***
Eddie walked in ahead of him, and they were seated at a table by the window overlooking the highway. The time was getting towards mid-morning, and there were a fair number of people in the diner. The waitress came up to the booth. "We want a mess of scrambled eggs, two steaks, and a mess of fried potatoes. Coffee." She took the order and went away.
"So what now?" Eddie asked.
"Well, we'll just have to see," Nelson said. "I think this is a good life for me. Got some money. I'll be famous. Think I'll hide out for a few days and see what happens. Ain't that what bank robbers do? Hide out?" He stretched and put his arm over the back of the seat.
"How long do you think you can keep going like this? All I have to do is raise my voice. This is a public place. You got fifteen people here that can ID you."
Nelson brought his arm back down and slid his hand inside his dirty jacket, then leaned forward. With his other hand, he motioned Eddie to lean in as well, which he reluctantly did. "Whatchya think? Think I don't mind taking this iron out and shooting this place up? Think Johnny over there standing behind the counter with his fat ass can stop me?" Nelson leaned back and continued to look at Eddie for several long moments. "I love a good steak, and I ain't had enough of them in my life. From now on, that's what I eat. I spent too many nights with my fist rolled up on my belly, trying to sleep on an empty stomach. All them people that laughed at me, they'll open the paper tomorrow and see my name and picture. I'll be eating steak, and they'll be pissing in some tin can."
Eddie had no idea what all that meant, but maybe that was the point. Nelson was deranged and had only a slight grasp on reality. The man was seriously unpredictable, and he needed to soothe him. "You're right. You're a good robber, Nelson. A damn good one. I think you got this all worked out."
The big twisted grin came back, and he took his hand out of his jacket. "Know what, you're good with numbers. Shit, you saved my ass back there. I'll keep that in mind."
The waitress brought over a tray of food that was so loaded she could barely carry it. He was going to eat as much as he could, and when Nelson took a break, he would make a run for it. If he was caught, he was a dead man, but he might not have another opportunity to get away. Nelson ate fast, like a man who had gone hungry much of his life, as he had described a few minutes before. He snorted, slurped, and almost growled his way through the mountain of food, stopping only momentarily to catch a drink. Finally, after he had eaten everything and wiped his plate with a piece of bread, he stretched back again and belched, gaining the attention of half the people in the diner.
"Sure, I think you got a good life of crime in you," Nelson said. "We could work together, but the problem is, that means I have to give you some of the money, and I can't do that. You did save my life, though. Here's the deal. Here's why you're here. See, you're right. Nelson's smarter than people think. I figured this all out. All these people here, they done seen us, seen you. I saw your picture in the post office a few days ago and got to thinking if I could get you seen while robbing a bank with me, the Feds would come looking for you, and they'd think we was together and come looking."
"I don't get it. Why is that a good thing?" Eddie asked.
"See, that's where I figured it out. Who do you think they'll come looking for? Me or you? You got us out back there. I owe you that. But now, see, I'm going on from here by myself. They'll be looking for you not me, and when they catch you, I'll be a couple hundred miles away out on my own. Making a thousand an hour and eating steak."
"That's it?" Eddie was not sure if Nelson was going to take his gun out and shoot him or just walk out the door. There was a certain logic to what Nelson had said. Success was another matter, but by the way Nelson sat, blowing cigarette smoke up at the ceiling, Eddie guessed this may have been one of the few original ideas the man had.
"Or," Nelson said, looking out the window, "somebody else might want to talk to you."
At that moment, Mike walked up to the booth where they were sitting. "Nelson?" Mike said in that same calm voice Eddie had heard in the car a few weeks back.
"Right on time. Just like your boss said. He must want him bad to send you out, Mike," Nelson leaned back while Mike slid into the booth next to Eddie.
"We have a deal to make," Mike said. Mike appeared to relax and adjust his jacket around himself. "So, you're making a name for yourself. Banks are tough. I thought of trying that once or twice myself."
