“I like that idea. Hey, let us freak them out. Want to do what we did that one time?”

  “Yes, and Sister Mary Ellaphant just came into the room. She’ll blow a head gasket, but it will be worth it.”

  “Okay, then. Let us do it.”

  Gino walked around the table with a determined look on his face. Michael squared off against him, and slowly the room went silent.

  When it was so quiet you could hear a pin drop, the two boys ran at each other and hit chest to chest. They bounced back from each other and yelled, “Oorah!” and then hit again and yelled, “Oorah!” again.

  “You boys, stop that!” screamed Sister Mary Ella.

  “Yes, ma’am,” they mocked.

  “You two, you have detention today and tomorrow.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” they said again, less mocking this time.

  Sister Mary Ella's face was red, and she looked like steam would soon be coming out of her ears.

  Michael said to Gino, “Let’s shake and sit down.”

  “Good idea. It will get us out of the bullseye and let her save face.”

  They did that and sat down. Slowly the others in the room turned back to what they had been doing, and a noisy din returned to the room.

  “So, detention for two days,” Michael said.

  “But it was worth it. Did you see the look on her face? She looked like she was going to blow like a volcano.”

  Michael grinned wickedly. "Yeah, let's do it again sometime soon.”

  “I like that idea. And while we are in detention, I can show you a few more self-defense moves and a couple of offensive ones, too.”

  “You do that and tell me more about how you are going to kill Nazis in the military.”

  "I will do that, and I have some other ideas too you might like.”

  “Such as?”

  “It will have to wait until detention.”

  “This should be good.”

  Gino nodded. "It is, and you will be surprised.”

  Chapter 6

  Christmas Eve 1946

  Little Gino sat in a private booth off to the side of the central area of Luigi's Restaurant. The family, his family, owned it. It provided a place where the upper crust of Baltimore could let down their hair, and the business of the city could be hashed out away from public scrutiny. Deals were made as pockets were discretely lined with money, payouts, and paybacks. He waited for his friend, who would soon arrive. How much had he changed? He would soon know. It was 4 PM, and the restaurant would officially close at 6.

  Little Gino sipped on his National Bohemian Beer. Mr. Boh, the mustached, one-eyed mascot, stared back at him from the can of "Natty Boh" as it was known locally. He never could figure out why Mr. Boh only had one eye, but he knew the answer that was always given, “Gunther’s got it.” That was the motto of another beer maker, Gunther Brewing Company, located in Baltimore.

  He heard the bell on the front door ring. Someone had come in. He looked at the mirror and saw a slim man wearing a long military-style coat. The collar was pulled up around his neck to protect him from the cold wind blowing off the harbor, or did he have another reason to hide his features? The man spoke to Maria, who was the head cashier. She was one tough cookie who could hold her own against most men, and a .45 discretely located below the cash register on a shelf could take care of any problems. Little Gino knew she knew how to use it. He relaxed as the man put the collar down as he asked Maria something. She looked to the room where Little Gino was seated. “Hey Gino, the man here says he knows you, and you're expecting him.”

  “Send him back, Maria,” he yelled back.

  She pointed to the room, and the man walked between the tables, turned left, and entered the private room. He smiled, "Hello, Gino. It's been a long time."

  Gino lifted his eyes to the other man's eyes. It had that thousand-yard stare of a man who had seen too much combat. “Hello, Michael, my friend. It’s been too long. Have a seat. Want a brew?”

  “Sound great.”

  “Maria, have Ginger get us two Natty Bohs.”

  “Sure thing, LG. Coming right up.”

  “LG?” Michael asked. “Is that you?”

  "Yes. Little Gino grew up, and so they changed it. My father is now BG, Big Gino."

  "Yeah, that makes sense."

  "Want some food? We have the best spaghetti with meatballs in all of Baltimore."

  Michael shook his head. “Thanks, but no thanks. Still haven’t got my appetite back. The war, you know.”

