Featured Story

A Duty to Mrs. Doody

By Paula Gail Benson

From inside his home office, Al Capone’s voice cried out, “Get away from me, Jimmy. Leave me alone.” Then, after a break, he yelled again, “You got no beef with me, Jimmy. Ain’t my hit that killed you.”

Capone’s bodyguard, Frank Rio, standing in the hallway just outside the door, rolled a golden toothpick back and forth between his lips. The boss had started seeing “Jimmy” while incarcerated in luxury accommodations in Philly’s big house. Frank, in an adjoining unadorned cell, heard Capone screaming nightly.

After verifying no real “Jimmy” existed, Frank figured the illusion was triggered by guilt: Capone took the blame for the Valentine’s Day shootings personal, even though he had an airtight alibi of being in Florida when they happened. Besides, as Capone put it, “the only man who kills like that is Bugs Moran.”

Except, Jimmy Clark, one of the victims, was Bugs Moran’s brother-in-law. And that’s the Jimmy the boss thought he saw.

Hymie Cornish, Capone’s valet, came down the hallway, no doubt to check on his meal ticket. Cornish stopped when he heard Capone scream, “No, Jimmy!”

Frank got it. Cornish was the only other person claiming to have seen Jimmy in the boss’ room, even though the bodyguards found no evidence of an intruder when they searched.

At first, Frank thought Cornish reported seeing Jimmy to get in the boss’ good graces. But watching the valet’s face go slack at hearing Capone yell Jimmy’s name made Frank reconsider.

“Something you need?” Frank asked.

“A lady here to see Mr. Capone. Name’s Mrs. Doody.”

Frank pocketed the toothpick. “That the landlady who fingered the guys in the Purple Gang for the Valentine’s Day killers?” The Purple Gang was tight with the boss.

Cornish frowned. Maybe at the question. Maybe at the toothpick. Finally, he replied, “She is one of the landladies who talked to the police, but I understand both ladies have wavered on their identifications.”

“What’s she want?”

“Do you remember the spaghetti with walnut sauce Mrs. Capone brought Mr. Capone while you were in Philadelphia?”

“Yeah.” Mae Coughlin Capone was one of the few visitors allowed by the Philly prison brass.

“Mrs. Doody baked it special, just for Mr. Capone.”

Frank’s mouth was already missing his pocketed toothpick. “Sounds like she’s begging for forgiveness.”

“Perhaps,” Cornish said. “She’s here with spaghetti today.”

“What if he ain’t seeing nobody?”

“I told her that might be the case. She politely told me she’d wait outside on the steps, speculating that Mr. Capone would have to emerge sometime.”

Frank stared at Cornish, who remained rooted to his spot.

“Wait here,” Frank told him and turned to knock on the door.

“Who is it?” Capone called.

“Just me, boss,” Frank replied.

“Come in.”

Frank did, glad to close the door behind him in Cornish’s face. “You got a visitor, boss.”

“Can’t a man just rest in peace?”

“It’s Mrs. Doody, that landlady who sent you the spaghetti with walnut sauce in Philly.”

Capone leaned his head back against the leather chair. “My favorite meal. What’s she want?”

“Not sure. Cornish says she IDed the Purple Gang to the cops, but later told ‘em she wasn’t sure.”

“About what?”

“The Valentine’s Day killers.”

Capone slammed his fist down on the desk. “Damn it, Frank. I can’t escape the blame. You know it’s not true.”

Frank looked at the shine on the toes of his shoes. “Yeah, boss.”

“So why should I see her?”

Frank shrugged. “She’s got another plate of spaghetti, like what she sent you in Philly.”

Capone toyed with a pen on the desk. “How does a Mick learn to make spaghetti with walnut sauce?”

Frank shrugged. “Maybe she married up.” He didn’t say, like you always say about your wife, boss.

Capone grimaced. “Although that spaghetti was decent-tasting, I can make better.”

