Chicago Stories: West of Western (36 page)

“No. Listen. Sister Ann shot Tito and the others, but that's not important right now. Chico and his gang are here on the corner with the Duques across the street. The ambulance just came for Maria, and Mario's about to cross the street join get his sister. On Lobos land. Do I have to spell it out?”

“I'll send a squad. We're on our way.”

Mario's old ladies were at their post across the street. Seraphy glanced up and saw the curtain above move. Mario, watching the ambulance.

Chico and his Lobos jockeyed for position behind the car on the corner. Seraphy ran her eyes over their jackets, noting the bulges. Great. More guns. Where the hell were the cops?

Maybe she could stall things inside, keep Maria there a little while longer. She stopped to shove her Glock in her jeans.

A wave of fetid air greeted her when she pulled the door open next door, a stench even more intense than at her previous visit. The ambulance attendants had the gurney crowded into the dining room doorway, unable to maneuver on through the narrow hall to the bedroom. As she came in, they decided Brother Edwin should to carry Maria out to the gurney.

Sister Ann teetered on crutches against the wall, quiet for once, tears streaming down her face.

Seraphy stumbled and managed to knock everything off the gurney. When Brother Edwin turned to help pick it up, she muttered “Stall as long as possible,” her lips at the monk's ear. “Cops on the way. Chico and a pack of Lobos are waiting for Mario.”

Brother Edwin nodded, bumped into her and the gurney, and managed to kick some of the supplies across the room. He dropped as much as he picked up. Seraphy and he played Three Stooges as long as they could, then he tinkered with the gurney before guiding it closer to the bedroom. Seraphy followed. It felt like they'd managed to stall for hours, but when she checked her watch, less than a minute had passed since she came in.

Maria lay unconscious on her right side, her knees drawn up to her bulging stomach, her ribs barely moving with each faint breath. Both bones showed clearly in her arms, she'd lost most of her hair, and blue veins showed through the skin on her skull. Impossibly small and frail, hardly more than a skeleton, the bulge of her pregnancy was the only rounded part of her. Seraphy shuddered, breathing through her mouth. Brother Edwin closed the bedroom door.

“Where are they?”

“Mario's waiting across the street. He's planning to come escort Maria to the hospital.” The monk nodded and she continued, “That's insane! Chico and the Lobos are waiting for him.”

“Yes,” Brother Edwin agreed. “Mario has sworn to walk beside his sister on her last journey. Can you understand that? He'll be unarmed.”

“Jesus Christ, are you both nuts? That's suicide.”

“God will protect him.” The monk's eyes darkened and his face grew stern. “You are not Mario's judge. Nor am I. We can only do what he asks.”

“Damn it, Chico's waiting by the car ready to open fire the minute Mario steps onto Lobos territory! He got MAC-10s from the FALN when this gang war talk started, and they'll spray the street. Mario's committing suicide, and other people will die, too. Probably Maria, maybe even you.” The monk pressed his lips together, his eyes narrowed, and shook his head.

“I called the police before I came,” she said. ”At least help stall things a bit longer, maybe we'll have some help.”

“I can do that.”

“Mario's weird about this, it's like it's some kind of death wish.”

“Not a death wish, and not mine to stop. Mario's the only family Maria has now. He feels he abandoned her once and let this happen. He has to walk with her now.”

Seraphy shook her head. “No.”

“Yes. We've spoken of what could happen if he crosses the street. He knows what he's doing, Seraphy.”

“Or not.”

“We'll do what we can.” Brother Edwin sighed. “I'll shield Maria if they start shooting.” He opened the door. Sister Ann was waiting and moved to enter the room.

“Sister Ann, she's not ready. I need to give Maria something to make sure she's comfortable for the ride,” he said, blocking the woman from entering. “The drug will take a few minutes to take effect.” He pulled the door closed.

“Did you know Sister Ann killed Tito and the others?” Seraphy watched his eyes as she asked.

Brother Edwin shook his head. “I've not thought about that. I think the question is more whether I'm surprised to hear you say it. Apparently you're sure of this?”

Seraphy nodded. “Yes. I've seen evidence.”

“Did I know?” he looked away and smoothed the sheet across the foot of the bed. He paused and thought a moment, then looked up. “No, I didn't know. I might have suspected if I had thought about it. She's been unpredictable lately. But my work is with the dying, not the living.” They could hear Sister Ann's crutches scrape on the floor outside the closed door. “Will they arrest her before Maria's gone?” he asked.