  “Yes, I know. Some of the things I saw I wish I could forget.”

  Michael dropped his eyes to the table and said nothing.

  From around the corner came a waitress carrying a tray with four beers on it. She set it down on the table, smiled, and left without saying anything.

  Little Gino spoke as she left, “Thanks, Ginger. We won’t be ordering food.”

  She turned her head around, smiled slightly, and left.

  When she was out of hearing range, Michael said, “She don’t say much, does she?”

  “No, only what’s necessary and less, and she makes a point to hear even less. Just the food and drink orders and none of the business conversations, you know what I mean?”

  "Yeah, I know what you mean. How's your father doing?"

  "Poorly. He has throat cancer, and he can only talk using a talkbox, a Sonovox, since the surgery. It is spreading, and he is dying."

  “War or peace, seems death never takes a holiday. What did you do during the war? You did go?”

  “Yes, I did. I enlisted when I turned eighteen. Father said nothing, and Mother cried her heart out. The thought of losing both of her sons nearly drove her crazy.”

  “I see. Did you make it over there before it ended?”

  "I did. And you were right about my shooting skills. The Army sent me to sniper school, and I had the best scores they had ever recorded. They ran me through the class at super speed, and I found myself in Germany closing in on the Fuhrer and company in the last days of the war. First, I had a crash course with another sniper who showed me the essentials on how not to get killed, especially from a German sniper whose job was to kill me first and any other Allied forces he could. I must have learned very well as my mentor was killed by one of them, and I killed the Jerry sniper and many more Krauts before the surrender.” He stopped. “That’s my story. Were you successful in killing all those Nazis you wanted to?”

  That far off thousand-yard stare came back to his eyes. He was silent for a moment. "Yes, I did. I fought, and I fought, and I fought for days without sleep or rest. I saw things no human should see in a thousand years, such carnage and destruction. I was there when they liberated the concentration camps. I saw hundreds of emaciated, rotting bodies shoved into mass graves with bulldozers. I can still see the glazed-over eyes of corpses and smell the decaying bodies.” He put his head down and lowered his eyes to the table. “You’re the first person I’ve been able to tell this to.”

  They said nothing for a few moments and drank the first beer in silence. LG spoke, “If you ever need to talk brother, I will be there.”

  “Thanks. I appreciate it. People ask about the war, treat me like some kind of a hero. I know the Nazis had to be defeated, but there are times I feel dead inside. People who have never been there have no idea of what war is like. There's no way to explain so I say, ‘Thank God it's over.'"

  “Yes, thank God it is over. May it never happen again.” He raised his Natty Boh in a toast, and Michael clanged his can again Little Gino’s. The two took big swigs and set the cans down. “How’s your mother, Michael?”

  Michael's face drained. “She’s dying. That is why the Army gave me leave time. She does not have long and… I need to tell you this. She's not really my mom, but my sister. It was easier to get us Jews out of Germany that way.” There was a moment of silence. “I have to arrange for her funeral and decide what is to become of little Mike, remember him?”

  “Yes, your brother, who was really your nephew. He should be about six now.”

  “That’s the one. I don’t know what I’m gonna do. I wanted to stay in the Army, help clean up the mess from the war, and maybe even make a career of the military.”

  Little Gino thought for a moment. “I may have a solution concerning your nephew. I know a family in the Family that is childless and has always wanted a son. I can vouch for them.”

  “Thanks, I keep that in mind. I don’t have options. And how’s your family, you know the one I’m talking about. You once told me all hell would break loose in Baltimore if a strong boss did not appear, and a smooth transaction to a new don didn’t happen.”

  “I trust you like a brother, Michael. I am the new boss of all the families. When my father got too sick to attend the meetings, we wired his talkbox at his spot at the table so he could still run the show.”

  “How did that go over?”

  "As you guessed, like a lead balloon. Two of the underbosses walked out, and as luck would have it, were run over by a city bus on the sidewalk in front of here. What a mess that was cleaning up."

