The Price of Vengeance

By Susan Obijiski

The first time Augie saw Paul Allen, he was sliding out of the back seat of a big green Buick. The car was like nothing Augie had ever seen in Endicott. Paul was a snobby rich kid, with a smirk that went for miles. But what set this young man apart was a profound and purposeful dedication to trouble – the kind of trouble that a small town was ill-prepared to handle. The arrival of Paul Allen in Endicott turns Augie’s life upside down and introduces him to a mysterious specter that serves its master in exacting revenge. Who is the man in the trench coat and fedora? Does he wield a mysterious power from another world, or is he merely an expression of human intent?
With only his wits to guide him, and his best friends as allies, Augie must confront and control a force he does not understand and, in so doing, decide the kind of man he will become. The Price of Vengeance is a coming-of-age story that asks the reader how and why we choose love over hate, vengeance over forgiveness, and truth over lies.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Susan Obijiski
• Release date: Mar 28, 2024
• ISBN: 9781682358511

Susan Obijiski

Author, Susan Obijiski is the Author of the trilogy, Legacy of Dreams (Dreams of the Many, Dreams of the Few and Dreams of the Exile), and a contributing author for 'Sedona Awakenings'; published by Auricle Books (www.BooksForHealingBodyMindAndSpirit.com). Her novella, Crackle & Wheeze is available in eBook format.A message from the author: "I hope that my books resonate with my readers and give them pause to consider the challenges, fears and demons that sometimes control our lives, and the importance of living with passion and courage, and pursuing the dreams we hold dear.”

Book preview

The Price of Vengeance

A Novel

Susan M. Obijiski

Copyright © 2023 Susan M. Obijiski All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means graphic electronic or mechanical including photocopying recording taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the permission in writing of the publisher.

Strategic Book Publishing

www.sbpra.com

ISBN: 978-1-68235-851-1

Dedication

For my father.

Sometimes, in the hush of the evening hour…

Acknowledgments

We all need to be seen. With that in mind, I want to acknowledge every teacher, mentor, friend, and family member who has given of their time, offered me a hug, put a hand on my shoulder, or provided a word of encouragement when I needed it most.

Life is a gift. I am grateful for this time, and for the lessons life has taught me, and continues to teach. I don’t know much, but there is one thing I know for certain. When in doubt, always opt for love.

Here’s to our better angels, and the humanity we share. Nurture those aspects of yourself, and of others.

That way lies enlightenment.

Table of Contents

Prologue

First Things First

The Prodigal Son

Bullies

The Party

The Man in the Fedora

The Aftermath

The Demise

The Longest Summer

Forsham Residency

Goodbye, Mrs. P.

Promises Made

Senior Year

Confrontation and Hope

On to the Next Thing

Winter in Chicago

Frondescence

The Sun-Times

The Big Time

The Turning Point

What Comes Next

Thirty and Counting

Prologue

Augie Bautista was not there on the day Paul Allen died. He had nothing to do with the death, but he knew all about it.

Knowing isn’t doing, yet Augie still felt guilty, and when he allowed himself to think about it, he wished he had done things differently. But like his dad always said, ‘If wishes were fishes, we’d never go hungry.’

Paul Allen wasn’t the greatest guy. He was a snobby rich kid, with a slick car, and a smirk that went for miles. Paul was a jerk, but if being a jerk was reason for a death sentence, most of the guys in Augie’s class wouldn’t have made it to graduation.

What set this young man apart from the garden variety jerks in Endicott was a profound and purposeful dedication to trouble – the kind of trouble that a small town was ill-prepared to handle.

In short, Paul was evil on two legs.

One thing, and one thing alone, took the edge off the guilt Augie felt about Paul’s death, and that was the knowledge that the world was a better place without Paul Allen.

Of that much, Augie was certain.

First Things First

The first time Augie saw Paul Allen, he was sliding out of the back seat of a big green Buick. The car was like nothing Augie had ever seen in Endicott. He didn’t know then that the new kid was Francie’s brother.

