“Yeah. Tapped on my bedroom window till I woke up. Past midnight.”
“Where do you live?”
“Eightieth Street, just off New Utrecht. He was a mess. Like I said, he’d been hidin’ all over the place. Inside this here church, in people’s sheds and garages. I gave him some of my clothes and he cleaned himself up a bit. Jesus, he was scared. I never seen anybody so scared before.”
“Scared of the goons who went to his house?”
“And somethin’ else.”
“What else?”
“He wouldn’t say. Man, he was so scared!”
“And now he’s dead, and you’re scared.”
“What’s goin’ on?
“I was hopin’ you’d tell me. He talk about a briefcase?”
“Yeah. Dirty pictures of some dame. Negatives, too. Blackmail kinda stuff.”
“Anything else?”
“Some papers, he said, some kinda legal file, but Teddy and Charlotte, they’d been workin’ on it.”
“Teddy and Charlotte? Charlotte Hutchinson?”
“Yeah. Jimmy’s sister, poor kid.”
“And they were doin’ what with this file?”
“Workin’ on it, that’s what Chick said. Chick said Teddy wanted to wait for Stinky to get out of jail before they did anything with it, but Charlotte, she said no, they had to do it right away. Then, when Teddy got shot, Chick tried to call Charlotte. She was the only one, he figured, outside a’ Stinky, who could get him outa the mess he was in.”
“Did he reach her?”
“Heck, I gave him all the change I had, and I’m guessin’ he made calls from every pay phone in Brooklyn while he was runnin’, but I don’t know if he ever got hold of her.”
“She try to find him through you?”
“She don’t know me from Adam. Like I said, I didn’t hang around with them. I’m studyin’ hard, stayin’ outa trouble.”
“Okay,” I said. I slumped against the back wall of the confessional.
“Is this when I’m supposed to make my act of contrition?” the boy asked suddenly.
“I told you, kid, I’m not a priest. And it doesn’t sound like you committed a sin.”
“I didn’t help Chick much.”
“Sure you did. You gave him clean clothes, and money to make phone calls. And you didn’t give him away.”
No, Lombardi, you were the one who did that, who’d frightened him out of the warm sanctuary of the church, into the cold, snowcovered street, into the path of a hollow-point .45 slug.
I was punishing myself with that thought, and had almost forgotten he was still there, when I heard his voice again.
“So, I guess Charlotte’s next, huh?”
“If she’s got that file, and if somebody who wants it knows she’s got it, yeah, she’ll be next.”
“You know Charlotte?”
“Not very well.”
“Me neither, like I said, but Stinky, he’s nuts about her. She’s a looker, and she’s tough, too, Stinky says. And she don’t take shit from anybody. Whoops!”
“What?”
“Jesus, I just cussed in church.”
“You did better than that, kid,” I said, making a smile he couldn’t see through the fine wire mesh. “You just cussed in a confessional.”
“You ain’t a priest, though.”
“Still a sin, kid, and probably mortal.”
He laughed.
“What’s your name?”
“Tommy.”
“You’re an okay kid, Tommy. Look me up when you’re old enough, and I’ll buy you a beer.”
“Heck, I’m old enough now.”
“Okay. Listen, I’m gonna leave now. You wait a few minutes after I’m gone, like you’re makin’ your act of contrition, then go act like you’re makin’ your penance up at the rail, and go home, and don’t say a word to anybody.”
“Sure, Mr. Lombardi.”
“Call me Eddie.”
“Okay… Eddie. And thanks. I guess I had a lot on my mind.”
“No problem, kid.” I got up to leave.
“Hey, Eddie?”
“Yeah?”
“I wouldn’t worry none about Charlotte.”
“No?”
“Uh uh. She’s tough, like Stinky says, and she knows how to use that thing. That’s what she told Chick and Teddy when she took it out of the briefcase.”
“The file, yeah. She knows what to do with it.”
“Naah, not the file. Thegun.”
