“Yeah, Ben, I guess that’s right. I’ll try not to be so rough on Miss Ross.” The tension flowed out of him, and soon he was happily flinging himself off the one-meter board, satisfied and content.
Matthew’s entrance into the dome had been observed by Legs Thomas. The tall gunman had been in the living quarters built over the garage, playing poker with Faye Dietrich and Louie Baer. The apartment consisted of three bedrooms, two baths, and a large combination living-room/kitchen/dining area. Legs and Louie shared one bedroom, Faye Dietrich and Frenchy Doucett, a second, and Savage shared the third with Perry Miller, the chauffeur.
“There goes the kid,” Legs commented. “Guess he’s going for a swim.”
Faye glanced up with irritation. “You want to play cards or not?” He shuffled the deck adroitly, dealt the cards, and won the pot. His face was moody, and Legs asked, “You get any more flak from the old man or Frank about that bomb, Faye?”
“No!” Dietrich shuffled again and threw the cards down with unnecessary force. His eyes were hooded, but the anger in them didn’t go unnoticed by Thomas. Faye Dietrich had a terrible temper, and the scalding tongue-lashing that Dominic Lanza had administered to him after the night of the birthday party had left a raw scar on his ego. He had never taken such words from any man, and when it was over, he had burst forth, “Mr. Lanza, I’ll take the rap for the bomb—but I’m telling you what I’ve said all along. We’ve got to hit Martino! You know better than anyone a guy like Johnny Ring can only be stopped one way. Don’t waste your time on anything else!”
Dominic had responded angrily, “I will decide when there’s something to be done, Faye! You keep this place secure—or I’ll find somebody who will!”
The shame of being dressed down by Lanza had burned in Dietrich’s soul, and he had taken it out on the men who worked for him. Legs and Louie had caught their share of his acid tongue and glanced at each other nervously. The game went on for fifteen minutes, and when Louie got up to get a bottle of beer, he glanced out the window. “Hey— there goes Abby,” he gloated. “Going swimming, looks like.”
Legs was still smarting over the harsh words that Faye had laid on him and could not resist a smile. “Seems like everybody’s become a health nut since that guy Savage got here, don’t it? Abby’s been spending so much time in that pool, taking swimming lessons, she must be trying for the Olympics, right, Faye?”
“Shut your mouth, Legs!” Faye ordered. Getting to his feet, he threw his cards down and walked to the window, then stared at the dome. He had been after Abby for a long time. It wasn’t just her sultry good looks that drew him, though that was a factor, but sooner or later whoever married Abby would be Eddy Lanza’s son-in-law. And Eddy Lanza was a weakling. It wouldn’t be hard, Faye had recognized long before, for the right man to handle Abby and her father. And the old man was dying. That left only Frank Lanza. Phil had been a different matter, as Faye had known—a tougher man than Frank, one who would crush anyone who tried to move him out. But Frank had not been on the rough side of the empire; he had a sharp mind, better than a lawyer’s, really, and it had been Phil who had done the dirty work.
But Savage’s coming had changed things, and Faye stared balefully at the dome, hating Legs for hinting that Abby was drawn to Savage—but knowing it was true. Got to break Savage down! The thought had rattled around his mind for days. Suddenly he turned, insisting, “Louie, come with me.”
“Me, too?” Legs asked.
“No. Just Louie.”
The two men went downstairs, and as they crossed to the dome, Faye made up his mind. He was clever, and he knew that he had to keep himself clear. But he was adept at manipulating others—and Louie Baer was a tool that he could use. “Louie,” he announced suddenly. “I don’t like what this guy Savage has been saying about you.”
“About me?” Baer’s thick features showed surprise, and his little eyes stared at Faye. “What do you mean, Faye? He ain’t said nothin’ to me.”
“No, but he’s done some talking about you, Louie,” Faye reported. “He’s telling it around that your fights were all fixed—and that you took a lot of dives.”
This simple man—childish actually—had not been very bright to begin with, and his long career in the ring had blunted his features and slowed down his thinking. He was a hulking man, but good-natured and willing to please. Louie had pride in one thing—his record as a fighter. He had never been very good, for he had been too slow for the great ones. But he had been tough and a crowd pleaser—a good show for six rounds before the main event. He had never taken a dive, and he had never been involved in fights big enough to have one fixed.