“Sure, boss,” Frank replied while thinking, just not while in the can.

As if hearing Frank’s thoughts, Capone said, “Now I’m sprung from the cooler, I can just make my own.”

“She says she’ll wait you out. On the front stoop.”

Again, Capone slapped his hand against his desk blotter. “Jeez, what we do for dames. Tell her she’s got ten minutes.”

“Okay, boss.”

Frank dispatched Cornish to deliver the message. In a few minutes the valet returned with a lady following.

Mrs. Doody wore a clean, faded house dress with a green paisley pattern and a green sash around the waist. Probably what she wore to Mass, which Frank speculated was her major social activity.

“You only got ten minutes,” he told her.

“That’s all I need.”

Her words made Frank want to pat her down for weapons, but he couldn’t justify it if that turned out to be the wrong move. Instead, he followed her inside, once more closing the door in Cornish’s face.

Capone stood as she entered. He could be endearing, if he wanted. Frank had watched the boss charm the pants off the babes who gravitated to his favorite booth in the Green Mill or his table at the Exchequer. Capone always took the choicest tomatoes for tours of the secret tunnels just to get a quickie.

Mrs. Doody wasn’t any kind of sheba to turn Capone into a sheik. Even so, he did owe her for all those plates of spaghetti with walnut sauce.

“I understand you’ve done me a kindness,” Capone told her. “On more than one occasion.”

“You’re kind to consider it so,” she replied.

“How did you learn to make spaghetti and walnut sauce?”

She lowered her head, and Frank noticed a blush in her cheeks.

“From your mother,” she replied. “And, your sister, Maffie, although she prefers a tomato-based sauce.”

Capone laughed. “I taught her how to make both. I always tease her she’ll sell the marinara recipe for a million bucks someday.”

A smile emerged on Mrs. Doody’s face as she raised her head to meet Capone’s gaze. “I wouldn’t doubt it. She’s a savvy lady.”

Maybe Mrs. Doody was, too, Frank thought. Capone didn’t start seeing Jimmy Clark in his cell until after he’d had a few plates full of Mrs. Doody’s spaghetti. Could be something in the meal triggered his visions.

“Have a seat, Mrs. Doody.” Capone gestured to the chair before his desk. “Frank, give her plate to Cornish.”

“Sure, boss.” Frank wasn’t surprised to find Cornish lingering outside the door. Probably had his ear flat against the casing before Frank opened it.

Didn’t matter. Meant Frank could shove the plate into Cornish’s hands and return to the conversation faster. Besides, Frank took pleasure in shutting Cornish out of the boss’ business once again.

Capone sat behind the massive desk. He leaned across the blotter, elbows braced against it and hands clasped, giving Mrs. Doody an earnest stare. “So, how can I help you?”

“Maybe you heard my lodging house is directly across from the garage on North Clark Street.”

Capone leaned back, drawing his arms to his chest. “Don’t know much about Clark Street. Not my territory.”

Mrs. Doody bowed her head again. Her hands were clasped tightly in her lap. “I lost a couple of tenants in the shooting at the garage on Valentine’s Day.”

Capone flicked an invisible speck from the sleeve of his jacket. “That’s a shame.”

“You’ve done a lot to help people in Chicago, Mr. Capone.”

“I’m a businessman.” He pointed to his chest. “I give what I choose to give. Not because I’m owing anybody, but because I decide they deserve my help.”

Frank saw a shadow shift at the curtain. Capone glanced that way and seemed to notice it, too. Only his face looked like he’d seen more than a shadow.

Mrs. Doody lifted her head and placed her hands on either arm of her chair. “Maffie’s your only surviving sister. You made sure she married well and had a home. I helped your mother to sew her wedding gown and trousseau.”

“Thank you,” Capone stuttered, still watching the curtain.

“My daughter’s not so lucky. I thought she’d found a husband. A doctor who hung around with my tenants.”

