Sugar House (9780991192519) (42 page)

"All right, settle down boys. Now listen,
Joey O. We're all gonna go up to the apartment together and have a
little sit down. I brought some cigars, and we'll light up and make
nice. Right before I ask for the dough, I'll ask Joey where Beilman
is with the books, see?" Beilman was the Purples' bookkeeper. Ray
turned to Joe and continued. "You go down to the car and look
around for any wise guys or coppers. If you don't see none, race
the engine till it backfires, and lay on the horn. We'll grab the
dough and split before they get a chance to change their minds.
Like taking candy from a baby." Ray laughed and Harry and Milberg
joined in.

"Why do you have to take the dough?" Joe
asked. "I thought we were meeting because they want to pay up."

"Geez, Joey. Don't you know nothing? What if
it's a setup, or what if they change their minds? Damn. Anything
can happen. We's just taking precautions is all."

"Yeah, precautions," Harry said. He laughed
again. Joe turned right onto Collingwood Avenue and parked across
the street from the apartment complex. Something didn't feel right
about this, but he couldn't put his finger on it. A woman in a worn
dress walked out the front door of the building, set down an empty
milk bottle on the steps, and went back inside. Joe stared at the
building, looking for signs of trouble.

"Come on boys, time's a-wasting," Ray said,
as he climbed out of the car. The foursome crossed the street in
unison, stopping only for a passing car. Harry opened the glass
door and held it for the other three. They walked up a filthy
stairwell and opened the door to the second floor. The men were
silent as they walked down the long hallway. A radio show was
blaring behind one of the doors, and the smell of curry and onion
reeked out of another. When they reached the end of the hall, Ray
knocked on the door of apartment 211. Joe heard a set of footsteps
coming to answer Ray's knock. An open can of green paint sat on the
floor next to the door.

"Hey, Ray, how ya doing?" said the man who
opened the door. "Brought the boys with ya? Well, come on in."

Joe followed the men into the dingy apartment
and had a seat on an ugly velour couch. An oriental rug lay on the
floor, adding the only splash of color to the drab room. All the
men took a seat and Ray began.

"So you boys been keeping outta trouble?"
Ray, seated in a small wooden chair, smiled and crossed his
legs.

"Course not, Ray. Who's this?" one of the men
replied ,looking at Joe.

Joe looked at Ray, unsure if he should
introduce himself. "Don't worry about him, Hymie," Ray replied when
Joe didn't. "That's Joey O, he's on the level, and you know Harry
and Milberg." Joe waved from the couch.

"I'm Hymie, and this here is Nigger Joe, and
that's Izzy the Rat."

"How the molls treating you, Izzy?" Ray
asked, passing out cigars. The men continued talking about women
for several minutes until Ray turned to Joe and asked, "Where's
Beilman with the books?" Joe mumbled he'd go outside to look and
left the apartment. He ran down the stairs, pushing past the same
woman who'd put the milk bottle out on the stoop. She was on her
way up the stairs. He crossed the street and got in the car. Joe
pulled the car in front of the building and looked up and down the
block for any signs of a rival gang or cops. Seeing none he pressed
hard on the gas pedal over and over till the car backfired and then
he laid on the horn.

Not two minutes later, Ray, Milberg, and
Harry raced out the door of the apartment building and jumped on
the running boards of the car. "Go! Go! Go!" Ray yelled. Joe put
the car in gear and pressed the gas pedal to the floor. He stopped
a block later and the three men got inside and he took off
again.

"You get the money?" Joe asked as he tore
down the side street, passing cars, and dodging pedestrians. Ray
laughed and wiped his face with his sleeve. Joe looked at Ray,
noticing there was blood splattered on his cheek. Joe turned his
head, glancing quickly in the back seat. Milberg looked as pale as
a ghost, and Harry was wiping blood off the lapel of his coat with
a handkerchief. "What the hell? What the hell happened in there?"
Joe demanded.

"I guess you could say they weren't
co-operating." Ray laughed again. "Stop the car, Joey." Joe pulled
the car over to the curb and, his hands shaking, set the hand
brake.
What the hell happened in that apartment?
"Drive out
of the city and find a place to burn this hay burner, and then meet
us back at the Sugar House in an hour."

