Dead Sure?: A Paranormal Mystery (32 page)

Not bad, not bad at all. Maybe I should stop over- thinking my relationships.
“That’s just the start of what’s in store for you.”

The two exited the truck, heading up the sidewalk to the plain-looking bungalow. Liam was already waiting for them on the porch, looking somewhat perturbed.

Sam whispered in Rene’s ear, “Do you think he saw us? You know, I think he has a thing for you.”

“Stop that, Sam, you’re full of shit,” she replied, gently punching him in the arm. “Hey Liam,” she called out cheerfully.

Liam made a funny face and waved for them to come inside. The musty smell of the place wafted over them upon entering. The house was exactly as Rene remembered it, crammed full of stuff from wall to wall. A small trail led in multiple directions around the piles and piles of newspapers, magazines, books, and antiques of this type and that.

“Come on you guys, I cleared a spot in the living room.” He motioned them to the left, several piles of stuff later they were in a small clearing.

“I don’t remember seeing this couch last time I was here,” Rene said with some surprise.

“Yeah, I thought you’d be more comfortable, so I cleaned the place up.”

Sam leaned over and whispered in Rene’s ear, “This is cleaned up? I’d hate to see it dirty.”

Rene proceeded to give Sam another small punch in the arm.

“Would you guys like some coffee or soda?” Liam offered.

“If you have some diet soda in a can that would be great,” replied Sam. Liam went off to check.

“Why the can?” asked Rene quietly.

“If this is how he keeps his house, I don’t want anything to do with his dishes.”

“Sam, you’re so bad. I’m sure he draws the line somewhere.”

“I’m not.”

Liam returned from around a pile of papers, offering up two cans of diet coke. Sam took one and wrinkled his face slightly in displeasure, as he realized it was warm.

“Is something the matter?” asked Liam.

“No, nothing, this is fine,” Sam answered.

“Actually, Liam, Sam doesn’t like warm soda, could you get him a glass with some ice?” she said, trying to fight back a smirk.

“Sure, no problem, I’ll get you one too,” he replied, taking the warm sodas.

“Hah, serves you right. He’ll get you one too. That was a mighty low blow.”

Rene couldn’t hold back her laughs any longer. She burst out in a fit of mirth. It was contagious, and soon Sam was right there with her.

Liam returned empty-handed to find the two of them gasping for air and trying to stifle further giggles. “What’s so funny, guys? Do you have a new joke or something?”

“No, Liam, I’m just overtired from everything that’s been going on and stupid little things are starting to seem humorous. As for Sam, I think I’ve worn him out as well.”

Being the only piece of furniture visible in the room, Liam proceeded to sit down on the couch right between Sam and Rene. “So, what was so urgent, Rene, that you wanted to talk to me about?”

“Liam, I found a headstone at the cemetery of a man with a name almost like my father’s. I feel positive it was his headstone, only the man died in nineteen-twenty-nine. That part is just not possible. I was wondering if you have some old newspapers around here from that year that we could look through. Maybe we can find an obituary or a news story with some details about him.”

“I’m sure I have some, but they’re not very organized. Give me a minute, I’ll go see what I can dig up and we’ll all have a look through them.” Liam seemed very pleased to be able to help, and hurried off around several piles of books and old clocks.

“Rene, you didn’t tell me anything about suspecting the gravestone was your father’s.” Sam said, brushing his thick blond hair to one side in kind of a nervous manner. “What is it that you are hoping to prove?”

Rene stared at Sam for a long minute. “Frankly, Sam, I’m not sure what I’m trying to prove.”

Liam returned from behind the piles, his wrinkly clothes and unkempt hair a perfect match for his abode. He was in a rush and just slightly bumped the side of a large stack of books as he reentered the clearing. The light bump was enough to set off a chain reaction. The pile swayed slightly and then collapsed. Like a serious of dominos it hit the next pile and the next pile and so on. Stacks of books, papers, and antiques were toppling everywhere in every direction; onto the couch with Rene and Sam, onto the floor, back into more piles of many other nameless treasures, or at least that’s how Liam saw them.

