the line.
Luther looked scared. “You can’t talk that way to these people!” he said in a high voice.
Eddie wondered if he should be scared, too. Maybe he had misread the situation. If Luther was one of the gangsters, what was he frightened of? But there was no time to reassess the position right now. He had to stick to his plan. “I just want a yes or no,” he said. “I don’t need to talk to the shitheel.”
“Oh, my God.” Luther picked up the phone and said: “He won’t come to the phone—I told you he was difficult.” There was a pause. “Yes, good idea. I’ll tell him.” He turned to Eddie again and held out the earpiece. “Your wife is on the line.”
Eddie reached for the phone, then pulled his hand back. If he talked to her, he would be putting himself at their mercy. But he was desperate to hear her voice. He summoned up every ounce of willpower, thrust his hands deep into his pockets, and shook his head in silent negation.
Luther stared at him for a moment, then spoke into the phone again. “He still won’t speak! He—Get off the line, cunt. I want to talk to—”
Suddenly Eddie had him by the throat. The phone clattered to the floor. Eddie pressed his thumbs into Luther’s thick neck. Luther gasped: “Stop! Let go! Leave me....” His voice was choked off.
The red mist cleared from Eddie’s eyes. He realized he was killing the man. He eased the pressure, but retained his grip. He brought his face close to Luther’s, so close that Luther blinked. “Listen to me,” Eddie said. “You call my wife Mrs. Deakin.”
“Okay, okay!” Luther said hoarsely. “Let me go, for Christ’s sake!”
Eddie let him go.
Luther rubbed his neck, breathing hard; then he grabbed the phone. “Vincini? He just went for me because I called his wife a—a bad word. Says I have to call her Mrs. Deakin. Are you getting it now, or do I have to draw you a picture? He’ll do anything!” There was a pause. “I guess I could handle him, but if people see us fighting, what’ll they think? It could blow the whole thing!” He was silent for a while. “Good. I’ll tell him. Listen, we’re making the right decision. I know it. Hold on.” He turned to Eddie. “They’ll go along with it. She’ll be on the launch.”
Eddie made his face a mask to conceal his tremendous relief.
Luther went on nervously: “But he says, I must tell you that if there are any snags, he’s going to shoot her.”
Eddie snatched the phone from his hand. “Get this, Vincini. One: I have to see her on the deck of your launch before I open the doors of the plane. Two: She has to come on board with you. Three: No matter what snags there might be, if she’s hurt I’m going to kill you with my bare hands. Just keep that in your mind, Vincini.” Before the man had time to reply, Eddie hung up.
Luther looked dismayed. “What did you do that for?” He lifted the earpiece and jiggled the cradle. “Hello? Hello?” He shook his head and hung up. “Too late.” He looked at Eddie with a mixture of anger and awe. “You really live dangerously, don’t you?”
“Go pay for the call,” Eddie said.
Luther reached into his inside pocket and took out a thick roll of bills. “Listen,” he said. “Your getting mad doesn’t help anyone. I’ve given you what you ask. Now we have to work together to make this operation a success, for both our sakes. Why don’t we just try to get along? We’re partners now.”
“Fuck you, shitheel,” Eddie said, and he went out.
He was angrier than ever as he strode along the road back to the harbor. Luther’s remark that they were partners had touched a raw nerve. Eddie had done what he could to protect Carol-Ann, but he was still committed to help free Frankie Gordino, who was a murderer and a rapist. The fact that he was being forced into it should have excused him, and in others’ minds perhaps it would, but to him it seemed to make no difference: he knew that if he went through with it he would never hold up his head again.
As he walked down the hill to the bay, he looked across the water. The Clipper floated majestically on the calm surface. Eddie’s career on Clippers was at an end, he knew. He was mad about that, too. There were also two big freighters at anchor and a few smaller fishing boats; and, to his surprise, he saw a U.S. Navy patrol boat tied up at the dock. He wondered what it was doing here in Newfoundland. Something to do with the war? It reminded him of his days in the navy. Looking back, that seemed like a golden time when life was simple. Maybe the past always looked attractive when you were in trouble.
He entered the Pan American building. There in the green-and-white painted lobby was a man in lieutenant’s uniform, presumably off the patrol boat. As Eddie walked in, the lieutenant turned around. He was a big, ugly man with small eyes set too close together and a wart on his nose. Eddie stared at him in amazement and delight. He could not believe his eyes. “Steve?” he said. “Is it really you?”
“Hi, Eddie.”
“How in the hell ... ?” It was Steve Appleby, whom Eddie had tried to call from England—his oldest and best friend, the one man above all others he wanted by his side in a tight spot. He could hardly take it in.
Steve came over and they embraced, hitting each other on the back. Eddie said: “You’re supposed to be in New Hampshire—what the hell are you doing here?”
“Nella said you sounded frantic when you called,” Steve said, looking solemn. “Hell, Eddie, I’ve never known you to seem even a little shook. You’re always such a rock. I knew you had to be in bad trouble.”
“I am. I’m ...” Suddenly Eddie was overcome with emotion. For twenty hours he had kept his feelings bottled up and tightly corked, and he was ready to explode. The fact that his best friend had moved heaven and earth to come and help him out touched him deeply. “I’m in bad trouble,” he confessed; then tears came to his eyes and his throat seized up so he could not speak. He turned away and went outside.
Steve followed. Eddie led him around the comer of the building and through the big open doorway into the empty boat room, where the launch was normally kept. They would not be seen in here.
Steve spoke to cover his embarrassment. “I can’t count how many favors I’ve called in to get here. I’ve been in the navy eight years, and a lot of people owe me, but today they all paid me back double, and now I owe them. It’s going to take me another eight years just to get back to even!”
Eddie nodded. Steve had a natural aptitude for wheeling and dealing, and he was one of the navy’s great fixers. Eddie wanted to say thank you, but he could not stop the tears.
Steve’s tone changed and he said: “Eddie, what the hell is going on?”
“They’ve got Carol-Ann,” Eddie managed.
“Who has, for Christ’s sake?”
“The Patriarca gang.”
Steve was incredulous. “Ray Patriarca? The racketeer?”
“They kidnapped her.”
“God almighty, why?”
“They want me to bring down the Clipper.”
“What for?”
Eddie wiped his face with his sleeve and brought himself under control. “There’s an F.B.I. agent on board with a prisoner, a hoodlum called Frankie Gordino. I figure Patriarca wants to rescue him. Anyway, a passenger calling himself Tom Luther told me to bring the plane down off the Maine coast. They’ll have a fast boat waiting, and Carol-Ann will be on it. We swap Carol-Ann for Gordino—then Gordino disappears.”
Steve nodded. “And Luther was smart enough to realize that the only possible way to get Eddie Deakin to cooperate was to kidnap his wife.”
“Yeah.”
“The bastards.”
“I want to get these people, Steve. I want to fucking crucify them. I want to nail the bastards up, I swear.”
Steve shook his head. “But what can you do?”
“I don’t know. That’s why I called you.”
Steve frowned. “The danger period for them is from when they come aboard the plane until they get back to their car. Maybe the police could find the car and ambush them.”
Eddie was dubious. “How would the police recognize it? It will just be a car parked near a beach.”
“It might be worth a try.”
“It’s not tight enough, Steve. There’s too much to go wrong. And I don’t want to call in the police—there’s