In fact, he didn’t even know Francie had a brother, until his best friend, Sal filled him in.

What Sal knew about Paul Allen came courtesy of his own brother, Leo. Leo was ten years older than Sal, and he was often asked to care for his little brother, while his mom worked at the tailor shop.

Sal referred to his brother Leo as a ‘creeper.’ He wasn’t a pervert. He just liked to check things out, and the big Allen house on the hill was a curiosity, especially with all the restoration activity.

On the day Leo and Sal visited the Allen residence, the place was buzzing. Large trucks lumbered up the long drive, as moving men in neat coveralls lugged furniture and boxes over the broad porch stairs, and into the house.

Leo dragged Sal up the hill to the edge of the yard, and the brothers hid behind the neatly trimmed hedges.

They watched as men in white coveralls slapped a new coat of paint on the house, while the movers lurched up the steps with a deep blue divan.

This is where Sal’s story began.

I saw a kid playing on the lawn, Sal told Augie. He had this spankin’ new red wagon, and I wanted to play with it, but Leo said no. He pulled me back behind the hedge. The little kid was with a fat lady in a uniform, and she was tryin’ to get him in the house.

Augie wasn’t buying this decade-old assumption. How do you know it was Paul?

Cuz my mom told me, Sal said. She did lots of seamstress work for Francie’s mom. He scrubbed at his head and sprung the cowlick that always popped up on the right side. Course, Francie woulda’ been in the house. She prob’ly wasn’t big enough to be outside.

Augie did the math in his head. You were maybe four then, right? He was still skeptical. How do you remember?

Sal shook his head hard. Oh, boy, who could forget, he scoffed. That kid wouldn’t listen at all. He started runnin’ down the hill toward the road. The lady got all panicky and ran after him. She pulled on his arm, but he wouldn’t come. He was yellin’ words a kid shouldn’t know, words Leo never even said, and when she picked him up to take him inside, he punched her in the face, and she dropped him.

Sal waved his hands excitedly. Leo pushed my shoulder, and I looked at him. His eyes were all wide, and he was makin’ a big ‘O’ with his mouth. Sal mimicked his brother’s expression. I laughed at that. Anyway, Paul got up off the grass and brushed off his clothes like he was all in a huff about how she treated him. Her nose was bleedin’ and she was holdin’ her face. That’s when he kicked her, really hard, right in the shin. And then for the big finish, he grabbed her apron and tore it. Part of her dress tore too.

Geez, Augie croaked.

Yeah, Sal said, his head bobbing with emphasis. So now you see why I remember. Leo never got flapped, but he sure was flapped over that little show.

Over the years, Augie recalled this story many times. Anytime he saw the Allen house after that, he thought about that kid – the one who was just a year older than Augie and his friend, Sal. The one who came home to the grand old house on the hill.

The one who died.

***

As for Paul’s sister Francie, she was a completely different kind of kid. She was smart and respectful, and it was hard for Augie to believe that Francie and Paul came from the same family.

Francie, Sal, and Augie were fast friends and everyone knew they were inseparable.

One sweltering summer day, the three friends walked along the railroad tracks, throwing rocks into the woods, and talking about nothing in particular. That was the day Francie told Augie and Sal the story of the Allen family residence. She said her father moved back to Endicott to restore the old homestead to its former glory.

Her father’s name was Rutger Starks Allen. Augie thought that was just about the richest sounding moniker he ever heard. Rutger was a railroad guy who had enough money to live anywhere he wanted.

Francie said her great-grandfather used to own the house, and that her dad spent summers there. Eventually, Rutger’s dad inherited the place, but he had no intention of living in Endicott. When he walked away from the homestead, it fell into disrepair.

Sal’s mom said that the place was a mess inside. She also said that Paul Allen was a handful and that Rutger sent him away to private school.

That’s what Sal remembered of the conversation with his mother. But he couldn’t get any more information now, because his mom was in no condition to share gossip.

