The Heavenly Fugitive (33 page)

“Well, they interest me,” Wes said. “You know, after a prizefight they always interview the winner. That’s what everybody expects, but I went to one last night, and I went to the loser’s room. He was beat up pretty bad, and I got a terrific shot.” He fumbled through the leather bag he carried and pulled out an envelope. Taking out a group of photographs, he selected one and said, “Look at that.”

“Boy, he is beat up, isn’t he? Look at his eyes. He can hardly see out of them.”

“I thought the picture was pretty good. It caught the whole essence of defeat, and all of us have to learn how to handle that, don’t we, Jamie?”

“I guess so,” Jamie said quietly.

Wes had gotten to know Jamie rather well. He had taken him out on two assignments and had quickly learned that the boy was very intelligent. He was good with his hands too, and Wes had told him once, “I wish I’d had good equipment like yours when I was your age. I’d be famous by now.”

The two sat talking for some time, and finally Wes looked up to see Amelia walk into the cafeteria. He jumped up and hurried over to her. “Amelia!”

Amelia turned and looked at him with surprise. “I thought you’d be up visiting with Rosa.”

“I will. I was just spending a little time with Jamie first. They probably don’t want her to have too many visitors at once anyway.”

Jamie walked over to join the two. “Rosa will be glad to see you, Amelia,” he said.

She laid her hand on his arm. “I hope you’re doing okay, too, Jamie. Why don’t you two go visit with her while I grab a sandwich? I haven’t eaten anything yet today.”

“All right,” Jamie said, and he and Wes headed for the elevator.

Amelia was just getting in line to pick out a sandwich when she saw Ryan Kildare come in. He caught her eye and headed in her direction.

“Hello, Amelia,” Ryan said. “Have you been to see Rosa?”

“No, I was just going to have a sandwich first.”

Amelia felt very uncomfortable, and she saw that Ryan was feeling much the same. “Do you want something to eat, Ryan?”

“No, but I’ll have some coffee.”

Five minutes later the two were seated, with Amelia eating a chicken salad sandwich and Ryan sipping a cup of black coffee. He looked curiously at her and said, “How’s your career?”

“It’s all right.”

Something about her answer or her attitude, perhaps, caught at Ryan. He knew she had been troubled by the shootings, and now he turned the cup around in his hands and stared down into the coffee. “I’m worried about James and Rosa.”

“Rosa’s going to be all right.”

“Oh yes, from the shooting, but you know those two hate what their father does. So does Mrs. Morino. I see some trouble ahead for them.”

They sat there for some time and then went up to visit
Rosa. Jamie met them in the hallway and informed them that Rosa was asleep.

“Well, I’ll go down and see Dom, then.”

“I’ll go with you, Ryan.”

The two went down the hall and turned into Dom’s room. The big man’s face was ashen, but his eyes were open.

Amelia did not like sickrooms. Forcing herself to go in, she went over to Dom’s bed. When he lifted his eyes, she made herself smile. “Hello, Dom. A couple visitors for you.”

Ryan came to stand beside her and said, “How are you feeling?”

Dom did not answer for a while. Indeed, he didn’t look good. His face was strained when he finally spoke in a hoarse whisper, “Not . . . too good.”

Amelia reached down and took his hand. “You’re going to make it, Dom,” she said.

But Dom Costello had been around death enough to know better. “No,” he whispered, “not this time. It’s all up with me.”

Amelia could not say a word. She knew he was speaking the truth. The doctors had said as much. A death pallor was on the face of the big man who lay so helplessly before her. She remembered his former vitality and strength, and now all that was gone.

Ryan touched Amelia. She looked at him, startled, then moved aside. Ryan reached down and took Dom’s hand. “Dom, I want to talk to you about Jesus.”

Dom Costello stared at Kildare. He said nothing but lay there, his eyes fixed on the face of the other who spoke slowly, never taking his eyes off of the man in the bed.

“We all have to face God. We’re all going to die. I’ll go someday. Amelia will go. Tony will go. We all have to face the Lord, but we don’t have to face Him unprepared.”

Dom blinked his eyes and shook his head almost imperceptibly. “You don’t know the bad stuff I’ve done, Ryan.”

“It doesn’t matter. Jesus died for sinners. That’s what I am,
a sinner, so He died for me. If you see yourself as a sinner, then He died for you.”

