The Third Rescue Read online

  The article said that there’d been a gunfight at Marcio’s home. Authorities suspected that it was mob-related, but Marcio claimed he had been attacked and was merely defending himself and his family. However, when the police arrived they found no family present. Only Marcio, who was referred to as “a lieutenant in the syndicate,” and the two dead men, identified as “Tony Faccio, a known mobster,” and “Victor Ernst, a former US Air Force officer.”

  CJ felt the same sense of discovery that he’d felt when he saw the clipping at the museum. But the more he thought about it, the more he realized that about the only new thing was that Marcio claimed he’d been protecting his family. CJ wondered who that would be—Aunt Donna was obvious, but he wondered if Noga and Nini had been there too. Was anyone else involved in the gunfight, or did Marcio shoot these two guys all by himself?

  He asked Penny what she knew about the shooting, and she said she knew nothing.

  “Well, I’m going to ask Aunt Donna this afternoon,” said CJ. “This is probably what caused Nini and Noga to leave Las Vegas, so there’s more to it than what’s said in the article.”

  Penny had a couple of dimes, so they printed out the article and the photo from the front page.

  At first, the rest of their information search at the library went poorly. The library assistant told CJ that there was no way to do a search for birth records or mentions of someone’s name in the old newspapers. All he could do was to get the old microfilm of newspapers and scroll through them himself, reading each day’s paper for what he was looking for. When CJ expressed his frustration, inadvertently using a word seldom heard in the library, the assistant disappeared through a door behind the information desk. She appeared a minute later with an older black woman sporting a “Supervisor” badge.

  “Can I help you?” she asked, smiling, but looking at them warily as she did.

  Perhaps it was that the supervisor looked to be nearly as old as Nini, or maybe it was her graying hair or the old-fashioned dress she wore, or perhaps it was just that CJ sensed something about her, but he babbled out his whole story, about his project, that Nini was an orphan, and that he didn’t have parents. At that point, she suggested that they sit down at one of the tables and devise a plan.

  The four of them talked quietly, with Penny and Oval participating as if they had been part of this quest all along. The supervisor told them to call her Ms. Parsons, and listened carefully to everything they had to say. Unfortunately, she confirmed that the newspaper archives older than twenty years were not searchable, just as the assistant had said. She suggested an online search looking for mentions of past events so that he would have a date to match old newspaper editions, but admitted that would be very time-consuming. She made some other suggestions, but they were things CJ had on his list and had tried, such as FamilyHeritage.com, the heritage website of the Mormon Church, and the local newspaper office. She said they could try to get birth records from hospitals. CJ had that on his list, but didn’t know where to start since there were at least seven hospitals in Las Vegas. Ms. Parsons told them of two to try first, because they’d been around the longest.

  Oval was the one who asked about orphanages.

  Ms. Parsons raised her eyebrows. “Orphanages, eh? I’m sure we have them, or had them at one time.” She led them behind the information desk, where she used a big desktop computer to search. But whether or not she searched anything different than what CJ had done with Google, she came back with the same result.

  “Are you sure that the orphanage was in Las Vegas?” she asked. “I can’t find anything that would have been operating through the 1950s or ’60s. There might have been something in Carson City. Do you think that could be it?”

  “I don’t think so, but I don’t know for sure,” answered CJ. “She said Las Vegas, though.”

  Ms. Parsons worked a few minutes longer at the computer, but then looked up and said, “I’m sorry, but I can’t find anything here. Why don’t you go check out those hospitals, and I’ll keep searching? If I find anything, I’ll call you.”

  CJ gave her his cell number and thanked her for her help. He was discouraged as he headed out for the car.

  18

  Near Las Vegas, July 1964

  Once the helicopter left, the desert was quiet except for noises of the vehicles moving around the battlefield. Little Bull carefully, slowly, edged his car farther away into the desert. Fortunately, they soon topped a rise and disappeared from the view of the men, so he felt a little more comfortable and picked his speed up slightly.

