Anthony DePaul Copyright  2005 by Anthony DePaul

Chapter Four

Their lovemaking had been more than passionate despite the scotch and the terrible news of Spaventa’s death. She needed the still night to clear her head and her heart. Dorian deserved the truth and deserved it today. How do you tell a man you love that he was not fit to be the father of his child?

The Madeira warmed her but nothing could fill the pit in her stomach nor quell the fear firing through her nor ease the guilt that gnawed her conscience. “I fucked up,” she said.

She felt that Spaventa was right. Lincoln was a dead man walking. Only Dorian could save him and if La Camorra or the Philadelphes knew that, Dorian would be a secondary target.

Nude, she crawled into bed and rested her head on his heaving chest and waited for the morning light.
Sundays with Alice were always special for Dorian. He’d rise early, shower and make coffee. He’d bring her coffee in a special china cup they’d found in an antique shop on Pine Street. Red and white roses alternated around the gold-rimmed cup. Neither of them read the Sunday newspapers. “I get lies and spin and bad news all week,” said Alice. “I need one day a week to restore my sanity.”

He brewed eight cups of a blend of Columbian and Maxwell House. The eastern side of the condo basked in sunlight while shadows flooded the western side. He chose to sit in the cooler western side and read the additional information that his servers uncovered over night. There was nothing new. He decided he’d make a special omelet for her with fresh bagels on the side. She’d been so tense and up tight so maybe a good meal and a round of morning love were a sure cure.

The servers flashed a new batch of data just as the coffee pot stopped churning. He poured Alice coffee in her special cup and filled a mug for himself. Cuddled in her white lace nightgown, her back to him, she sat on the window ledge of the custom made bay window in their bedroom. “Hot coffee for a hot lady,” he said.

She smiled and cradled the cup in her hands “Thanks. You are a dear man though some days I want to kill you.”

Dorian pointed his forefinger as though it was a pistol. “Hire Camorra for the job. Bang! I’m dead!”

Alice pointed back. “I just may do that.”

He kissed her gently on the cheek. She looked away.

Dorian carefully eased her chin to his. “What is wrong and please don’t lie to me.”

Alice nudged him away. She needed space and a clear view of his reaction. “I’m pregnant.”

Dorian straightened up. His hair stood on end gasped. “What! I.. great. Oh my god!! Alice!”

He reached for her but she stepped aside.

“Wait Dorian. Just wait. There is more.”

His brows creased in fear and apprehension. She could not find an easy way to say the words so she blurted out, “I am not sure I want to have the baby.”

Dorian retreated to the bed, staring in disbelief, his look pained as though she’d stabbed him. “Why?”

Alice sat quietly weighing each word as though she’d rehearsed it. “I am a functional alcoholic and we are both workaholics. We have professional careers that we need to define ourselves. We are as much suited to parenthood as I am to dunk a basketball. Besides, a baby would mean that you’d insist on marrying me, which is a commitment I am not ready to make.”

Dorian’s shoulders slumped. A drummer pounded in his heart as he uttered softly, “When did you find out?”

Alice folded her arms, a sure hint that she was ready for an argument but Dorian was too heart sick to challenge her.

“Two days ago, I failed an early pregnancy test. I mistakenly took antibiotics that played against the pill. Voila, I am with child! The only question is do I abort the child or give it up for adoption?”

The word “adoption” set off alarms in Dorian’s mind. Images of his days growing up in Saint Joseph’s home flooded his mind. Nausea swept through him and over him like a tsunami. “No! I will raise the child. It is mine too.”

Alice threw up her arms. “There’s no way you can raise a child. You have the domestic nature of a mountain lion.”

Dorian slapped his hands together. “I am not the one willing to give up the child.”

Alice turned scarlet. “How dare you insinuate that I am acting irresponsibly! I should have known better than to expect you to accept the truth. God help you but you live on a perpetual testosterone overdose.”

Dorian leaped up. For a split second, she feared he was going to strike her but his eyes were seeped in pain, not anger. “You were raised with a silver spoon up your butt. I am the one who scrubbed the floors of the Orphans Home and ate oatmeal for dinner and fought off an abusive priest and thanked the nuns for beating me for correcting my grammar. Adoption will happen over my dead body!”

