Reverse Metamorphosis book one of the Irrevocable Change trilogy (10 page)

The Russians followed the same route into
downtown Chicago as they had the previous week and went to the same
ethnic restaurant. As the three cars entered the parking lot of the
Moscow Club, Clay instructed his driver to continue driving ahead
slowly. Two blocks away he spotted an Italian restaurant and told
the driver to park. As he, Joey and Danny Vitelli walked toward the
entrance to Martoni’s Bar & Grille, Clay stopped and took Joey
aside. “I’ll be gone an hour or more and meet you back here. I’m
going to the Moscow to observe our Rusky up close.” As Joey began
to object Clay stopped him. “I’ll be careful and not draw any
attention; I know what I’m doing. We need all the first hand
information we can get.”

Turning and walking away from Joey cut off
further discussion. Crossing the first street he looked to the
opposite end of the block and saw several women at the corner.
“Hookers,” he thought. His original plan was to pose as a
businessman having dinner alone. But he might need to consider a
change to a businessman enjoying all the city had to offer. A women
companion, even one of dubious reputation could be a positive
addition.

Evaluating the whores as he approached, he
selected the one dressed the least provocatively, even though she
came in second for looks and figure. If she didn’t have a gutter
mouth and had enough sense to behave like a high class escort
instead of cheap trash they might pull it off. She appeared to be
about twenty five, give or take four or five years. As they
discussed price he decided she would do. She initiated the haggling
at fifty for an hour, or seventy five for the night, probably
thinking the young businessman might be a high roller. He quickly
set his price at thirty dollars with another thirty for the hour
they would spend at dinner before renting a room. As they walked
away from the other women, amid whistles and lurid remarks, he laid
out his expectations for her behavior. Inside the Moscow Club he
informed the maitre d’ they would be joined by another couple
shortly and therefore would require a table for four. As he was
speaking he surveyed the dining area and noticed an alcove off the
main room with glass bead curtains across the opening. Eight course
looking men sat at two tables on each side of the alcove, four at a
table. Those would be the body guards.

Clay declined the first table they were
offered, and with the help of a twenty pressed in the hand of the
maitre d’, was seated at one across from and slightly to the left
of the alcove. Clay positioned his date, Bonnie, across from him
with her back to the alcove. He had a good view of the two coveys
of guards and into the small room while still appearing to look at
his date. During the next hour he was able to observe the group
behind the beaded curtain; five men and one woman were being
served. Later Clay didn’t remember what he ordered and barely
remembered how it tasted. He carried on a light conversation with
his rental whore for appearances sake, but focused his attention
around her and across the room where loud talking could
occasionally be heard; in Russian of course. Half way through his
meal the beaded curtain parted and a strikingly attractive brunette
passed through. She couldn’t really be described as beautiful, but
exuded a commanding presence. Clay sensed she would be strong,
controlling and maybe even cruel. The woman had been seated with
her back to him and he could finally see the person who had been
doing most of the talking. While Sophia Toscovich had been blocking
his view, Clay had observed a lot of hand gestures and finger
pointing from the hidden figure he was sure was Ivanoff Toscovich.
Obviously this was the man in charge. The loud talking and
gesturing could be over the news “The Big Italian” had escaped from
the hospital right under their noses; and the fact three of his own
men had disappeared hours later. Clay was unable to see the man’s
facial features clearly in the candle lit room but was sure of
light colored hair and a medium build. What he could clearly
discern in the dim, flickering light was an open shirt and several
heavy gold chains draped across his chest.

Sophia again passed through the glass curtain
and took her seat at the table. “Shows over,” thought Clay as he
downed his drink. “I’m ready to leave” he said to Bonnie. She was
surprised at his quick decision, but said “OK, lets go” pushing her
unfinished meal away but downing the rest of her wine.

Outside Bonnie took his arm, “My, aren’t you
the impatient one” she said. “Yeah, aren’t I” was all he could
think of in reply as his thought were interrupted.

At an alley in the next block, he pulled
Bonnie into it and behind a trash dumpster. Unzipping his pants he
told her, “Give me a blow job right here and we’ll call it
even.”

