McNally's caper

arm around my shoulders.

Once he forgot to flush the toilet, and I saw he had been passing blood. Around 5:00 P.M., he awoke again and said, ‘Give me a cigarette.’

‘Jack,’ I said, ‘are you sure you should-’

He looked at me. I lighted a cigarette and put it between his lips. He caught my hand and kissed my fingers.

‘My mom,’ he said. ‘She run off. I never did know her.’

‘Don’t try to talk, Jack. Just finish your cigarette and get some more sleep.’

it wasn’t all bad,’ he said. ‘Most of it was, but not all of it.’

His hand fell limply. The lighted cigarette dropped to the

floor. I picked it up, snuffed it out. When I looked at him again, his eyes were closed. But the blanket across his chest was rising and falling steadily.

‘The mud crick,’ he said. ‘I told you?’

‘Yes, Jack. You told me.’

‘Dick,’ he said. ‘Dick Fleming. What a brain on that kid. Style. Real class.’

‘Yes, Jack.’

‘Where did Ernie go?’

‘Who?’

‘Ernie. He was here just a minute ago.’

‘He’ll be back.’

‘The track in the morning. When they were working the horses. The sun coming up. Dew on the grass. That was something.’

I was silent.

‘I cried,’ he said, ‘when I was a kid. But that don’t do no good. That fucking Rossi.’

‘Yes.’

‘Dick and I talked about you. He liked you dressed like a hooker. I liked you best when you were you, Jannie.’

‘Thank you,’ I said faintly.

‘Have you seen A1 lately?’

‘No, I haven’t seen Al.’

‘Peters is in town for the season,’ he said. ‘And the Carter boys. They’re all coming in. Shumsky was out on the Coast. Hit it big in Vegas — he says. But you know Shumsky.’

‘Shh,’ I said. ‘Try to sleep.’

‘I wonder where she went? I thought I’d bump in to her someday, but I never did. You want another drink, Alice?’

‘No,’ I said, ‘thanks. I’ve had enough.’

‘We’ll have to put that hound down. Too bad, but he’s hurting. I’m running a load to Athens tonight, Pop. We’ll do it when I get back.’

‘Okay, Jack.’

‘A sweet caper. The best — am I right?’

‘You’re right, Jack.’

‘Jesus, I’m tired. I’ve got to get to the track, but I think I’ll take a little nap first.’

‘You do that. Take a little nap.’

Then he slept, and I think I did, too. When I awoke, he was sitting on the edge of the bed, his feet on the floor.

‘Jack,’ I said, ‘for God’s sake, lie down. Get under the blanket.’

‘I’m thirsty,’ he said in an aggrieved tone. ‘I want some orange juice.’

‘You finished the juice,’ I told him. ‘But there’s milk, beer, cola, coffee, brandy, water — whatever you want.’

‘Orange juice,’ he repeated.

I looked at the wall clockl. Almost 8:00.

‘Jack, where am I going to get orange juice this time of night?’

He looked at me steadily. When he spoke, he was perfectly rational, perfectly lucid.

‘There’s an all-night 7-11 Store right across the bridge. You can be there and back in fifteen minutes. I really would like some fresh, cold orange juice.’

‘If I go, will you get back in bed?’

‘Have I got a choice?’

He fell back into bed. I lifted up his legs. I covered him up to his chin. I leaned down to kiss his dry lips.

‘Be right back,’ I said. ‘I love you, Jack.’

‘Yeah,’ he breathed. ‘Say it again.’

‘I love you.’

‘Yeah.’

I looked back from the door just before I went out. His eyes were closed. He seemed to be breathing slowly, steadily. I locked the door behind me.

I bought three quarts of orange juice. I came speeding back. I wasn’t gone more than twenty minutes. The door to our motel room was wide open.

I knew then. Knew. But I went through the motions.

I went inside, put the juice in the refrigerator.

The note was on the drainboard of the sink. Written in a scrawled, wavery hand:

‘Babe, it’s no good. I’m filling up with blood. I can feel it. I think I’ll take a walk on the beach. Take everything. Do what you have to do. Get out. Keep moving. You got a chance. I’ll bet on it. I love you, Jan. Did I tell you? I love-’

The pencil line drooped, fell away.

I went outside. I walked down to the black sea. I thought I saw the dragging track he had made, but perhaps I was imagining it.

I waded into the pounding surf until the water was up to my knees. I stared into the darkness. But all I could make out were the rolling waves, the white crests, the milky foam. There was no moon. But I could see the stars twinkling between patches of cloud. An airliner droned overhead, lights flashing.

After a while I went back inside and started packing.

LETTER TO SOL FABER

Dear Sol,

I know you only read the first 50 and the last 50 pages of the books you peddle, but even you must have guessed that this is Project X, the manuscript I began a hundred years ago in another world.

You’ll also notice that this package is postmarked from New Orleans. If the Feds have a mail cover on you, as they probably do, they’ll have noted the same thing. It’s not important; by the time you receive this I’ll be a thousand miles from New Orleans.

Sol, please try to sell this. I’m not hurting for money; I’ve got plenty of cash plus the Brandenberg jewels. But I’d like to see this published, just so people will know my side of the story in case something happens to me. If you do sell it, hold the money. I’ll work out some way of getting it without the Feds knowing. If Jack Donohue taught me anything, it’s that the system can be fiddled, one way or another.

Please call my sister and tell her I’m alive and well. Call Aldo Binder and tell the old fart that he was right: I didn’t know what reality was all about.

Sol, I’m going to drop this off at the post office on my way to the airport. The reason I’m leaving