Chicago Stories: West of Western (37 page)

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Authors: Eileen Hamer

Tags: #illegal immigrant, #dead body, #Lobos, #gangs, #Ukrainian, #Duques, #death threat, #agent, #on the verge of change, #cappuccino, #murder mystery, #artists, #AIDS, #architect, #actors, #Marine, #gunfire

BOOK: Chicago Stories: West of Western

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Marko drew a finger across his throat and she pushed the stop button. “Who's this Benedicta Keating woman and why do we care? That was a gang shoot-out downstairs.”

“Not exactly. Sister Ann shot the Lobos. Aunt Benedicta was in the Caritas Sisters with her years ago. Let me get this down, then you can ask questions.”

“Yeah, okay.” Markowicz sat back and she pushed the button to resume the tape.

“Sister Ann had joined the Caritas Sisters upon her graduation . . . ”

The two detectives were silent as Seraphy's clear voice related Benedicta's story of Sister Ann thirty years before and the rumors about her life since, Maria's story and why Sister Ann shot Tito, then the three Lobos, and Seraphy's suspicion that she shot Manny because he interfered with Sister Ann's hunt for Chico, Berto and Bobo after they attacked her. When she finished, the tape was full.

“Incredible. What about all this?” Terreno waved his hand around. “What happened here?” Seraphy nodded and inserted another tape.

“I realized Sister Ann was the killer and I called detectives Markowicz and Terreno as soon as I got home. Then I ran to help Brother Edwin next door try and delay Maria's leaving, which we did as best we could. We knew the cops were coming, but finally we couldn't stall any longer without making Sister Ann suspicious, and had to take Maria out. That's when Mario crossed the street and Chico and the Lobos opened fire. Sister Ann shot them from the doorway. Mario was wounded, Brother Edwin took him in the ambulance. When I got up and looked around, Sister Ann was down on the landing with bullet holes and blood all over her chest.”

“Jesus,” said Terreno when she turned off the recorder.

“You check any of that out?” Markowicz was making notes. “Like that about the nuns, what-do-you-call-em, Charity Sisters?”

“Caritas Sisters and no, I didn't have a chance to check anything, but when you meet my Aunt Benedicta you'll see there's no doubt she got it right. She has documentation, old photos and so on, and can give you names of people to confirm whatever you need to confirm. I don't know what proof you'll be able to find, aside from the gun in her hand, that Sister Ann was the killer.

“About Tito and Maria: I heard about him being a total bastard from several people, and I know Sister Ann saw Cholo and his buddies threaten me with knives. I don't have any proof why she shot Manny, just some ideas. Maybe he figured it out, maybe he saw something, maybe he was trying to stop her, I don't know. I know Chico and his buddies were there that night and suspect they might have seen something, but they're dead, now, too. She had a twenty-two in her hand. I'm sure it will prove to be the weapon that killed the gang-bangers and Manny.”

No one spoke for a minute. Seraphy was exhausted and could hardly hold her cup to her lips. Markowicz stashed his notebook, Terreno stared at the table. Seraphy realized she was holding Emily and wondered where Black Jack was hiding.

Terreno recovered first and looked up.

“So that's it for the Lobos,” he said. “Five dead, including that crazy, Chico, and two more going down for shooting Sister Ann. The rest will scatter, maybe join the Duques. Good deal for you folks around here.”

Satisfied for the moment with Seraphy's explanation of events, Marcowicz was looking around for more to eat.

“You got more of that coffee?” Seraphy shook her head.

“What about Mario?” asked Terreno.

“Brother Edwin seemed to think he'll be okay. Mario didn't have a gun, he was just coming to be with his sister. Brother Edwin said it was some kind of sacred vow, but when Mario was being carried to the ambulance I noticed he was wearing a Kevlar vest.”

“We need to question him. Think he'll be able to talk? Yeow!” Terreno looked down at the small black kitten fastened around his ankle. “What the hell?”

“His name's Black Jack. Careful, he's not civilized yet.”

“No shit.”

Seraphy leaned down and unhooked a spitting Black Jack, holding him by the scruff of his neck. “You could probably question Mario soon. They took him and Maria to St. Mary's, I think. He crossed the street to escort his sister to the hospital and stay with her until she died. It was the last thing he could do for her—you knew Maria was his half-sister, didn't you?” She incarcerated her captive in the cat carrier.

Terreno nodded, rubbing his ankle. “Yeah. And we know about her father, Asshole Aconto. We been trying to get somebody from that so-called church of his to file a complaint. We know he's screwing kids, just can't get anybody to talk.”

“Mario might help you with that. Can't you get a doctor to testify? You need the parents?”

“No. We could use a doctor's testimony, maybe even get some DNA, but, but first we got to get a kid to the doctor and Aconto has the parents refusing medical attention of any kind. He claims it's a religious thing, but it's really so no doc will examine the kids and call us,” said Marko.

“He had Maria believing it. That sucks.”

“It's just a matter of time. Somebody's gonna complain or DCS’ll get off their fat butts and go after him. Especially now the word's out how he abused Maria.”

“Or, his church might accidentally catch fire,” added Terreno, “It's happened before.”

Markowicz's phone rang and he checked the caller ID. “We gotta go. We'll see you at the station tomorrow to make a formal statement, okay?”

The detectives were half-way downstairs before she could get up to shut the door behind them.

Seraphy
let a chastened Black Jack out, fed the kittens, and was thinking about calling it a night when her cell phone rang.

“Seraphy? Richard. We just got home and there's police cars all over the place. Ambulances, too. What the hell's going on?”

“Chico tried to kill Mario and all hell broke loose. Look, Richard, I'll tell you everything, but later. Right now I'm exhausted. Too much has happened today and I need to get some sleep.”

“Shut up. This is your friend Richard here. You obviously need to be fed and cosseted, whatever that may be. Get your ass over here, Andre's in the kitchen and I'll find a bottle of something. You can lie back in Andre's chair and let us pry the story out of you. It won't be pretty, torturing you like that with food and drink. But somebody's gotta do it.”

“I know. At least, I can imagine.”

About Eileen Robertson Hamer

A studio potter
for many years, I went back for a PhD in Art History. A few years of academic poverty later I became a Realtor, specialized in artists' properties, and learned a lot about Chicago's off-beat corners and unusual old buildings.
Chicago Stories: West of Western
is the first in a series, each set around a specific building in one of Chicago's many distinct neighborhoods. I lived in this neighborhood for ten years, dealt with the gangs and found friends among the artists and illegal immigrants. When I went to write this book I thought this neighborhood would be a good place for Seraphy to start her new life. You can reach me at
[email protected]

Chicago Stories

Chicago Stories: West of Western
is the first novel in a new series about Seraphy Pelligrini, ex-Marine and Darkpool agent, back from the Midddle East to start a new life as an architect in Chicago.

Soon to come:
Chicago Stories 2: Ravenswood

A haunted church, a secret WW II journal, and a body in a font. Seraphy Pelligrini hunts a killer east, and west, of the tracks on Chicago's North Side.