  “Just their dumb bad luck.”

  “So it would seem. Two other dissenters died under unusual circumstances. One shot himself while cleaning his gun, and the other was killed by a stray bullet that came from somewhere, perhaps a hunter. With these men dead, a war was averted. Lives were spared. We have peace. I am now the voice from the box they hear.”

  “So, it would seem." He paused, "So I’m talking to the new boss. I know things will go well with you in charge.”

  “Michael Levy, if you ever need work, I know I could find something for you to do. Consider that and what I said about your brother, I mean, nephew.”

  “I will. Is your father really dying? I mean, he was always such a tough, strong man.”

  “Like your sister, his remaining days are few. The pain eats him up. Morphine is the only thing that gives him relief, and the doses must be bigger and bigger as time goes on. If cancer does not kill him soon, the morphine will. Nurses are always in the house nearby when needed. He talks crazy sometimes, to imaginary people he sees and about a nutty tale about a lost gold payroll for some long-dead General, General Braddock. It seems members of my family have been looking for it since before the American Revolution. Back then, the family’s name was the French Geoffrey. It was Anglicized when they came east and settled in Catholic Baltimore.”

  “Braddock’s Gold. Yeah, I heard of it. Father Murphy, who taught history at the church school, was a real local history buff, and I remember him talking about it. He made it sound like it was a fortune waiting to be found.”

  “My father seems to think so too. It is hard to tell what is true and what is the morphine talking. I shall look into this after his passing. He babbles on about the family history. He says many of them looked, but some of my ancestors were obsessed with finding it and never did.”

  Michael finished off the last of his second beer and set the can down. He looked at his watch. “My, how time flies. I need to get going, but it’s funny how with you it seems like it was just yesterday we talked.”

  "With true friends, you can trust that is the way it is. Consider my offers and get back with me when you decide what you must do. And remember what I said, I can find a job for you if you ever need it and want it."

  "I will. Give my best to your father."

  “Likewise, for your sister. I will pray and light a candle for her.”

  “Thank you. I must go. Till we meet again.”

  With that, Michael rose from the chair and quickly exited the restaurant. Little Gino sat at the table and sipped the last of his beer. He had made his choice in his life's direction. He was the new acting boss of bosses, and soon his father would pass. Decisions would have to be made. He wanted to keep the peace, expand his power, and more. The sky would be the limit. No, there would be no limit. He could reign supreme like Solomon, have everything he wanted, maybe even find and solve the legend of Braddock’s Gold. And the Olympics were scheduled to start again in 1948 in London. With his shooting skills, maybe he could find gold there too.

  Chapter 7

  The Next Morning, 1998

  It was just a short drive, a mile or so, to Linda's Restaurant, but Tom had much to think about. Father Frank was the priest of the local Catholic church and lovingly known as Padre or the Padre. He was also Tom's closest friend in the world after his family. Padre had been strangely silent and not contacted Tom in a large number of months. He had sent a gift certificate for diapers from Martin's grocery store and a card, but all he had done was sign his name to it without comment other than the usual congratulations on the birth of the baby. Tom knew a lot was going on in Padre's life. He had wanted to contact his friend during this silent time, but something in his spirit told him not to. It was better for Padre to work his problems out himself and wait for him to contact Tom. Now he had, and Tom had many questions he would like answered. As a pastor, Tom considered the information the Padre had given confidential and had not even shared it even with Joann though she could tell something was up and not right. Being married to a man who had to keep secrets from his wife was not always easy, and she was a curious woman.

  What was going through Padre's mind? Why hadn't he called? What decisions had he made, if any? What of his girlfriend in Pittsburgh? How was she after the miscarriage of their unplanned child?

  What of his conflict about being a celibate priest and their desire to marry? What had he, or she, or they, decided to do? Tom had so many questions. He felt like he was going to explode from anticipation. He wanted answers, but would they be forthcoming? Tom let out a heavy sigh as he rounded another of the numerous curves of snaking WV Route 28. Something caught his eye in the tall weeds and brush down over the bank. It moved swiftly up the road bank and stood in his lane. DEER! The glare from its eyes pierced his and found its way to his very soul. “Murderer, killer, assassin,” they said.

