Cork heard Jacoby reply without surprise, “No, Dina. I’m just not sleeping these days. I thought you were with…” He paused as Cork limped into the room. “…O’Connor.”
Lou Jacoby stood framed against the window. He wore a dressing gown and slippers, and smoke rose from a lit cigar in his right hand. He was nearing eighty. In the light through the window-the only light in the room-he looked pale and hard, more like the plaster cast of a man.
“Our business is finished,” the old man said.
“You put a contract out on me,” Cork replied.
Jacoby waved it off. “That’s been taken care of.”
“An eye for an eye, you said. You threatened my boy. Another kid I’m fond of was kidnapped by someone looking to collect on that half-million-dollar bounty you put on my head. A lot of other innocent people stood to get hurt.”
Jacoby looked unimpressed. “And you’re here to what?”
“Maybe start by beating the living shit out of you,” Cork said.
“Bloody an old man?” Jacoby opened his arms in invitation.
“I told you it wasn’t me who killed your son,” Cork spit out.
Jacoby almost laughed. “And I was supposed to take your word for it? Hell, I know my garbageman better than I know you.”
“How does it feel having to accept that it was family killing family-your family? And by the way, Salguero’s disappeared. Doesn’t that leave your coffer of vengeance a little empty?”
Jacoby lifted his cigar, took a draw, and said through the smoke, “Does it?”
Dina gave a short, hollow laugh. “They’ll never find Tony Salguero, will they, Lou? You had him taken care of.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jacoby said.
“There’s still Gabriella,” Cork pointed out. “With a good lawyer-”
“She’ll use the lawyer I pay for,” Jacoby said. “And he’ll make sure she rots in prison.”
Jacoby moved away from the window to the side of the great bed. He reached out and pressed a button on the wall.
“And her two boys?” Dina looked at the old man with a kind of sickened awe. “You’ll take them from her, won’t you, Lou?”
“I’ll raise my grandsons to be the men my sons never were.”
Cork went for Jacoby and grabbed a handful of his soft robe. Somebody needed to take this son of a bitch down. Jacoby dropped his cigar and looked startled, then afraid. Cork pinned him to the wall. The old man seemed flimsy as cardboard.
Cork felt Dina’s hand on his arm, gently restraining. She moved up beside him. He looked into her eyes and their calm brought him back to his senses. It would be easy enough to beat the old man to a pulp, and probably not hard to go further. But to what end? His own family was safe. Giving in to anger would only start the trouble all over again.
Sometimes a man had to swallow hard and accept what he could not change.
He nodded to Dina, and she dropped her hand. He let go of his grip on Jacoby and stepped back. The old man smoothed his robe and bent to retrieve his cigar.
Shuffling came from the hallway. A moment later, Evers, the houseman, appeared at the bedroom door. He was almost as old as Jacoby and, like his employer, wore a robe and slippers. His white hair was mussed from sleep. He looked at Dina and Cork with surprise but said nothing.
“See them out,” Jacoby said.
“Yes, sir.”
“And tell Mrs. Portman I’m hungry. I’d like breakfast.”
“Very good, sir.” Evers stood aside so that Cork and Dina could go before him.
They drove to Evanston, to the duplex that belonged to Cork’s sister-in-law and her husband. He’d used Dina’s cell phone to call ahead and let them know he was coming. Dina parked on the street in front but left the motor running.
“I guess this is it,” she said.
“What are you going to do now?”
“Go home, get a little sleep, then head back to Bodine.”
“Charlie?” he asked.
“Charlie,” she answered.
“You’ve only known her a couple of days, Dina.”
She shook her head. “Her, I’ve known my whole life.”
“Back there at Jacoby’s, I was ready to kill him. Thanks for stopping me.”
“You were about to make a mistake I knew you’d regret. And I’d hate to lose you to the Illinois state penal system. It’s a harsh world, and men like Lou Jacoby will always be in it. What keeps things balanced is men like you.”
“Yeah?” He turned to her. Her face in the rising light of morning was soft and bright. “Seems to me not long ago you accused me of being a lot of things that aren’t good. What was that all about?”
She reached out and cupped his cheek with her hand. “Mostly this: You always struggle so hard to do the right thing. Nobody always does the right thing, Cork, not even you. Be easy on people when they disappoint you. And be a little easier on yourself while you’re at it.”
She leaned to him and kissed his cheek.
“Go on.” She nudged him gently. “Time for you to go.”
He got out, walked around the car, and leaned in her window. One last time he looked into her eyes, which were as green as new leaves.
“Let me know how it goes with Charlie, okay?” he said.
“The truth is I’m a little scared.”
“You? That’s a first.”
“Good-bye, Cork.”
She slipped the car into gear and drove away. He watched until she turned the corner and was gone.
He stood on the sidewalk of a street still deep in the quiet of early morning. Behind closed curtains, men and women shared their beds, their fortunes, their lives, and their dreams, and their children were the sum of all these things made flesh. To rise in the morning and watch his sons and daughters stumble sleepy-eyed into the day, to send them out into the world on wings of love, to lie down at night and draw over himself the comforting quilt of the memories he shared with them-batting practice on a softball field or wrestling in the living room after dinner-what more could a man ask for or want?
Cork looked up and a seven-year-old boy appeared in the upstairs window of the duplex. Stevie’s face lit up as if the sun had just risen after a very long, dark night. He smiled beautifully and his lips formed a single word that Cork could not hear but understood absolutely.
Daddy.