“I don't know. They have to stop a stupid gang massacre first.” She checked her watch. Five minutes. Where were the fucking cops?

“You about ready in there?” Sister Ann pounded on the door, rousing Maria from her near coma.

Brother Edwin opened the door a crack. “Shhh, you'll wake her. She needs another three or four minutes, Sister Ann. I want her deeply asleep before we move her.” He swung the door wide and turned to the narrow bed. “If you can make sure the way to the gurney is clear, Sister, I'll carry Maria.”

“What do you want me to do?” Seraphy asked.

“I'll slide my arms under her shoulders and hips, keeping her on her side. If you can, just make sure she doesn't slip.”

He handed Seraphy two pairs of blue nitrile gloves and draped her in a sheet before picking up the comatose girl and slowly edging his way through the narrow door.

It seemed like an hour but was less than a minute before Brother Edwin stopped fussing with his patient, checking the blanket, the straps and adjusting the gurney. Finally he signaled his assistants to roll the girl out to the ambulance. Seraphy followed them through the apartment and out onto the porch, Sister Ann stumping along behind. Where were the damned cops? It seemed like hours since she'd called. Twice Brother Edwin managed to slant the gurney so that it got hung up at doorways and took extra time to straighten out.

As Seraphy followed the monk out onto the porch, Mario came out of the building across the street.

“No, Mario! Go back!” Seraphy leapt down the steps. If she could just tackle him before he crossed the street—.

Sirens wailed in the distance. Ambulance attendants worked to maneuver the gurney down the concrete steps. Mario, pale, head up and eyes straight ahead, started across the street to join his sister.

Chico, backed by three Lobos with machine pistols, stepped in front of their car and raised their weapons. Seraphy cleared the stairs and leaped for Mario. The ambulance attendants and Brother Edwin turned to look at Chico. The monk threw himself over the girl, the attendants dropped to the sidewalk.

Three police cars screeched to a stop, bullhorns blaring. Seraphy yelled “Back, Mario, get back!” and dived to stop him as Chico screamed. “Die, El Duque,” and the Lobos opened fire.

Mario jerked just as she hit him and they fell together. Glancing back, she saw Chico stagger and fall. The last two Lobos were firing at the steps where Seraphy had been a moment before. She heard Sister Ann cry out, bullets ricochet, someone swearing in Spanish, police yelling.

The shooting was over as fast as it had started. She smelled blood and looked down at Mario's blood, splashed over his chest and hers, too. Six uniformed cops spread out, checking the Lobos, Sister Ann, and Mario. Brother Edwin straightened up from the gurney and came to look at Mario.

Mario pushed Seraphy off and tried to struggle to his knees, blood spurting from one shoulder.

“Get down!” Seraphy pulled at his good arm.

He looked at her, smiled, said, “Fucking Lobos never could shoot straight,” and toppled over.

“It's his shoulder,” Brother Edwin said, I'll take him with Maria.”

“Chico had a machine pistol—he has to have—”

“Thank St. Kevlar,” said the monk with a small smile, “I told you to have faith.” He lifted Mario as if the man weighed nothing, carried him to the ambulance, snapped the gurney into place, and pulled the doors shut. The ambulance left for St. Mary's just as the first uniform arrived to question Mario.

Patrolmen chased after the two escaping Lobos.

“Are you okay? What the hell's going on here?” the cop asked Seraphy, alone in the street in her bloody shirt. Mario's blood, not hers. Taking a minute to look around before she answered, she saw Markowicz's car come flying up Rockwell. About time.

“That's a little unclear. I'll wait for the detectives.” She went to check on Sister Ann, lying across her crutches like a bundle of bloody rags, still holding a small twenty-two caliber pistol in her right hand. One glance told her the old woman was dead, ripped in the chest, arms and head by a spray of bullets. Seraphy knew the bullets that killed Tito and the others would match the gun she held.

A young officer bent over Chico and Bobo. Both had fallen near the car they'd used as a prop for so long, their weapons still clutched in their hands. The cop looked up and shook his head.

“Ambulance is on the way, but it's too late for these guys.”

A car door slammed.

“For Christ's sake, Pelligrini. What's your score now?” yelled Markowicz as he climbed out of his car. “Coupla hundred?” He peered around her. “Wait, what's that behind you? Another one? You leave anybody alive over here?”

