Chapter 2
The Dance

by Wayne Lerner

A song’s not a song until it’s sung by birds 

Chirping in harmony, the dawn breaks.

Silence, when the sun sets.

Sun rising brings new songs.

Awakening, food is sought.

Darkness brings despair 

Many were lost in the day’s light.

For predators seek food too.

But predators fear hunters

Which dispatch their prey 

Without a thought.

The dance continues, unabated.

The stalker seeks,

The hunted hide, 

Searching for comfort, 

A shield, a protector.

************************************************

10:30 am 

September, 1969. 

Lena’s Westside Restaurant

Borsalino brushed the pollen from the crease in the top of his fedora, delicately placing it on the empty chair beside him. He gazed at the hat, transfixed by its beauty. Oblivious to the customers watching him with interest, he pulled the hat’s chair closer to him, protecting it from harm.

Love this hat. Fills me with a personality I never had before. Have a hat for every day, every job. This is the right one for today.

Borsalino once more reached for the hat, caressing the wool felt, plumping it up to its full size.

Now, it’s perfect. Treat your hats with love, they love you back. This is where I get my strength. Not from working out. From the hats. Sounds weird, I know, but, every day, there’s the most remarkable transformation.

When Lena was sure Peter had left the area, she joined her special guest at his table in the back of the diner. 

“Hope you’re enjoying your breakfast,” she said, sitting down. 

“Yes,” he replied. “It’s delicious as usual. Not the food my wife would make but delicious nonetheless.”

Borsalino took a bite of the homemade roll, slathered with butter. Smiling, he poured himself a fresh cup of coffee and leaned back in his chair.

“Good looking boy you got there, Lena. That’s one big guy. He's got ropes for veins.”

Borsalino rubbed his hands together, unaware that he was licking his lips.

“He’s the kind of young man I could use in my business. Without a doubt, he’d be very successful.”

Lena watched Borsalino’s eyes and hands with intent as he rattled on about Mosby.  

Everyone’s got a tell. Just got to know how to see it. When the tell shows its face, step back, watch, be patient. Tell’s gone, pounce when they least expect it.

“Made himself a commander? That’s a big move for him. Long way from when he was a foot soldier.”

“How do you know he’s my son?”

“You can always tell the way a mother addresses, reprimands, or guides her own. I learned that  from watching my mother, may she rest in peace. Like you, she was the head of the family and the family business. I admired her and I admire you.”

Her eyes lit up when I compared her to my mother. Mom’s are all the same. First priority is always family. A few compliments never hurt when you’ve got bad news to deliver.

Borsalino took a last bite of the ultra thin pancakes made especially for him, wiping his face with the napkin resting on his lap. Reaching into his coat pocket, he removed a plastic bottle and sprayed its contents into his hands.

“Can’t be too careful these days," he said.

“You never know what you can catch by going into unfamiliar territory,” smirked Lena.

Borsalino laughed. “I trust you, Lena. Otherwise, I wouldn’t enjoy your company so often.”

“Bullshit. You come ‘cause we’re partners,” said Lena, starting to stack the dirty dishes. “And you got to report back to the big guys there’s no hanky panky going on. What do you want today, John? Not just a Lena breakfast.”

“That’s true, but before we talk business, I’d sure like to know how you got into this business.”

“The diner business?” Lena asked with a wink.

“No,” he chuckled. “Our business.”

“That’s an interesting story,” she replied. “Could take some time to tell.”

“How about the short version? I’ve got a few more stops to make.”

“Sure but then you’ve got to do the same.”

“Deal," said Borsalino. ”You go first.”

Lena leaned back in her chair, looked around to make sure no one was listening, and began her tale. 

“My son's last name is Mosby but that’s not mine. I’m Lena Miller. George Miller and I got married when we were both very young. George died a violent death ten years ago.”

She clasped her hands together, bowing her head a little. Remembering George and how he died always brought her sorrow.

“How’d he die,” asked Borsalino. Leaning forward, cupping her hands in his.

Lena nodded her head in thanks for the sensitivity, moving her hands to her lap.

Borsalino sat back, waiting for the story to continue.

“George came from a long, strong, proud family of warriors. His ancestors were brought from Ghana on one of the first boats from Africa. When they landed at Jamestown, the slave traders gave them English names.” 

Lena shifted in her seat, making sure she was close to Borsalino, relating her story in a low voice. 

“George was named for his great-great grandfather, Jorge, by the Portuguese when they conquered their country. Jorge became George.”

“You and I are both immigrants, Lena. Both of our families came from somewhere else,” said Borsalino, sitting forward in his chair. “Mine came from a town named Alessandria in the region of Piedmont. That area had a long history of being taken over by outsiders until it was ceded into Italy.”

“Big difference, John. Your people didn’t come over as slaves. I’m sure they had it tough back in those days but, at least, they were free.

Borsalino’s face paled at the truth Lena hurled at him.

She poured herself a cup of coffee and adjusted her dress from sitting so long. She lifted her arms to stretch her muscles.

Henry, the senior cook, watched her. He knew just what to do. Henry and his son, Junior, ran the kitchen. Gang symbols tattooed on their arms evident underneath their greasy aprons. Tall, muscle bound and proficient with weapons, they kept the latter close at hand. Just in case.

Time to change the record.

“I’m sorry, Lena. I didn’t mean to make that kind of comparison.” Borsalino rubbed his hands together and licked his lips. He knew he had stepped out of bounds.

The lull in the conversation gave Henry the chance to interrupt Lena and her guest.

“Miss Lena, sorry to bother you, but southside said they weren’t sure which side dish is the special today.”

Right on cue. Can count on Henry. He knows the deal. You keep me safe, I provide for you and your family. 

“Henry, honey, tell them it’s the mac and cheese. It’s ready for them in the freezer.”

“Thanks so much. I’ll let them know,” he said, sauntering back to the kitchen.

Running out of time. This could take a while. Got to close the deal or the boss will not be happy. And that means I won’t be happy. Or worse.

“Would you excuse me for a moment, Lena?” said Borsalino. He pushed his chair back, careful not to disturb his hat. “Too much coffee this morning.”

“Sure, John. I’ve got to check on lunch anyway,” said Lena, standing up and looking at the customers beginning to fill her restaurant. “Do you have to leave? Our stories’ not done. Mine’s just getting started and I haven't learned about your family’s journey yet.”

Let’s see what he’s up to. He hasn’t made his move yet, but he will. 

“Let me make a call and delay my next stop, Lena. I want to hear more about the Miller clan.

“Take your time, John. I’ll be back in a flash.”

Borsalino stood, straightened his pants and bolted for the toilet.

Getting old sucks. Can’t hold anything anymore. This isn’t going to be easy. She’s one shrewd woman. Got to let the boss know he can’t take her for granted.

****************************************************

Lena waited for Borsalino, reviewing her strategy.

Can’t let him know what we’ve been working on. If it leaks, we’re dead. Re-direct, that’s what I’ll do.

Minutes passed slowly until Borsalino finally joined Lena.

“You ok, John? You were gone a very long time. Perhaps you ought to see a doctor,” smiled Lena. “You’re not getting any younger, you know.”

“I’m fine, thanks for your concern,” he replied. “That phone call took a bit longer than I expected.”

Now, he’s trying to rush things. The call didn’t go well.

Borsalino pondered the call, rubbing his hands on his lap.

That didn’t go well. He’s not happy. Got to get to the punch line and soon.

‘Where were we? Oh yeah, you were talking about your husband and how he came to the States.”

Lena took a sip of her coffee, settling back in her chair. 

Gonna make him sweat.

