Ellery Queen Mystery Magazine. Vol. 101, Nos. 3 & 4. Whole Nos. 610 & 611, March 1993

“Stop it!” Desi screamed, freezing us all for a split second, long enough for me to grab Rothstein’s wrist and clamp onto it with my teeth. He roared, and dropped his weapon, hammering my face with his free hand. Sol scrambled after Roddy’s piece, grabbed it, and swung it to cover Dexter.

“The balcony, Sol,” I managed. “Look at the press box.”

He risked a quick glance, spotted the guy with the camera. Then slowly got to his feet. He stood there, in a killing rage, his weapon centered on Jaquette’s chest, and if I’ve ever seen one man ready to kill another, it was Sol at that moment. The moment passed.

“Get up and get him out of here, Axton,” he said, lowering the pistol slightly. “But by God, if I ever see either of you again, I’ll be the last thing you ever see.”

I shook my head trying to clear it. Rothstein was still clutching his bloodied wrist. His eyes met mine for a moment, and I knew that it wasn’t finished between us. It was personal now. I’d be seeing him again. Terrific.

I lurched to my feet, and hauled Jaquette to his. He was spent, ashen, barely able to stand. I got an arm around him, picked up his cane, and helped him walk out, one slow step at a time. He hesitated at the escalator and I let him. He’d paid the price of admission.

He turned to look back a moment; God only knows what he was thinking. Sol and Millie were trying to calm Desi, all of them shaken to the core. Jaquette swallowed, and I thought he was going to say something, but he didn’t. Maybe he couldn’t. I walked him out to the car.

We drove in silence for twenty minutes, the only sound the rumble of the Buick’s big V-8 and the rasp of Jaquette’s breathing. He rolled down the window, letting the rain sprinkle his face and trickle down his goatee and his collar. It seemed to help.

“I thought it’d be easier,” he said softly, more to himself than to me.

“What would be?”

“Dying. I thought it through, thought I was ready. But at the last second there, I thought, maybe it’s not worth it. He’s not worth it. Not even after... everything. That, ahm, that was a bold thing you did back there. I’m sorry I dragged you into my trouble.”

“Why did you?” I asked.

“I needed somebody to walk me through Sol’s security. Went to the concert at the Palace to... to see the girl. Couldn’t even get close. Spotted you. Asked around, found out who you were, what you do. Took me a month to figure this thing out, set it up. The guy with the camera’s a film student from U of Detroit. Thinks he’s makin’ a documentary about an old-time singer tryin’ to collect some back royalties from a rip-off record company. Would’ve worked too. I figured everything but you.”

“How so?”

“Willis told me you were honest. He never said you were crazy. When it come down to it, I thought you’d stand aside, let it happen. And the whole thing’d be on film. No way Sol could duck the rap for takin’ me out.”

“And that’d be worth dying for?”

“Hell, I’m dyin’ anyway, boy, slow and hard. I was lucky to see Christmas. I won’t see another. I figured if I could just take Sol down with me... Maybe you shoulda let it happen. Hate’s all I had left,” he said, sagging back in his seat, closing his eyes. “Ain’t even got that now. I’m tired. To my bones. I wish I could just... be gone.”

“You can’t though. It’s not over.”

“No? Why not?”

“You hired me to collect some money, Mr. Jaquette. I haven’t done it yet. How would you like to meet your daughter? One on one? I think I can arrange it.”

His eyes blinked open. “Meet her? Why? To say goodbye?”

“Or hello. You might have more to talk about than you think. Business, for instance.”

“What business I got with her?”

“None. But the Sultans have business. With Sol.”

“Man, that was all smoke. A way to get to him is all. He screwed ’em for true, but it was all legal.”

“That doesn’t make it right. And Desi might not think so either. She’s got a good heart, and a hard nose. I think if you asked her right, you bein’ a dyin’ man and all, she’d talk Sol into doin’ the right thing by the Sultans.”

“It’s too late for that. The Sultans are gone, all but Horace. And he ain’t got long.”

“Then do it for the others. The Sultans weren’t the only group who got ripped off. Maybe you could establish a legal precedent other old-timers can use to get a fairer shake. It might not amount to much. But it’s better than nothing.”

“Maybe so, I don’t know. I’m too tired to think now. Drop me off at the corner. I wanna walk awhile.”

“It’s raining.”

“I know,” he said. “Stop the car.”

I watched him limp away, step, lean, step, lean. An old man in a tuxedo, in the rain. I wasn’t worried about him. His Cadillac had been tailing us since we left the Costa Del Sol.

I think he’s wrong about wanting to give up. A man who worked as hard as Jaquette to settle a score would find enough juice to talk to his daughter.