The Burning Day (11 page)

I started to open the door, expecting a fist, a blackjack, or maybe even a gun. Instead, Francis did something that stopped me colder than any of those things ever could—he burst into tears.

“Don’t go, Longville. I need your help,” Francis suddenly pleaded.

I froze, my hand an inch from the door handle. I let it fall and sat back in stunned silence. I had once seen this man take a bullet through his hand without wincing. Only one thing could break a man like that, break him down and leave him whimpering in a car on a lonely street with a guy who didn’t even like him. That thing was called love, and I knew suddenly with supernatural clarity exactly who the object of Francis’ affections were.

“Mary,” I said softly.
 

Francis nodded, his face still in his hands. “We’re in love,” he managed to say. He took a ragged breath, then produced a handkerchief and began tidying himself up. “Sorry,” he said.

“It’s all right. We’ve all been there.” I was, in fact, ‘there’ that very moment, in love with the niece of Francis’ boss, but I decided not to share that information with the weeping mobster across from me, if he didn’t know already.

“Okay, Longville.” Francis wiped his eyes and looked at me, more than a little embarrassed. “You got a point. I brought you here to level with you. I’ve been a crook so long, that it’s kind of hard to give the straight dope. Here it is: I want out. Out of Don Ganato’s crew, out of this whole way of life. I want a chance at a normal life, a good life somewhere with Mary. I got a good bit of money put away. We could do it, if we could just get out of here.”

“So what’s the hitch? Go. You’re free. It’s a big world.”

Francis nodded slowly. “Yeah, but it’s not that simple. For one thing, I need Don Ganato’s blessing before I can walk away, and with the way things are right now, he says he needs me to stick around . . . and then there’s the other thing.”

“The other thing?”

“This guy Morton and his pal. They’ve got something on Mary. They told her, unless she helps them juice this Wiggins guy, they are gonna turn over what they got on her to the cops.”

“Then she’s clear, Francis. I talked to Wiggins. Mary used to be married to him. They’re divorced.”

“Right. But apparently he’s still got it pretty bad for her. Morton called her, told her she should pretend to go back to him. He wanted her to act like she missed him, and then tell him the real reason that she went away wasn’t because of his affair, but because of this cloud she’s got hanging over her head, so he’d pay Morton to make it all go away. They wanted to squeeze the guy for some big bucks.”

“And Mary said no?”

“She did, but she’s scared to death of Morton. He kept pressuring her with what he’s holding over her. She told him she was going out of town for a couple of days and she’d go see Wiggins when she got back. So she checked into the hotel where you snooped around in her room, and we set up our meeting out at the airport, where I wrongly supposed no one would be.”

“Except you knew I’d be there, since you were apparently having me followed. Otherwise you wouldn’t have known about my snooping.”

Francis smiled sheepishly. “Ah . . . true. I was having a guy follow Morton, but after he came to see you, you sort of became Morton’s agent. So I told the guy to follow you instead.”

I nodded. That was logical enough. “Two things, though, Francis.”

“Okay.”

“First of all, what’s Morton’s partner’s name?” At the mention of the name, a look of raw hatred flashed through Francis’ eyes. There was a reason he hadn’t spoken the name up to now—it was clear he hated even thinking about the person.

“His name is Zellars. Morton was the brains behind it all, or used to be. Now Zellars is a free agent.”

“Let me guess. This Morton is Mary’s ex-boyfriend?”

Francis closed his eyes and frowned and nodded. “A long time ago, when she was no more than a kid, they were together. He controlled her. He used her to shake down some millionaire back in the day. Something bad happened. It’s another thing that they’re using against her.”

“Was this millionaire named Carlton Silvers?”

“Longville, you’re too smart for your own good.”

“Carlton Silvers didn’t just get ‘shaken down,’ as you put it—he’s dead. Very possibly murdered.”

