“And why are their pants so short?” I asked. Tucker chuckled.
“I kind of like it out here after all. There’s a little breeze, totally different surroundings for a change. You can hear the wind rustling the leaves in the trees. It’s nice,” he said, with a contented smile.
I smiled back. It was nice.
“Are you sure it’s not romantic, Lane?” He leaned closer to me, looking intently into my eyes. He whispered, “I want to tell you something, come closer.”
I leaned closer to him, trying hard not to make the boat rock too much. “Yeah?” I whispered back.
“Little closer.” I edged closer and leaned in until I was a few inches from his face.
“The dark circles are gone from your eyes, Lane. It’s good to hear you laugh. Have you been laughing enough lately?” he asked, with a genuine look of concern on his furrowed brow. His strawberry blond hair took on red highlights in the late, golden sunshine. I could just start to see the blond stubble on his cheeks, which made his face look even nicer.
His statement and question surprised me. I softly said, “I’m not sure. I guess it’s been a while.” Which made me a little sad; I love to laugh.
“You need to laugh more, Lane. You need to be happy more. Not for other people, just for you,” he said, still talking softly. I looked into his blue eyes and paused, taking in what he had said. He leaned in the last few inches and kissed me gently. His lips were warm and soft.
He leaned back, smiling just a little. “I’ve wanted to do that again for a while.”
And that’s when one of the oars slipped and sank into the murky green water. I hated oars.
* * *
After going in circles a few times and trying to use our hands to propel us in a forward direction, laughing more and more, we were able to flag down the gondolier and let him know that we needed another oar. He brought us one, and we made our way back to shore.
We walked slowly back to my house. It was dusk and once again my favorite time in the city. He took my hand, and I thought of our last date. And how that had ended . . . with Finn.
We were both lost in our own thoughts, neither speaking. Tucker suddenly pulled me aside a couple of blocks before my house, right by my favorite flower stand.
“I’m not ending it like last time,” he said, then took my face in his hands and gave me a surprising kiss that was not-as-gentlemanly as the last time. “Let’s get together again soon, Lane. Maybe a gondola ride next?” he said, with his open smile.
After I got my breath back, I said, “Thanks, Tucker. It was fun. It was good to laugh.” He nodded, still smiling, but with his mouth closed. He put his hands in his pockets and turned 180 degrees to walk in the opposite direction.
A large bunch of summery roses, bright yellow tipped in fiery orange, caught my eye. I bought them, then slowly walked the last couple of blocks home, letting my thoughts run through the afternoon. I liked being with Tucker. I ran down the list of his virtues: He was a nice guy, he had a stable job, he was a good kisser, he was around.... But still . . .
I turned down 80th, which was all townhouses, no restaurants or grocery stores, and therefore darker than the avenues. A cat meowed from the top step of a townhouse on my side of the street. It broke my deep thoughts, and I looked up to see a large man with a black suit, white shirt, and black bow tie coming straight toward me. What made my heart stop was when I got a good look at his large, repulsive face. Daley Joseph.
CHAPTER 19
As we advance in life it becomes more and more difficult, but in fighting the difficulties the inmost strength of the heart is developed.
—ML
When he saw the recognition dawn on my face, he gurgled a grunt of amusement. He was bearing down on me like a freight train, and with one meaty hand, he grabbed my throat, pushing me against a wall. My flowers dropped to the sidewalk. I tried to scream, but no air would escape my pained throat. My feet were practically lifting off the ground. I tried to kick out, but it was equal to a child kicking out at a heavyweight champ.
“Joseph, do you really think that will help our cause?” drawled a very familiar and hoped-for voice.
But my mind reeled, as he didn’t say what I wanted him to say and didn’t goddamn do what I needed him to do! The hand at my throat loosened suddenly and let me drop to the ground. My knee hit the pavement where my roses lay crushed and falling apart. I couldn’t speak; my throat felt like I had eaten hot coals, and I was gasping, with my hands around my neck. I had never felt fear and rage like I felt at that moment.
I looked up at Finn, searching his face for anything remotely like what I’d felt from him the last time we saw each other. I saw something, a flicker, then a flat wall of emptiness.
“Mr. Joseph, shall we leave her your message? We may be getting some unwanted attention soon,” said Finn.
