Reverse Metamorphosis book one of the Irrevocable Change trilogy (39 page)

The following Monday afternoon he was back in
Ohio, heading west through prime antique buying areas. He would be
returning with a full load and was extremely pleased with the stock
he had purchased. Several pieces were going into his home to
upgrade the already great Victorian period antiques he had
accumulated. In addition to the load on his truck, another dealer
was going to deliver twenty seven more pieces of furniture the
following week. He had pulled off one of his best buying trips all
year.

A week later he was back in Chicago. The
following morning he beat Gladys to the shop and opened for her. He
walked around the shop noting several pieces had sold tags attached
to them, and saw several open spaces where items had been taken and
not replaced. It was a good thing he had a truck full waiting to be
unloaded. Thirty minutes later Gladys arrived. After making coffee,
turning the thermostat up and turning on the entrance area lights,
she went out to the warehouse to talk to Clay.

“Good morning boss, it looks like you had a
good trip. These are great. I can call Donnie to come down and give
you a hand if you want?” Donnie was Gladys’s seventeen year old
nephew who had helped around the shop several times previously.

“Thanks Gladys, I could use the help. If he
can bring his friend Larry, they can unload and place the whole
load. I’ve got other things I should be doing.”

“I’ll call him. But first we need to talk.
I’ve got a customer who’s looking for a high end bed room suite.
She wants the bed, dresser, chest, wash stand and maybe an armoire;
all matching, preferably in walnut, but she would settle for tiger
striped oak.”

“If she’s willing to pay top dollar we can
help her. There was a great set in a shop in Ohio, and if I call
this morning I think I can get it added to a load being delivered
next week.”

“Good, I think she’ll pay what ever is
reasonable for a great set. Now! There’s another matter. We need to
go to your office and talk in private.”

Following her announcement Gladys turned and
started into the store, then turned to see if Clay was following
her and waited. Clay figured whatever she wanted had to be
important and took off the leather gloves and followed her. A sales
clerk had arrived and was in the front of the store dusting and
rearranging stock.

Inside the office and with the door closed,
Gladys opened Clay’s middle desk drawer and removed two business
cards. He took them from her and saw they were from agents with the
Federal Bureau of Investigation. The top card was from George A.
Mangiurea, agent in charge at the Chicago office. The other
belonged to Special Agent, Ronald W. Trowbridge, out of Washington
D.C.

Gladys was staring at him, waiting for him to
make a statement.

“Did they say why they left the cards?”

“Yes, they wanted to speak with you, and
asked you to contact the man at the local office. You’re not in
some sort of trouble are you? And I guess me and the other girls
haven’t been involved in something illegal, have we?”

“No Gladys, none of us are breaking the law.
The business is entirely legal. I pay all the taxes and licenses
and do everything else the law requires. Don’t worry about it. I’ll
call them first thing tomorrow morning and see what they want. I’m
sure they just want information on something and think I can help;
and I will if there’s something I have knowledge of. I just can’t
imagine what it might be.”

“Thanks Clay. I didn’t think you could be
involved in something crooked, you’re too nice a person to be
involved in something bad.”

“Tell the rest of the ladies to quit
worrying; none of us are going down to Stateville Prison to be on
the chain gang.”

The following morning George Mangiurea took
Clay’s phone call. Later the agent called back to make an
appointment for Thursday morning at ten. Special Agent Trowbridge
would fly in for the meeting. Mangiurea didn’t divulge any details
about the meeting, just saying they needed to talk, and thanked him
for cooperating. Clay was apprehensive, but couldn’t imagine a
connection to his summer visit in North Carolina.

Thursday morning Clay was escorted to
Mangiurea’s office by an office assistant who looked like she might
have tried out for a Chicago Bears linebacker position; definitely
not his type. He had decided before arriving to handle the meeting
the same as his initial police interrogation. Say yes or no, and if
possible not expand on any questions they asked.