“It's Sister Ann, Detective. Dead. Chico's guys shot her, one or both of the guys your uniforms are chasing down Cortez. You better go help, they can't cover all the gangways at once and both the Lobos have MAC-10s.”

“Nah, I'm too fat to run like that. Jimmy, stop mooning over those stiffs and go help your partner. Wood Street's sending more cars. Those yahoos aren't going anywhere.” Markowicz bent over the old woman, looked up and shook his head. Pulling on gloves, he took the .22 from her hand and dropped it into an evidence bag. Another fire department ambulance arrived as he straightened.

“Check her first,” Terreno said, pointing at Sister Ann. “But don't move her, wait for the doc.”

Seraphy sat down on the steps.

More patrol cars arrived, then the medical examiner, who pronounced Sister Ann and the Lobos dead. More ambulances. At the end of the block, a news van deployed its antenna. News vultures and the bodies still warm. Crime scene techs began stringing yellow tape.

“We're gonna be here a while, Pelligrini. You got any of that latte upstairs?” Terreno asked Seraphy. “You're white as a sheet. Go on up. We'll come up and get your statement. You hurt?” She shook her head.

“Whose blood you got on you?” Before she could organize enough words to answer, he said “Go on upstairs. Keep your clothes for the crime scene techs.”

Chapter 32

Seraphy automatically started
filling her espresso machine to make lattes, then realized her hands were sticky and stopped to change out of her bloody shirt, wishing she could wash Mario's blood off her hands. What she really wanted was a shower, but the cops would want to check her hands for gunshot residue. Hell, she thought, why couldn't they do that before she went upstairs? She really, really needed to wash Mario's blood off her hands. Hell. She ran downstairs again and hunted down a tech to swab her hands. When she turned back toward her door, morgue attendants were zipping Sister Ann into a body bag. Marko and Terreno looked busy.

Back upstairs, she took a quick shower and found clean jeans and a sweatshirt. The familiar ritual of grinding beans and charging the espresso machine gave her something to do while she waited for the detectives. Markowicz and Terreno. God, it seemed like she was always waiting for Markowicz and Terreno. The urgency that had propelled her across the city and into a gun battle burned itself out while she waited, suddenly she felt a hundred years old. Her body depleted and emotions confused, she fought to reconstruct the last hour, to make a coherent whole from dozens of fragmented impressions, but nothing would come clear. Everything seen and heard and muddled together. Sensing her need, Black Jack came to investigate. Emily climbed up to curl in a ball on her stomach.

She'd left the door downstairs unlocked for the detectives. Eventually Markowicz's heavy tread clumped up the stairs, followed by Terreno's lighter steps. Seraphy put Emily down to prepare three oversized lattes with extra foam.

“Sit, guys, and have some of the good stuff,” she said as they arrived. “Not like that sludge you drink at the station.” She tried to smile and failed. Terreno looked at her. “Careful, don't step on the kittens. My clothes are in the bag on the counter.”

“Hell, Pelligrini, we'da come over just to get free coffee,” he said, waving his cup. “You didn't have to shoot three people to get us here.” The words were joking, but his eyes were bleak. He collected the bag of clothes and put it with his jacket.

Seraphy rummaged in the pantry, found half a package of Oreos and tossed it on the table.

Marko turned his chair around and mounted, crossing his arms on the back. He gave her an appraising look.

“Siddown.”

Seraphy took the chair across from him, mimicking his posture. She rested her chin on her crossed arms.

“You said when you called you knew it was Sister Ann killed Tito and the others. Now we get here and it looks like Tora Bora down there. You gonna explain?” He stuffed a cookie in his mouth and chewed while he fumbled for his notebook and found a blank page.

“It's a long story. Are you taking notes? I've got a better idea, wait.” She ran to her guest room, pulled out the box she'd opened earlier and rummaged for a small tape recorder which she brought back to the table. “This's better than notes. It's a long story. You can take the tape back and get someone to transcribe it.”

“Agreed. This better be good.” Seraphy nodded and pushed the button to start recording.

“This is Seraphy Pelligrini. It's Friday, the day after Thanksgiving and this is my statement concerning what I know of the death of Sister Ann this afternoon, and the events that led her to shoot, uh, seven people. A lot of this material about Sister Ann's past was told me by my aunt, Benedicta Keating, earlier today.”