The great collapse was followed by large billows of dust floating everywhere around the room. As if angry about the disturbance, the particles flitted here and there trying to find a new resting place. Sam was busy sneezing and Rene was busy trying not to laugh. It was a losing battle for her, as she burst out into hysteria. Between the lack of sleep and nerves, something this funny just couldn’t be ignored.

Liam looked sheepishly at them, asking, “Is everyone okay? I know this one book hit me pretty hard in the foot.”

This statement of concern in such a seemingly harmless context brought Rene into another fit of laughter. In between sneezes, Sam was beginning to laugh as well. Presently, Liam just went with the crowd and decided to join in. 

Several minutes later the group managed to regain its composure. “Liam, I’m sorry about laughing so much, but honestly this has been one of the high points in my life lately. Everything just crashing down almost like slow motion just struck me funny.”

“It’s okay, Rene; I’ve been meaning to sort through some of this stuff anyway. This will just force me into action a little sooner.”

Sam doubted that Liam would do anything other than think about it. “Hey Liam, what was it that you found before we all got distracted?”

“I found several editions of the local paper from different months in nineteen-twenty-nine. Some of the articles seem relevant to the things you’re looking for.”

Rene leaned forward, looking excited. “Let’s see what you found.”

Liam hurriedly pushed the books that had fallen on the couch to the floor and sat down, opening up the paper. He felt important, needed, something Liam rarely felt. Nobody ever needed him or took him seriously. Now however, the girl he liked was glued to his every word. “This first paper has an article about a robbery that took place on September 13
th
. It says that the Wong residence was robbed and many valuables were stolen. What struck me about the story was the part about the medallion. Mr. Wong was quoted as saying it had strong sentimental value, and that he would pay a large reward for its safe return. Wong described the piece as dullish in color with a dragon on one side, and the reward for the time period was out of this world. Nobody just gives away five hundred dollars for sentiment. Unfortunately, I don’t have any newspapers that say anything about whether he got the thing back or not.”

“I wonder if that’s the medallion the old man was babbling about.”

Sam looked thoughtful for a moment and then decided to mention the journal. “I’m not sure if I should mention this or not, but in the crazy journal I was reading the author mentioned a coin or medallion. He was exceptionally mysterious about it.”

“Yeah,” Rene chimed in, “and as I remember now, the author of the journal was Tim Bartington. It all seems to be coming together in some weird kind of way.”

“Well then, after I read you this next newspaper story you’re really going to think so.” Liam added. He let several moments pass saying nothing.

“Are you going to read it already, or just keep us guessing?” asked Rene.

Liam smiled goofily and adjusted his big-black plastic-rimmed glasses. He was enjoying every minute of being at the center of attention. All eyes were on him, everyone wanting to know what he was going to say next. Adjusting his voice to the more dramatic tone of an announcer, he began, “This article talks about the gangland style slaying of one Tim Bartington.”

Sam and Rene both gasped in shock, almost in unison. “No way, you’re kidding, right?” Sam said, a look of disbelief crossing his face.

“No, I am not. I never kid about history. I love the stuff. Rene knows that.”

Rene felt herself growing anxious and beginning to feel a bit shaky. She thought she was starting to see a curtain of darkness at the corners of her peripheral vision.  “Liam, I need some water please, right away!” With that, she started fumbling through her purse.

“Don’t you want to hear the story, it’s really interesting?”

“Water now!” Finally her fingers found what they sought; the pill bottle Shelby had given her earlier that day.
I’m not going to have an episode this time.

Liam jumped up and headed quickly for the kitchen. He returned, holding a measuring cup with some water in it. “Sorry, this is all I had clean. I hope you don’t mind warm water fresh out of the tap.”