“I know. Mary told me something went wrong with the drop-off. You see, Zellars and Morton were blackmailing this guy Silvers, with the same stuff they’re using against Mary now. He was going to drop off half a million dollars in exchange for these things, and they got into a scuffle somehow. Silvers got rattled and took off in his car with the money. Morton and Zellars chased him down, and he had a bad crash. They took the money from the wreckage and blew town, leaving Mary with nothing.”

“Mary got a lot of money from Silver’s life insurance, and more from his estate.”

“But now she’s got nothing. These two won’t leave her alone, Longville. They got her framed up for this, like she plotted it all out. They blackmailed her out of everything she got from the Silvers estate. And now they’re back and they want more. Personally, I’d like to tie these guys to chairs and teach them a few lessons, but Mary says no to that. She wants me to wash my hands of all the bad stuff, wants us both to walk away clean.”

It suddenly dawned on me that Francis had brought me here to hire me. It was turning out to be quite an interesting day.

“One last thing. You left another blank in that last part of the story. You said Morton and Zellars were blackmailing Silvers. Just what was it he was willing to spend half a million in cash to get his hands on?” I asked, though I already had some idea.

“Ah, well. When Mary was younger, Morton made her do these movies. They’re ah, kind of dirty. But that’s not the most damaging thing. They can still frame her up for the Carlton Silvers thing. That looks pretty bad, and you know how cops are.”
 

“I see. Morton still has these movies?”
 

“Morton was keeping them under lock and key. I think that maybe Zellars got his hands on them and bailed on Morton.”

“That might be the cause for the bad blood between them now.”

“Yeah. Naturally, I’d want you to get them back, since I have to stay hands off, myself. Also, I’d want back any evidence they’re keeping that links Mary to Silvers blackmail and death.”

It was my turn to look out the window and reflect on this strange little story. Across from me sat a man who had been an enforcer, a capo to Don Ganato for as long as I could remember. There was gray at his temples and there were scars on his knuckles, and his face. And I knew that I was going to do what he asked, because he was trying, at long last, to do a good thing, even if it was in part for his own selfish reasons.
 

There was still one thing that redeemed the situation, in my eyes. Francis had come to me when he might easily have done it his way and asked Mary’s forgiveness later on. I wondered why he hadn’t. Maybe he was afraid that she’d leave him if he did it his way. But I believed him when he said that he wanted out of the crime game. Maybe I wanted to help him have a shot at a straight life.
 

The next thing I knew, I heard myself say, “If I do this, Francis, it goes down my way. Keep your mob boys out of my way.”

“Anything you need.”

“If the police come to me asking questions, I’m not going to lie to them. I’m not going to keep anything from them. And if anybody gets hurt, I’ll tell the police everything I know.”

“It’s like I told you, Longville. I swear I’m telling you the truth. Mary doesn’t want anybody to get hurt. She won’t even let me carry a gun any more. I’m doing right by her, Longville. She just wants these guys to leave her alone. It’s all I want, too.”

I thought for a long minute. “I’m going to need to talk to Mary.”

“I know. We figured that.”

“When?”

Francis smiled his all-knowing smile.

“She’s waiting for you right now, up in your office.”

~

I stepped out of the car and into the burning day, and walked to my office like a man in a trance. With each step that brought me closer to the beaten brownstone that was the Brooks Building, I felt like I was getting closer to the center of a powerful and chaotic vortex of energy, and Mary, in all of her redheaded perfection, was the source, the center and the eye of all that spun around me. I took a deep breath as I mounted the stairs and opened my own door, which Francis’ minions had thoughtfully unlocked for me.
 

I stepped inside, and there was Mary, sitting on the edge of Miss Oliver’s Desk, her hands resting on its edge on either side of her. Miss Oliver was gone for the day, or she would probably have objected to someone using her desk for a chair, even a stunning redhead straight out of a Vargas painting—and that is what Mary Wiggins, nee Silvers, nee whatever else, was. She was a jaw-droppingly gorgeous woman with thick, curly hair the color of neon lights through hotel shades, and eyes like emeralds that would make you break the jewelry store window just to get a closer look.

