Chapter XXVIII – Mississippi Mud
March 1939, Minneapolis
It is a cold weekend in the city. Sabrina is not overly alarmed upon hearing a familiar-sounding rap on her rented apartment door. She gets fewer callers these days, but she is forever wary of strangers. Sabrina thinks that the knock sounds like her friendly landlord George, perhaps calling to see if she needs any shopping items. Sabrina knows that the rent has been paid on time, so as she strolls down the hallway straightening her apron, she is fairly relaxed. She is jolted into unease upon opening the door.
“Mrs. O'Hara, I am sorry to trouble you on a Saturday. My name is Mr. Smith and I’m from Mason City. I’m inquiring about the whereabouts of my father-in-law Mr. Merrill Harrison with whom you used to be acquainted. Can I come inside and ask a few questions?”
Although shocked at this introduction, Sabrina assesses the situation quickly and sees no need to be evasive. “You must be Samuel, Alice’s husband. I suppose you’d better come in after traveling all the way from Iowa.” Now the visitor is the most taken aback of the pair.
Samuel is invited to sit at the dining table as he enters and Sabrina goes into a small adjoining room to warm a pot of coffee. Samuel remains standing, eager for information. Upon her return, Sabrina explains that Merrill told her all about Alice’s fiancé. “He liked you a lot. You must be married about two years now, right?”
“Two and a half, actually. This is incredible. So you must have last seen Merrill about three years back, yes? But Alice thought it would be more like five.” Samuel is looking puzzled.
“Mr Smith. You really ought to sit down. You’ve got some catching up to do.”
This time Samuel accepts the invitation to sit. He is feeling weak at the knees caused by the exhilaration of perhaps imminently finding answers to Alice and Laura’s constant turmoil. Never a week has gone by in Iowa without the question of Merrill’s whereabouts being raised in Samuel‘s presence.
“How did you find me, Mr. Smith?”
“Well—my wife and her sister never forgot your name since that paternity suit way back. They’ve been pestering me for months to try and track you down—just in case you knew where their dad was. And they remembered you once lived in St. Paul. So I asked a workmate to check the Twin City Directory next time he was up here, just on the off-chance that you still lived around here. A few weeks back he said your name and address appeared in the new Minneapolis book.”
“And Alice told you to get up here fast, yes?”
“No, it was Laura, her sister actually. Alice sorta forgave Merrill about your affair. But Laura—can you blame her? Her dad never even showed up for her wedding.”
“Oh. So she went ahead and married her student boyfriend. What was his name? Alan or Alex or something like that.”
“My God. You know about Alexander Brett too? No, no—you got it all wrong. And this is the point: Laura married a great fella called ‘Fred,’ last Fall. She always hoped that Merrill was keeping track of her life, from a distance. She understands now that he had some big money problems—but she hoped that he’d show up before the marriage, and they could thrash out their differences. But he never showed, and we shared all the expense with Fred’s family. We thought that she’d never get over the heartbreak and shame of having to cancel her wedding with that big-shot Alexander, just a day before all the guests were due to roll into town.”
“I’m so sorry. Merrill never told me. I’ve discovered that there was a lot he never told me.”
Samuel needs to get to the point. “So, where’s Merrill now? D’ya know? His girls deserve to know. Even if he doesn’t want to come home.”
“Well, you can tell Alice that me and her dad was more than a one night affair.” Sabrina confesses that she and Merrill maintained a fairly steady relationship, on and off, since the paternity suit, for the sake of their son, Paul. She explains that they both loved Paul equally, and that their common interest had brought them even closer together. Sabrina‘s voice tails off as she looks to the ceiling, blinking profusely to prevent tears, and says, “I loved Merrill.”
Earlier, Samuel had noticed a well-behaved boy through the open door of a bedroom, and now something dawns on him. “Is that him? Is that Merrill’s son?”
Sabrina regains her composure. “Of course it is, Mr. Smith. And he misses his daddy too, but keep your voice down.”
“Why? Where is he, Mrs. O'Hara? Please tell me. I’m begging you.” Samuel tries to whisper his plea.