Frank couldn’t help himself. “You mean that squirrel Reinhardt Schwinner, who pretended he was a tough guy?”

Mrs. Doody gave Frank a disapproving look. “He was an optician, living with his mother after his first marriage failed.”

Capone had risen from his chair, firmly placing it between him and whatever he saw at the window. “No, Jimmy,” he whispered.

Mrs. Doody ignored Capone, watching Frank. “Mr. Schwinner was going to give my Angelina a ring. Showed it to me before he and my tenants went to meet their fate in the garage.”

“You can’t pin it on me, Jimmy,” the boss said softly. “I was in Florida.”

“I just want Angelina to have a chance. Like Maffie did.”

“Okay,” Capone shouted. Mrs. Doody and Frank turned back to him. Capone focused on whatever had moved by the curtain.

Finally, he blinked. “Okay,” he told them in a normal tone. “You convinced me. We’ll find a husband for Angelina. A homebody, who’ll look after her. Make her happy.”

Mrs. Doody stood. “Mr. Capone, you are a great man.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He waved her off, glancing back at the curtain. “Don’t spread that word, you got me?”

“Of course. Just know I’m grateful.”

“Sure, sure. And, enough with the spaghetti and walnut sauce. You don’t owe me.”

“Thank you, Mr. Capone.”

Frank held open the door. “Cornish will see you out.”

She nodded and went into the hallway.

Capone motioned for Frank to shut the door and join him. “I don’t care if you have to match Angelina up with Cornish. Just get it done. Capiche?”

“Yeah, boss.”

Capone glanced again toward the window. “Jimmy, in Frank Rio, you and me got a witness. Now go haunt Bugs for a while.”

Frank didn’t wait to see if Jimmy responded. He left to find out what Mrs. Doody put in the spaghetti. He might need it sometime himself.

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Top Ten Bases in Reality for “A Duty to Mrs. Doody”

10. I wrote this story involving crime and love to read at a Valentine’s Day Noir at the Bar.

9. The inspiration came after learning that my friend S. Phillip Lenski, another Noir at the Bar reader, wrote a story about the St. Valentine’s Day Massacre. (Be sure to read Phil’s story, “The Chicago Typewriter,” in this issue.)

8. Mrs. Doody was one of two landladies who lost tenants in the massacre.

7. One of the victims was Jimmy Clark, brother-in-law of Bugs Moran. After being incarcerated in Philadelphia, Al Capone claimed he was being haunted by Jimmy.

6. Frank Rio was one of Capone’s bodyguards who spent time in the Philadelphia prison with him. 

5. Hymie Cornish was Capone’s valet and the only other person who claimed to see Jimmy’s ghost.

4. Capone had a regular booth at the Green Mill jazz club and the Exchequer, both of which had underground tunnels.

3. Reinhardt Schwinner was an optician who liked to hang out with Capone’s men and play gangster. He was a victim of the St. Valentine’s Day Massacre.

2. Capone’s favorite meal was spaghetti with walnut sauce.

1. According to rumor, Capone’s sister Maffie sold one of his tomato-based recipes to Ragu, and it became Ragu’s first bottled sauce.

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Paula Gail Benson is a legislative attorney and former law librarian, whose short stories have appeared online and in anthologies including Mystery Times Ten 2013; A Tall Ship, a Star, and Plunder; A Shaker of Margaritas: That Mysterious Woman; Fish or Cut Bait: a Guppy Anthology; Killer Nashville Noir: Cold Blooded; Love in the Lowcountry; Heartbreaks and Half-truths; Once Upon a Time; Malice Domestic’s Mystery Most Diabolical; Dark of the Day; and Smoking Guns. In addition to short stories, she writes and directs one act musicals for her church’s drama ministry. Her article on how to promote short stories is in Promophobia. She’s a proud member of the Bethlehem Writers Group, a blogging partner at the Stiletto Gang and Writers Who Kill, and her website is http://paulagailbenson.com.