"I heard about you before. You'd be good at it. Me and Eddie here got it figured out. Almost a shame to let him go," Nelson said, "but there ain't room for three." Eddie shrank into the corner of the booth and noticed that Mike had not even looked at him. When they last met in Mike's car, Eddie had not learned anything about him but knew he was a dangerous, calculating man. Mike continued talking to Nelson, complimenting him on what he had done, saying he wished he had the guts to do that. Eddie guessed Mike had really come for Nelson. As the conversation continued, Mike turned it towards wanting to get in on the action, and Eddie saw his chance. Nelson's eyes lit up at the idea of working with Mike, and in one quick motion, Eddie leapt straight up and over the back of the booth, knocking the table into Nelson's lap. Eddie ran across the tops of the tables, stepping into people's food and knocking chairs and tables all over the place. A commotion broke out as he scrambled off, destroying most of the other patrons' meals. He did not look back as the sudden clatter drew attention away from him, dodging his way through the other chairs and people, keeping low and moving quickly. When he made it to the door, he saw Nelson standing up half way with his hand in his greasy jacket. Mike had his arm out, as if to settle him down.
43
"Hold on, don't," Mike said. The other patrons in the diner were standing as well at the sudden commotion, and Mike had a feeling that a form of authority would be called in soon. "We have to get outside, see if we can find him."
There was a chance this crazy man might go on a rampage if he did not get him out of there in a few seconds. Luckily, Nelson ran out, with Mike walking calmly behind. There were voices of protest on them leaving, but nobody came out to stop them. Most of the people were still standing or looking around in confusion. By the time he reached the car, Nelson had gotten it started and had run the engine up to an earsplitting scream. As soon as he stepped in, Nelson let out the clutch and the car lurched forward. After a few seconds, he regained control of the vehicle.
Nelson drove out onto the road without looking for oncoming traffic. He ground his way through the gears while weaving back and forth. Mike began to question his idea of riding with Nelson. He had expected this: Eddie seeing what was up, making a break for it, and leaving Nelson with him. If a choice had to be made, and he knew that would be the case; he would go for Nelson first and let Eddie go.
There was a line of trees behind the diner, then a field of scruffy tall weeds behind it before a steep tree covered hill. Eddie could disappear in a matter of minutes. "There's a road along the other side. Maybe we can catch him over there," Mike said.
"If I get my hands on that pissball, I'll rip him apart, and shove his arms up his asshole," Nelson yelled over the engine.
Mike had heard of men getting so worked up they foamed at the mouth. This was the first time he had actually seen this happen. Nelson skidded onto the dirt road and continued bouncing along, dropping a wheel off the surface every few seconds and jerking it back. Eddie would be lying low, waiting for them to move on. At least Mike hoped so. He had wanted to get Nelson alone in a car.
"Where the fuckin' shittin' hell is he?" Nelson yelled over the noise. They went up and down the road a few times, and then Mike began to direct him farther into the country.
After about half an hour, they were into the hilly, remote countryside, and Nelson had stopped yelling for a few minutes. Finally, he came to a stop at an intersection and took the car out of gear. "Don't need his ass anyhow. Ti
me's better spent robbin'."
Mike watched for a moment to see where this was going. Whatever had happened in the past thirty minutes of careening around had vaporized and would appear to have been forgotten. "We need to pull over and figure out what bank to hit next. Got any ideas?" Mike said.
The big grin came back. "Pick up that map. I got a few places I want to try."
Mike did, looked over the map, and noticed a few circles on various small towns in the area. Nelson drove around until he found a path leading up the hillside. He pulled about fifty feet down the path, until they were out of sight from the main road.
"I found myself a damn good profession," Nelson said. "Got my name in the papers and the whole bit. You can, too. Should see what I made in two days. Close to $10,000. Can you imagine if I did this every day for a year? I'd be fuckin' John D. Rockefeller. You know, think what we could do. Me and you. You're good with guns, kinda smart. I know how to rob banks. Think how much we'd make."