There were three other people in the office,
Mangiurea, Trowbridge and a clerk to take notes. Both men were in
suits, dark gray for Mangiurea, navy for Trowbridge. Both wore
black shoes, dark socks, black belts, white shirts and dark
patterned ties. Mangiurea was shorter and heavier than Trowbridge
and younger, about thirty five Clay guessed. Stocky build, with
brown hair cut in a flat top, dark complexion and dark eyes. He
appeared to have a pleasant personality, but looked sturdy and
tough. Trowbridge on the other hand was maybe six foot three
inches, and thin, probably two hundred pounds, definitely not
skinny. His blonde hair was a regular cut, but short. He wasn’t
movie star handsome, but average handsome if he could smile. Since
Clay had arrived he had not smiled once; very serious and dead
pan.

After introductions and small talk Trowbridge
got down to business.

“Mr. Albrecht…do you mind if I call you
Clayton?”

“Clay will be fine.”

“Alright, Clay. We have files on a man linked
to criminal activity here in Chicago, Mr. Anthony Giliano. In those
files we keep running across the name Clayton Albrecht. You seem to
be pretty close to the Giliano family.” Trowbridge hesitated,
waiting for an answer. Clay shrugged and acknowledged, but didn’t
answer. “May I ask what your relationship is with Tony
Giliano?”

“Tony’s son, Jimmy, was my best friend. Jimmy
died five years ago, and since then Tony Giliano and his wife Anna
have been like a second set of parents to me. I care a great deal
for both of them.”

“I’m going to be frank Clay, there is no
evidence linking you to any criminal activity. But, since you spend
time with the Gilianos and among their gang members, you have
probably heard or seen information we would find very helpful to
our investigation of organized crime here in Chicago.”

Clay remained passive and relaxed, but
replied, “No, I don’t believe I have any inside information.”

“Please let us be the judge. If you‘ll
recount events you’ve heard or seen while in the company of Giliano
we can decide if it is of any value.”

“I personally don’t believe Tony is engaged
in criminal activity. I have never seen any evidence of such
behavior, so I’m afraid I can’t help you.”

“Can’t, or won’t?”

“Can’t. Now, are we finished?”

“No we’re not finished. You were at the
Giliano family home for a period of several weeks in July and
August of 1972, were you not?”

Clay reflected for several seconds, “Yes, I
was there.”

“Just prior to your staying there several
gang members working for Tony Giliano were killed or wounded and he
was shot and hospitalized. Later, people we think were involved in
those shootings were assassinated, fourteen in one bloody ambush
alone. Someone was hired by Giliano to kill those people and I
think you may have information about a person or group of people.
We want your cooperation to apprehend the people involved in those
murders.”

“I know what you’re referring to from reading
the newspaper, but I don’t have any information about it, and I
don’t think Tony was involved. He was doped up and hospitalized
for, what three or four weeks?”

“We’re not implying he was part of the
attack, but someone acted in his interest and we want to know about
him or them.”

Clay shrugged and shook his head, “Sorry, but
I don’t know anything about what you're asking.”

“People at the hospital have testified you
appeared to be instrumental in making arrangements to move Giliano
to a secret location; you appeared to be in charge. What else might
you have had a hand in, or have been privy to?”

“Tony’s wife asked me to assist her with
making arrangements after Tony was injured. She obviously had a lot
on her mind, so yes, I guess you could say I took on the
responsibility for his move. But I don't think it's illegal to help
friends.”

“Clay, I’d like your opinion as to why
Giliano and his gang members were shot, if you don’t believe
they’re criminals.”

“I don’t have any idea. But, I would guess he
was attacked because of some of the businesses he owns. It could be
the savings and loan, or the title and trust company, or maybe the
body shop. I figured a disgruntled customer getting revenge.”

Trowbridge continued for another fifteen
minutes, with Mangiurea cutting in twice to reaffirm what was being
requested. Finally, seeing they were getting nowhere, Clay was
dismissed.

“God damn it George, he knows who killed
those people, I can feel it. He’s too calm about it and isn’t put
off by all those murders. I won’t be surprised if we learn he
played some part in setting it up. He’s been around the Gilianos so
long he accepts what they do. Keep digging on his background and
keep an eye on him and his business. If there’s something dirty on
this guy I want to know about it. Start visiting his friends and
relatives, but be careful not to hang any accusations on him or
we’ll be on the bad end of a harassment lawsuit. Say just enough so
he learns we’re asking questions and checking his background. Shake
up the people around him, and maybe we can shake him up.”