“Drink your coffee. I will tell you all I know.”
*************************
November 1937, Minneapolis
Merrill is hard at work in his modest print workshop. He works alone. He has several new printing machines which are noisily pumping out leaflets and small advertising posters. At the front of the O'Hara Book Binding premises is a small public area with a counter to separate calling customers from the business end of Merrill’s flourishing little operation. A swing door divides the press shed from the sales area. The automated main front door bell alerts Merrill that someone is entering the front shop. Usually, cold callers only came into Merrill’s isolated workplace two or three times a day, and these particular callers were the first today, and surprisingly early for the time of day.
Merrill removes his long tan-brown apron, cleans ink from his hands with a damp towel, and then rushes towards his sales counter. Two men in smart business suits are waiting patiently. Merrill eyes up the bespectacled mob accountant and Horace's ‘accidental’ hit-man. He has never seen either of these men before. Strictly speaking, he has never seen either close-up, face to face –but they have seen Merrill on numerous occasions. They clocked him five years ago, and much more recently, they have been watching him from a distance. Only one of the visitors speaks.
“Hello, sir. Are you Mr O'Hara, the proprietor?” inquires the accountant.
“I am indeed,” replies Merrill. “What can I do for you today?”
"Okay Mr. O'Hara, so where‘s Merrill then?" queries Nathy the wily accountant, which alarms Merrill instantly.
“No, I think you got the wrong place. There‘s no Merrill here.” Merrill looks perturbed.
“That’s okay, sir. No need to panic. This was the address we were given. We just need to clear up one or two irregularities. You started in this business earlier in the year, right?“
“Are you coppers or something? Or the Revenue?” asks Merrill, still on high alert.
Nathy laughs gently. “No, no—look, sir. My colleague and I are just humble government employees. There appears to be a few inconsistencies on your wife’s job application form.” For authenticity, Nathy glances at his clipboard notes. “You’re married to Sabrina O'Hara, mother of Paul O'Hara, correct?“
Merrill has been caught off guard, but he instinctively sticks to the plan. “Um…no. Ah, that‘s it! That‘s the mix-up—I‘m Sabrina‘s father.”
“Is that so? Well, I’m even more confused. It’s like this, Sir. If you don’t help us and clarify a few facts, then your Sabrina won't be considered for any future promotions. She’s in the running just now to be offered the job of secretary to the State Highway Superintendent. She’s really flying up the ladder in City Hall, but some of our concerns are quite serious. Unless you co-operate and help iron these matters out, it’s even possible that Mrs. O'Hara could lose her current job.”
Merrill is genuinely concerned too, on many levels. Nathy politely suggests that they should step inside the rear workshop to avoid any embarrassment “just in case any other customers stop by.” Merrill thinks about resisting. The mention of his real forename is still reverberating around his head. Before he can speak, the larger hit-man forcibly guides him through the swing door. Merrill runs to one printing press and hits the red STOP button.
Nathy has to speak more loudly in the larger back room, “No, that’s okay, Mr. O’Hara—‘Jim’ isn’t it? You can leave the rest running. We haven’t come to interfere with your work. It’s Sabrina’s employment we’re concerned about. Government workers have to be law-abiding and truthful, at all times—and their families too, for that matter.”
Nathy the mob money-man decides to tease Merrill a little more, “I’m sure I’ve met you before, Jim.”
Merrill tries to deflect the curious question and says he’s got that kind of face, “Can’t have.”
The accountant then coolly states that he knows that Sabrina and Jim have told “a few white lies.” Merrill goes ashen in the face. He is now more than edgy, trying to anticipate where the conversation is leading. He tries to buy himself more thinking time by moving around some boxes of blank paper for no real reason.
“Jim, please. Relax. Come and sit at your desk.” When he obeys the request, Jim/Merrill is bluntly asked if he would like to come clean and explain who he really is.
Merrill tries to circumvent a prolonged discussion, “Now, you just hold on a minute. I can prove who I am. I have ID and everything.” He reaches into his jacket hung over the back of the desk chair and pulls out his forged birth certificate. “There, take a look.”
