lives. Whether any of them ever suggested any kind of sexual liaison with me, I will not say. I will say, however, that at no time did I ever become sexually involved with any of them. Not ever, so Willie’s allegations, based on whatever information he came up with, are totally false.”

  Megan raised her hand. “My turn.” She realized they had all read the various allegations about her, the lies and half-truths. “Since he went back to my childhood, so will I. My friendship with Patsy Wagner was just that—a friendship. If there were any sexual connotations—and there probably were; we were, after all, awakening adolescents—they were never acted on. We both hated being girls, because it all seemed so unfair. Any ambitions we had, any adventures we dreamed of, were unavailable to us for the simple reason that we were girls. Patsy married early and had a lot of kids. I met Suzy Ginzburg down at Warm Springs when we were both recovering from polio. When she came home, to Greenwich Village, yes, we were good friends. The first thing she told me was that she would never, in any way, corrupt me or compromise me. Yes, Suzy was a lesbian, and I wasn’t even certain what that meant. She introduced me to a whole new world of artists and actors and writers and free spirits and radicals. She made it clear to them who and what I was: a straight little Irish Catholic redheaded girl from the Bronx with a brace on her leg, who was studying to be a doctor. She was a loving, caring, faithful friend who was responsible for me meeting Mike Kelly. Suzy delighted in our love for each other and the fact that she had played matchmaker.”

  Dante put a hand on her shoulder; she seemed very agitated. “Megan, you don’t have to defend yourself to us.”

  “Hell, I know that. You all know me. But I might have to defend not only myself but my family. I can handle whatever he said about me. No problem. But he attacked my husband, my father, and an aunt I adore.”

  Charley said, “C’mon, champ. We all know what a lying little piece of crap Willie was.”

  “I know that, Charley. Let me tell you about Mike, because I’ve never talked about this with any of you. And you guys are my family, right? Mike is manic-depressive. He suffered terribly from a deficient brain chemistry. I won’t go into any of the things I tried, the colleagues I consulted, the studies I researched, the programs Mike went into. I was in touch with a psychiatrist in Australia who had done a paper on a substance called lithium. He had done some experiments on its use in the kind of illness that Mike had. Lithium is a natural salt, a very common substance. A couple of other psychiatrists and I began an experimental program with Mike and about ten other people suffering from this syndrome. We had to determine the amount of lithium, the timing, the possible dangers of too much, too little. It didn’t work for all those in the trial. Thank God, it worked for Mike.”

  Quietly, Dante asked her, “Would that in any way justify Willie’s description of Mike as drug-dependent.”

  “Sure, if you’ll concede that a diabetic is drug-dependent because he needs insulin to stay alive.”

  “What I don’t understand,” Charley said, “is not only how, but why? Why did Willie keep all these records on us, then make all these charges? Megan?”

  She shook her head. “He was some piece of business, our Willie. Let’s just say it was his mental illness, caused by the kind of life he had as a child. Charley, it is very complicated. Why didn’t he just put it all behind him, enjoy his many successes? Other people do. But Willie was Willie, and he was obsessed with us all his life.”

  “I just don’t get it,” Charley said.

  “It doesn’t matter whether you get it or not. Willie was always a head case,” Ben said, as though that settled all there was to be said about Willie Paycek Peace.

  “A very vicious head case,” Megan said. “I can’t look at all of this clinically. He called my father a bag man and my aunt Catherine a whore and …”

  Charley came to her side, took Megan’s hand, leaned forward, and kissed her gently on the forehead. “C’mon, Meggie. Anyone who knows your dad and your aunt—”

  Ben said, “Yeah, but that’s the point. Other people will know only what they read.”

  Gene asked, “Can this book be published? Dante, I would think there would be all kinds of legal entanglements that we would all—”

  “Of course there will be legal entanglements—and the more sordid, the more free publicity for the book. Look, we’d all be smeared across newspapers and magazines all over the world. The media would have a field day. Willie would ruin all of us from his grave.”

  There was a silence as they all let Dante’s words sink in. No matter what was true or false, it would all be the same.

  Finally, Ben asked Dante, “How about what he said about you, Dante?”

  “You all know my sister had a breakdown when she was a kid and my mother died. It would be very painful for her to have this dragged out in public. As far as my wife’s mother …”

  He turned to Megan, who said, “Lucia-Bianca’s mother had a serious bout of depression when one of her twin sons died at birth. No one can say what went on in her mind, or how she and the second child died. Whatever story the family put out to protect themselves did not change the tragedy they experienced. Willie’s informant was a filthy liar. Period.”

  Dante nodded at her. Thank you, Megan.

  “And now, about me being the father of Danny Williams. Born Daniel William Paycek.” Dante pulled over a chair and sat facing all of them. He yanked his tie away from his collar, opened the top buttons of his shirt, rubbed his mouth hard, then swiped his fist across the new stubble on his chin.

  “Possibly.”

  There was a momentary silence as they all absorbed this.