  Gus was afraid the men would hear them, especially when Marcio gunned the engine to go up a rise or when he had to brake suddenly to avoid some danger hidden in the dark. He could still hear voices occasionally through his open window, and then truck engines, which he interpreted as a sign the men were leaving.

  The girl shivered next to him in the back seat, her feet on the seat, her knees hugged to her chest, her head buried in her arms.

  Periodically, Gus tried to talk to her, but she didn’t respond. After the truck engine noises receded, he asked Marcio if they should go back to look for Oaf and Faccio.

  Little Bull responded, “If we can make it all the way to the bottom of this hill, I think we’ll find the road. Then we can decide if it’s safe to go check.”

  They continued inching through the desert, down a gradual incline. More than once, Gus had to get out to move some obstruction or scout for a way around a steep ridge or big rock, using a flashlight to guide them. Marcio refused to turn on the car headlights even when they were a couple miles away from the battlefield.

  The girl hated it when Gus got out. She snuggled her back up tight against him when he returned, but still didn’t talk. She continued to shiver, even though it was warm in the car. Gus put his arm around her to comfort her, and she snuggled against him. He felt very protective, even though in the dark he couldn’t really tell if she was twelve or twenty.

  After more than an hour of working their way through the desert, they reached the road that they’d taken when coming in. Little Bull turned to Gus and asked, “Want to keep going, or check back?”

  “Don’t you think we should go back?” Gus answered.

  The girl reacted badly. “No, no. Don’t take me back. Don’t take me back.”

  “Well, well,” said Little Bull. “She can speak. Back where, sweetie?”

  “Back there!” she cried. “Back there.”

  “Where is there? Where were you running from?”

  “From them! Them!”

  “Who are they? What do they want with you?”

  “Those men! Don’t take me to those men.” She cried hysterically now.

  Gus hugged her, tried to comfort her. “Don’t worry,” he said. “We won’t take you back.” Turing to Little Bull, he said, “Let’s get out of here. We have no idea what the hell was going on up there, and she doesn’t want to go back. I don’t like leaving Oaf, but I sure as hell don’t want to get caught, either.”

  Little Bull didn’t say anything right away. He was probably going through the alternatives in his head. Then he said, “Yeah, let’s get going. Question is, what do we do with her? Doesn’t look like you’d want to just dump her out here in the desert. So I guess we should take her back to my place. Maybe she’ll talk a bit after she gets a shot or two of Jim Beam and maybe a little sleep.”

  “Okay. Sure. Let’s go to your place. Sounds good.”

  19

  Las Vegas, April 2018

  On the way to the first hospital, CJ, Oval, and Penny stopped at a Wendy’s for a burger and fries. As they sat down to eat, Penny made fun of CJ’s polo shirt, which she said looked like something her father would wear.

  CJ agreed, but said that her father would wear it tucked in, which made all the difference.

  Penny shrugged.

  Through a mouthful of fries, Oval commented. “Glad you guys are friends again.”

  Penny ignored him. CJ nodded, but kept his mo
uth shut.

  The hospital turned out to be another dead end. They waited for over thirty minutes to talk to a very thin, very efficient Hispanic woman in the administration office, only to be told that the hospital did not keep files of births and deaths. The county kept those records for all the hospitals. Any records from back in the ’40s and ’50s would have been turned over long ago. Further, she added that she knew those county records were all available on familyheritage.com. Her husband had done a big family tree a few years earlier, and had found all the Las Vegas records readily available. “So if you’ve checked there,” she said, “and you can’t find it, then it doesn’t exist.”

  Back in the car, Penny said, “Bummer. We should get over to my grandmother’s place.”

  CJ agreed. “Yeah, that took longer than I expected, and we got nothing. It doesn’t look like going to any more hospitals are going to pay off.”

  Oval was looking at something behind them.