Amelia listened as Ryan spoke gently but insistently of the death of Jesus Christ. She knew this was the sort of thing her father could do, or her uncle Barney or her mother, but she herself could not. Something about it frightened her because she was well aware that this was Dom Costello’s last chance.

Dom listened intently, then said, “I heard a preacher once on the street. He said . . . that when Jesus died, there was a crook right by him who asked for mercy.”

“That’s right. Let me read it to you, Dom.” Reaching into his pocket, Ryan pulled out a New Testament. He thumbed through a few pages and then said, “Jesus had just been crucified, and the Bible gives us a record of it.” He read slowly: “ ‘And one of the malefactors which were hanged railed on him, saying, If thou be Christ, save thyself and us. But the other answering rebuked him, saying, Dost not thou fear God, seeing thou art in the same condemnation? And we indeed justly; for we receive the due reward of our deeds: but this man hath done nothing amiss. And he said unto Jesus, Lord, remember me when thou comest into thy kingdom. And Jesus said unto him, Verily I say unto thee, To day shalt thou be with me in paradise.’ ”

Dom Costello listened intently. His injuries had drained the strength out of him, and now he appeared barely conscious. “That’s all he done? Just asked?”

“That’s all any of us have to do, Dom. All of us are sinners, and all God asks is that we admit it . . . and ask for forgiveness.”

“I ain’t nothin’ but a crook. That’s all I’ve ever been.”

“Jesus loves crooks.”

The statement startled Dom. His eyes opened wider, and he stared at the man beside him. Slowly he closed his eyes, and Amelia was shocked and yet gladdened to see two tears form and run down his cheeks. She stood there as Ryan continued to speak, quoting Scriptures, and found herself praying that
Dom Costello would not go out to meet God unprepared. It shocked her that her heart seemed to be breaking for the dying man, and she was startled when she heard Ryan say, “He’s asleep. Come along, Amelia.”

As they turned away she was silent, but outside the room she said, “Do you think there’s a chance for him?”

“Yes, I think there is. You’re fond of him, aren’t you, Amelia?”

“Yes, I am. He’s had so little chance, and now he’s going out to meet God in judgment if something doesn’t happen.”

Ryan took both her hands in his. “God is love, Amelia.” He saw the tears run down her cheeks and knew that the same God who was pursuing Dom Costello was touching this woman. “He’ll reach Dom . . . and He’ll reach you, Amelia!”

CHAPTER TWENTY

Father and Son

Victor Caruso stared across the desk at Tony Morino. Caruso had worked for Tony for years, always as the number three man immediately behind Dominic Costello. After the shooting, Caruso had immediately, at Tony’s orders, moved into the number two slot. He was a tall man with cold black eyes and black hair to match. He dressed immaculately and looked more like an extra in a movie than he did a professional criminal. He had grown up on New York’s Lower East Side, a hard school, and had absorbed the brutality of that world into his soul. Caruso was extremely intelligent and shrewd, and now as he fixed his eyes on Morino, he said with great forcefulness, “We’ve got to hit Marx, Tony.”

Morino was taken aback by the intensity of Caruso’s stare and by the boldness of the statement. “Sure, sooner or later—but not now.”

“No, it’s got to be
now,
Tony. He’s stronger, and we’re getting weaker. With Dom out of the picture, he’ll see that as a weakness. They took out our guys with that setup, and we’re going to get blamed for killing those two feds.”

“They’ll never prove that.”

“They might. You should know that this isn’t going to slow Novak down. He’ll regroup and train new men in no time. He’s comin’ after us, I tell you, and if we don’t tighten our holes, we’re going to lose out. It’s Leo’s time, and he’s comin’ to get us.”

There had been a time when Tony Morino was the driving
force behind the organization, but his health had deteriorated and some of his will had gone with it as well. He felt lost without Dom, who had been his shadow for years, and now he stared almost helplessly at Vic Caruso. “I’ll think about it.”

“You’d better do more than think about it,” Vic insisted. “You’ve come to a fork in the road, Tony. You’ve been asleep. You’d better wake up, boss. It’s wake-up time.”

****

Tony had been restless ever since Caruso had pushed him about Leo Marx. He felt uneasy, which was a new experience for him. He had come up a fighter, and his enemies had found him always ready to meet them head-on. Now, however, he could not seem to pull himself together. He sat at his desk for a while fidgeting with papers, trying to put things together in his mind, but found he could not concentrate.