“True, my friend, true,” Daley grunted. The my friend almost made me vomit. The revulsion this man brought out in me was primal. I knew the game, I knew the choices, but my God . . .
Gritting my teeth in hatred, filled with anger and determination not to be ruled by the terror of this travesty of a man, I savagely rasped, “What’s your fucking message?”
“Huh,” he grunted. “I like her moxie.” A muscle twitched in Finn’s jaw. “Well, sweetheart, tell Fiorello the big one is coming. Unless he gives up his office, he’ll have the blood of thousands of New Yorkers on his hands. Oh, and one more thing. If he doesn’t give up his office by tomorrow morning, we’ll throw in a little press incentive by happening to mention that little bomb blast at Randall’s Island that you so neatly swept under the rug. Got it?”
“Got it,” I rasped through my gritted teeth, getting to my feet, clenching my fists. I was careful not to look at Finn again.
“Come on, we need to get going,” said Finn.
Mr. Joseph gave me one last grin and tucked an old cigar into his mouth, and then they strode leisurely away, turning down Lexington. Like they hadn’t a care in the world.
I walked in the other direction; my house was only about ten houses away. It felt like ten miles. The searing rage was melting, the nausea rising. I threw up in the street a couple of houses away, which made my throat feel like it was on fire again.
I was just about to the bottom of my steps when I heard, “Hey, Lane! There you are! Peter and I have been looking . . .” Her sentence died on her lips as Peter and Valerie came up to me. My legs gave out, and Peter caught me as I started to slump.
“Jesus, Lane, what happened?” said Peter.
Val took over, hands on her hips. “Pick her up, Pete. Aunt Evelyn will know what to do. Let’s move it!” I loved Sergeant Val right then. I had no more to offer, and I needed someone to take charge for a while.
He muttered as he picked me up, “Jesus, every time I come over here, some new drama. I bet Finn’s inside, too. And Roarke. Maybe even Eleanor.”
At the mention of Finn’s name, my heart tightened and a lump formed in my throat, threatening tears, but they didn’t overflow. When Val threw the door open, I was shocked to see that Pete’s mutterings had been pretty accurate. Fiorello, Roarke, Aunt Evelyn, and Mr. Kirkland were sitting in our front room. They had been talking, but as they turned to greet us, their pleasant chatter turned dead quiet.
Aunt Evelyn was on her feet in an instant. “Lane, are you all right?” I nodded miserably, and thank God, Val was still in charge. Hands still on hips, she started dictating orders and pointing at everyone.
“Pete, take her to the little couch by the kitchen. Mr. Kirkland? I think Lane could use some tea, heavy on the honey. I think her throat has been injured. Aunt Evelyn, bring us some comfortable clothes for her, please. Fio, stop flailing your arms and get Roarke to come into the kitchen. We all need to talk once we take care of Lane.”
I actually started to smile to myself. I heard several obedient yes, ma’ams, which amused me, as Val was all of twenty-three years, like me. I poked Pete in the chest and pointed to the
bathroom instead of the couch.
Everyone quickly and obediently followed orders. I changed clothes and freshened up. We all regrouped in the kitchen. Some at the pine table, a couple on the love seat, and the others on stools at the kitchen counter.
Mr. Kirkland spoke up first after I got a few giant swigs of tea down. “How are you feeling, Lane? Can you tell us what happened?”
My throat felt much better already. I was still pretty raspy, but it wasn’t on fire anymore. I relayed what had happened to my stunned audience, ending with the audacious threat that Mr. Joseph had sent to Fio. After a moment, everyone started locking eyes with everyone else. Mr. Kirkland looked at Aunt Evelyn. Peter looked at Val. Fio looked at Roarke. I rubbed my aching forehead.
Val said quietly, “So, Finn was there with Daley Joseph? And he didn’t help you?”
Peter’s eyes darted to Fiorello. “See? I knew it! He’s been bad before, he’s bad now. I tried to tell you, Mr. LaGuardia.” His fists were clenching and opening, clenching and opening.
I stayed quiet. I thought about saying things like, But he did stop him from choking me. . . . He had this look on his face for one fleeting second. . . . I know it looks bad. . . . But it all sounded stupid and like the things an insipid heroine says in a cheap melodrama. The fact remained, I didn’t exactly know what Finn’s involvement was, and only time would tell.
