Don Carlo Marchese
The traffic on Michigan Avenue was quite busy that sunny, December afternoon, as there were shoppers bustling everywhere to scurry through each fashionable store and retail shop to finish their Christmas shopping. The weather was rather mild for a December day, as the snow had already melted from the last weekend’s snowfall. Every shopper was in the Christmas spirit, as the blaring holiday music was playing everywhere along the exclusive, gold laden sidewalks of Chicago’s most elite boulevard. There were several carolers singing ‘Deck the Halls’ on the corner of Randolph and Michigan Avenues, although they were being drowned out by the Salvation Army volunteers loudly ringing charity bells on every other street corner.
Don Carlo Marchese was downtown in the Chicago Loop doing some last-minute Christmas shopping on that day, as he knew he wouldn’t have time to finish before Christmas Eve in a few days. He usually had his associates finish his last-minute items but needed to visit his friend at his favorite jewelry store over on South Wabash. There was a special gift that he needed to buy for his forty-five-year-old girlfriend, Caroline Tortorici. There was a special string of pearls that his friend, Ralph Zupo, the owner of Goldstein Jewelers was holding for him. Of course, Don Carlo had to make certain that this particular gift was the right one. He had just spent over $20,000 in cash for his girlfriend’s gift, as they were celebrating their tenth Christmas holiday season together. He was confident that he could bring that kind of currency into his friend’s jewelry store without having a problem.
Don Marchese was an older, distinguished gentlemen in his early seventies, with slicked back gray hair and a moderate five-foot, ten-inch frame. He prided on taking very good care of himself, was an avid walker and religiously followed a vegan diet. Don Marchese sacrificed and refrained from eating red meat, bread, and especially, his beloved pasta dishes years ago. His blood pressure and prior cardiac problems seemed to be a curse that he had inherited from previous generations of his Roman ancestors. Don Marchese was dressed in a plaid pair of checkered pants, brown leather shoes and a white shirt, wearing a worn-out, green winter jacket. He was not a flashy, over-the-top Mafioso who ‘dressed to the nines’. Quite the opposite. Dressing as a vagabond was his public disguise. He enjoyed staying under the radar, and if anyone ever met him judging by his appearance, they would never guess who he really was.
He had already shopped for his wife, Angela, his three daughters and his five grandchildren, and only had his girlfriend left to shop for. Besides his family’s gifts, he would usually fill their stockings with envelopes for those he may have forgotten or neglected to buy gifts for this Christmas. He also made a special ‘busta’ for all his daughters and grandchildren to put into their holiday stockings as well, usually just a cheap Christmas card with $1,000 is large bills stuffed inside.
His driver picked him up at the corner of Randolph and Michigan Avenue as instructed, as the black, older model Buick pulled up and double parked in the middle of the busy boulevard. Don Marchese then quickly entered the car. He had a date later with Caroline at the Dei Amore Trattoria on North Hubbard Street, where they had planned to exchange gifts, since he would be with his family at Christmas.
“Paolo stop and park at the Blackstone please. I need to change and drop off a few things,” he instructed his chauffer.
Don Marchese had leased a two thousand square foot luxury suite on the eighteenth floor of the Blackstone Hotel, which he rented and paid for in cash on a monthly basis. This suite was his ‘home away from home’ when he wasn’t living in his opulent Sauganash, five thousand square foot mansion. He spent a considerable amount of time there while he was downtown doing business. He also gave a key to his girlfriend Caroline, where the two of them set up housekeeping whenever they needed privacy. He also conducted his ‘family meetings’ at the Blackstone, where he was often needed to oversee family business matters.
As Paolo dropped off him off in front of the Blackstone Hotel, Don Carlo grabbed several gift bags and items from the trunk of his car and entered the hotel lobby. After exchanging holiday greetings with the hotel door man and the elevator operator, he entered his hotel suite room 1821, clumsily dropping a few items in the hallway. He fumbled with his keys as he tried to juggle all his bags and enter his hotel room. He removed his winter jacket after dropping his bags on the floor and quickly used the bathroom. After several minutes, he then went into the bedroom and changed his shirt and pants, as his attire needed to be more fashionable for the Italian restaurant where he was meeting his girlfriend.
As he exited his hotel bedroom, he suddenly heard a deep voice call out his name from behind. He then felt a Beretta pistol being pointed directly up against the back of his head.
“Don Marchese…Happy Holidays,” was all the voice said, as another man grabbed his arms from behind and handcuffed his hands. He was quickly blindfolded, gagged, and his ankles were tied.
A twelve-foot rope serving as a noose was fastened around his neck. While he violently struggled, the two men forcefully escorted him over to the eighteenth story window in the bedroom. Don Marchese was trying to desperately to talk and formulate words with the handkerchief gag tightly wrapped around his mouth.
The other end of the rope was securely tied to the foot of the bed, and the bedroom windows were opened wide, exposing the noisy, holiday traffic down below. They knew that the violent jerk of the rope around the Marchese’s neck would instantaneously kill him when they quickly pushed him out of the window. One of the men grabbed a chair and stood behind Don Carlo, holding him steady in front of the window ledge. The two men planned to casually leave his hotel room and take the stairwell to their getaway car outside. One of the men grabbed a chair and stood behind Don Carlo, holding him steady in front of the window ledge.
The two men then lifted the older Mafioso onto the ledge of the window, standing erectly, facing Michigan Avenue down below. The rope around his neck began to jerk the foot of the king size bed, abruptly pulling it towards the bedroom wall as Marchese continued to struggle.
Just before pushing Don Marchese out of the eighteenth-floor window of the Blackstone Hotel, one of the men loudly said these final words:
“His Holiness sends his regards.”