going on? He thought of Abe, of all that could blow up in his face if Caruso showed up at the bar, tried to strong- arm the woman. He thought of the gun and raged at himself for giving it to him. What did Abe know about guns, for Christ’s sake? He was just as likely to put a bullet in his foot as plug Caruso or Labriola or whoever else tried to get between him and the broad.
Fucking gun, Mortimer thought, his mind now swinging in a different direction as he labored to find a way out for Abe. He could rush to McPherson’s, tell Abe to get out of town and take the woman with him. But where would they go? It didn’t matter really. Labriola would find them eventually. And besides, Caruso would know who’d tipped Abe off. Even worse, this solution, which it couldn’t even be called a solution but Mortimer could find no other word to use, this solution still left Stark behind that black curtain, doing God-knows-what to the poor helpless bastard Caruso had put on him.
Okay, Mortimer thought, first things first. Deal with one thing, clear that up, then go to the next one.
He decided the first thing to deal with was Abe, and what mattered with Abe was getting that gun.
He found him at the bar, all decked out in new clothes, a sure sign that he was still falling.
“You’re becoming a regular, Morty,” Abe said.
Mortimer nodded. “Looks like you’re going out. That girl you mentioned, the singer.”
“Yeah, we’re having dinner before she comes here.”
Mortimer smiled faintly. “That’s nice,” he said, “that’s real nice, Abe.” He cleared his throat slightly. “So, this girl, you said some guy was after her.”
“That’s what she’s afraid of, yeah.”
“But he ain’t found her, right?”
“Not yet, I guess.”
“And he ain’t likely to, don’t you think?”
“I don’t know.”
“What I mean is, you probably don’t need that gun I give you, right?”
Abe turned to him slowly, his eyes suddenly very intent. Morty knew he’d rushed it, tipped Abe off somehow.
“What are you getting at, Morty?” Abe asked.
Mortimer shrugged. “Nothing, except I was thinking it maybe ain’t such a good idea, you having that gun.”
Abe’s gaze intensified. “Why’s that?”
“No reason in particular.”
Abe drew in a slow breath. “So, what brought about this change of heart, Morty?”
“Nothing,” Mortimer answered quickly.
Abe’s eyes were like probing needles. “You know something, Morty?”
Mortimer tried for a dismissive chuckle. “Me? No, I don’t know nothing.”
The needles sank deeper. “It’s what you do, though, isn’t it?” Abe asked. “Find people?”
Mortimer nodded, now regretting that he’d ever told Abe anything about his work, even though the things he’d told him were mostly lies, or at best exaggerations.
“Have I got a problem, Morty?”
“Problem, no.”
“How about Samantha?”
“Who?”
“The singer.”
“Oh,” Mortimer stammered. “No, she ain’t got no problem.”
“So it’s like you said, probably nobody’s going to show up, right?”
“Right,” Mortimer said, though he could tell Abe hadn’t bought it.
“So since nobody’s likely to find Samantha,” Abe said, “no harm in me keeping the gun. ’Cause there won’t be any reason for me to use it, right?”
Mortimer said nothing, and he could tell that this only deepened the grave suspicion he saw in Abe’s eyes.
“Right?” Abe asked pointedly.
Mortimer nodded heavily, giving in. Jesus Christ, he thought, what do I do now?
TONY
Time was running out. He knew that much for sure. Time was running out for Sara. He saw his father’s face, heard him say “Okay” in that way he’d always said it and not meant it. On that word he’d pledged not to look for Sara, but it had been a lie. He was still looking for her. He would never stop looking for her. He couldn’t imagine why he’d fallen under this obsession, or why, with each passing hour, he seemed more furiously driven by it.
So time was running out for Sara.
He picked up the phone, dialed Caruso’s number.
“Hello.”
“Vinnie?”
“Yeah.”
“Tony.”
Silence.
“I got to talk to you.”
“We already talked.”
“No, listen. I talked to my father. Things are bad, Vinnie.”
Silence.
“Things are real bad.”
“It ain’t my business, Tony, what goes on between you and your—”
“Yeah, it is, Vinnie. Because it concerns you.”
“No, it don’t. It don’t have nothing to do with me.”
“If he finds her, then you’re in it too,” Tony told him. “You know you are, Vinnie.”
Caruso said nothing.
“Okay, how about this,” Tony said. “You and me, we go see my father. Talk things over with him.”
“What things?”
“The whole thing about him looking for Sara,” Tony explained. “I’ll tell him that I told her to leave. That I kicked her out. I’ll tell him I don’t want anything to do with her.”
“He won’t believe you, Tony.”
“Vinnie, please. You don’t know what he might do if he finds her.”
Caruso said nothing.
“He’s not right, you know,” Tony added. “Not right in the head.”
“Whether he is or not, that ain’t my business.”
“What is, Vinnie? What is your business in this thing?”
“What I already told you. I hired a guy, that’s all.”
“Vinnie, listen to me. He didn’t just hire that guy to find Sara. What good would that do? He hired him to . . . do something else.”
Caruso gave no response.
“It could be anything,” Tony continued. “But nothing about it is good. Not for me. Or for you. But most of all, not for Sara.”
“It ain’t my business, Tony,” Caruso repeated.
“But suppose I could stop him, that’s what I’m saying,” Tony told him.
“He wouldn’t listen to you.”
“Okay, maybe not to me, but what about you, Vinnie?”
“Me?”
“Maybe he’d listen to you,” Tony said.
Caruso laughed sourly.
“I mean it, Vinnie,” Tony said. “He trusts you. You know, to think things through. Give him advice.”