Mike smiled at the thought. "It would be a real operation, wouldn't it?"
"Hell, Capone would have to mind his own business. You and me'd be legends," Nelson said.
Mike looked around the area and saw that there were no homes or anything in the vicinity. "I think we can do business."
"Damn fine. We'll be a team and make millions." Nelson shut the engine off. "We'll be rolling in it. We'll be famous. Steak and gravy all the time."
Mike needed Nelson to turn his head towards him, but he was looking out of the window instead. "That's exactly right," Mike said. A second later, Nelson turned and smiled, and Mike shot him in the forehead. Nelson blinked twice, and then slumped down in the seat. The entry was clean, small, slightly off-center, but good enough. A trickle of blood came out of the entry and ran down his face, but other than that, there was no splatter to clean up. He did not waste time thinking about this; he was out of the car, dragging Nelson's body over into the line of trees. Nelson was a menace, both to society as a whole, and to people like Mike who had a job to do and did it well. Mike backed the car out to the road and drove into town, back to the diner. The best thing for him to do was to get out of town and away from prying eyes as quickly as he could. The worst risk he could take would be to stay around and garner attention. A cop might find the abandoned car in a day or two and identify it as one seen in the previous robberies. Nelson's body would be discovered sooner or later, with only a bullet wound as evidence to what happened. Everyone would be glad he was dead. Mike considered what to do about Eddie but quickly concluded he was not worth his time, despite the large price McBride had put on his head. Eddie knew enough to hide or figure out a way to leave the area. He would call McBride, and if he could tell him where to find Eddie, he might reconsider, but other than that, Mike did not care what happened.
44
Harris had worked through the day and into the early evening, only leaving his office to go to the restroom and to have reports typed. He had made it a point to have all his calls screened and the messages written down and handed to him. There were only two calls that he returned, and both of these were short and terse. The stack of files on the corner of the desk did not seem to get smaller, despite the effort he had put in, and at times he wondered if everything he had done was in vain. He sat back in the creaky wooden chair, put his feet up on the desk, and tapped his toe on the stack of folders. There had been no decrease in crime since he had come into office, and all the attention on Eddie and McBride had only made things worse. He hated failure, and he had always believed that if he tried hard enough and worked long enough, he could overcome any obstacle. This had worked throughout school and on his first job, where he spent long hours, well past the time everyone else had left and gone home. He always stayed behind to tackle an enormous workload. Work more. Work longer. That was all it took.
He set his feet back on the floor, one at a time, and leaned forward, letting the weariness envelop his brain. There was more to this than exertion. Working to exhaustion with no results did not prove anything to anybody. Results mattered. That was all that really made a difference. Results. And he had been pitifully short on results since he came into the job. This was really the reason he was going to announce his resignation the following morning and let somebody else have all these problems. Harris was sure whoever came in would be one of Porter's confidants, one thing he had never had the personality to become. He had always been the classic outsider, and this had helped him win the election and what he had banked on when starting.
It was 8:30 and dark when he stepped out and locked his office door. Everyone else had long since left to be with their families or wherever. He stepped out into the hallway and closed the outer door, the sound echoing down the empty passage.
"Mr. Harris?" somebody said.
Harris was not sure where the person was, since the brick walled hall bounced the sound around so much. Then he saw a young man stand up from a bench a few doors down. "Do I know you?" he asked.
"No sir. I'm here to relay a request." Harris walked up to the young man, finding him to be about twenty years old with a few pockmarks around his slender face.
"A request? I've just worked a very long day. I need to go home. Besides, I don't like people waiting for me in an empty hallway. It's alarming, and I know there are guards here at this time of night." He was not really afraid of him, but his approach was very unusual and would have made anyone wary.
"I'm sure you've heard of Larry O'Connor? He sent me here to tell you he would like to meet with you tonight."