“As I was saying, George’s ancestors landed on the East coast where they were quickly sold off as slaves at an auction in Virginia. The Miller family bought them to work on their large plantation. The Miller’s grew tobacco which they shipped all over the States and to Europe.”

Lena sat forward in her chair, watching Borsalin’s eyes as she unfolded her story.

“They were unusual slave owners for the time. Smart, ambitious, and liberal in their thinking.”

Borsalino leaned forward, intrigued with the tale she was telling. It wasn’t what he was expecting.

“George’s family learned much later that the Miller’s were immigrants themselves, having left the Netherlands due to the widespread prejudice against Jews. Before they came to the US, they changed their religion and their name from Mulder to Miller. Many years later, the family renounced Christianity and re-established their Jewish identity.”

“So, you’re part Jew, huh, Lena,” laughed Borsalino. “Is that why you’re so good at business?”

Lena glared at Borsalino for what felt like minutes to him. Her hands planted hard on the table in front of her. So hard, he could see the blood coursing through her veins.

Shit! Me and my big mouth just hit a nerve.

“I’m sorry, Lena. I didn’t mean anything by it. Just joking with you.”

Lena gazed into the distance, resting her chin in her hand, her head tilted to the right.

Borsalino had no idea what was happening but her staff knew. Trained to look for Lena’s signal, they stopped what they were doing and stood silently until Lena rose to adjust her dress. 

Henry watched the scene unfold from his post in the kitchen.

She’s circling the wagons now, taking control of the situation. Dude gave her an opening. She’ll tie him in knots and leave him for dead. 

Lena reached across the table and held Borsalino’s hand in hers. He could feel her strength from years of backbreaking labor.

“That’s ok, John. Apology accepted,” she said in a hushed voice. “I forgive you but that was a senseless comment.”

Lena gripped his hands harder, making her point.

“But I don’t forget easily. You see, the Miller’s gave George’s family their freedom and educated their children. We owe our lot in life today, in large part, to them.”

John sat back in his chair, his hands tracing the outline of his lips. Looking around the restaurant, he noticed the staff were glancing in their direction, murmuring among themselves.

He’s mine. I know just what to do. Next week, his boss will be here, trying to make things right.

Time to turn on the burner for plan B.

****************************************

1:00 pm

October, 1969 

U of C Law School

Jacob hung his coat on the back of his assigned desk’s chair. Prof. Berki, the wild Hungarian and nationally renowned expert on contracts, required his students to sit in the same place in the classroom throughout the semester. He used his seating chart to interrogate students by name to determine a part of their grade. The students struggled to understand his heavily accented English. To make matters worse, they were entranced watching his mustache twitch in time when he spoke. 

Got here with a minute to spare. Can’t imagine how he’s going to relate the five stages of death and grief to contracts. What a crazy reading assignment, Kubler-Ross and murder of the gangster, Roger Touhy.

The door next to the blackboard swung open to reveal Berki in his professorial finest. With an unlit cigar in his mouth, he began spouting off the facts of the murder case. The cigar added to  the students’ inability to understand what he was saying.

“Someone give me the stages of grief.” Berki surveyed the room, his eyes sweeping left to right.

The students’ eyes focused on the scratchings on the old wooden desk tops.

Berki settled on his victim. “Morgan!” He poked his cigar at the student. “You’re up first.”

Morgan stood. Sweat formed on his forehead. He stumbled for his notes, papers falling to the floor.

“Uh…Denial... anger…bargaining…and depression.” stammered Jeff Morgan. Sweat poured into his eyes.

Berki waved his cigar at the student. “Is that all, Mr. Morgan?”

“Oh no, no sir. There’s one more…Acceptance.”

“Well done, Morgan. You’re still in this class,” repled Berki. 

Morgan grabbed the sides of the chair to ease into his seat.

Berki pointed his cigar at Morgan once again. “Don’t sit down just yet, Mr. Morgan. How do you imagine these stages relate to the gangster murder case?”

Morgan rose in his place and took a deep breath to organize his thoughts.

“Well, Touhy was in big trouble with the mob for several errors he made before he went to jail. The big one was kidnapping Jake Factor and holding him for ransom.’

Berki took the cigar out of his mouth and used it to accentuate what he was saying. Students learned that this was the important part of any lecture.

“He kidnapped Factor on his own. No orders from his boss. In fact, he was told not to touch him. A big mistake. He breached his agreement with the higher-ups.”

Berki let his words sink in.

“Touhy was arrested, charged and served 26 years in Joliet. One month after he was released, he was murdered coming out of an apartment on the westside. A murder for hire, they said.”

“So, here’s an example of a contract, right? A contract is an agreement to perform, or in this case, not to perform in accordance with a previously-agreed upon arrangement. The contract.”

Berki put the cigar back in his mouth, watching the students ponder what he had just said.

“Let’s move on. How do you think the murder relates to the five stages? Jacob, you’re next.”

Jacob stood up, pausing to collect his thoughts, knowing his classmates were relieved they were not called on.

“I imagine that a gangster facing his killers would try and negotiate his way out of trouble. If so, they would go through each stage, especially if they were being beaten up before being killed.”

Jacob watched Berki for a sign that he was on the wrong path. If Berki’s mustache began to twitch before he spoke, students knew they were in trouble. The twitching would continue at a rapid pace until Berki swore in Hungarian, swinging the cigar in his hand to make his point. Petrified, the students would claw themselves deeper into their seats, trying to become invisible.

Seeing no sign of trouble, Jacob continued.

“The gangster would deny their involvement then get angry that they were being singled out. As the interrogation continued, they would probably tie two of the stages together trying to save their life…acceptance and negotiation, acceptance and bargaining, acceptance and depression…until they succumbed to accepting their fate.”

Jacob remained standing, awaiting the Professor’s response. He was perspiring just like Morgan. Berki was silent, a favorite tactic of his to screw with the students’ minds by not immediately responding.

“Correct,” said Berki finally, fondling the cigar in his hand. “You have watched the best of the gangster movies, haven’t you?”

Jacob nodded his head but said nothing. His mind drifted to a place deep in his consciousness. He didn’t hear a word of  Berki’s critique of his response 

Didn’t have to. Just thought about Uncle Irv and his last days. He accepted his fate, emptied his guts and tried to avoid the punishment. Who were his sources, who owed him and who did he owe, how big had his numbers game gotten. 

“Isn’t that right, Jacob? asked Berki.

“For sure, Professor. Without a doubt.” Jacob had no idea what he was agreeing to. His thoughts were in the scene he had manufactured in his mind.

Irv told them everything, then they cut out his tongue. In the end, he was disposed of like the paper the car contracts were written on. Crumbled up, thrown away, incinerated with the rest of the trash.

“That’s all for today, students,” said Berki. “The assignment for the next class is in the syllabus. We’re going to discuss the relationship between Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs and how it relates to the recently signed contract between Chrysler and the UAW.”

When the classroom was empty, Jacob approached the lectern.

“Great class, Uncle Sy. You’re a master at linking together concepts which, on the surface, shouldn’t have a relationship.”

“Thanks, Jacob. I could see your mind wandering during my ‘masterful’ lecture. Thinking about your Aunt again?”

“Yes. I couldn’t help but wonder what kind of deal Irv tried to negotiate in those final moments.”

“There’s nothing he could’ve done to save his skin. He breached the contract he had with them.”

Berki looked deep into Jacob’s eyes. 

“In that case, there’s no escape plan when you’re confronted with broken promises; there’s no saving a disloyal, untrusting soul. Repenting means nothing. He had to pay.”

Berki took the cigar out of his mouth and stared at it for a long time.

“Dreaming about what might have happened won’t bring her back. Your aunt, my sister’s gone,”  he said, taking a handkerchief from his front pocket.