Now he stopped dead still, his cloudy mind struggling to take in Dietrich’s words. “Savage said that, Faye?” His brow wrinkled and a trace of anger lit his small eyes. “He’s a liar! I never took no dives!”
“The guy is no good.” Faye nodded. “I don’t like him around.” He saw that Louie was chewing on the thing, and quickly added, “Come on.” He walked inside and saw at once Savage on the low diving board, with the kid and Abby standing on the side of the pool, listening as he explained something.
Ben looked up as the two men entered, and he walked back, leaping to the tile floor. “Anything wrong?” he asked quickly.
“Just checking,” Faye barked. He cast a glance at Abby, noting the bikini, a new one, and his lips tightened. She was watching him, enjoying the whole thing, which did not surprise him. She was a teaser. Always had been—but that would change pretty soon, he thought.
Louie had followed Faye into the pool area, his mind working slowly. He had had no grudge against Savage, had felt rather friendly in his foggy way, but the lie that Faye had planted was growing. It seemed to become a living entity, and suddenly one thing seemed clear—he had to show Savage that he was wrong and shut his mouth from telling any more lies.
Louie suddenly moved toward Savage, brushing against Faye in his single-minded hunger for action. Knocked to one side, Faye called out at once, “Hey, what you think—?”
But Louie interrupted him, hoarsely grunting, “You lied on me, Ben!” And before Savage was aware of his intention, Louie caught him high on the head with a straight, hard left.
The blow was a disaster to Ben, sending a shower of sparks in front of his eyes as he was driven back, sprawling on the cold tiles. He was vaguely aware that Louie was coming at him, and he heard Faye gasp, “Cut that out, Louie!” Without being in the least aware of it, driven by pure instinct and a thousand hours of training and instruction, he rolled to one side and came to his feet. Louie came at him at once, right hand cocked, left driving hard, but Ben moved his head two inches and slipped the blow. The force of it carried Louie into him, and both of them staggered, trying to keep their footing.
Everything suddenly jumped into focus for Ben as he threw the big man away. Baer staggered, caught himself, then put his hands up in the professional manner. “I’m gonna hurt you, Ben!” he mumbled. He was overweight and slow, but there was a ponderous power in his massive arms, and hundreds of professional brawls had given him craftiness and confidence.
Ben cried out sharply, “You’re out of line, Louie. Slack off!”
“You said my fights were fixed,” Baer insisted doggedly. “I got to show you what I can do, Ben.”
He came forward, and Abby screamed, “Faye—stop him!”
Faye moved forward a step, mouthing, “Come on, Louie, cut it out!” But he knew that the hulking man moving forward would not hear—and would not obey if he did.
Matthew watched, his face pale as paper, as the huge form of Baer moved toward Savage. He had longed to grow up tough, but now that actual violence was in front of him, he had a sickening feeling in his stomach. Ben Savage looked almost frail next to the bulk of Louie Baer, almost like a young boy. He was wearing cutoffs and a thin T-shirt, and the trim form looked fragile, measured against the other man. Baer was six feet two and weighed two hundred and twenty-five pounds, while Savage, at
five feet ten, weighed no more than one seventy-five.
Then as Baer lunged forward, throwing another ponderous left that would have ended the fight, Ben suddenly twisted to his left. He pivoted on his left leg, and the right leg—merely a blur of motion—shot out and caught Louie directly in the stomach.
It caught the big man coming in and stopped him as abruptly as if he had run into a brick wall. A hoarse grunt came from his lips, and he stood there staring at Savage, his eyes rolling. But he had taken many blows, and it was his pride that he never went down until he was out. With a cry of mindless rage, he rushed at Savage, fists high.
Matthew had seen the movies featuring martial arts, loved them, in fact. But they left out something—the pain and tearing violence of the act. They were drama, with catsup for blood, and he had always known that it was not really so. It was like watching a ballet, with the victims falling to the floor, not really hurt, just completing the choreography.