  Tom slammed on the brakes and left forty feet of rubber as he slid in the old Chevy pickup toward the stationary deer. At the last moment, the phantom seemed to leap away and was gone. Tom's heart pounded wildly in his chest. He let off the brake pedal and proceeded on. It was too real to be a hallucination, or was it? His hands trembled on the steering wheel. A sharp turn ahead now had his attention. He was on the narrow shoulder before he could recover. The truck fishtailed as the rear broke loose. It threw gravel vehemently. A dust cloud formed and spun turning wildly and upon itself. With great effort, Tom brought the truck under control. His heart felt like it was going to jump out of his body. Trembling, he drove the last half mile, turned right onto Old Furnace Road, and then a quick left into the parking lot at the restaurant. He sat his vehicle as he tried to regain his composure. Now he had more questions than before.

  Tom looked around the parking lot for familiar vehicles. He saw Mr. Whitacre's Chevy Impala parked in front. It looked like his wife still had him on his diet the doctor recommended, and it looked like he was going around it by stopping at Linda's to fill his ample tummy. One day over a cup of coffee, the old man had confessed food was one of his few real joys in life now that his love life had gone to pot because of his condition. Tom had almost blurted out that he believed the old man's love life would return if he only lost the extra weight. The wife would find him more attractive, and his condition should improve when the extra girth was gone, but he wisely caught himself at the last moment and merely nodded his head.

  He saw some construction trucks of local builders, Knotts Brothers, and also Dowden Construction Company. Parked side-by-side was a brown UPS truck and a white FedEx truck. A Caporales' Bakery truck sat close to the highway. Now he knew why the bread at Linda's tasted so good. Tom sat for another minute and felt better. He climbed out of the truck and made his way to the door. When he walked in, all eyes turned to see who the newcomer was. The UPS driver sat next to the FedEx man at the bar, and they went back to their conversion. Mr. Whitacre had a guilty look on his face, but Tom smiled at him and walked to the far corner where Father Frank was seated. It was obvious why he had chosen that spot. It was the most private spot available in the large open room. As Tom neared the table in the far corner, big black Father Frank rose and greeted Tom with a bear hug that nearly crushed the breath out of the smaller man. In his booming voice that drew everyone's attention, the Padre said, “Hello, my brother from another mother. It’s so good to see you again.”

  When the air came back into Tom, he said, “We may have had different mothers, but we both have the same Father.”

  “Amen to that,” roared Padre. “Have a seat. That coffee you love so much is coming, and seeing as I know you like a brother, I took the liberty of ordering for you, a number 5, biscuits with sausage gravy, home fries, and a side of kosher bacon.”

  Tom sat down and noticed that every eye that had been watching them was now going back to whatever it was they were doing before the Padre's boisterous greeting. “That sounds very good to me, but where, oh where, did you find kosher bacon?”

  "Well, I may have done a little stretchin’ of the truth on that one. I think the Lord will forgive me for doing so. He's forgiven so much more.”

  Tom could tell there would be more coming when the Padre was ready to continue. "So how you been, old buddy? It's been a long time, and I was beginning to worry about you. I figured you'd call when you were ready."

  At that time, Deb appeared with a cup in one hand and a coffee pot in the other. She poured Tom a cup and freshened up Father Frank's cup. She said, "Your food should be coming up soon. I saw Lois cooking it just a moment ago."

  “That sounds super to me, Deb,” the Padre said. “I don't get in here enough, and the food's great, and the atmosphere's always welcoming.”

  “Thanks for the compliments, Father,” she said. “You know you're a stranger here only once.”

  Father Frank nodded, “Yes, I do. I've been in some places where I was merely tolerated, but never made to feel welcome.”

 

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