Anthony DePaul Copyright  2005 by Anthony DePaul

Chapter Twenty-Two

“Philadelphia dead ahead,” announced the driver.

Dorian shifted to a sitting position so he could see through the windshield. The streets were quiet and empty. The three Society Hill Towers loomed high over the city forming a triangle of pillars jutting against the murky ceiling. With Talarico’s death, the Philadelphes had lost their assassin so Joseph Goodway would have to find another way to attack to protect his empire.

The driver pulled up to Dorian’s Tower.

“Is this the right place?” he asked Dorian.

“Home sweet home!” said Dorian.

Dorian adjusted the patch over his eye to keep it safe from the icy wind. Upstairs, he crashed on his sofa, grateful for a sense of security and silence. He thought of calling Alice but she was probably sleeping. The ring of his phone shook the stillness. He checked the caller ID on the second ring. Disbelieving, he answered. “Hello Nate.”

“I want to see you now. It’s important!”

Dorian suspected a trick. “Come alone. I will be armed.”

“So will I! My life is not worth a burnt bagel.”

Dorian needed time to prepare. “I just got home. Give me an hour to get cleaned up,” said Dorian.

“I’ll be there,” said Nate.

Dorian called Sophie. He needed back up or at least a witness.

“Wake up, Doll!”

“Boss! My god! You’re home!”

“Come over here now. Nate Stern is on his way. I need a secret witness.”

“I’m not dressed.”

“You look good naked. I’ve seen pictures on the Internet.”

“You are insane!” she said.

Dorian did not want to order her to come but he could trust her. “Not a debatable point. Hurry before Nate arrives! There is a week in the Islands for you and a boy toy at my expense.”

“I’ll be there for you, not the trip.”

Dorian kissed the phone aloud. “Thanks!”

“Double Mazel tov!”

Dorian changed into jeans and a loose fitting cardigan sweater that easily hid his berretta. He turned on the classic music station. His body was full of antibiotics but he poured a half glass of wine and set a tray with glasses on the coffee table.

Sophie burst through his front door. “What’s up? I look a mess. You look like a pirate.”

Dorian took her coat and shoved it deep inside the closet. “Call me Bluebeard. You look good in yellow. But the pink sneakers have to go!”

She smoothed her hair back. “They’re my walking shoes.”

Dorian said, “Okay, but this is a religious occasion that we’re holding tonight.”

Sophie shook her head in disbelief. “What!”

Dorian led her to the bedroom door. “You may be witness to a Jew confessing his sins to an ex-Catholic.”

Sophie stopped still. “Is that kosher?”

Dorian handed her a microdot. “Lie quietly under the covers with this little devil in your hand. You are a corroborating witness. I am going to leave the door open so he won’t suspect anything.”

Sophie’s brow creased in three wavy lines. “Is there something I should worry about?”

Dorian gently pressed her shoulders. “I doubt it. Uh oh! There’s the downstairs bell.” He kissed her forehead and buzzed Nate’s entrance.

“Under the covers, my spy!” said Dorian.

She reluctantly dragged her self to the king sized bed and crawled under the thick bedspread.

Nate reeked of whiskey. His suit lapel was stained with a yellow spot the size of a dime. His tie hung untied along his chest.

“Hello, Nate.”

Nate brushed past him and checked the condo. “I guess we’re alone. Have you got the place bugged?”

Dorian poured Nate a glass of wine. “No. Have some Chianti. It’ll warm your insides.”

Nate took off his coat and headed to the wet bar. “No thanks. I’ll pass on the vino. I drink Scotch these days.”

He poured two fingers of Johnny Walker Black into in a tumbler and sat on the barstool.

“What can I do for you?” asked Dorian.

Nate tilted the tumbler towards Dorian’s patch. “You look a little like Moshe Dayan with that black patch. You’ll never be the man he was. Prosit!”

Dorian returned the salute. “Here’s to dead gods, fallen generals and better men than us!”

Nate chugged the Scotch and refilled the glass. He took a gun from his pocket and laid it on the bar. “I did it!”

Dorian leaned forward. He needed to hear Nate confess to killing ML. “Did what?”

Nate shook his fist. “I stole all the money! I swept all the accounts in the Cayman Islands and transferred it to an account in Switzerland. The Philadelphes are out of business. Joe Goodway called me six times. He is pissed that I stole his mulct and you killed his man Talarico. We got them! I feel free! Oh they’ll kill me sooner or later. But I cut the schmucks a new asshole. Listen to me. I’m cursing like a schoolboy.”

Dorian admired the feisty man’s courage. “You sound more like an old soldier. When did you make your move?”

Nate snapped his fingers twice. “Bang bang! I did it today! I used a computer. It took five minutes to undo decades of work. I got them for Jerry.”

Dorian rose and shook Nate’s hand. “I’ll pour for you!”

Nate held the glass like it was gold. “Don’t! Rest up. I also resigned as Managing Director. I’m out and damn glad to be out. I announced it publicly before I told Grace Lord. The Mayor is a fraud. I won’t give her the respect due a real Mayor.”

Dorian hugged Nate’s shoulders. “Again, Congrats! So you took their money and you got that prick ML to boot! Dayan would be proud of you!”

Nate twisted away. His lips quivered but he sipped the whiskey. “I wish I killed that devil. I owe a debt of gratitude to whoever shot him You know, I thought you did it.”

Dorian turned white. “No. I have no idea who killed him.”

Nate swirled the whiskey glass. “If you ever find out who killed him, let me know. I want to shake his hand. I better go. You look like death worn over.”

Nate finished the whiskey. “Good stuff! Watch your back. Goodway has nothing to lose. Italians like revenge, especially when you kill one of their own. He has to get to you or Alice or Camorra will come after him. It’s you or him. Murdering an enemy makes them feel macho. I’ve got to go home and sleep. Good night!”

Nate let himself out.

Dorian did not know if he and Alice had won or lost.

Sophie raced in and hugged Dorian tightly. “Boss! You won! The triangle split in two or three. Aren’t you happy?”