But as Savage’s hands sliced at Baer’s neck, then at his cheek, the sudden rush of scarlet blood that splattered down the puffy face was not catsup—it was real, as was the pain that filled the boxer’s eyes.
Ben hated what he was doing, but he knew that this big man would never quit. He had stopped Baer with sledging blows to the head, but they were not enough. Again he swiveled, and again a fierce kick caught Baer in the stomach. It boomed audibly, and the air gushed out of the chest. Louie’s eyes rolled upward, and he collapsed forward in a final and boneless manner. Savage broke his fall, not able to hold the big body, but turning him so that the face was not battered against the hard tiles.
The suddenness of Louie’s collapse and the almost tangible silence that followed were disrupted only by the sound of the gurgling of the water as it was sucked in by the pumps. Faye stood as if frozen to the spot, his eyes fixed in disbelief on Louie. Then he lifted his gaze and said in a strained tone, “Don’t know what got into him!”
Savage studied Dietrich, then bent and helped Louie into a sitting position. Soon his eyes fluttered; then they opened. He was sucking in air greedily and finally croaked, “Hey—Ben!”
“Take it easy, Louie,” Savage directed. “Don’t try to get up.”
Dietrich suddenly turned and walked rapidly from the scene, his head held high. As soon as he left, Louie groaned but started pulling himself to his feet. His face was still a putty color, but he was not angry. “You shouldn’t of told them lies about me, Ben,” he gasped. “I never took no dives.”
Savage was still holding his arm. “Why, Louie, I’ve never said a word about you.”
“No kidding?” Louie touched his stomach gingerly, then shook his head. “Somebody said you did.” He shook his shoulders together, then asked anxiously, “I didn’t hurt you, did I, Ben?”
“No. I’m okay, Louie.”
“Well, that’s good. Guess I’ll mosey along.” He shuffled out, his feet half dragging, and disappeared through the door.
“Gosh, Ben!” Matthew came to stand close to Savage, staring up at him. “He’s so big—and was a fighter! And you just—you just—”
“I took him, Matt,” Ben pronounced quietly. “And there’s guys who can take me. And I know guys who can take them.”
But Matt was not listening. “Will you show me how to fight like that?”
“You may get through your whole life without a fight,” Savage said. His face was sober, and he was staring at the boy with an odd expression. “I hope so. Anyway, no more diving lessons. You better shower.”
Matt nodded, turned at once and left for the showers. Abby was silent, and when Ben turned to her she admitted, “I was scared, Ben.”
“So was I.”
“No.” She shook her head, and there was no craft about her at that moment. “No, you weren’t afraid. But you’d better be.”
“Of Louie?”
“Of Faye,” she warned. “He set it up, didn’t he? He’s jealous of me.”
“Go take a shower, Abby.” Ben suddenly felt tired and a little angry. “Stay away from him. He’s no good.”
Abby blinked, and then her lips drew together. “Well, that makes a pair of us, doesn’t it now?” She walked away, leaving Savage alone. He looked at the great curved space over his head, then went back, picked up the wand, and began cleaning the pool.
When Louie found Faye, he said, “He didn’t tell no lies on me, Faye. Somebody must of told you a lie.”
“I guess so, Louie.” Faye was looking at the big house, and after a while he ordered, “Go get Legs and Frenchy.”
“What you want with them, Faye?”
Faye Dietrich spoke slowly. “To do a job, Louie. A job that should have been done a long time ago!”
At dinner that night, Ben and Dani ate with the family. Pat dominated the talk, giving a fish-by-fish account of the trip to the aquarium. When he ran down, Eddy broke in, “Oh, by the way, Ben, I’d like to have you drive Abby to a concert tonight. She’s got a date, but I’d feel better if you went along.”
Ben raised one eyebrow, a quizzical look in his hazel eyes, only commenting, “I’ll take care of it, Mr. Lanza.”
“It’s one of those wild rock concerts, I’m afraid,” Eddy noted ruefully. “But you won’t have to go in and listen to it. Just see they’re safe on the way and back.”
After the meal was over, Dani whispered to Ben, “How does it feel, being a chaperone?”
“Rather have a root canal.”
Matt came up just then, confessing, “Miss Dani, I—I’m sorry about today.”