I squeaked, “Can I ask you something?” They all nodded. “What were you meeting about when we came in?”
Mr. Kirkland and Aunt Evelyn looked at each other and raised their eyebrows as one. Roarke said, “Yep, time to get all our cards on the table, folks.” He was smiling his good old, closed-lipped smile with the dimples showing.
Aunt Evelyn took up the line of conversation. “Well, Kirk and I have been talking about the case.” I smirked at Fio and mouthed, See? Case. He smirked back and shook his head. I saw him sigh with relief. I felt the same way. It slowly felt like this horrifying night was getting back to normal.
“And we’ve been thinking about why Lane has been targeted, besides the link to Fio. Such as being pushed onto the tracks, but also the mugging in the subway a little while later, as well as the theft at the house.”
“Attempted mugging,” I rasped. Roarke laughed. Valerie closed her eyes and shook her head.
“And we came up with a theory that we wanted to throw out to you,” said Fio. “Roarke, can you fill her in?”
Roarke said, “Sure. I got back to Detroit this week, Lane. It was a last-minute visit, but I got the chance to ask around some more at the casinos. I finally found an older guy who was a blackjack dealer back when all that happened to you and your family when you were ten—in 1923.
“He remembers a woman who started to hang out with the gangsters. Remembers her because of a few things. One, she was hanging out with this certain gangster who was close with the formidable Uncle Louie, and when Uncle Louie came to town, one took notice. Two, she had long, light blond hair and a couple of other great . . . ah, eh . . . assets. And three”—he looked pointedly at me—“she had a kid, a young girl. She would sometimes bring the poor thing to the casinos while she hung out with the guys. They had the waitresses look after her.”
“My God,” Val breathed. “Roxy.” Roarke nodded.
He went on, “That’s what I’m thinking. And if Uncle Louie was around, then it could have very neatly happened that Danny was around. Maybe when Roxy was older, like seventeen, they took a liking to each other, and he brought her out here to New York City.”
I asked, “So, why would that make her target me? It seems like there have been so many events, yet there could be a dozen reasons they all happened, and one of those reasons could simply be coincidence.”
Aunt Evelyn broke in, “That’s where Mr. Kirkland and I come in with our hypothesis.” We all looked at them.
“I have been a collector of art. And our family, including Matthew and Charlotte, Lane’s parents, has been known for owning valuable works of art and books, of course, for their shop. We are wondering if Roxy and Danny got wind of this and were hunting for treasure. Lane has her notebook that she carries with her from her parents. Perhaps they were trying to get at that for clues about anything valuable here.”
Peter, in true policeman form, asked, “So, do you have many valuables here that could continue to make you a target? And Lane, do you still carry your notebook with you?”
I shook my head and replied, “No, after I almost lost my purse in the subway and in that mugging, I’ve kept it here. I can’t replace it.”
Aunt Evelyn replied, “And I can’t think of anything of value that would stand out to others, things that could be stolen and sold easily. There are valuables, but things that are important to me and, like I said, difficult to sell to make an easy buck.”
Roarke spoke up. “Lane, if you don’t mind me asking, whatever happened to your parents’ property and home furnishings after they died? You surely don’t have them all here.”
Aunt Evelyn piped in. “Well, Lane was so young when the accident happened, we didn’t think it would be a good idea to empty out her childhood home back then. There is a couple that lives next door, and they’ve maintained it over the years. Most of the bookstore stock was moved to the house. We sent a truckload of books to local libraries, but the special ones were taken to the house in Rochester. Mr. Kirkland goes back every now and then to check on things.”
“You do?” I blurted out. “I didn’t know that.”
Mr. Kirkland shuffled bashfully and said, “Yep.”
Fiorello had been silently taking it all in with his hands twined together, working his fingers as his mind worked on the puzzle pieces. “So let me get this straight,” he said, after he cleared his throat. “Roxy has a shared past with Lane from Rochester. She may have found out about and decided to get her hands on the valuables left behind from Lane’s parents, which would explain the burglary and purse-snatching. It still doesn’t explain why they would want to do her harm, like the push into the subway. Perhaps she also has a personal motive. Then, there seems to be a political motive somewhere in here. There’s the Randall’s Island incident, but we still don’t know what that was supposed to achieve outside of just creating mayhem. Maybe forcing my resignation or something. In addition to that, we have tonight’s developments. A clear connection with Daley Joseph, and he, for certain, has made it clear that he’d like to get me out of office.”