Clay waited until Saturday to alert Tony
about his visit with the FBI.

“Well, I can’t say I’m real surprised.
Apparently people at the hospital pointed you out. Sorry you got
tagged.” Tony said after Clay filled him in.

“I don’t think they know anything else or
they’d be hammering me harder. They still don’t have any leads but
my name has been noticed, so they’ll watch me for a while.”

“Yeah, I think they just saw an opportunity
to get somebody near me to tell them something they can use.
Anything to give them a lead they can build a case on. But if
they’re watching you close from now on you’ll have to be real
careful when you go on a job.”

“Yes, I’ve been thinking about it a lot. I’ll
need to cover my tracks to and from, as well as do the jobs. It’ll
make my work more difficult but I think it can be done.”

“So what else is going on with you? Found a
new girl friend yet?” Tony rose to refill their drinks.

“I did meet a girl two weeks ago, she’s O.K.;
a good lay. I’ll tell you more when you sit down, so you don’t
spill the drinks.”

“Oh, oh. I don’t think I like the sound of
this. What the hell are you up to now?”

“My new girl, Peggy, is a member of the Cook
County Little Theater Group. So I’m going to join too. Quit
grinning, I’m not going to be a queer dancer or actor. Peggy told
me they get plenty of people who think they can act, dance and
sing, but there’s a shortage of help in the wardrobe and make up
departments. I’ve signed up to assist in make up and I’ll fill in
with wardrobe when I’m not doing make up. This might be useful in
my work.”

“I’ll be damned. Only you would think of
those kinds of details.”

“And there’s something else I’ve been
thinking of. See what you think of this. I want to raise my fee to
a minimum of $50,000 per hit and more to stage accidental deaths.
It should cut me down to one or two jobs a year, which will be
enough with the fed's watching me.”

“Yeah, I don’t see anything wrong there.
There’ll be some screaming from the guy’s at the top because
they’ll want to continue using you on the lower to mid level hits.
Go for it.”

“Good, then put the word out about the new
minimum and I’ll plan to spend more time in the antiques business.
The shops doing so well I have a difficult time just buying enough
stock to keep the store full. With the holidays approaching soon
I'll need to make several runs out east again on buying trips.”

“Keep’s a fella busy doesn’t it; but isn’t
success great. I’m getting my fingers in so many ligit businesses I
feel stretched too.”

Clay was busy preparing for the Christmas
Holidays. The post holiday slowdown would give him a chance to take
it easy for a while. He had developed a routine of dropping in at
least once a week to have lunch with Margaret. Two weeks after
Thanksgiving, on one of those visits, a heated conversation
developed between them.

“Two men from the FBI came here last Friday.
They were asking questions about you and your involvement with Tony
Giliano.” Margaret was grim, wringing her hands.

Clay stood and put his arm around Margaret,
“I’m not surprised Mom, I spoke to them several weeks ago. I guess
I should have told you about it so you wouldn’t be caught off
guard. It’s nothing, don’t worry about it.”

Margaret pushed his arm away and stepped away
to face him, “What do you mean it’s nothing Clayton? The FBI is
investigating my son because of his involvement with a gang of
murderers and you think it’s nothing?”

“Mom, my involvement with Tony is social. I
attend parties at his house; we go fishing, out to dinner and to
ball games. We’re friends, not business associates.”

“Anymore I don’t know what to believe about
you Clayton. I never thought I would say this about one of my own
children, but I don’t trust you anymore. I’m not sure what your
involvement with Tony is, but I don’t like it, and I don’t like you
having dragged your family down to being investigated by the
federal authorities.”

“I think I had better be going. This is just
going to get worse if I stay.” As Clay reached for the door he
said, “I’ll call you before Christmas to give you a time to come on
the 24th. If you’re still coming. Are you coming for Christmas
Eve?”