"Ha," Harris said, passing the young man. "I've heard of him, and I want no dealings with him."
The young man came up beside him and walked with him to the stairs. "He said to tell you he knows you're about to resign. He doesn't know what happened with Eddie, but he can help you get McBride."
Harris had gone down three steps before this sunk in. "How can he possibly help?"
The young man stepped closer. "Mr. O'Connor knows about most things that happen in this city. He knows what happened at the shirt place."
"Yes, I know," Harris said, glaring into the man's face. "What does he know that I don't?"
"One of the men there that night works for Mr. O'Connor. I can't tell you any more than that." The young man looked around and crossed, then uncrossed, his arms.
Harris considered this nervous young man and knew this visit was more than a coincidence. In fact, it was extremely well timed. Larry O'Connor was playing this closely and must have sensed when to approach Harris. There also seemed to be a discreetness that was interesting. He wanted to meet him, and considering all that had gone on, knew he had to talk to O'Connor in person at this point. "Where is he?"
"I'll drive you." The young man began to step down the stairway.
"No. You drive, I'll follow."
After going through the city and to the outskirts, they came to the driveway of a tastefully landscaped large home. Harris opened the door of his car and marveled at what a life of crime had brought for one man. Larry O'Connor was often mentioned with the general assumption being that he was no longer active. Apparently this was not exactly true. They went to the front door, where the young man knocked, and after a few moments, the door was opened from the inside.
Harris was not surprised to see the person opening the door was a large bodyguard type. "Patrick," he said to the young man.
"I have Mr. Harris to see my grandfather," Patrick said.
"Right. You know where he is," the bodyguard said, closing the door behind them.
Harris was impressed, but then again, he had never been to the home of a crime boss before and was not sure what to expect. Maybe crude and brash, but this was delicately lighted and warm, with rich wood tones. Quiet, very quiet. Patrick led him through a number of halls and rooms, all with the same detail. They came to a door, where Patrick knocked and stepped inside for a moment, then let Harris in to
see a very large man standing next to an oak pool table. He was also old; Harris would guess in his mid to late seventies. Patrick left, leaving Harris alone.
"Mr. Harris, I'm Larry O'Connor. I know all about you; we talked earlier, so no introduction is really needed. I trust your ride over was uneventful?" O'Connor said in a subdued voice, full of Celtic color.
"I followed Patrick," Harris said. Strange, he thought, that he would be here and not feel in any danger.
"A drink, perhaps? Of course I have various whiskies, rums." O'Connor walked over to a cabinet and opened the door to reveal a large variety of alcohols, all of which were illegal. He moved with a definite limp. "You'll have to excuse me. My knee has been acting up. I'm an old man, and my parts don't always cooperate."
"You know I could have you hauled in just for showing me that cabinet," Harris said.
"Ah," O'Connor said, "but you won't. What would be the point? Please, let's set aside these differences. Anything you like, let me know."
"I haven't had dinner, so I better not, but thanks nonetheless," Harris said. He had been good since Prohibition, only drinking wine when he visited his family over the holidays.
"I can order a bite to eat, if you wish." Harris shook his head no. "Very well." O'Connor came over to where Harris was standing and leaned against the table, stretching out his legs. Harris recognized the large hands of a man who had once been physically strong but was now weakened and bent with age. "I would also guess you are not a man of games. Pool wouldn't interest you."
Harris had to laugh, knowing the old man was being the gracious host, a strange juxtaposition from his reputation of a mob boss. Then again, maybe that was simply how he was. "I'm a terrible pool player," he said, rolling a few of the balls around on the table, shooting one towards a corner pocket and missing. "Your, grandson, Patrick, found me coming out of my office and said you wanted to have a word with me."
"Well, I was hoping to spend more time getting to know you. However, I realize you're busy. You'll indulge an old man. I haven't many visitors any more." O'Connor ran his hand over his throat and adjusted his shirt collar. "As I said before, we have a similar problem with a former employee of mine. Clarence McBride."
