Reverse Metamorphosis book one of the Irrevocable Change trilogy (3 page)

The obituary announcement was in the paper
Saturday morning. A closed casket visitation at the funeral home
was conducted Sunday afternoon, and Monday evening. The funeral
service was held the following Tuesday morning with a full Catholic
Mass. Clay thought more people attended Jimmy’s funeral than any
other in the history of the city. Tony’s peers in the mob all
attended whether they liked each other or not, and behaved
themselves simply out of respect for Tony and Anna. Jimmy’s brother
and sister had flown in for the funeral, but Clay didn’t get to
speak to them at length, other than to give cursory condolences.
John and his wife left as soon as the funeral was over, but
Adrianna was planning to stay the rest of the week to visit with
her parents. Clay observed she was certainly growing up and looking
good.

After the funeral Clay planned to take at
least a week off work because he wasn’t ready to be around people
making stupid remarks, and didn’t want to carry on meaningless
conversations.

With Jimmy G. gone forever a huge void was
left in his life. Hardly a day had passed since they were seven
years old when they hadn’t gotten together or at least talked on
the phone. They had done so many things in unison Clay felt as if
he had lost a physical part of himself with Jimmy’s death. It was
unspoken but understood by both if a problem of any magnitude arose
the other would be there to provide backing and support. The bond
between them was so strong both felt they knew exactly how the
other would react in all situations. They had dated together for
years and had even shared the same girl friends occasionally when
one or the other grew tired of a girl.

On Thursday evening, two days after the
funeral, he was in the kitchen getting a Coke when the phone
rang.

“Clay, you have a phone call,” his mother
said from the living room.

“O.K. mom, I’ll take it in my room.”

“This is Clay.”

“Clay. This is Dave Ulcak.

“Dave! I haven’t seen you since graduation.
What are you up to?”

“Well, I’m working construction. I’ve been an
iron worker apprentice for the last year. In fact, I’m working the
same job Jimmy Giliano was on when he died last week.”

“Jimmy and I were really tight; his accident
sure knocked me for a loop.”

“Yeah, I remember you two always running
together. I also recall talk about his dad being connected to the
mob. Is that right?”

“Well, Tony probably has some ties. Why?”
Clay had caught a note of apprehension in Dave’s voice and was
curious.

“The day Jimmy G. fell, I wanted to be alone
after the job was shut down. Man, seeing him lying there with those
re-bar poking up through him hit me hard. Me and the guy’s on my
crew had installed and tied the steel he fell on. I wasn’t feeling
like talking about it and needed to get away from the rest of the
crew and be alone. So instead of going to our regular bar after
work, I went to a little place over on Elliott Street. I got a beer
and took a booth toward the back. As soon as I got settled in,
three other guys from the job walked in and sat at the bar, up near
the entrance. A guy Jimmy had been having problems with, Jerry
O’Neil was drinking boilermakers; really throwing them down, one
right after the other… Are you still there?”

“Yeah, Jimmy told me about a guy he was
having problems with. I’m listening, go on.”

“Well, O’Neil is getting drunker, louder and
nastier by the minute. He said ‘That damned Wop won’t be giving me
any more trouble.’ And he made jokes about how Jimmy looked like a
pin cushion and he hoped it hurt like hell. The two other guys with
him aren’t on my good guys list either, but they had both listened
to enough of his crap. They made excuses to leave, finished their
beers, and hauled their worthless asses out the door. After they
left O’Neil continued drinking and suddenly said to nobody in
particular, ’Damn it, the look he had when he went over the edge
and realized I had pushed him was great. I nailed him good and he
knew it. He won’t fuck with me anymore.’ The bartender and the
owner had heard enough and threw O’Neil out. I’m sure they didn’t
know who got hurt and just didn’t want to be involved.”

Clay silently held the phone in disbelief
until Dave again queried him, “Clay?”

“Yeah… Yeah, I’m still here. You’re real sure
about what he said? You were close enough to hear it clearly?”

