CHICAGO '63

By Terrence McCauley

"This is historical fiction at its best. Equal parts gripping, gritty, heartbreaking and revelatory. You'll be turning pages and thinking about 'what-ifs' deep into the night."

- I.S. Berry, Author of THE PEACOCK AND THE SPARROW

NPR and The New Yorker's Book of the Year 2023

"Excel

• Language: English
• Publisher: Silverback Publishing
• Release date: Feb 7, 2024
• ISBN: 9798218359843

Terrence McCauley

Terrence McCauley is an award-winning writer of Thrillers, Crime Fiction and Westerns.His first two Aaron Mackey westerns (Where The Bullets Fly and Dark Territory), published by Pinnacle, were finalists for the Western Writers of America's Silver Spur Award. Where The Bullets Fly won the Western Fictioneers Award for Best Novel in 2018. The third and fourth books in the series, Get Out Of Town and The Dark Sunrise, were published in 2020.Terrence has also written three stand-alone novels for the successful Ralph Compton Series at Berkeley. THE KELLY TRAIL and RIDE THE HAMMER DOWN were published in 2020, with STAGECOACH TO HELL released in 2021.Terrence is also the author of the acclaimed University Series, which includes: The Fairfax Incident, A Conspiracy Of Ravens, A Murder Of Crows and Sympathy For The Devil. He has also written two award-winning crime fiction novels set in 1930 New York City - Prohibition And Slow Burn. His World War I novella, The Devil Dogs Of Belleau Wood, won the Silver Medal for Historical Fiction from the Military Writers Society of America. Proceeds from sales go directly to benefit the Semper Fi Fund.In 2016, Terrence's short story El Cambalache was nominated for Best Short Story in the ITW's annual Thriller Awards. His short stories have been featured in Thuglit, Shotgun Honey, Down and Out Magazine and many other publications. He is a member of the New York City chapter of the Mystery Writers of America, International Thriller Writers, the International Crime Writers Association, the Military Writers Society of America and the Western Writers of America.Terrence is an avid reader, loves classic movies and enjoys traveling. A proud native of The Bronx, NY, he currently lives in Dutchess County, NY where he is writing his next work of fiction. Please visit his website at www.terrencemccauley.com

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

EARLY OCTOBER 1963

CHICAGO, ILLINOIS

While the luncheonette hummed with noontime buzz, Vallee watched Homer Echevarria blow into a bowl of chicken broth.

That’s the problem with this place. Echevarria’s Cuban accent had been worn down by years of living in his adopted country. The soup is always so damned hot. I waste half my lunch break waiting for it to cool down.

Vallee’s coffee had been tepid when the waitress poured it. It was long cold now as he watched the thick steam rise from Echevarria’s bowl. What kind of Cuban are you? Soup’s got noodles in it. Rice and beans, maybe. What you’ve got there is just plain old broth.

Soup, broth, same thing. Echevarria rubbed his belly. My stomach has been giving me problems lately. You’ll understand when I tell you why I asked you to meet me. Maybe then we’ll have to order a bowl for you.

Thomas Vallee usually didn’t care much for foreigners, but Echevarria was an exception. He was All-American in his book. They’d trained Cuban exiles together in Levittown, Long Island and elsewhere for years. They’d changed refugees into freedom fighters to save their homeland from the fascist Fidel Castro. They’d both lost good men in the Bay of Pigs debacle back in 1961 thanks to Comrade Kennedy losing his nerve.

Vallee had tried to put the memory of the slaughter behind him, but seeing Echevarria again had brought it back. It sure is nice to see you again, Homer. But time is money, and we don’t have much of either.

Time, no. But money is no longer a problem.

Vallee was intrigued. The Kennedys had cleared out the Agency after the Bay of Pigs fiasco. Adios Allen Dulles and Charles Cabell. Funding to train refugees had slowly dried up in the two years since. That’s a change.

I’ve found new backers for our cause. The less you know about them, the better. Echevarria kept blowing on his broth. Check the room. Is anyone listening to us?

Vallee had gotten to the luncheonette early. He’d snagged a booth in the back with a good line of sight to the front door. He’d wanted to see who came and who went. No one had sat near them since Echevarria’s arrival. Old ladies munched white bread toast and scrambled eggs. Construction workers gnawed on sandwiches. No one cared about them.

We’re fine, Vallee told him. He checked the salt and pepper shakers and ran his hand under the table for the third time. That doesn’t mean the place isn’t bugged. The feds are crafty sons of bitches.

The only bugs you’ll find are the six-legged kind. Echevarria brought his hand to his forehead and wiggled two fingers like antennae. Big, ugly ones too. No one has a reason to watch me. I eat here every day on my break.

