The Silver Gun

by L. A. Chandlar

  A pause stretched out as we all considered what tomorrow would hold.

  “Damn it, Mr. LaGuardia!” Peter suddenly exclaimed. All our heads snapped to look at him. “Why didn’t you listen to what I said about Finn months ago? He cannot be trusted! Look what could have happened to Lane tonight! He did nothing!” said Peter, clenching his fists as he launched to his feet.

  “Peter, sit down,” said Fio kindly, but with authority that wasn’t about to be pushed around or disrespected. “I did give what you said thorough consideration. But there are elements to this that you know nothing about. And you’ll have to trust me, that I’ve made my decisions with great care.”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. LaGuardia. It’s just that the guy is always in the wrong place at the wrong time, and something about him just puts me on edge.” He sat down and scooted closer to Val, but I could tell she was still stung by his quickness to remove himself from her side at the first glimpse of conflict.

  “Lane.” Fio looked over to me. “What was your take on what happened tonight, as far as Finn is concerned?”

  “Well, there’s no question that he could have stopped him from hurting me at all,” I said, trying hard to stay focused on the business at hand versus how it had really affected me. “But he also didn’t egg him on, he certainly didn’t look pleased, and it was Finn’s words that urged Joseph to let me go.” Aunt Evelyn shivered. “I didn’t talk to Finn directly at all. I was so angry at the whole thing.”

  Fio asked, “Angry? Not scared?”

  “Oh, plenty scared. Never so scared in my life. Daley Joseph is revolting. And evil. I can’t even begin to describe what he’s like in person. I don’t know what Finn is doing, exactly, and I guess only time will tell what’s happening with him.”

  “That’s it?” said Peter, back to his obstinate tone of voice. “That’s it? You’re just going to shrug your shoulders and pretend that Finn is fine, just happened to be there, doesn’t do a damn thing to help, and you’re all just fine with that?”

  Mr. Kirkland said in his gruff voice, “Now, Pete, you’d better start getting yourself under better control, son.” Peter was way out of line.

  “I can’t stand it anymore. I can’t be part of this. You’re all being played. It’s not Danny and Roxy that you have to worry about, it’s Finn! Finn Brodie! I just . . . I just can’t do it.” He turned to Valerie. “I’m sorry, Val. I’ll see you some other time.” With that, he took up his things and left.

  Val was looking crestfallen and yet more than a little angry. She was in no mood to take charge anymore, so Aunt Evelyn did. “All right then, everyone. Roarke, you work on something to handle the press tomorrow concerning the Randall’s Island issue. Also, try to ask around about people Daley Joseph would work with to handle this threat. Mr. Kirkland and I will talk more about the valuables in our family and see if we can figure out any leads in that vein. Fio, prepare yourself for a press onslaught and think about how to handle Daley demanding your resignation. Valerie, I think you should stay the night. Lane might need some extra help tonight, and it will be good for you both to be together. Now, it’s late, and I think we should all be heading toward our tasks and to bed.”

  I smiled wearily. I was so tired. But I spoke up with a thought I had. “Actually, I have one more thing to bring up.”

  Roarke stopped in his tracks as he was heading to put his coffee cup in the sink. Evelyn said, “Oh, dear.”

  “It’s not that bad! Sheesh. It’s just something that keeps piquing my curiosity. When Uncle Louie, eh, dropped by to see Val and me”—I smiled sheepishly—“on a whim, I asked him if he knew Daley Joseph and Donagan Connell. He said no, but Val and I are certain that he was prevaricating. Any thoughts on that? Anything come to mind about a connection between the gangsters and Daley’s crew, maybe back when Jimmy was mayor?”

  Roarke and Fio both shook their heads as they rolled around the possibilities in their minds. “Not that I can think of,” said Fio. “But I think that would indeed be something to look into. Roarke? Keep that in mind while you’re digging around.”

  “Sure thing, Mr. LaGuardia.”