Dorian embraced her. He never knew what it was like to lean on an older woman. He was so weak and so tired he felt like a child who’d stayed up past his bedtime. He held her for a long time.

“Yes, Sophie. I am happy but the war has not been won and I am afraid that Alice will be the next casualty.”

“Shit!”

Dorian released her. “Thanks for being here for me. You are the best!”

Dorian fetched her coat and slipped it over her shoulders. “Call first. I may have to go out tomorrow and don’t argue with me.”

She kissed his cheek. “Hang in my handsome boy.”

Dorian shook her hand. “I will. I have no other choice.”

He straightened up the room, deposited the whiskey glass in the sink and turned off the music. He sat alone in the dark trying to figure out how to save Alice’s life.

By morning, he’d developed a plan, a triangulation of his own. For starters, tomorrow he’d visit the Lodge of the Scottish Knights.

“The flask saved my worthless butt. I’m sore but alive. The little lady got him didn’t she?”

“She drilled him like a pro,” said Dorian.

“Give the lass a kiss. I need to sleep and get well. There’s too much whiskey in the world and I must do my part to solve the problem.”

Dorian toasted the old warrior. “Slainte!”

Dorian wanted back up for the meeting with Pocky and Pugface but he didn’t have the heart to impose on Jars so he’d go alone.

He dialed Kelly. “Hello Counselor!”

“Well if it isn’t Mister Nine Lives. How are you?” asked Kelly.

“In the land of the blind, the one eyed man is king.”

Kelly didn’t laugh. “Fuck off with the philosophy. What’s doing?”

Dorian hoped Kelly would back his play. “Listen carefully to what I plan to do. If all goes well, Estelle will be free in a day or two.”

Kelly sighed like a man about to hear bad news. “I’m afraid to listen but dying to hear what you have to say.”

When he finished explaining, Kelly whistled aloud. “Happy Saint Patty’s day! You’ve got more balls than anyone I know.”

Dorian took the comment as a “Yes”.

“Call Alice. Get the immunity offer in writing. It’s legal that way.”

Kelly laughed. “I didn’t think you care about the law.”

It was Dorian’s turn to laugh. “It’s the one and only manmade institution I actually fear. Ciao!”
Pocky and Pugface met him at the front door of the Lodge. They were both in uniform. Their whiskey breath greeted him from five feet away. Pocky laid a hand across Dorian’s chest. “Stop a moment here,” said Pocky. “There are those among us who would like to kick your ass to hell so it’s safer we talk here.”

Dorian preferred the safety of the street over another trip up the thirteen steps. “Okay! I guess the night shift is enjoying their morning tea and scones. Before you ask, I’ll agree to a search.”

Pugface frisked him from head to toe. “No gun. No Microphone. He’s clean.”

“Check under his patch,” said Pocky.

“Wait! It’s tender as hell,” said Dorian.

Pocky grimaced at the discolored eye. “That is one ugly bugger. Now what’s on your mind?”

Dorian looked around as if he was scanning the street for eavesdroppers. “I was partly wrong about Stern. He did not kill ML. He hired Talarico to do it. Stern also stole all of the funds from the proverbial piggy bank. I will get him but I need a favor.”

“What favor?” asked Pocky.

Dorian took each man’s arm. “Look, I know you boys rigged the murder scene to make Estelle Miles appear guilty. She’s starting to remember what happened. I can get her to remember that ML was in the room with her and not you two. I can get immunity for both of you for testifying that ML followed Lincoln home. ML took him inside. You boys only reported what your boss told you to report. Got it? Am I clear?”

Both men nodded.

“Good. Here’s what I want. There are certain pictures of a certain ADA in your possession. I want all of them. You scratch my ass, I save yours.”

Pocky shuffled his feet while Pugface folded his arms and looked away.

“I don’t like defaming a dead man.”

Dorian reached for each man’s hands. “We three are a triangle. If we hold together, we are all safe. ML is dead. It’s him or you and he is dead.”

Dorian backed away. “The deal stands for one day. Estelle’s memory gets better every day. Don’t dawdle or you’ll find yourself in Holmesburg prison with hundreds of guys who love to make amends for the white boys that offed Lincoln Miles.”

“We’ll call you in an hour,” said Pocky.

Dorian gave them a thumb’s up sign and said, “Indeed! I’ll be waiting.”

Phase one was set. Time to see Grace Lord.

Outsiders who park illegally are punished with stiff fines or towing and an occasional ass whipping. The streets are always snow plowed first and the garbage and street cleaning crews keep the neighborhood tidy. The crime rate is nil. Who would steal a car from the Mayor or crime boss Joey Merlino?

Grace Lord and her mother lived in Packer Park since the first homes were built in the late sixties. The home and the neighborhood are Grace’s haven from the madness of violent street crime, street corner drug deals and drive by shootings that a lot of her constituents take for granted. She agreed to meet Dorian here to avoid undue publicity and to be sure that the meeting was not bugged.

Grace kept a PC and installed a router at her own expense to make the home a wireless hot spot. She believed technology was an important tool in keeping the City safe and under control in times of crisis. Dorian’s Jag pulled up and the policemen assigned to her home quickly frisked him. She’d selected two of the city’s most decorated officers to guard her. She did not trust ML’s men. There are thousands of honest cops who cannot be bought or sold. She only needed two.

Dorian should not be driving with a patch over his eye but she was in no mood to break his balls. She liked his natural good looks, athletic build and independence. Alice was a lucky woman.

She flicked on the coffee machine so the brew would be fresh. Termini’s bakery delivered fresh cannolis and cinnamon buns. She set up a tray in the kitchen on a small butcher-block table. A portrait of her mother guarded her from dining room. Mother filled her life even after death.

Dorian entered calling out, “Hello!”

Grace waved him forward. “Come in to the kitchen. In South Philly all business is conducted in the presence of food.”

Dorian shed his leather jacket. His flat stomach and broad shoulders filled out his black, turtle neck sweater.

“The patch becomes you,” she said as he sat. “Help yourself to coffee and cannolis or buns.”

Dorian accepted a cheese cannily. “Did you get these from Termini’s bakery?”