"Our problems are similar?" Harris said. As far as he knew, they were in different businesses.
O'Connor walked over to the liquor cabinet, poured himself a small drink, and leaned against the bar along the wall. "I understand your reluctance to be here, but there are times when our goals converge. Let me put it this way: McBride is becoming a problem in this city and looks to be more so if he continues."
"But for you, I imagine he's taking business away. For me, it's a matter of scaring and intimidating law-abiding citizens," Harris said.
"No, I have to respectfully disagree. See, I'm upset about the way he behaves. There are ways to get results, and as you know, I work in a business that's on occasion rough," O'Connor said. "And it would not surprise you that I have worked in that manner. But McBride is different. He's a different generation that doesn't have the respect I have."
"Respect? In what manner? Much of what you do is what keeps people like me busy until all hours of the night," Harris said, not wanting to offend the man but needing to make the point that he was in the business of upholding the law.
"As I said, there are ways of doing business that don't require the ugliness that McBride uses. He is a man who turns to violence at the outset. That is his first course of action, and it is ruining this city. I love it here, and yes, I have done things of which I am not proud, but there are certain matters of behavior that even people like me should follow. McBride shoots people, instills fear. He's gaining power at others' expense."
"Yours," Harris said. He was not sure how much of this to believe, but he was right about the way that McBride behaved. He was a man of violent tendencies.
"Mine and others'. He's bringing in an element we don't want. People from New York, Philadelphia, even Chicago. These are people that will cause us even more problems." O'Connor came back to the pool table. He leaned on the corner and faced Harris directly. "This is where our purposes converge."
Harris had to agree, there was a common goal of removing McBride, and their purpose was initially the same. "Who would fill the void? Organized crime is becoming more violent, and I believe someone similar to McBride would step in."
O'Connor squeezed the table cushions slightly. "You may not be aware of the influence I have, especially if McBride were not around."
Harris knew enough. Anybody could use this in the most slanderous fashion, and he felt that he needed to wrap this up quickly and go back home. "What did you want to see me about? I really have had a long week and would like to go home."
"Fine, you're a man of action, and my manners are of a different generation. Here's my deal. One of the men with McBride the night the designer was killed actually works for me. He saw the entire thing and knows that McBride did it. He also knows that Eddie was framed." O'Connor pushed away from the table and went back to the bar. "That's not right. Framing a man for two murders and running him all over the place. An innocent young man with his life ahead of him. These are the kinds of things I can't stand. The utter disregard of McBride is unacceptable. I'm willing to make this man available to testify about the murder. He would be a key witness. He told me about the shooting, them seeing the other man running away and being fired at. They even threatened to cut his hand off in one of their machines."
Eddie had told Harris that, and he doubted if anyone else knew this fact. "You still want to bring McBride down legally?" Harris asked. O'Connor had the means to simply wipe him out, but having him tried and thrown in jail was a unique way of achieving this. Harris knew instinctively that he would owe O'Connor his career.
"Yes. That stops him. That turns him into what he is and makes this evident to the public. The press would eat it up, and his organization would be ruined. Granted, this would serve both of our purposes, but you may never get a better shot at stopping him. And saving your career."
Harris completely understood the good and bad of the deal, but he had one big problem that would prevent any of this from going forward if he decided to: how to find Eddie. Eddie would be the final block that would need to fall into place to make this work, to get a conviction on McBride. "I have to find Eddie, or else this doesn't go through. Without his testimony, McBride would walk, and we would be in even worse shape."
"Most likely. You find Eddie, and you'll have two eyewitnesses at the scene telling the same story. You find him, and I'll produce my man."
Eddie still had to be found, and if O'Connor was as good as his word, the other witness would be made available. "I can't say there is any kind of deal, but we're looking for Eddie now. Keep your man under wraps. I'll leave it up to you when he should be revealed. I could demand to talk to the man, but the less contact between us, the better. I hope you see why."
