If Wishing Made It So

by Lucy Finn

  ‘‘Always in a hurry, and where are you going? Nowhere, that’s where,’’ Irene answered, not looking at Roger. Under her breath she kept muttering, ‘‘You can hold your damned horses. I’m not moving from this spot until I’m good and ready.’’ Irene could be just as stubborn as her husband. She decided to irritate him further by taking her time. She needed to dig her player’s card out of her purse and put it on the spiral card chain before they went another step.

  Annoyed at the delay, Roger looked around impatiently. He immediately saw something that caught his attention. It brought back memories of China, where he had been stationed with the merchant marines during the Korean War. He had seen men shot, robbed, and abducted off the street in Shanghai more than once. He had no doubt about what he was seeing here.

  ‘‘Hey!’’ he bellowed. ‘‘Hey! Those guys have Corrine!’’ He pointed with his cane.

  Like swarming ants, the parishioners of St. Vlad’s surged forward, the few men among them yelling loudly, and the ladies screaming in the high-pitched tones of the Algerian women in the film The Battle of Algiers.

  Far from being frail or aged in spirit, these were the rawboned, big-bodied sons and daughters of Slav, Czech, Pole, and Russian miners and factory workers. They shared an ethnic memory of suffering and injustice that went back generations. They weren’t born with silver spoons in their mouths. They knew how to work. And they knew how to fight.

  Sal turned to check out the sudden noise behind him. He found a screaming gray-haired mob closing in on him. He threw up his arms to protect his face as Annie whacked him with her purse. Simultaneously Roger jabbed Sal hard in the kidneys with the tip of his cane. Irene, meanwhile, whose godmother had owned a neighborhood beer garden and thus given Irene plenty of exposure to the art of the bar fight, leaped at Puggy with her house keys in her hand, raking them across his cheek.

  Puggy would have gunned her down like a dog, he was so incensed about the scratch on his face. But he didn’t have a chance. Father John, Scranton’s Golden Gloves champ of 1954, rabbit-punched him in the back of the neck, then spun him around to give him a hard right cross that landed with enough force to send Puggy’s nose sliding sideways with a sickening crack, deviating his septum with a vengeance.

  Puggy howled and lost hold of his gun, which skittered into the nearby bus parking lane. With his nose already spurting dark red blood, he desperately tried to block the vicious uppercut which then broke his jaw and sent him falling backward.

  At the same second that Puggy was meeting FatherJohn’s iron fist, Maria Sosnowski, two hundred and twenty-two pounds of good healthy adipose tissue created over the years from a diet of haluski and kielbasa, hauled off and kicked Joey so hard in the butt that he went to his knees.

  By this time, about thirty enraged members of St. Vlad’s had set upon the three men, bludgeoning them with purses, shoes, and Ed Rushinsky’s crutch. Sal pulled Joey from the melee, Puggy dragged himself free, losing his blood-drenched shirt in the process, and the three men ran for their lives.

  None of the old people were good at running anymore. They let them go, shaking their fists and hurling Slavic curses in their wake.

  Annie gently took the arm of a dazed Corrine and asked her if she was hurt. Corrine said she was shook up but fine. She looked around frantically for her sister.

  Hildy, drained of all color and white as paper, was safely standing next to Irene Samuels, who was patting her arm in a comforting manner. While Father John was dispatching Puggy, the cane-wielding Roger had grabbed Hildy and dragged her away from the fight.

  Hildy had briefly struggled to return to the donnybrook, but Roger held her back. Now that it was all over, Hildy looked around, desperately worried that one of the seniors had gotten hurt because of her. She saw Janey Snoglachek sitting on the tile floor.

  ‘‘Oh no,’’ she cried and hurried over to the figure who was dressed entirely in black from her babushka to her orthopedic shoes.

  ‘‘Are you injured?’’ She put her arm around the heavyset woman and helped her stand.

  ‘‘I’m fine, dear,’’ she assured Hildy. ‘‘I didn’t fall. I gave my walker to my friend Franny so she could bean that fellow who was kidnapping you.’’

  ‘‘Oh, I’m so sorry. You could have been killed.’’ Hildy wanted to cry, she was so distressed.

  ‘‘Now, now, dear,’’ Janey said. ‘‘I’m ninety-one years old, but I’m not about to let those hooligans get away with that kind of nonsense. And we kicked their butt, now didn’t we.’’

