Эд Горман - Fools Rush In

The irony of standing in a hospital hall smoking a cigarette, after several years of the surgeon general pounding home the connection between cancer and heart attack and cigarettes, wasn’t lost on me. If I ever managed to get married and have kids, would they be standing in this very hall twenty, thirty years down the line wishing that the old man in the room behind them had never taken up the devil weed?

The nurse pushed the wheelchair carrying James Neville out of the room and down the hall. Then came the doc and the other nurse. Both heading to the elevator, too. No sign yet of Will.

When I entered the room, he was standing by the window, looking down at the activity in the parking lot.

“I know you think we’re dumb,” he said, knowing who was there without turning around. “But that don’t mean it hurts any less.”

“Richie?”

“He was a good kid.”

“Then help me catch his killer.”

He swung his large head around and looked at me. “Can’t. We say anything it’s like confessing we were in on it.”

“I wouldn’t have to tell anybody what you told me.”

“James says you’re a liar. I say you are, too.”

“I guess I won’t be getting invited to your family reunion, huh?”

“I get sick of your jokes.”

“I get sick of them sometimes, too. But what makes me real sick is somebody getting away with murder. A lot of crimes go unsolved, you know.”

“Not murder.”

“You’re wrong, Will. Lots of murders go unsolved. The cops call them ‘open files.’ But ‘open’ really means the opposite. ‘Closed.’ They give up on them.”

“Maybe in the big city.”

I lit another smoke. “Remember when the two Furnish girls were found beaten to death in the woods? All the publicity that got? They still haven’t found the killer.”

He looked back at the parking lot below.

“You and your brother had a lot of responsibility here, Will. It was you two who got him into this blackmail thing and you damn well know it. He’d be alive today if it wasn’t for you two.”

“Shut your face.”

“James runs the same kind of setup in Chicago and then he brings it out here to Richie. Sort of like a franchise. Like the Dairy Queen or something.”

We didn’t talk for a while.

“I need to know if anybody hassled Richie over being blackmailed. Did anybody get mad? Did anybody try to hurt him? Did anybody threaten to go to the law? You’re running out of chances here, Will. I gave you a chance to talk while I was at your apartment. Now I’m giving you another chance.”

“You don’t give a shit about Richie. You just want to find out who killed him — for your own sake.”

“You’re being real stupid here, Will. Real stupid. You’ve already lost a brother. Maybe you and James will lose your freedom, too. Going to prison.”

There was nothing more to say. I stood there staring at his back for a few more seconds and then I left.

When I got to the ground floor, I found an open phone booth and called the judge’s house. A year ago her longtime employee had decided to retire to Florida and in his place she now had a chauffeur/functionary who seemed to think he was also her press secretary. Stingy he was with info, Aaron Towne.

“How’s she doing?”

“Just about how you’d think she’d be doing.”

“Well, at least she was able to go home. I imagine the master bedroom looks like a hospital room.”

“We’ve been able to make it serve her needs.”

“You know something, Aaron?”

“I’m not sure I appreciate that tone.”

“Well, I don’t really give a shit what you appreciate or not. She’s not only my boss, she’s my friend.”

“If you’re such a good friend of hers, why did she give me specific instructions not to bring her your calls or let you in the door?”

“Because she’s embarrassed, that’s why. Because she’s lonely and afraid and ashamed and she needs to talk to me more than ever.”

“Well, she won’t talk to you. And I won’t ask her to. She spends way too much time worrying about you as it is.”

“What? She worries about me?”

“She worries that you’ll never really get ahead as a lawyer. She worries that you resent the important people in this town to the point where it holds you back. And she worries that you’ll be as unhappy in love as she’s been.”

Four husbands. At least she knew whereof she spoke.

“I see.”

“So right now seeing her would be unwise — both for you and for her.”

But right now I wasn’t listening all that carefully. I was thinking of that imperious, elegant middle-aged woman worrying about me. I’d never had much of a hint that she considered me any more important to her than the milkman. Probably less, because she really liked milk.

“Please give her a message for me, Aaron.”

“If it’s the right kind of message.”

“Tell her that I’m really eager to see her and that she’s in my thoughts and prayers constantly.”

“I guess I could tell her that.”

“You’re such a swell guy, Aaron.”

“I know you’re being sarcastic, McCain.”

“Gosh,” I said, “how could you tell?”

I was doing my Philip Marlowe routine — feet up on the desk, pipe in my mouth, copy of Mr. Hefner’s latest fitting nicely between my hands — when he appeared in my doorway. This was just after five. Jamie had gone home and the office was quiet, especially since I’d taken the phone off the hook.

“I didn’t realize you were an intellectual,” Senator Williams said, nodding at the magazine.

“I’ve looked at all the pictures several times. Now I’m actually reading it.”

“I’m told they do have a good article or two on occasion.” He walked in and said, “Mind if I sit down?”

“Of course not.”

I’d never seen him this dressed down. Button-down yellow shirt, brown belt, brown slacks. His hair was wind-mussed, too. He’d almost lost that senatorial pose he lived inside.

He seemed to be as nervous as I was about his visit. I wasn’t sure what he wanted.

“Thanks for dropping those negatives off at my office today. I’m sorry I didn’t make it last night.”

“That’s fine. I survived. So what can I help you with today?”

“I need to ask you something, Sam.”

“All right.”

“Are you sure those were the only negatives you had with my name on the envelope?”

“Sure. I gave you everything I had.”

“And you didn’t look at them?”

“No, I didn’t. I kept my word.”

He started leaning forward, sliding his hand behind him, apparently to retrieve his wallet.

“I have money, Sam. Plenty of money. I’m sure Esme doesn’t pay you all the money in the world.”

“Why are you offering me money?”

He paused and then said, “We’re sort of talking in code here.”

“We are?”

“Look, Sam. I know you held the rest of those negatives back. Make a little money for yourself. I don’t blame you. You’re the one who’s really done most of the work on this matter. But now I need the rest of the negatives.” This time he succeeded in getting his wallet out. “I brought plenty of money, Sam. So let’s talk about me getting the rest of the negatives and you getting the seven hundred dollars in my wallet here.”

“Don’t bother with any money. First of all, I wouldn’t want it even if I had the negatives—”

Anger in those cold, disapproving eyes. He had restrained himself as long as he could. “Even if you had the negatives? Where the hell are they?”

“I don’t know what negatives you’re talking about.”

He sat back in his chair, folded his hands in his lap, and just stared at me. His lips were white and his eyes moments from expressing the rage I could feel even across the desk.