True Detective

face. He was moving toward me. not giving a damn that I had a gun, but Nitti put an ami out and stopped him. Campagna, confused, leaned over and Nitti whispered to him; and Campagna, rolling his eyes, sighing, said, 'Well, then. I'll go help Fatso. He's still out.'

'Good idea,' Nitti said.

I put the gun back under my arm.

'You want a drink, Heller? I got some nice vino. Can't drink it myself, this damn stomach of mine. Been killin' me. Hey- cheer up. You'll think of something to tell your girl.'

'I killed her brother,' I said.

'I know that. You know that. Nobody else does. He's buried in potter's field; just another dead nobody. Leave him there.'

I got up; my legs wobbled, but I got up.

Nitti. bare-chested, came around and put an arm around my shoulder. 'You been through a lot. my friend. You go get some sleep. And let go of this.'

'I was going to kill you.'

'But you didn't. You did me some favors, I did you some. Now we're even.'

'The blond…'

'What blond? Forget it. This nonsense with guns, it's gettin' old. When people think of Chicago, let 'em think of the fair, not guns and gangsters. How do you like my fair?'

'Your fair?'

He smiled, nodded. 'If a wheel turns on the fairgrounds, I got a cut of the grease on the axle. Got the joint sewed up. It's like… a trial nan.'

'Trial run for what?'

He shrugged elaborately. 'For everything. For the country. We got the world by the tail with a downhill start. We got the bartender's union, which means we'll have every bartender in the country pushing our brands of beer and liquor. They'll have to handle our soft drinks. They'll get their pretzels and potato chips from us. That goes for every hotel, restaurant, cocktail lounge, and private club in the forty-eight states. Like Al used to tell us, we'll see the day we make a profit off of even? olive in every martini served in America. This is big business, kid; that's why this playing guns crap has got to stop. Let these asshole bank robbers play guns all they want; like this guy Dillinger, let hint have the headlines- I don't want 'em. Bunch of hicks shooting up small- town banks, it gives the cops something to do, keeps the heat off us. Here. You sit back down. I'm going to call you a cab. There's glasses in the cabinet over the counter, if you want some of this milk. And help yourself to the lamb in the icebox.'

He left me alone.

The gun under my arm felt heavy.

The photo of Jimmy and Mary Ann Beame. together, younger, was on the table; I put it back in my billfold.

I folded my arms on the table and rested my head.

After a while Nitti woke me up and. still in his pajama bottoms, walked me down his last mile of a hallway, an arm around my shoulder, guided me into his living room and to a doorway and down the front steps where a cab waited.

'Where to?' the cabbie said.

'Tower Town.' I said.

I went up the red stairway and knocked on the door. I heard a chair move inside and then the door opened and she was there and her eyes were red from crying and her lips were trembling and she said, 'Oh. Nathan.' and fell into my arms. I held her there, on the porch over the open stairs, for a long time: stood there holding her in the cold and we were both trembling, but I don't think the cold had much to do with it.

Then we went into the yellow crumbling-plaster kitchen, with its oil stove and sink of dirty dishes and no icebox. A real comedown from Nitti's kitchen. She'd been sitting at the table, chain-smoking an ebony ashtray held the evidence of that. I'd only seen her smoke a few times, and then it was at the Dill Pickle or some other Tower Town tearoom, when she was striking a theatrical pose. Tonight the smoking, it would seem, had been no pose; she'd really been worrying about me. and that made me feel good, somehow, and guilty.

She was still in the chocolate linen dress; no beret, or shoes, or any other affectation, though. Her makeup had long since been cried off. She sat at the table and so did I and she held one of my hands with both of hers.

'Thank God you're here.' she said. 'Thank God you're all right.'

'I'm fine.'

'I thought that maniac would kill you.'

'He didn't. I'm fine.'

'I've been beside myself. I've been so…' And she came over and sat on my lap, tumbled into my arms, hugged me 'round the neck and cried. And cried.

'I I thought I'd lost you,' she said.

I stroked her hair.

'What was it about? Nathan, why did he try to kill you?'

'Baby. Baby. Not now. I'm not up to it now.'

Her arms still 'round my neck, she leaned back enough to look at me; study me. 'You look- '