“Irv’s death was just business,” wiping a tear away from his cheek. “Killing her was just business to him. Most likely, he wasn’t even present to hear her try and negotiate for her life.” 

He folded the handkerchief into a perfect square and put it away in his suit coat. “He was a coward who couldn’t face his wife.”

Berki began to pack up his briefcase, pausing to look at the empty classroom.

“Do you think they know about us?”

“Nope. And we’ll keep it that way. I'll see you next week. Got to get to criminal law. I’ve still got a lot to think about.”

“Don’t be in such a hurry to construct a life plan. You’re young and, yes, you’re still angry. Take a moment to consider the options in front of you.” 

Jacon started to walk up the stairs. Stopping, he turned to face his uncle, pondering his uncle’s advice.

“Sometimes, Jacob, the plan finds you. You just have to be receptive to receiving it.”

“Good advice, Unc. Thanks. You’ve always been a great guidepost to me. Hey, I’ve got a question I’ve been wanting to ask you for a long time. Can we meet later for dinner? Will Aunt Ida let you loose?”

Berki smiled, nodding in the affirmative. 

“I’ll see you at Manny’s at 7. They make a wonderful goulash.”

Jacob waved as he left the classroom, hurrying to get to criminal law on time.

I suspect I know where he is going with his question. His anger propels him.

*****************************************************

12:15 pm

Same Day

Lena’s on the Westside

“I know you have other stops to make, John, but I’d like to hear your story. Can you give me some idea about your history?”

“Happy to.” Borsalino leaned forward in his chair, rubbing his hands together. He loved talking about his family. They were his source of pride.

“My family came from Italy as I mentioned before. My great-grandfather, Giuseppe, had a workshop where he made felt hats. He designed all kinds of fedoras but the most famous hat was the Borsalino.”

Bosalino lifted his hat from the chair to proudly show it to Lena. 

“At one point, his workshop produced 2500 hats in a day. After the Borsalino won a major international award in 1917, a new factory was built. At its peak, it made 2 million hats per year.”

Borsalino sat back in his chair, stroking his lips while Lena listened to the story. It always impressed people when he told it. A third level gangster came with a revered family history.

“How did you go from a family of hat makers to working for Carlo? Why did you leave the family business?”

“I did go into the family business,” laughed Borsalino, “just not my family.”

Borsalino’s wide smile disappeared. He took on a serious tone, continuing with his story.

“The fedora business took a dive in the early 1900’s. There was a fight among Giuseppe’s ancestors over control of the company. Believe it or not, it was over how to use the Borsalino name.”

Borsalino picked up his hat, carefully laying it on a clean portion of the table in front of them.

“Members of the clan did a great job of ruining a good thing. In the end, the company fell apart and was bought by a private equity firm. While it was in existence, however, it made many contributions to the Alessandria community.”

“Are you sorry the family didn’t keep the firm together?” asked Lena. “You could’ve been a big executive in an international company. Not working for someone else, doing their dirty work.”

Borsalino stroked his hat as he spoke.

“That would have been nice, for sure. Be my own boss. Bring my wife and kids up in Italy. Live the good life.” 

Borsalino leaned back in his chair, hat in hand, eyes glazing into the distance. Lena’s questions stirred thoughts about his future buried deep in his mind.

“I considered that, but just for a moment. I’m doing the job I was groomed for. All that other stuff’s just a pipedream.”

“Yeah,” said Lena, "but think. You could've been the leader of your own family, your own syndicate, not just a made man. And you’d be in a more inviting country for your ‘related' businesses than the US, if you know what I mean.”

Borsalino placed his hat back on the chair. Rubbing his hands together, his mind left the southside once again.

I’m just a flunky for Carlo, a flunky. Lena sounds like Michelle. She reminds me every day that I could've been the boss.  Somebody else could be taking the fall, doing the dirty work.

Lena watched Borsalino chew on her words.

I’ve got him now. He’ll challenge Carlo, I’ll close the deal with the new group. They won’t see my next move coming. By then, it’ll be too late. We’ll own the numbers racket throughout the city.

“Good points, Lena. You’re making me do some thinking. You been talking to Michelle?”

Lena laughed, taking Borslino’s hands in hers.

“No, I sure didn’t. Sounds like she’s smart, just like me. Sees a man with potential who’s forced to lay low, not be out front.”

Compliment his ego. Stroke it. 

“Michelle and I agree, John,” said Lena, squeezing his hands in hers. “It’s time for you to act. You’re not going to be the boss or even the underboss. I’ve seen the two of you together. He sees you as just a soldier, nothing more.”

“That hurts, Lena, but I suspect you’re right. I’ve been doing the same thing for a long time now. There’s more guys like me in the firm. We talk. When is it going to be our turn?”

“So, what are you going to do about it, John?”

Borsalino put on his hat, grabbed his coat and stood up from the table.

“Thanks for the talk, Lena. I’ve got some thinking to do. Oh yeah, I came here to give you a message from Carlo. Almost forgot.”

“I know what you’re going to say,” said Lena, narrowing her eyes. “Tell him there’s no way I’m going to increase the skim he’s getting. He’s cutting into my profits as it is. Taking money from my family’s mouth.”

Lena moved next to Borsalino, giving him a big hug. 

“Tell Carlo to fuck off,” she whispered in his ear. “I’m done with him and his protection. Don't need it anymore. Got me a new set of partners.”

Borsalino pushed Lena away, eyes wide, staring at her for a long moment.

“Do you know what you’re saying? He’s not going to like this news.”

Borsalino's hands shook at the news he was hearing. He shoved them in his coat pockets to not draw attention to his palpable concern.

“He's going to come down on my head and then he’s going to come after you. This isn’t going to be pretty.”

“I understand exactly what I’m doing,” said Lena. “I’m prepared. What about you? This is what I meant by being a man who takes, not gives, orders.”

Lena placed her hands on Borsalino’s shoulders. Her eyes bore right into his.

“You go home and talk to your wife. I’ll bet she has some good advice for you.”

Henry and the staff watched the interaction out of the corner of their eyes as customers poured in for lunch. If Lena waved her hands in the air as she was speaking, they knew to get the weapons from their hiding places and lock the front door.

Lena smoothed her hair. All was fine. For the moment.

“John, it’s always a pleasure to see you. Come by for breakfast anytime. And, give my regards to Carlo. I hope he has a wonderful life. Without me.”

Borsalino scanned the restaurant. All eyes were on him. He shook his head and started to walk towards the front door. He stopped, leaning in close to Lena, whispering in her ear.

“I hope you know what you’re doing, Lena. Even your son with bulging muscles may not be enough to save you.”

The door slammed behind Borsalino, announcing the broken relationship between them.

******************************

7:00 pm

Same Day

Manny’s Cafeteria and Deli

The line for food snaked out the door, like it did most nights. Following the “Days of Rage,” policemen were assigned in large numbers to downtown and the south and west sides in case remnants of the riot still festered. The city was no longer on lockdown but drivers were subjected to stop and frisk on a regular basis, regardless of race or ethnicity. 

Manny’s, a staple in the old garment district on Roosevelt Road since the ‘40’s, served customers of all walks of life. Police and firemen liked to congregate there for the large portions of homemade food. It was a place where you always ran into someone you knew. Eating was an occasion at Manny’s. Eating and talking. For as long as you wanted. 

Berki was waiting in the glass-enclosed foyer when Jacob arrived.

“Glad you could make it. I’m starved. It’s hard work knocking the cobwebs off young minds,” laugh Berki.

He took a tray, loaded it with napkins and utensils and led the way down the cafeteria line, past the salads and soups. He knew just where his meal was waiting.

“C’mon, Uncle Sy. We’re not that bad. After all, we made it into the U of C.”

