R. Ellory - A Quiet Vendetta

‘We know anything useful about Hackley?’ Don Calligaris asked.

‘Seems clean as driven fucking snow. Wife, three kids, married only once. Doesn’t use drugs or hookers, doesn’t gamble, doesn’t drink liquor by all accounts. Real hardworking all-American fucking genius from what I gather.’

‘Everyone has their Achilles heel,’ I said.

McGowan smiled with his gold teeth. ‘Sure as shit they do, but we been looking around this guy for the better part of three months and we ain’t found nothin’.’

I shrugged. ‘Man doesn’t have an Achilles heel, then you make one for him.’

McGowan nodded, ‘Well, that’s what we’re here for, and if you sort this matter out then the Irishers and the Ities are gonna get along just fine.’

‘You go back to Mr Brennan,’ I said. ‘Go back with our blessing and goodwill. Tell him he sent you to see the right people, that we will take care of this matter for you, and that by the middle of next month Hackley will stand up before the Chicago City Council Board and tell them that redeveloping the northside would be the very worst thing that they could do.’

McGowan smiled. ‘I have your word on that?’

I stood up. I extended my hand. McGowan rose also and shook with me. ‘You have my word,’ I said. ‘You have the word of Don Calligaris’s family it will be done.’

McGowan grinned from ear to ear. ‘This,’ he said, ‘is the kind of business we like to do.’

Don Calligaris rose also. ‘So,’ he said, ‘let’s eat.’

That night, McGowan and Ryan long since gone, I sat with Don Calligaris in the back room and we spoke.

‘You gave the word of the family,’ he said. ‘I understand why you did that, and that is what they came here for, but now you have said this you cannot go back to them and tell them it cannot be done.’

‘It will be done, Don Calligaris.’

‘You’re so sure?’

‘I am.’

‘How? How can you be so sure, Ernesto?’

‘Because when I say I’m gonna do something I’ll do it.’

‘I have to trust you,’ Don Calligaris said.

‘Yes, you have to trust me… and have I ever let you down?’

He shook his head. ‘No, you have never let me down.’

‘This is important, right?’

Don Calligaris leaned back in his chair. ‘I left New York for a reason,’ he said. ‘I am not going to tell you the reason because it is not important now, but the fact of the matter is that something that should have been done was not done and it caused some trouble for the family. In a way I am lucky to be alive… but then I never believed in luck. I am alive because I am valuable, because I am a made man, and once you are made there is no way you can be removed without the express permission of the head of the family. Tony Ducks, Don Corallo, did not want me out of the family, but he sent me here to make things good, to pay my dues.’ Don Calligaris looked away for a moment, and then looked back at me. ‘Sometimes we all arrive at a point where we have to make something good, where we have to pay the dues, you know. Anyway, this thing, this thing with the Irish family, we will make this work and I will have paid my dues, I will have served my time in the wilderness if you like. You say you can do this then I need you to do it. I need you to carry through with your word and the word of the family and make this happen. If you do this then I will owe you my life in a way, and there will come a time when you need something from me and I will make it happen. You understand, Ernesto?’

‘Yes, I understand, and I will make this happen, and the Irish family will keep the northside, and you will be able to go home.’

Don Calligaris rose and stretched out his arms. I rose also and he hugged me tight.

‘You do this, and in my eyes you will be a made man, Ernesto Perez, crazy Cuban motherfucker or not.’

He laughed. I laughed also.

I left after a little while, and even though I would now have to dedicate myself to ruining someone’s reputation, to ruining someone’s life more than likely, there was a sense of exhilaration in my heart. I did not have to kill anyone. That was the reason I had given my word. I would never have spoken such a thing, would never have told Don Calligaris my reason, but the fact of the matter was that I wanted to do this, to make this thing right, because I would walk away without any more blood on my hands.

That night I slept soundly. I did not dream. I did not fear for the safety of my family. And when I rose the next morning even Angelina noticed a difference in my manner.

‘Things went well yesterday?’ she asked.

‘Yes, Angelina, they went well.’

‘You have some work to do?’

‘Yes, there is some work to do.’

‘But it is safe,’ she said matter-of-factly.

‘Yes, it is safe… you needn’t worry for yourself or the children.’

‘And you? Need I worry for you, Ernesto?’

‘No, nor for me. I have some things to do but it is business that can be done with words. You understand?’

‘I understand.’

She did not mention it again; she asked me no more questions. The subject was closed, and I sensed in her attitude a deep relief and confidence that everything, just everything , was going to be alright. What she could never know, and never hope to understand, was the significance of this situation for me. I would perform an action, I would resolve this matter, and the simple truth was that no-one would die. I, Ernesto Cabrera Perez, would go out to fix something and kill no-one.

It seemed that Gerry McGowan had been right, I watched the comings and goings of David Hackley for the better part of a week and he seemed the model American citizen. I hated him for it. I had given my word. I had little more than two weeks, and before five days had passed I wondered what in fuck’s name I was gonna do.

I remembered then something Don Ceriano had told me many years before, about heading out for vengeance and digging two graves.

This matter was not one of vengeance, but one of territory, and with the word of the family and Don Calligaris’s position in the balance, I could not do anything but make this work. If David Hackley did not possess an Achilles heel, then perhaps his son did.

I switched my attention to the young man. I staked out his office and his apartment. I watched him leave his work late at night and go home. I believed him for a while to be a younger version of his father, and there seemed to be nothing to identify any weak point in his life.

It was the beginning of December. I sat in my car a half block away from the exit of the apartment building where James Hackley lived, and I was set to start up the engine and go home when the door opened and the man himself appeared. He was dressed for the weather in a long overcoat, a scarf and gloves, and he hurried across the street to where his car was parked and climbed in.

I followed him a good two miles downtown, through the less wealthy areas of the city to the edge of the northside. Here he slowed, stopped on Machin Street, and after spending a few moments looking for something in his car he climbed out and started down the street. I followed him on foot a good fifteen yards behind, ever alert for the moment he would turn and glance back over his shoulder. He did not, and I watched as he crossed at the junction and entered at the side door of a porn cinema on Penn Street. He was in the Cicero Gang’s territory, right there in the heart of the area his own father was planning to demolish, and he was frequenting one of the cinemas more than likely owned by Kyle Brennan. Irony put a smile on my face. It did not give me what I wanted – hell, half of America’s model citizens went to porn shows and strip clubs, and there wasn’t a thing in the world that could be considered illegal about it, but it was something, it was a start, and a start, however small, was better than nothing at all.