O'Connor drew himself to his full height. "We'll be ready when the time comes. You know LaRue worked for me. McBride had the woman killed. His own employee."
"What happens if I don't find Eddie? He and that other man robbed those banks."
"Nelson? He's a problem. I hired him to protect liquor shipments. I thought he might be trouble, but I didn't think he would try this," O'Connor said.
"I don't know if we can find Eddie quick enough. The price on his head is high. He'll be lucky to survive the week without getting shot," Harris said. "You should have left him here. We could've offered protection."
"I doubt it," O'Connor said. "McBride's outmaneuvered you every step so far."
At this last comment, Harris felt his fatigue. "Look, I think this is too late. I'll probably have to resign in a few days. If the Feds find him, you can work with them. I'll have to think about this information and what to do with it. I'm not into cutting deals."
"Well," O'Connor said.
"If this doesn't work, I'll find a way to take care of McBride on my own."
Larry O'Connor had told him more than he should have known. Harris understood, however, that O'Connor was a calculating man, and there was reason behind what he had been allowed to know. He was shown back out to his car. He drove away knowing that if this went through and they were able to bring Eddie back and convict McBride, Larry O'Connor would consider Harris owing him a debt of gratitude. This made Harris uncomfortable, knowing that he could not live with that kind of arrangement. There was too much professionally and personally at risk, and he was not willing to go there, even if this did cost him his job. He was uneasy with this, and in a way hoped that Eddie was never caught.
45
Mike was in a payphone outside of Poughkeepsie, calling McBride as he had been asked to do. He was prepared for the wild burst of temper, and he was not disappointed.
"What do you mean you got Nelson only? Eddie was the one you had to get," McBride went on.
"I had to make a choice. We weren't in a place where I could take both of them," Mike tried to explain. He knew his reasons would fall on deaf ears. Men like McBride had no patience with their orders not being fulfilled, no matter what the reason. McBride went on for a few more minutes and started to calm some before Mike broke in. "You have to understand. We were in a crowded diner. Eddie jumped up and ran. Nelson was ready to pull out that big piece and start shooting up the place. If that would have happened, I would have been caught too."
"Shit," McBride yelled into the phone. "Let me think for a moment."
Mike was glad to let McBride stay on the line while he remained quiet. He was starting to sweat in the booth and had been keeping an eye out for anyone who might be suspicious of him. There was slim chance that Nelson had been found. Still, he knew he was a stranger, standing in a phone booth for a considerable period of time. People would remember that.
"Here's what we have. I got one, maybe two days to track him down before he's completely out of my reach. You need to keep driving west and calling in twice a day. I'll work over Eddie's contacts here to see if I can scare up some information," McBride said.
"Come on, I make money doing jobs, not wandering around the countryside," Mike said. To McBride's credit, he did not start screaming into the phone.
"Mike, you're the best out there. I need you for this. Keep driving, two days and that's it. Stay in touch," McBride said.
"Clarence, I'm done. I hit one out of two and Nelson was a clean hit. They won't find him for a week. I don't do bounty work. People tell me where I need to be, and then I do my job," Mike said. Drive and call? What kind of job was that? Mike had never worked that way and did not intend to start. Long ago he had decided he had to stay away from doing jobs that did not fit his general mode of operation and particular skills. This had led to missing out on high-paying calls, but this instinct had served him well. When he would receive a contract, it would be for a certain person at a certain place. From there he figured out how to do the job. Find a person in the wide-open countryside? That was for someone else.
"Drive west for today, then find a hotel, stay there, and call me. Drive west the next day and do the same. If I find where he is, I'll call you and you can do the rest. I'll pay you either way," McBride said.
Mike thought about this for a few moments. "If you find him, and I don't like the way it sounds, I'm out. I'll let you know where I'm staying when I find a decent place."
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