“Of course. South Philly’s finest!”

Dorian scanned the neat, well appointed home. “You have a nice home.”

Grace poured herself a coffee and laced it with Sambuca. “It fits my needs nicely. Mom left it to me. It’s the only home I’ve ever known.”

Dorian settled on a picture of a pretty, dark haired woman. “Is that her picture? She is quite good-looking.”

Grace nodded, “Yes! She was the best mother ever.”

Dorian studied the restored black and white photograph. “I see the family resemblance. You have her eyes and her sharp features. You don’t look like your Dad, Joseph Goodway. Don’t try to deny he’s your father.”

Grace leaned back and crossed her legs, coffee cup in hand. “So you figured out my parentage. Goodway has been kind to me. I won’t demean him by arguing with you but you did not come here to talk about my out of wedlock childhood. What do you want?”

Dorian dipped an end of the cannoli in the coffee. “These are good! I’m sorry for being nosy but I am curious why you never took any mulct? You live simply, drive a three-year-old Subaru, don’t own any other property and have less than fifty grand in your Wachovia account. Marian and your dad live in a mansion in Chestnut Hill worth over three million. They each drive a Mercedes and own a beachfront four-bedroom pad on Fifty First Street in Avalon worth about five million. Of course the assets are listed under the Shell Company in the Cayman Islands. Nate owns enough real estate to house half of Jerusalem. Even the late ML McLain owns a Cape Cod in Ocean City. So what is it with you? Don’t you like money?”

Poker faced, Grace listened with a casual “so what” smile.

“You are good!” she said.

She uncrossed her legs and leaned forward. “There is more to life than money.”

Dorian helped himself to a second cannoli, carbs be damned. “You have no family, few friends and no children. You’re like a public hermit, if that’s possible.”

Grace’s nostrils flared just enough to tell him he’d riled her. “My life is none of your business.”

Dorian shrugged. “True but I find you an interesting woman. I take back the word hermit. You are more like a career soldier who’s married to the Army or Marines. Yes, that’s a better description. You live for Camorra. Camorra is your life and you would die for it wouldn’t you?”

Grace poured a drop of Sambuca in her coffee. He was sure that he’d cut close to home.

“Long ago, I made a choice. My father agreed that I could work with him in Camorra and he would take care of mom and I but marriage to a man outside of Camorra is taboo. For my mother’s sake I agreed. Camorra paid for our home, my education, food, cars, the whole sum and substance of my life. Once I accepted the offer, I learned that a man named Cagliostro made it acceptable for females to join the Society. The Masons and the other groups don’t accept women. They’re two centuries behind. So that’s my story. Now tell me what you want.”

Dorian liked her directness. She carried herself with the confidence of a natural leader. “I want a truce. Your group has lost Talarico, ML and Nate stole your money. I want Estelle freed and Alice and I protected. In a way the three of us represent our own triangle. If anything happens to one of us, the other two will avenge us. So tell your dear old dad to retire. Take Marian to the shore and throw shells at sea gulls if he wants to see blood. In turn, I will drop all inquiries into the death of Lincoln Miles. We’ll blame ML. There is no better patsy than a dead man. Damn good cannolis. I’ll stop by Termini’s on my way out.”

Grace swigged the coffee. “Sambuca is the best sweetener this side of your bullshit.”

She leaned forward, smirking and confident. “Let me help you understand. Are you so naïve to think that we operate in just one American city? We control two smaller cities and two in Italy and one in France. We can recover faster than you think. Nate’s hasty action is a minor setback. He’ll make amends one way or another. If I took your proposal to my father, he’d laugh at you. Dorian, you are in way over your handsome head. We will decide whether you live or die. We will choose the time and place of your death if we deem it in our interests to kill you. You survive at our pleasure. And do not consider going to the Feds. The FBI’s best forensic accountants could not dispute the legality of our financial gain. Remember too that I am an elected official. The Public voted me into office. I did not depose anyone. I did not steal. I live simply in plain sight. I am the least corrupt politician I know. Hell. I don’t even accept tickets to the opera. So there will be no truce. Whatever will be will be.”

She sat back. “How is Alice?”

Dorian wanted to slap her. She wasn’t a defenseless woman. She deserved the same treatment as ML or Pocky or any other muscle bound hood. But she was right. Two centuries of policing had not stamped out Camorra. That which does not kill me only makes me stronger.

Dorian welcomed the ring of his cell phone. He needed time to respond to Grace’s challenge.

“I must take this call.”

Pocky Miller blurted out, “You have a deal though ML’s ghost will haunt us in heaven and hell.”

Dorian barely hid his excitement. “That is good news. I am in a meeting. I will call you in a few minutes to follow up.”

“Don’t screw with us!” yelled Pugface.

“The thought never entered my mind,” said Dorian.

Grace tapped her fingertips impatiently and checked her wristwatch. Dorian studied her aware that too much delay may make her more hostile.

“Grace, I respect what you have personally achieved. Your father was wise to insulate you. No matter what goes down, you are free of any blame or scandal or criminal charges and free to carry on. But I am no fool either. There are three letters in safe places that will be forwarded to the US Attorney if anything weird happens to Alice or me. If a car accident, suicide, random homicide or Asian flu strikes either of us, we will tie you up in knots.”

Dorian pounded his fist on the table. “So stay out of my life and I will stay out of your world. That is a truce I think you can live with.”

Grace checked the table. “My mother loved that table. If you broke it, you’ll pay for it and not with money.”

Dorian clapped his hands. “Damn! You do have a sentimental bone in your body. Alice is my soft spot so you can understand that I want protection and a truce is the best way.”

Grace paused but held him in a firm gaze that seemed to survey every brain cell. “How can I trust you?”

Dorian leaned over her, nose to nose. “You can’t. Nor can I trust you. So let’s call it ceasefire. First one to shoot starts a new war.”

He offered his hand but she brushed him off. “Get out you arrogant shit! Get out before I lose my temper.”

Dorian backed off. “I’ll go but you tell Dad that if he plays rough, so will I!”

