by Ed McBain
“Yes, and she refused.”
“It was in the right direction.”
“You gave me an inferiority complex.”
“I gave you an insight into the mysterious ways of womanhood.”
“Oh, bullshit,” Angela said, and Carella laughed aloud. “It’s not funny. I’m not going to marry him. I don’t like anything about him. He’s a worse boor than you are. And he swears more. And besides…” She stopped. “Stevie, I’m afraid. Stevie, I don’t know what to do. I’m terrified.”
“Come on,” he said, “come on,” and he took his sister into his arms and stroked her hair and said, “There’s nothing to be afraid of.”
“Steve, he’s killed people, do you know that?”
“So have I.”
“I know, but…we’re going to be alone tonight in…in one of the biggest hotels in the world…right in this city…and I don’t even know the man I’m about to marry. How can I allow him to…to…”
“Did you talk to Mama, Slip?”
“Yes, I talked to Mama.”
“And what did she say?”
“She said, ‘To love is to fear nothing.’ I’m translating loosely from the Italian.”
“She’s right.”
“I know, but…I’m not sure I love him.”
“I felt the same way on my wedding day.”
“You didn’t have all this church hullabaloo.”
“I know. But there was a reception. It was just as nerve-wracking.”
“Steve…do you remember one night…I was sixteen, I think. You’d only been a cop a short time. Do you remember? I’d just come home from a date, and I was sitting in this room having some milk before I went to sleep. You must have had the four-to-midnight shift because it was pretty late at night, and you were just coming in. You stopped in here and had milk with me. Do you remember?”
“Yes. I remember.”
“Old Birnbaum’s light was burning across the way. We could see it through the window there.”
He looked across at the window and through it over the long expanse of his father’s back yard to the gabled house belonging to Joseph Birnbaum, his father’s closest friend and neighbor for forty years. He could remember that spring night clearly, the sound of insects in the back yard, the single light burning in Birnbaum’s attic room, the thin yellow crescent of a moon hanging listlessly over the sharply slanting roof of the house.
“I told you what had happened to me that night,” Angela said. “About…about the boy I’d dated and…what he’d tried to do.”
“Yes, I remember”
“I never told Mama about that,” Angela said. “You were the only one I ever told. And I asked you if this…happened all the time, if this was what I could expect from boys I dated. I wanted to know what to do, how I should behave. Do you remember what you told me?”
“Yes,” Carella said.
“You said I should do whatever I felt was right. You said I would know what was right.” She paused. “Steve…I’ve never…”
“Honey, shall I get Mama?”
“No, I want to talk to you. Steve, I don’t know what to do tonight. I know that’s awfully silly, I’m twenty-three years old, I should know what to do, but I don’t, and I’m terrified he won’t love me any more, he’ll be disappointed, he’ll—”
“Shhh, shhh,” he said. “Come on now. What do you want?”
“I want you to tell me.”
He looked into her eyes and he took her hands and said, “I can’t do that, Slip.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’re not a baby in cotton slips any more, and you’re not a little girl who’s suddenly puzzled by her first kiss. You’re a woman, Angela. And there isn’t a man alive who can give a woman instructions about love. I don’t think you’ll need them, honey. I really don’t think you’ll need them.”
“You think it’ll…be all right?”
“I think it’ll be fine. But I also think you’d better start dressing. Otherwise you’ll miss your own wedding.”
Angela nodded glumly.
“Come on,” he said. “You’re going to be the prettiest goddamn bride this neighborhood ever had.” He hugged her, rose, and started for the door.”
“Was…was Teddy frightened?” Angela asked.
“I’m going to give you one bit of brotherly advice,” Carella said. “I won’t tell you whether Teddy was frightened or puzzled or innocent or whatever. I won’t tell you because marriage is a private thing, Angela, built on faith more than anything else. And whatever happens between you and Tommy—tonight or forever—you and he will be the only two people to ever know about it. And that’s one of the frightening things about marriage…but it’s also pretty damn reassuring.” He went back to the bed, and he took her hands again, and he said, “Angela, you have nothing to worry about. He loves you so much he’s trembling. He loves you, honey. He’s a good man. You chose well.”
