Макс Коллинз - Hush Money

“You should be. Because the DiPretas are going to make their offer again. I don’t know when or how, but they will. My business meeting with Joey DiPreta was interrupted, but as soon as the smoke clears, the rest of the family will be there to take up where Joey left off. Since I said nothing to the police, the DiPretas will assume Joey either didn’t get a chance to make his offer or that he did and I accepted. Either way, they’ll be wanting to see me.”

“What can you do? Couldn’t you go to the newspapers?”

“Telling the press isn’t a bad idea, Maggie, but I have no evidence. Just my word about what a dead man told me. I’ve been thinking it over. Carefully. I’ve been examining what I’ve seen today, and heard. I’ve been thinking about what options are open to me. And I’ve decided to amass evidence on my own. DiPreta said that as soon as I begin to delve into the highway commission records it’ll become apparent enough what was going on during Grayson’s administration. So I’ll begin that examination, tomorrow. Today. As a full-time project. And I’ll keep the lid on, too. Minimum of secretarial help, and then only in a way that could not make clear what I was up to. It’ll be a tough, time-consuming job, but it shouldn’t take me long, if I get at it, and when I have the evidence amassed, then I will talk to the press. I’ll hold a press conference and tell the damn world . But not ’til then.”

“Finish your drink and come to bed.”

“You think it’s a good idea?”

“Yes. Know what else I think?”

“No.”

“I think my husband is a great man. Even if he is a damn liberal. Now come to bed.”

“I’ll be in in a few minutes. I think I’ll go out on the back stoop and finish my drink and get some air first.”

“Carl...”

“Just for a couple of minutes. Then I’ll be in.”

“Okay. I’ll read ’til you join me.”

“You don’t have to do that... unless you want to.”

“I want to. That is, I want to if there’s a chance of this dowdy old housewife in curlers and robe seducing her brilliant and handsome husband.”

“There’s more than a chance. I’ll guarantee it. And you’re not dowdy, Mag. You’re beautiful.”

“I know, but it sounds better when you say it.” She smooched his cheek. “Go out and get your air and finish your drink. I’ll give you five minutes and then I’m starting without you.”

He laughed and patted her fanny as he followed her out of the study. She turned off toward the bedroom and he went on out the back way and sat on the cement stoop and sipped the Scotch and thought some more. There was a nice breeze, but it wasn’t cold. The night was dark, moonless, but there were stars. Very pleasant out, really, and he felt good... about the pleasant night... about the decisions he’d made... about his wife, his beautiful wife of almost three decades waiting in the bedroom for him.

Someone touched his shoulder.

“Maggie?” Carl said and started to turn.

He felt something cold touch his neck. He knew almost immediately, though he didn’t know how, that the something cold was the tip of the barrel of a gun.

“Who is it?” Carl whispered.

“That’s right,” a voice whispered back. “Speak softly. We don’t want to attract the attention of anyone in your house. Your wife or your daughter, for instance.”

“What do you want?”

“I’m not here to hurt you. I’m a friend. I know you may find that hard to believe, but it’s the truth.”

“I have a lot of friends, my friend,” Carl said, hoping his fear would not be apparent, hoping he could put a tough edge in his voice. “None of them holds a gun to my neck when they want to talk to me.”

The coldness of the gun barrel went away.

“Maybe that was unnecessary,” the voice said, “but my situation’s kind of precarious. I hope you can understand that. I hope you’ll excuse me.”

The voice was deep but young-sounding, and there was a tone of — what? Respect? Carl wasn’t sure exactly. But whatever it was, he wasn’t afraid any more, or at least not as much as perhaps he should have been in the presence of an intruder with a gun.

“Is it all right if I turn around?” Carl asked.

“Please don’t. I’ll be sitting here right behind you, next to you on the stoop, while we talk a moment. But it’d be better for us both if you didn’t see me.”

“Then I shouldn’t ask who you are.”

“You won’t have to. I’ve already told you I’m a friend. Do you always stay up so late, Mr. Reed?”

“Do I what?” The question caught Carl off guard, and he almost laughed, despite the gun and overall strangeness of the situation.

“Do you always stay up so late? I’ve been waiting for you to go to bed for several hours now. My intention, frankly, was to enter your house after you were asleep so I could look through your papers in your study.”

“Why would you want to do that?”

“To see if my judgment of you today was correct.”

“Your judgment? When did you see me today?”

“On the golf course.”

“On the... oh. Oh my Lord. You...?”

“That’s right. I shot Joseph DiPreta this afternoon.”

“My Lord. My God.”

“I hope you’ll forgive me, but I’m afraid I was listening outside your study while you were speaking with your wife. I found what you said encouraging. I’m glad you’re taking a stand against the DiPretas and what they represent. We have that in common.” The man paused, breathed in some of the fresh night air. “The breeze feels nice, doesn’t it? There was a breeze like this this afternoon, remember? I was watching you through the telescopic sight of a rifle. You were arguing with DiPreta. I’m not a lip reader, but it was clear you were having some sort of disagreement. And then at the end of your argument the wind carried DiPreta’s voice to the high grass where I was watching. If I heard correct, DiPreta threatened you because you would not accept money to keep quiet. But I couldn’t be sure. I had to come here tonight to try to see if I could find out where you really stood. And I think I’ve found an ally.”

Carl’s mind stuttered. The boy seemed lucid enough, not at all the madman he must be, but then madmen often seem lucid; their illogic is often most seductive.

“You may be wondering why, if I learned what I needed to know by eavesdropping earlier, I would risk coming out in the open now to contact you. Because you obviously won’t approve of my methods, even if our goals are similar. But I have something important to tell you. I have this certain body of data you will be interested in.”

Carl found the ability to speak again, somehow, asking, “Data? What sort of data?”

“Tapes. Of conversations in motel rooms, both private and meeting rooms. Of phone calls. Also photographs, other documentary material. Pertaining to the DiPretas and their family businesses and their connections to organized crime, specifically to Chicago. A lot of the material, in fact, pertains directly to Chicago. I hesitate to call this body of data evidence because I’m no lawyer. I don’t know what a court would do with this stuff. But if nothing else, it can serve as a sort of blueprint to the DiPretas and everything they have done, are doing, and are likely to do.”

Carl spoke with all the urgency he could muster. “If you do have such a collection of data — and, damn it, I believe you do, Lord knows why — you must turn it over to me. You were listening to my wife and me, you know that I’ll be mounting a personal, intensive investigation of the DiPretas and their activities, and it’s my intention to expose them and the people they deal with for what they are. To tell anyone who’s interested that the Mafia is alive and well and living in Des Moines.”