  “It was a difficult time for me,” Dante said. “Lucia-Bianca and I were engaged, and”—he shrugged—“it was a given. A good Italian girl—no premarital sex. So I strayed. Yes, I went to my uncles, the Ruccis. They told me they would take care of it. I should … forget about it.”

  “Jesus, Danny. Just like that? Forget about it, they would take care of it? What did you think they meant?” Benny stared at Dante, waiting for an answer.

  “Not the way it sounds, for God’s sake. My family wasn’t ‘connected,’ not mob. Just … tough guys who took care of their own. Yes, they got together with Willie and offered him a deal. They gave
them a wedding, Willie and Maryanne. And sent them to the West Coast, where there was a good job for Willie.”

  “And then Willie abandoned her. And her baby,” Eugene said quietly.

  “Yes, and I believe all the terrible things Willie found out about how Maryanne and her son Danny Williams survived. Just as I believe what he said about his own involvement in the snuff movie.”

  Dante studied his shoes for a moment, then looked up, anguished, not meeting anyone’s eyes. “Yes, there is a strong possibility that Danny Williams is my son. Maryanne told my uncles she hadn’t been near a man for six months before … before me. That she wanted to be ‘pure,’ she said, for me.”

  There it was, out in the open at last.

  After a full minute of silence, Eugene spoke quietly but firmly. “That wasn’t the truth. She was lying about that. Not having relations with other men for that period of time.”

  Megan became sharply alert. Ben looked puzzled. Was the priest going to break his vow and reveal a confession. Charley waited, his eyes on his brother.

  “What do you mean, Gene?” Dante asked.

  Eugene’s smooth, handsome face tightened. “It was a terrible time for me. I had just come home from Rome. I was heading for a leper colony. I wasn’t sure about anything in my life.”

  He remembered something and turned to Megan.

  Yes, she nodded. She remembered he had come to her.

  “I was having coffee one night, Benny, in your parents’ luncheonette. Maryanne came over to my table and asked if she could sit with me. I was wearing civvies, but of course she knew who I was. We didn’t talk. Not at all. It was a very peculiar moment. We left together and went to her parents’ apartment. My God. They were at the Loew’s Paradise. It was Screeno night.” He blinked a few times and shrugged. “It was all over in a matter of minutes. It had the quality of a dream.”

  “When was this?” Dante asked anxiously.

  It was during the time Maryanne had claimed to have been “pure” for Dante.

  Ben Herskel’s voice was raspy, and they all turned to him. “That was when I was going to Columbia for law courses, to get ready for the assignment at the Nuremburg trials. Maryanne Radsinski.” He shook his head. “I bet I was the only one who paid her. Hey, come on. Maryanne was a pro, among other things. Me, she charged.”

  “Me too,” Charley said. “Once or twice. I had just come home and … for whatever reason, she approached me and it just happened. Twice.”

  Dante looked from one to the other. “None of this was in Willie’s book.”

  “Either he didn’t know, or he wanted to get you, Dante. Tell me …” Ben hesitated for a moment. “What does he look like, this Danny Williams?”

  “Well, you’ll see for yourself. He’ll be here in less than an hour.”

  “Why, Dante? Why does he want to see us?”

  “I don’t know, Benny. He said it was important that he see us all together.”

  “Okay,” Megan said. “Let’s get to the killing of Stachiew. He named all of us as his murderers.” Then, in an almost childish boast, Megan said, “I’ve never spoken about that night. In my whole life. To anyone.”

  “Attagirl, Megan. She kept her promise,” Dante said.

  “For all the good that does,” Ben said. “That little bastard put it all down in his book.”

  “Let’s talk about it, okay?” Megan looked at each of them. “I really want to know something. Each of you, how do you feel about what happened that night? Benny, do you feel you took part in the murder of Stachiew?”

  Without hesitation, he said, “Damn right I do. We left him dead.”

  Eugene shook his head. “No. He was alive. Willie’s father came along and killed him. Ben, do you honestly think I could have continued at the seminary if I truly believed that I—”

  Ben’s face darkened and his voice was low and mean. “Yeah, I honestly believe that, Eugene. Hell, I’ve seen SS Catholics lined up for confession at the camps, and the next morning take communion. All forgiven. Back in the fold. All straight with God.”

  They had seen Eugene’s anger before, as a kid, but not the fury with which he stood, lean and rigid in his plain black suit, the stiff white collar digging into his throat.

  “Are you equating me with the murderers of Auschwitz? Is that what you just said, it’s all the same? That my confessor would say, ‘Okay, as long as you admit to murder, get on with your life’?”

  Ben stood and confronted Eugene. “Yeah, that’s what I’m saying, Bishop O’Brien. Not that what we did was anything like the camps, but you guys got a nice little gimmick going for you. Confess, and God’ll say, ‘Hey, okay, welcome home.’”

  Eugene swung his fist, but Charley intervened smoothly and grabbed his brother’s arm.

