I heard the darkness in his voice and decided to respond to the spirit of his words, rather than the words themselves. “He wasn’t after me, Wukowski. It’s pretty obvious that he was sent for Hank—uh, Severson. If it was the South Philly Mob, and if they attached a GPS device to my car to follow me to the rendezvous, then they knew who I am. I wasn’t in danger.”
“Assuming that’s true, bullets are pretty impartial and human beings are fallible.” He sighed. “Of course, I know that once you’re caught up in a case, you’re not going to back down. So tell me about it.”
No more secrets, I decided. I laid out the entire story, even including my nighttime foray into breaking and entering at Padua Manor, but I was careful to keep Spider’s and Bobbie’s participation to myself.
“Jeez, woman, you’re a female Jason Bourne. I’ll have gray hair the next time we meet, imagining all the stuff you’ve been up to. But I admit, sometimes I wish I could bend the rules like that. Thank God this is over.”
Should I tell him the rest of it, knowing it would cause him nothing but anxiety?
I put myself in his place and knew that his code of justice and my code of truth demanded it. “Not entirely,” I admitted. “The South Philly Mob had no reason to believe I was involved with Severson. Only a handful of people knew. One of them betrayed me and I have to find out who it was.”
“That’s a dangerous path, Angie. There are sure to be connections to organized crime.”
“I’m counting on it,” I told him. “And I’m counting on Papa to be a buffer for me.”
He thought a moment. “Your father is a fairly minor figure in the larger picture. The Chicago Outfit took over control in Milwaukee when Balistreri died. They wanted a titular presence here, and that’s the role he played.” His chagrin was evident when he added, “I wouldn’t have become involved with you, if that weren’t so. IA is right to be leery. If Pasquale were active, I would’ve walked away, despite my attraction. That said, I’m not sure he can protect you from the South Philly Mob.”
“You may be right, but Chicago will not take an intrusion into their territory lightly. I’ll talk to Papa after I leave here and ask him to make clear to them the scope of what happened, and to insist on finding out their involvement with me.” I smiled. “Horton’s wrong about me being a Mafia princess, but I am my papa’s princess. He won’t let this go.”
With a short knock, the conference room door opened a crack. Joe Ignowski, Wukowski’s partner, peeked in. “Hey, I’m sorry to be the one to interrupt, but Cortés just called me to tell you that time’s up. She asked me to escort you out, Angie.” Then he stepped inside the room. “Oh, yeah, and Horton’s cleaning out his office. I hear he’s on special assignment. Looks like the big brass needs some help compiling traffic stop statistics.” His throaty chuckle made me smile. “Matthews made a call to the chief.”
“That’s good to know, Iggy,” Wukowski said. “Shut the door and come in.” He explained our plan to Iggy. “So Angie will hand over the stuff I’ve accumulated at her place, and you can pick up her stuff from my place. I wouldn’t put it past IA to search my house for evidence that we haven’t really separated.”
“A-holes,” Iggy muttered. “But I’ll be glad to take care of that for both of you. Let me know when you have Ted’s belongings assembled, Angie.” He looked from Wukowski to me. “I’m seriously sorry about how this rolled out. For you guys, but also for me.” His gaze swung to me. “He was so easy-going after he spent some time with you.” Raising his hand, he said, “I’ll be back in five.”
We spent the final minutes cuddling, kissing and reassuring one another that the time would go quickly. Wukowski suggested that if I really needed him, I could get a message to him via Aunt Terry to Iggy’s wife, Marianne. I stood back and took a long, long look at the man I loved, burning his image into my mind. Then he raised the blinds and we exited the room, he to his desk and me, head held high, downstairs, with Iggy as an escort.
The day was sunny, if cold, and I still had business to accomplish. Marcus Aurelius’ advice sprang to mind: “Concentrate every minute like a Roman—like a man—on doing what’s in front of you with precise and genuine seriousness, tenderly, willingly, with justice.” I would do that.
Chapter 29
Whoever does not have a good father should procure one. — Friedrich Nietzsche
Bobbie needed to know what my statement to the police contained, in case he was also questioned. We met at the office and agreed that he would say that he was only tangentially aware of the case when I needed to leave town and he filled in. He was highly indignant about the department’s insistence that Wukowski and I remain apart. “Who are they,” he stormed, pacing, “to stop someone from loving someone else?”
I knew that part of his anger was directed at society’s response to his gay relationship with Steve. “That’s the one thing they can’t do, Bobbie. They can’t stop us from loving one another. And the time will pass. Somehow.”
He pulled me up and hugged me. “Anytime you need to talk, whether it’s early or late, call me.”
Tears welled in my eyes, but I held them back, fearful of releasing the built-up anger, frustration and sadness of the morning.
