Out of the Easy(78)

“They came poking around at six last night. Six P.M.! Acted like it was some social call and stayed till one in the morning. I lost a whole night of business entertaining the chief and his cop friends. But what could I do? They played cards, and the girls stayed up in their rooms, bored as bats. The chief’s eyes were on everything—I had to follow him around. I was sure he’d find the hiding spots. Take the book. From now on, I’ll give you the receipt papers, and you’ll make the entries at your place.”

I nodded and took the book from her. She lit a cigarette and leaned back in bed.

“And you know what else? I’m too tired to play this game anymore. What do you say we cram the apple in the pig’s ass and roast it.”

“You’re tired of the business? The police?”

“Yeah, that too. But I’m tired of this game with you. I’ve waited, hoped that you would come to me. At first I was angry that you thought I was so stupid. You’re eighteen, for cripe’s sake. I guess I should be happy that there’s still a ridiculous innocent side to you. But sometimes it just plain pisses me off.”

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

“Aw, can it. I know you’re upset about Charlie and Patrick, but that’s not what this is about. Your mother marked Forrest Hearne the moment she saw him, and you know it. You marked Hearne, too, just in a different way. Your mother told Cincinnati she found a target. Cinci paid the bartender to slip him a fat Mickey so Hearne would be out long enough to fleece him. Bartender slipped the Mick fat all right, and Hearne wound up dead. Even though it’s obvious to every Tom, Dick, and Harry that they’re guilty, they get off because they have an alibi. And who can afford to buy alibis in this town? Yeah, Carlos Marcello. So now your mother’s got the black hand on her back.”

I stood at the foot of Willie’s bed, clutching the book. Tears pooled in my eyes.

She nodded, her hard-boiled voice lowering. “You think I don’t understand what’s going on, Jo? You think I don’t have eyes in this town? Frankie’s not my only pair of eyes. I had people pulling me aside on the street, telling me Marcello’s men were on you, cars were following you all over town. And then suddenly you’re acting like a lunatic. Jesse came to change Mariah’s oil, and the poor kid was a mess. Said you busted his window begging for shutters and then ran off. I don’t have to tell you that you’ve screwed that one up royal. And the whole time, I told them all that you’d come to me. I kept waiting for you to come to me.”

“I couldn’t,” I sobbed.

“Why the hell not?” demanded Willie.

“They said they’d kill you.”

“And you believed them? Jo, they want their money, and they’ll threaten to high heaven to get it. I know how to handle Marcello.”

“No, Willie, you can’t. I don’t want anything to happen to you or Cokie.”

“Quit your sniveling. I’m not a fool. How much is the mark?”

I could barely look at her. “Five thousand,” I said quietly.

Willie threw back the covers and started pacing, ash flying from the butt of her cigarette. A vein of anger pulsed at her temple. “Your mother should be strung up by her eyelids. Passing her daughter a mob debt? Here’s what we’ll do. I’ll give you the money for Marcello, but you’ll go to some banks and exchange it for all small notes and change. When you deliver the money to Tangle Eye, it has to look like you scrounged it up from the gutter. Pennies and nickels, even. Split it up in different bags and envelopes. If you have big bills, they’ll know you had a source and they’ll just keep coming back for more. Sonny will drive you out to Mosca’s this afternoon. You’ll go in and pay them. Make sure they tell you you’re square.”

“I’ll pay them? I have to take five thousand dollars to Marcello’s men? Won’t they come and get it?”

“You don’t want them to come and get it. If they have to pay a visit, then it’s overdue and you owe more. You want to pay them before they come calling.” The skin on Willie’s chest sagged and broken capillaries crisscrossed her neck. She went into the safe in the closet and started tossing packs of money out onto her bed.

“That’s four thousand.” She leaned out of the closet, against the door frame. “How much did you get for screwing Lockwell last night?”

I looked at her.

“How much?” she demanded.

“Nothing.”

“Nothing! What’s the matter with you? You could have gotten a couple hundred.”

“It was fifteen hundred.” I looked up at Willie. “But I couldn’t do it. He danced with me and touched me, and I couldn’t stand it. I pulled my gun on him. Then I ran.”

She took a long, slow drag off her cigarette and nodded. “Good girl. Good for you, Jo.” She threw another thousand onto the bed.

We drove to the West Bank. I sat in the passenger seat of Sonny’s car, flour sacks, paper bags, and envelopes full of small bills and coins at my feet. Five thousand dollars. Sonny rode with a shotgun between his legs. He said nothing, just smoked and listened intently to the radio soap opera Young Widder Brown crackling through his custom tube radio. His huge frame humped over the wheel, engrossed in the latest episode of widow Ellen Brown and her romance with Anthony Loring.