***

When Sal’s brother Leo died in the Korean War, his mother retreated from reality. By the time Paul Allen stepped out of that Buick in front of The Juke, Regina Paravati had been housebound for a long time. She wasn’t telling tales of the Allen family, and she wasn’t a seamstress. In fact, she wasn’t much of anything.

Augie only saw Mrs. P. when his own mother forced him to deliver a plate of food, or some little gift she thought Regina might like. Augie was always confused by these interactions, mostly because Regina seemed uncommonly focused on him.

Sal said that his mom was ‘out of it,’ that she never really started a conversation, and that, when they tried to talk to her, she would look like she was trying to come out of a fog. But she never really got there. She might answer in one word, or she might just look at them and nod, but she never had conversations.

It was different when Augie visited. Mrs. P. would take his hands, and look in his eyes. Sometimes she would say a few words, but always she would kiss him on both cheeks. It wasn’t exactly creepy, but it was uncomfortable. Augie never knew what to say.

Sal’s father said his wife was confusing Augie with Leo, but Augie didn’t buy that. Augie looked nothing like Leo, and he was younger than Leo was when he went to war.

Whatever the case, Augie felt sorry for Regina, and their strange encounters made him feel sad and confused.

There was that one occasion when Paul’s ‘57 Chevy pulled up under the street lamp in front of the apartment. That was the night Paul Allen died.

That night, Regina was paying attention, and she saw exactly what happened.

Maybe if it had been winter, maybe if the windows were closed, maybe if she hadn’t been watching the street, maybe it all would have ended differently.

But, it didn’t.

***

Augie never went to Sal’s apartment to pick him up for school. Instead, they met in the back parking lot. They cut through the alley to Main Street, where they met Francie as she crossed the green. Together, the three friends walked to school.

That was the way they did it for years.

As the only Italians at the Juke, Sal Paravati and Augie Bautista were little more than an afterthought, and that was just fine with Augie. Neither family had much in the way of wealth, but they were happy.

Sal’s dad and Augie’s dad were best friends, and they owned the only shoe store in town. The two families lived across the hall from one another, in modest second-floor, walk-up apartments, above Mr. Ignelzi’s bakery.

In her way, Francie was also an outcast at school, where she was known as ‘that rich girl.’ She didn’t put on airs, but the girls at The Juke, aka Henry L. Jukeson High School, thought she was full of herself.

Sure, Francie was rich. Everyone knew that. But she was alright in Augie’s book. She was more than alright.

Francie was one year younger than Augie and Sal. She wasn’t what you would call a beauty, but she was pretty in a plain way. Her skin was smooth and white, like the marble statues in museums, and her hands fluttered and moved, with a delicate flourish that fascinated Augie, and left his heart tripping in his chest.

Augie first met Francie when he was nine. She had come to the shoe store after class to pick out a snazzy pair of patent leathers, to go with her Easter dress. The Allen family was having a big party with an Easter egg hunt. Francie’s mom, Evelyn, invited the boys to come - probably because Francie wouldn’t have had much fun hunting by herself.

***

On the day of the Easter egg hunt, Augie and Sal put on their best shirts and pants and shined up their church shoes. Augie argued that they would just get dirty, but his mom insisted. Augie was an only child, and a boy – a bonus in an Italian family. In their culture, boys were a treasure, and often referred to as ‘il prescelto.’

Augie wasn’t spoiled. His dad saw to that, but his mom did her best to counter the discipline. Her only rule was to look and act presentable when in public. Never act up in class, and always dress up when paying a social call. So, on the day of the party, Augie walked up the long driveway to the Allen house with his friend Sal, both of them dressed in their best clothes, and already sweating in the unseasonable April heat.

On that Easter Sunday, the porch of the Allen house was festooned with pastel bunting. Freshly painted white rockers were placed precisely on the porch, each occupied by an adult dressed in Easter finery. Francie waved from the porch and ran down the hill to meet them, as her mother called after her, cautioning against dirt and grime.

