The Heavenly Fugitive (23 page)

Leaning forward, Leo Marx whispered, the sound making a sibilant hissing in the cell. “Don’t tell anybody this, Jake. I’ve got a line right into the DA’s office. They got the dope on me from an outsider.”

Suddenly Jake Prado’s eyes blinked. “It was Big Tony, wasn’t it? I can’t get in there, boss. He’s too closely guarded.”

“No, it wasn’t him. I got it straight from my guy inside the DA’s office. It was that fancy lawyer of his, Kildare.
He
ain’t guarded.” Marx’s eyes glittered, and he whispered, “Get him, Jake, but do it like this. Let him know he’s going to get it. Miss him a couple of times. I want him to be so scared he’ll shake himself to pieces.”

“It’d be easier just to pop a cap on him, Leo.”

“I don’t want that. I want him to hurt. When he’s half crazy you can put him down.”

****

Tony Morino looked up and saw that his attorney was in bad shape. Ryan Kildare’s clothes were rumpled, and he had circles under his eyes. Tony got up. “What is it, Kildare?” He noticed that the lawyer’s hands were unsteady as he ran them through his red hair.

“They’re going to get me, Tony.”

“They aren’t going to get you. Now calm down. What happened?”

“They got into my apartment when I was out and put a dead cat in my bed. Here’s a note they left.”

Tony Morino took the note and read it. “ ‘You’re going to die, lawyer, but slow.’ ” He looked up and said, “Look, you’re going to have to come and live here at my place. We’ve got plenty of security.”

“How can I do that? I’ve got to go to the courthouse. I’ve got to be out. You know what my work’s like.”

Morino argued for a time, but he saw that the man’s nerve was completely broken.

“All right,” he said. “You’ll have to get out of town. Marx is behind it. I’d say Jake Prado is the triggerman. But look, Marx is going to Sing Sing. He’ll lose all his power when he’s there.”

“Not with Prado out.”

“I’ve got plans for him,” Morino said in a deadly tone. “I wish it hadn’t happened, but I’ll find out who’s handling the hit. If it’s Prado, we’ll get him. It has to be him.”

Ryan Kildare shook his head. “My mother, I can’t leave her.”

“They won’t bother your mother if you’re out of the picture. I’ll put two men there for a while, so don’t worry. A fly wouldn’t be able to get through.”

Ryan Kildare was frightened. He had seen the victims of the hit men who roamed the streets of the city, and now he knew there was no mercy for him. “I’ll have to do it,” he whispered. “But take care of my mother.”

“Sure, sure. When this thing blows over you can come back, and it’ll be business as usual.”

****

Amelia had just gone to bed when the doorbell rang. It startled her, and she glanced at the clock. “After midnight. Who could that be?” At first she decided not to answer it; then she got out of bed and put on a silk robe. As she belted it she approached the door and called out, “Who’s there?”

“It’s me, Ryan.”

“Ryan, what are you doing here?”

“I’ve got to talk to you for just a minute, Amelia—please.”

Amelia hesitated and then turned the dead bolt. She opened the door and was shocked at Ryan’s features. Fear was etched in his face, and he was pale. “I’ve got to get out of town, Amelia.”

“I know. Phil told me about the threats on your life.”

Kildare took a deep breath, and then shook his head and grew somewhat calmer. “It’s shaken me up pretty bad, Amelia.”

“It would shake up anybody.” She wanted to say,
Now you know what it’s like to be on the receiving end of these gangsters,
but she held her tongue, feeling a great pity for him.

Ryan bit his lower lip, then met her eyes. “I don’t know why I came here, but I’ve got a feeling I won’t see you again. And a woman’s got a right to know that a man loves her, even if she doesn’t love him. I just came to say that.”

“What about your mother?”

“Tony’s taking care of her.”

“I’ll go see her if you’d like.”

“Would you do that?” Relief washed across Ryan’s face. “It would mean a lot to me and to her.”

“Yes, but you’d better clear it with Big Tony.”

Ryan blinked and shook his head. “Good-bye, Amelia,” he said. “And thanks.”