  Everyone left, and I slowly made my way upstairs with Val’s supportive arm around my waist, another hot tea, and a dutiful Ripley, who had been sent up with us, apparently to give his own vote of confidence. I had to admit, I did feel ten times safer with his bigger-than-life presence by my side.

  Val and I got ready for bed, and despite the relative warmth of the night, it felt so good to cozy down into the thick covers of the bed. We were quiet, staring at the reflections of the city lights on the ceiling, listening to the hum of the nighttime noises.

  “How’s your throat, Lane? Does it hurt to talk?” asked Val.

  “It’s much better, but I can tell there’ll be bruises tomorrow. I may need your help with makeup. But the tea and honey are making my throat feel fine.”

  “Are you okay?” she asked, in a deeper, quieter voice. I knew she meant Finn.

  “Hmmm. Still thinking about that one. I was shocked to see him with Daley. And . . . he’s come to the rescue so often, right at the exact moment I needed him. But not this time, not really. After Joseph let go of me, I kept blinking, over and over, trying to make the image I was seeing make sense. Then I saw something in Finn’s eyes. Just . . . this flicker. And I didn’t bring it up with the others because it sounds naïve, but I’m sure I saw this flash of the real him. But then it went away and there was just a frightening, blank look in his eyes. But that flicker was enough.”

  “Peter really hates him. He’s never said why, just that he thinks we shouldn’t trust him.”

  “Yeah, he made that pretty clear tonight.” I paused for a while. “Val? Are you all right?”

  “As you said, still thinking about that one,” she said, in an attempt at humor, but I could hear the disappointment in her voice. “Pete’s look was so accusatory when he found out about Uncle Louie. I mean, you’re not even dating Roarke, and he just stayed quiet until Fio told the rest of the story.”

  “Well, actually, Roarke wasn’t exactly quiet. He laughed,” I said, laughing out the word.

  “Yeah. It was such a stunning moment for everyone. Can’t you just imagine all the images going through their minds? The two of us sitting with Uncle Louie, for crying out loud, having a quaint, civilized chat.”

  “I know. What we must have looked like! You and I, our eyes had to be big as saucers when he walked up. And his bodyguards!”

  “They were something, weren’t they? Big as doors. Like being surrounded by trees with legs.”

  “With suits on,” I gurgled as the laughter overtook us. It felt such a relief to laugh. The stress and confusion of the day started to release their tight grip. After we stopped laughing and took a couple of deep breaths, I said, “I had a sort of date with Tucker today.”

  “What?” she exclaimed, sounding excited. “How’d that happen? How’d it go?”

  I told her all about it. Running into him, the walk through the park, the wine, laughing about the rowboats and gondolas. I even told her about the kiss. I also told her about his comment about how I needed to laugh more. Did I? I couldn’t quite shake that thought.

  “Do you like being with Tucker, Lane?” she asked.

  “Yeah. Yeah, I do. He’s easy to be with, fun, we laugh together.. . .”

  “Buuut . . .” she said, prompting me to go on with what I wasn’t saying.

  “There’s just something about Finn, Val. I feel . . . alive with him. It’s powerful.” I turned to her to see a wide smirk through the blue moonlight in the dark room. I returned her look with a withering, droll look of my own. “And it’s not just because I’m lusting after him with everything I’ve got.” She laughed. “I don’t know. It’s so complicated; I guess I’ll just have to wait and see how things play out.” I yawned.

  “Yeah. Because you’re so good at waiting.”

  “Shut up, Val.”

  “Night, Lane,” she chuckled.
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  “Night, Val.”

  CHAPTER 20

  Let us keep courage . . . and make distinction between good and evil.

  —ML

  The next morning, we were up early. My neck was just a little bruised, not too bad, considering. So after she helped me with some cover-up makeup, Val ran home to change, and we met up back at the office. We made sure we got there almost an hour before the usual time. We had no idea what was going to happen; we hadn’t heard what Fio and Roarke had planned. And I could only imagine what Daley Joseph had up his sleeve.

