Mary Clark - The Shadow of Your Smile

“Sammy, we know this dump could serve as a day care center,” Forrest told him. “We’re only interested in you. Why did you bother to change from your sweat suit to your version of dress-up clothes when you picked up your car at the pound? You remember, Thursday, you were in such a hurry to follow Dr. Farrell when she left the hospital that you didn’t even take time to feed the meter?”

Sammy had been questioned enough in the past by cops that he had trained himself never to appear to be nervous. But he had a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach this time. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he mumbled.

“We all know what I’m talking about, Sammy,” Forrest told him. “We hope nothing happens to Monica Farrell, because if it does, Sammy, you’ll think you were caught in a tsunami. On the other hand, we’d be very interested to know who hired you.”

“Sammy,” Whelan asked, “why were you parked in front of the hospital? Just in case you forgot, as Carl just told you, the security cameras show your car being hauled away.”

“Not feeding the meter cost me big bucks, but no one ever mentioned that it was a crime. And when you look at it, it helps the city. All those extra bucks, you know what I mean?” Sammy was beginning to feel confident. They’re trying to rattle me, he thought, scornfully. They’re trying to get me to say something stupid. They wouldn’t talk to me like this if they could prove anything.

“By any chance do you know Dr. Monica Farrell?” Detective Forrest asked.

“Doctor who?”

“She’s the young woman who fell, or was pushed, in front of a bus the other night. It was in all the papers.”

“Don’t get much chance to read the papers,” Sammy said.

“You should. They keep you abreast of current events.” Forrest and Whelan stood up together. “Always interesting to chat with you, Sammy.”

Sammy watched as the two detectives worked their way through the now crowded tables to the exit. I can’t be the one to take Farrell out, he thought. I’ve got to hand off the job, and I know just the right guy to take my place. I’ll offer Larry one hundred grand. He’ll snap at it. But I’ll make sure it happens while I’m at work so I have a rock-solid alibi. Then those cops will be off my back. And I still come out ahead. I got paid one million to do it, and I subcontract the job for one-tenth of that!

Smiling at the thought, but with a sense of failure, Sammy admitted to himself that for the first time in his long career as a hit man, he had bungled two attempts to carry out his contract to eliminate an unwanted problem. Maybe it is time to quit, he thought. But not before I see this one through.

Like I told Dougie, I always keep my word.

Tony, Rosalie, and little Carlos Garcia went for a drive on Saturday afternoon. They were on their way to visit Rosalie’s sister Marie and her husband, Ted Simmons, at their home in Bay Shore, Long Island.

Tony had been working nonstop for almost two weeks between the chauffeuring jobs and events at the Waldorf, where he was a waiter. As he explained to Rosalie, the minute October came all the big charities had their black-tie dinners. “Sometimes I hear the people I’m driving talk about how many of these affairs they’ve gone to in a week,” Tony told Rosalie. “And don’t think they’re cheap.”

But this Saturday he was off, and it was a nice day to drive to Bay Shore. Tony liked his in-laws. Marie and Ted had three kids a little older than Carlos, and Ted’s mother and brother would be there as well. Ted had opened a hardware store in Bay Shore and was doing great. Their house was a big colonial, and they had a fenced-in yard where Carlos and his cousins could run around with no one worrying about the traffic.

“It’s going to be so much fun today, Tony,” Rosalie said happily, as they emerged from the gloom of the Midtown Tunnel onto the expressway. “I was so scared when the baby got that terrible cold this week, but he hasn’t even sneezed in four days.” She looked back over her shoulder. “Have you, love?” she asked Carlos, who was securely ensconced in his car seat.

“No, no, no,” Carlos responded in a singsong voice.

“Boy, is that ever his new word,” Rosalie laughed.

“It’s his only word these days,” Tony answered, then thought of something he’d been meaning to tell his wife. “Rosie, I told you about that nice old woman I drove two weeks ago to that cemetery in Rhinebeck? She’s the one who said she knew Dr. Monica’s grandmother. I saw in the paper yesterday that she had died. She’s being buried today.”

“That’s too bad, Tony.”

“I really liked her. Oh, God!” Tony slammed his foot on the accelerator. In the midst of the heavy traffic, the car had stopped dead. Frantically, he turned the key in the ignition as the screeching of brakes from the truck behind him warned him that they were going to be hit. “No!” he shouted.

Rosalie turned to look at Carlos. “Oh, my God!” she wailed.

As Rosalie screamed, they felt a bump that shook them back and forth, but the driver of the truck had managed to brake and slow down before he hit them.

Shaking with relief, they turned to look at their two-year-old son. Totally unruffled, Carlos was trying to climb out of his car seat.

“He thinks we’re there,” Tony said, his voice quivering, his hands still clutching the wheel. A moment later, still shaking, he opened the door of the car to greet the man whose quick reaction had saved their lives.

Three hours later they were in Ted and Marie’s house in Bay Shore, at the dining room table. It had taken forty minutes for the tow truck to arrive. They had caused a massive traffic delay on the expressway. Ted had driven over to pick them up at the service station where they were stranded.

The awareness that if the driver behind them had been tailgating, or if he’d been unable to stop, they might be dead, filled all the adults at the table, Rosalie and Tony, Marie and Ted, Ted’s mother and brother, with a profound sense of gratitude. “It could have been so different,” Rosalie said, as she glanced out the windows. One of his big cousins was pushing a delighted Carlos on the swing.

“It could still be so different if you don’t get rid of that old car of yours, Tony,” Ted, a heavyset man with a decisive manner, said bluntly. “You’ve been nursing that rattletrap much too long. I know you’ve been putting off buying a new car, and I know why-all those medical bills for Carlos have been burying you. But he didn’t beat leukemia so that all of you could be killed in an accident. Look around for a decent car, okay? I’ll lend you the money.”

Tony looked gratefully at his brother-in-law. He knew that Ted might say that he’d lend the money, but he also knew he would never let him pay it back. “I know you’re right, Ted,” he agreed. “I’m not putting my family in that old heap again. Even before it broke down, I was thinking about a car that would be perfect for us and it can’t be too expensive. It’s a ten-year-old Cadillac. I drove the old lady who owned it, a couple of weeks ago. It was a pretty long trip. You know I know cars. This one is in perfect condition. It’s probably heavier on the gas than the new ones, but I bet I could get it at book value, which can’t be much.”

“Tony, you mean the lady we were talking about on the way out?” Rosalie asked. “The lady whose funeral was today?”

“Yes, Ms. Morrow. It’s her car that’s probably going to be for sale.”

“Look into it, Tony,” Ted said. “Don’t waste time. There isn’t much of a market for a ten-year-old Caddy. You’ll probably get it.”