“True, but we’ll see how you do on the midterm. Law is an analytic science but is most useful when complemented with intuitive thinking. That’s why I encourage students to link two different subject areas like contract law and psychology.”

“I’m not sure I get what you mean?” replied Jacob, taking his overstuffed sandwich from the counterman. They nodded at each other saying hello and thank you without uttering a word.

“Each discipline works from a different part of the brain. To be an effective lawyer, to defend a case or prosecute one, you have to consider both the science and art of the law. Simply taking a binary approach, right vs. wrong, and analyzing the facts of the case on that basis, misses the intent, the consequences and the likely outcomes. Further, one needs to have an endgame in mind before putting your case together.”

“That makes sense, Unc. You might find it helpful to explain that to everyone else,” said Jacob.

“I will,” smiled Berki. “The midterm scores should tell me if they can handle this somewhat radical idea on their own; if it lights up anything in their minds. No one will fail the course, Jacob, unless they don’t show up. Rather, I want them to leave knowing that they stretched to get a good grade. It will benefit them later in school and their career. 

Berki lifted his tray, bypassing the cashier.

“You’re paying, right? Let’s sit down and talk. I can’t wait to hear what’s on that over-stimulated mind of yours.”

“Ok,” laughed Jacob. “My treat. You having the Hungarian national meal again tonight?”

“Absolutely. And it comes with lots of dark rye bread. A meal fit for a king…or a tenured professor!”

“I’ll pay the bill. Why don’t you find a quiet table?”

Berki moved to the rear of the restaurant, farthest away from the cafeteria line. No one was near them allowing a modicum of privacy, for the moment.

Just as they sat down, a colleague of Berki’s shattered their silence.

“Seymour, you old goat. What’re you doing here at this time of night? I would think Ida would have called the cops by now.”

“Bill, it is always a joy to run into you even when I’m just going to gorge myself on goulash. Professor Bill Campbell, meet Jacob, my nephew. He happens to be a student at our revered Law School.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Jacob. You sure have a famous uncle there. Brilliant, scholarly, gets high marks for his teaching style and has a client base most of us envy.”

Jacob looked at his uncle with pride.

“I’ll explain what the good professor means when he leaves,” said Berki, smiling. “And I’ll tell you the dirt on him.

Campbell reached for a piece of Berki’s rye bread. “That looks good. Bet it would be even better if I dipped it into that gravy.”

Berki slapped his hand with a knife.

“You do that and you’ll be known as three-finger Campbell. Hard to write second class articles with three fingers, you know.”

Campbell, Berki and Jacob laughed at the repartee being played out at the table. 

“You enjoying this, Jacob? Want to join in?” asked Campbell.

“No, thanks. ‘When elephants fight, it’s the mice who get hurt.’ And I'm just a mouse compared to you two.”

“Is that another of Sy’s Hungarian sayings?” asked Campbell.

“No,” replied Jacob. “It’s an old African saying. I heard it for the first time when I was in Kenya for my junior semester abroad.”

“You’ll have to tell me about your experiences there. I’ve always wanted to go,” said Campbell. “Sy, maybe the three of us can lunch together one of these days at the faculty club? Why don’t you set it up?”

“Will do, Bill. Are you done eating or just starting?” asked Berki.

“Oh, I’m done. Just a salad tonight. Linda has me on a diet. Again.” 

Campbell waited for an invitation to join them, which never came. “Well, I have an evening criminal law class I have to attend to. See you fellows on campus.”

Campbell departed, allowing Berki and Jacob to continue their eating and talking.

“So what’s on your mind,” asked Berki. “More about your aunt’s case? I thought the family would begin to put this behind them now that Irv’s gone.”

“Yes and no,” replied Jacob between bites of his pastrami sandwich. “Tonight, I have questions about you and your career. I’ll leave the other subject until another time.”

Berki stopped eating, placed his knife and fork on the tray and folded his hands in front of him.

‘Go ahead, ask. I’ll answer as truthfully as possible.”

“Ok. I’m curious why you teach contract law and link it with criminal activities. You could teach criminal law and do it there.”

“Simple,” said Berki. “I specialize and publish in both areas of the law. It’s the criminal side of law which allows me to afford the things my family needs but it’s contracts which intrigue me. People engage in contracts all the time. They just don’t see them as such.”

“I’m not sure what you mean. We make contracts with others but don’t recognize them as contracts?”

“That’s right. You make a date with a girl, that’s a contract. If you get married, you’ll learn that marriage is itself a contract, a binding agreement. When you take a job, you sign an agreement, a contract. These arrangements dictate behavior, with expected outcomes and consequences, from both parties. That’s called ‘consideration.’”

“I get it, Unc. Our lives are composed of contracts, some physical and others hidden from sight but still real?”

“That’s correct. And each comes with its own set of standards which dictate how you behave.”

Berki stabbed a piece of beef soaked in the brown gravy and shoved it in his mouth. Potatoes, carrots and onions soon followed. He murmured his joy at the taste.

“Speaking of relationships, I’ve always been intrigued with how the mob operates as an organization.” explained Berki. “They use contracts…overt, clandestine, or imagined…to operate their various businesses. These contracts insure adherence to the agreements the mob heads make with their soldiers and with their ‘clients.’”

“Do you take on pro bono work too or just these high-profile cases?”

“Actually, I have a broad client base,” said Berki. “White collar crime, corporate contract work and, yes, some tolvajok, goniffs, less than honorable people, like Irv. It's those folks which allow me to take on many more pro bono clients than my colleagues do.”

“So, why don’t you teach criminal law?”

“Campbell, Malone and Kaufman do a good job with that subject. They’re not bad, just a bit boring, but not bad.”

Berki took the last hunk of rye bread, dipped it in the remaining gravy and chewed it bit by bit until he was in a trance. A big smile spread over his face.

“Let me continue. Their examples are more traditional than mine. Contracts suits me better. And, to be honest, I’m not anxious to develop another syllabus and reading list and deal with the curriculum committee. They’re a bunch of power hungry academics whose careers have been over for years.”

Jacob stared at Berki, unable to speak, thinking about what his uncle had said.

“Are you surprised at my answer?” laughed Berki.

“Yes. I didn’t know any of this about you,” said Jacob. “Aren’t you worried about getting into trouble with the mob? The way you talk about them in class could get back to them.”

“No, I’m pretty careful how much I say and about whom. As you might imagine, I can’t afford to break my contracts with these guys. Our agreements are very detailed. They know what I teach and are ok as long as I stay within bounds.”

“You have mob clients now? Here in Chicago?”

“Yes, I do. Not just here. All over. Mobs exist in every country. If a country’s top politicians are dishonest, the mob will set up businesses there. They know they can make these same politicians rich on the backs of those they were elected to serve. But the mob will be in the crosshairs of the public, not the civil servants.”

Berki stopped to make sure Jacob comprehended the critical life lesson he was illuminating.

“The contract is binding regardless of the title of the signee. In the end, the contract survives as the guiding document of the relationship. That’s true for the mob or IBM.”

Jacob sat in amazement, leaving his meal unfinished. His mind looped in circles from what his uncle had just told him. He would never have imagined the hidden tales of this polished, seemingly staid, professor.

“Between you and Irv, I wonder what other facets of my family I don’t know,” said Jacob. “I’m trying to wrap my mind around all of this.”

“There's always more you don’t know. That’s true for every person you’ll meet in life.”

Berki hesitated then took a bite of the key lime pie he was saving for dessert. 

“There's the persona they want you to see and the side they don’t. In Jungian psychology, the latter is called the anima, the inner self. The persona and anima exist in a duality, one rational, one unconscious.”

Berki paused, considering the food in front of him, and finished the pie.