  Hildy didn’t want to talk to the police. She knew very well why the men had attempted to abduct her. The last thing she wanted to do was spend the next several hours lying her head off to the authorities. She certainly didn’t want the incident to get in the newspapers.

  While the members of the St. Vlad crowd were comparing stories and waiting for security to show up, as they surely would any minute, Hildy slipped next to Corrine and said, ‘‘Let’s get out of here.’’

  ‘‘Don’t we need to report this?’’ Corrine asked, clearly puzzled.

  ‘‘We need to go. I’ll explain later. Really, come on.’’

  Holding her sister by the elbow, Hildy moved them at a fast jog to her car, but this time she looked around carefully to make sure the garage was clear of assailants. Nothing like locking the barn door after the horse is stolen, she said to herself. But she had learned a lesson she’d never forget.

  When they were safely on the open road, and she had convinced herself that nobody was behind them, Hildy turned to her sister. ‘‘Are you okay? I’m so sorry that happened.’’

  ‘‘What do you mean, you’re sorry? What’s going on, Hildy? You look as guilty as the time you borrowed my green cashmere sweater without asking me and somebody at the football game spilled a Coke all over it.’’

  ‘‘I’m sorry because I should have expected somethinglike that to happen. I should have been more careful. I know why those men were trying to kidnap us. Two of them attacked me a couple of nights ago. I guess I’m in a lot of trouble.’’ Hildy focused on the road as much as she could. It was easier to talk if she didn’t have to face Corrine, who was shooting suspicious looks at her.

  ‘‘So why did they try to abduct us?’’

  ‘‘Remember that bottle I found next to the Slingo machine?’’

  ‘‘Sort of. It was some souvenir thing.’’

  ‘‘No, it wasn’t a souvenir. It was really valuable and the owner wants it back.’’

  ‘‘So he’s going to kidnap you to get it? That makes no kind of sense. Why didn’t he just ask you for it? You were going to take it to the Lost and Found anyway if I remember correctly.’’ Suspicion now warred with confusion on her face.

  ‘‘I couldn’t return it to him because of the genie that was inside the bottle. The guy who wanted it back was a Mafia don, you know, like the Godfather, and he wanted the genie to make him boss of bosses. After that, he could use the genie’s powers to take over organized crime in the entire country.’’

  Corrine struggled against the seat belt to turn and get a good look at her little sister. ‘‘Did you hit your head? Do you have a fever? Maybe we better drive to a hospital instead of to your cottage.’’ Corrine reached over and put the back of her hand on Hildy’s forehead.

  ‘‘Hey! I’m driving. I can’t see. I’m not sick. I’m not crazy. I’m telling you what happened. You have to believe me on this.’’

  ‘‘Believe you?’’ Corrine’s voice came out in the high soprano range. ‘‘Should I believe you if you said you just visited Santa Claus at the North Pole or helped the Easter Bunny dye eggs? You’re talking crazy. There couldn’t have been a genie in that bottle. Genies are in fairy tales. They’re not real. Seriously, Hildy, what’s going on? What kind of trouble are you really in?’’

  ‘‘Look, I know it sounds impossible, but this genie—he’s from ancient Rome, by the way—is real. He’s the one who made Michael run into me on the beach, becaus
e I wished I’d see him again. Understand? Now he’s trying to help with getting Michael to realize he really loves me, which I don’t know is such a good idea.’’

  Corrine was shaking her head. ‘‘I’m really worried. You’re talking crazy, Hildy. It’s scaring me.’’

  Hildy let go of the steering wheel for a minute with her right hand and reached over to give Corrine a reassuring squeeze. ‘‘Don’t get upset. Look, you’ll see when you meet Tony. He’s as solid as you and me, except when he changes into smoke and goes back inside his bottle.’’

  Corrine put her face in her hands. ‘‘Oh, God help us. My sister has totally lost her mind.’’

  Naturally, when Hildy and Corrine reached the cottage and went inside, the genie wasn’t there.

  ‘‘So where is he?’’ Corrine asked.

  ‘‘I gave him the day off. I told him to go to the beach, but he wanted to go see Kiki. She thinks his name is Count Arigento and he wants her to do a photo shoot of him and George Clooney in Italy. He should be back soon.’’

