Роберт Паркер - Double Play

“Lauren,” Burke said. “Go over there on the wall past the window. If anything happens, get on the floor.”

She didn’t move. Burke went to the table and put his hand under her armpit and pulled her up and pushed her against the wall and out of the line of fire. Then he went to the other side of the open door and took out the .45 and stood. The rain coming through the open door had begun to puddle and soak into the rag rug when Frank Boucicault came in. Without looking around him he walked to the table where his son sat and looked down at him. Burke closed the door.

“You got people with you, Frank?”

Boucicault turned slowly to look at him.

“Of course,” he said. “They’re all around this building.”

He looked at Cash.

“Who’s this.”

“Man with a submachine gun,” Burke said. “Things happen, Junior goes first, you go second.”

Frank nodded thoughtfully as if Burke had confirmed his suspicions.

“Whaddya want to talk about?” he said.

“You know your kid’s got a deal with Gennaro Paglia?”

Frank looked at Louis.

“I’m a grown man,” Louis said. “I make deals with who I want.”

“You make one with Gennaro Paglia?” Frank said.

“Ask him,” Louis said. “He’s the one telling the story.”

“You gave Julius Roach your word that the kid wouldn’t mess with me.”

“I did.”

“I’ve heard,” Burke said, “that your word is good.”

“It is.”

“Paglia gave his word to Wendell Jackson, up in Harlem, that he wouldn’t mess with Jackie Robinson.”

“I know Wendell,” Frank said.

“So the deal is that Louis kills Robinson for Paglia, and Paglia kills me for Louis.”

Frank looked at his son.

“That the deal?” he said.

“He’s lying,” Louis said. “He’s a lying sack of shit.”

Frank nodded. He looked at Lauren standing flat against the wall in the corner. She was perfectly still, still holding her glass of gin. Her face was blank, and very pale.

“That the deal, Lauren?”

The rush of the outside rain was the only sound in the room. Frank kept his gaze on Lauren. Louis turned to stare at her too. Cash watched the Boucicaults. Burke looked at nothing.

Lauren cleared her throat. In a small voice Lauren said, “That’s what Louis told me.”

Frank nodded. He didn’t look at his son.

“So what are you doing here?” he said to Burke.

“I want the girl,” he said. “And I want the three of us to walk out of here safely.”

“Frank,” Louis said. “They’re lying. Both of them, the sonova bitch is trying—”

“Take her,” Frank said.

“Frank,” Louis said. His voice was higher than it had been. “You bastard, you can’t...”

Frank turned and leaned over the table and pointed at Louis.

“Not a sound,” he said. “Not one more fucking sound.”

Louis opened his mouth, and met his father’s look, and closed it. His face was death white except for the redness that smudged his cheeks. Burke could see that he was breathing very hard. Frank turned and spoke to Burke.

“We need somebody dead,” Frank said, “we do our own killing.”

“You need any of us dead?” Burke said.

“I don’t like you much,” Frank said after a moment. “And I think she’s a fucking whore. But my word is how I do business. Louis will never, ever, bother you again.”

“Or her?” Burke said.

“Or her, or Tommy Gun over there. We’ll walk up to your car with you. You can drive away. No one will stop you.”

“Your word?” Burke said.

“My word.”

Burke looked at Cash.

“No harm keeping the gun on him while we walk,” Cash said.

“No,” Burke said. “Point it somewhere else.”

Cash nodded and let the muzzle of the Thompson drop. Burke put out his hand toward Lauren. Lauren didn’t move.

“Where am I going?” she said, her voice barely carried over the sound of the rainfall.

“With me,” Burke said.

“For how long?”

Burke paused for a moment, then smiled slightly.

“Until death do us part,” he said.

She stared at him a moment, then stepped away from her corner and took his hand. Still seated, Louis was pouring gin into his glass. Burke thought he saw tears. Then Frank opened the door and went out first, and they followed him into the downpour.

They lay on the bed together at Burke’s apartment, smoking. He had an arm around her. She had her head on his chest. Soaked when they got there, they had both showered. Burke was wearing white boxer shorts. Lauren had on one of his shirts. There had been no sex. She touched one of the bullet scars on his chest.

“Scars are looking better,” she said.

“They calm down eventually,” he said.

“They’re really quite faint,” she said.

It was nearly dawn. Through the rain the gray day was beginning to show.

“You okay?” he said.

She nodded. He wasn’t looking at her, but he could feel her head move on his chest.

“Why?” she said.

“Why what?”

“Why did you come for me?” she said.

“Seemed right,” Burke said.

“Do you love me?” she said.

Burke took in a lot of smoke and let it out slowly and watched it twine with the smoke from her cigarette as it rose. She waited.

“Yes,” he said at last.

“How long have you loved me?” she said.

“Long time,” he said.

“So why now?”

“It was time.”

“I need to know,” she said.

Burke took in more smoke and held it in his lungs for a moment before he blew it gently out.

“I don’t know if I can tell you,” he said finally. “I... since... the war...”

Absently he touched the scars on his chest. When he did, she covered his hand with hers.

“I been scared since the war,” he said. “I got hurt too bad.”

“You didn’t seem scared.”

“I was scared of caring about anything.”

“Because you could lose it.”

“Because I could lose it,” Burke said.

“And if nothing mattered, you could lose it or not lose it and it couldn’t hurt you.”

“Something like that.”

“Even your life,” Lauren said.

“Yeah.”

“So you didn’t care about anything, you wouldn’t have to be afraid of anything.”

“I guess.”

“So what changed?” she said.

“It was no way to live,” Burke said.

Neither of them said anything. They lay still listening to the rain.

“I think it had something to do with that colored baseball player.”

“Robinson,” Burke said.

“It did,” Lauren said, “didn’t it?”

Burke put his cigarette out in the ashtray on the nightstand, and shook another one loose, and lit it, and took a drag and lay back with the cigarette still in his mouth.

“Probably,” Burke said.

She didn’t speak, but he could feel her head nodding slowly against his chest.

“This will not be easy,” Lauren said after a while.

“I know,” Burke said.

“I’ve been rich too long with my father’s money. I have a problem with alcohol, with drugs, with sex, with men, with my mother, with my father...”

“But not with me,” Burke said.

“I have no money of my own, no place to live.”

“You can live with me,” Burke said.

“I can’t bear to go near my father’s house. I don’t even have clean clothes.”

“We’ll get some,” Burke said.

“And,” she said, “you’ve been in some kind of emotional hibernation since Guadalcanal.”

“Now I’m not.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Can’t.”

“But you’re hopeful,” she said.

“I’m willing to work at it,” Burke said.