Роберт Паркер - Double Play

Few people argued with Burke about payments. They looked into his flat gaze and backed down. If they didn’t have money they made arrangements. Angelo liked him.

“Anthony’s right,” Angelo said to him. “You got a nice way with this. You talk to people. They come around.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. I don’t want to hurt nobody if it ain’t necessary,” Angelo said. “Guy in the hospital ain’t earning money to pay me back. Dead guy is earning even less.”

“ ’Less there’s life insurance,” Anthony said.

“Well, ’a course,” Angelo said. “That’s a different story. We get it from the widow, that’s excellent.”

“Not a lot of widows going to give Burke any shit,” Anthony said.

“Damn few,” his brother said. “Generally they cough it up.”

“I don’t do widows,” Burke said.

Angelo stared at him.

“Whaddya mean?” Anthony said. “Why not?”

“I don’t feel like it,” Burke said.

Angelo kept looking at him. Nobody said anything for a time.

“You work for me,” Angelo said finally, “and mostly it matters what I feel like.”

“I heard that,” Burke said.

Angelo looked at Anthony.

“He’s your friend,” Angelo said, “whaddya think?”

“Angelo,” Anthony said, “it’s what you call a hypothetical question, ya know? Burke’s done a good job so far. Let’s worry about the fucking widows and orphans when it comes up.”

Angelo nodded slowly, staring at Burke.

“Okay,” he said. “Makes sense, but he got to know that I mean what I say. He don’t feel like something that I feel like doing — we’re gonna have some trouble.”

Burke made no comment. For all his face showed they could have been talking about Douglas MacArthur.

“Sure,” Anthony said. “That’s fair. Ain’t that fair, Burke?”

“That’s fair,” Burke said.

“Probably won’t come up anyway,” Anthony said. “You know? Probably not really a problem, anyway.”

“Probably not,” Angelo said.

Neither Burke nor Angelo mentioned the matter again. Later that week Burke got a copy of the final papers ratifying the divorce that he had not contested.

On a Monday evening Angelo took him to dinner. They sat in a dark booth in a place called Mario’s, and had spaghetti with marinara sauce, some sliced bread in a basket, and a bottle of Chianti.

“Guy I know,” Angelo said, “political guy. He needs somebody to watch his back for a while.”

“Because?”

“Because he does,” Angelo said. “I want to give you to him.”

“What are friends for,” Burke said.

He poured some more Chianti into the short water glass provided and drank some.

“I told him you was tough as a five-cent mutton chop,” Angelo said. “That you kept your word, and that you didn’t have much to say.”

Burke nodded.

“Pay’s good,” Angelo said. “And you step up a level.”

“Guy legit?” Burke said.

“ ’Course he ain’t legit,” Angelo said. “He’s legit, he don’t need his back watched. But he’s more legit than I am.”

Burke nodded again. The Chianti was cheap and sour. He drank it anyway.

“You and me are going to have trouble you keep working for me,” Angelo said. “You know it and I know it. You ain’t good at taking orders, and I’m really good at giving them.”

“True,” Burke said.

“Anthony says he owes you from Guadalcanal, and he’s my brother.”

Burke didn’t say anything.

“You want the job?” Angelo said.

“Sure.”

Julius Roach had no visible means of support. He was often consulted by borough presidents. He was often identified in newspapers as a City Hall regular. He sat frequently in the owners’ box at Ebbets Field, and the Polo Grounds, and Yankee Stadium. He was photographed with Branch Rickey. Toots Shor knew him, and Walter Winchell. When Mayor O’Dwyer spoke at a banquet, Roach was frequently at the head table, dressed very well.

“My daughter needs looking after,” Roach said to Burke. “Mr. Mastrangelo says you’d be just right for it.”

“Angelo told me it was you,” Burke said.

“I thought it seemly to mislead Mr. Mastrangelo,” Roach said. “Family matter, you know?”

“How old is your daughter?” Burke said.

“Lauren is twenty-five,” Roach said. “Lovely and accomplished, but foolish in her choice of men.”

“And you want me to help her with the choices?”

Roach was a tall man with too much weight on him and white hair that he wore long and brushed back. His clothes were expensive and cut to make him look slimmer.

“I want you to protect her from the consequences of her choices,” Roach said.

“Such as?”

“Lauren seems to have a proclivity for, ah, violence-prone men,” Roach said.

“Why me?”

“I am a man of some public reputation, and some political prominence, and I want this to be very discreet. The usual sources, private detectives, the police, that sort of thing, would seem to risk public disclosure.”

He always talks like he’s addressing a jury, Burke thought.

“What, you think I won’t blab?”

“Mr. Mastrangelo says you’re not a talker. He says you don’t care about publicity.”

“Did he say what I do care about?”

Roach smiled. He seemed to purse his lips when he smiled.

“Nothing.”

Burke nodded.

“How do you happen to know the Mastrangelos?” he said.

“Angelo and I have met in the course of our work.”

“I need a gun for this?” Burke said.

“You might. I can get you one.”

“I have one,” Burke said. “Your daughter want a bodyguard?”

“She hasn’t been consulted,” Roach said. “I have little control over her behavior. But I do control her income. She’ll do what she must.”

“Is there a mother?”

“My wife is not at issue here,” Roach said. “For a man who cares about nothing you ask a lot of questions.”

“I care about whether I want to do something or not,” Burke said.

“Do you want to do this?”

“Why not,” Burke said.

Lauren thought he looked like some kind of football player with his thick neck. But she knew he wasn’t. He was something else entirely. Though she didn’t know what.

“This is Joseph Burke,” her father said.

“And a fine figure of American manhood he is,” Lauren said.

Burke said, “How do you do.”

“And what do you do, Mr. Burke?”

Burke smiled and nodded at her father.

“Ask him,” Burke said.

Lauren looked at her father.

“I’ve asked Mr. Burke to look out for you during this nasty business with Louis.”

“Look out for me?”

“Look out for your safety,” Roach said.

She stared at her father.

“You’ve hired a fucking bodyguard?” she said.

“Watch your mouth,” Roach said, “when you speak to me.”

Lauren looked at Burke.

“You mean this... I’m expected to let this, this unwashed thug along everywhere I go?”

“I washed this morning,” Burke said.

“I do mean that,” Roach said.

“And if I say no?”

“As long as you live here and spend my money you’ll do as I say.”

Lauren took a cigarette out of a box on the coffee table behind her. She put it in her mouth and looked at Burke. Burke didn’t move.

“Do you have a match?” Lauren said.

Burke took a packet of matches from his shirt pocket and offered them to Lauren. She stared at him for a moment and then took the matches peevishly and lit her own cigarette. When she had finished she dropped the matchbook on the coffee table.