Mrs. Ragen smiled up at me like I was somebody really special; it was a nice smile, even streaked black like that.
“Mr. Heller,” she said, “I can understand why my niece is in love with you.”
That damn near made me blush; first time this decade.
“Well, I don’t know about that,” I said.
“Neither do I,” a hard-edged yet melodic voice said.
I turned and looked at Peggy Hogan, who was standing in the doorway of the room, her violet eyes red from crying, her jaw tight but trembling. She was wearing a dark blue dress with a white floral pattern; her hands, at her sides, were fists.
She whisked past me and went to her aunt and said a few words of comfort to her, putting a hand on her shoulder; she smiled and nodded at Jim, Jr., and then she turned to me and said, “Let’s talk in the hall.”
I followed her out there; we walked down to a lounge area between corridors. There were several chairs and couches, but we didn’t sit.
“I should be very angry with you,” she said, lower lip trembling.
“You’re doing a damn good job of faking it, if you aren’t.”
“You promised me you wouldn’t take any dangerous jobs. You promised me that was behind you.”
“Something came up…I had to fill in…”
“People shooting at you in the street! You shooting at them!”
“You used to like life not to be dull.”
“I was a kid, then. I was attracted to danger.”
“Here I thought it was my boyish charm.”
Then she clutched me, held me to her, hugging for dear life.
“Nate, Nate,” she said. She was sobbing. Christ, she was sobbing! What was this about?
She moved back to look at me, keeping her arms around me. Freckles on her nose made her look like a kid. “I was so worried when I heard.”
“How did you hear, anyway?”
“Lou Sapperstein. He called.”
“What did he call you for?”
“He didn’t. He called you and got me. I was waiting for you. At the Morrison. We had a date tonight, remember?”
She had a key.
“Oh, hell. I forgot all about it…”
“Never mind that. Just let me hold you.” She held me. “Hold you.”
I squeezed her tight. She smelled good. Not like face powder, or roses, either. Probably the Chanel #5 I bought her.
Then I broke the clinch.
“Peg, what did Lou want?”
“He said he’d found the guy you were looking for.”
“Tendlar?”
“I think so. Who’s that?”
“A guy that works for me. A guy that used to work for me, anyway. What else did Lou say?”
“He said he was sitting on the guy for you.”
I smiled. “Good. Anything else?”
“He said to tell you this guy wasn’t feeling good and needed some special medicine.” Peggy made a confused face. “He said to tell you you were going to have to feed this guy…this doesn’t make sense…a certain fish.”
I laughed. “It makes sense to me. I’m going to have to make a call, and get somebody to take my place, here.”
“Aren’t you going to look after my uncle?”
“I can’t do it twenty-four hours a day, Peg…but I’m going to do my best to keep him alive.”
“You didn’t do so good this afternoon, did you?”
“Are you scolding me?”
“No.” She came back into my arms. “I was sick when I heard. Worried for you. Scared to death for Uncle Jim. He’s been so good to me, Nate.”
“What am I, chopped liver?”
She kissed me; sweet and long.
“You don’t taste like chopped liver,” she said.
“Neither do you,” I said, and kissed her back.
She pulled away, straightened her dress and said, “Those gangsters did this, didn’t they?”
“Sure.”
“What are we going to do about it?”
“I’m going to try to keep your uncle alive, for the immediate future. And then convince him to sell his business to them.”
The violet eyes popped open like windows whose shades got yanked. “Give in to them?”
“Of course, give in to them. What else?”
She shook a fist. “Well, fight them, of course! Like Uncle Jim!”
“Yeah-just like Uncle Jim. Who’s on his back with his collarbone shattered and his arm mangled, throwing down transfusions like a drunk with a fifth of whiskey and a water glass.”
She shook her head, shook her head. “I don’t believe you’re saying this. Surely you want to get the people who shot Uncle Jim-who tried to kill you! Don’t you think they ought to be brought to justice?”
“What justice is that? They own the cops, or most of the cops, anyway.”
“I don’t know…it just doesn’t seem right. We should do something.”
“You should do nothing but give your relatives some moral support. I’m going to do my job and see if I can’t keep your uncle alive.”
She sighed. She shrugged. “I suppose you’re right.”
“But you’re disappointed in me.”
“No. Not really.”
“What happened to not wanting me to take dangerous assignments?”
“This is different. This is personal. This is family.”
“This is nuts.”
“I just wish you…we…could do something, damnit!”
“I’m not Gary Cooper, honey. Nobody is.”
“Gary Cooper is,” she said, with a little pout.
“I don’t think so,” I said. “I think his real name is Frank.”
That made her smile, and she came over and gave me another hug. About then, Jim, Jr., came and found us.
“Pop’s back in his room,” he said. He looked ashen. I think the sight of his wounded father had shaken him pretty bad. “He’s awake-wants to see Mr. Heller.”
I walked down there. The little room was crowded. Ellen Ragen was standing holding her husband’s left hand, gently; a bottle of plasma was feeding that left arm some life, trying to put some color in the white little Irishman. A nurse was tending the plasma, while a doctor was writing something down on a clipboard. The doctor, a somber chap in his mid-forties, glanced at the three of us as we squeezed in, and said, “Everyone, including Mrs. Ragen, needs to clear the room. We’re going to be bringing in an oxygen tent momentarily.”
“Give me a minute with my friend here, Doc,” Jim said, nodding-barely, but nodding-toward me.
“No more than that,” the doctor said, sternly, and he went out, taking everybody but the patient, nurse and me with him.
“They’ll try to kill me here, lad,” he said. His eyes, for the first time since that afternoon he hired me as his bodyguard, showed fear. “I’m a dead man, sure.”
“Not yet you aren’t,” I said, and I quickly filled him in on my security plans. He smiled, narrowing his eyes in little facial assents to all of it.
“Can you protect my family?” he asked.
“You bet. I’ll put every op I have on this.”
“God bless you. God bless you.”
“What’s this about a statement to the State’s Attorney’s office?”
“I thought that would warn the bastards off.”
“Don’t think it worked, Jim.”
“It should’ve. It should’ve. They know I made affidavits.”
“Affidavits?”
“I fuckin’ read ’em to Serritella! Three affidavits in my safe deposit box. Had my lawyer write ’em up.”
“What’s in those affidavits, Jim?”
He smiled his thin smile. “Everything. I name all the names, lad. Every dirty deed I’ve been privy to, and I’ve been privy to more than a few. Those affidavits, they’re my insurance policy.”
“From the looks of you, you missed a premium.”
His eyes tightened. “That’s what I don’t understand…but I want the word put out: if I die, if they kill me in my hospital bed, those affidavits will go to the feds!”
“Okay, Jim. Okay. But, look-don’t talk to anybody. Not the papers, and particularly not the cops.”
“I said the feds, didn’t I?”
“Yeah, and I think, when the time comes, that’s the way to go. The cop who seems to be heading up this investigation happens to be an honest one-Bill Drury-and he hates Guzik maybe more than you do. He’s an ally. But he’s one fish surrounded by sharks. If you deal with him, remember what he’s up against, in his own organization.”