“What is it?”
“It’s the phone number and address of a friend of mine —
Primo. He lives in a house down on One-sixteen. Call him, go to him if you’re scared. I’ll be back later on tonight. But remember, if you want to get on with your life you got to work this thing out.”
2 1 5
33
Igot to Saul’s at a quarter to six. Doreen and I sat in the living room surrounded by their three kids. Their eight-year-old daughter, Miriam, was listening to a pink transistor radio that hung from her neck on a string necklace, also pink. She had brown hair that drooped down in ringlets and green eyes, a gift from her father. George, the five-year-old, had the T V on and he was jumping around on a threadbare patch of carpet, acting out some swashbuckling derring-do. Simon, the toddler, was wandering back and forth between his sister and brother, making sounds that wouldn’t be understood for another six months or so.
“So how long will Feather have to be in the clinic?” Doreen asked.
“Might be as long as six months.”
“Six months?” Miriam cried. “I could go visit her if she’s lonely.”
2 1 6
C i n n a m o n K i s s
“It’s in Switzerland,” I explained to the good girl.
“We could go to ’itzerland,” George said, bravely swinging his imaginary sword.
“It’s way far away in the Valley,” Miriam told her brother.
“I know that,” George said. “We could still go.”
“Can we go, Mom?” Miriam asked Doreen.
“We’ll see.”
It was then that the phone rang.
“Daddy!” George yelled.
“No, George,” Doreen said but the boy leaped for the phone on the coffee table.
Doreen put out her hand and George bounced backward, falling on his backside. As Doreen was saying hello, George began to howl. I saw her mouth Saul’s name but I couldn’t hear what she was saying because Simon was crying too and Miriam was shouting for them both to be quiet.
Doreen gestured toward the kitchen. I knew they had an extension in there and so I went on through, closing the door behind me.
“Hello!” I yelled. “I got it, Doreen!”
When she hung up the sound of the crying subsided somewhat.
“Easy,” Saul said. “What’s wrong?”
“I got a visit from a guy yesterday,” I said. “He knew that I was working on the Lee case. He told me to give him what I knew or he’d kill me and my family too.”
“What was this guy’s name?”
“Cicero.”
“Joe Cicero?”
“You know him?”
“Don’t go home, Easy. Don’t go to your office or your job. Call 2 1 7
W a lt e r M o s l e y
this number.” He gave me an area code and a number, which I wrote down on a notepad decorated with pink bunnies. “I’ll be there as soon as I can. Put my wife back on the line.”
When I went back into the T V room the children had quieted down.
“Saul wants to talk to you, Doreen,” I said and she took up the phone.
“Daddy!” George cried.
“Dada,” Simon echoed.
Miriam watched her mother’s eyes. So did I.
We both saw Mrs. Lynx’s expression change from attentive interest to fear. Instead of answering she kept nodding her head.
She reached for her pocketbook on the coffee table.
“I wanna talk to Daddy,” George complained.
Doreen gave him one stern look and he shut right up.
“Okay,” Doreen said. “All right. I will. Be careful, Saul.”
She hung up the phone and stood in one fluid movement.
“Holiday time,” she said in a forced happy voice. “We’re all going to Nana’s cabin in Mammoth.”
“Yah,” George cried.
