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did, I couldn't bear to watch her slow, injured walk towards me.  I had the radio on pretty loud when she got in, so we didn't talk and I sure as hell wasn't going to look over at her."  Porter stared at his cigar as he said in a hushed admission of shame, "I haven't seen or talked to her since."
    Mario sat with his eyes fixed on the floor, unsure what to next say.  Placing his hand on Porter's shoulder, as a father does when comforting his son, Mario said , "I understand your rage."
    Mentally exhausted from the memories he could not escape, Porter directed the conversation back to Mario.  “Now that you understand my motivation, how do you envision me helping you?  Is one of your other businesses killing abusers?" Porter said jokingly.  "But seriously, I really care about your family and I have no desire to ruin that by assisting you, then us falling out of favor 'cause I disagree with what you're doing.”
    Mario interjected quickly, “I will never place you in a position to choose between my family and any work you would do for me.  You saved that which we had lost and could never have found.  Do you know that I had the best private detectives searching for Renata and none of them had even the slightest lead?  But you, with your vigilante idealism, found her.  So I promise you now, I will never make you choose.”
    "Thank you ," said Porter.
    Pausing to consider his words carefully, Mario said, “What I would ask of you is this.  When my rivals are killing my men, you will help me kill them.” 
    S hocked at Mario's bluntness, Porter added, “So that we’re clear, you would like me to do to your rivals, exactly what they are doing to you?”
    “Precisely ,” answered Mario.
    “That’s not really what I do ,” Porter rebutted.  “I find abusers and eliminate them; not target one crime syndicate for the benefit of another; even if the other is a family as wonderful as yours.  I...”
    Without giving Porter time to finish his sentence, Mario continued, “I have witnessed depravity and seen atrocities you can only imagine, all at the hands of my rivals.  None of which I have ever condoned or permitted within my organization; beheadings, castrations, body parts shipped back to family members to torment them. None of that happens within my business.  Those barbarians should not share the air we breathe.  If you take their lives, how many children will still have fathers, and wives, their husbands?"
    "Huh," said Porter in a questioning tone, as he considered this new paradigm.  "I've never thought of it that way. But unless we take them all out, the violence never ends.”
    "Violence never ends," emphasized Mario.  "The best we can do is control that which affects us." 
    A minute passed with no discussion as the two sat and exchanged smoke rings; neither willing to speak first.  When the silence became too much , Porter answered, “Give me some time to think about it.  I'm inclined to help, but I'm not sure yet.”
    Mario blew his final smoke ring as he extinguished his cigar.  "Thank you Porter," he said, his eyes now not as bright as when their conversation began. As he exited the room to rejoin his family, Mario paused to invite Porter but remained silent.  Porter's head was in his hands as his tears wet the hardwood floor. 

Chapter 4
    Heavenly Strangers
     
    May 1991
    Al Capone may no longer call the Second City home, but it holds his essence; fast-paced, congenial, efficient, and brutal. On the street, pedestrians offer deliberate and sincere salutations to one another. Unlike the Big Apple, where greetings are considered a waste of precious time, Chicagoans see them as an opportunity to conduct business.  Stories abound along the Miracle Mile of retirement-inducing financial opportunities where random and unconnected events collide.  The stranger on the street, or new person in the pub may possess that next nugget of information which leads to a lifestyle of leisure.
    Making Chicago