As Amelia closed the door it was as if she was closing a
door on part of her life. She had had strong feelings for this man, but now she well knew that he was caught in the very machine he had helped to create. She stood there in the center of the room, and a feeling of compassion washed over her. “What will this do to his mother?” she whispered, knowing she would have to do whatever she could for Judith Kildare.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

A Different Rosa

The jail reeked of urine, strong cleaning chemicals, unwashed bodies, and the smell of fear. Phil had learned to adjust to it, but he had never learned to like it. Now as he sat in the small cell facing the young man who watched him with wary eyes, he wondered how he could influence the young man to save himself.

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a packet of chewing gum and extended it toward the prisoner. “Have a chew,” he smiled.

“Don’t use it.”

The speaker was a wiry teenager with stiff black hair and eyes as dark as obsidian. Charlie Zlinter was seventeen years old, and Phil suspected that very few pleasant events had transpired in his life. He had read the boy’s record—he had grown up in poverty, dropped out of school by the age of ten, committed many small offenses, and now was charged with a major one. The jails were filled with human debris such as Charlie Zlinter, and outside in the street they swarmed like schools of piranha feeding on whatever got in their way.

Phil stuck the chewing gum back in his pocket and said easily, “Charlie, you probably won’t believe this, but I’m here to help you.”

“Why would you want to help me?”

Phil wanted to answer honestly and was fairly certain that honesty would get him nowhere. Still he decided to try. “I’m out for bigger game than you, Charlie, and that’s the truth.
I can put you away, but the real guys I’m after are going to be walking free.”

The case was relatively simple. Lee Novak’s crew had arrested Charlie as part of a bootlegging team. The big fish had gotten away, and Zlinter had been snatched up and hustled into jail with little ceremony. According to his record he had never served hard time, but he had been in the city jail three times, all on minor charges. This was not going to be minor, Phil knew, for Lee had made it plain that he intended to arrest and severely charge anybody connected with bootlegging.

“You got a family, Charlie?” Phil asked.

“No.”

“Nor ever had, I suppose.”

“Sure, I had a pa once. He beat me up all the time and kicked me out when I was ten.”

“What about your mother?”

“She died when I was three.”

It was a familiar story to Phil, and despite the antagonistic set of the young man’s shoulders and his hateful stare, Phil felt that somewhere deep down under this exterior was a human being who needed a hand.

“All right, Charlie, let me explain this to you. You know what I do. We’re out to put bootleggers out of business.”

“You’re not having much luck, are you?”

Phil grinned ruefully. He liked the boy’s spirit. He knew that Zlinter was afraid, but he was doing a good job keeping it from showing. A fight broke out somewhere down the cellblock, and Phil turned, but Zlinter did not even move his eyes. He was as wary as an animal in a trap, and Phil knew the effort to get him to open up was hopeless.

“Let me tell you what’s happening here, Charlie. As far as I can figure out, you were helping to load illegal liquor. That makes you guilty, but some people are guiltier than others. The big bosses upstairs—they’re the ones we really want to get after.”

“And you want me to give you their names.”

“That’s right, I do.”

Zlinter cursed and glared at Phil. “I ain’t no rat. I’ll never squeal.”

“Ah, the code of honor!” Phil had encountered it before, and it left him with a bad taste in his mouth. “Your kind will do anything—break the law, break knees, shoot each other down—but you have this one little rule that you don’t squeal on anybody.”

“That’s right.”

“No, it’s not right. It’s
wrong.
What’s it going to get you? You’re going to the penitentiary, Charlie. What about the guy who hired you? You think he’ll be there? Not on your life. He’ll be living in his big house with his fast women and his liquor, and if anybody ever says to him, ‘Whatever happened to Charlie Zlinter?’ he’ll probably laugh and say, ‘That poor sucker. He took the rap.’ ”

Zlinter’s eyes faltered for a moment, but then his lips grew thin, and he shook his head without saying a word.

Phil went on. “They’re using you, Charlie.”

“I’ve had enough of this.” Charlie jumped up from the table and banged on the door, but the guard outside ignored him.

