Peril

Abe turned to him slowly, his eyes suddenly very intent. Morty knew he’d rushed it, tipped Abe off somehow.

“What are you getting at, Morty?” Abe asked.

Mortimer shrugged. “Nothing, except I was thinking it maybe ain’t such a good idea, you having that gun.”

Abe’s gaze intensified. “Why’s that?”

“No reason in particular.”

Abe drew in a slow breath. “So, what brought about this change of heart, Morty?”

“Nothing,” Mortimer answered quickly.

Abe’s eyes were like probing needles. “You know something, Morty?”

Mortimer tried for a dismissive chuckle. “Me? No, I don’t know nothing.”

The needles sank deeper. “It’s what you do, though, isn’t it?” Abe asked. “Find people?”

Mortimer nodded, now regretting that he’d ever told Abe anything about his work, even though the things he’d told him were mostly lies, or at best exaggerations.

“Have I got a problem, Morty?”

“Problem, no.”

“How about Samantha?”

“Who?”

“The singer.”

“Oh,” Mortimer stammered. “No, she ain’t got no problem.”

“So it’s like you said, probably nobody’s going to show up, right?”

“Right,” Mortimer said, though he could tell Abe hadn’t bought it.

“So since nobody’s likely to find Samantha,” Abe said, “no harm in me keeping the gun. ’Cause there won’t be any reason for me to use it, right?”

Mortimer said nothing, and he could tell that this only deepened the grave suspicion he saw in Abe’s eyes.

“Right?” Abe asked pointedly.

Mortimer nodded heavily, giving in. Jesus Christ, he thought, what do I do now?

TONY

Time was running out. He knew that much for sure. Time was running out for Sara. He saw his father’s face, heard him say “Okay” in that way he’d always said it and not meant it. On that word he’d pledged not to look for Sara, but it had been a lie. He was still looking for her. He would never stop looking for her. He couldn’t imagine why he’d fallen under this obsession, or why, with each passing hour, he seemed more furiously driven by it.

So time was running out for Sara.

He picked up the phone, dialed Caruso’s number.

“Hello.”

“Vinnie?”

“Yeah.”

“Tony.”

Silence.

“I got to talk to you.”

“We already talked.”

“No, listen. I talked to my father. Things are bad, Vinnie.”

Silence.

“Things are real bad.”

“It ain’t my business, Tony, what goes on between you and your—”

“Yeah, it is, Vinnie. Because it concerns you.”

“No, it don’t. It don’t have nothing to do with me.”

“If he finds her, then you’re in it too,” Tony told him. “You know you are, Vinnie.”

Caruso said nothing.

“Okay, how about this,” Tony said. “You and me, we go see my father. Talk things over with him.”

“What things?”

“The whole thing about him looking for Sara,” Tony explained. “I’ll tell him that I told her to leave. That I kicked her out. I’ll tell him I don’t want anything to do with her.”

“He won’t believe you, Tony.”

“Vinnie, please. You don’t know what he might do if he finds her.”

Caruso said nothing.

“He’s not right, you know,” Tony added. “Not right in the head.”

“Whether he is or not, that ain’t my business.”

“What is, Vinnie? What is your business in this thing?”

“What I already told you. I hired a guy, that’s all.”

“Vinnie, listen to me. He didn’t just hire that guy to find Sara. What good would that do? He hired him to . . . do something else.”

Caruso gave no response.

“It could be anything,” Tony continued. “But nothing about it is good. Not for me. Or for you. But most of all, not for Sara.”

“It ain’t my business, Tony,” Caruso repeated.

“But suppose I could stop him, that’s what I’m saying,” Tony told him.

“He wouldn’t listen to you.”

“Okay, maybe not to me, but what about you, Vinnie?”

“Me?”

“Maybe he’d listen to you,” Tony said.

Caruso laughed sourly.

“I mean it, Vinnie,” Tony said. “He trusts you. You know, to think things through. Give him advice.”

Caruso said nothing, and in that brief silence Tony wondered if he’d actually struck a chord. “Maybe this whole thing with Sara is some kind of test,” he continued. “Of you, Vinnie.”

“Me?”

“To see if you can really be trusted,” Tony said. “Not just to do the muscle work. But for your judgment, you know, for your . . . brains!”

“To see if I’d stop him, you mean.”

“Right.”

Caruso said nothing, but Tony could almost hear his mind working the problem, reaching a decision.

“So, will you help me here, Vinnie?”

“I don’t know, Tony,” Caruso said softly. “If he thinks I . . .”

“You don’t want to see Sara hurt, do you?” Tony asked. “Or my father?” He heard Caruso release a weary sigh. “Please, Vinnie, let’s try one more time to end this thing.”

The silence that followed seemed to last forever.

Then, “Yeah, okay,” Caruso said.

SARA

She sat at the table by the window and wondered what she should do, whether she should meet Abe at the restaurant or call now, cancel everything, not just dinner, but her songs at the bar, say thank you but good-bye, and disappear from his life.

She knew that the man in the rumpled black hat had unnerved her. But she also knew that even if the man had not suddenly appeared, she would have been attacked by the very fears that paralyzed her now.