  “Hey, guys,” he said. “Have you noticed that car before, the white Cadillac parked right behind us?”

  CJ and Penny turned around to look. “Are you kidding?” she said. “A white sedan. Like there aren’t any other white sedans around.”

  “No. I saw that car before, back at the library.”

  CJ said, “That car? You’re sure it was that car?”

  “Yeah. That car.”

  “They all look alike,” Penny said. “How do you know?”

  “There’s something about it, something that caught my eye.”

  “Who’s driving?” asked CJ. The bright midday Vegas sun was shining down on them, and the glare off the windshield blocked any view of the interior of the car.

  “I don’t know. Just some guy.”

  “Pull out, CJ, and see if he follows us,” said Penny.

  “Look, he’s turning our way,” said Oval, watching as the car pulled into traffic two cars behind them.

  “He only had two choices, doofus,” said Penny, “left or right.”

  “Doofus?” said Oval, sounding offended. “Is that what our relationship has become? Really?” He paused a second, and then added, “What is a doofus, anyway?”

  “It’s like a dork or a nerd, only not as smart,” responded Penny. “It’s something my dad says. And look, your car didn’t follow us around the corner.”

  Oval looked back at the car, going straight at the intersection they’d just passed. “I’m not kidding. I’ve seen that car before.”

  “Okay, doofus.”

  Donna was in a good mood when they got to her place. Dressed more casually in a pair of black pants and a colorful pink and aqua long-sleeved blouse, she looked younger and seemed more energetic than she had the night before. She was overjoyed that they’d come, and it was hard for CJ to ask questions, because she talked nonstop. At one point she chided Oval good-naturedly for calling her Mrs. M.

  “Who’s this Missus Em you keep talking about?” she said. “You can call me Grandmother, or Granny Matzelini, or Aunt Donna, but I don’t know any Missus Em.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” replied Oval. “Or, I mean, yes Aunt Donna.”

  She’d brought a box of photos down to the lobby, where they sat around a small round table. The photos were almost all family shots, showing Penny’s mother growing up, and there were quite a few with Penny and her brother when they were small. Donna had a story to tell about almost every picture, and she tended to elaborate on those showing Marcio, because that’s what she thought CJ was most interested in.

  CJ found an opportunity when Donna showed a picture with Gus and Violet, posing with her and Marcio in front of a large neon sign that said, “Cactus Bloom.”

  “Wow,” he said, “you all look so young in that one.”

  Donna turned it over and looked at the back, where a date was written. “Yes, that was in ’66. Before Violet and Gus got married, I believe.”

  “Yeah. They got married in ’70,” said CJ.

  “That was the casino we worked at, the Cactus Bloom.” She was ready to pull out another photo, but CJ reached over and grabbed that one.

  “So 1966,” he said, looking more closely at the photo. “That must have been about the time that you all met.”

  Donna smiled at him. “Well, I’d known Marcio for a while by then, and Gus, he was living with Marcio most of the time. I guess Violet I’d known about a year or two.”

  “Where did she come from? Nini—or Violet,” CJ stammered. “I mean, where was she before?”

  “Oh, I don’t know, believe me,” said Donna, holding her hand up to her heart. “One day she was just there.”

  “But she had to come from somewhere,” said CJ. “People don’t just magically appear out of nowhere.”

  Seeing his look of disappointment, Donna continued, “Well, she always said she was a runaway, escaped from some horrible place. I expect that’s what she’s said to you.”

  “Something like that,” admitted CJ. “Only she said she grew up in an orphanage. She never said anything about running away.”

  “I don’t know,” said Donna, shaking her head and pursing her lips. She leaned forward and looked around at each of them, as if she was about to confide in them and didn’t want anybody to overhear.

  “See,” she said quietly, “Marcio told me that he and Gus had found her. She was escaping from something.” Now she leaned in even closer. “But it sounded more like a prison break than some orphanage.” She sat back, looking pleased with herself. “At least,” she said in her normal voice, “that’s what Marcio told me. But you know what I think.” She leaned in again and waved her fingers at them so they’d get closer.

