“The Philadelphia Family,” he continued, “will pay Mrs. Wagner thirty thousand dollars for funeral expenses. They will also double the face amount of the policy that Hank took out—one million dollars—in the form of a trust from which she can draw up to one hundred thousand per year, or more if necessity demands for things like medical bills or college for the children. The residual will be available when her youngest child completes college or attains the age of twenty-five. I will administer the trust.”
I sucked in a big breath at that bombshell. “That’s … very generous, Bart. Of course, Marcy may refuse the settlement, given that it constitutes blood money, but I will advise her to accept, for the sake of her family.”
“Very wise,” Papa said. “There is also the matter of your own safety, mia amata figlia.”
My beloved daughter. I blinked rapidly to stop the welling tears.
He continued. “There is not enough money to compensate for your being in the path of mortal danger, even if the stronzi insist that their man would never miss his target. Still, they offer the sum of one hundred thousand dollars for disturbing your peace of mind.”
If Hank hadn’t been killed, would the MPD have continued looking the other way on my relationship with Wukowski? How could money make up for the years ahead of me without him? Like Papa, I found little solace in the offer and felt uneasy, for the same reason that Marcy might. “I’ll weigh that decision once I’ve talked to my client,” I told Papa and Bart.
“Quite right,” Papa said with a nod.
Bart cleared his throat. “As for the matter of Bertha Conti, I considered your plea for her life and also her years as a dedicated assistant, as well as her obvious mental and emotional upheaval. Her friends in Philadelphia will arrange for her to relocate to an undisclosed location in their territory and will compensate me for the loss of her services. We will say no more on that.” He leaned back, causing his reinforced chair to groan for mercy, and folded his hands over his belly. “It now remains for you to talk with Mrs. Wagner. Once we have her decision, the matter will be closed.”
***
When I called Quad-A, Larry told me that Marcy decided to take some time off. I rang her at home. She answered in a dispirited voice. Small wonder, I told myself. I asked if she could arrange for her mother or sister to babysit so that we could talk privately, and she agreed to make arrangements for the children and meet me for a drink at Ed’s Tap around five.
I waved from a back booth as she entered the small bar. We exchanged hugs and I asked what she’d like to drink.
“Oh, anything,” she said.
“Beer, wine or something stronger?”
“Wine.”
Her tone and appearance reflected a woman being sucked below the water by an undertow. Somehow, I had to toss her a life preserver. “Two glasses of the regular,” I told Marlene, who poured Gewürztraminer with a flourish that made me smile. The first time I met Wukowski here, during the Morano case, she called it grab-a-geezer and he asked if she was referring to him. I asked him, “Were you more worried about her labeling you a geezer or about me grabbing you?”
Was everything going to remind me of him? No, I decided, just the places we’d been and the things we’d done and the food he ate and the … Stop! I commanded. Grabbing the wine, I returned to the booth.
I lifted my glass in a toast. “To friends.” We clinked and each took a small swallow. “Marcy,” I began, “I have some information that you may find disturbing. I hope you’ll hear me out, though.”
“About Hank?” Her eyes drew tight with anxiety.
“Yes, about Hank. Before I met him at Holy Hill, I tried to feel out the east coast mob, to see if they were willing to ignore him and let him get on with his life.”
She gulped and took a sip of wine. “That didn’t work out very well.”
“No. It went horrendously wrong. You see, I spoke with a local Mafia attorney, never mentioning Hank by name, just posing a hypothetical situation. Unknown to the lawyer or me, his office assistant listened in on our conversation and decided to search for a real-life correlate to the one I described. When she came across the article in the Philadelphia Enquirer, she contacted the South Philly Mob. You know the rest of that story. They sent a hit man to be sure Hank would never reveal what he knew as Tommaso Severson.”
“Why would she do that?” Marcy’s voice rose and Marlene glanced over, eyebrows raised.
I gave a small shake of the head to let her know I didn’t need help. “This woman’s husband was a soldier—a member of the local Milwaukee crime syndicate—decades ago. When he was killed, the organization took care of her, even getting her the job working for my attorney friend. Her sense of loyalty overcame her judgment.”
“Even knowing about me and the kids?”
“The newspaper account was from many years ago, before Hank moved here and met you, so I doubt it.”
“So she and the Mob walk away, scot-free, while my kids have no hope of knowing their father and I have no chance to see Hank again or talk to him about what happened between us. Tell me her name.” Her voice sounded bitter and her hands clenched so hard on the stem of the wine glass that I feared it would snap.
“I can’t do that, Marcy. But I can say that her life, such as it is, has been turned upside-down. She’s lost the job that meant everything to her and must leave the area