The accountant studies it briefly, saying, "Well, there certainly has been a mix-up. So you are definitely James O'Hara.” Merrill smiles with temporary relief. "Mmm - but something's not quite right." Nathy leans over the desk alongside Merrill, to make himself heard. He continues with slow deliberate words, "I have young Paul's birth certificate here, and it clearly states that you are his ‘father.’ ” The carbon copy is slowly unfolded as he speaks.
Merrill is forced to think fast, and susses out the probable problem. "Okay, I get it. You’ve been talking to Sabrina’s landlord. She told me she’d put him down as a character reference. Look, give me a break. Yeah, I admit it. I'm Paul’s father, and I’m married to Sabrina. I’m over twenty years older than my wife. The neighbors all gossip about us. We just pretend that I'm Paul's grandfather when it suits. No harm in that, is there?"
Nathy raises his eyebrows to above the upper rim of his glasses. "But look at this, Jim. Paul's birth record also clearly states that five years ago you used to live in the Hotel Hanford in Mason City, a real swanky place, miles away…and that you’ve always been in the book-binding business.”
Merrill had not felt the recognizable droplets of perspiration on his forehead for a while, but they are now back with a vengeance. The purposely isolated location of Merrill’s chosen workplace changes from a security blanket to a prison cell in an instant. There is no escape. Business-like Nathy motors on. "So, you see, we contacted the manager at the Hanford, and he knew of only one long-term guest who was a big-shot printer. In fact, he said that this printer guy still owes the owner some money.” Merrill was taking gulps of air, but still feeling queasy. “He gave us this fella's name right off the top of his head: ‘Merrill E. Harrison.’ “
In pathetic desperation, Merrill has not fully cottoned on. "Well, even if I was Merrill Harrison, that wouldn't stop Sabrina from getting the job, would it?"
The accountant glances at his mob companion: some kind of hidden signal is acknowledged between them. Perhaps the sign was just hearing Merrill Harrison saying his name. Merrill never saw the hit-man withdrawing a small revolver from his overcoat, as he stood beside a clanking print press.
Nathy insists on having the final word. Merrill was paralyzed with confusion. "I suppose not Merrill - but it would stop something else—your life."
As the accountant says his goodbyes and turns away, the trigger man steps forward and cleanly dispatches Merrill with a bullet to the brain. The target’s eyes bulge in absolute terror. Only a dull thud is heard from the factory roads surrounding the noisy workshop.
Lifeless Merrill slumps from his chair to the floor, with his fake birth certificate visible in one hand, covered in faint blood spatter. The accountant’s emotionless discourse only pauses for a few seconds. “Half the job done. Go get Joey and his camera from the car.”
Nathy is left alone to complete his tasks. Not long later Joey and the hit-man return, and a few more flashes of light erupt in the print shop. This time it was not gunfire. The noisy printing presses in the background relentlessly continued their programmed cycles.
When the hoodlums eventually departed carrying their large box of Printed Goods on a trolley, Joey smiled at the hit-man and asked, “You going fishing with Merrill on the Mississippi tonight?”
The cold killer was now in an upbeat mood. “You bet. The white crappies are great sport this time of year.”
*************************
March 1939, Minneapolis
Sabrina and Samuel are now on first name terms. Sabrina has told Samuel a concise history of her relationship with Merrill. About how they wanted to set up home together after Paul’s birth, but couldn’t, because of Merrill’s respect for his young daughters. About how Merrill attempted to give Alice the best possible wedding, and how she was left behind in Minnesota for weeks on end. And about how Merrill just couldn’t be around for Laura’s planned wedding later in the same year because the Mason City Sherriff was threatening to arrest him for non-appearance in more than one court case.
“He told me he sent his last savings to his girls, and he hoped Laura would re-arrange her marriage somehow.” Then Sabrina had gone on to explain that she became very wary of an ever-expanding list of Merrill’s creditors, and how he seemed to keep them all at bay, paying back a few dollars here and there. But, she said, some of them were very sinister characters. “In the end, Merrill had to pretend he was someone else, just to buy more time and to protect me and Paul.” Samuel was repeatedly shocked throughout Sabrina’s lengthy disclosure.