Rene grabbed the cup, her hands trembling, and popped two pills into her mouth. Guzzling the liquid rapidly, she swallowed them down.

Sam looked at her dubiously. “Rene, the bottle you’re holding says only two a day.”

“I’m not going to have another episode, I’m just not!”

Chapter 26
Sat. Sept. 21
st
, 1929

Saturday September 21
st
, 1929

There was a cool evening breeze beginning to pick up as Angela arrived at the Foshay tower. Her resolve about the plan was bolstered by the adrenaline that was starting to course through her veins.
The plan is gutsy, mighty gutsy. No, that isn’t a strong enough word for it. Maybe ballsy or brash would better suit it. The timing of everything has to be spot on, and if people don’t act as predicted, the whole thing could blow up in my face. What if Scarafini doesn’t shift his men and attention in this direction, then what? All hell is going to break loose when my men try to raid the gin mill. There’s no going back after that. Tim, what a wild card he is, no experience and trusting him to break into the museum with Reggie and retrieve some magical item that just sounds crazy.

The whole plan was riddled with potential failure points, and yet Angela sensed it was going to work itself out satisfactorily. She entered the large new building; a doorman held open the glistening brass door for her. What a place! She reveled in her power. Being able to book a party in the Foshay building so soon after its dedication took some doing, but she had managed it.

She proceeded down the ornate hallway with its marble floors and amazing pillars towards the grand ballroom, flanked on each side by one of her well-dressed thugs. Part of her wished this was just a regular party and that Tim was accompanying her to go dancing. She quickly put that trifling thought out of her head and screwed on her game face. A big smile turned up the corners of her ruby red lips as she entered the ballroom, of course fashionably late even for her own gala event.

Upon scanning the room, she located a number of people she recognized from the museum, the mayor, and a number of prominent citizens who had jumped at a chance to attend an event at the acclaimed Foshay tower. She continued to look around the room, her eyes darting shiftily from right to left, taking inventory of everyone she saw. The party had been underway for a full forty-five minutes already, and the jazz band was in full swing. A large group of ladies wearing their new fineries were off to one side chatting about who knew what. Angela guessed it was shoes or fashion of some type. Over towards the bar a number of men clustered in their tuxedos smoking stogies, occasionally laughing uproariously at one joke or another. Actually, the euphemism for it was prohibition soda counter, but everyone knew what that meant. With the mayor here and the right palms greased, booze could be served and everyone would look the other direction feigning cluelessness. It was the bar crowd that interested her as she made her way across the room, the crowd that she needed to mingle with and manipulate.

As Angela drew closer to the large group of men, her eyes continued to scan everyone and everything.
Damn it, where is that Nico Scarafini? It’s not like him to show up late, he’s always afraid he’ll miss something and yet I don’t see him.
At that precise second, a sweaty hand with big sausage like fingers gently clasped Angela’s bare shoulder. She knew who it had to be at once. So without bothering to turn all the way around, she launched into her greeting. “Nico, how good of you to come, and I see you brought friends.”

Standing next to Nico, not looking particularly inconspicuous, were a number of rough-looking thugs. Of course the men dressed in nice suits, but that didn’t change their general look and demeanor.

“Angela, you sharp-tongued devil, how are you?” Without waiting for a reply he continued on, “That red dress looks great on you, although I’d rather see you out of it.”

“Oh, Nico, always the charmer with the ladies. How do you fend them all off?” she said, finishing with an exaggerated haughty laugh.

Nico appeared to be enjoying the verbal bantering, taking it all with a grain of salt. His fat mitt going up to his purplish lips, he took a deep puff from a foul-smelling cigar and grinned. “So Angela, let’s cut the bullshit, why such a philanthropic interest in the museum lately?”

“Nico, I’m sorry you’ll have to excuse me. I see some other guests entering that I need to greet. It was wonderful catching up. We should do it again sometime,” and with that, she sauntered off into the crowd heading for the ballroom’s main entrance, not even sparing Nico or his group a second glance.