After giving Bonnie an extra twenty dollars
he crossed the street to get back to Martonis. Inside, he found
Joey and ordered bourbon on the rocks and told him what he had
seen.

Sunday afternoon Joey walked into Clay’s
office in response to his summons. “Sit down. Joey this is a list
of items we’ll need by Friday. Some of the cars and trucks will
need to be stolen and hidden somewhere until then. Have a mechanic
check them out to be sure they’re all reliable; can’t risk having
any of them break down. Take a few minutes to review the items on
the list because some will require modification. You’ll see a large
number of guns, ammunition and large capacity ammo clips. They may
not be readily available. Estimate how much cash you’ll need and
tell Anna, she already knows the plan. When you’re done reviewing
the list I’ll go over what I’ve got planned for Mr. Ivanoff
Toscovich and his crew.

“I can see from this list it’s going to be a
loud surprise” Joey said as his big square face broke into a grin
from ear to ear. “It appears we’re close to the part you promised
me.”

On Monday morning Clay, Joey and six of
Joey’s most trusted men met upstairs at the saloon to review the
pictures of all the Russian soldiers they had pinpointed.

Joey, through his police contacts, had
license numbers of the cars they had been following traced,
learning the names and addresses of fourteen more members of the
other gang. Most of those names turned out to be of Russian and
Polish origin. Unknown to those men, their pictures were being
taken as they entered or left the warehouse and their homes; they
would also soon be dealt with.

“I’ll pass the pictures around the table one
at a time; each of you look and see if you recognize the man in it.
If you do, call him out and write his name on the back of the
picture. When they come back to me I’ll separate them into two
groups, known and unknown enemies.” Clay continued “And make no
mistake about this, they have chosen to be enemies to all of us.
They joined in with a group out to break us and kill as many of us
as is required to take over our territory. This is a war and you’re
either with us, or with them. Make up your mind now, because you
will most likely know some of these people. Some may be men you
worked with in the past; some may even be neighbors or relatives.
Also be aware you may run into one of these people, or be contacted
by one of them trying to get information about what we’re
doing.”

Clay began slowly passing the pictures to the
man on his right, while watching the faces before him for a signal
one of them might attempt to conceal a painful recognition. On the
second picture Vincent, who was next to him, said aloud, “Shit,
look at this, it's Ronnie Weiss, the dumb bastard. I thought he was
smarter than this.”

After nearly half of the thirty seven
pictures had been passed around, and twelve had been identified,
the man on Joey’s right threw down a picture and said “Christ Joey,
this is my nephew, Jerry Martino. You know him and didn’t call him
out. What? You settin me up to see if I’d let him pass? Fuck you
Joey. Fuck you. He’s called out, alright!” The man turned the
picture over and wrote his nephew’s name on the back of it. “All I
ask of both of you” he looked up at Joey and then at Clay “is for
someone else to do him, and it’s done quick and clean. He’s a smart
ass little punk with a big mouth, but he’s still my sister’s
kid.”

“I’m sorry Al,” Joey said to the man “but I
had to know if you could handle it and not go and warn the kid. I’m
real sorry it turned out this way. To make it up to you I’ll do the
kid; and it will be clean. The kid won’t know what hit him”

The men finished looking at the pictures, and
had identified twenty three of the thirty seven. All were somber
about having marked these people for death, but they also knew, as
did the men identified, what the rules were. Clay pulled a fifth of
whiskey from the sideboard and they all had several drinks before
they left to go back downstairs.

In Thursday’s Tribune Joey was reading the
obituary column when he recognized a name from the just completed
target list. He went into Clay’s office to show him.

“Look at this. These three guys are the ones
who were watching the hospital on the day Tony was moved.
Apparently Ivanoff Toscovich doesn’t tolerate screw ups. The three
we got last week and these three make six we don’t have to look
for.”