Dorian hustled to the car and drove off. He dialed Kelly. “It’s on. Call Pocky and set up the meeting with Alice. Keep me out of it for now.”

“You are crazy! I’ll arrange it but Grace Lord and Marian Hallberg are going to go ballistic.”

Dorian started the engine. Grace was staring at him from a window. “Make sure you get the photos.”

“I will. Should I ask you what you are doing? Hey, dumb question. I want to know nothing!”

Dorian gestured wildly for Grace’s benefit. “Ignorance is wisdom in disguise.”

Kelly groaned, “Spare me!”

“Ciao.”

He called Pocky. “Get a pen and paper. I am going to tell you what to say. If you and Pugface follow my instructions, you’ll be out from under this mess.”

“Okay genius. Spell it out for this dumb cop.”

When Dorian finished schooling Pocky, he made Pocky read back the notes.

“Okay Pocky. Stick to the script. Alice Rowe is no dummy. Get to the meeting early and give Kelly all of the pictures. Don’t double cross me.”

“I trust you as far as I can throw a telephone pole,” said Pocky.

Dorian believed that the best-struck deals are the ones without trust. Nobody gets disappointed if the other side tries to screw them. “The feeling is mutual. If we don’t screw with each other, we’ll both get what we want.”

“Agreed!”

Dorian inhaled and let out a breath. “Agreed!”

Dorian called Alice. He left her a voicemail. “We have unfinished business to settle. I will call you in a day or two. Keep your fingers crossed.”

The pieces were falling into place. Goodway had to pay for ordering two killings and he had to make sure his trail was covered. Grace could scare the spots off a leopard.
Armed with a phony warrant and a gold badge from the District Attorney’s office, Joseph Goodway knocked on the plate glass door of Dorian’s office. The middle-aged woman refused to let him in. She was attractive with large breasts and a maturity that appealed to him.

“I have a warrant and here is my badge. Let me in or you will be in contempt of court. I will knock the door down and lock you up for contempt and obstruction of justice. Open the door now!”

Sophie unlocked the door. The man with the sunglasses looked old but mean but he did have a warrant. “Let me see the warrant,” she said.

Goodway pulled out a thirty-eight pistol and held it to her head. “Here it is. Put on your coat and come with me or I will kill you where you stand.”

Sophie held up her hands. “Okay! Sure! I’ll do whatever you want!”

Goodway stroked her hair then yanked the ends until her she begged him to stop. “Of course you will do what I want. You now work for me! Come little girl and make your uncle happy!”

Chapter Twenty-Three

After listening to Kelly’s story, Alice insisted that the meeting between her, Kelly, Pocky and Pugface take place at Estelle’s home. “I want them to walk me through the scene of the crime. I have to be sure they’re telling the truth before I grant them immunity. They could be just covering their own asses,” she said.

“You’ll judge for yourself at three PM today. Are you going to tell Marian?” asked Kelly.

Alice anticipated the question. Without Marian’s approval, the deal was a farce. “I have to tell her.”

“No you don’t but I thought I’d ask. If she overrides the deal, I’ll still have it on record,” said Kelly.

“Good point! See you at three,” said Alice.

She called Marian. “I think Kelly wants to deal. Do I have your permission to make a deal?”

“Do what you have to make it go away! It’s your butt on the line. I’ll email you an authorization right away.”

Alice flipped the bird at the phone. “Thanks!”

She hung up and shook her fist. “Gotcha!”

At three ten, Alice parked outside the Miles home. Pocky, Pugface and Kelly puffed on cigarettes at the front door while two uniformed cops sat in a cruiser drinking coffee. Alice waved to the policemen who motioned her to go ahead. She savored seeing them so sullen, so weak, so much at her mercy.

“Good afternoon, Gentlemen! Shall we talk?”

Pocky flicked away his cigarette butt. “Do you have the proper papers? I must see them before I say a word.”

Alice handed Kelly a writ of immunity. “Mister Miller and Mister Howell should have their own FOP lawyer present.”

Kelly scanned the writ. “They don’t want Internal Affairs involved at this point. Everything looks to be in order. Is Marian Hallberg aware of this deal?”

“Here is a copy of her email. I am authorized to make a deal so let’s get down to the details. Start when Lincoln Miles arrived home.”

Pocky cleared his throat and took out a scratch pad with notes. “ML followed…”

Alice grabbed the pad. “You made notes? Nobody makes notes. Is this your handwriting? When did you write this down?”

Pocky looked sheepishly at Kelly who quickly added, “Mister Miller is making a statement. In the interest of accuracy, he jotted down the sequence of events. What is your problem?”

Alice rattled the notes in Kelly’s face. “I am an officer of the court. I can not suborn perjury and neither can you.”

Kelly reddened from ear to ear. “They are not my clients. They are offering evidence of their own free will. You are required to accept all exculpatory evidence. I should have a court reporter here to record this meeting.”

Alice shook her head from side to side in distrust. Dorian had to be behind this move. “Here are your notes. Proceed Mister Miller.”

Pocky winked at Kelly. He took the notes from Alice looking smug.

“As I said before I was so rudely interrupted, ML followed me as I drove the Mayor home. ML had pulled Hennessey and Groome off the detail. The Mayor was woozy so I helped him out of the car. Pugface was about to help when ML brushed us aside. He said he’d take care of the Mayor. It was cold but I was surprised that ML wore gloves. He never wore them except that night. Anyway, ML takes him in to the house. Ten minutes later, we hear a shot. ML says the Misses shot the Mayor. He tells us to call 911. He tells us that we were to forget he was here or he’d personally pare off our skin like we were potatoes. We did as we were ordered.”

Alice wasn’t buying it. Pocky could no more come up with a metaphor than a dead man can sing. “What did you see when you went inside?”

Pugface lit a cigarette and blew the smoke at Alice. “I was first in. The woman was passed out with a gun in her hand. The Mayor was shot through the heart.”

Alice paused, “Why would the Commissioner shoot the Mayor?”