“To become a great lawyer, you have to discern this relationship, this conflict, in every situation. Otherwise, you’re likely to miss some important characteristics which could help you later.”

Jacob leaned back in his chair, clasping his hands on the table in front of him. Berki saw him close his eyes for a long moment, clearly reflecting on a dinner conversation he did not anticipate. Berki let it all sink in before breaking the silence.

“What I’ve told you tonight is more than I have told anyone else in my world. Aunt Ida and your cousins know none of this. They aren’t in our world and wouldn’t understand. It would agitate them in ways which aren’t necessary nor helpful.”

“You can be sure I won’t say anything,” said Jacob. “They’d think I was on drugs if I repeated any portion of tonight’s conversation. They only see your persona, not the whole Professor Berki.” 

“Let’s keep it that way. Speaking of Aunt Ida, I’ve got to get going before she does call the cops. She’s not happy when I’m not around to recount my day and watch TV with her before we go to bed.”

“That’s fine,” said Jacob. “I've got a ton of studying to do before tomorrow anyway. Thanks for joining me for dinner and being so forthcoming. Let’s do this again, later in the year.

You’ve sparked more questions in my mind, some professional, some personal.”

“Happy to help, if I can. But, remember, we have a contract between us now which should never be broken. As with any contract, there are known and unknown consequences. It’s the latter which gets one in trouble.”

Jacob nodded in agreement, stood from the table and put on his coat.

“Thanks for paying for dinner tonight, Jacob,” said Berki. “My treat next time. One more thing, don’t blow the midterm!”

Jacob waved goodbye, reflecting on the reminder that there remained a defined boundary between him and his uncle. 

******************************************

Commander Mosby’s Office

12:45 pm 

Same Day

Mosby entered the station, eyes laser focused on his destination, ignoring the clamoring staff. He slammed the door to his office, signaling he was not to be disturbed. Whatever was on their minds or their dockets would have to wait.

Mosby picked up the phone, pausing before dialing Reggie’s number.

What am I going to do? It’s family. It’s wrong. It’s against everything I’ve been taught since I could talk. 

“Reggie? Mosby. Hey, listen, I gotta talk to you. Yeah, real soon. No, it can’t wait. Yeah, it’s kinda related to the cold case. There’s some information I just got which is messing with my mind. I can’t talk about it now, here. Let’s find a place to meet. Tomorrow’s good. 12:30. Carm’s in Little Village? Got it. And, Reg, don’t say nothing to nobody that we’re getting together. Thanks, bro.” 

Mosby slammed down the phone and sat back in his chair ignoring the tumult outside his office.

He closed his eyes, wishing the situation would go away. He recalled his younger days when his biggest problem was finding enough guys to play ball. The years flew by in his mind, stopping on his graduation from the Academy. Everyone was there, proud as hell, especially his Mom who would always have his back.

Reality slapped him in the face when his office door flew open. His deputy, Sam Lewis, strode in unannounced, sweat forming on his forehead.

“Boss, we got a big problem with the Vice Lords,” he announced. “They’ve set up a new gang in our backyard, the West Town faction. Recruiting soldiers from the local high schools.”

Sam paused to catch his breath. “I’ve been able to get a meeting set up for tomorrow to see if we can settle things down.”

“What time?

“After lunch. Back door of the Austin Town Hall. In the open.”

“How many coming?”

“Just Leo, the boss, and his number two.”

“And how many do you think will really be there?”

“About 20, spread out over the park.”

“They want us to come alone, right?’

“Of course.”

“How do we know this isn’t a trap to take us out? We’ve been a pain in the ass to them since downtown put the squeeze on us to up our numbers.”

“We've got Leo’s girlfriend in custody for aiding and abetting, remember?” said Sam. “Leo wants her out. May be willing to cut a deal.”

Mosby shook his head. 

“I don’t like it,” he said, slamming his fist on his desk. “Feels like they’re getting the best of the deal. They can still sell their drugs, find new soldiers.” 

Mosby paused to consider the options in front of him, none of them good.

“On the other hand, maybe they’ll give us a lead on other gangs we can lean on. A win for them and one for us. Kinda.”

“I hope so. I’ll make the call. By the way, there’s a line forming to see you. It must be real fun to be the boss,” smirked Lewis, leaving quieter than he came in.

Mosby stood, paced around his office, stopping to look outside through his solitary window. He needed time to think.

This is what I worked for? Making bargains with the devils? Compromising my principles? 

Mosby’s pacing picked up speed as conflict tore into his soul.

It’s everywhere. On the street, at HQ and, now, with Mom? Shit! Gotta call Reggie and set a new time. He’ll understand.

*************************

Carm’s Tavern and Italian Beef

12:30 pm

Two Days Later

Centrally located near both the Police and Fire Department Headquarters, Carm’s was known for cold beer on tap and the best Italian beef sandwich in Chicago. Racial, religious or taste differences were put aside when it came to a Carm’s beef.

Carm’s sisters worked behind the counter cooking the beef while she handled the cash register. The customers were convinced that what made the beef so good was the way the women, in their alpaca sweaters, used their hands and arms to mix the beef with the gravy. Quite often, someone taking a bite of the sandwich would get a piece or two of the alpaca fiber stuck in their teeth.

Reggie was in line when Mosby walked in.

“Let’s get our food, then talk,” said Reggie. “I’m starving.”

They put in their order, took a number and found a place to sit, away from the counter, in view of the front door.

“Before you tell me your problem, there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you,” said Reggie. “I’ve got to move. Number 3 is cooking and our place is just too small. Need to find somewhere safe for the wife and kids with good schools. You got any ideas?”

“In fact, I do,” said Mosby. “You know where we live, in Bronzeville?”

“Sure. You’re on 33rd and Indiana, right?”

“That’s right. There are three brownstones on our block. We’re in one, Mom’s in another and the middle one, she rents out.”

Reggie tore at his sandwich which had just been delivered. Juice poured out his mouth and onto his plate.

“So, you guys have the Mosby Compound, huh?” laughed Reggie. “I should’a known. Your Mom is one smart lady.” 

He grabbed some fries, the usual complement to the beef and shoved them into his mouth. “I just heard IIT is buying up the land near there to expand their campus. That’ll make the property even more valuable. I’ll bet she owns more than just those brownstones.”

Mosby ignored Reggie’s last comment. He was anxious to get to his problem.

“As it happens, the renter is leaving in a month or two. I can talk to Mom about you and the house. If she’s up for it, the two of you can work things out.”

“That sounds great. That location would be perfect. The schools are better there than the ones where we live now. Anything special I should know before I talk to your Mom?”

“Just one big thing. In return for living with us, you’ve got to agree to watch over the properties when it’s your turn. We hire outside security, but sometimes they’re not available. If that’s the case, one of us takes guard duty. The hood's changing for the better but not real fast. And Mom's crazy about security.”

“Seems like a fair deal. Tell her, I’m happy to agree to that condition. Safer for all three families. Was buying real estate always part of her strategy?”

“She always said her job was to make sure her family prepared for the worst but hoped for the best. The stories of her ancestors being slaves, having no freedom, haunt her, even today. She doesn’t like leaving anything to chance.”

Mosby paused. It was important that Reggie knew what drove Lena.

“She’ll make deals, all kinds of deals, to get the results she wants. She’s making sure her children and grandchildren get an education so they can succeed in life.”

Mosby took the last bite of his sandwich before stealing some of Reggie’s fries.

“From the time we were little, she’d remind us. ‘With freedom and an education, you can achieve whatever you set your mind to do. Money don’t hurt, neither.’”

“I have even more respect for her now than ever before, said Reggie. “She's one sharp lady and tough, too.Ok, I’m in. Now, what’s going on with you?”