  CJ leaned in and looked around, wondering if his eyes were as big as Oval’s and Penny’s.

  “See, the thing is,” whispered Donna, “Marcio said that Violet was escaping from some military outfit. It was dark, he couldn’t tell who they were, but they had uniforms. And guns, and helicopters and whatnot. It sounded like a horrendous ordeal; it’s no wonder she was so shaken up.” She leaned back, and then leaned in again and whispered even more softly. “I always thought she was a Russian spy. You know, one of those ones who live here and try to pretend they’re Americans. Only she was caught, along with a bunch of others. Maybe even her folks, I don’t know.” She nodded, raised her eyebrows and smiled again.

  “Wow,” said Oval. “That’s really something, Mrs. . . . um, Aunt Donna. We’ll be sure to keep your secret—we’ll never tell CJ’s grandmother what you said.”

  Donna threw out her hands. In her normal voice, she said, “My lands, tell her whatever you want. I’ve had this same conversation with her, believe me.”

  “What did she say?” asked Penny, blinking.

  “She laughed at me,” Donna said, almost laughing herself. But then she turned serious again. “Of course, what would you expect? That she would admit it? Ha.” She clearly enjoyed having a rapt audience.

  “Why would you think she was a Russian spy?” asked CJ. “Did she have a Russian accent or something?”

  “No, no. But it was the sixties, you know. Middle of the Cold War. The Russians were the bad guys, the evil empire. So if you were a military prisoner, then it was most likely that you were a Russian. At least, that’s how it seemed to me.”

  “Sure. Makes sense,” said Oval, stroking his chin.

  “Plus, you know,” Donna continued, “there were government types, FBI and whatnot, hanging around for years.”

  That didn’t quite make sense to CJ. “Are you sure the FBI wasn’t hanging around because of the mob stuff?” he asked.

  “Well, that’s what Gus and Marcio used to say, but I’m not sure. Of course, I never really knew what Marcio was up to; he never brought his work home with him, never talked about it.”

  Donna shook her head, looked around at the kids, then up at the clock. Deciding that it was time to move on, she grabbed a handful of pictures out of the box and started thumbing through them, looking for something else to talk about. “What else
can I tell you about Marcio?” she asked.

  CJ had almost forgotten about the article he’d found at the library, but Donna’s query reminded him. He reached into his backpack and pulled out the copy of the article, and handed it to Donna, confident that her mood seemed right for it. “We found this at the library this morning, Aunt Donna, and wondered if you could tell us what happened.”

  She looked it over, reading it carefully. As she neared the end, she started nodding. “See, this is what I was talking about. These awful men attacked Marcio and Gus. And Violet and Annette were . . .” The memory was clearly upsetting. Holding up the article, she said, “See, this thing implies that this was some mob thing, some shootout between gangs. But it was the government. It was”—she looked at the article again—“this Victor Ernst who was behind it.”

  “Did you know Victor Ernst?” asked Oval.

  “I don’t think so, but I can’t be sure that he wasn’t one of the ones giving us a hard time over the years,” answered Donna.

  “So what happened at this shootout?” asked CJ, pointing to the newspaper clipping.

  “I don’t know. But it was ugly.”

  “You said something about Violet and Annette,” said CJ. “Were they there? My mother would have been a little girl.”

  “Yes,” Donna said. “They were there, but don’t tell anybody I said so. Because officially, they weren’t. Marcio just didn’t want to have them be questioned by the police, or go through any of that. Gus, neither.”

  “So Gus was there? Noga?” asked CJ.

  “Oh yes. That’s where Gus and Violet lived. Marcio and I had moved to another house, not far away. But officially, this was still Marcio’s house.”

  “And was this why Gus and Violet left Vegas?” he asked. “Because of what happened?”

  “They left soon after. You can draw your own conclusions.”