“I love him, too, Steve. I do. Only—”
“Only nothing. What the hell do you want? A written guarantee that life is just a bowl of cherries? Well, it isn’t. But you’ve got a clean slate, and you can write your own ticket. And, honey, you’re starting with one of the major ingredients.” He grinned. “You can’t miss.”
“Okay,” she said, and she nodded her head emphatically.
“You going to get dressed?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
“Okay,” she said again, more emphatically. She paused. “But I think you’re a louse for not giving me at least one hint!”
“I’m not a louse. I’m a loving brother.”
“I feel better, Steve. Thank you.”
“For what? Get dressed. Your blue garter is very pretty.”
“Go to hell,” she said, and he closed the door behind him, chuckling.
The boy’s name was Ben Darcy.
He was twenty-six years old, with bright blue eyes and an engaging grin. He wore a blue mohair suit, and he walked across the back lawn with a long-legged lope, coming to a stop before the back porch where Tony Carella sat with his guests.
“Hello, Mr. Carella,” he said. “Lots of activity going on. Are you excited?”
“The caterers,” Tony said, looking out across the lawn at what seemed to be miles of white tablecloth. “You’re early, Ben. The reception doesn’t start until five.”
“But the wedding’s at three. You don’t think I’d miss Angela’s wedding, do you?”
“I think maybe she’s gonna miss it herself,” Tony said. “You know my daughter-in-law, Teddy? This is Ben Darcy.”
“I think I’ve seen you before, Mrs. Carella,” Ben said. Teddy nodded. Her back was killing her. She wanted to ask for a straight chair, but she knew Tony had given her the most comfortable chair on the porch, and she did not want to offend him.
“And these are some friends of my son,” Tony said. “Miss Maxwell, Mr. Hawes, and Mr. Kling. Ben Darcy.”
“Just call me Ben,” Ben said, shaking hands all around. “I’ve known the Carellas so long I feel like a part of the family. Is there anything I can do to help, Mr. Carella?”
“Nothing. Just keep out of the way. For setting up those tables and things, they’re making me a poor man.” He wagged his head forlornly.
“He’s the richest man on the block,” Ben said, grinning. “Everybody in the neighborhood knows that.”
“Sure, sure,” Tony said.
“When we were kids, he used to give out free rolls at the back door of his bakery. But then he started pinching pennies. No more rolls.” Ben shrugged.
“It was a free Salvation Army soup kitchen there,” Tony said. “I figured out one day I was giving away five hundred rolls a week to kids who come to the back door! I also figured out it was the parents sending the kids around to suck Tony Carella’s blood. No more rolls! Absolutely not! Cash on the line! No credit in my bakery!”
“He still gives away rolls,” Ben said warmly. “All you need is a hard-l
uck story, and Tony Carella begins weeping. If the story’s good enough, he’ll give you the whole damn bake shop.”
“Sure, sure. The Rockefeller Foundation, that’s me. I’m in business for my health.”
Ben nodded, grinning. Idly, he asked, “Are you gentlemen in the baking line, too?”
Kling, ready to answer, glanced at Hawes first. Sitting with the sunlight glowing in his red hair, the white streak starkly naked against the flaming crimson, Hawes resembled nothing less than a baker. He caught Kling’s eye and said, “No, we’re not bakers.”
“That’s right,” Ben said. “You’re friends of Steve, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Are you policemen?”
“Us?” Hawes said. He laughed convincingly. “Hell, no.”
Teddy and Christine looked at him curiously, but they did not betray puzzlement.
“We’re theatrical agents,” Hawes lied unashamedly. “Hawes and Kling, perhaps you’ve heard of us.”
“No, I’m sorry.”
“Yes,” Hawes said. “Miss Maxwell is one of our clients. She’s going to be a big star one day, this girl.”
“Oh, really?” Ben said. “What do you do, Miss Maxwell?”