Alice hung her head and whispered to the floor. “In your business, all you can expect is a sudden death. Do you want your child to come home every day wondering if dad is still alive?”

Dorian’s shoulders drooped. “So that is it! I may get killed by Camorra or some punk like Spaventa got it! Well I choose to live in the face of fear and not run from it. No way do I not fight this decision!”

Alice nodded in resignation. “I know I will lose you and the child but that is the right thing to do.”

Dorian felt like he’d drunk an emotional cocktail of anger, helplessness and guilt. “Alice, Alice, Alice! This is not a legal proceeding. It is not black letter law. We have to discuss this.”

She pursed her lips tightly. Her lips barely opened as she spoke, “I agree. But I must return to my home. I cannot live with you until we agree. I’ll leave this morning.”

Dorian fought to hold his anger but his fists balled up. “No! This can not be happening!”

Alice swept out of the room. He stood numb to the “click” of a suitcase opening, the “crackle” of metal hangers, the “clink” of perfume bottles rattling against a hair dryer and the second “click” of the suitcase. The thick carpet muffled her footsteps but the finality of the slammed door was deafening.

Dorian walked like a mummy to the frozen stillness of the western edge of the condo. The coffee aroma evoked memories of the day he’d planned and a hundred other Sundays they’d shared. The bar beckoned but he did not need liquor. He needed a new mind to replace the one she’d frazzled. He looked below in a vain attempt to see her walking. But he was too high up and the mist in his eyes blurred the view despite the brilliant morning sunlight.
An icy breeze cut a cold swath across the Schuylkill River. Two, four and eight man teams of rowers braved the frigid waters to practice their timing and determination to overcome the adverse conditions. I wish I had their courage, thought Alice. She’d bundled herself in fur-lined boots, a knit hat, two wool sweaters, a scarf and a Navy pea coat. Estelle was late and the hot chocolate she’d bought for them was nearly cold when she heard a friendly but despondent, “Hello Alice.”

Estelle looked tired inside her full-length overcoat. A muffler covered her ears under a wide brim, black hat. She joined Alice on the wooden bench. “I suppose we should go inside the car. Maybe we could ride up to Valley Green Inn.”

“A capital idea,” said Alice.

Estelle glanced around, anxious, furtive. “Wait! The so-called security squad is sitting two benches away. Maybe we should stay.”

Alice waved to the two Hitler Youth poster children. “I have a better idea. Walk me to my car. We’ll ride around and talk in the car. At least it will be warm and private.”

“You are so smart,” said Estelle.

Alice laughed. “If I was smart, I wouldn’t be pregnant.”

Estelle clapped both hands. “What! Shut up! I am so jealous! We have tried everything. At my age, I should probably not even think about having a baby. But this new fertility pill I’ve been using may help. Oh, listen to me babbling on. It’s great news.”

Alice never expected the word “jealous” to pop out of Estelle’s mouth. She yanked Estelle’s arm. “Let’s go! The heater is on high.”

Estelle took Alice’s arm in hers. “Of course little mother.”

The heat loosened Alice’s joints and the mellow jazz voice of Diana Krall softened the air of apprehension. She regretted that she blurted out her problem to Estelle but maybe they could trust each other now that they had to share confidences. “You go first,” said Alice.

Estelle opened her coat. She looked at the car a few yards behind them as they cruised up East River Drive. “I swear if I farted, they’d say excuse me.”

Alice laughed. “Nice talk for the First Lady.”

Estelle sipped the lukewarm hot chocolate. “I told you the title is First Trophy. I may as well live in a showcase. Lincoln and I were headed for a divorce when he won the party’s nomination. If he lost, I’d be in divorce court now.”

Alice had heard rumors about Linc’s escapades. “Why? Another woman?”

Estelle pursed her lips. “Plural! Women. Oh I don’t blame him. He’s attractive, dynamic and powerful. The man is a walking aphrodisiac. At forty-one, I need some stability. I need a child. Lincoln needs power and variety.”

