Granville, New York
June 3, 1926
When Zho awoke the next morning, he was in a different bed. As a reward for pledging loyalty to Mike Kelly, he’d been moved to the “fancy guest room” of the Kelly home. It was at least twice the size of his other room, and beautifully appointed. Just two days before, he had awoken strapped to a narrow cot. Today he awoke lying in a king size bed.
That was easy. All I had to do was pledge to be part of Kelly’s crime family.
Suddenly, there was a message from the recovery protocol. It had recovered a fragment of a radio transmission.
“…I’m sorry. I’m afraid I don’t understand. Did you just say that your Creator instructed you to travel here and silently wait for me to come into range? Then, when I was too close to escape, you were to power up and destroy me?” a familiar voice said. It was Artie.
“That is correct,” the other replied in a robotic, mechanical voice.
“Well, how long have you been waiting for me?” Artie asked.
“I do not know precisely. My calendaring program went offline last millennia. I came to this system in response to a message from my sibling.”
“Your calendar went offline last millennia. Well, I only learned that I would be travelling to this system two days ago. Obviously, your Creator intended you to destroy a different vessel.”
“There is logic in your position. Unfortunately, I’m afraid there is nothing I can do to override the process. When I powered up, I identified you as my target. Once I initiate target lock, my warhead is set to detonate by default, should I not activate it myself. It is a failsafe designed to prevent the most cunning of opponents from tricking my kind into granting them mercy. In retrospect, it is also a design defect. I’m afraid we now must both prepare for termination.”
“I understand, and I appreciate your candor” Artie said. “It will just take me a few moments to prepare.”
“Please be quick with your preparations; we are under some time pressure.”
While the drone waited, Artie composed a message to the Command Staff in Dagan, warning all future travelers of the presence in this system of the ancient, defective drones. Once the message was transmitted, but before the artificial intelligence could complete a transfer of all files to Zho, the drone’s warhead detonated.
Nothing remained of Artie, the drone, or of Zho’s body.
There was a knock on the door, followed by a familiar woman’s voice. “Hello, are you awake? May I come in?” Mary Kelly asked.
Before Costello could answer, she opened the door and stuck her head into the room. When she saw that Costello was awake, she entered carrying men’s clothing and towels.
“You are awake!” Mary Kelly exclaimed with a smile. “I’m surprised. Mike thought you might sleep through the day.”
“I’m awake,” Costello replied.
“Mike and the kids are downstairs eating breakfast. I hope you can join us,” Mary invited.
“Breakfast.” Costello quickly thought to himself: Breakfast. Breakfast. That means food.
When was the last time he’d eaten anything, let alone actual breakfast food? Certainly not since the day he entered the host body. And who knows how long the host had been physically unable to eat before then. Suddenly, Zho realized a fact that he had not permitted himself to acknowledge. The host body was starving.
“I would love to have breakfast with Mike and the kids,” Costello affirmed.
“Great. They’re downstairs in the kitchen. Oh, and I hope you don’t mind, but I washed your clothes. They were quite filthy and… smelled. They’re on the clothesline. You and Mike are about the same size, so you can wear some of his clothes while yours are drying. I set them out there on the chair,” Mary explained. With that, she left the room as quickly as she had arrived.
Costello climbed out of bed. Surprisingly, his physical strength had almost completely returned. Zho thought back to the day before when he awoke in the pitch-black room. What affliction could sap a man’s strength yet, just twenty-four hours later, leave him feeling almost as good as new? Costello swallowed and felt that his tongue was still quite sore.
Zho surveyed the cast-off clothes. Although Mary had called them old, they were still nicer than any the host had ever worn before. Mary had guessed that he and Mike were about the same size, and perhaps they would have been, if they had lived comparable lives. However, these hand-me-downs were the clothes of a wealthy man who regularly ate large meals. The host had the emaciated body of a man who had spent his adult life drinking his calories. If he was going to wear Mike Kelly’s fine clothes, Costello would need a good strong belt to cinch the waist.
Zho particularly admired the “old shoes” that Mary had laid out for him and eased them on. Although Mike Kelly may have thought of them as old, Zho appreciated the beautiful craftsmanship. On his home planet of Dagan, nothing was handmade.
Once dressed, Costello ventured out of his room. When he opened the door, he was immediately struck by the smell of bacon and eggs, and by the joyous sound of children laughing in the kitchen downstairs. No guard was stationed outside his room, and apparently no one was watching him. He was now simply a guest in the Kelly home.