Pocky took the lit tip of Pugface’s cigarette and lit his own Lucky Strike. “ML was a racist. He hated the Mayor especially since he married a white woman. Many a time he swore over a glass of whiskey he’d kill the Mayor. In fact… let me check my notes. Ah, here it is. As he dragged the Mayor to the door, he said. ‘I put you to sleep nigger and now I’ll really put you to sleep’. That’s God’s truth.”

“It’s as true as rain is wet,” said Pugface.

Alice grimaced because the story stuck in her belly as though she’d swallowed a golf ball.

“Okay. Let’s walk through the house and then we’ll get a stenographer to take all of this down. Don’t lose your notes.”

Dressed in jeans and an old sweatshirt, Estelle offered her hand to Alice. House arrest had drained her usual radiance. “You’ve had an exciting week,” said Estelle.

Alice avoided the urge to hug her. “My ordeal is over. Maybe yours is finished too.”

Estelle lit up. “You know who did it?”

Alice glanced at Kelly. “Let’s just say that new evidence has come to light. There is another suspect. That’s all I can say for now.”

They toured the crime scene. Pocky and Pugface’s story checked out though she did not believe ML was dumb enough to dirty his hands. She absolutely believed he was a racist. Bigotry would play in the Press and in the population. Dorian had written this script and the players staged it perfectly. What did he receive from them in return?

Alice shook Kelly’s hand. “I am satisfied. Let’s all meet in my office and get your testimony on paper. We have a deal.”

Pocky jabbed Kelly in the arm. “Now I know what they mean when they say a picture is worth a thousand words.”

Alice glared at Kelly. “What does he mean?”

Kelly shrugged. “He’s not been paid one dime from me or any of my associates. I just don’t know.”

But Alice knew that the leering men had seen the video just as ML had seen it.

She walked to Estelle. “I’ll call Judge Moon once I get the testimony in writing. You should be released from house arrest.”

Estelle embraced her. “Thank you Alice. Tell me please what happened?”

Alice pushed away. “I can’t. Just say that the gods work in mysterious ways to deal justice.”

Alice turned to Kelly. “A private word.”

Kelly took her by the arm and walked outside. “What is it?” he asked.

“Tell Dorian to call me. Tell him I know what he did and why he did it. Tell him .... oh shit!” she rushed to the car so the assholes would not see her tears.

Nate Stern was late for their meeting. Timing was crucial if he was to get Nate to help him nail Goodway. Rush hour traffic flooded the streets below. Thousands braved the crowded roads and honking horns to enjoy the security and safety of their homes. They expect the police to protect them and their elected officials to manage the government to look out for their best interests. But evil people rely on the gullibility and apathy of citizens to build influence and power. Still, the System worked. The trash got picked up. The roads got plowed. The petty criminals got jail time. The Mob made the headlines. The Sports teams played in jam-packed stadiums. The Schools struggled to educate inner City kids. Rich and poor fought over taxes. Invisible in their midst, the Philadelphes held the City by the financial balls unless Nate Stern did his duty.

Nate arrived five minutes later looking like a man in need of a bath and shave. He wore a Russian style cap that he kept on after he draped his overcoat on a barstool.

Nate helped himself to a scotch. “I am becoming your best customer only I don’t pay. I like being cheap. It makes a man feel like he respects and values his money. Prosit!”

“L’aicheim!” said Dorian.

Nate settled on a bar stool looking surprisingly comfortable.

Dorian joined him with a fresh scotch. “Old soldiers know how to drink and when a war is over, don’t they,” said Dorian.

“To some a war never ends. Quit beating around the burning bush. What do you want from me?”

Dorian sat next to him. He wished he’d known Nate in his youth. They may well have shared a foxhole.

“You did a brave thing when you stole the money from the Philadelphes. I’m surprised that you haven’t been hit by a car or fallen off a bridge or had your house burned down with you in it.”

Nate snickered. “I am lucky. They’ll kill me for another reason. I know too much. Knowledge is power somebody said. They don’t like somebody with more power than them.”

Dorian clicked his glass. “You’re right. But why take your power to the grave. Leave a legacy.”

Nate held up his palms as if to surrender. “And how do I leave a legacy and to whom?”

Dorian eased the scotch bottle across the bar. “Take them down! Put in writing all of their inner workings. Lay the whole bloody system out with names and dates and places. I’ll take it to the FBI and together we’ll hang the bastards. As far as the Maccabees go and the money you shifted to your side, I’d leave that out.”

Nate’s eyes narrowed into red, bleary slits like a panther ready to strike. “So what is to gain?”

Dorian put a gun on the table. “The protection of your people. They’ll wipe out the Maccabees as sure as if you put this loaded gun in their hand. They won’t stop at you. No Jew will be safe.”

Nate laughed. “No Jew is ever safe! But you have a point! Let me think on it.”

Dorian grabbed his arm. “Don’t leave just yet. Talk to me some more. Tell me why you robbed Joseph instead of killing him.”

Nate drained the scotch. His shoulders sagged. “To Joseph, the loss of face is more hurtful than death. The little Jew smacked him in his wallet. He’ll have to answer to the other Philadelphe cells. He’s lost stature. He’s got to avenge his loss by killing me and probably you. Otherwise, Grace will take over.”

Dorian turned cold. “Grace will become Il Segreto?”

“Why not? She’s smart, young, ruthless and clean. She’s untouchable!”

Nate rose. “You tempt me. I lost my moral compass long ago. Maybe I should go find a Temple instead of a bar.”

Dorian wanted him to stay for fear the City would swallow him up. “You’re safe here. Stay the night. I’ll have dinner sent up. We can talk some more. In the morning, I’ll get you a cab.”

Nate donned his coat. “Another temptation! What’s your next offer? Two blonde haired girls with legs as long as I am high?”

Dorian laughed, “Two broads and three Viagra pills!”

Nate cracked a weary smile. “If they’re young, who needs Viagra? I’ll pass!”

The phone rang. Dorian ignored it. On the fourth ring, the voicemail kicked in. A garbled voice floated out of the phone like a voice from the dead.

“Hello Wilde. I have a friend of yours here. Say hello Sophie.”