With that, all three men got out of the car
and started walking in separate directions. Joe sat there for a
moment not moving, processing what had just happened. What a fool
he was. They hadn't gone to the apartment to get any money… It had
been a hit the whole time, and they'd made Joe a part of it by
driving the getaway car.

"Oh my God," Joe said out loud and made the
sign of the cross over himself. Sirens wailed in the distance, and
he knew they were headed to the Collingwood apartment. That
woman—that woman with the milk bottle—she'd seen his face in the
stairwell! She'd be able to identify him. Another police car sped
down the street past Joe's parked car, and he pulled the brim of
his hat down. He had to get out of here. He'd go to prison for life
for sure! Shaking and nauseated, Joe started the car and drove it
to the only place he could think of.

He couldn't go home. He didn't want his
family involved in this mess. Anyway the cops would find him
there—or worse, the Purples would. Abe might try to bump him off
now. He couldn't go to the fishing cottage… Charlie had most likely
told Abe about it. Anyway he'd had Cappie's boat put in storage.
Damn. How brutal to slaughter those men in cold blood like that.
What if one of them was still alive? Ray had told them Joe's name.
Shit. Things couldn't be worse. Joe parked the car in an alley and
covered the back bumper with a couple of cardboard boxes that had
been dumped there. He walked down the side of the backstreet,
trying to stay in the shadows, until he came to a yard with an old
outhouse. He slipped inside the putrid wooden box and crouched on
the floor holding his gun at the door. It would be dark in a few
hours.

Joe pushed the door open an inch and looked
outside. Night had fallen, and the glow of amber light poured out
the windows of the house into the backyard. He pushed the door open
a few more inches and, trying to remain in the shadows, he crawled
in the dirt to the back of the latrine and leaned against the wood.
Holding his gun underneath his coat he slowly stood up, looked
around, and crawled to the alley. Bright headlights appeared at the
end of the street and drove towards him. Joe jumped over a wooden
fence and hid in a clump of bushes. His breathing sounded as loud
as a train and he tried to take a few deep breaths.

The dark sedan crept down the dirt alley
slowly. There were two men sitting in the front of the car. As the
car neared Joe, it pulled to a stop. He could hear men arguing but
he was unable to make out their words. Then he made out "Damn
Polack!" It was Ray Bernstein. When he'd failed to show up at the
Sugar House they'd come looking for him. The sound of a car door
slammed as someone exited the car. A flashlight swept through the
alley and into the trees and brush lining it.

"You really think I'm gonna find some
Godforsaken Polack in this city with a flashlight, Ray?" It was
Harry speaking.

"Well, he's not at home, and we've gotta find
him," the gangster answered back. "The cops are swarming, and we
all gotta get out of the city." The car idled for several minutes
as Harry walked up and back shining his flashlight into the garbage
and furniture that littered the backstreet.

"Who cares about that Polack? He won't talk.
He knows if he does we'll grab his little brother," Harry said.
"Let's save our own backsides and get out of here." Joe heard the
car door slam again, and the sedan drove away.

He waited several minutes until he was sure
they were gone and hopped back over the fence. He looked ahead and
saw the lights of his destination calling to him. As he took a step
forward, a screen door banged shut and he dove behind a pile of
garbage. Trembling, he stood back up and sprinted the two blocks
down the alley.

He pulled on the great wooden door but it was
locked. Joe prowled around the back and tried the smaller door. It
too was locked. Joe lightly knocked on the back door. Nothing. He
tried again and then he heard the sound of a lock turning.

"Joe! What's the matter?"

"Please, Father, I need your help," he
pleaded to Father Gatowski. The old priest looked behind Joe into
the darkness and opened the door. He slipped inside, and the priest
locked it behind him. Joe followed Father Gatowksi into the church
and up the steps of the altar. The priest walked across the altar
and opened the door to the sacristy. Joe followed him in. Crosses,
linens, and priestly vestments hung from the walls; gold plates and
chalices sat on a table in the corner. The gray-haired priest
turned and faced Joe.

