Макс Коллинз - Hush Money

Steve had the stunned look of a man struck solidly in the stomach. He said, “Then... then who sent the man who killed my mother?”

“Chicago. The Family wasn’t satisfied the DiPretas could handle the situation, and they sent a man in, and that’s who killed your mother. The DiPretas were incensed and have since been considering severing their ties with the Family.”

“Nolan, Jesus, stop, Nolan. Is this true? Is what you’ve been saying true?”

“Every word.”

“Then I’ve been...”

“Killing the wrong people.”

“I don’t believe it.”

“I don’t blame you. If I were you, I wouldn’t want to believe it either. It would make everything I’d done without meaning.”

“How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

“How do you know I’m not? Haven’t I at least established the possibility you’re tilting at goddamn windmills? And the wrong windmills, at that.”

“I got to have time to think, Nolan. I got to have time to think this through.”

“There isn’t any time to think. Frank DiPreta’s closing in on you, friend, you and your sister both.”

“What happened to the song and dance about how harmless Frank DiPreta is?”

“I didn’t say he’s harmless. I said he’s a crooked businessman who likes to think of himself as some mob tough guy. And another thing: he’s got this funny quirk. He doesn’t like it when members of his family get murdered. He wants revenge. Is that hard for you to understand, Steve?”

“I... I see what you mean.”

“I hope to hell you do.”

“But there is something I don’t see.”

“What?”

“I don’t see where you figure into this, Nolan. I don’t see you as a DiPreta man, and I don’t see you being lined up with those Chicago people, either. I mean, I heard the story from Dad about how you bucked the Family, walked out on them when they wanted you to do their killing for them.”

Nolan spread his palms. “Well, there’s been a shake-up in Chicago, Steve. Most of the people I had my problems with are dead. The same is true of the ones who sent the guy into Des Moines who killed your mother. I won’t say it’s a whole new ball game, but I will say the line-up’s changed considerably.”

“You work for the Family, then?”

“In the same sense your father did... the very same, in fact: I run a motel for them, too. I was asked to come here and talk to you, to act as an intermediary, because I was ‘uniquely qualified’ for the role, they said. I got unique qualifications because for one thing I got a reputation for refusing to be involved in Family bloodletting. But mainly I was asked because I was a friend of your father’s. And yours, too.”

Steve looked at Nolan for a moment. A long moment. Then he held out his can of beer in the toasting gesture and said, “Comiskey Park.”

“Comiskey Park,” Nolan said, and touched his beer can to Steve’s and they drank.

“What happens now?” Steve said.

“A lot of things could happen. More people could die, for instance. Or... the killing could stop.”

“Suppose I think that’s a good idea. Suppose I’m ready for a cease fire, Dr. Kissinger. What then?”

And Nolan told Steve about the Family’s offer, the one Felix had outlined to Nolan the night before in the back of the Lincoln Continental outside the antique shop.

The Family’s offer was this: Steve was to leave town immediately and drop out of sight as completely as possible, not telling even his sister he was going and not contacting her after he was relocated, either. For traveling and living expenses the Family would give Steve $100,000, to be deposited in the bank of his choice. All he had to do was contact Nolan after relocation, and Nolan would see to it the money was routed to Steve. The Family would provide Steve a new identity, with Social Security number, personal background history, the works. Several years of cooling off would be necessary. While the official police investigation would most likely be relatively brief, Frank DiPreta’s interest in the matter would continue indefinitely. The Family would keep an eye on Frank and make sure Steve’s sister and her little girl were not bothered. Eventually Steve should be able to reunite, at least occasionally, clandestinely, with Diane and Joni. But for a while — a good while — precaution would be the rule. In return, the Family wanted one thing.

“The tapes,” Steve said.

“The tapes,” Nolan said.

Steve sat and stared, his face a blank.

“Well?” Nolan said.

Steve stopped staring. Took a sip of his beer. “Okay, Nolan. You want the tapes? You can have ’em. You can have ’em right now.” He got up, turned to the refrigerator and opened it. He pulled out a drawer in the bottom of the refrigerator crammed with packages wrapped in white meat-market-type paper. Steve yanked the whole damn drawer out and tossed it on the table.

“That’s all of them,” he said. “Tapes, pictures, transcriptions, etcetera. All of it.”

“Are these the only copies?”

“No. I made another set. They’re in a locker at the bus station. I left the key with a lawyer with instructions that should anything happen to me, he was to give the key to this man.” And he dug in his back pocket for his billfold, got out a piece of paper, handed it to Nolan.

“Carl H. Reed,” Nolan said. “Isn’t he the guy who was on the golf course with Joey DiPreta?”

“Yes. He’s planning an investigation of the DiPretas. They tried to bribe him and it didn’t take.”

Nolan nodded. “He’s the new highway commissioner. Just took office. One of the honest ones?”

“Apparently. He sure wants those tapes.”

“Give them to him if you want, Steve. But you’re on your own if you do.”

“I know. I kind of wish I could help the guy out, though. But I guess that’s not possible.”

“Guess not. Can you get hold of that lawyer and get the key from him? Right away?”

“I don’t know, Nolan. It must be after six-thirty.”

“It’s quarter to seven, but call him anyway. Maybe he stays late and screws his secretary.”

Steve went to the phone, tried the lawyer’s office, had no luck. He tried him at home, got him there, and the lawyer said he was going out for the evening but could meet Steve at the office at eight if it absolutely could not wait and if it absolutely would not take more than a minute or two.

“Fine,” Nolan said. “You can leave tonight, then.”

“I... guess so,” Steve said. He seemed sort of punchy. “Nolan, I’m confused. It’s all coming down on me so fast.”

“Frank DiPreta is what’s coming down on you fast. You got no time to be confused. You maybe got time to pack.”

“Hey, what about the guns?”

“Better drive out in the country and ditch them. Probably should take the Weatherby and Thompson apart and dump them in pieces, different places. It’s dark out, find some back roads, shouldn’t be a problem. You got time to do it before you meet that lawyer if you shake it. What about those grenades? Any of them live?”

“Some of them.”

“Well, disarm the fucking things before you go littering the countryside with ’em.”

Steve nodded and went after some newspapers in the laundry room to spread on the floor and catch the powder he’d be emptying out of the grenades.

Nolan sat on the couch. He felt good. He felt proud of himself. He’d just done the impossible — taken a decent kid turned close-to-psychopathic murderer and turned him back into a decent kid again. Anyone else the Family might have sent would have botched it for sure, would have come down hard on the $100,000 payoff offer, when it was the psychological kid-glove treatment leading up to the offer that had made the sale. It was something only Nolan could have done, a bomb only Nolan could have defused. He was a goddamn combination diplomat, social worker, and magician, and was proud of himself.