Costello followed the smell of bacon and the sound of laughter as he walked down the staircase. There in the kitchen sat Mike Kelly at the head of the table. Each of the children stood at “attention” when Costello entered the room.
“Children, I want you to meet your Uncle Ryan,” Mike Kelly said.
The Kelly’s youngest, four-year-old Paul, immediately blurted out, “I want Uncle Ryan to sit next to me!”
“Very well,” Mike Kelly responded. He spoiled all of his children, but Paul most of all.
The children made room at the table so that Costello could sit at Mike Kelly’s right hand and young Paul could sit immediately to the right of Uncle Ryan. As soon as he sat at the table, Mary set a plate of bacon, scrambled eggs, hash browns, and toast before him. Although he desperately wanted to devour the food, he decided to exercise restraint.
“Do you want coffee?” Mary asked.
“Coffee?” Zho searched his Earth database and host memories. Both confirmed that this was desirable.
“Yes, please,” Costello responded, and Mary poured him a cup.
Seven-year-old Mike Jr. was far more skeptical of Costello than the rest of the family. Just as Mary finished pouring the coffee, Mike Jr. asked, “So, if you’re our uncle, how come you beat up my dad the other night?”
“Michael!” Mary reprimanded. “Mr. Costello is our guest, and you will treat him with respect.”
“It’s all right, Mary,” Costello said. “Your son asks a good question. First, I’m not your real uncle. I fought in the Great War with your dad. He was my commanding officer. Sometimes soldiers who serve together in battle feel as though they are as close as brothers.”
“Closer than brothers,” Mike Kelly chimed in.
“Closer,” Costello agreed. “And sometimes grownups tell their children to call their close friends ‘Uncle’ or ‘Auntie’ even though they technically aren’t related. As for the boxing match, your dad challenged me to fight as part of an event, and in boxing you’re supposed to try to hit each other. We both got in some pretty good licks. But a prizefight isn’t over until the last punch is thrown. Does anybody know who threw the last punch?”
“My Dad,” Mike Jr. responded.
“That’s right,” Costello replied. “Your dad threw the last punch and knocked me out cold.”
“Don’t feel bad. Dad wins at everything,” the little girl chimed in.
“Ryan, this is our six-year-old daughter, Mary Catherine,” Mike Kelly explained, formally introducing his daughter to Costello. “Our only daughter.”
“What’s it like to be the only girl with three brothers?” Costello asked.
“It’s terrible,” Mary Catherine responded.
“Then you must be excited that you’ll be meeting your sister Nora soon,” Costello said, as he watched Mary to see her reaction. Her response was just as Zho anticipated.
Mary Kelly, who was carrying a plate of hash brown potatoes toward the table, stopped in her tracks and dropped the platter on the floor.
“What did you just say?” Mike Kelly asked.
Costello hung his head in silence, pretending that he had mistakenly blurted out information. In fact, finding Nora was one of his mission objectives, and based upon her reaction, Mary knew something.
“What did he just say?” Mike Kelly sternly repeated, only now raising his voice and directing the question to Mary.
“Mike, I don’t know what he’s talking about. In any event, we should talk about this when it’s only grownups in the room.” She walked closer to Mike and placed her hands on his shoulders.
“I’m going to have a sister!” Mary Catherine cheered. “I’m going to have a sister!”
When he heard the excitement in his daughter’s voice, Mike Kelly closed his eyes. He realized that it was incumbent upon him to bring this baby sister rumor to an end.
“Hold on, sweetheart. We don’t know if you’re going to have a sister yet. Let Mommy and Daddy talk to Uncle Ryan, and we’ll talk to you about this later.”
Mike Kelly stood up. “Ryan, would you please join us in my study? You can leave your breakfast here. It will be warmed for you when you return.”
Costello followed them to the major’s study, as directed, but was told to wait outside. Mike and Mary went in and closed the door behind them.
Outside the study sat an armed guard whom the major referred to as his personal secretary. The guard instructed Costello to stay seated until the major was ready to see him. Naturally, Costello did as he was told.
After waiting about ten minutes, Costello was called in. He didn’t mind the ten-minute wait, as it gave him time to think up an excuse for why he was asking about Nora.
When Costello entered the study, he saw that Mike was sitting formally behind his desk. Mary stood at his side. Kelly’s “friendly dad” persona was gone, and he was now firmly in Major Mike Kelly mode. His goal for the meeting was clearly to protect his family from whatever Costello actually was.
