“No idea.”
“Four tickets to Herman’s Hermits!”
“Don’t tell me Vittie got you those tickets as fringe benefits.”
“Ha. No, I bought them. Do you want to go?”
Nathan grimaced. “I don’t know. How much are they?”
“Don’t worry about it. My treat.”
Nathan slapped him on the back. “Then, yes! Something tells me I’m into something good.”
* * *
A mob of young girls gathered outside the Arie Crown Theater on Saturday night, waiting to catch a glimpse of Peter Noone and scream. Or faint. As Preston, Christine, Nathan and Mimi bypassed the group on their way into the theater, Preston yelled, “Hey, girls, look at me, I’m Herman,” which drew a lot of disgusted looks and a few middle fingers.
The opening act featured a local folk group, and the audience was clearly bored. Nathan leaned over and said, “Is the Washington crowd still at the office?”
“No,” Preston answered, “thank God. They left yesterday. I worked till nine or ten every night they were here.”
“Did they ever let you in the meetings?”
“Not a chance. Vittie wanted me to guard the door in case some dumbass wandered in. He wanted to make sure no one disturbed his big-deal meetings. So I sat there reading magazines all night.”
“Sounds like fun.”
“You want to know something? You know the FBI guy, the one who lives in Mimi’s building, the one who’s going to bust Murray’s bookie joint?”
“Yeah?”
“I saw him sitting in a car across the street from our office.”
“What do you mean, sitting in a car?”
“You don’t understand that? What don’t you understand? The FBI dude was sitting in a freaking car all night across the street from Vittie’s office.”
Mimi leaned over. “Mr. Rosen doesn’t own a car.”
“Jesus, Mimi, are you that dense? You don’t think the FBI can give him a car?”
“Did you walk across the street to talk to him?”
“No. I had to stay in the office. No interruptions, no strangers, no reporters—those were my orders.”
“So let me get this straight; you were looking out of the office window, across the street at night and through a car window, and you think you saw Mr. Rosen? I think you’re probably mistaken.”
“I don’t think he’s mistaken,” Christine said. “I saw Mr. Rosen myself sitting in a car on Kedzie. On Thursday. Two days ago. In the bright sunshine.”
“Ooh,” Mimi said, with a calculating look in her eyes. “This is getting interesting.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHICAGO
NOVEMBER 1965
The season’s first measurable snowfall, four inches of the heavy wet stuff, clung to the branches, bent the small trees and coated Albany Park with a white cream frosting on the late November morning. Aside from creating photogenic scenes on the parkways and the rooftops, the snow managed to snarl traffic, overcrowd the elevated trains and delay Mimi’s arrival at work by an hour.
She arrived with her cup of coffee, shook the snow from her coat and sat down at her desk. The morning Tribune was waiting for her. The banner headline read, HINT 300,000 GIS FOR VIET.
Her desk phone rang. Nathan was on the line, and he sounded disheartened. “Billy got his orders today,” he said. “He’s coming home for two weeks and then he’s shipping out.”
“I’m sorry, Nate. Did he at least get the assignment he wanted?”
“Nope. It’ll be infantry. Carrying an M-16 on the ground in Vietnam.”
“We’ll all pray that he stays safe and his time goes quickly. How does Billy feel about it?”
“He’s all excited. He’s getting out of boot camp and going overseas. He says he’s proud to go with his unit. Says he’s gonna kill gooks. Hell, Meems, he’s just a dumb kid.”
“I’m really sorry, Nate.”
“Can I see you tonight?”
“I’ll get home about six. Why don’t you come by at seven? We’ll get a bite to eat.”
“How does Chinese sound?”
“Terrific.”
Mimi looked down at the copy she was editing. The double-column front-page story carried a sub-headline that read, ENEMY STRONGER THAN EVER, U.S. REPORTS. The story detailed reports that communist forces continued to grow, despite the influx of expanding American ground troops and despite sustained aerial bombing of Vietnamese targets. It reiterated the American command’s assessment that there was no clear end in sight.
Mimi knew that the Tribune, in line with other major American newspapers, was generally supportive of the administration and its war effort. The media reported daily body counts because that was how the government measured its progress. General Westmoreland had posited that the “crossover point,” that point in time when U.S. and South Vietnam troops were killing more men than Hanoi could replace, was “just around the corner.”
Mimi scoffed. “I’ve heard that phrase before,” she said aloud. “As the war grows, so does the military budget and so does the money that flows to military contractors. Eisenhower was right on. Why would the military-industrial complex be the least bit interested in a truce?”
* * *
Mimi and Nathan exited the subway at the Cermak Avenue station and walked hand in hand along the gayly lit streets of Chicago’s Chinatown. Bright yellow, red and green lights reflected off the snow-covered sidewalks. The tiny Min Fong Café was tucked in between two Chinese gift stores on Wentworth Avenue. Bells jingled as they walked in the door. Paper lanterns hung from the ceiling, and murals of the Li River and its hill-topped landscapes colored the walls. Nathan stopped and inhaled deeply. “Love the smell of Chinese food,” he said with a smile.
Nathan and Mimi slid into a booth and ordered the five-course dinner special. “I really appreciate you coming out with me tonight, Meems. It’s been a tough day. A real downer. My little brother’s never been out of the neighborhood. Never even played sports.”
“I know. I worry about Billy, too, but he did go through basic training at Fort Dix, and from what you tell me, he’s excited to be going overseas with his unit. We’re sending a lot of boys over there. Maybe they’re turning the corner and there’ll be truce talks soon.”
“I saw on TV that there’ll be over half a million U.S. troops stationed in Vietnam. Half a million, Meems! Can you imagine the supplies and materials needed to support that many GIs?”
“Christine can. She tells me that Nicky is sending out twice as many shipments as he did a year ago. He’s doubled his business, maybe tripled. She says it’s all military. Semi-trailers going to the East Coast, semis going to the West Coast. Every day. And she’s working late every night.”
“Preston’s pissed. He wants her to quit.”
“She’s doubled her salary, Nate. With her salary and the cash Preston gets from who knows where, they’re going to be the wealthiest two kids in Albany Park.”
Nathan grimaced. “It worries me, Meems. What’s going down in Vittie’s office? Limos pulling up at all hours, secret meetings behind locked doors and Preston guarding the door late into the night like a bouncer? You can bet it’s not legislative activity. Something’s not right, and Preston’s in it up to his neck.”