“They’ll boot my brother off the force.”
“So is that bad? We’ll take care of him. Offer him ten thousand to start with, and see what he thinks of it. And we can go higher. A lot higher.”
Carmody hesitated a moment. Then he said, “Why do you want me to handle it, Dan?” A phrase came into his mind from his forgotten religion and forgotten values: “Let this chalice pass from me!" He didn’t want this job, and in some intuitive manner he was afraid of it. But there was no one he could ask for help. Not Beaumonte, that was certain. And there was no one else. Let this chalice... Why had those words occurred to him?
Beaumonte was rolling the cigar between his full red lips, watching him carefully. “I want you to handle it because it’s a big job,” he said at last. “I’ll tell you this: Ackerman is watching it personally.”
Carmody nodded slowly. It was important then, no doubt of it. Ackerman was number one. He controlled the city’s gambling and numbers racket. Beaumonte ran the west side personally, and acted as a link between Ackerman and the other districts; he supervised the operations of Fanzo in Central, Nick Boyle in Meadowstrip, and Lockwood in the Northeast. But all of it was under Ackerman’s thumb. He juggled the judges and magistrates and cops, he put the collar on the politicians he needed and he fought the reform movement on the high inside levels. Thinking about it, Carmody felt a brush of anxiety; there was a lot of muscle stacked up against his brother.
“Why is Ackerman so interested?” Carmody asked.
Beaumonte was silent a moment. Then he said quietly, “Don’t start guessing about him. You know that’s stupid. Just remember he’s interested. That’s enough. Now there’s one other point. I don’t want any hard feelings between you and me.”
“I don’t get that,” Carmody said.
Beaumonte got to his feet and glanced at his gold wrist watch. “Hell, it’s later than I thought,” he said. Carmody had risen also and Beaumonte put a hand on his arm, turning him toward the door. “This thing has got to be handled, one way or the other,” he said. “I want it peaceful. I hope your brother is smart and winds up with a nice little bundle in his pocket.” They stopped at the door, facing each other, and something had changed in Beaumonte’s smooth plump face. He was still smiling but the smile meant nothing now. “We’re not kids, Mike,” he said. “I’m putting it on the line. If your brother don’t play ball we’ll have to handle it our way. That’s why you’re making the first pitch. If you don’t sell him the deal, you can’t blame us for doing what we got to do. Is that clear enough?”
“I’ll talk to my brother,” Carmody said evenly.
“How do you get along with him?”
“So-so.”
“What’s the matter? He’s your kid brother, he should do what you tell him.”
“We don’t see much of each other,” Carmody said.
“That’s too bad.” Beaumonte looked at him, his head tilted slightly. “Don’t he like your friends?”
“Lots of people don’t,” Carmody said, holding his irritation in check.
“Not smart people,” Beaumonte said, smiling. “When’ll you see him?”
“As soon as I can.”
“Make it tonight He doesn’t go to work until twelve.”
“How do you know?”
Beaumonte shrugged. “I told you this was important. We’re keeping tabs on him. You see him now, then come back. I’ll be here all night. Got that?”
Carmody hesitated. “Okay, Dan,” he said finally.
Beaumonte smiled. “We want this peaceful. Good luck.”
2
Carmody drove from Beaumonte’s apartment to a drug store on Market Street and called his brother’s home. There was no answer. He replaced the receiver and remained seated in the booth, thinking coolly and without emotion of Beaumonte’s words: We want this peaceful... but if your brother won’t play ball we’ll have to do it our way.
Beaumonte meant that. There was no phoniness about him when it came to business. He squandered his bluff on paintings and horse shows and the Mayor’s council on human relations, catering generously then to his itch for approval and respectability. But this was business. His and Ackerman’s. And they’d order Eddie killed with no more emotion than they’d order a steak.
Carmody wasn’t worried yet. The confidence in his own strength and brains was the hard core of his being, impervious to strain or pressure. Somehow, he would save Eddie. He accepted Beaumonte’s deadly injunction as a factor in the equation. They — Beaumonte and Ackerman-meant business. Therefore, something else would have to give. That was Eddie.
After a ten-minute wait he dialed Eddie’s number again and let it ring. Eddie might be outside watering the lawn, or at the workbench in the basement, repairing a lock or mending a screen. Something important, Carmody thought.
The phone clicked in his ear. Eddie’s voice said, “Yes? Hello.”
“This is Mike. How’s the boy?”
“Mike? How are you?” Eddie’s tone was neutral, neither friendly nor unfriendly. “I was splicing a hose out in the back yard. You been ringing long?”
Splicing a hose, Carmody thought, shaking his head. “Eddie, I want to see you tonight.”
“I’m going out pretty soon,” his brother said.
“Well, I can meet you anywhere you say. This is important. Where will you be?”
“Vespers at Saint Pat’s.”
“Vespers?”
“Sure. You might remember if you put your mind to it.”
Eddie’s tone, hard and sarcastic, warned Carmody off the subject. “How about afterward then?” he said.
There was a short silence. Then Eddie said, “I’ve got a date later, Mike.”
“Well, something you’ve been keeping from me, eh?” Carmody said, trying for a lighter touch.
“I know what’s on your mind,” Eddie said shortly. “And the answer is no, Mike.”
“Don’t jump to conclusions,” Carmody said. This was no time for anger; that would tear it for good. “I’ve got something to tell you in person. So how about it?”
“Okay,” Eddie said, after a pause. “There’s a club at Edgely and Broad called the Fanfair. I can meet you there at eleven.”
“Fine.” He tried once more for a lighter mood. “You’re moving in swanky circles, kid.”
“It’s just a neighborhood joint,” Eddie said, keeping it cold and distant. “I’ll see you, Mike.”
Carmody left the booth and glanced at his watch. It was almost eight-thirty and there was no point in going back to Headquarters. He ordered a lemon Coke at the fountain and looked over the magazine rack while he drank it. Then he phoned in and left a message with the clerk for Lieutenant Wilson, saying he was on something important and would be in later. The clerk told him everything was still quiet, and added that the card game could go on all night if things stayed this way.
“Yes, we’ve got snap jobs,” Carmody said, and replaced the receiver.
With almost two hours to kill, he left the drug store and strolled down Market, trying to dismiss the memory of Eddie’s coldness. It hadn’t always been that way. Carmody was eight years older than his brother and as a boy Eddie had idolized him, which was inevitable, considering the difference in their ages. He had taught Eddie to swim, to play ball, to fight and had bought him clothes and lent him money for his first dates. Eddie had been a nice little guy, Carmody thought, walking along the bright crowded street. A serious kid, not bright or shrewd but straightforward and dependable. Almost too pretty in the soft, dark-pale Irish manner; flawless fair skin, long-lashed blue eyes, thick, curly black hair. In his cassock and surplice with the round white collar under his chin he had always stolen the show at St. Pat’s Christmas and Easter processions. But he’d never been spoiled, Carmody remembered. He was just a likable little boy, shyly earnest and direct, with a thousand little-boy questions always buzzing in his head. Carmody smiled slightly. Why don’t footballs float like balloons? Could the old man lick Jack Dempsey? How come you have to leave home when you marry an old girl? Carmody had always felt like smiling at him when he asked questions like that, his face serious, his long-lashed eyes staring at Mike as if he knew everything in the world. They’d got along fine then and maybe that was the only way two people ever got along — when one of them was so trusting that he accepted the other’s every word without doubt or resentment. But it couldn’t stay that way. Eventually, the dumb one got smart and saw that his idol was just another poor fool.