“After he was thrown out I moved to the bar
and talked with the owner and the bartender. They heard the same
thing I did. Look Clay, O’Neil is bad news. He’s tough and he’s
mean. He’s too bad for me to mess with. But I always got along with
Jimmy G. and I thought maybe you could pass this information on to
his dad. If he’s connected he’ll know how to settle the score.”

“I’ll take care of it Dave. But, if this guy
is as tough as you say, you should keep quiet about what you heard
and don’t go telling anybody else for your own sake. Can you tell
me anything else about him?”

“He drives a two year old black Chevy pick up
and lives in Des Plains. I followed him home last night and got his
address and the truck's license number."

“Great, give it to me and I’ll get the
information to Jimmy’s dad. Jimmy and I were the closest of friends
and I’ll see it gets passed on. Thanks a lot Dave; I owe you.”

For a brief instant Clay thought of going to
the police with the information. But, he recalled the many times he
had followed public trials in which he was sure the accused was
guilty, only to watch as a slick defense lawyer get him off by
appealing to the jury’s sense of uncertainty. Also, as soon as the
arrest was made public, Tony would probably charge the police
station and kill the bastard in his cell, even if he got killed in
the process. Calling the police was out.

There was no one he could even call upon to
discuss the problem. No one in his circle of acquaintances, other
than Tony’s bunch, had ever killed anyone, at least not to his
knowledge. Since he had recently been involved in the accidental
death of another man he knew firsthand what emotional trauma an
average person would feel after killing someone; anyone. The only
people Clay knew who were capable of killing someone like O’Neil
were associates of Tony. They would have to inform Tony as soon as
they learned the identity of Jimmy’s murderer. This O’Neil
character apparently didn’t know about Tony’s connection, or was
too arrogant to be concerned. But O’Neil would have to be dealt
with and Tony was the logical person to handle it. He would talk to
Tony and… Sitting on his bed, he was suddenly overcome with emotion
and began to sob. How could he expect someone else to perform an
act he was shirking His best friend had been killed by a coward and
he was thinking of passing the problem to somebody else? What would
Jimmy have done? If Clay had been killed would Jimmy have gone to
Tony and said, Daddy, daddy, please fix this for me. Hell no he
wouldn’t. He would have told Tony to stay out of his way while he
took care of the asshole himself.

But Clay had never killed anyone. Well, not
intentionally. And this wouldn’t be the same; this would be stone
cold premeditated murder. There was no other way to think about it,
because it could get very ugly emotionally. But maybe a lone
avenger would stand a better chance of extracting revenge.

Two days later he grew weary of trying to
find excuses for not dealing with O’Neil directly and finally
accepted the responsibility of handling it himself. The fact it was
Jimmy’s killer made it his problem. He would do the job alone, and
then tell Tony.

His first step was to create a plan. The
method and location for the hit had to be determined and he would
need to know, where O'Neil hung out, as well as his normal routes
to and from work. He thought back to the times he and Jimmy had
secretly listened in awe to the stories recounted by some of Tony’s
acquaintances when they were drinking heavily and swapping stories
with each other. He had suspected Jimmy would someday use some
fragments of the accounts they listened to after he took his place
in the family business; but never did he believe he would use the
information. He had always managed to stay on the fringe of
trouble. He had never been involved in any of the street gang
action or committed any serious crime. On the few occasions he and
Jimmy had been stopped and questioned by the local cops they had
never even filled out a report of the incidents. Jimmy had
purposely kept his record clean so when the time came for him to
work under Tony he would be an unknown quantity to law enforcement
with no history of criminal involvement, other than obvious ties to
his immediate family.

The next morning Clay drove to the house
Jimmy had been renting. He was positive Jimmy’s belongings wouldn’t
be disposed of for at least a month. He let himself in the back
door with the key hanging on a nail under the wooden porch. Several
guns were kept in a closet and they had taken them target shooting
many times. He was familiar with all of them and knew where they
were kept. The .38 caliber Colt Cobra revolver and a twelve gauge
Remington pump shotgun with a sawed off barrel were his final
choices. The thought of using Jimmy’s guns to avenge the murder
gave him a feeling that his friend was participating and involved
in extracting revenge against his killer. Along with the guns, he
took a box of .38 cal. hollow point bullets and a box of five slugs
for the shotgun. He checked out the basement and garage where a lot
of miscellaneous items were stored. Some of the things he took note
of were an assortment of fireworks, rope, wire, and hand tools.