The boys entered the house timidly, as if they thought they might be discovered, and thrown out for the imposters they were.

The entry hall was vaulted with two large staircases, curving up and away, toward the second floor. A pair of curtained glass doors led to a formal dining room at the back of the hall. On the right, tucked behind the staircase, was an unobtrusive door leading to the kitchen.

At the bottom of the staircase was the entrance to a formal parlor, with a full-sized grand piano, where Francie took her lessons. The doors to the parlor were open and Augie could see lots of overstuffed chairs, with matching floral prints, and a large seascape painting over the dark wooden fireplace mantle. On the left, there was a smaller, private living room, and a pair of massive double doors, forbidding entry to Rutger’s study.

Daddy lets me go in there sometimes, eight-year-old Francie whispered. But mostly it’s off limits. She tossed her curls as if to illustrate the insipid nonsense of the situation.

Jeepers, Sal said in hushed tones. This place is like a king’s palace. He turned his face longingly up toward the second floor and poked Augie in the ribs with his elbow.

Francie was nonplussed by the admiration, but Augie was a little sad. He didn’t see a place for a kid to be a kid in this house. Everything was formal, and so exacting that Augie felt like he was in a museum.

They headed to the kitchen where the cook and a couple of helpers were hustling through dinner prep. Augie and Sal were not invited to the dinner portion of the event, and they had been instructed not to be late for Easter dinner at the Bautista table.

In the meantime, Cook, as Francie called her, snuck the children some pre-dinner treats, and sent them on their way. Francie led them out the back kitchen door, and into the broad, green yard where they strolled the back forty until Mother Allen called for them to start the egg hunt.

They ran around the house and watched as a heavyset man in a three-piece suit dropped a bright yellow flag from the porch. He blew a red whistle to start the festivities.

Francie grabbed Augie’s hand and dragged him toward the front lawn. Come on, silly, she called to Sal. We’ll miss all the good prizes.

A few other children had mysteriously appeared, as if they were cast to play the part of egg hunters. Augie didn’t know who they were, and Francie ignored them.

Later, over Easter dinner, Augie’s dad said they were probably the kids of some people who worked for Rutger. Invite the poor folks over for an hour, he grumbled. Make them feel important. He scrunched up his nose, in that way he had when he was annoyed, and said, Benevolent boss. Sal’s dad Pasquale laughed at the joke. Augie didn’t get it. He was only nine, after all. But he laughed anyway.

On that Easter Sunday, Augie’s mom outdid herself. There was a ham, a roast beef, and plenty of potatoes and vegetables.

Augie insisted on taking pictures with his new camera. He had asked for, and received, this gift for his birthday, and it was a real surprise. For weeks before the celebration, his father told him the camera was an indulgence (another word he didn’t quite know), and way too expensive for a nine-year-old. So, when the day came, and he tore open the carefully wrapped gift, he was ecstatic and grateful.

Augie took pictures of the beautifully set Easter table, pictures of his mom and dad and Mr. P., and even Sal, who made goofy faces for the camera. The guests and parents posed patiently, while he set up the shots.

You and that camera, his mother laughed.

For the first year, Augie’s pictures were pitifully unimpressive. But he soon learned to play with light and perspective, and his technique improved, as his passion grew.

After dinner, Augie’s mom sent a plate home for Regina, with her best wishes. Make sure she eats all of it, she advised. She needs her strength. Italian moms always thought that food could solve anything, but Augie knew better.

No plate of food would cure what was ailing Mrs. P., no matter how perfectly it was prepared.

The Prodigal Son

After Paul showed up in the Buick at The Juke, Augie, and Sal were crazy to know the story. Where had he been all these years, and why was he back now? Why had Francie never mentioned her brother?

Sal pushed Augie to ask the question, but Augie sensed that it was a sensitive subject, so Sal acquiesced, biding his time, impatiently.

