“It wasn’t. I didn’t leave the apartment all day.”
Deirdre Fallon said, “There were two others, Mr. Fortune?”
“Only one that I’m not sure of,” I said.
I didn’t need any unexplained characters, but that’s the name of the game. You can work six months on a case, only to have it solved when some total stranger walks into a police station in Medicine Bow and confesses to ease his conscience.
“Then you know one of them?” Deirdre Fallon asked.
“An ape name Leo Zar. Baron’s faithful retainer.”
She shivered. “I’ve met him. He scares me.”
We had walked while we talked and were outside by now. The snow came down horizontally on the wind. A black Jaguar drove up. A garage attendant jumped out and brought the keys to Walter. While Walter was tipping him, a silver Bentley glided to the curb behind the Jaguar. Carmine Costa got out. He walked toward us as smoothly as the Bentley drove.
“Miss Fallon, Mr. Radford,” Costa said, and touched his hat. He grinned at me. “Hello, baby, any luck with the sleuthing?”
“All bad,” I said.
Costa was immaculately dressed without a hint of either dressing up or dressing down. He looked more the aristocrat than Walter Radford did-to anyone who didn’t know real aristocrats. The blond Strega materialized behind Costa. I hadn’t seen the bodyguard-and-friend move from the car or anywhere else. The perfect shadow, unmoving behind his boss like a statue in the snow.
Costa sympathized with me. “I heard about Baron. Looks like you got sold a bill, baby. That Weiss will go away forever.” He shuddered, and it wasn’t the cold. It was the thought of prison. I watched him shake off the specter with an effort, and turn to Walter Radford. “How about a lift? I got some business to talk about.”
“We have our own car, Mr. Costa,” Deirdre Fallon said.
I said, “What business, Costa?”
“Not your business, baby.”
“It is if it involves blackmail.”
I’m told that for a peaceful man I take big chances. Maybe I do. Like most men with few muscles, I consider myself fast with the brains, and you have to feel courageous in some area. I’m a pretty brave man with words. Or maybe just a stupid man.
Costa’s smile went away faster than it had come. I got a flash of the violence in him. Not the violence of the hood, but of the old master sergeant. He was breathing down at me before I saw him move. He stood nose to nose. I expected to hear him say, “You, soldier!” next. Quickly as he moved, Strega was quicker. I felt the silent blond muscleman at my left and almost behind me. Something touched my shoulder. It felt like a vise, but it was only fingers. Strega’s fingers. They chewed at my shoulder like a lion’s jaws.
“Strega!” Costa said. The fingers went away, but Strega’s breath was still on my neck. Costa’s was on my face. His voice strained through teeth that almost ground in rage.
“Never! You got me? Never say that. Not you, not anybody! I’ll tear a man apart with my bare hands, but never call me no blackmailer!”
I got it. Extortion is the blood of the Mafia. Every man has his estimate of himself. For Costa the black beast in his brain was the Mafia of his countrymen, and the Mafia was what he would deny to the grave. It reminded me of a time when I sat in a bar in Little Italy and listened to a minor hood deny for three hours that Lucky Luciano had ever been in white slavery. Everything else, okay-drugs, extortion, murder-but not white slavery.
“I got you,” I said. I was gritting my own teeth, and not from the garlic on Costa’s breath. Strega’s fingers had gone, but my shoulder wouldn’t be alive again for an hour.
“Okay,” Costa breathed, and breathed hard. “Okay.”
I saw Deirdre Fallon watching Costa. Her face was blank, but there was a flare to her nostrils; She was breathing fast, too, and her eyes were those foggy tunnels. I didn’t blame her. Costa looked pretty good mad. She shifted her eyes, and for a moment I thought she was looking at me. But she was looking past me. I guess I didn’t look a match for Costa. I’m not.
“Okay,” Costa said, breathed easier, got his smile back. But it still wasn’t quite okay in his mind. He wasn’t sure I believed him. So in a way I won. Brains over brawn. He had to explain. “If you got to know, baby, I got a land deal in mind. A man gets closed once, that’s chance. He gets closed twice, that’s stupid. They don’t close down a solid citizen.”
He stopped. The driving snow had begun to make us all look like snowmen. I knew why I stood there, and why Costa and Strega did, but I wondered why Deirdre Fallon and Walter Radford were still there. Maybe they just had to watch Costa work. I watched him realize that he was telling me what was none of my business. He shifted smoothly, turned to Walter.
“You’ve got a lot of land up in North Chester now. I’ll buy a piece, build a solid club, you name the price. Or maybe we could go partners. Who closes Walter Radford up there?”
Walter opened his mouth and closed it slowly. I saw his hand twitch. Deirdre Fallon considered Costa, and a shrewd gleam came into her eyes. Walter’s eyes just began to shine.
“Partners?” Walter said.
“All legal, and no risk. I’m the gambler. You make an investment. Officially you’re clean, but the important people know.”
Walter licked his lip. “Well, I…”
Deirdre Fallon said, “Why not come to the house, Mr. Costa? Walter’s office. That’s where he does business.”
Costa touched his hat. “Monday?”
“Monday,” Walter said. “At my office.”
“We’ll be there,” Costa said. “About two-thirty?”
Deirdre Fallon glanced at the silent Strega. “Two-thirty will be fine, Mr. Costa. We’ll expect both of you.” She touched Walter Radford’s arm. “We’ll be late, Walter.”
He nodded, and they started off. Deirdre Fallon looked back at me. “I hope you find Carla Devine, Mr. Fortune, and before Leo Zar does.”
“I’ll try,” I said.
We watched them get into the Jaguar. Three snowmen. No one spoke, and no one was watching Walter Radford. Costa breathed:
“That’s some woman, babies.”
“You said it yourself, Costa,” I said. “To her we’re a lower breed of animal.”
“I know, baby; only there’s something about that one. I can smell it. The Radford stud don’t measure up. Right, Strega?”
The blond man watched the Jaguar skid away. “He’s not much.”
“He’s nothing,” Costa said, and to me, “A lift somewhere, baby?”
“Downtown?” I said.
“Why not?”
Strega said, “We’ll be late, Sarge.”
“We got time,” Costa said.
They walked me to the Bentley. The silver-gray car said a lot about Carmine Costa. In his own way he was a maverick-the ex-soldier and man first, the gambler and petty hood second. It made him dangerous because unpredictable. My neck crawled a little as I got into the back seat with him. Strega took the wheel. The car purred away from the curb. Strega drove carefully, almost cautiously. The bodyguard didn’t have to prove anything.
Costa eyed me. “What’s on your mind, baby?”
“How come you just happened by the apartment tonight?”
Costa smiled. “I ever need a shamus, I’ll call you. Okay, we come in every Friday. I got old buddies, a club like. Traffic is light because of the snow starting, and Strega makes good time. We’re early, so why not talk business? I got the idea today, and when I get an idea, I move. Time’s all we got in this world.”
It could be true, or it could be a fast story to cover what he would have talked about if I hadn’t been there.