"What happened, Joe?" Tears poured down Joe's
face and he couldn't speak. How could he tell the kindly priest
what he'd been a part of? The shame from his criminal life burned
hot in his heart, and the sinfulness of it exploded in his gut.
"Son, tell me," he said gently. Joe sat down dejectedly in a wooden
chair and summarized the last ten years of his life—the boats, the
whisky, the Sugar House, the extortions, Cappie's death—ending with
the events of that day. Tears flowed down his cheeks during the
entire oration. Father Gatowski sat across from him and listened
silently until he finished.

"Where's the car?" the priest asked. Joe
looked up at the priests face for the first time. The car?

"It's down the alley a couple blocks. I threw
some boxes over the back of it. But Father, didn't you hear me?
Those men in that apartment are…"

"I heard you, son. Give me the keys, and go
in there and wait for me." The priest pointed to a small door
leading off the sacristy. Joe handed him the car keys and looked at
him questioningly. "I'll be back soon. Wait there." Father Gatowski
went out the door of the sacristy.

Joe entered the tiny dark room and shut the
door. He found a light switch and flipped it on. Elaborate golden
doors lined the back wall, and a large cross hung above. He fell to
his knees on the tiled floor and held his head in his hands. The
priest had hidden him in a room with God himself. This is where the
church kept the blessed Eucharist… the body and blood of God. Joe
knelt on his knees, crying and praying for forgiveness. Finally, he
fell into an exhausted sleep on the floor.

Father Gatowski gently shook Joe to waken
him. "Come, my son" he said. Joe got up and followed the priest out
of the sacristy into the church. He led Joe to his family's pew and
they sat down on the wooden bench. Joe felt a slight calming warmth
sitting in the familiarity of the church.

"Joe, what you've been doing is wrong, and
you'll need to beg for God's forgiveness. You've performed illegal
acts, extorted money by threats and fear, caroused with women,
witnessed a murder and didn't report the culprit,
and
contributed to the murder of three men. But almost worse, you lost
your faith." The priest looked at Joe and took his hands in
his.

"I know, Father, please take my confession
now. I'll turn myself in in the morning, but please give me
absolution before I go." Joe buried his face in the priest's
wrinkled hands.

"There will be a time for confession, son,
but it is not now." Joe looked into the priest's eyes. "What you
have done is wrong, but this murder the Purples committed is not of
your doing. You say you had no knowledge of their plans, and I
believe you. I've taken your car to the convent—a donation to the
nuns. The police will never question that it belongs to them.
Morning Mass is to begin in twenty minutes. You will stay in the
sacristy until it has ended. Then I will take you in my car to a
train station a couple hours from here." Joe wiped his eyes
disbelieving what the priest was telling him.

"You want me to run?" he asked
incredulously.

"You're not running. You're going on a
retreat to find God, a pilgrimage. I'll visit your mother and let
her know you are safe but you will be unable to return for some
time. I'll send a letter with you to take to the Sacred Heart
Church in Calumet. That's the parish you attended when you were a
boy, correct? The monsignor there is Father Luke, a friend of mine
from the seminary. He will see that you are taken care of. He'd
written me just last week asking if I knew of any young men who
were in need of work. His parish has gone through several divisions
in the last few years, and he is in need of someone to help keep up
the church and the rectory. In exchange, the church will provide
you with room and board and—most importantly Joe—a place for you to
find your way back to God." The priest sat back in the pew and
looked up at the altar. "I believe you will find your way. I have
faith in you."

Joe listened to the Mass from the sacristy
and thought about the old priest's words. This time he did not
pray. He needed to prove to God that he could change his life and
be a good man before truly asking for forgiveness. Two hours later,
at the train depot north of the city, Joe embraced Father Gatowski
on the wooden platform as the train pulled into the station.

"Thank you, Father," Joe whispered fiercely,
holding tightly to the old man. The old priest released Joe and
looked into his deep blue eyes.

"Joe, you've tried to take care of your
family the best you knew how since your father died. You've taken
care of your mother and your brothers and even your Uncle Feliks
and your little cousin Katalina. And I know joining the convent was
not the direction Marya had been heading. Your father would be very
proud. You haven't always made the right choices, but you have a
good heart, Joe." Father Gatowski embraced Joe a final time, and
Joe stepped onto the train's first step.