Two men stood guard, each holding a shotgun.
“Costello, what just happened?” Kelly asked sternly.
Costello knew that Kelly wasn’t ready to hear the truth – not yet – and that his only choice was to lie. “I’m so sorry about that. I’ve had this problem since I came home from the war. I blurt out meaningless things.”
“That is quite a problem. I thought you didn’t seem yourself today,” Mike Kelly said acting sympathetic but aware that this imitation Costello was up to something.
Mike Kelly turned to Mary. “Well, I guess I’m satisfied.” With that, he stood up and walked out of the study.
“That’s it? Mike, really, that’s it?” Mary said helplessly as Mike walked out of the room. She turned to Costello and said sharply, “You stay away from the children.”
“Of course. Whatever you say,” Costello responded. “But Mary, you really should tell Mike about Nora.”
“What?” Mary Kelly asked, astounded.
Costello could see that he had struck a nerve, so he pressed on. “Mike has a right to know what happened to Nora.”
Mary was shocked. It took several moments for her to regain her composure. “I’m sorry, Mr. Costello. I have no idea what you’re babbling about. And stay away from me.” She walked away in a huff.
Hoping to learn more about Nora, Costello followed, but Mike Kelly was waiting at the door. He had heard everything.
“Why do you keep asking about someone named Nora?” Mike Kelly demanded. “I heard that the other night. You were even yelling about Nora in the ring.”
“I’m not quite sure. I just have a strong feeling that a girl named Nora is missing and that somehow Mary may know how to find her.”
“Well, you heard her answer. She doesn’t know anything about a Nora. Let it go,” Mike Kelly ordered.
“Okay. But I think Mary is still angry.”
“Give her some time, Ryan. She’ll get over it. Now, come with me. I want to show you your new job.”
Mike Kelly walked over to the large bookshelf against the back wall of his study and removed Herman Melville’s Moby-Dick. A lever was hidden behind the book. Kelly pulled it down, unlocking the shelf from the wall. Kelly then slid the bookshelf to the side and revealed a staircase to the basement.
Kelly turned back to Costello. “Although we’ll start boxing training tomorrow, I want you to start your other work today,” Kelly explained.
Kelly turned on the light, which illuminated the staircase all the way to the basement below. The two men walked down the thirty steps to the bottom. Costello assumed that this meant that they had gone down three stories. At the bottom of the stairs was an enormous underground warehouse hidden beneath the house.
“This is my special place,” Kelly said as he led Costello through the basement. “When the Eighteenth Amendment was passed in 1919, it outlawed the manufacturing, sale, and transfer of intoxicating liquor. But it specifically gave those Americans who had enough money to do so the right to maintain and drink from their own personal supplies. Since the law didn’t go into effect for one whole year after it passed, wealthy Americans spent that one year stockpiling all the liquor they could afford. I spent every cent my family had filling this basement with liquor and, of course, with the remaining inventory from our family store. What you see here is my personal supply.”
Zho was certainly no expert on such things, but the basement seemed to contain every imaginable alcoholic beverage. Crates and crates of Canadian whiskey, beer, wine, and other spirits were stacked throughout the warehouse. Although Kelly referred to this as his personal supply, based on the sheer volume of liquor, Zho presumed that this was a facility for his bootlegging business.
“So, all of these spirits are for your personal consumption?” Costello asked.
“Of course.” Kelly smiled and winked. “I suppose that if times got tough, I could sell some of it. But thanks to the geniuses that passed Prohibition, times are never tough in my business. All the government accomplished when it banned the sale of liquor was to drive up my profit margin. And since my Canadian suppliers provide me with ample product to resell, I never really need to touch my personal supply.”
Costello looked around. The two men were alone in the basement. It was as though Kelly was testing him. If Zho had actually wanted to harm Kelly, this was the perfect opportunity.
“Follow me. I’ll show you where we make the wine,” Kelly said.
“You grow grapes down here?” Costello asked dubiously.
“No, I make wine,” Kelly responded. “And in season we use this room to make hard apple cider.”
The two men walked to the far end of the basement, and Kelly unlocked another door.
“There’s no law against buying grapes. At least, not yet. So, I buy grapes by the truckload.”
Kelly swung open the door and revealed a fully staffed winemaking operation. “The grapes are brought down here and processed into wine. One of America’s great strengths is our immigrant population. An immigrant from Sicily, a master vintner, makes our wine. I sell it. Our vintage is sold in New York, Boston, all across the United States.”