  Turns out, I underestimated Joseph, even in my imagination. However, I also underestimated the savvy and cunning public relations that Fio and Roarke exhibited.

  The press conferences were brilliant. A calm, cool, and collected Mayor LaGuardia answered every single reporter’s question with the absolute truth. Fio had released a late night statement to the press; they were always ready for him to give them a good story. The front pages of two major newspapers had accurate articles. Two other minor newspapers were pretty inflammatory. After the fabulous and calm press conferences, they notified the mayor’s office that they’d be printing retractions the next day.

  We at least knew which papers Daley might have influence over, and we could follow up some clues along those lines. The negative point being that he followed through on this first threat with the press, which further strengthened the validity of the big threat involving thousands of New Yorkers.

  In the late morning, I decided to go for a short walk. My throat was still sore, and I needed time to think and be by myself. I went outside, and since it wasn’t lunchtime yet, the city was lively, but not hectic with the hustle and bustle of the lunch hours. I thoroughly enjoyed the peace as I walked slowly along the paved paths across from city hall. I bought a hot tea from a vendor and sipped it, letting it soothe my throat.

  Of course, my thoughts were back with Finn. I didn’t know exactly what he was doing, and I had to admit that it was frightening to see him look so blank. But the fact remained, I still trusted Finn. Right now, I would do anything to talk to . . .

  And he was there.

  “My God, Finn, how do you do that?” I said softly. He was standing a few feet away under an expansive sycamore. Worry was etched into his brow. And something else. Something making his jaw clench. I walked over to him.

  “Are you okay, Lane? It took everything I had not to come to your house last night. But I knew everyone would be on alert, and I didn’t want to draw more attention to you if I was followed.”

  There it was. That same look that had just barely flashed in his eyes last night. The look that let me know what was going on. I nodded slowly. “I’m all right, Finn.”

  “Lane, I . . . I didn’t know he had that planned. He didn’t tell me. But if I’d jumped in, he would have known my feelings for you, and that would have been even more deadly.”

  “I know, Finn,” I said earnestly. I saw the battle in his eyes and written in turmoil all over his face.

  “Lane, I will never—ever—let him touch you again.” Then I recognized the emotion I was seeing in his eyes. Absolute fury.

  “I know that, too.”

  “I wish we were back on your couch, Lane.”

  “Me, too.”

  He let out a breath, his clenching shoulders and jaw relaxing just a bit. “I have to go,” he said, after he looked at me a few moments longer.

  “See you soon?” I asked, smiling a little.

  “Yes. You will,” he said, with grim determination. He started to walk toward me, like any other stranger would, mastering his demeanor, nonchalantly looking past me. I did the same, but just as we passed each other, he brushed my side and softly pressed my hand.

  * * *

  The following day in the late afternoon, a slightly worse-for-wear but beaming Roarke came into the office, dimples showing and everything. “Hey, Roarke! Nice going on the press coverage and conference. Fio loved the photos. As always.” I beamed right back at him.

  “Thanks! It was fun,” he said, with a devilish grin.

  “What do you make of the other papers and Daley’s connection with them?” I asked. “Does that bring anything to mind, any leads?”

  “Actually, yes, it does. And that’s one of my reasons for dropping by. Feel like doing some sleuthing, Lane?” he asked, eyes already glossing over at the anticipation of more adventure.

  “Sure! I can take off. I got here early, and things have slowed down considerably. Want to get a bite to eat on the way so we can talk about said sleuthing?”

  “You got it, Lane!” He took my arm, and we made our jaunty way to the diner across the street. I hadn’t had time for lunch, and I was starving. My throat was a tiny bit tender, but I was dying for a cheeseburger and fries.

  After I ate about half of my burger, I asked, “So what does the sleuthing involve today, Roarke?”

  “Well, I found out that a buddy of mine—”

  “Wait a minute, another buddy? How many buddies and informants do you have? How do you have the time?” I asked.