CHAPTER
42
The kid even knew it was a .45. I quizzed him for a few more details, shot like a rocket from the confessional, and returned my borrowed shoes and cassock to Father Giacomo with barely a proper good-bye. Then I drove home, ten miles over the speed limit, just in time to find Tony and Angelo fist-fighting on my front porch.
When they reach the fighting stage, they’ve usually forgotten what they were arguing about and know only that they’re angry enough to trade blows. But this time they’d remembered.
“Saw her first!” yelled Tony, hitting Angelo with a glancing right hook on the head.
“Asked first!” Angelo countered, missing with a left but scoring with a ringing kick to the shins.
“Saw her first!”
“Doesn’t count! Asked first!”
Tony’s next punch caught me high on the shoulder as I stepped between them. I shot him a hostile look, shared it a moment with Angelo, and waited until their arms were at the sides with their palms open before I said a word.
“Okay,” was the word, but it was misunderstood. Tony tried a big looping right that bounced off Angelo’s collar bone and then caught my right ear. I shook it off, pushed Tony hard across the porch and shouted, “Inside! Now!”
The Barracuda Brothers were just pulling into their usual spot across the street. Whichever one was driving smiled and showed his pointy teeth. Only a few of the gossip ladies were outside, and only a few windows along that part of 16th Avenue were open, so Tony and Angelo hadn’t yet made a major disturbance. Major or minor, I was going to make sure it didn’t continue.
“Spill,” I said when we got inside. “You first, Ang.”
“Me!” Tony insisted.
“Ang” I said, staring him down.
“I get to be best man,” he said. “I asked first. Remember, when I was fixin’ the pane o’ glass?”
“Is that what this is about?! Jesus H. Christ!”
“Saw her first!” Tony chimed in, feeling that his turn had come.
“Big deal,” Angelo chimed back. “So, you gave her a little ride in your cab!”
“Two rides!”
“One!”
“Two! Took her to the church, didn’t I?”
“So what?”
“Two rides!”
“Wait a minute,” I said. “What’s this about church?”
“Ain’t nothin’!” argued Angelo. “Didn’t ask Eddie like I did!”
“Ang, shut up!” I snapped, staring hard to reinforce the thought. Then I turned my attention back to Tony.
“You took her to the church? What church?”
“St. Margaret’s. Where else’d you get hitched?”
“Keep talking.”
“She was waitin’ for me at the hack stand, see, like the first time when we just drove around and she said she wanted t’ know everythin’ about ya, ’cuz you and her wuz gonna get married.”
“Okay, so?”
“Well, she gets in my cab, but this time she don’t want to know no more about you. She wants to go to church, she says, so she can talk to Father Giacomo about the weddin’ and all.”
“She knew Father Giacomo’s name?”
“Naah, she just called him the priest, but she musta meant him. Who else would marry you and her ’cept him? Thing is, that time o’ night, I figgered Father Giacomo was prob’ly asleep. I asked her how come she couldn’t wait till tomorrow, but she said it was real important. She even gave me a’ extra tip fo
r drivin’ through the snow and all.”
“When did all this happen?”
“Las’ week.”
“When last week?”
Tony scratched his head, closed his eyes and turned them, still closed, toward Heaven. It was a familiar gesture, one I’d known since we were children. Whenever Tony couldn’t remember something, he simply closed his eyes, turned skyward, and waited for God to tell him. The gesture usually made me smile, but not this time.
“Could it have been Thursday night?” I asked.
He looked at me as he might look at God. “Jeez, I think it was, Eddie.”
“How late? After midnight, maybe? That’d make it early Friday morning.”
“Yeah. She…”
“She asked you to drop her off across the street from the church, like maybe in front of Mr. and Mrs. DiPaulo’s place?”
“Yeah. How’d you know that, Eddie?”
I didn’t answer. I backed off, turned and paced the few steps to my easy chair. The weight of what I knew pushed me hard into it and held me there. I suddenly had the solutions to three murders, but it was knowledge too unthinkable to accept. Three young boys, one of them her own brother. My mind recoiled from it, and bile rose up into my throat.
