Page 41 of The Bootlegger’s Bride

“Following day, the cold front moved in, and Dupuis got trapped under the ice for a month and a half. Dumb luck. Gave me time to cover my tracks. I know a guy who deals in untitled cars. The Caddy went out of state somewhere. So, I made a few bucks on it. End of story.”

A.J. sat thinking, looking down at his gym shoes. “Hell of a story. You took considerable risks on my behalf.”

“Only thing worried me was if Dupuis told the bartender or someone about going to meet you at the lake. But no one ever says, ‘Hey, I gotta go pick up some blackmail money. See you later.’ Anyway, that’s why I bought tickets for you and your girl to the New Year’s Eve Party at the Chase Hotel.

To make sure you were twenty miles away and alibied up.

“It was a good party. Thanks.”

“One more thing I need to tell you about. My motive. Wasn’t something I had to make up.

Though all I said about being indebted to your father and feeling duty toward my godson is true, there’s more to it.

Self-interest. Personal vengeance. Always tastier when served up good and cold.

After telling Dupuis he was dying to avenge your mother, I muttered a second name: Magdalena Sheehan. My sister.”

A.J. turned to Bogdan. From behind came the sound of traffic moving up Market Street past City Hall. After a moment his godfather went on.

“The Great Depression was, well, depressing. Particularly compared to what came before. Life was good in the twenties. We’d just fought and won The War to End All Wars.

America dominated world finance. The stock market boomed.

People prospered. Jazz, flappers, movies, and money.

Ordinary folks got radios, telephones, and automobiles. Grand while it lasted.

“Magda married Tom Sheehan in ’28 when all was going gangbusters.

Nice enough fellow. A lawyer seduced by all the progress—though he wasn’t alone in that.

His belief in a rosy future cost him big time.

Lost everything in the stock market crash and then some—a rich man one day, a bankrupt the next.

And people he had taken down with him were gunning for him.

“Tom had come from a powerful political family. Never missed a meal. Not one to stand in breadlines or take his wife to dinner at the soup kitchen. He shot himself in the head, saving others the trouble. But didn’t do such a great job of it. Took him three days to die.

“Magda still had their big house in Kerry Patch and some jewelry. That was it. One day a sexy flapper going to jazz clubs and speakeasies with her handsome husband, next day a penniless widow.

“She sold off the jewelry bit by bit. The money didn’t last long.

There was no work for her other than as a domestic or emptying bedpans at the hospital, which she could never stoop to.

I offered to help, but she was too proud and independent for charity, even from family.

Then after a while I hear she’s getting around again and doing just fine—new clothes, new jewelry, the works.

“Not sure how Dupuis hooked up with her. Probably seen her around town with Tom. Maybe had his eye on her for years and now saw a chance, realizing what a valuable commodity she was—beautiful young widow with political connections. Soon he had her working as a companion for senators, congressmen, police chiefs, and others connected to the Shelton brothers’ bootlegging operation.

In other words, Richard Dupuis turned my sister into a whore.

“When I learned about it I talked to Father Marek at St. Stanislaus Kostka, who was still hearing her confession, figuring him to be sympathetic. Which he was—particularly after I agreed to secretly bankroll a bookkeeper job for her at the church. An off-the-books donation.

“My timing was good. She was on the sidelines, gotten sick from one of her johns. Jumped at the opportunity. Eventually she remarried but couldn’t have kids after that.”

Bogdan stroked his salt-and-pepper mustache and beard.

“I don’t blame her so much as the times.

Lots of folks suffering and had to make tough choices.

Maybe I don’t fault Dupuis that much either, just running to form.

If it hadn’t been him it would’ve been some other pimp or pol.

Guys who have their way with women by hook or crook.

But everyone’s responsible for their choices and in the end must answer to God.

Or, in Dupuis’s case, to His earthly emissary in the role of Avenging Angel.

“Magda’s always been a good Catholic. Maybe she believed that her syphilis and barrenness was divine justice that she rightly earned for her sins. Now I’ve gotten some extra-celestial justice for her as well. Though I would never tell her.”

“It might do her good to know.”

“I think she already conned onto it. Thanks to Dupuis’s gangland ties and the way he died, the newspapers ran front-page stories on it.

Suggesting it was a gangland hit and rehashing the antics of his pals Buster Wortman and the Sheltons.

Then next time I see Magda she asks out of the blue, ‘Long Lake—isn’t that where Jan Nowak moved, and you guys went fishing?

’ ‘Yes, it is. What makes you ask?’ She shrugged.

‘I don’t know. It just came up.’ But she said it with a smile. Never was a good liar.”

A.J. sat staring off, eyes unfocused. “In my heart—or at least in my dreams—I really wanted to kill Dupuis. Nonetheless, Godfather, I’m grateful you stepped in. I likely would have done something stupid and incriminating like scalp the bastard with my dad’s hunting knife.”

Bogdan laughed then turned serious. “You’re passionate for good reason. I can’t imagine how losing both mother and father might affect a boy. Maybe exorcising Dupuis can let you return home to recoup the good memories. I know there were lots before your father died. I was there for some of them.”

A.J. nodded. “I’m also haunted by recollections of my mother’s decline and demise there. But I’m working on it.”

He raised his eyebrows and shook his head. “I still dream about finding her. But sometimes it’s me trapped under the ice, struggling to breathe, trying to crack through and free myself. I pray someday I will.”