Follow
us on Facebook
Chapter 1
Spain, Modern Day
The nurse returned shortly with a small care basket containing a few trifles for the mother. The mother had given birth to a beautiful and perfectly healthy baby girl, her second child. Her first child was without, waiting on a small bench across from the room.
The father had brought their firstborn with him that morning as he planned to take his wife and newborn home. He told the girl to sit on the bench and not to go anywhere. It was not likely she needed such instructions, for she had only started walking. She was at the appropriate age for such an accomplishment, but unlike other children, she possessed no interest in exploring the world around her. Often her eyes were cast down, and the deformation of her legs prevented her from enjoying the same pursuits other children her age enjoyed. Isabella was her name, but she seemed unaware of it. It was doubtful she would have been aware of her new sister’s birth, as she contented herself with “morbid dispositions,” as the doctor had called it.
They were nearly ready to go. The exuberant parents embraced one-another as the father entered the room. He looked at their new baby girl. His hand next to her’s was that of a giant’s. She was so small and precious.
With the suitcase now packed and the complimentaries of the hospital in hand, they were set to leave. Mister took the newborn to the car, and his driver carried their belongings. Mrs. and the nurse went over to where Isabella was still seated on the bench, staring at the floor. “Go with the nurse now, Isabella,” commanded the mother. Isabella took hold of the nurse’s outstretched hand, and they proceeded down the hallway. The mother proceeded out the front door to join her husband.
Isabella was told to put her teddy down when they reached the room. She did so. The nurse asked her to remove her shoes. She could not bend her left leg enough to reach the shoe on her left foot. The nurse removed it for her. Taking Isabella in her arms, the nurse lifted and laid her upon the table. Her arms and legs were strapped down to keep her from moving. They were ready. Now entered the doctor.
The parents held their baby girl together in the back seat of the car. No other child had ever seemed so alert at such an age. She was indeed beautiful. They were headed home, where their maid was ready and waiting. The infant room had been kept in readiness for weeks now, and at last the child would be there to occupy it. The parents gazed down at their new baby. The child was precious to them. They held her tenderly.
Chapter 2
Chicago Area 1913
Near The Water
“And just how would you do it?” one of the men asked.
“I would do it in such a way as to make an example of them. We must deter any thought; we must crush any desire that another man might have,” said the man with the large butcher’s knife.
A tall refined man, very well dressed, was walking up the concrete steps. When he was about one and a half flights away, the man holding the knife greeted him. When they reached one-another they embraced as brothers.
The tall man looked down at the two-timing cops. The two officers were used on occasion for information and were occasionally paid to keep silent or to allow deals to go down securely.
“The trouble with some men,” began the tall man, “is that they get a little money and they start to behave like addicts. No matter how much they get it is never enough. They need more. And more.” He crouched low so as to look the men in the faces. “Sometimes these men have such cravings for so much more to be bestowed upon them that they start to betray their friends. They look at what their friends are planning and decide that they want it for themselves.
“Why are men like that?
“We gave you so much to do nothing. We did the work. You were paid simply to breath in air. Was that not friendly? Were we not generous? Was that not working for us?”
He stood erect. “You know, it is said that the most hurtful things a man experiences in life are things done to him by those whom he befriends. For one friend to betray another is like having a savage Indian scalp you and cut out your heart. What do you think a man should do to the savage who tries to cut out his heart?”
The tall man turned around, facing the street four flights below. His eyes went out from the narrow walls of the apartment like they would from a tunnel. He gazed at the picture at the far end of his vision, his car on the street, rays from the gaslight shining down from atop the cast-iron pole, the water on the other side of the road; the hazy mist. It was cold. A cold picture, gray and lifeless.
“Do you see life in the distance?” he asked the officers. “Or do you see cold nothingness?”
His back remained to the officers as he spoke one last time. “I pride myself and my operation on the amount of effort put into preparation. Patience is a virtue, or so they say. I’ve always been a man of patience. Always a planner. Always willing to make a perfect plan. A man willing to wait sometimes years before he can move on it. But the end result is unparalleled. We should all strive for perfection.”
As he started to leave, to descend the steps to his car, he nodded to the short man with the butcher’s knife. “Prepare them for their life in the hereafter. A little practice should be helpful to them.”
Buy now on Amazon.com The Ninth Hour: A Chicago Story