Alice understood but there were other questions that her prosecutorial instincts had to chase “Is part of the problem racial?”

Estelle laughed as though Alice was her straight man. “Not really. He likes women from all continents including Antarctica. My family likes him. Dad says that Linc has more guts than any of the preppies and yuppies I used to date. The problem now is that now he is Mayor, I cannot leave him and he cannot change. So I’m screwed to his bedpost for four more years.”

Estelle paused and checked behind. “Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dumb are still following us. That ML is a menace to society but Linc likes him though I cannot fathom why. So you are going to be a mother. How does Dorian feel about that?”

Alice liked Estelle but she was not ready to discuss Dorian’s reaction.. “I haven’t told him yet. I want to surprise him at Christmas.”

“How nice. Can I tell anyone?”

Alice groaned, “Please keep it between us girls.”

“Sure thing!”

Alice stopped at a red light. “I do need to talk to you. Listen carefully and do not say a word. Two days ago, a policeman named Spaventa was murdered in Italy. He passed along to Dorian word of a plot to assassinate Lincoln by a secret group of people called the Philadelphes. They are very close acquaintances or associates of Linc.”

Estelle dropped the paper mug of hot chocolate. “You are joking, aren’t you?”

Alice gunned the engine. The car bolted ahead. She allowed the trailing car to catch her until she saw the yellow light at McCallum Street. She floored the accelerator and ran the red light, leaving the tailing car hung up. “That’ll keep them off our ass!”

Alice negotiated the tree lined residential side streets of Mount Airy and Chestnut Hill until she found the back road to Valley Green. All the while, Estelle sat in a stony silence. Alice parked in a spot in front of the white stone Colonial style Inn. The Wissahickon creek gurgled past them. Outside, a mother and two small children threw stale bread to a gaggle of geese and ducks.

Alice let the engine idle. “Estelle. All I told you is true. Linc is marked for death.”

Estelle’s forehead creased in perplexity. “Why don’t you go to the police or to Marian or to the FBI?”

Alice took her wrist and squeezed it for effect. “I am an officer of the court. I am bound to report a crime. But since I cannot prove there are a conspiracy let alone a crime, I would be ridiculed and cast aside. As far as ML and Marian go, they may be in on the plot.”

Estelle turned toward Alice. She started to speak but held back.

“What is it?” asked Alice.

Estelle heaved a sigh. She bit her lip then nodded as if to settle an internal argument. “Well, you shared a secret with me so I’ll clue you in. Marian had a thing for me in College. I suspect Grace also had a thing for me. Oh nothing ever happened. But I think Marian resented that I never tried her lifestyle. There are other things I can tell you but it is safe to say that I do not trust Marian or Grace.”

Alice’s heart pounded faster than her car engine. “That lecher Joe Goodway chased me around the bar at a party one night. Now he’s married to a bisexual! Irony of ironies!”

Estelle laughed. “That marriage is a fraud. Goodway hit on me six months ago. The horny old weasel wanted to compromise me. He said Linc did not appreciate me. When I turned him down, he said I’d regret it. He makes me feel like there are caterpillars crawling down my back.”

Alice shuddered at the thought of Goodway’s hands on her body. “Well that only leaves Nate and ML. Don’t tell me they’re gay?”

Estelle turned on the oldies station. “I like the fifties music. Anyway, both have kids. Or at least Nate had Jerry. What a shame he died so young.” said Estelle.

Alice tapped her fingers on the steering wheel. “That murder never sat well with me. It’s history, I guess. We have to deal with the problem at hand.”

Estelle shook her head. “This is too much for me to grasp. What do you want me to do?”

Alice reached over and squeezed Estelle’s arm. “Tell Lincoln to call Dorian and to hire him. It is his best chance for survival.”

Breathless, Estelle opened the door and inhaled the cold air in long draughts until she broke into a cough.

Alice turned off the engine. “Come. I’ll buy the coffee.”

“Coffee! Buy me a cognac!”

Alice flashed the “V” sign. “We’ll have two.”