  Corrine continued to look at Hildy as if she were totally bonkers.

  Hildy remembered she needed to check on the cats. ‘‘Just make yourself comfortable. I need to call Mrs. Baier next door.’’

  ‘‘Why?’’ Corrine asked. They had just walked in the door and her sister had to call the neighbor? It wasn’t like Hildy at all.

  ‘‘She’s taking care of Shelley and Keats. They’re over at her house playing with Henry so Jimmy the Bug doesn’t steal them when I’m not home.’’

  ‘‘Oh, that explains it.’’ Corrine started looking around the little house, trying to grasp some clue about what the hell was going on. The kitchen floor shone with wax. The windowpanes sparkled. The sink had regained its original whiteness after years of yellow stains. The place was spotless. That wasn’t like Hildy either. A cold chill dragged its skinny finger up her spine.

  Hildy was on her cell phone, telling Mrs. Baier she was back. Then she said, sure, since Henry was having such a good time, the cats could stay for a while longer. Once she ended the call, she turned to Corrine. ‘‘You don’t believe a word I’ve said, do you?’’

  ‘‘Noooo. How could I?’’

  ‘‘Take a leap of faith! Just for once, believe in me!’’ Her face started to crumple. She needed her sister to trust her. To Hildy, love should always trump reason.

  Corrine plucked a tissue out of the box on the coffee table and handed it to Hildy. ‘‘Come on, don’t get upset. Your mascara will run. I do believe in you, I’m simply having a little trouble understanding what’s going on. Can you give me more information? Maybe it’s a matter of interpretation, you know? Like a Rorschach test.’’

  Hildy sniffed. ‘‘Look, Corrine, I’ll give you proof. Do you notice anything different about me?’’

  Corrine studied her sister. ‘‘You are looking exceptionally pretty, except that the tip of your nose is all red. Your hair looks terrific. I didn’t know that stylist in the mall gave you such a great haircut. Very flattering.’’

  ‘‘Right. Only the mall stylist didn’t give it to me. It was the genie who created it. He threw gold dust into the air and it happened. And wait, wait, look at this.’’ Hildy hurried over to the large closet next to the bathroom and flung the door open. ‘‘Donna Karan originals. Now where would I have gotten them? How could I have afforded them? The genie conjured them up for me. He thought seeing me all dressed up would impress Mike. Maybe it did. I think it might have.’’

  Hildy threw herself into one of the white wicker chairs. ‘‘That’s what I really need to talk with you about. The whole thing with Mike is all screwed up. He didn’t even try to call me today. Maybe he’s not going to.’’

  Corrine went over to the closet and inspected the two dresses Hildy had shown her. They appeared to be genuine couture clothes, but they could be knockoffs. They didn’t resemble anything Hildy had ever worn though.

  With one ear, she listened to Hildy rattling on about Mike Amante. In her mind, the problem of getting back with an old boyfriend paled beside the fact that her sister was being pursued by the Mafia. That wasn’t her imagination. The two of them had nearly been kidnapped. Lord knows what could have happened. It was terrifying. She decided to speak her mind.

  ‘‘Hildy, look, I don’t want to be insensitive or anything about Mike and you, but I’m concerned about what happened back at the casino. You’re in danger. I don’t know why those men are after you, but I’m scared for you.’’

  Hildy sighed. She had been as clear as she possibly could be about the situation. ‘‘Oh, Corrine, don’t you understand? Those men are after you too!’’

  Chapter 20

  Surveillance work is ninety percent boredom. The other ten percent covers the gamut of feelings from the exhilaration of nailing a target in the act to the sick-making stress that accompanies Oh shit, I lost him.

  With the needle stuck firmly in the ninety percent column, Mike had a severe case of buttock paresthesia, more commonly known as tingling tush. He had been sitting in the rental car for three hours with nothing to do but listen to the radio.

  Then a blue van pulled up in front of Marty’s. A rush of adrenaline spiked through Mike’s veins. He grabbed the cell phone. His partner answered on the first ring. ‘‘Hey, Jake.’’

  ‘‘Yeah? What’s cooking?’’

  ‘‘A contractor showed up at Marty’s. His truck says he’s from Fast Builders in Delaware.’’