“I…” Christine started, and then stopped.
“She’s an exotic dancer,” Hawes supplied, and Christine shot him an angry glare.
“An exot—?” Ben said.
“She strips,” Hawes explained. “We’ve been trying to convince Mr. Carella here to let Christine pop out of the wedding cake, but he doesn’t think it’s such a good idea.”
Tony Carella laughed. Ben Darcy looked unconvinced.
“Hawes and Kling,” Hawes repeated. “If you ever become interested in show business, give us a ring.”
“I will,” Ben said. “But I don’t think I’ll ever become interested in show business. I’m studying to be a dentist.”
“That’s a noble profession,” Hawes said. “But it lacks the glamour of the entertainment world.”
“Oh, teeth can be pretty exciting,” Ben said.
“I’m sure,” Hawes answered, “but what can compare to the fever pitch of opening night? Nothing! There’s no business like show business.”
“I guess you’re right,” Ben said, “but I’m glad I’m studying dentistry. I imagine I’ll go into periodontal work later on.” He paused. “It was Angela who first convinced me to become a professional man, you know.”
“I didn’t know,” Hawes said.
“Oh yes. I used to date her. Date her? Hell, I began taking her out when she was seventeen and I guess I camped here on the Carella doorstep for the next five years. Wouldn’t you say so, Mr. Carella?”
“Yes, he was a pest,” Tony agreed.
“She’s a wonderful girl,” Ben said. “Tommy’s a very lucky guy. There aren’t many girls like Angela Carella around.”
The screen door behind Ben clattered shut. He turned abruptly. Steve Carella came out onto the porch.
His father looked up. “She’s all right?” he asked.
“She’s all right,” Carella said.
“Girls,” Tony said mysteriously, and he shook his head.
“Hello, Ben,” Carella said. “How are you?”
“Fine, thanks. You?”
“So-so. You’re a little early, aren’t you?”
“I guess so. I was just out for a walk, thought I’d stop by to see if I could lend a hand. Is Angela all right?”
“She’s fine.”
“Everything seems to be okay at Tommy’s house. The limousine’s there already.”
“Oh?”
“Yep. Sitting in Tommy’s driveway when I walked by there.”
“Good. Then I better get started.” He looked at his watch. “Honey, Bert and I will be riding with Tommy. You don’t mind, do you?”
Teddy looked up at him. He could read in an instant any nuance on her mobile face. Deprived of speech since birth, her face had become a tool of expression so that meaning was instantly transmitted through her eyes and lips. He had expected displeasure at his announcement but, reading her face now, he saw only puzzlement and realized she had not “heard” him. Standing behind her as he’d spoken, he had not shown her his lips to read. He knelt beside her chair now.
“Bert and I are going to the church in Tommy’s car. Is that all right with you?”
There was still no displeasure on her face. The puzzlement remained, and with it came a suspicious narrowing of the eyes. He knew in that moment that he had not fooled his wife. He had not told her of the incident with the black widow spider, but Teddy Carella—in her silent world—had already fathomed that something was amiss. The presence of Hawes and Kling was not the fulfillment of a social amenity. They were here as policemen, not wedding guests. She nodded, and then reached up to kiss him.
“I’ll see you at the church,” he said. “Are you all right?”
She nodded again. Her back was still killing her, but she sensed her husband had more important things on his mind than the trials of pregnancy. She flashed a sudden, radiant smile. Carella squeezed her hand. “Come on, Bert,” he said.
A black Cadillac limousine was parked in the driveway on the blind side of the Giordano house when Carella and Kling arrived. The car sat far back from the street, at the end of the concrete strips, close to the garage. The driver was nowhere in sight.
As they walked up onto the front porch, Kling said, “I make it for a gag, Steve. I think we’re going to a lot of trouble for nothing.”
“Well, maybe,” Carella answered, and he rang the doorbell. “It doesn’t hurt to be careful, though, does it?”
“I guess not. I get the feeling, however, that Cotton would much rather be elsewhere with his blonde.” He paused. “But… that’s show biz.”