Dorian froze. Nate and he walked to the phone as Sophie blurted out, “Boss! This nutso has a gun to my head. Help me or he’ll kill me. I am scared skinny. Please do as they say.”

The modulated voice said, “Leave town or Sophie will become one more crime statistic. You have twenty four hours to pack up and fly away.”

Dorian clutched the phone and killed the voicemail. “You listen to me. Let her go or else. She has nothing to do with us. Face me man on man, you coward!”

A gunshot exploded through the phone, deafening Dorian. “Christ!” he screamed.

“The next bullet goes into Sophie’s ear,” said the voice.

“He’s a freaking lunatic! Please help me Dorian! Please!” screamed Sophie.

The phone went dead.

Dorian plopped on the sofa, still holding the phone. “She’s as good as dead. Forget the proposal I made to you. I’ll kill the bastard myself.”

Nate folded his arms. “Is this a set up? Did you arrange that call to coerce me?”

Dorian hung up the phone. “Are you paranoid or stupid?”

Nate suddenly seemed to gain his old composure and poise. “Both! Answer my question!”

Dorian held his head in his hands. “No! I wasn’t even sure you’d show tonight. Besides, you were late. Forget the confession. It isn’t Yom Kippur. Besides, what is one middle-aged Jewish woman to you? You’ve sold out a whole generation. Just tell me where he is hiding her. I’ll get him myself.”

Nate slowly took off his coat. “Sometimes you have to make a pact with the devil to find your god. I can guess where he is. But I’ll go with you after I write a few things down. Go make coffee. I don’t feel like drinking. I feel like going on a raid to free a Jew. I haven’t done it since the war in Gaza. It’s a good feeling. Move before I change my mind!”

Nate rubbed his face as though his palms were full of cold water. “I see a pad by the computer. I have a pen. The whole thing is simple so it won’t take me long.”

Nate whistled a strange tune and wrote quickly on a scratch pad Dorian left him. He wrote with a childish abandon like a man freeing his mind and unburdening his soul.

At seven ten, Alice entered the Chambers of Judge Moon and handed him a copy of the sworn, written statements of Edward Howell and Andrew Martin. His Honor hunkered behind a four foot wide walnut desk. A portrait of Martin Luther King hung on the wall behind him. A floor to ceiling law library lined the far wall. The shades on the double windows were pulled tightly to the sills. His Honor chewed on a breath mint that did little to hide the scent of bourbon Manhattans. Alice and Kelly approached and stood in front of his disapproving frown.

Alice handed the Judge a manila folder. “Here it is your Honor. Given this testimony, I have no choice but to ask your Honor to release Estelle Miles from house arrest and to suspend all charges pending further investigation. Is that acceptable to you, Mister Kelly?”

“Yes it is,” said Kelly. “I thank the ADA for bringing the truth to light and stopping a grave injustice.”

Moon scanned the paper. His upturned lip signaled a profound distrust. He tapped his forehead with the tip of his eyeglasses. “I don’t like it. These two could be covering their own rear ends.”

Kelly jumped up. “We can not be sure Judge and given the reasonableness of the testimony, there is now a doubt regarding the events leading up to the death of Lincoln Miles. We only ask for a suspension of charges not a complete withdrawal. That way, the investigation can continue until the full story is revealed to the City and my client is exonerated.”

The Judge cracked a smile. “Kelly, that plea is the longest speech I ever heard you give. Your wind must be improving with age.”

Kelly beamed like a kid who won a coach’s praise. “Thanks Judge. I quit smoking today.”

The Judge motioned for Alice to come closer. “Did Marian Hallberg agree to this arrangement?”

Alice nodded and handed him the mail. “According to this document, the District Attorney gave me full authority to make a deal. Given this new testimony and the Defense’s willingness to settle for a suspension of charges in exchange for ROR, we have a viable deal.”

The Judge inhaled and let out a long sigh. “I’ll agree but mark my words. On the soul of our late Mayor, I will make sure the truth is heard. Now git!”

Alice and Kelly made a beeline to Devin’s where he called Estelle from the bar.

“She wants to talk to you,” said Kelly.

Alice held the phone close. The cocktail hour was over but there were several lawyers at the bar. “Hi Estelle and congrats!”

Estelle gushed. “I am so happy. I’ll call my parents and Lincoln’s as well. I’ll tell them about the baby. I dare not tell them until now. Think about it! Our kids can grow up together.”

“Maybe. I have to go. Here’s Joey!”

Alice guzzled the last half of her martini, threw a twenty on the bar and waved good-bye to Kelly.

Home, she twisted out of her underclothes and threw on a housecoat. She checked her mail and threw the bills on the table. She opened her email. Thirty-one messages crowded the screen. One marked with a red exclamation mark jarred her to attention. She opened the encrypted Word document. She read it twice. Dorian had scanned in Nate’s handwritten words. The code to crack open the secrets of the Philadelphes lay before her. The Cayman Island Bank accounts, wire transfer codes, PIN numbers, Insurance Policies and the Swiss Bank account numbers spread across the pages. She pounded the desk, “Yes! Yes! Yes!”

Dorian added a single line. “Take this to the US Attorney and become a real hero.”

She called him but received no answer. A cold dread crept over her. How did he get this information? What price did he pay? Where was he?

She had not prayed in a decade but now all she could say from the depths of her mind was, “God, please send him home to me.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

Avalon is a quiet, upscale seashore town a half hour drive south from Atlantic City. The community features well-kept homes, restaurants, a shopping area, nightclubs and recreation areas for the children. Running parallel to the ocean, the inland waterway divides the town. During the winter, the town hibernates in a low-key slumber. The police barely have to patrol the streets. In the middle of the town, a high hedge separates the beach from the street. Joseph’s built his hideaway between two hedges. The natural barrier sealed his house from any intrusion. The only access from the street was through a ten-foot high metal fence secured by an electronic latch that had to be released from inside the home. The beach offered access through the dunes but the path was well lighted but motion detectors protected the two-story home from unwelcome visitors. Security cameras hung above the second story deck.

The two questions confronting Dorian were whether Joseph was alone and was Sophie there?