One hour, two beef sandwiches with fries and mounds of napkins to wipe up the grease later, Mosby finished his tale.

“Now, you get what’s on my mind? Mom always taught me right from wrong, starting before I could walk. She preached passages from the old family Bible she carries with her.”

“You mean like ‘The truth will set you free?’” asked Reggie.

Mosby nodded in agreement.

“As I got older, she used examples from her restaurant business to make her point. And, when I was a teenager and thought I could get away with something that crossed over the line, she brought out Pop’s belt to make sure I got the message.”

Reggie sat in silence. Mosby’s story boggled his mind. If anyone told him that Lena was involved in this level of crime, he would have told them to have their meds checked. 

“She taught me to never back away from that moral position. ‘There’s no gray between right and wrong,’ she would say.”

Mosby shrugged his shoulders.

“Now, what am I to do? I can protect my mother and back away from all she taught me. Or I could go after the woman who leads our family, provides sustenance to us, and makes investments for future generations of Mosby’s.”

Silence fell over the table. Reggie felt the weight of the discussion on his shoulders. He wiped his hands on yet another napkin, pondering what options were open to Mosby.

“You know, I am taking courses towards my master’s in criminal justice, right?”

“Yeah. What the hell does that have to do with this situation? Mosby replied in a loud voice, annoyed with Reggie’s seemingly irrelevant question. “You going to arrest my mom? Before or after you move in?

A man and the woman in the next booth looked over to find the source of the shouting.

“Easy man,” said Reggie, trying to calm him down. “The pressure’s getting to you. I understand. Just listen for a second, would you?”

Mosby sat back in his chair, clenched his fists and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Go ahead. I can’t wait to hear your academic answer to my real-life problem.”

Reggie let the response pass. He took a breath and continued in a low, but firm, voice.

“We learned in class that this situation is called a Gordian knot. It’s a devilish problem with no clear solution. Since you can’t untie a Gordian knot, you have to cut through it. Maybe we can think of a strategy to attack the knot.”

“Where’re you going with this, Reg?” asked Mosby, in a calmer voice. “Cut through the knot? How? And what are the consequences when we do that?”

“My preacher talks about all the things in everyday life coming at us. Work, family, church, kids, all this is hammering at you at the same time. They tie us up, confuse us, conflict us. Cause us to lose focus.”

“I’m still not there,” said Mosby.

“Let me go at this another way. You know when we go to the range to practice? What do we do? We make sure our guns are unloaded when we take them out of the case. Then we make sure they’re clean and ready to use. Finally, we load the ammo, take our position and what?”

“We make sure our sights are adjusted right and can view the targets clearly. Nothing’s in our way. Everything else around us goes away so we can concentrate only on the targets. Just like in real life when we are going after the bad guys.” 

“Right,” replied Reggie. “In your case, we have to focus on the problem and only on the problem. Got to make sure we don’t focus on the wrong things.”

“What’re you saying, Reg? This is my mom we’re talking about!” shouted Mosby, now the object of attention for the remaining customers at Carm’s.

“Easy, man. We’re in uniform, you know. We don’t need anyone coming over here and sticking their nose in our business.”

Mosby took a long, deep breath, letting it out real slow. He turned over in his mind what Reggie had just said. The conflict was intractable, unsolvable in the usual way. 

“Reggie, I’m lost. I can’t see a way out of this. If I do the right thing, I have to arrest my Mom.”  

He put his head in his hands, rocking back and forth, trying to think clearly after coming clean to Reggie.

“No, Pete, we can’t depend on what we’ve been doing as cops to help us here. Not where family is concerned.”

Reggie paused to make sure Mosby was listening to him.

“We can go to a preacher for advice or a therapist or one of our bosses. Or we can cut through the knot and do the right thing as much as it’s gonna hurt. And hurt, it will, for a long, long time.”

“I got you, Reg,” said Mosby. “We should cut the knot by doing just what Mom taught me. Only then will the problem be resolved.”

“I don’t like it almost as much as you do, Pete, but it’s the right path to take. We just gotta make sure we cut the knot all the way through. Only then can we say that we followed your mom’s teachings.”

Mosby stood up from the table, putting on his jacket. 

“I'm going back to the station to think about what we discussed, what to do next.”

Mosby sat back down. Moving closer to Reggie, his voice now a hoarse whisper.

“Can we meet again in a few days? I’ve got a big decision to make. Depending on the way I go, I gotta make a plan. Can I bank on you being there for me?”

“I’ll always be there for you.” Reggie clasped Mosby’s hands in a grip of solidarity.

Mosby headed for the front door, wiping a tear from his eyes. He waved at Reggie as the door closed behind him.

***********************************************

Austin Town Hall

1:05 pm

The Next Day

Mosby and Lewis parked their squad car in front of the building and walked around to the rear. The Town Hall was locked tight. The Park District would open the doors in a few hours when school but not a minute before.

They couldn’t see Leo’s friends but they knew they were there. The trees and bushes in the century old, half acre park provided ample hiding spaces. Everyone knew not to walk there at night.

Leo’s MO was different from the other gang leaders. While not hesitant to use force, terror or intimidation to get what he wanted, he was an avid student of local politics. He helped to get his cousin, once removed, elected to the City Council. In return, his knowledge, influence and sources of information flourished.

Leo and Mosby had played this cat-and-mouse game many times over the years. Trust had been developed, but only so far. At the moment, peace reigned on the westside, a fragile peace, but peace nonetheless.

“The guys are in the Town Hall, by the back door, right?” asked Mosby.

“Yes,” replied Lewis. “The Director’s office. Middle of the building. It’s got a door to the outside. Snipers on the roof.”

“Leo knows we wouldn’t come by ourselves,” said Mosby. “Just like it’s not just him and his number two.”

Lewis laughed. “Yeah. We’re dancing around each other, aren’t we?”

From behind the big oak tree in the middle of the yard, Leo and his associate appeared. 

 No gang sweater or baggy pants for Leo. He strutted out wearing pressed slacks, color complemented with a sport jacket. Leo had an image to maintain. In the ‘hood and downtown.

“Is that Mousy with him?” asked Mosby. “I thought he was still locked up.”

“Got out last week,” said Lewis. “Didn’t take him long to get back in the saddle.”

“Mousy’s a loyal soldier,”replied Mosby. “He’d take a bullet for Leo.”

Mosby and Lewis waited until Leo and Mousy got close. They had to confirm the snipers could still sight them from their posts..

“Hey, Pete. How’re you and Sam doing?” asked Leo. “I haven’t seen you guys in a while. I was kinda hoping you’d bring Stacy with you.”

Mosby smiled. “Sorry, Leo. Stacy is tied up just now but said to pass on her regards.”

A scowl appeared on Leo’s face. His eyes narrowed, the muscles in his neck tightened.

“You ever gonna let her out, Mosby?” he shouted.

“Depends, Leo. Depends on the charges we got her on and, of course, any deal which comes with her.” 

“But that’s not why we’re here today,” replied Mosby in a calm voice.

“Right. Just know, we’re getting big. Pete. Real big,” exclaimed Leo, spreading his arms out wide to make his point.

“We’re spread out from East Garfield Park to Laramie Avenue. Pretty soon, we have all the neighborhoods up to Oak Park locked up.”

“The white folks moving out making it easy for you, huh?” asked Mosby.

“Sure does. They can’t get their moving trucks loaded fast enough,” laughed Leo. “But that’s not why we’re here today, is it?”

“No,” said Mosby. “What’s that I hear you’re recruiting 12 year olds to your gang?”

“We got our eyes on a few kids who got potential,” laughed Leo. “Like baseball, we have a farm system to bring up prospects. They don’t have to hit or field, however. Just take orders.”