Entering the party was a small Chinese man dressed in bright orange and yellow silk robes. He had a matching round hat with no brim, constructed of the same fabric. His dark black hair was long and pulled back in a single braid. The color matched a long thin mustache that curved down each side of his face meeting up with a rather pointy beard that scarcely touched his chest. Accompanying the man were a couple of menservants dressed in all-black clothes and hats shaped just like his. Behind them followed five Chinese women dressed up in full regalia with dresses of varying brightly colored silk.

The group made quite a stunning looking party, Angela thought as she headed over to greet them. “Mr. Wong, good evening, thank you for coming tonight. The museum needs more benefactors as generous as yourself.”

He smiled, “You too kind Mrs. Torrelli. It is an honor and a privilege to share some of China’s heritage with this great city.”

“Please enjoy the party. I made sure the bar stocked up on baijiu for the occasion. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to follow up on a couple of more arrangements.”

With that, Mr. Wong and his party began to move away towards the bar. Angela glanced nervously at her gold Hamilton wristwatch. It was just turning eight-forty- five p.m. If things were going according to plan, she would have a message at the front desk from Tony, confirming that Charles was playing ball or things had been handled in another way,
a more permanent and sure way.
Built into her plan was also enough time to verify that all the appropriate people had arrived at the party. This step having been completed, Angela had no need to send a car with one of the boys, warning Tim and Reggie to hold up. They were scheduled to begin their part of the operation at nine, and things were proceeding exactly to plan so far.

She was beginning to feel rather proud of herself as she glided across the hotel lobby to the front desk. “Do you have a message for me, Angela Torrelli?” she asked the clerk.

“Let me take a look, Miss,” the clerk replied, whirling around to look in a set of alphabetized cubbies. “Yes, there is one.” He handed her a folded slip of white paper.

Angela took the note, feeling she already knew what was written on the paper. “Thank you,” she responded, tipping the man a quarter. Moving away several paces before opening it, she took a deep breath.
I knew it; I knew he’d toe the line when push came to shove. He’s got it good and he knows it. Charles still thinks he’s going to be number one and disregarding orders isn’t going to get him there. Then again, he may be right; once I leave, he just might become the boss unless I put a stop to that. Perhaps I should let him have the top spot as a parting gift. I mean really, how long is the fool going to live once a gang war erupts with the Scarafini crew?

A devilish twinkle came into her eyes, as she pulled a lighter from her purse, setting the small note containing two words ‘He’s in’ ablaze. Carefully she placed the burning paper into the deco ashtray stand beside her, and proceeded to light up a small thin cigar, continuing to revel in just how beautifully her intricate plan was coming together.

*    *    *

Across town, Charles and nine of the boys piled into two trucks and a sedan. They were heading out to hit the Scarafini gin mill. Charles got into the Ford sedan with Tony and three other goons. After cranking over reluctantly, the engine fired up and the big black sedan pulled out. Following closely were two covered trucks each with a couple more guys.

The sun had just set and darkness was settling over the city as the caravan made its way towards the outskirts of town. It was a curvy road heading up a large hill into a wooded area that the town just hadn’t grown into yet. The plan involved pulling off the road just prior to cresting the peak. Once a vehicle crested the peak, its headlights would be visible to the buildings tucked in the woods below. This simple type of advanced warning made this an ideal hideout. There was no sneaking up on the place unless you were smart, which most of the criminal element wasn’t.

According to plan, Tony pulled the black sedan off the side of the road, carefully dousing the headlights. The trucks behind him followed suit. Everyone got out of the vehicles and Charles began to give instructions. “Wes, you stay with the trucks and stand guard. If anything unusual happens before the shooting begins, lean on the horn and will scramble back here and regroup.”