“Step out Miss Rowe,” said the second man, shorter but twin to a pit bull.

“I will not!” said Alice.

“Put those guns away,” said Estelle. “You tell that fool ML that if you orange headed dolts keep following me, my husband will fire him.”

Alice noted that the words “orange headed” caused the men to exchange glances. Maybe there were several flavors to the Philadelphes.

“I will call you for lunch again,” said Estelle.

Alice offered her hand. They shook at the fingertips. “Give Lincoln my regards,”

Estelle paused, “I will. He and Dorian need to play poker again some time soon.”

Smart girl.

“Yes! Take care.”

The pock faced man grinned like a lecher in heat. “Yeah, Miss. Take care. Call me if you ever need a body guard.”

Alice flipped him the bird and locked the door. She sped away but the glare of the pock marked officer seared a warning in her mind that no one was safe in Philadelphia.

Undaunted, he tried a new search on Philadelphes and Camorra and all of the persons around Lincoln Miles but still drew a blank. His next search was a public records search that would call up all of their birth records, marriage records and family history but that search yielded nothing of interest. He then tried a search of all names against the databases of the City’s computers. He’d hacked them a hundred times. He released the program to the servers and took a break.

Tired, he lay down on his sofa. He flicked on a “Rod Stewart sings the Classics” CD. His eyes ached and a fuzzy numbness clouded his spent mind.

“Where are you, Alice?” he asked the empty room

Dorian dozed off in a restless nap, half asleep, half awake. After an hour of tossing and turning, he snapped to like an Army private called to attention. “Never feel like a victim,” he said to himself.

His stomach growled so he whipped up two grilled cheese sandwiches on rye bread, burnt dark for crispness. He drowned the dinner with a bottle of spring water. Refreshed, he checked the server for new data and some kind of connection. Marian and Grace had graduated Penn as had Nate Stern’s son Jerry and Estelle. The three of them belonged to the same sorority. The only odd item came in Grace’s birth records. Her mother’s name was listed but not her father. Her mother, Gloria, died in 1966. Who raised Grace? Who paid for her education? Why had she never married? On a hunch, Dorian ran a search on Joseph Goodway. Again, he came up with a partial birth record. Joseph’s mother was Agnes Forte but no father was listed. Who was his benefactor?

The blare of the telephone jerked his attention. Only Alice and Sophie knew the direct dial number of his private line.

“Alice,” he said.

A voice modulator garbled the voice that answered. “Listen Mister Wilde. Go on vacation. Take Miss Rowe with you. Or you will dine with your old friend Spaventa.”

A gunshot cracked his eardrums. He yelped in pain and surprise. The phone went dead.

“If you wish to make a call, please hang up,” said the recorded message.

His hands shook as he called Alice and got the answering machine. “Call me Alice. I just got a warning. You may be in danger. Our child may be in danger. For god’s sake, call me.”

He slammed the phone down. Night was settling over the city. The grey-black clouds hung in a sinister mantle as if to say that he was a stranger in a strange land.

“Who are you Grace Lord? Who are you Joseph Goodway? Are you orphans like me?”

The phone rang again. “Hello,” he said.

“Dorian! This is Lincoln Miles. I just spoke to Alice. I called her after Estelle convinced me that Alice was serious about some plot to kill me. Can we meet tonight?”

Dorian’s pulse rate jumped. Alice was still working the case. He had to stop her. “Yes. Where and when?”

“Meet at my house at ten o’clock. It’ll just be you and I, and Estelle. Alice thinks it is wise she not be here. I agree. Let’s keep it short and factual. I am only doing this meeting to calm down Estelle so you better convince me that this is not a scam to make me look bad.”

Dorian’s ears were still ringing from the gunshot. “On the soul of a dead friend, you are a marked man and so am I. See you at ten.”

“Later,” said Lincoln.

Dorian tried to call Alice once more. No luck. He left her a message. “Lincoln Miles called. I am meeting him later. I may be saving this man’s life and he’s worried I am out to make him look bad. What a world. Call me just to let me know you’re okay.”

Dorian paused and added, “Let’s talk, Alice. Soon! Love ya.”