“I begged him to take care of himself,” she said, and he heard her voice break suddenly. “He said there was nothing to worry about. He said—”
“You missed your chance, baby.”
“Then don’t miss yours,” she cried at him.
“What do you mean? Listen—”
The phone clicked in his ear. Carmody stared at the receiver a moment, then slammed it down in the cradle. She was checking out. The act was over; Danny Nimo’s girl knew when it was time to switch roles. But with his anger there was a cynical respect for her; she was looking after Number One, and that was playing it smart.
Carmody crossed the room to the windows and stared out at the scene spreading below him; the river was shining palely and the high buildings loomed massively against the sky, their lighted windows forming irregular designs in the darkness. Eddie is my job, he thought, I was a fool to think anyone else cared a damn whether he lived or died.
5
Carmody slept uneasily that night and was up early in the morning. One thing had occurred to him by then: Why were Ackerman and Beaumonte worried about Delaney? This was something he should have checked immediately, and he realized that his emotional concern over Eddie was ruining his cop-wise judgment. What had Beaumonte said? That if Delaney talked it would cause trouble. But for whom? Ackerman or Beaumonte?
Carmody sat down at the phone, a cigarette between his lips, and began a cautious check on Delaney. He talked with two Magistrates, a Judge and half-a-dozen bookies, trying to learn something from casual gossip. The word was around, he soon realized; they knew Delaney was threatening to sing and that the big boys were worried. But no one cared to speculate on the nature of Delaney’s information. Carmody gave it up after a while, but he wasn’t discouraged. The clue might be in Delaney’s past; Delaney had been a muscle boy in the organization when Ackerman and Beaumonte were on-the-make hoodlums instead of semirespectable public figures. That would be the angle to check.
Delaney’s evidence must be something tangible and conclusive; otherwise, his threats to sing wouldn’t bother Beaumonte and Ackerman. The job was to find that evidence and destroy it; that would pull Delaney’s stinger, take the pressure off the big boys and leave Eddie in the clear. It wasn’t a simple job and it had to be done quickly, but Carmody wasn’t worried; he knew how to handle this kind of work. The city couldn’t keep any secrets from him; he had studied it too long for that. A map of the city blazed in his mind; he knew the look of a thousand intersections and could reel off the houses and shops on each corner as easily as he could the alphabet. He knew politicians from the Mayor down to precinct drifters, and he understood the intricate balancings and give-and-take of the city’s administration. The brothels and bars, the clubs and cliques, the little blondes and brunettes tucked away in handsome apartments in center-city, guys on the make, on the skids, on the way up — Carmody had them all indexed and cross-indexed in his formidable memory.
No, finding Delaney’s source of pressure wouldn’t be impossible, he thought.
Carmody went into the bathroom to shower and when he came out the phone was ringing. He picked it up and said, “Yes?”
“This is Beaumonte, Mike. Can you get over here around four? Ackerman wants to see you.”
“Four? Sure, that’s okay,” Carmody said easily. He stood with his feet wide apart, a towel around his middle feeling the drops of water drying on his big hard shoulders. “What’s on his mind?” he asked. “My brother?” It was a stupid, dangerous question, but he had to know.
“Some friend of his wants to open a handbook in West,” Beaumonte said. “Ackerman wants you to take good care of him.”
“Sure, sure,” Carmody said, releasing his breath slowly. “Four o’clock then.”
“Right, Mike.”
Carmody went out to lunch and got back to his hotel at three o’clock. He washed his hands and face, changed into a dark-gray flannel suit and was on his way to the door when the phone stopped him. A high-pitched irritable voice blasted into his ear when he raised the receiver. “Mike Carmody? Is that you, boy?”
“That’s right. Who’s this?”
“Father Ahearn. I want to see you.”
“I’m just on my way out, Father,” he said.
“I’m down in the lobby. This won’t take long.”
Carmody checked his watch and frowned. “Okay, I’ll be down. But I’m in a hurry.”
“I’ll be waiting at the elevator so don’t try sneaking past me.”
Carmody hung up, finding a grim humor in the situation. The old priest acted as if he were talking to one of his altar boys.
When the elevator doors opened Carmody saw that the last eight years had been hard on the old priest. At his father’s funeral, which was the last time Carmody had seen him, Father Ahearn had been lively and vigorous, a tall man with gray hair and alert flashing eyes. But now he was slightly stooped and the tremors of age were noticeable in his heavily-knuckled hands. His hair had turned almost white but his eyes hadn’t changed at all; they still flashed fiercely above the bold strong nose. He looked incongruous in the smart glitter of the lobby, a tired, bent old man in a black suit which had turned a grayish-green with age.
Carmody shook hands with him and suggested they take a seat at the side of the lobby.
“You want to go off and hide, eh?” Father Ahearn said.
You never manage him, Carmody remembered. “What’s on your mind?” he said, edging him tactfully out of the traffic flowing toward the elevators.
“What’s the trouble with you and Eddie?”
“That’s a personal matter, Father.”
“None of my business, eh? Well, when one brother strikes another in my parish I make it my business.”
“Eddie told you I hit him?”
“Yes. I could see he’d been hurt. But that’s all he would tell me.” The old priest tilted his head and studied Carmody with his fierce eyes. “What was it? The girl?”
“I suppose you could say that.”
“And what makes it any of your business?”
“I’m his brother.”
“Ah,” the old priest said softly. “His brother, is it? His keeper, you are. Isn’t that a new role for you, Mike?”
Carmody felt embarrassed and irritated. “Look, there’s no point talking about it,” he said. “What’s between me and Eddie doesn’t concern you or the church.”
“Now you listen to me, boy. I don’t—”
But Carmody cut him off. “It’s no use, I’ve got to be going, Father.” He didn’t like doing this to the old man and he hated the hurt look his words brought into his eyes; Father Ahearn had been a family friend for years, and had done them a thousand favors. He had got him summer jobs, had sent him to college on an athletic scholarship and had seen that Eddie stuck out his last year of school after the old man died. But that was long, long ago, in time and in values; it belonged to another world.
“All right, I’ll not keep you,” Father Ahearn said.
“I’ll get you a cab.”
“Never mind, you go on about your important affairs. But don’t interfere with Eddie and his girl.”
“You’ve met her, I guess?”
“What have you got against her?”
She’s fooled him, Carmody thought. Probably had a cup of tea with him and smiled at his Irish stories. “There’s no point going into it,” he said.
“Very well. Good-by, Mike.” The old man walked away, threading through the group of expensively dressed men and women. Carmody watched him until he disappeared, and there was a small, unhappy frown on his hard face...
He got to Beaumonte’s at ten of four and found Nancy alone in the long elegant drawing-room. She wore a black dress with a full flaring skirt and junk bracelets on her wrists.