  ‘‘The guy’s probably putting in an order for equipment. Let’s hope he’s a repeat customer. Some of the other stolen machines may be sitting on his lot. I’ve got a list of serial numbers.’’

  ‘‘You want me to follow him back to his place?’’

  ‘‘No, just read me the address off the side of the van.’’ Mike did.

  Jake decided he’d drive down to the guy’s operationin Delaware and snoop around. They would need to watch Fast Builders and be ready to follow when the contractor went out with a flatbed to pick up the stolen machines.

  Mike got the picture quickly. ‘‘Right. We don’t know where Marty’s going to grab the machines or who’s going to steal them, but we can be there when they make the delivery. Then we can follow the thieves who are making the drop-off back to the boss.’’

  ‘‘Yeah. Hopefully their boss is Jimmy the Bug and not Marty. We have to wait and watch. Our best-case scenario is to identify some of Marty’s other customers if we’re going to make any money by recovering the stolen equipment.’’

  Mike couldn’t see how they were going to get the names of the other customers except to keep watching for contractors’ vans to show up at Marty’s. ‘‘I think we’re going to need more manpower than the two of us. You and I can’t keep sitting around in Camden.’’

  ‘‘No problem. I’ll call in some of the guys I use for security. We’ll figure out how to pay them later.’’

  ‘‘Agreed. Look, I need a favor. See if you can send one of those guys down here to watch Marty now. I’ve got some business to take care of later today.’’

  ‘‘Yeah, monkey business. Well, do what you have to do.’’

  One of the things Hildy loved about Ship Bottom was the proximity of everything she needed. Today, it turned out she needed ice. She walked a block up to the boulevard and she bought a large plastic bag of it from the big square machine. Then she used some to make a batch of homemade lemonade.She added a sprig of fresh mint and dropped a plump ripe strawberry in each of the two glasses she poured.

  She had put some of the remaining cubes in a dish towel. Right now, the dish towel lay across Corrine’s forehead. Corrine was stretched out on the chaise lounge in the sunporch.

  Hildy’s older sister had not reacted well to the news that she was implicated in Hildy’s problems with the mob. Corrine had faithfully watched every one of the eighty-six episodes in all six seasons of The Sopranos. She had a vivid imagination. She envisioned her and Hildy, each tied to a chair, their eyes staring sightlessl
y, a dark round hole from a deadly bullet in their foreheads. The image horrified her. Her knees weakened. She began to sway. Her eyes rolled back in her head.

  The Caldwell girls were what their relatives called fainters. Corrine hit the floor with a crash.

  Corrine’s loss of consciousness had happened some time before Hildy served the lemonade. At present Corrine remained in a semiprone position on the chaise and sipped the cool beverage. She had had time to calm down and collect her thoughts. ‘‘Look, the way I see it, the guy wants the bottle, give it to him. It’s not worth dying for.’’

  Hildy dragged a wicker chair next to the chaise so they could both put their lemonade glasses on a little round wicker table. ‘‘I told you why I couldn’t do that. It would be unethical to hand the means to build an empire to this remorseless criminal. Besides, I promised Tony I would help him escape from Jimmy the Bug. He doesn’t want to go back to a life of crime.’’

  Corrine moaned. ‘‘Hildy Hildy Hildy. If this were the 1970s I’d think someone dropped a tab of acid in your drink. But it’s not. I don’t know why you keep insisting that there’s a genie in the bottle, except that you’ve become … you’ve become … eccentric. You’re just like Elwood and the giant rabbit in that old movie Harvey. I suppose it’s something I can learn to live with. But you need to make your peace with Mr. Big.’’

  ‘‘He’s not Mr. Big. It’s Bug, and his real name is Torelli. I can’t make my peace with him. He’s a stone killer. I need to get him taken off the streets, arrested, thrown in the slammer. That’s what I need to do.’’ Hildy’s eyes were on fire. She felt as if she were on the edge of an epiphany. ‘‘Yes! That’s it. That’s the answer.’’

  Corrine shook her head under the bandana of towel-wrapped ice. She held the compress in place with one graceful hand. She kept her eyes closed. ‘‘Don’t you watch any television at all? These Mafia guys keep running the Family from prison. John Gotti did. So did Johnny ‘Sack.’ You have this guy arrested and put away, and he’ll get you for it.’’