  He laughed. “I know, I know. Anyway, this guy, Steve, works at a coffee shop near the Gazette’s main offices. You know, the paper that had especially lurid details of how the mayor’s office was crooked?” I nodded and raised my eyebrows appreciatively. He went on, “Well, he keeps tabs on the interesting goings-on at the Gazette for me. Let’s just say that their less-than-veracious headline yesterday wasn’t the first time I thought they were fishy. So, after the papers came out, Steve kept his eyes open. He noticed a heavyset guy with black suit and white shirt coming out of the main building. That wasn’t that remarkable, but what was, was the two enormous, gorilla-sized men on each side of him. All three of them came into the coffee shop, sat at the bar, and ordered coffee and six pieces of pie, two each. The main guy was smirky, but what really set him apart was his face. It was Daley Joseph.”

  “The nose hairs,” I said, shuddering. Roarke laughed, but he hadn’t met Daley yet. After you met him, there was no room for humor. “You don’t understand. There’s something twisted in him. He’s . . . disturbing.”

  He abruptly stopped laughing and said queasily, “Yeah, that’s just what Steve said. Disturbing. Anyway, he overheard the guys talking about a small office on one of the back streets of SoHo. They mentioned a firehouse right across the street and that the building had a water main problem today. So I talked to another buddy at Ladder 13—shut up, Lane, yes, another buddy—and he knew exactly what street that was on. I got the address. You want to go check it out?”

  He looked delighted with himself. If it had even been Uncle Louie, I would have been more inclined to go. But I had had enough of Daley Joseph to last a lifetime. “Uhhh . . . I’m not sure,” I stammered, my hand subconsciously going up to my throat.

  “Oh, God, Lane, I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking about what you’d been through. What an idiot. I’m sorry.”

  I smiled at him. “Cut it out, Roarke. No big deal. I’m a big girl. If I don’t want to go, I won’t go.” I paused. “I don’t want to go.”

  “Well, before you say no completely, let me give you all the details and let me know what you think. It isn’t Daley Joseph’s office, it’s someone he’s working with. I’m wondering if it’s an explosives expert or demolition guy or something.”

  “In SoHo?” I asked skeptically. SoHo was a prime fashion area, not exactly where you’d place a construction office.

  “It’s on the edges of SoHo,” he said, in his defense. “And they mentioned that there’s some knockout who is there a lot. They didn’t mention names or descriptions, well . . . at least any helpful descriptions. . . .” He cleared his throat and blushed. Oh, brother.

  “Anyway, it’s too juicy not to check out. But I’m happy to go by myself, just let me know any thoughts you have.”

  “Well, you’re right, that does pique one’s interest. Maybe the knockout is Roxy,” I said ruminatively. “Huh. If it’s not Daley’s office, I
’m in!” He smiled, looking like a sly fox.

  * * *

  And I suddenly felt like a chicken being led astray into the conniving fox’s den. I had flashbacks of the Meatpacking District all over again. This time, it wasn’t so sleazy and slimy with disgusting substances flowing and skittering around my feet, but when Roarke said edges of SoHo, what he really meant was not SoHo. He meant Chinatown.

  “Aw, Roarke, this isn’t SoHo!” I argued, with a disgruntled look on my face. People flooded the streets with innumerable vendor wares and tentlike structures attached to the fronts of the buildings, flowing onto the already clogged sidewalks. My vision was assaulted by thousands of colorful banners up and down the buildings. It was extremely crowded, making it almost impossible to navigate because you couldn’t see very far in front of you or over your head. There were some delicious scents floating around, but then you’d suddenly be assaulted by strange odors, not to mention the shocking sight of dozens of headless chickens, ducks, and other disturbingly unidentifiable critters hanging from hooks in the front of restaurants.

  We located the building just off the main thoroughfare, and sure enough, there was a run-down firehouse across the street, just like Roarke’s source had said. The office we were looking for was a tiny affair with greasy windows. On the outside pane of the door, it read, SCHMIDT BROTHERS, but nothing about what exactly the Schmidt brothers did. From what we could see, there was a secretary inside.