Clay and Joey met daily while continuing to
review the details of the plan Clay had created. Joey offered good
practical suggestions and the two of them felt they would be ready
on Saturday. Joey handled the arrangements for exterminating the
gangs other soldiers who had been identified through observations
both by his men and through the photographs. Clay would give final
approval on Joey’s plan because these would need to be done quietly
over a period of several weeks. Their opponents would simply
disappear, as opposed to the fate of the Russian leader, his wife,
close associates and body guards. The deaths of the fourteen of
them were sure to make national news. Additional execution style
murders drawing attention to the City of Chicago would not be
acceptable. The only reason one attack in public would be tolerated
by the other boss’s was because if an attempt to dispose of the
Russian leader quietly failed, there would be an all out gang war
reminiscent of the 1920s and 1930s.

Friday morning Clay, Joey and seven of the
men Joey had picked for the assignment, met at the farm to get
familiar with their weapons. As Clay had requested there were seven
M-14 military rifles and two cases of ammunition. Several of the
selected men had served in the military and were familiar with the
rifles.

The diesel bulldozer and a diesel truck were
taken to the woods in the bottom acreage and put on fast idle to
cover some of the shooting noise. One at a time the men loaded
their weapons and emptied the thirty round clips at targets at the
approximate distance and elevation anticipated on Saturday evening.
Clay examined his weapons of choice and made sure they were ready
to use when the time came.

The men watching the Toscovich warehouse
reported no change in routines during the week, except for a
minimum of three men riding in every car leaving and entering the
warehouse.

As ordered, Saturday morning at seven o’clock
all the men who had been picked for the assassination reported to
the empty store. The building had been cleaned and furniture had
been moved into it for them to use. Couches, chairs and tables, and
beds had been arranged in rooms on both floors. At eight o’clock in
the evening all of it would be moved back to the warehouse it had
been stored in, and the owners would be none the wiser. Clay wanted
to make sure no one drank too much, or out of nervousness said
something to someone about the work they were scheduled for. All
the food, coffee and soft drinks they wanted were provided, but no
alcohol was allowed.

C
lay spent the day
reviewing the plan for what seemed to be the millionth time until
he was getting fuzzy from it all. He and Joey had gone over each
person’s role with the men until Clay was confident each man knew
his part and could perform it well. Timing on the part of the
drivers was the key to bringing the entire plan off, as he stressed
repeatedly to all of the team. He finally tried to put it out of
his mind and attempted to focus on other things. But it was neigh
impossible to put it away completely. He left the others and went
into an upstairs room to be alone. Events of the last two and a
half years dominated his thinking, until he was consumed by
thoughts of his reaction to those events. He felt a need to once
more evaluate the drunken attack by a man he never met; motivated
by God only knows what misguided perception of the night’s events.
There was no feeling of guilt on his part for his role in what
later occurred. The man was drunk and obnoxious; the girl with him
was loosing interest or she would not have turned her attention to
others so easily. Drinking too much and letting it affect his
behavior was the individual’s fault. After the incident he had been
repulsed by the needless death of the stranger, but at the same
time he held the stranger fully accountable for actions resulting
in his death. If the man had not attacked there would not have been
a death. It was really quite simple. He still did not understand
his own reaction; he had hid the body as if he was guilty of
plotting the man’s death. Clay felt his reaction had been the same
as many normal citizens would be; certainly not a majority, but
many.

Emotions had emerged later after the incident
and they were complicated and confusing; how and why had HE
accepted the responsibility, and somehow the authority, to avenge
the death of a friend? How had HE given himself permission to plan
the execution of another human being; above the social system in
place to handle such matters? How did HE make the transition from
being involved in an accidental death to planning and executing a
murder? There was no alcohol to blame or misguided perception of
events; just a deep inner feeling, knowing vengeance was not only
his obligation but his duty and his right. Was the chance run in
with a drunk during the previous month the catalyst for a moral
change in him? Or, was the seed for this line of thinking planted
in him years ago, and nurtured by exposure to happenings in and
about the Giliano clan? Had his chosen environment conditioned him
to think the unthinkable? During all phases of the revenge killing
he had felt no remorse for his intended victim. His vigilante
action was a personal reconciliation to the act committed by Jerry
O’Neil. He had formed a perception early in his life, accepting for
every action there is an equal and opposing reaction. His role in
response to Jimmy’s murder equated to an opposing reaction to the
murderer.