Vallee looked down the length of the luncheonette and out the front window. The city bus Echevarria drove was parked in the stop out front. Some riders had started lining up even though his next run didn’t start for another half hour. Patience was in short supply everywhere these days.

Vallee was no exception. I sure hope you didn’t make me take a half-day off work just so I could sit here and watch you eat.

You took a half-day off work? Echevarria crumbled saltine crackers in his fists and sprinkled the crumbs into his broth. That the same work our friends got for you?

Yeah. That’s the one. Vallee hated when Echevarria jerked his leash. He liked to remind the American who was in charge. At barely five feet tall, the Cuban bus driver didn’t look like a government-trained killer, but the best ones never did. Don’t get me wrong, Homer. I’m grateful for the work, but you never told me why you placed me there.

You don’t sound happy, Tomas. Echevarria always used the Spanish version of his name. Are you unhappy with this work?

Vallee almost laughed. I’m a thirty-year-old apprentice at a printing shop in a dead part of town. I spend six days a week in a drafty old warehouse smelling ink and moldy cardboard boxes. My boss won’t stop talking about barbecue and the Cubs’ chances next season. And it’s only October. That sound like heaven on earth to you?

Echevarria blew on a spoonful of broth before swallowing it down. Don’t worry. I don’t think you will be unhappy for much longer.

Vallee had been waiting for some action since Echevarria had recalled him from back east weeks ago. He missed the camps. Teaching freedom fighters how to repel the scourge of communism was important work. More important than setting type and running copies and listening to some simp tell him ’64 would be the Cubbies’ year.

Echevarria’s invitation to lunch had been their first interaction since Vallee had hit Chi-town. "Tell me more, hermano."

Echevarria winced. English, please. Your Spanish insults my ears. He took another spoonful of broth. I have good news. Our mortal enemy will be coming here in a couple of weeks.

Vallee pushed his coffee mug aside. Now they were getting somewhere. Which one? The Beard or The Coward? In the parlance of La Causa, Castro was The Beard. Kennedy was The Coward.

The Coward.

Vallee tamped down his excitement. Echevarria hated emotion in his men. Sounds like Christmas is coming early this year. What’s the occasion?

The Army-Air Force game at Soldier Field, Echevarria said. It’s on the second of November. A Saturday.

Vallee cracked his knuckles. Happy days. It was less than a month away. Not much notice.

Not much notice is needed, Echevarria reminded him. We’re planning to give him a warm greeting when he arrives. We’d like you to join the welcoming committee.

Vallee grinned. I’ve got a full metal jacket reserved just for the occasion. Several, come to think of it. Got any details beside the date and location?

He’ll land at O’Hare at 1100 hours and take the Northwest Expressway to the stadium.

Vallee knew that area like the back of his hand. Vantage points and firing positions and angles of attack flashed in his mind. Go on.

"Tranquilo, Tomas. Be patient. Anticipation is unbecoming in a professional such as yourself. Echevarria patted his mouth with a paper napkin. His motorcade will have to slow to a crawl to take the Jackson exit off the expressway on its way to the stadium. That’s where it will happen."

Vallee couldn’t believe his luck. You mean he’ll pass right in front of my job.

Exactly. Echevarria smiled as he swirled the spoon in his broth. I thought you’d like that part of things. It’ll be a huge scene at the exit. Streets filled with local supporters from across the city. The coward’s men will be too busy watching the crowd to pay attention to the buildings around them. So many windows in that part of town, so few men to watch them all. That’s when we will take him.

Now Vallee knew why Homer and his friends had insisted that he take the apprenticeship. He would be in the right place at the right time to avenge his fallen heroes. They must have been planning this operation for months. It’s perfect. Maybe too perfect. Slowing down a motorcade is against every protocol in the books. Our enemy’s men aren’t fools. What if they change the route?

They won’t, Echevarria assured him. The Coward is running for reelection next year. His staff wants pictures and footage of his adoring public reaching up to him. They want the world to see the commoners holding up signs and chanting his name as he passes. The Cuban shrugged. It’s only fitting that we use his own vanity against him to strike a blow for our fallen brothers, yes?

Vallee cracked his knuckles again. The failure of the Cuban invasion was seared into his memory. Scorched forever in his very soul. He’d trained many of the men who’d fought and died so valiantly to free their land from Castro’s oppression. Vallee and other patriots had taught them how to shoot. How to fight. How to be soldiers. How to have faith that the might of the United States of America would support their struggle for freedom. La Causa.

The Cubans had taught Vallee something, too. That a man with the right training under the right circumstances could rise above