Since it was still early he drove to the
address Dave had given him. It was just inside the north east
corner of Des Plains. The house was a four or five room single
story bungalow with white aluminum siding and a small brick porch
up to the front door. A small single car detached garage was
located on the right side behind the house with driveway access
from the street. This was a working class neighborhood. It had been
built in the twenty’s and thirty’s when poor peoples houses were
small. Some of the homes were well cared for and others, like
O’Neil’s, were run down and needed major repair. Clay guessed the
house was rental property and O’Neil didn’t own it. The black
pickup wasn't in sight. In another hour it would be supper time.
Earlier he had passed a shopping mall about ten minutes away. He
could spend a couple of hours there and get something to eat.

At seven thirty he drove back to O’Neil’s
street just before sunset. The black Chevy pick-up was parked in
the drive way beside the porch with the back end almost blocking
the side walk. Driving on past, he made a circle around the block
and came by again; this time going slower and driving close to the
curb like he was looking for a house number. After writing the
license number down on a pad on his lap he continued going slow to
the end of the corner, then turned left and headed home.

Step one was complete but he needed to learn
much more about the man to come up with a plan. The most direct way
of course, would be to walk up on the porch, ring the door bell and
shoot him when the door opened. But this was strange territory, and
the chance of being seen, followed and caught was too great. It had
to be done in a way to reduce risk, and guarantee a fatal hit. But
in this case O’Neil also had to suffer as much as Jimmy did after
having steel spikes plunged into his body while loss of blood, pain
and shock did their grisly work. Once begun, the end solution must
be irrevocable.

The next morning after breakfast he told his
Mom not to expect him for supper for the next couple of weeks; he
was taking some time off to revisit the places where he and Jimmy
used to hang out when they were growing up.

He began to follow O’Neil after work Monday
through Saturday and on Sunday, O’Neil’s day off. O’Neil’s work
week routine was pretty regimented. Go to work, stop for a few
beers, and then go home; unless he needed to stop by the grocery
store or run some other errands. The first Saturday he changed his
routine after work and headed home to clean up and change clothes.
Then, dressed in jeans and a cowboy shirt, O’Neil drove about
twenty miles west, out past Geneva, past the major suburbs into a
less densely populated area to a road house. There was a truck stop
across the two lane road in front of the roadhouse with the main
entrance on the opposite side, fronting on a four lane highway. The
bar was run down and looked like a rough joint. About thirty
Harleys were parked out front, with people drinking and playing
grab ass in the parking lot. These weren’t clean new stock bikes,
but mostly older choppers. The rest of the lot was full of cars and
pickup trucks. Clay parked across the lot from O’Neil, waited for
the red head to get inside, paid the four dollars cover charge, and
entered the bar. Making sure he didn’t bump into O’Neil he got a
beer at the bar and found space to stand along the front wall by
stacks of beer cases. The music was hard rock and loud. As with
most bars of its type, the smoke was so thick you didn’t need to
light up to smoke. Across the room O’Neil was at a table with three
couples. From time to time he would go ask somebody to dance; some
would, most refused him. At first it was hard not to stare at him,
but Clay gradually figured out how to scan the room but still be
aware of what O’Neil was doing.

Watching Jimmy’s killer roam around the bar
sharpened Clay’s resolve to see his friend’s murder avenged. The
man was thin, about six feet three inches tall. Unruly red hair was
parted on the right side and cut about three inches at its longest.
A long thin nose protruded from angular facial features amid
pronounced high cheek bones. The man’s lips outlined a wide mouth
highlighting yellowish crooked teeth. He wore Levis and a long
sleeved shirt with the sleeves rolled up to expose muscular
forearms attached to large but thin hands. Overall, O’Neil exuded a
rough and cocky attitude matching his appearance.