“Huh?” Carella said, and Tommy opened the door.
“Steve, hi! Come on in. I was just dressing. Do you know how to tie a bow tie? I’ve been trying for the past half-hour and getting nowhere. Come on in.” He looked at Kling curiously.
“Bert Kling,” Carella said, “Tommy Giordano, my future brother-in-law. Bert’s with the squad, Tommy.”
“Oh. Oh, yeah. Come on in. I feel pretty silly about all this, Steve. I think it’s a gag.”
Kling caught Carella’s eye. “Well, gag or not,” Carella said, “Bert and another friend of mine will be at the wedding and the reception.”
“I appreciate what you’re doing, Steve,” Tommy said, “but in thinking it over, I’m pretty sure it was a gag. Come on into the bedroom, will you?”
They followed him through the house. In the bedroom, Tommy took a white tie from the dresser top and handed it to Carella. “Here,” he said. “See what you can do with this damn thing, will you?”
He faced Carella. He lifted his chin, and Carella began working on the tie.
“I checked on Sokolin,” Carella said.
“Yeah?”
“I don’t want you to start worrying…but he’s in this city. Got out of jail in April.”
“Oh.”
“Still think it’s a gag?”
“Gee, I don’t know. You think a guy would carry a grudge all this time? For something that happened in Korea? Or really, for something that didn’t even—”
“Were you in Korea?” Kling asked, interested.
“Yeah. You?”
“Yeah.”
“Army?”
“Yeah.”
“I was in the Signal Corps,” Tommy said. “With the Tenth Army Corps at the Inchon landings.”
“I was in on the Seoul liberation,” Kling said. “With the Ninth Corps.”
“Under General Walker?”
“Yes.”
“Hell, we linked up with the First and Ninth around Seoul!” Tommy said. “Jesus, I’ll bet we were close enough to touch.”
“You were on the drive to the Yalu?”
“Sure.”
“How do you like that?” Kling said. “It’s a small world, all righ
t.”
“And you’re a cop now, huh?”
“Yes. What are you doing?”
“I work in a bank,” Tommy said. “I’m training to be an executive.” He shrugged. “It’s not really what I want to be.”
“What do you want to be?”
“I’d like to be a baseball announcer. I used to be a pretty good catcher when I was a kid. I know the game inside out and backwards. Ask Jonesy when he gets back.” He turned to Carella. “You didn’t happen to see him downstairs, did you?”
“Who?” Carella said. “There. Your tie’s tied.”
“Jonesy. My best man. My best friend, too. He went downstairs about a half-hour ago, said he needed some air.”
“Was he in a monkey suit?”
“Yeah.”
“Didn’t see anybody dressed for a wedding. Did you, Bert?”
“No.”
“Well, he’ll be back,” Tommy said. “Jesus, I hope he has the ring. What time is it, Steve?”
“Two o’clock. You’ve still got an hour. Relax.”
“Well, I’m supposed to get there a little earlier, you know. I’ve got to go back to the rectory. I’m not supposed to see the bride until she comes down the aisle. Your mother is a lulu, Steve.”
“How so?”
“I’m not complaining. She’ll probably make an excellent mother-in-law. But I called a little while ago, and she wouldn’t even let me talk to Angela. That’s going a little far, don’t you think?”
“She was dressing,” Carella said.
“Yeah?” Tommy’s eyes glowed. “How does she look? Beautiful, I’ll bet.”
“Beautiful.”
“Yeah, I knew it. Was she nervous?”
“Very.”
“Me, too. You want some coffee?”
“No, thanks.”
“A little drink?”
“No. Do you want to hear about Sokolin?”
“Sokolin? Who’s—? Oh, sure. Sure.” Tommy pulled on his jacket. “There. I’m all set. How do I look? Did I shave close enough?”
“You shaved close enough.”
“I’ll probably need another one by the time we check in tonight. I’ve got a heavy beard. You blond guys are lucky, Bert. Do I look all right, Steve? Is the tie straight?”
“The tie’s straight.”