On the day Paul arrived at school, Augie saw Francie in the hall. She seemed upset. Her bright blue eyes were downcast, and she looked on the verge of tears.

After school the Three Musketeers, or the Dumas Gang, as Francie called them, walked down the rolling hill in front of The Juke, following the short driveway to the road. Francie was quiet. Augie could tell that Sal was antsy to ask about Paul. He caught his friend’s eye and shook his head. Sal looked disappointed, but he held his tongue.

What are you reading, Augie asked. When Francie didn’t reply, he tapped the book she carried and asked again.

Yeats, she whispered. Even at age fifteen, she was already a literary snob.

Who? Sal could always be counted on for a snappy retort.

Francie seemed to brighten at that. William Butler Yeats, she snipped. Don’t you know Yeats, you cretin?

What’s a cretin? Sal asked, genuinely.

She giggled a little at that, and Augie smiled at Sal. Even when his friend didn’t know what he was doing, he did it right. It was one of the things Augie loved about him.

Francie was still prattling about Yeats. Did you know he founded the Abbey Theater? He was so talented.

Sal didn’t miss a beat. "So, you’re in love with him now instead of the Three Musketeers guy?"

Francie switched topics then, taking the opportunity to wax on about Dumas, the author of The Three Musketeers. She said that Dumas was born in a place called Saint-Domingue and that he was a negro. Augie knew what that meant, although his dad used the term ‘colored.’

Francie was on a roll now. His father was a general in Napoleon’s army, she explained. Isn’t that amazing? And did you know he was a writer for the theater too? She ran out of steam after that and fell quiet again.

They walked up the street in silence, and then she started to cry. Augie got flummoxed. He didn’t know what to do. He felt the same way when she fell at the playground years ago. He couldn’t stand to see her cry.

Sal put an arm around her shoulder, and they kept walking. Emboldened by his friend’s compassion, Augie took Francie’s book and grabbed her hand. After a bit, Sal thought better of the awkward shoulder hold and laced his fingers into her other hand. They walked like that, all the way to the green - three friends, hand in hand, in the late afternoon.

When they got to the park, they usually parted ways, but today Francie lingered near the benches. It was clear she wasn’t ready to go home.

Augie wondered if Paul rode home in the backseat of that shiny Buick, with the groundskeeper as his chauffeur, and, if he did, why his sister didn’t go with him. He supposed the question wasn’t so hard to answer. Francie never took on airs, and she hated being the rich kid at The Juke. She loved walking home with her best friends.

That day, they sat on the bench under the tree, all in a row, like birds on a wire, and the boys waited for Francie to talk.

You probably want to know about Paul, she murmured. Sal was uncharacteristically patient, waiting quietly, as she gathered her thoughts.

Eventually, Sal would tell Francie the story of his first visit to the Allen estate, and how he and his brother, Leo had watched from behind the hedge, as her five-year-old brother punched the housekeeper, and tore her clothes. But today, he held his tongue.

Francie started to talk then, slowly at first, and then faster, until the words tumbled from her mouth like so many exclamation points. It was a sordid story, one she heard from Cook, her sole confidante.

By then, Augie knew enough about her family to understand that Francie’s dad treated her like she wasn’t there and that her mom had pretty much given up. So, Francie’s interactions with her parents were confined to instructions and platitudes.

Over the years, Augie realized that Cook had taken on the role of Francie’s mother, and he was happy she had someone in that house to protect her.

After Francie told her story, Augie understood why her mom had lost interest. All those reports of her son’s transgressions in so many boarding schools probably soured her enthusiasm for child-rearing.

What Francie knew about Paul, she had learned from whispered discussions emanating from her father’s study, or from Cook, who patiently answered the young girl’s questions.

Francie said that her brother’s time in the first boarding school was the longest. As he got older, his transgressions grew in severity, and his tenure at each school grew shorter.

At first, there were little things. He made a kid cry, by slamming him against the wall, because he wouldn’t let him copy off his paper in class.

