Chicago Noir [Anthology]

Inside La Caverna, Destiny saw the same Mexican man, now white-haired, serving drinks. But the place was different: cleaner, pain'ted. There were color posters of all the new queens framed on the wall. She was stunned to see her own face staring back at her from above the bar, in the center of a sort of Wall of Fame of famous queens who’d started at La Caverna.

Destiny clutched her heart, unexpectedly moved. Then she saw that Virginia was still there too, sitting on a stool behind the bar, taking money. The woman, now an old crone, flinched when she saw Destiny. The crowd parted like the Red Sea.

A few feet behind, Zoe battled to keep up. “Con permiso, con permiso,” she repeated as the waters closed in on her. Then the crowd crushed around Destiny when she and Virginia hugged across the bar, the old woman shaking from so much emotion.

“Listen, I’m with Destiny, really!” Zoe yelled, reaching so that she caught Destiny’s arm with her fingers for a second. But no one could hear her. The shouting and whistling was thunderous. The DJ immediately injected a battery of percussion into the club, the clattering beginning of a salsa roundup they’d later learn he’d titled “Destiny’s Cuban Fiesta Mix.”

“Destiny! Destiny!”

Zoe was just about to give up hope of ever reaching her when suddenly a gunshot rang out. Then another and another. She leaped through the mob and yanked Destiny by the arm, pulling and pushing through the masses of sweaty human flesh until they were back outside, breathing the carnitas -infused air of 26th Street.

“You’ve gotta tell me the truth!” Zoe demanded, leaning up on her toes to get in Destiny’s face.

“The truth? What the fuck are you talking about?” Destiny asked as she jerked her arm away and straightened her dress. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“What the

? Just tell me, okay? What it is? What do you still have of Beto’s that made you run, huh? What is it—an address book? The last two digits of a Swiss bank account? The combination of a secret safe? C’mon! What do you have that would make somebody want to kill for it twenty-five years later?”

Destiny grabbed her by the shoulders. “Are you out of your mind?”

“Am I

? What? You didn'’t hear those shots in there?” Zoe asked, indignantly shaking herself loose.

“Oh, for god’s sake, Zoe—it’s 4 o’clock in the morning and everybody in there has had three bottles of who-knows-what and they'’re out of control. It’s a crazy, violent bar—that’s all!”

“That’s all? But you’ve never been back—that has to be for a reason!”

“Is this what you’ve really been getting at? Is that what all your interest has been about? This ridiculous telenovela scenario where I have some terrible secret that someone wants to avenge? Oh, Zoe, you’re so much more Cuban than I ever gave you credit for!”

Destiny started to laugh.

“But

”

A crowd was forming again.

“There’s got to be a reason

”

“There is,” she said, and she strolled back into La Caverna.

Hours later, Destiny found herself back home, inhaling another Romeo y Julieta, and sucking on a cup of Cuban coffee with Quique, who’d gone to La Villita to pick her up. The sun was starting to gain power outside her window.

“It was never about what you took from that place

” he said.

“But what I left behind,” said Destiny.

Destiny ground the thin cigar out on her pink caiman ashtray. She sighed.

“Got it back, though,” she said, and patted the place on her chest where her heart beat.

THE GREAT BILLIK

BY CLAIRE ZULKEY

19TH & SACRAMENTO

The new neighbors moved in the winter of 1905 to a small place a few houses down. We’d come by to say hello to Mary, who was frightened and intrigued by the additions to the area. She sat in the front room, peering through the curtains to see if she could monitor the family’s activities. She seemed jumpy and skittish as usual, but also excited.

Our poor sour cousin Mary. Ginny and I didn'’t mean to make fun of her as much as we did. We probably had some leftover resentment from when our mothers told us to look after her when we were younger. It was hard not to mock someone who took herself so seriously. Granted, she didn'’t have all the opportunities in the world for excitement; she’d been appointed caretaker of the house when her mother died. But she acted like an old maid, so it was hard not to have fun at her expense sometimes, especially as life grew brighter and the city grew more exciting, while she grew more determined to stay away from it. So we tried to stay kind, because without us around, she’d have nobody to talk to other than that old clammed-up father of hers.

“I hear they'’re Bohemians,” she said. “Come from Cleveland.”

“wouldn'’t they be coming from Bohemia?” asked Ginny, sipping her tea. Mary looked at her sharply.

“Mrs. Vzral says that He’'s got three kids,” Mary continued, “but I haven'’t seen any yet. Just his wife. She looks like a horrid woman.”

We gasped when the neighbors’ front door opened, as if the aforementioned wife were going to come out and berate us after somehow hearing what Mary had said. Instead, out came a man. He was stout, with pale skin and short ginger hair, with black eyes that Mary called “piercing.” I found them beady and ratlike, but she never listened to me. I preferred blue eyes anyway.

The man stepped out in front of the house, carrying a sign. He took a hammer from his pocket and tacked it onto the front of the house. The sound carried into Mary’s front room. The man looked at his sign brusquely, straightened it, and turned and walked back into the house.

“For sale already?” asked Ginny again.

“Shush,” Mary said. “I wonder what that really is.”

“Well, we can’t walk right up right now and look at it,” I said, “or else he’ll know we’ve been spying on him. Let’s wait and have another cup and then we can walk by.” I was just trying to torture Mary. She seemed like she wanted to run out the door. I found her small life irritating. Rushing into the street to see a sign tacked onto a little old house was the highlight of her day.

After about twenty minutes, we got up. Ginny and I pretended to make a great deal about properly putting on our coats to stay warm, even though it was a mild day. Finally, we strolled outside, acting as if we were chatting about the weather.

The sign was pain'ted brown, with neat red and green lettering. It said:

THE GREAT BILLIK

CARD-READER AND SEER

Mary’s mouth hung open in a mystified gape.

“Black magic,” I said.

“Rubbish,” said Ginny.

We tried to keep walking but Mary lingered, stupidly mouthing the words on the sign.

For the next few days, Mary couldn'’t be budged from her home. She claimed she had housework to do but we knew she was keeping an eye on that strange man’s house. I assumed she still believed what they had told us in Sunday School, that black magic was the devil’s work, and she would keep the devil locked out of the house.

Ginny rushed over one day. “You won’t believe it,” she said, and before I had a chance to respond, she told me.

“My second cousin Ruth was downtown yesterday and she ran into her friend Sophia, who told her that she heard something unusual from Emma Vzral. Seems like Mary’s gentleman friend is even stranger than we thought. Emma’s father was delivering the milk to Billik and Billik stops him and gives him a strange look, and then says, ‘Your enemy is trying to destroy you.’”

“So the seer has seen something!” I said. “I hope the Vzrals got a good laugh out of it.”

“No,” said Ginny. “Apparently they'’re quite frightened. You know how superstitious they are.”

“But I didn'’t think they’d fall for a shyster. I wonder if Mary knows more about this,” I said, and we went to her house. When we told her, we realized that she hadn'’t heard the news, and was quite peeved that we’d found out information about him before she did.