Dani blinked at him in surprise and recovered quickly. “Why, I’m glad to hear you say that, Matthew. It wasn’t much fun without you.”
Matthew blushed, then winked at Ben before leaving.
“Did you have anything to do with that?” she asked.
“Not me. His own idea. He’s a good kid.”
At that moment, Abby came up to announce, “Well, I’ve been stood up. He just called. Daddy said I could still go, if you’ll sit through the concert with me.” Abby smiled and pouted. “You will, won’t you, please, Ben?”
It was Ben’s turn to blink. He didn’t dare look at Dani, but allowed, “I guess so, Abby.”
She laughed and left at once—and then he did look at Dani, who advised, “Ben, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Can’t keep a kid locked up all the time,” he responded weakly.
Dani’s voice was pure polar ice. “She—is—not—a— kid!”
“I promise to obey all the scout laws.”
“Ben—you know what she’s like. You’re playing with fire.”
“You tell me not to go, I don’t go. You’re the boss.”
Dani gritted her teeth, longing to say, All right—don’t go! Instead she took a deep breath, bit her lip, then nodded. “You have a charming way of worming your way into doing exactly what you want to do, Ben Savage.”
“Spoiled rotten,” he agreed. Then he smiled. “Not to worry. But Eddy is right. Every time one of these kids leaves these grounds one of us ought to go along. Now, would you like to go see Sting with Abby?”
“I’d rather die! But be careful.”
“You, too, Boss.”
She said no more but was watching an hour later when the pair of them left in the Continental. It was, she knew, a special car, originally made for a nervous racketeer in Chicago. The most interesting thing about it was that it was bulletproof. “I wish Ben had on something made of the same material to protect him from that—kid!” Dani muttered.
Night was beginning to fall, and she was about to leave the window, when a movement caught her eye. She peered through the glass, then suddenly wheeled and left the room. Leaving the house, she ran quickly to the front, and there, under one of the massive oaks, found Rosemary Lanza struggling to get up from where she had fallen.
“Rosemary!” Dani cried, and stooping over to grasp the woman’s arms, she smelled raw whiskey. Shaking her head, she said, “Come on, Rosemary. Let’s get into th
e house.”
“Dani—’zat you?”
“Yes. Now come along.”
She half led, half carried the drunken woman around to a side entrance, hoping that the children were still in the den, watching TV. She was thankful to see nobody and had just reached the foot of the stairs with her burden, when Dominic Lanza suddenly appeared. He stared at the two women, saying nothing, his face a mask.
“Rosemary isn’t feeling well, Mr. Lanza,” Dani explained quickly. “I’ll take care of her.” He said nothing, did not move, until Dani started up the steps. Then he turned and walked back down the hall, his back bent.
Dani got Rosemary up the stairs and into her room. Frank Lanza was out of town, so there was no danger of encountering him. She helped Rosemary undress, got her into a gown, and led her to the bed.
“Dani?” Rosemary’s blue eyes were open, and she suddenly seemed afraid. “Who is it?”
“Lie down, Rosemary. It’s Dani.”
“Dani?” Rosemary reached out as she lay back, groping for Dani’s hand. “Don’t leave me—please!”
“I’ll sit here for a little while,” Dani told her quietly.
The woman lay still, but her grip was still tight on Dani’s hand. Finally she whispered, “I’m so sorry!”
“Don’t think about it, dear,” Dani said. “Go to sleep.”
“I—don’t want to! I have such awful dreams!”
Dani sat there in the semidarkness for a few moments. Something was coming to her, and she waited until she was sure. Finally she said, “Rosemary, God can give you a great gift. The Bible says, ‘He giveth his beloved sleep.’”
Rosemary shook her head. “God doesn’t—love me!”
“Oh, yes!” Dani continued quickly. “The whole Bible is saying that—God is love.”
“I’ve been so awful! I—I can’t—!”
“Let me pray for you, Rosemary. That God will do two things. Can you understand me? First, that you will sleep with no bad dreams. And more than that, that you’ll be shown that God does love you.” She waited, then began to pray, “Lord, I ask that you give my sister a sound rest. Take away all the bad dreams. She is your beloved. Show her your love. I ask it in the name of Jesus.”
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