They parked the rental van a block away from the fortress. They each carried newly purchased hedge cutters, small ladders and loaded guns.

Dorian hacked at the thick hedge for a full ten minutes before he broke through. He shoved the ladder through the opening. He squeezed through the narrow opening careful to avoid the jagged edges of the shorn branches. Scratches on his cheek and his gloved hands stung like tiny needles. He laid the ladder against the ocean side of the house. Light poured from the house as he climbed upward. The ocean roared warning him to stay away from the house. Nate had visited the house and remembered it was an upside down home with the living room, bathroom, one master bedroom and kitchen on the second level. Sophie was probably locked in a downstairs bedroom. Storm windows and an alarm system blocked any chance of getting to her except through the deck.

Dorian slipped over the railing on to the deck under the aim of the security cameras.

“Sssh!” whispered Nate from the opposite end of the deck. The old Commando could still soldier.

The floor length blinds were open. Joseph sat on the sofa watching a big screen television. Bound at the wrist and ankles, Sophie sat next to him. He’d handcuffed her to the leg of the couch. A black and blue blotch marked her swollen face. She was naked from the waist up.

The sliding door was unlocked. Dorian motioned Nate to yank the door and Dorian would surprise Joseph. Nate wanted to charge in first. Dorian did not want an argument. Dorian slid the door open but a steel rod on the door tracks jarred the door leaving a one-foot opening. Joseph pulled a gun and fired. The bullet smashed Nate in the throat. Blood spouted across the deck in several directions, showering Dorian as he lay on his belly. Dorian took aim and fired. The bullet split Joseph’s scarred eyes. He collapsed face first on the carpet.

Sophie tried to scream.

“Get the rod out of the track. Hurry!” said Dorian.

Sophie dragged the heavy sofa across the floor.

Nate gasped, “I’m dying! Take the woman and go. Switch the guns then beat it down your ladder and take it with you. I used to be good at this commando stuff. You got him for Jerry.”

He coughed blood in a long draught that spattered the deck wine red. His glassy eyes faded into a dull, blank stare. He chanted a few words in Hebrew and then his bloody head lay still.

Sophie inched to the door. She used her toe to raise the rod an inch so Dorian pulled hard until the brisk ocean wind flooded the opening.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

She nodded furiously, her neck veins bulging Dorian tore off the gag. Sophie was breathing heavily. “The maniac raped me. He’s a ghoul! Untie me so I can shoot him.”

Dorian cut the clothesline with a kitchen knife. “He’s dead. We need to get out of here. Where are your clothes?”

“In the bedroom where he... Oh God why me?”

Dorian grabbed her clothes. “Throw this on. Let’s go!”

She stubbed her foot on Nate’s body. “Who’s that?” asked Sophie?

Dorian pulled her to the railing. “A mensch.”

He helped her climb down to the ladder. He shoved her through the opening. The sidewalk was empty. Across the street a man walking a dog emerged from an alley. Dorian wrapped his arm around Sophie so the man could not see her face or his. He opened the van door and sped away. They crossed the bridge over the inland waterway in route to the Garden State Parkway.

Sophie wheezed so badly that Dorian feared she was having an anxiety attack. “Do want me to pull over?” he asked.

Sophie gasped and held her heaving chest. “No! Get me home. He came to the office with a warrant and scared me into opening the door. He forced me into his car where he blindfolded me and handcuffed me and gagged me. I felt like I was a child lost in a bad dream with the bogeyman. I cried but he ignored me. They wanted me to tell them where the computer is located. Is that why they took me?

Dorian felt like kicking himself. “He hijacked you to force me to leave town. We got them all except Grace and Marian. We did it Sophie.”

She pursed her lips. “You don’t understand. I was raped when I was a girl by an uncle. The whole time that creature back there did it to me, I could only think of that time when Uncle Gus forced me to do it. Gus was drunk. This man was sober and laughing the whole time. He enjoyed my pain. I think I’m going to be sick.”

Dorian pulled over. She retched but did not vomit through her gagging and her tears.

They returned the van after Dorian ditched the ladder in the parking lot of a Home Depot. Sophie sat motionless, her eyes shut until they reached the Walt Whitman Bridge.

“Check out the skyline. You’re home,” said Dorian.

“It’ll never be the same,” she said.

Dorian searched for the right words. “You’re strong. You’ll survive. Use the cell to call Alice. Tell her to meet us at the Condo in an hour. You can sleep in the guest room.”

“Boss, I thank you for saving my life. I thank you for your offer. I just want to go home, take a long shower and sleep for a day.”

Dorian’s heart sank. He’d been too cavalier with her safety. He’d underestimated Goodway and she’d paid the price for his stupidity. “Okay. Do you want to go away? Maybe a trip to Florida will do you some good?”

Sophie rested her head on the window. “Yes. I’d like to go somewhere warm and safe. I actually want my mother to hold me and speak of the old country in that Polish accent but god has her in his arms. I guess we’re all just children when bad things happen.”

Dorian fell silent until he reached her home. He escorted her to the door.

“Good night, Boss.”

Dorian did not know what to say. “Call me. I’ll do whatever I can to make you feel better. Florida, the Islands, Arizona, Vegas. You name it.”

Sophie bit her lip. “I’ll dream all night about that monster!”

Dorian dropped his chin to his chest. “I’m so sorry,” said Dorian.

Sophie pounded her fists into his chest. “Sorry? Sorry? Sorry? God forgive you Dorian. I am done. I won’t call you. I am destroyed. I want peace and my mother!”

She rushed inside leaving Dorian feeling like he’d lost a piece of his soul.
Alice always watched the late news before she went to bed. The sports were interrupted by a “Breaking News Story” from Avalon New Jersey. The bodies of two prominent Philadelphians were discovered in Avalon. Nathan Stern and Joseph Goodway were found after an anonymous tip led officers to the scene. All indications point to the incident as a shoot out between two business partners. Stay tuned for more reports on this bizarre story.”

The shocking news buckled her knees. Her initial thought was that Dorian had shot them both. She called Dorian just as he left Sophie’s home.