Magnificent Mary was tallish, and her pointy black heels just made her even taller. She was a woman who liked to dress like a woman. She was wearing a dark dress that was thin enough to confirm her slender curves, but not revealing enough to brag about what filled them out. Two long and shapely legs were crossed casually and propped up the entire stunning arrangement.

“Your picture doesn’t do you justice,” was all that I could think of to say.

She laughed, and it was a pleasant sound that probably made me smile like a clod in return.

“Mr. Longville. I’ve been wanting to talk to you.”

“If you don’t mind stepping into my office, then.” I extended my hand and she led the way. She took a seat. For some reason, I looked around; I was suddenly seized by an urge to straighten up the place. Men do this when they are in the presence of a beautiful woman, even though the woman has already seen the mess, even though they are themselves in love with someone else, and the beautiful woman in question is dating a mobster. Scientists do not understand why guys do this, but they do it anyway.

I removed some newspapers from my desk and threw them into the wastebasket and wiped some imaginary dust from my desk. My office stays pretty neat, actually. Mary sat across from me and smiled diplomatically. Guys were always cleaning up around her, I supposed.

“Francis said you wanted to speak with me, Mr. Longville. I’m sorry, but his friends opened the door for me.”

“No problem. It happens in my line of work, Miss . . .”

“Just call me Mary. My last name is . . . up in the air, at the moment.”

“All right, Mary. Here’s the story. For one reason or another, I’ve been digging around in your past for the past few days.”

“Oh, dear me.” The nice smile went away and came back, not quite so bright. There was a little bit of an apology hovering in her eyes somewhere. “Did Henry ask you to . . .”

I shook my head. “Not exactly. A man who said he was Henry came here, sat right where you’re sitting, and asked me to keep an eye on you.”

She swallowed slightly, and squirmed a little in her seat. “What did he look like, this man?”

As I described him, a look of recognition, and then bitter distaste, curled her porcelain features. There was something colder and deeper than simple hatred.

“When I was young . . . I ran away from home to be with Dominic Morton. I thought he was really something special. A slick guy who got whatever he wanted. I was seventeen—a very naïve seventeen. I thought it was all one big adventure. Dom was in his twenties, and already running his short cons. I was a dumb kid and I didn’t see it at first, but he used me from the start. Used me every way you can imagine. I stayed with him for a couple of years, and that was far too long. He got me mixed up in quite a bit of trouble, I can tell you.”

“Why don’t you tell me about that trouble.”

She nodded slowly and took a deep breath. Her eyes glistened, and she steeled herself and went on: “When I was nineteen, Dominic and me—and Charlie Zellars, a guy who ran with us when we were doing short con jobs—we were at a racetrack, and I was at the betting window, and a man started talking to me. Dominic had taught me to be nice to all of his potential marks, so I was friendly. The man was in his forties, but you could tell by his clothes that he had money and plenty of it. I could also tell that he was lonely. Dom did some asking around and found out that the man was Carlton Silvers III, son of a son of a magnate from Birmingham’s old steel days.

Naturally, Dom wanted me to cozy up to the guy. So I did. I know how that sounds, but nothing stood between Dominic Morton and money. Like I said, he used me however he needed to. Youth is no excuse, though. I let him do it. But I was getting tired of the way he treated me, so in the course of the con, I fell for Silvers. Not with the stupidity and passion that the seventeen year-old me had fallen for Dom, perhaps, but Carlton was kind to me. He doted on me, and provided me with something I’d never had before—a secure home.”

“But to Morton and Zellars it was all still just a con.”

“Yes. I was supposed to act like I’d fallen for him, and so it seemed like I was just acting my part really well . . . in the beginning, I don’t think they suspected. Like I said, I was young and naïve. I guess I thought that they’d leave me alone, somehow, if it was for real.”