“That’s okay, Nick. I want to stay out of the organization anyway.”
“Well, I think you’re crazy. You got a great future with the organization. Some day you could be one of the guys on the Committee yourself.”
“No, Nick.”
“Have it your own way,” Nick Rovito said grumpily, and hung up.
Engel gathered up his underwear and went home.
24
There was a note on the door, stuck on as usual with a false fingernail, and written so belligerently with flame-red lipstick that the words were just barely legible. It read, more or less:
All right for you,
you rat!
I’m going back
to Cal.
Good-bye, you
BASTARD!!!!!
Again there was no signature, and again none was needed.
Engel plucked the note from the door, unlocked the door and went on into the apartment. He shut the door, crossed the foyer, entered the living room, and found Callaghan sitting on the white leather sofa. He was in civvies, and it was amazing how much he looked like Jimmy Gleason on a bad day.
Engel said, “Didn’t you get the word? I’m clean.”
“Like you were washed with Brand X,” said Callaghan. He pushed himself to his feet. “That wasn’t my jurisdiction anyway,” he said. “You worked that little miscarriage of justice over in Jersey.”
“Let’s put it this way,” said Engel. “It was a frame.”
“It always is,” said Callaghan.
“This time it was. Think about it, wasn’t it too neat? And wasn’t it too easy? If I’m nothing else, I’m anyway a professional.”
Callaghan frowned. “The thought had crossed my mind,” he said. “But I wouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. If I could get you, Engel, I wouldn’t care if it was a frame or not.”
Engel shook his head. “You’re an honest cop,” he said. “You wouldn’t do that.”
Callaghan turned away and rubbed his hand across his face. “You smart boys,” he said.
“I’m out of the rackets,” Engel told him.
“Sure you are.”
“On the level. I quit Nick tonight. Because of the frame, and some other things. He didn’t give me a square deal.”
Callaghan studied him a minute and then said, “You know what? I don’t care about that for a minute. I came here to tell you something, and it don’t matter to me who you work for, what I got to say still applies.”
“Go ahead.”
“I’m after you, Engel. If you’re smart, you’ll get out of New York till you hear I’m retired or dead, because I’m out to get you. I got a very small, a very select list of names, and you just joined it.”
“How are the other guys on the list doing?”
“Most of them died in the chair, Engel. A few of them I go up the river to Sing Sing and pay them a visit every once in a while. The only reason I pay any attention to a punk like you is the list is getting so short these days.” Callaghan picked up a battered civilian hat from the sofa. “I’ll be seeing you around, Engel,” he said.
‘Yeah,” said Engel. “Sure.”
Callaghan left, and Engel made himself a drink to calm his nerves. After everything was settled, to have Callaghan still breathing down his neck was less than cheery news.
The phone rang. He went over and picked it up and heard, “Aloysius, I’ve been calling and calling and—”
“California,” said Engel.
“Now, you just stop that. I don’t want to hear another word about California. What I want to know is, are you coming to dinner tomorrow night or aren’t you? I’m only your mother, but—”
“That’s it,” said Engel. “Good-bye forever.” He hung up, strode to the bedroom, and packed two bags while the phone rang. After a while the bags were all packed and the phone had stopped ringing, so he picked it up and called Dolly’s friend Roxanne to find out what Dolly’s California address was. Roxanne told him, and then said, “Boy, Al, she was sore at you. You should of called or something.”
“Yeah,” said Engel. “I was kind of busy. But that’s all over now.”