“Dorian Wilde,” he said.

Alice’s whole body exhaled relief. “Where are you? Are you alright? The news reported the shoot out between Nate and Joseph. Tell me you did not take the law into your own hands.”

Dorian had made enough mistakes for one lifetime. “I’ll be at your doorstep in ten minutes. We have a lot to talk about.”

Alice opened a fresh bottle of Chianti and set two glasses on the kitchen table. She turned on Dorian’s favorite oldies radio station and lowered the lights. She wanted him relaxed for they both needed to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.

She answered the doorbell ten minutes later. He looked different, older and yet the sight of him released a clotting anxiety that had blocked her from feeling sure that anything she saw was real. “Let me touch you,” she said.

He spread his arms wide. “All over if you want!”

She caressed from his forehead to his chest in soft, feathery stokes. “Is it really over? Are they really gone?”

Dorian and she sat at the table where she poured wine. “None for me,” he said.

“Why? You aren’t going to let me drink alone are you?” she asked.

Dorian put a hand over the wine glass. “I lost Sophie.”

Alice dropped the bottle on the table. “Is she dead?”

Dorian set the bottle right side up before it lost all of the wine. “Please listen. I am going to tell you a fable about a knight whose lady friend, not his wife and lover, was abducted by an evil knight. The evil knight took her to his castle and held her against her will while he had his way with her. This is a fable only so no one can claim you were told the truth. The Knight enlisted a mutual enemy to help him rescue the lady. They secretly stormed the castle and saved her, killing the evil knight. The mutual enemy died too, slain by the evil one. The Knight escaped leaving no trace of the lady or him self. The world will never know the truth. But the shame of the rape changed her. She cannot be friends with the good knight for fear that the friends of the evil knight will steal her once more. To make matters worse, she was raped as a young woman so the terrors are compounded. The Knight saved her life but lost her as surely as if she had fallen off a life boat and drowned. Now I’ll have some wine before I continue.”

He poured himself a full glass and drank half of it. “This same hypothetical knight’s true love had been raped and scandalized by an associate of the evil one. She too changed. Something in her snapped. Cool and calculating, just like Tosca in the opera, she lured the evil one’s police chief to a dark place at night and executed him. She needed the release, the sense of Justice, the feeling that though she was humiliated, the policeman was not above the law of the land. Another man was blamed and the evidence that she had a motive to do such a thing was ransomed and destroyed by the mythical knight. This bit of truth too no one will ever know.”

Alice laid her head on her arm as it straddled the table. She had not sat in that position since grade school when the teacher scolded her. “I am sorry.”

Dorian lifted her chin. “No guilt allowed in fables. You and I have been through hell this past week. I learned a great lesson. For this one week I felt alienated, disenfranchised from the City I love and call home. I was on the other side of the political spectrum. Now I know how the secret societies feel. I may not like their methods but I understand their hatred. The body politic that does not include all people creates the seeds of its downfall. If I had been one of them, I may have done what they did for their cause.”

Alice dug her nails into his forearm. “I have no fable to tell just the truth. I must tell you who I’ve become. They made us evil. They made us act as they acted. I killed the enabler. He’ll never laugh at another woman. It was the impunity and the insults that cut too deep. The law could not touch him so I baited him with an offer of sex for the return of the photos. He came willingly like a wolf ready to gobble up a little girl. But the little girl was a woman and not afraid to protect herself since the very system she served could not protect her. She had to strike out to show that no one can take her dignity and laugh about it. She is ready to surrender and pay for her crime.”

Dorian eased her fingers from his arm. She’d cut the skin so blood oozed through his shirt. “You can not surrender and admit to your crimes without implicating me. Don’t even think about it. We have a life to live and a child to raise. Marry me, please!”

Alice bit her lip. “I can’t. I killed a man!”

Dorian stroked her hair in long, slow, soft caresses. “You can bring a child into the world that will be a much better person than the scum you exterminated. Don’t throw our lives away. Live and grow and find a way to make amends. I understand and god will forgive you. You and I and the baby will form our own secret society, our own trinity, the strongest of all triangulations, a family.”

Alice’s tears stained his shirt as she pressed her head against him. “I am so ashamed.”

Dorian kissed her full on the lips. “Give me your answer. Will you marry me and build a family?”

Alice quivered in a quaking convulsion. She squeezed her body against him as though she could melt into his heart and mind and soul.

“Yes.”

Epilogue

Grace Lord rarely drank more than two glasses of wine in one sitting. She could never afford to be caught off guard. Her father warned her that, “Drink diminishes a leader. In the eyes of his men, he becomes weak and not worthy of loyalty.”

The kitchen clock ticked past four AM. She still had time to finish the wine before she showered and dressed to meet the Press and the Public, to “put on a face for the faces that we meet”.

Who wrote those words? A dead poet? Was it T.S.Eliot?

She was too wired to think about sleep. Marian would have to resign. She’d be ineffective and her anger toward Dorian and Alice would spark new problems. She’d force her out today.

The Philadelphes Grand Council had to be called. They’d want to know what went wrong and why. She needed an answer that they could accept or they’d abandon the City.

They’d lost the City except for her. She was all that was left. She had a choice now. She could step aside or she could stay on and build a new alliance. The thought of stepping aside and living a real life was tempting. She missed not having children and despised the chilly, lonely bed upstairs.

She took down the portrait of her mother and laid it on the table. “Salud mia Madre!” she said. “What do I do?”

Her mother’s defiant, uplifted chin reminded her of Mussolini before he sold his country to the Germans, before he became a fool and a dupe. “He went from Il Duce to Il Dope,” her mother said. “Never give up power. It is impossible to recover it.”

Grace washed out the empty glass. She had work to do and debts of honor to pay. First she’d rebuild the Philadelphes. Then she’d take her pound of flesh. She’d be patient. A leopard can wait forever for its prey.

She hung up her mother’s portrait and kissed it, grateful for being her daughter and Joseph’s love child. She curled her fist in her mouth and bit hard on her knuckle.

“Morte la famiglia Dorian Wilde!”

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