“Sure, boss, whatever you say,” the tall, gangly man answered back. Pausing for a moment, he continued, “What if the troubles coming right here, should I still honk to draw you guys back?”

With a look of disgust, Charles began to reply, “If anything is happening it will be…”

Before Charles could finish that thought, Tony cut him off. “Quits your jawing, suppose to be my job,” he said loudly in his best broken English. 

“Tony, we’re a ways off from the mill, but keep it the hell down just in case they’ve got a sentry or two out in the woods,” interjected Larry.

Grabbing Tony by the lapels of his suit, Charles, just barely containing his rage began: “Let me tell you this, Tony. If you ever cut me off mid sentence again, I’ll kill your dumb ass where you’re standing!”

Tony looked like an angry bear, but some unknown force kept him under control. Possibly it was the big bonus Angela had promised for getting this job handled. Handled defined as, keeping Charles in it and under control. “Fine, youse the boss. What’s next?”

Sometimes it’s just too easy,
Charles thought to himself, trying to look cross as he continued to think about how he was going to off this big pain in the ass. “We march through the woods following the tree line down to the edge of the clearing, staying just deep enough to be out of sight.”

The group began to follow Charles, as he limped into the woods, Tommy gun in hand. His leg was still giving him grief from the previous mishap with Max. A couple of the lame-ass quacks he’d seen told him there was nothing they could do. The bullet was lodged deep up against the bone. He was going to limp for the rest of his life and there was nothing anybody could do about it.
At least it’s healed over, and isn’t bleeding so goddamn much anymore. Besides, my injury will make for the perfect excuse tonight. Maybe I should look at it as a blessing, almost a divine intervention.

The men plodded along slowly and cautiously. Cresting the hill, they began their descent towards the compound. It wasn’t much really, just a couple of barn- like buildings and a shack. Larry moved up close to Tony. “Do you think both of those buildings are filled with gin? This hit could be worth a fortune.”

“Don know, but the boss said anything we’s can’t carry should be set ablaze.”

“I think there’s going to be a hell of a fire tonight,” the shorter fat man replied.

Charles had stopped and Tony and Larry quickly caught up with him. In his best whisper Tony asked, “Didja see’s something?”

“No, my leg is killing me and it’s really slowing things down. I think you and Larry should take the lead.”

“Okay!” Larry answered excitedly.

Tony and Larry began to move forward with Charles dropping quickly back. It wasn’t long before the other six thugs had caught up with Charles. “I’m going to cover our backs; you guys get up tighter to Tony and Larry. When Tony gives the all clear, we’re going to sneak across the open area of the compound and storm into that shack with our Tommy guns blazing.”

Everyone proceed forward with a heightened sense of urgency. They were closing in on their target, the Scarafini gin mill. What a prize this joint was going to be! Hard liquor was selling for a pretty penny these days, and it was rumored that this particular mill was producing about twice as much as its Torrelli equivalent.

At the edge of the clearing Tony could see that the place looked deserted except for some light spilling out the window of the main shack. The window, being high up the side of the building, probably by design, didn’t reveal any details about what lay waiting inside.

“Scarafini musta gone for da Bosses distraction. This place looks really dead.”

“Yeah, you’re right; there are only a couple of cars around the side. I bet there’s only about four or five guys here. With the element of surprise on our side, this should be a piece of cake,” Larry replied, looking for Tony’s approval.

The Torrelli gang was all lined up along the edge of the woods now, spaced out from each other by about four or five feet, the trees providing ideal cover to get a final read on the place before committing to the operation.

Charles stood back in the shadows a little ways from the line of men. Counting and recounting the group in his head.
Four, five, six, seven, and with me that’s eight, and Wes waiting back at the truck is nine. Yeah, I guess that covers everyone. Now if that fool Tony would just give the word, we can get this party started.

Tony took one final look around and gave a slight whistle. A forward gesture from the silhouette of his arm confirmed the signal for the group to move in.