R. Ellory - A Quiet Vendetta

‘I appreciate that you have all come to see me on such short notice. I understand that you are busy people, you have families and things to attend to, and the fact that everyone I asked to come is here has been duly noted.’

He paused for a moment and took a sip of water from a glass to his right.

‘Were it not a matter of some importance I would not have called you here, but there is a matter of some grave concern to myself and others that will require our immediate attention.’

Don Accardo looked around the faces at the table. No-one spoke.

‘Some years ago, we dealt with a matter on behalf of our Irish cousins. Don Calligaris took some action which paved the way for a relationship which has grown from strength to strength these past years, and for this we are grateful to Don Calligaris and his people.’

There was a murmur of consent and acknowledgement around the table.

‘Now it seems our Irish cousins are faced with a more serious threat to their operations, not here in Chicago, but in New York, and they have asked for our assistance once again.’

The room was silent.

‘For several years there has been a relationship between the families in New York, specifically the Lucheses, and a man called Antoine Feraud from New Orleans.’

I looked up suddenly. I thought for a moment that I had imagined what I heard.

‘You have all heard of this man. You all know what he is capable of. We helped him with a small matter some time ago, a little difficulty we had with the Teamsters.’

Eyes around the table turned towards me. There were a few nods of respect, all of which I returned. I had not realized how many people knew who I was and of my history.

‘So now we have a situation with this Feraud. He has strong ties with the French and the Hispanics here in Chicago, and he is muscling in on Brennan’s northside territory. Brennan is a strong man, he will not tolerate such things, but with the French and the Hispanics behind Feraud he is strong in some areas. Feraud has no concern regarding who he works with… the Polish, the Eastern Europeans, and he will use these people to take whatever he wants. Brennan has again asked us for our help, and we are here to make a local vote on this matter.’

‘This will be a war,’ a man to the right of Accardo said.

Accardo nodded. ‘This is something we have to be aware of. A war it may become, and though I am the last man in the world who would care for war right now, it is nevertheless a situation of loyalty and honor. For the past many years we have worked close with the Irish. They are not as strong as we are, and therefore we have the upper hand. There are concessions made for us that would otherwise be worthless, and it is not without its benefits that the vast majority of senior officials within the police department are Irish. This is a strong tie, a tie we do not have with the French or the Hispanic people, and I would be very aggrieved if we lost the foothold we possess in this city. This is, after all, Big Jim Colosimo’s city, and we would not want it taken away from him.’

Again a murmur of agreement from the gathering around the table.

‘So speak amongst yourselves for a little while. We will take a vote, and when we have decided, we will send word to Brennan and his people and wait for a strategy to be outlined.’

Don Accardo raised his right hand. ‘Proceed,’ he said.

I turned to Don Calligaris. ‘I cannot believe this… after all these years, these same people.’

Don Calligaris smiled. ‘It’s the way it works. These people put each other in positions of power, and then they work to keep all their friends where they are. This is a political arrangement that has been present since Machiavelli.’

‘There is no question,’ I said. ‘Our ties with the Irish are so much stronger than those with Feraud and his people.’

‘But Feraud has people in Vegas, also in New York. There aren’t many, but then it doesn’t necessarily take an army to win a war.’

I shook my head. ‘I know where my loyalties would lie,’ I said.

‘And I have my own view regarding Feraud and his politician friend.’

Calligaris nodded. ‘I think you will find the opinion here agreeable with yours.’

Don Accardo raised his hand again and the hubbub ceased.

‘So we have a vote to take. All those in favor of working again with Brennan and the Cicero Gang to oust these French and Hispanics, raise your hand.’

The vote was unanimous. No question. These people knew who they wanted close, and it was not Feraud’s organization.

We stayed a couple of hours. We ate well, we drank many bottles of rioja, and when we left we believed that we had been party to a small matter of politics. Even Don Calligaris waved his hand aside when I mentioned it, saying, ‘This is nothing of great consequence… I imagine we will hear a few words in the coming weeks, and then it will be gone. The Irish will be Irish and keep the whole thing within their quarter.’

Don Calligaris’s words could not have been further from the truth.

Within a week thirty-seven men had been killed, eleven from within the Chicago family, one young man the son of Don Accardo’s own cousin. Though whatever battles raged on the northside did not directly involve us, we were nevertheless aware that at any moment the telephone could ring and we could be despatched to take care of something.

By the time September arrived Chicago had fallen silent. The call we expected never came. We waited still, but there was no further word of what had happened between the Irish and Feraud’s people, save that Feraud had withdrawn his French and Hispanic soldiers from Chicago and gone home.

Don Calligaris believed the thing was done.

Christmas came and went.

We celebrated the New Year with a trip to Niagara Falls. We went – Angelina, myself, Victor and Lucia – like a real American family. We were not, had never been and never would be, but for all appearances that was what we were.

Again I broached the subject of where we would go when I ceased to work, and once more Angelina changed the subject tactfully. It seemed she did not want to mention this, as if ceasing to be part of what we had in Chicago would signal the end of something else. Perhaps she saw some sense of balance had been attained, and she did not wish to tempt fate by unsettling it. Perhaps she was doing nothing more than working out what she really wanted, because she knew that the decisions we made at this time would determine the rest of our lives. I did not know; Angelina would come to me when she was ready, and when she was ready she would tell me what she wanted to do.

In March of 1991 Don Accardo died. For a brief while the family was in disarray. Don Calligaris spent more and more time away from the house, and it became a rare occasion when I would see him.

On the sixteenth of that month Ten Cent called at my house.

‘Don Calligaris is coming tonight,’ he said. ‘He has been away dealing with family matters, but tonight he is coming back and he wants to take you and your family out for the evening. Get yourselves dressed and ready. He will bring gifts for Angelina and the children. He is very happy. Things have worked very well for him.’

I spoke with Angelina. She seemed excited, the children too, for all the children knew of Don Calligaris was that he spoke to them as if they were grown-ups, but he spoiled them like eight-year-olds.

By the time Don Calligaris came we were dressed as if for church. The children were uncontrollable, and we had to shut them in the kitchen until Don Calligaris was ready to meet them in the front.

We drove together, all of us – Don Calligaris up front with Ten Cent, me and Angelina with the children in the back. It was a warm evening for the time of year, and we went right into the heart of Chicago to the finest restaurant in the city. Out of respect for Angelina and the children Don Calligaris had chosen a place that had no family connections. For this I was grateful; I knew that my children were old enough and wise enough to hear everything that was said around them.