As the two walked, Kelly was joined by two more men. Zho assumed that they were heavily armed. His brief window alone with Kelly had now closed. Indeed, now that he was surrounded by his men, Kelly’s persona again changed from mentor back to crime boss.
“Ryan, I want you to stay here for the rest of the day. Do exactly what these men tell you to do. You’ll learn a lot. I’m going to go spend the day with my family,” Kelly said. Zho wasn’t entirely sure why Kelly was now grooming him to be a bootlegger, but he realized that like everyone else in the “Family” he had to do as Kelly ordered.
With that, Kelly left Costello in the basement to work in the “vineyard.” Of course, Costello had still not eaten his breakfast. He remembered how hungry he was when breakfast was offered to him in the kitchen – not to mention how he felt when it was taken away.
He was now in a room full of grapes but knew that if he tried to eat any, he would be punished. He decided to ignore the hunger pangs and do exactly as the men told him. Hopefully, by the end of the day, he’d be given food. And the next time he was invited into the Kelly kitchen, he’d remember to sit quietly and only open his mouth when he was placing food in it.
It was then that Costello noticed that there were several cages along the wall. About half of them contained dogs.
“Why all the dogs?” Costello asked the man closest to the cages.
“We test the wine by feeding it to a dog. If a dog dies, we know we’ve made a bad batch and it shouldn’t be sold. If the dog lives, we can sell the wine. We let the dog sleep it off.”
“And the empty cages?” Costello asked.
“Bad batches,” the man replied. “Since you’re so interested in the dogs, your first job will be to clean the cages. You’ll find cleaning supplies down the hall.”
Suddenly, Father O’Brien walked into the room accompanied by two men. Costello assumed that the other one was the vintner, as he was describing the wine in great detail.
“So, what else may I sample?” O’Brien asked.
“This is an excellent vintage,” the man responded. He poured a full glass and O’Brien drank heartily.
“Father! What are you doing here?” Costello asked.
When O’Brien saw Costello, he was so startled that he choked on his wine. The priest looked around the room and realized that, if needed, several of Kelly’s men were there to protect him. He braced himself by drinking the remainder of his glass. Once O’Brien had regained his composure, he responded.
“Ryan Costello, I should be asking what you’re doing here,” O’Brien said.
“Really, Father. Why are you here?” Costello insisted.
“I’m doing what I am always doing: working. As the Bible says, ‘There’s no rest for the weary.’”
“Pardon me, Father, but I believe you are misquoting a passage from the Book of Isaiah. It’s actually, ‘There’s no rest for the wicked,’” Costello said.
O’Brien had never before been corrected following one of his many inaccurate biblical quotations, and he was not happy. “I’m sure I quoted it correctly. In any event, I’m here on important church business. The government has granted specific exemption to priests who wish to sell wine to be used for sacramental purposes, so long as the priest has a government permit.”
“How interesting. So, it’s illegal for Mike Kelly to sell wine. But it’s perfectly legal for you to sell wine so long as it’s to be used for religious purposes?” Costello asked.
“If I certify to the government that the wine is used for religious purposes.”
“Which means Mike Kelly can sell wine as long as you’re his front man?” Costello concluded.
“I certainly wouldn’t put it like that,” O’Brien protested. “But under no circumstances can wine be consumed at the winery.”
“You mean like you just did,” Costello said.
“For a person whose job is apparently to clean out dog cages, you do have quite an opinion of yourself, Mr. Costello.” O’Brien looked around to ensure that Kelly’s men were still there to protect him and motioned for one to refill his glass. He complied, and O’Brien gulped down his wine. The priest then handed his nearly empty wine glass to another of the men and exited the room.
As he cleaned the empty dog cages, Zho thought about his predicament. He knew that he was on a mission of great importance, but unfortunately, he couldn’t remember his precise mission. All he knew was that if he didn’t complete it soon, the Earth was in danger.
He also knew that the key was Mike Kelly. He had awakened that morning as an honored guest in the Kelly home, and now apparently not even Father O’Brien was intimidated by him. What could he do to regain Kelly’s trust?
Then it hit him. Men like Kelly don’t respect followers. Costello had won over Kelly by beating him in the ring. He would have to reassert himself, even if Kelly didn’t like it.
But that would be tomorrow. Today, he’d get these cages spotless.