A thought came to him, and he rose and left the study. He went upstairs and paused outside Jamie’s door. At one time he would have simply gone in, but it seemed the boy had been more inaccessible lately. So now he knocked, asking, “James, are you there?”

A long silence followed and then the door slowly opened. Jamie stood looking at him and finally said, “What is it, Dad?”

“I thought you might show me what you’re doing with those cameras I been spendin’ so much money for.”

“Okay.” Jamie stepped back, and for the next ten minutes he displayed the newest camera his father had bought him. He also showed him a great many prints, and the name Wes Winslow came up often.

“This guy Wes—he’s a good one, is he?”

“Yes, he was just like I am when he was my age. Always taking pictures, and now he’s doing great.”

The thought crossed Morino’s mind,
This is the first conversation I’ve had with Jamie in a long time. I’ve got to get closer to him.

However, as soon as the conversation about photography ended, Jamie fell silent. Tony struggled to find something else to talk about, but more and more Jamie withdrew. Finally Tony asked, “Are you worrying about Rosa? You don’t have to. She’s going to be all right.”

Jamie Morino was on the verge of young manhood. He had always been a rather quiet boy, which sometimes troubled his father. Now, however, something in his eyes was different. Tony could not make it out, and finally he said, “What’s wrong? Rosa will be all right.”

“Dom’s going to die, Dad.
He’s
not going to be all right.”

Tony blinked with surprise at the mature quality in Jamie’s voice. This was no child standing here, but one coming out of boyhood into manhood. Somehow the years had passed by, and at that moment he knew he’d missed a large part of his son’s life. “Maybe Dom will make it,” he offered weakly.

“The doctors say he’s going to die,” Jamie said flatly, accusation coloring his voice. “He’s not going to be all right—and neither are those two men who worked for the government. They’re dead, and they left families.”

Tony could not meet Jamie’s gaze. It was the first time in his life he had ever been overwhelmed by the boy, and now he cleared his throat and tried to justify what had happened.

“Look, Jamie, you just don’t understand these things. It’s . . . it’s a business.”

“It’s
not
a business, Dad.” Jamie’s face was pale, and strain was etched on his youthful features. Something had been building up in him for years. He had never said it aloud, and perhaps he would not now, but he was very attached to Dom Costello, and Rosa’s brush with death had frightened him. Now he stood straight as a ramrod and said, “Everybody knows what you do, Dad, everybody in New York City.”

“I’m just a businessman, son.”

“Al Capone, is he just a businessman? Everybody knows he’s a criminal.”

Anger flashed through Tony. “Are you calling me a criminal?”

“That’s what you are, Dad. You break the law. It’s against the law to sell alcohol, and that’s what you do.” Jamie’s face changed. It was a look Tony had never seen before. “But I won’t be what you are. I’d be ashamed.”

Tony could not speak. He had learned over the years to explain his activities in a language that made it more respectable. Like Capone, he called himself simply a businessman. He had the usual excuses that if he didn’t sell liquor, somebody else would. That rich men could buy and drink in their own clubs safe from the law, so poor people should have the same right. But as he stood facing his son, he suddenly could not bear it. He turned and left the room, his throat tight.

He left the house and walked around the grounds for a long time. The beauty of the spring meant nothing to him. He could only hear the voice of his son saying,
“I won’t be what you are. I’d be ashamed.”
He knew those words would echo in his mind and in his heart . . . perhaps forever.

When he returned to the house, he found Maria waiting for him. He stood before her and related brokenly what had happened.

Maria Morino did not speak for a time, but she knew that now she had to. She faced him and said, “He’s right, Anthony. Don’t you know that Rosa and Jamie hate what you do?”

“I never . . . I never realized it.”

And then with a heartbroken tone, she said, “And so do I hate it. I’ve always hated it.”

Tony stared at his wife, whom he loved dearly, but could not meet her gaze. Blindly, he turned and fled from her.

****

Rosa improved dramatically. Each day home from the hospital brought more strength. Her parents rejoiced and so did Jamie, but after she had been home only a few days, Rosa became aware of the rift between her father and her brother.
She could not speak to Tony, but she asked Jamie about it. He simply related the scene that had passed between them. When he finished, Rosa bit her lip. “I’m sorry you had to say those things to Daddy.”