Sighing heavily, Phil leaned back and studied him. He knew there was no way Charlie would ever accept his help, but he had tried, nevertheless. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small New Testament. He extended it toward Zlinter, who still stood by the door, a suspicious light in his eyes at Phil’s offer.

“Go on, take it,” Phil said. “It won’t bite you. It’s just a Bible—a small one at that.”

Zlinter stared at him and made no move to take it. “Why you giving me a Bible?”

“Because you need it just like I do, and just like everybody does. You’ve probably heard this before, Charlie, but we all need God. Jesus died for your sins just like He died for mine. The only difference between us is that I’ve called on Him and
asked Him to forgive me of my sins, and He has. And just remember, that’s all you have to do.”

Zlinter reached out gingerly and took the Bible, and Phil knew not to press it further. “I marked a few verses in there and wrote a few notes on the inside cover.” He stood up and called out, “Guard, I’m ready.” As the guard came in, he turned back to Charlie and said, “My phone number’s written in the back of that New Testament. If you want me to help you, Charlie, just call me.”

The door clanged open, and Phil stepped outside. As the guard slammed it shut, the hollow, ringing sound had a fatal note in it. He had heard it before, and he wondered how he himself would survive if he were locked up behind steel bars with criminals, their souls abounding with every evil instinct in the world. A shiver twitched his shoulders, and he walked quickly down the corridor, his heels echoing on the concrete. The guard at the end let him out and said, “Good day to you, sir.”

Phil studied the man. He was white haired, and his face was lined. “Been here a long time?” Phil asked.

“Twenty-two years.”

“That would depress me watching all these men go down.”

“Well, I get a chance to say a word to them every now and then about the Lord Jesus.”

Instantly Phil smiled. He put out his hand and said, “My name’s Winslow. I’m from the DA’s office. Here’s my card. If you ever need anything, give me a call.”

The guard looked at the card with surprise. “Why, thanks, Mr. Winslow.” He smiled slyly and said, “You’re not really a lawyer, are you? You don’t look old enough.”

Phil laughed. “I just graduated from law school last month, so I’m pretty new at it. But I’m starting to learn the ropes.”

“Well, I suppose we need lawyers, although they don’t seem to do most of these fellows much good.”

“We do the best we can, Sam.” He had read the name
tag on the white-haired man’s chest. “You’re doing a good work here.”

The compliment caught the guard off balance. “You know, in all the years I’ve been here nobody’s ever commended me for standing up for the Lord. I get lots of cussin’ out.”

“You’re being faithful, and that’s all any of us can do. I’ll see you again, perhaps.”

Phil left the cellblock and made his way toward the front gate. When he stepped outside, he breathed in an invigorating breath of the cold February air. He got into his car, and as he often did, he thought of his grandmother and how she had given him the car on his graduation from college not quite two years ago. He kept it spotless and clean, the nickel headlights and the radiator still glowing as they had the first day he had climbed into it. Starting the car, he threaded his way through the traffic until he came to the fifth precinct. He parked and went inside. Stepping over to the desk, he said, “Hello, Sarge, how you doing today?”

“Why, Counselor, it’s you.” The sergeant’s name was Murphy, a typical Irish cop with a ruddy complexion and a pair of penetrating blue eyes. He had grown heavier since his days on the beat, but he was known as a good cop. “What can I do for you today, Mr. Winslow?”

“I just need to get one paper signed by one of your guests here, Sergeant. Tommy Bentley.”

“Are you sure he can write?” Murphy grinned. “Sure. Go on back.”

“Thanks, Murph.” Phil turned and started toward the door that led to the interior of the building, where prisoners were held until they were either released on bail or sent to the city jail for longer terms. He had not gotten far, however, when a loud screaming suddenly brought him up short. He turned around and saw that two burly policemen were hauling in a young woman, each one holding an arm firmly. She was wearing a thin gold lamé dress with fringes. A headband held back her black hair, but as she struggled, butting her head
at one of the officers, it came loose, and the hair fell down before her face. She was screaming unintelligibly, and one of the officers winked at the sergeant.