Finally, Sabrina got close to the end of her revelations. “And then, one day the November before last, Merrill went out to work and never came home in the evening. I went down to his small workshop across town that night. It was all locked up. I got inside with the spare keys which Merrill had given me for safe keeping. There was no sign of him. Nothing was out of place, and one of his machines was still running. I thought that he must be lying low somewhere for a while, and that I’d see him later that night or the next day.”
Samuel interrupts, desperate to know how the story ends. “And are you saying, that was it? He never came home.”
“Well, yes—but let me finish. As I was coming back out of his print shop to leave, I noticed something pinned on the back of the door.”
“What, Sabrina? What was it?”
“It’s haunted me ever since. It was a photograph of Paul’s birth certificate. There was blood smeared on it. I was so scared. I thought it was a message to tell me that Paul might go missing next. Who would do that sort of thing?”
“What did the coppers think?”
“Are you serious? How could I go to the police? Merrill was pretending to be a man called ‘Jim.’ He’d set up his business under a different name. And that name is on Paul’s birth certificate. How could I explain all that?”
“You should’ve called the cops, Sabrina. You got yourself into this mess. We’re talking about my wife’s father here, for God’s sake. She deserves to know where he is—even if that only means being able to give him a proper burial.”
“Samuel, listen. I don’t know what it’s like in Iowa these days, but half the cops in the Twin Cities are big friends with the Mob. It’s common knowledge. If you report a crime that affects the gangs round here, then they get to hear about it, so what do you do? Keep quiet, that‘s what. And this is scary stuff. That birth certificate was a message. Someone found out that ‘Jim O’Hara’ was Merrill.”
“Jesus, Sabrina. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do now. If I go and file a missing person report, it sounds like I could be next.”
“Exactly. That’s how I’ve felt for over a year now. Every day I’m sick in the stomach, and looking over my shoulder.”
“I’ve got to tell Alice something.”
“Please Samuel. Don’t. It’ll all come out—my life and Paul’s life will be in danger. The Mob might even chase you down in Iowa.”
“Look here, Sabrina. Alice is my wife, and Merrill is—or was—Alice’s father. I’m gonna tell her what you told me. I’ll make her see sense. She won’t go to the police or press. The trouble is, I can’t vouch for Laura. She has many reasons to hate you.”
“No Samuel. No. I beg you. If you can’t do it for me, do it for Paul. He’s done nothing wrong.”
“I have no option, and I think we’ve talked long enough. As I said, me and Alice might come to a decision which suits you, but it’s up to Laura and Fred what they decide.”
April 1939, Minneapolis Railway Station
The skies outside the station building are iron-gray. Passengers making their way to the terminus on foot and via taxis scurry quickly inside to avoid the threat of impending thunderstorms. “That’s correct, ma’am. Change at Union Station, Chicago for D.C.” The ticket-collector offers to get a boy to help Sabrina with her luggage. She declines and tells Paul to hurry along.
The flustered young mother in a rush struggles down the platform, clutching three suitcases. Pungent steam breezes past her face just as a kindly old lady helps Paul aboard the train. Sabrina follows them into the carriage.
"All aboard!" yells the railroad guard. He then calls out all the train's destinations on the route to Chicago. It is going to be a long journey ahead for Mrs. O'Hara. Late tomorrow, or maybe another day, Sabrina will be in another place.
With a piercing whistle, the heavy steam engine chugs into action. The carriages are jolted forwards. The train starts to move away from the platform. Little Paul waves goodbye to the Midwest.
*************************
Midsummer’s Day 2011, Sligo
Jed is standing alone by the village bonfire at midnight. A glass of golden whisky is held firmly in his hand. He watches flickering embers rise into the night sky, adding to the spectacle of twinkling stars.
A vaguely familiar Irish youth appears from nowhere and throws a large dead tree branch on to the fire, “Did ye find him then?”
A downbeat Jed replies, “Nah. We never did find Merrill, did we?”
~THE END~
M E Harrison
President, Velo Printing Company
1934