Then he moved on to starting fights, and the injuries he inflicted were more serious. Once he stabbed a kid in the arm with a kitchen knife. They were on clean-up duty after dinner, and the kid said something he didn’t like.

The thing that finally got him kicked out of the first school was the dead cat. The school had a mascot named Sparky, a large gray-striped animal, with a gentle manner. Sparky was free to wander the halls and was encouraged by most of the boys to come into the residence rooms.

Paul hated that cat, or so the story goes. One day, the headmaster came into his study and found the cat lying dead on his desk. There were no apparent injuries, which was somehow worse.

Paul’s roommate said Sparky tried to come into their room, and Paul picked it up and left with it. That was the last time anyone saw the cat alive.

Of course, the headmaster couldn’t prove the crime, but he was careful to watch Paul more closely.

When someone stole money from the charity box in the headmaster’s office, Paul’s roommate told them just where to look. The staff found the money tucked at the bottom of Paul’s steamer trunk, and Rutger Allen was politely asked to find another boarding school for his son.

Here’s where the story went dark (or even darker). The night before Paul was scheduled to leave the school, his roommate fell down the main staircase and broke his neck.

Paul could not be blamed for the tragedy. He was in plain view in the reading room at the time. But everyone knew how enraged he was about his roommate jinxing the theft of the charity box, and getting him in trouble about the cat. It was hard for Augie to imagine a kid under the age of ten being enraged about anything, but that’s how Francie told the story.

On the day Rutger arrived to pick up his son, he found a bevy of official cars and a flurry of activity. The headmaster’s secretary was standing out front, sobbing and wringing her hands.

Cook told Francie that the coroner had barely loaded the body of the young boy into the vehicle when they found the headmaster dead in his office chair. They said he died of a heart attack. Everyone assumed it was from the stress of losing that poor boy in a tragic fall.

As for Paul's whereabouts at the time of the headmaster’s passing; he was packing the last of his things at the time, accompanied by the maid staff. The fact that he hated the headmaster was just a coincidence, and he really was just a kid, after all, so no one took his involvement seriously.

Francie went on to tell more tales of more boarding schools, increasingly escalating injuries, fights, accidents, and, yes, more mysterious deaths. The final straw at Paul’s last boarding school was the death of a teacher in a tragic fall on the stairs.

Francie stopped to catch her breath, and Augie had time to check the clock on the bank – the one donated by Rutger Starks Allen. It was late, and he was overdue for his shift at the shoe store.

He decided he would make up a story about forgetting his track uniform and having to go back to The Juke. His father might believe him. He would probably dock Augie’s pay to make him learn responsibility, but that was OK.

Augie was needed here with his friends, and he wanted to hear the rest of this story. He had to figure out how a kid could go so wrong, and how on God’s green earth could all those people die. If Paul wasn’t around when they died, why did it seem as if he was somehow responsible? It was all too much for Augie’s sixteen-year-old brain to comprehend.

There wasn’t much left to the story after that. Francie said her father brought Paul home, partly because he ran out of places to send him, and partly because he thought he could knock some sense into his son, and hoped that public school might bring him down a peg. He had planned to send him to a good college and bring him into the family business, grooming him to take over.

Francie knew this was folly. She didn’t need Cook to tell her that. Her brother might be an Allen, but his future was not in the business world.

***

After Paul landed at The Juke, he began what Augie suspected was a routine. Finding himself in a new environment, he shrewdly concealed his true character, assuming the charming demeanor he hoped would place him in a position of power.

Like Francie, Paul had wavy blonde hair. He was tall and broad-shouldered. Most of the time he had that maddening smirk on his face, but when he smiled, the world took notice. He had impossibly straight teeth and a pair of dimples to boot. On casual observation, Paul was the full package. On the inside, he was rotten to the core.

The first few weeks Paul was at The Juke; things were smooth as polished diamonds. Rutger was so pleased with his son’s behavior that he