  “Knock it off—we can’t afford this.” He wrapped an arm around Gene’s shoulder. “What we’re talking about is whether or not we killed—or think we killed—Stachiew. Megan, how about you?”

  “Well, frankly, yes. I think we did. My God, we knocked him into a bloody mess. I think Willie’s old man was beating a dead man when the squad car came by and the cops saw him. He was drunk. He said whatever the hell he said and stuck with it. And it got him the electric chair.”

  “So you think we were responsible for two deaths?” Gene asked.

  “I don’t know, Gene. I really don’t know. But Charley asked me and I answered. Yeah, I think we did it. Then again, maybe we didn’t. But I’m not positive, one way or the other.”

  To lighten the terrible mood in the room, Dante said, “Megan, how the hell would you know what happened that night? You weren’t even there.”

  “That’s absolutely right, Dante. And I’m pretty sure I’m not Danny Williams’s father, either.”

  “Now that wasn’t funny, Megan.”

  “You know me, Dante. I always go too far.” They sat, each trying to assess what the damage would be. Each thought of lives lived, honors earned; of families, careers, hopes; and of ruin.

  It was Ben who articulated what they were all thinking. “Well, we can’t just let this happen, can we? What does he want, this Danny Williams? Is he setting us up for blackmail, or what?”

  “I don’t know, but we’ll find out in a few minutes.”

  “Dante, listen.” Ben’s face was hard, almost ugly with what he had to say. “All my life I’ve had to deal with violence. And my father before me—that’s another matter. I don’t know how many men I’ve killed, in the U.S. Army and in the service of Israel. I just know that there are ways for things to be handled. Quiet, secret ways. People disappear all the time, and are never heard of again. And other lives go on. None of you needs to know anything about any of this …”

  Megan said, “Are you talking about murdering this young man?”

  “I’m talking about saving our lives, that’s what I’m talking about. And you don’t have to know any more than that. None of you.”

  Megan looked around the room. No one said anything. They all seemed, for the moment, to accept what Ben Herskel had just said.

  “Ben, you don’t mean that, do you?”

  “Look, Megan, you keep out of this, okay?”

  “Keep out of this, little girl? That what you’re saying? Because this little girl was part of that night on Snake Hill, and my family and I are included in this rotten book, so don’t tell me this has nothing to do with me. This has as much to do with me as with any of you.”

  “Benny, we’re talking about a young man who might be my son. Or Gene’s. Or Charley’s. Or yours.”

  In a deadly, hollow voice, Ben said, “Two of my sons are dead, and the other two put their lives on the line for their country and their beliefs every day of the year. I have no other son.”

  There was a soft chiming sound: the downstairs bell. The silence was intense as they waited, heard the elevator stop in the hall, the door slide open. And then the soft knock on the door.

  Unnecessarily, Dante said, “Well, here he is.”
/>   CHAPTER FOUR

  HE WALKED DIRECTLY TO MEGAN AND, with a self-deprecating grin, said the most obvious thing. “Of course, you’re Megan.”

  He used her first name easily. After all, he had put together a manuscript that dealt with all of her secrets—some real and some not. He had a trick of totally focused eye contact that created an immediate intimacy. Megan thought he must be really hot stuff with the ladies; but for all his directness, he gave himself away, at least to Megan’s analytic eye. There was a quick tongue-flick to one corner of his mouth, a shrugging of his shoulders, and a nervous flutter of his thick eyelashes as he turned to confront the men in the room.

  Megan watched all of them closely. They each seemed to be searching for some clue, some point of recognition. He did favor Dante in height, hair, and eye color. But then, they were all close to or over six feet tall. Danny was slender, as they had all been at his age. The dark eyes seemed to rule out Gene, but his brother Charley had dark brown eyes. And Danny had a very light complexion. Megan tried to picture him with light hair. He might resemble Eugene.

  His smile and easy manner, his handshake and friendliness, did nothing to relieve the tension in the room. They stared at him as someone come unexpectedly into their lives to bring destruction upon them. Yet, he was a son.

  Megan offered him a drink, gesturing toward the collection of bottles and glasses; he nodded and helped himself. The men seemed mesmerized. Ben’s scowl was softened, perhaps, by the question, Could this be a son of mine? Brother to my living and dead sons?

  Eugene’s lips were slightly parted; Megan couldn’t begin to guess at his thoughts. Charley seemed unable to do more than glance a few times at this stranger. Or was he a stranger? Was he a continuation of Charley’s line?

  And Dante, a father of daughters, who had desired, through all his young manhood, a son. What did he see as he studied this handsome, self-assured young man?

  Finally, after swallowing some Scotch, it was Danny Williams who totally dominated the room. With a generous wave of his arm, as though he were the host and not the unwelcome guest at this strange, tense gathering, he said, “I wish you’d all relax. I’m here for a special reason. I wanted to talk to all of you at the same time, since we are all connected.” Quickly, with a grin, he added, “Through Willie and his autobiography.”