"I didn't say you were. It crossed my mind is all. And I didn't mean you guys."I was thinking of the young hotheads. You know. They'd do anything to save the community morale. Maybe get carried away."
Mike pulled a piece of newspaper out of his trouser pocket and handed it to Joe.
"Take a look at that; It appeared in today's Globe and will appear for another two weeks. The Sons of Italy and the North End Improvement Association, which you will recall Andy was president of, are putting up a ten-thousand-dollar reward for information leading to the arrest and conviction of his killers. Now c'mon, pal- don't say those things about your friends, huh?"
Gus leaned over and put his hand on Joe's shoulder. I thought my brother-in-law was going to cry.
"I guess I never really believed it. But who else, who else would give a shit about those papers enough to do that? Tell me, who?"
I swept my eyes around the circle of four faces, three of them with big mustaches. All were solemn and silent. I saw them shake their heads back and forth slightly, slowly, in bewildered sadness and resignation.
"All I know is Carmen DeLucca- may he drown in his mother's bloodworks for the families. An enforcer. Scum. We would never do such a thing and never truck with his kind of filth. Shame on you, Joseph- a member of the Sons yourself. Shame on you and may God and the saints forgive you for thinking it," intoned Mike. He did not look angry. He was profoundly hurt. His eyes were glistening.
The message delivered, we had coffee and beer and talked for fifteen minutes to leave the meeting on an upbeat note.
"Will you keep in touch, Mike? The rest of you?" asked Joe as we left the back room. "Tell me anything you hear, okay? And listen: you guys know Paul Tescione well. No no- forget that crap. I know you know him. I've met him briefly once. I know he does some good around here. Stay on the wire with him, huh? Let me know if DeLucca's back with the Outfit, okay? I gotta know."
"Thanks for coming, Joe. Doctor Adams, nice to see you."
"Hey. Thanks for asking us," said Joe.
We left, and heard the young men called back to the game.
"Okay," said Mike as we left. "Seven-card stud and Gus is showing a possible straight!"
Things settled down a bit afterward. Life's petty pace ground forward, trying to churn out the yardage. The needle moved up out of the Dead Zone and into Boring, its natural home. The days rolled by, tasting like wet cardboard. A few incidents of note occurred, but they served only to punctuate the tedium. To underscore it. -
One: Sam Bowman got a new secondhand safe and retrieved his loot from Nissenbaum's. He still lacked a partner however, and the future of Dependable Messenger Service was none too rosy.
Two: Moe Abramson was finding another foster home for the luscious morsel Loretta Popp, better known as Lolly. He had told her it was only a matter of days before she would start packing. She raised a fuss, but it was no use. She proposed marriage, but he wouldn't listen. She proposed to continue living in sin with him, but he turned a deaf ear. And that figured. Moe's not only a sap, he's the world's biggest puritan too. As soon as he finds anything the least bit pleasurable, he drops it like a red rivet. Old John Winthrop had nothing on him.
Three: Joe told us the Boston Public Library reported vandalism in the archives. This, and the fact that somebody broke into my office and rifled my files, told us all that the Wise Guys were still hunting for the hot item. But Joe figured they'd never get it now. He also figured they'd leave me alone, finally. He said his activities had now turned to focus on the apprehension of Carmen DeLucca.
Four: Mary and Janice went to play tennis out at the country club. A minor point dispute then erupted into a full gale, force eight. Mary told me afterward that she'd "had words" with Janice. Considering what her version of "words" meant, Janice was lucky to be alive. Worse yet, Janice called me the next morning at work; I wasn't sure whether Susan Petri was listening in on the line or not. I hoped not, because the gist of the brief conversation was that Janice was going to give me no more quick feels if I was going to kiss and tell.
"Blabbermouth!" she said, sniffing.
I went on to explain to her that I hadn't said a thing. Mary knew. She would always know.
"And that's why there's no future in it, Janice, don't you see? There are certain immutable laws. Two and two is four; the sun rises in the east; and Mary will always find out."
"But what about in the boathouse? When all the others leave to go into Wolfsboro, and there'll just be the two of us in our bathing suits, and-"
"Won't work. There'll be a crack of lightning and a pillar of smoke… and Mary."
Janice said that it was still her favorite fantasy, and that I was in that fantasy and there wasn't anything I could do about it. She hung up.
To top it off, Susan and I had two fraidy cats in a row in the chair. Now I'll be the first to admit that visiting the tooth-puller isn't everyone's favorite pastime. In fact, a lot of the time my job makes me feel somewhat like Bela Lugosi and gets me down. But life is life, and involves some risk and pain, and it should be borne with as stiff an upper lip as one can muster. We had to face two twenty-five-year-old crybabies back to back. They fought the needle; they were afraid of nerve damage; they broke into tears when I described what was going to happen. Now I've tried it the other way: not telling them what will happen. That's when pandemonium really reigns. We've had shouting matches, tantrums, threats, the works. As the second fraidy-cat filed out whimpering, I collapsed behind my desk and switched on WBUR. They were playing a nice piece by Luigi Boccherini, the Baroque cellist and composer. I like the cello anyway, and the music was particularly soothing.
"Why didn't you just put her out?" asked Susan as she cleaned up.
"I really don't like to do that. Too many things can happen when they're out. Besides, in a fearful patient the effects of sodium pentathol are uncertain; sometimes it makes things a lot worse afterwards?
"Well, thank God that's all for today. Did I tell you Mrs. Reubens canceled?"
I brightened. "No, you didn't." I looked at my watch. It showed three-twelve. I could go home. Or I could go somewhere else. Somewhere that had been on my mind a great deal lately and wouldn't let me alone. I called Susan over to my desk.
"Listen carefully," I said. "I've got some business to attend to up in Lowell. I'm going up there alone for a few hours and I'm not telling anyone. I'm only telling you in case of an emergency here or in case I don't come back."
She stiffened; her eyes widened.
"Don't do that; it's not really that daring. But I'm afraid I'm going to break the law a little teeny bit. That's one of the reasons I don't want a lot of people to know about it."
"Not even Mary?"
"Most especially not Mary."
"Oh…" There was a hint of accusation in her voice. "Who are you uh, going to break the law with?"
"What? With nobody else. This is a solo operation, Susan; I'm going alone."
"Oh. I just thought… you know. There was that woman on the phone and- "
"Well, you thought wrong. Now I should be back here, or home, by between six and seven. Don't tell anybody where I'm going, but if something big comes up, give them this number- it's a bar- and tell them to tell the folks there to come find me around the corner."
"Okay, Doctor Adams. I'm sorry I thought-"
"Forget it. It's just that certain people, no matter how sincere their intentions and how noble their character, can't stay out of trouble. My life is living proof of that. Good-bye; be sure to lock up when you leave."
I went out into the lot, climbed into the Scout,. and headed north to Lowell. I'd left Susan the number at the Lucky Seven, and right underneath it the address of Johnny Robinson's apartment. Joe said the place was closed and sealed by the fuzz. But I had to get in there; that's where the hot item was.