“Leave them alone, Leo? They’re just kids.”

“You think school and home will set them straight. No way, Mosby. No way.”

Mousy laughed at Leo’s comment. “Leo gives them a family, a place to belong and rewards if they do their job. You think they can make what we can give them by going straight?”

Mosby and Lewis looked at each other. Leo was not going to change his ways.

“I heard HQ and the aldermen have you under pressure to stop our recruitment efforts, so here’s the deal, " said Leo. “We’ll lay off the kids at the grammar schools but not when they get to high school. In return, you back off trying to put a plant in my gang. If you don’t, we’ll speed up the meetings with the kids.

“What else,” asked Lewis. “You’ve got other requests? ”

“No requests. Demands!” shouted Leo. “I want Stacy out and, with her, Little Ronnie.”

“Little Ronnie, too?” asked Mosby. “I wasn’t thinking he was part of any deal.”

“Yeah. Him too. You do that and I’ll lay out for you some bad shit which is gonna come down over the next few weeks. With that info, you two could look like heroes to downtown.”

“Your pipeline that good, huh? Lemme think about the sweet deal you've offered, Leo,” said Mosby. “I’ve got to check out a few things before we talk again. How’s Monday?”

“Sure, man. Monday’s fine. By the way, how’s your Mom?” said Leo, changing the subject.

“I haven't been to her place in a while. Not that she wants me there.”

“She’s fine, thank you,” replied Mosby. “If I were you I wouldn’t get on her bad side. She’s one tough lady.”

“Yeah, I heard that. I heard other things too, Pete. Not good things.”

Mosby looked at Leo, Mousy and, finally, Lewis.

The gang members smiled broadly. They knew they had caught Mosby by surprise.

Lewis looked at Mosby and started to ask a question when Mosby put up his hand and ceased further conversation.

“Later,” said Mosby. “Not here. Not now.”

Leo’s gambit had paid off. Mosby was off balance. Mosby didn’t know what Leo knew and sure didn’t want to find out in front of Lewis.

“The bad shit coming down, your Mom may be involved in it.” said Leo, a Cheshire cat grin on his face. “My Momma went down the same way, Pete. Cops caught her in her scam. Tough to lose a Mom.”

Leo took advantage of the situation to stab Mosby deeper in his heart.

“Your Mom is doing business with a guy named Borsalino, one of Carlo Delvecchio’s guys. They do bad stuff, don’t take any prisoners,” said Leo with authority.

“Someone fucks them, they take him out. Just like that guy in the cold case you’re working on.” The smile on Leo’s face dug a hole in Mosby’s soul.

Leo knew more but he wasn’t saying. His face hid a trove of information which could put someone in jail or get them out. Leo was always in control.

Mosby stood silently, letting Leo’s words wash over him. He had to think, not respond.

How does he know this? I just found out myself.

Lewis broke the silence, “Monday, then. We’ll meet back here. Same time.”

“Works for me,” said Leo. “If you’re good boys, I may actually give you some more info to chew on. Watching your face light up, Mosby, just makes my day.”

Mosby stood, unmoving, letting Sam close the meeting. His brain whirled with a thousand questions.

How much does he know? Who’s his source? Who else knows? Who else did he tell? I’ve got to talk to Mom, soon!

Leo and Mousy turned to walk back in the park, chuckling at what had just occurred. The laughter infuriated Mosby. He was out played and danced into a corner. 

Lewis stared at Mosby, waiting for a response. Mosby didn’t know what to say to his trusted second in command. What should have been a secret was clearly not. Lewis shook his head and grabbed Mosby’s arm, guiding him back to the squad car. 

The snipers on the roof began to pack up their equipment, wondering what occurred at the end of the meeting. It ended so abruptly. Whatever it was, it was obvious, their Commander was caught flat footed.

***************************************************

1:30 pm

December, 1969

Lena’s Southside Restaurant

Henry Junior, now the majordomo of Lena’s Southside, watched him enter the almost empty restaurant. 

The man looked around and took a seat towards the back. Mothered by two muscular men, he showed no sign of discomfort. 

Henry wiped his hands on his apron, took the toothpick from his mouth, and called Lena from the private kitchen phone. 

“Lena, this white dude in a hat like Borsalino wore just walked in. He’s got bodyguards with him. Do you know what’s going on?”

“Yes, I do,” chuckled Lena. “That’s my new partner, the Rabbi, Abe Montalto. We have a meeting in just a few minutes.”

“Your new partner? This’s the guy you’re working with now instead of Borsalino and his tribe?”

“Yes, we have traded one tribe for another,” laughed Lena. “He’s the head of a big organization, stretching from here to Detroit. We have some business to attend to. Please let him know I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

“Ok,” He said, pacing the kitchen with the long-corded phone trailing after him. “I sure hope you know what you’re doing. It’s not good to mess with the Italians.”

“Good bye, Henry. Please take care of any needs he may have.”

Henry hung up the phone, took off his hairnet and straightened his clothes before approaching the new customer. He stopped short of the two men,  placing a pot of coffee and cups on the table. The bodyguards watched his every move. 

“Good afternoon, sir. Lena will be here in a few minutes. In the meantime, can I get you or your friends anything to eat or drink?”

“No thank you, young man,” said the Rabbi, rising to shake his hand. 

“We ate after our morning prayers and are saving our appetites for a delightful Shabbat dinner tonight.”

The Rabbi extended his arms as if to enclose his colleagues within them. “We have to leave in an hour or so. We must get home before sundown.”

Henry, bewildered, looked at the Rabbi. He had never had much to do with Jews, much less religious ones. The Rabbi’s guards stood ramrod still a few feet away, never moving. 

“OK, I'll leave this coffee for Lena. If you need anything, just let me know. I’ve got to get things moving for our Friday night rush.”

Henry headed back to the kitchen, keeping watch over the restaurant and his special visitors. 

Lena walked through the door, smiling and joyful as she approached the Rabbi.

“Rabbi Abe, how’re you doing? Do you or your friends here need anything?”

“No,” replied Montalto, rising to greet Lena. “Now, you know I’m not supposed to have physical contact with any woman besides my wife, but I’m going to make an exception today. C’mon here and give me a hug.”

Lena walked around the table and embraced the Rabbi in her strong arms. Enveloped in his coat, she could feel the guns he carried pinching her sides. Unwinding, Lena towered over the Rabbi. His lack of height was not an indicator of the power he possessed by himself, his Mossad-trained bodyguards, or his extensive network of gang members.

Both took their seats at the table. The Rabbi removed his coat but not his hat. His guards straddled their ward, moving to tables on either side. They faced Lena, the Rabbi and the front door. Henry watched, fascinated by the events unfolding in front of him.

Lena always got a deal cooking. This one’s different but I gotta go with her. No second guessing.

“Let’s talk, Rabbi. What do you think about the deal I proposed?” said Lena, taking a sip of the coffee Henry had placed on the table. “Does it seem fair? I’d like to iron out the final details. I expect a visit from Carlo who, I understand, is not very happy these days.”

“Does he know who your new partner is?” asked Montalto. “I’m very familiar with Carlo. Known him for a long time.”

“No, not yet, but he will. This city is like a sieve, holes everywhere. The news is certain to leak out. That’s why you and I have to be prepared.”

“I’ve reviewed the proposal with my colleagues,” said Montalto, removing a manila envelope from his inside pocket. He took out the papers, spreading them on the table in front of him.

“This plan seems to meet both of our needs. We can handle the security, as we discussed. I’m not that worried about Carlo. There’s enough for all of us in this market.”

“I’ve got plenty of firepower myself, don’t forget,” said Lena, rubbing her hands for effect.  “I just need to make sure we avoid any outside interference, if you know what I mean.”

