calls.”
”Look,” said Mr. D’Amico, ”Marco, he don’t live here no more. He don’t make no phone calls from here.”
”It doesn’t matter where he’s calling from,” I explained. ”If he threatens them, he gets in trouble with the police.”
”Marco don’t make those calls,” said Mrs. D’Amico.
”I think he did. He called me, too. It was his voice, Mrs. D’Amico.”
”No,” she said, then louder, ”no!”
”Why you telling us this things,” said Mr. D’Amico warily.
”I was hoping you could talk to him, persuade him to stop before he gets in trouble for it.”
D’Amico looked helpless. His wife sunk her face into her free hand, and then went to her pocket, tugging out some crumpled Kleenex to stem the next wave of tears.
”He don’t listen no more,” said the husband. ”He almost as old as you. He don’t listen.”
Mrs. D’Amico was crying again, choking off sobs in her throat.
”The Coopers, the other couple, are a lot like you. Only they don’t have neighbors to look after them, like you do. You can guess why that is. Cooper, the husband, was a marine. He can take care of Marco if he has to. So can I.”
”Marco got friends,” he said aggressively. ”Lotsa friends.”
”I know,” I said. ”I met one downstairs, remember? But his friends won’t back him on this sort of thing. This isn’t vendetta, Mr. D’Amico. We both know that. Joey set fire to that warehouse and left the watchman to die. I shot Joey because he shot at me. If Marco hurts someone because of that, nobody will stand with him. Nobody will avenge him, and you’ll have lost both of your sons.”
Mrs. D’Amico let out a confirming wail.
”Out!” snapped D’Amico. ”You outta my house!” I got up and left the apartment. I closed the door gently behind me and descended the staircase. As I stepped out into the sunlight, I looked over at my emissary. He and the group stared back at me. I nodded without smiling and walked back toward my car. I was glad the D’Amicos’ closed windows kept her crying from drifting down to street level.
Seven
I DROVE BACK TOWARD M APARTMENT. I CIRCLED around my block twice, then parked two blocks away and walked to a coffee shop roughly diagonal to my building. I sat and nursed a hot cocoa for half an hour in a bay window, watching. I didn’t see anything unusual, like someone parked in a car for an unreasonable period of time.
I paid for my cocoa and crossed the street. I walked quietly down the alley that turned behind my building, and peeked around the corner. Nobody in sight.
I walked behind my building and hopped over the wooden fence separating our minimal patio area from the alley tar. I used my key on the back door and pulled a long-handled, wide-brushed push broom from the utility closet with the broken lock. I went back outside and lifted the wood brush angle to hook and pull down the last ladder flight of the fire escape. I climbed it, carrying the broom.
I reached my floor and thought about using the handle end of the broom to poke around my window sill from a safe distance. Instead I crawled to my window and looked inside. I couldn’t see much, but I watched long enough to be fairly certain no one was waiting for me. I took out my penlight and shined it through the glass toward the front entrance. I couldn’t see any wires or trips attached to the door.
I didn’t think Al’s killer would really try anything for two reasons. First, any attempt on my life, once the police knew I was connected with Al, would put the he to the cover-up he had arranged. Second, he couldn’t be sure that Al hadn’t somehow identified him to me, resulting in his being put under surveillance by the police. While I believed that either or both of those reasons relieved me of Al’s killer, I didn’t feel as comfortable about friend Marco. Hence, my caution.
I flicked off the light and was halfway back down the escape when the cruiser came into the
”Look,” said Mr. D’Amico, ”Marco, he don’t live here no more. He don’t make no phone calls from here.”
”It doesn’t matter where he’s calling from,” I explained. ”If he threatens them, he gets in trouble with the police.”
”Marco don’t make those calls,” said Mrs. D’Amico.
”I think he did. He called me, too. It was his voice, Mrs. D’Amico.”
”No,” she said, then louder, ”no!”
”Why you telling us this things,” said Mr. D’Amico warily.
”I was hoping you could talk to him, persuade him to stop before he gets in trouble for it.”
D’Amico looked helpless. His wife sunk her face into her free hand, and then went to her pocket, tugging out some crumpled Kleenex to stem the next wave of tears.
”He don’t listen no more,” said the husband. ”He almost as old as you. He don’t listen.”
Mrs. D’Amico was crying again, choking off sobs in her throat.
”The Coopers, the other couple, are a lot like you. Only they don’t have neighbors to look after them, like you do. You can guess why that is. Cooper, the husband, was a marine. He can take care of Marco if he has to. So can I.”
”Marco got friends,” he said aggressively. ”Lotsa friends.”
”I know,” I said. ”I met one downstairs, remember? But his friends won’t back him on this sort of thing. This isn’t vendetta, Mr. D’Amico. We both know that. Joey set fire to that warehouse and left the watchman to die. I shot Joey because he shot at me. If Marco hurts someone because of that, nobody will stand with him. Nobody will avenge him, and you’ll have lost both of your sons.”
Mrs. D’Amico let out a confirming wail.
”Out!” snapped D’Amico. ”You outta my house!” I got up and left the apartment. I closed the door gently behind me and descended the staircase. As I stepped out into the sunlight, I looked over at my emissary. He and the group stared back at me. I nodded without smiling and walked back toward my car. I was glad the D’Amicos’ closed windows kept her crying from drifting down to street level.
Seven
I DROVE BACK TOWARD M APARTMENT. I CIRCLED around my block twice, then parked two blocks away and walked to a coffee shop roughly diagonal to my building. I sat and nursed a hot cocoa for half an hour in a bay window, watching. I didn’t see anything unusual, like someone parked in a car for an unreasonable period of time.
I paid for my cocoa and crossed the street. I walked quietly down the alley that turned behind my building, and peeked around the corner. Nobody in sight.
I walked behind my building and hopped over the wooden fence separating our minimal patio area from the alley tar. I used my key on the back door and pulled a long-handled, wide-brushed push broom from the utility closet with the broken lock. I went back outside and lifted the wood brush angle to hook and pull down the last ladder flight of the fire escape. I climbed it, carrying the broom.
I reached my floor and thought about using the handle end of the broom to poke around my window sill from a safe distance. Instead I crawled to my window and looked inside. I couldn’t see much, but I watched long enough to be fairly certain no one was waiting for me. I took out my penlight and shined it through the glass toward the front entrance. I couldn’t see any wires or trips attached to the door.
I didn’t think Al’s killer would really try anything for two reasons. First, any attempt on my life, once the police knew I was connected with Al, would put the he to the cover-up he had arranged. Second, he couldn’t be sure that Al hadn’t somehow identified him to me, resulting in his being put under surveillance by the police. While I believed that either or both of those reasons relieved me of Al’s killer, I didn’t feel as comfortable about friend Marco. Hence, my caution.
I flicked off the light and was halfway back down the escape when the cruiser came into the
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