“Jesus, Tony! Why didn’t you tell me this before?”
“She said it was a secret! I didn’t want t’ spoil your wed-din’ plans. Jeez, Eddie, I’m sorry.”
Tears were forming in Tony’s eyes, begging my forgiveness, but I was too helpless myself to offer comfort.
“Eddie?” he said again, and then started to cry.
“I can’t talk to you now, Tony. Maybe in a little while.” I motioned to Angelo to lead him away, but they froze in place. I walked to the window and stared out at the street, trying to gather my thoughts and keep my emotions in check. When I turned back, my goombahs were still there.
“It’s okay, Tony,” I said, attempting a smile. “You didn’t know. Do me a favor, though, from now on. Come and tell me. You, too, Ang. Don’t keep secrets from me.”
They nodded. Tony wiped a final tear from his eye and asked, “You’re still gettin’ married, ain’t ya?”
“Not this time, and not ever to her. And you and Ang aren’t ever gonna have this fight again, because I made up my mind about this best man business a long time ago. If and when I get married, you’re both gonna be best man. Okay?”
Tony and Angelo were smiling when they left, and I put on a good act at the door about Charlotte and what a kidder she was. Substitute is for the ds, and I was right on the money.
CHAPTER
43
I solved my Scarpetti problem and my Charlotte problem in less than an hour. In my head, anyway. The Plan was supposed to start with a phone call to big sister Caroline, so I was surprised when sweet little Charlotte picked up the telephone.
She asked, “Hello?” and “Who is this?” twice before I announced myself.
“Caroline’s not here,” she said when she was through cursing me.
“You want to make a lot of money, Charlotte?”
“Look, asshole, my sister’s not here”
“But you’re the one I want. You’ve got a certain file from the D.A.’s office, and you don’t know how to cash it in without getting killed, right?” She went silent, so I kept talking. “I can help you get those papers to Scarpetti and get back alive. Alberto’ll pay ten grand. You and I do a fifty-fifty split. Interested?”
“You’re fulla shit, Lombardi.”
“Am I?”
“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”
“Don’t you?”
“Ten thousand, huh?”
“Five for you, five for me.”
“You’re nuts, Lombardi.”
“So much money, so little time. Think about it. You’ve got the papers, and I’ve got the offer, from Alberto Scarpetti personally. I’m the only one who can get you there and bring you out alive, Charlotte. I’m your protection and your only hope to cash in. Right now.”
“I don’t know what papers you’re talkin’ about.”
“Oh, come on, now, Charlotte. Just because you don’t like me doesn’t make me stupid. And just because I don’t like you doesn’t mean we can’t work together. You know, for a common goal.”
“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about, Lombardi.”
“Sure you do. I can help you get rid of the gun, too.”
“What gun?”
“You know. The .45 automatic. The big gun that makes bigger holes in people.”
“I’m hangin’ up, Lombardi.”
“Okay, Charlotte, you do that. But I’ll be at the hideout near the bridge tonight. Eight o’clock. You bring those papers, and we’ll make some money together.”
I hung up first.
It was one-thirty, later than I normally eat lunch, and I was hungry. I thought about the Plan as I ate and watched a light, steady snow descend. I was sure that Charlotte had the files well hidden, and just as sure that Scarpetti and his goons hadn’t yet connected Charlotte with the theft of the D.A.’s car. I recalled Alberto complaining about the puny thousand-dollar extortion demand. A frightened young voice demanding the money, another voice in the background telling the kid to hang up when Scarpetti tried to set too obvious a trap. Not a woman’s voice. Another young man. So Chick and Teddy had been the stalking horses. Theirs were the only voices that Scarpetti had been allowed to hear, not sweet little Charlotte’s. Only that .45 automatic had given her away, and only to me.
The Scarpetti file was worthless to Charlotte without a payoff that was both guaranteed and relatively safe. So the Plan was simple: let her consuming greed and fear lead her into making a monumental mistake, which was trusting me.