“Understood. For the moment, we’ll be well positioned,” Montalto shifted in his seat to move closer to Lena, lowering his voice.

“I don’t expect a lot of meddling by the authorities,” he whispered. “They’ve got their hands full since Greylord. More oversight commissions looking over their shoulders than they can handle.”

Montalto sat back in his chair. “The numbers racket will not even show up on their radar screens for a while.”

“I hope you’re right. There’s always a do-gooder or two who will go around their bosses if they think they can make a name for themselves,” replied Lena, leaning forward for effect.

“We’ve got to make sure our information sources at HQ and the State’s Attorney offices are well connected. I don’t like leaving anything to chance,” she said.

“Neither do I,” said Montalto. “Let’s not give this a kinahora, the evil eye, a jinx. We’ll have our pipelines primed.”

The sound of the front door opening and closing interrupted the afternoon lull in the restaurant.. Lena looked around and smiled, recognizing the new arrival.

Jacob entered the restaurant, waved at Henry and scanned the room for Lena. 

“Excuse me, Rabbi. Let me welcome my young friend. I’ll introduce you to him in a second,” said Lena.

“Is this the fellow you mentioned before? The one who attached himself to your son?”

“Yes. You have a good memory.”

Lena stood from the table as Jacob came near. He opened his arms to give her a bear hug.

“Lena. Hey, I’m sorry to intrude but I had to say hello,” he said, finally releasing her from his clutches. 

“I’m in between interviews for this South Shore case I’m working on and thought my brain could use some of your nutrition.”

Jacob, aware that Lena had a guest. walked around the table to greet the newcomer.

“Excuse me, sir,”  said Jacob, extending his hand. “My name’s Jacob. I apologize for disturbing you. I’ve had a long relationship with Lena and her son.”

“Rabbi Montalto, here.” The Rabbi stood to shake Jacob’s hand. Much to Jacob’s surprise, Montalto brought him close for a hug. Jacob, too, felt the pressure from the Rabbi’s guns.

“Yes, I’ve heard from Lena about your journey. She told me about your Aunt and the pain that tragedy caused your family,” he said, holding his hands to his chest.

“Thank you for your sensitivity,” said Jacob. “My family never got over it. I’m not sure I ever will either.”

“My heart is broken. I’ll say a prayer for you and your loved ones at services tonight and again tomorrow morning.”

Abruptly, Jacob began to stare at the Rabbi and then at his bodyguards.

“Montalto. I know that name,” said Jacob. “Perhaps we’ve met before?”

“No, I don’t think so, son. Do you belong to Beth Shalom?”

“No,” said Jacob. “I gave up organized religion when my aunt died.”

“I’m so sorry to hear that,” said the Rabbi. “You really should give yourself another chance. Why don’t you join me at services tomorrow morning?”

Like a slot machine, the wheels turned in Jacob’s mind. One wheel was pictures of people. The middle one, names. The third wheel recounted conversations. When the wheels lined up on the same line, like a jackpot, the answer appeared.

Montalto! Irv used to talk about this son of a bitch at dinner. He was one of his silent partners. A dangerous man with even more dangerous friends. Played the role of an observant Jew to throw the authorities off his track. He’s as kosher as Lena’s pork chops. Can’t believe she’s in bed with him.

“Rabbi Abe Montalto! One of my relatives used to talk about you.” 

“Oh, I think you must have mixed me up with someone else, young man,” the Rabbi said, shaking his head. The Rabbi’s bodyguards’ ears perked up at the change in tone of the conversation.

Jacob and Montalto looked at each other for a long moment. Their eyes locked. A flicker of recognition. Then the Rabbi knew. Jacob was coming for him. Montalto’s face told the tale; this wasn’t good.

Lena watched the two men dance around each other, revealing a warning sign for her to attend to.

I get it. We’re back to Jacob and his aunt. Got to get some distance between them and me. Otherwise, the new partnership is in danger and so am I.

“Young man, I don’t mean to be rude but Lena and I have business to conduct. Would you mind giving us some privacy?”

The bodyguards began to stand up when Jacob motioned them back into their seats.

“No problem, I’m sorry to have stayed so long. Lena, I’ll just move over there and order. Maybe you can come by when the two of you are done?”

“Absolutely, honey. Got your favorite tonight, fried chicken and mac and cheese. Have some now and take the rest home for later.”

Jacob rose from the table and grabbed his coat and briefcase.

“It was nice meeting you, sir,” he said, looking down at the Rabbi who remained seated. “I’m sure I’ll see you again.”

The Rabbi nodded his head and began to shuffle the papers in front of him.

Jacob moved far away from the business meeting, the bodyguards watching him until he got settled.

“I don’t like this, Lena,” said the Rabbi. “He’s aware of my past and my business. What’s worse, he knows my relationship to his uncle and aunt.”

“I understand, Abe,” said Lena. Pointing at Jacob, she continued. 

“Yes, and he’s still in touch with Peter. He’s now with the State’s Attorney’s Office. This makes it touchy but not impossible. I’ll take care of this with Peter when I see him this weekend.”

“Are you sure Peter can handle this for us? He might find himself conflicted, you know.”

“There's no conflict when it comes to family, Abe. You of all people should know this. How long has your family been in the business?”

The Rabbi shook his head. “A long time, but we’ve had lots of practice in many locations keeping our mouths shut. Chicago is another world.”

Montalto wrung his hands together. “There’s a lot to risk here, Lena. A lot. Not just money, but freedom. Maybe our lives. Things I’m not interested in losing.”

Lena stood from the table, casting a serious look at the Rabbi and his henchmen.

“We’re done for today, Abe. I know the score and so do you. We’re on the same page, tied at the hip.”

The Rabbi rose to put on his coat, helped by his bodyguards. He reached out to grab Lena’s hands.

“I didn’t mean to insult you, Lena. My genetic neuroticism sometimes comes to the surface,” said the Rabbi, apologetically. 

“It’s just that I get a feeling around him.” The Rabbi paused to collect his thoughts.

“There’s a fire burning deep in his soul; you can see it in his eyes. He’s not going to stop until he finds peace. At whatever the cost.”

Lena nodded in agreement. “I understand. We’ll work it out. Now, get on the road or you’ll be late for services.”

She walked the Rabbi and his colleagues to the front door and waved goodbye as they left the restaurant.

Henry, vigilant about watching the business meeting break up, left the kitchen to bring Jacob his food.

“Hey man, haven’t seen you around here for a while. You been on the Westside?” asked Henry.

“Thanks, Henry,” replied Jacob, arranging his food on the table in front of him.

“As the junior guy in the office, I’ve got cases all over the city. Mostly, south and west, though. Lots of gambling stuff.”

“Boring or exciting,” asked Henry.

“A little of both. I’ve got a lead on something cooking which may be quite interesting. We shall see.”

“Ok, said Henry. “You go and enjoy your dinner. I’m sure you’ll love it.”

Jacob nodded his head and began to stuff forkfuls of mac and cheese into his mouth, murmuring his joy at the exquisite taste.

Looking up, he saw Lena approach his table. 

“Please join me,” he said, standing up to greet her.

“I can for a bit but I’ve got to help Henry prepare for dinner,” she replied. “Tell me what you’ve been up to. Got a girlfriend, yet? How’s work going? Any interesting cases?”

Jacob placed his fork on the plate, wiped his face with the napkin and looked deep into Lena’s eyes.

*************************************************

Grief never surrenders its power.

It fuels anger,

Mangles one’s life.

Revenge, unabated,

Remains the goal.

Right the wrong,

Relieve the pain.

Be patient,

Let the stories unfold.

New ones will emerge, 

Fanning the fire of retribution.

***********************************************