AllFreeNovel
Share Us
He just smiled. “So, this guy, Nick Nowak, was involved with a gangster named Jimmy English. Kind of a henchman type, you know?”
That wasn’t true. I was never a henchman for Jimmy, but I declined to say so. He was baiting me. He wanted me to slip up. He kept doing it, too.
“There are rumors he’s connected to a murder at a construction site in the North Loop.”
Okay, that was basically true. But I let it run off my back like water, and asked, “So, he’s dangerous?”
“Something tells me he’s not.”
“Like a little birdy?”
“Like my intuition.”
“You want something from this guy, so what are you offering?”
“A chance to put the record straight.”
“Good luck with that.”
“I can’t offer money. It’s not ethical and I don’t have any.”
“Yeah, well, you’d better think of something. You know, just in case you find him.”
I went off and waited on some other guys for a while. Eventually, I glanced over and noticed that my journalist friend had finished his beer. I held off for a bit hoping he’d leave. He didn’t.
Finally, I walked back down and asked him, “You want another?”
“No, I’m fine.” After a moment, he said, “My name is Richland Keswick.”
“Is that supposed to mean something to me?”
“No. But I’m hoping you’ll remember it.” He took a white card out of this jacket pocket. Laid it on the bar. “This might help.”
I left it sitting there.
He leaned in, and said, “So this is what I can do for Nick. I can write that he’s dead and then I’ll be the last person who comes looking for him.”
I wished him luck and said goodnight. He left me a two-dollar tip. Even as I promised myself I’d never see him again, I put his card into my wallet. A week later, I called him.
Giovanni Agnotti, AKA Jimmy English, was a high-level member of the Chicago Outfit. He was born sometime around the turn of the century and died in the summer of 1985. I did a few odd jobs for him in the early eighties—again, I was never a henchman—and then later I was deeply involved in a sort of sting he pulled on the Chicago PD, the Feds and the state’s attorney. They were investigating him, so he slipped them false information and then pulled the rug out from under them at trial. He did it so that they’d never get their hands on his assets. Little known fact: When the government gets their hands on someone like Jimmy, they don’t just send them to prison, they take their stuff. In the end, it worked out well for Jimmy. For others, not so well. Three people ended up dead and another permanently injured. It wasn’t pretty.
I was lied to. A lot. And I played my part somewhat blindly. I didn’t appreciate being a pawn in the whole thing, but I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised. Jimmy English was a nice old man who did terrible things. And let’s be honest, the world is full of nice old men doing terrible things. It’s kind of the way of things.
I met Richland Keswick at the American Burger on Hollywood Boulevard. I think it was a Tuesday afternoon. American Burger was a cheesy place, a relic, a fast-food joint that wasn’t part of a giant chain. The burgers weren’t bad but not a lot of people went there. I’d neglected to ask if anyone in the Outfit knew about the book he was writing, so I made it my first question.
“They might have some idea,” he admitted. “I met with Jimmy’s granddaughter, Deanna Hansen.”
“Then they know.”
“No, she’s out of it. She went legit.”
“I wouldn’t believe that if I were you. Crime is a hard business to leave. If only because it’s so lucrative.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” He ate a few French fries, then said, “Tell me about Owen Lovejoy.”
“He was my lawyer. He was also one of Jimmy’s lawyers. I wouldn’t believe a word he says. He kind of double-crossed me.”
“I wasn’t able to talk to him.”