The room gave a collective inhale of breath as we prepared to face what that might mean. “Daley Joseph and presumably his partner, Donagan, came out with a direct threat to me and my office. We will talk about Finn’s involvement later, but for now, we need to think through the threat and all that implies. First, is this threat a viable one?”
Peter and Roarke both nodded their heads with an air of absolute conviction. Peter said, “Daley Joseph is more than capable of doing the harm. I’m wondering what exactly he has in mind for that kind of attack and what kind of manpower and finances would be needed to pull it off. And what about the mob? Have we discounted their involvement?”
Valerie and I involuntarily looked at each other and then, as one, at Fio. After that lunch with the unexpected meeting with Uncle Louie, we had gone together to tell Fio about it. But after that, we hadn’t talked about it with anyone.
Pete, Roarke, and Aunt Evelyn all said an accusatory, “What?” Fiorello took ownership of that one and said, “Well, right after Danny was killed, Val and Lane had a surprise visit at lunch from . . .” He must have belatedly realized how everyone was going to react, because he winced. “Louie Venetti.” The whole room erupted.
“Uncle Louie!”
“You had lunch with Uncle Louie?”
“Oh, my God, you’ve got to be kidding me.”
Roarke just laughed. Pete gave a disparaging look to Val as he shifted a few inches away from her, garnering a look of bewilderment from her. I looked over at Fio and said with my eyes, Do something!
Obliging
ly, he said, “In all fairness to Lane and Val, I asked them not to share that with anyone. Even the police force, Peter. If word started getting around that the mayor’s aide had a meeting with Venetti, it would have caused a press frenzy and all sorts of difficult things to maneuver.” He then filled them in on what Uncle Louie had said that day.
“If we can trust what he said, I believe they’re not part of this. At least, not at the moment. And speaking of tricky things to maneuver. . . Roarke, do you have any suggestions on what to do about Daley’s threat of the press scandal he’ll release tomorrow regarding the attempted bombing at Randall’s Island?”
“Hmmm . . . yes, I’m sure we can do a late run tonight. I’ll call the boss. He loves a good late night story from Hizzoner.” I smiled to myself at Fio’s nickname from the press and city officials. Tucker continued, “I think we should keep it low-key and cool. Danny did a schlock job of it. It wouldn’t have done the kind of damage that it seems Daley Joseph is talking about, so why’d he do it? Anyway, I’ll put some thought to it. And I’m sure you’ll want to make your own statement, so I’ll get that from you when we’re done here, Mr. LaGuardia.”
“Thank you, Roarke. And now, what about my leaving the office of mayor?”
“No,” I said, simply but indignantly.
“Oh, Fio, don’t be ridiculous!” exclaimed Aunt Evelyn, amid a general violent murmuring of objection. He smiled his LaGuardia smile that reminded me of Lou Costello, clearly pleased.
“Plus,” said Roarke, “I think he’ll move on whatever he has planned regardless. I have a buddy who was unlucky enough to run into both Mr. Daley and his alter ego, Mr. Joseph, on a couple of occasions. Lane, from what you’ve described to me, the day you first saw him on the subway platform, you saw Daley. He’s a disgusting slob, wears stained, rumpled clothing. Tonight you saw Joseph. Just as deplorable, but thoroughly clean, always a white shirt and black suit. Both are criminally insane personalities, but where Joseph was able to control himself when Finn talked to him and he let you go, Daley wouldn’t have. He wouldn’t have cared about the consequences. He’s unpredictable and lacks control, the animal-torturing kind of guy,” he said, with a curl of derision to his lip. “He takes pure pleasure in harming others. It will be his personality that will do the destruction; Joseph handles the business. And whatever he has planned, Daley will be salivating over the possible mayhem it will cause. There is no way on God’s green earth that he will stop what they’ve put into motion. So, Fiorello, it’s pointless to resign.”
The Silver Gun Page 17