I passed the rest of the afternoon and early evening listening to the radio and cleaning my gun. The light snowfall had turned heavy. Three or four inches lay on 16th Avenue, and it just kept coming, looking more and more like a reprise of the blizzard of ’46—’47. The Barracuda Brothers were still across the street, running the motor of the hearse and trying to keep warm. I admired their persistence and sense of duty as only an ex-soldier can. I was counting on both qualities as part of the Plan, staking the success of the mission on it.
And my life.
I called Watusi. His leg was mending nicely, with no sign of infection and only a slight limp, which would pass. I didn’t tell him about the Plan, but I promised Desiree a visit over the weekend.
At seven-thirty, I shoveled off the car. I considered putting chains on the rear wheels, but I didn’t want to be late. Charlotte might not wait much beyond eight o’clock, if she showed up at all. My loaded .38 was tucked comfortably under my right arm, and my oversize topcoat hid the bulge. I let the engine run a few minutes, defrosted the windshield, and made sure that my two chaperones were awake when I drove away. I turned my headlights on, pulled away from the curb, and held my breath until the hearse followed a half a block behind me.
I tried to sort through Charlotte’s motives as I drove, but beyond greed and pure evil, there wasn’t much to sort. Besides, I needed all my attention just to keep the Chevy on the road. Nobody else’d been dumb enough to go out in weather like this, not even the snowplow drivers. Both sides of the street belonged exclusively to me and the Barracuda Brothers, who followed slip-sliding in my wake.
Sands Street looked peaceful, almost beautiful under its thick blanket of snow. I parked in front of the hideout and looked around. There’d been a few people on the sidewalk within the last hour, but no one now, and no other cars. I waited a minute for the Barracuda Brothers to turn the corner, but they didn’t, so I trudged around to the cellar door where Watusi and I’d gone in before. There were no other tracks leading in, which meant I was first. It could also mean that I was first and only, but I had to figure she’d show, just like I figured the Barracuda Brothers wouldn’t lose me in the storm.
The key was in its usual place, so I opened the cellar door and stepped ins
ide. I shook off the snow, careful to leave a clear trail upstairs, and went up to the first floor. Charlotte Hutchinson was standing behind the front desk, between the cobwebbed counter and the warren of room key slots.
“Surprise, surprise,” I said.
“That’s not the only way in,” she answered, pointing toward the cellar stairs. She smiled as she raised her right hand from below the counter. The .45 automatic was pointed casually at my heart.
“Take your coat off,” she said. “Get comfortable.”
“It’s kind of cold.”
“Take off the coat, Lombardi.”
I pulled my arm through the left sleeve and let the topcoat fall partly open. I tried to move my hand casually to the lapel, precious inches from my .38, but she stopped me with a quick wave of the automatic.
“Uh uh,” she said with a teasing smile. “Just let the coat fall off.”
I kept reaching, offering a smile of my own, as she took aim.
“Just let the coat drop, Lombardi. You know I can use this.”
“Five times already, I figure. Three hits, two misses. That’s a .600 killing average. Of course, they were all at close range.”
“Just like now. Let the coat drop.”
“Okay,” I said. I started to pull out the .38, but she stopped me again.
“Use two fingers,” she said. “By the butt. Put it on the counter.”
“You’ve been watching too many detective movies. They’ll warp you.”
“On the counter, Lombardi.”
I put the gun down, draped the coat over my arm, and stepped back. She slid the .38 under the counter and brought out a manila envelope several inches thick, plus a smaller file that looked like part of Shork’s collection. She opened that file and held up a photograph of a glassy-eyed Sissy with her legs splayed.
“Who’s this?” she asked.
“You tell me. Princess Elizabeth?”
“Who, Lombardi?”
“I’ve got no idea.”
“I didn’t know the D.A. went in for dirty pictures,” she added, and laughed. “Hell, I got more’n this babe in every department.”
“Yeah,” I said. “I know all about it.”
“No you don’t. You lost your chance, Lombardi, your one big chance to know the inner Charlotte.” She laughed at that, too. I waited until she stopped.
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