The Heavenly Fugitive (21 page)

“What do you need to talk about, Mr. Morino?” Kildare was always careful to speak to him formally. Tony was touchy about such things. The hired hands all called him Mr. Morino to his face.

Biting off the end of a cigar and spitting it on the floor, Tony pulled a gold lighter from his vest pocket, lit the cigar, and drew on the yellow flame until he had the cigar stoked and sending up tendrils of purplish smoke. Snapping the lighter shut, he stuffed it back into his pocket, then pointed the cigar at Ryan as if it were a pistol. “This town’s not big enough for me and Leo Marx both.”

Ryan was accustomed to Morino’s direct statements, but this one took Kildare aback. The man reminded Ryan of something he had heard said once about General Grant—
“
He looks like he’s about to lower his head and run it straight through a solid oak door.”
There was some of this fierce tenacity and drive in Big Tony Morino.

“Leo is a pretty tough man, Mr. Morino.”

Tony’s eyelids narrowed until his eyes showed through a mere slit. When he spoke, his voice was low and guttural. “I want him taken out.”

Murdered. Shot. Killed. Take your pick,
Kildare thought. This was the side of the business he disliked intensely. He rarely experienced fear, but Big Tony’s demand sent shivers through him. He held up his hands and shook his head. “Now, Mr. Morino, I don’t do the rough stuff.”

“I know that. I want you to take him out legally.”

The words caught at Ryan, and he thought,
How do I do that?

“You know he’s the biggest crook in New York. He’s bound to have left some tracks somewhere. I want you to nail him. Get him in jail.”

“Are you sure you want me to handle this?” Ryan hoped desperately for a reprieve, but he was relatively sure that would not happen.

“Yes, you’re the smartest guy I know. Do it.”

“It’ll cost a bundle. It’ll mean hiring private detectives to dig up the dirt.”

“I don’t care what it costs. Just get him. Oh, and, Kildare—keep me out of it!”

As Tony dismissed him and Ryan Kildare left the office, he felt shaky. He himself had had a hard upbringing and had learned to be tough, but the feral savagery of the criminals who ruled New York was a frightening thing to him. He knew Tony had given him no choice. Ryan was making more money than he had ever dreamed of, and he didn’t dare disappoint his boss or he could lose it all. Big Tony Morino did not tolerate failure.

“I’ve got to do it,” he murmured. “It’s either that or wind up in some dingy little office on the Lower East Side. I couldn’t go back to that again!”

****

For some reason she could not fathom, Amelia had become a baseball fan. She had started attending games at Yankee Stadium during the spring, and now as fall had come and the World Series approached, she thrilled at the rivalry between New York and Washington. The always-successful Yankees had finally been stopped the year before by one man—Walter Johnson of the Washington Senators. They lost the Series that year to the Senators, who won their first and only championship ever.

Despite their defeat that year, the Yankees still fascinated
Amelia. Of course, the most colorful player on their team and in all of baseball was Babe Ruth. Ruth was bigger than life on and off the field. In 1920, his first year with the Yankees, he had hit fifty-four home runs—more than all the teams save one had managed to hit that year. America went crazy over Babe Ruth. He was everywhere advertising everything. He became America’s icon, but his personal life was terrible. He caroused and spent his time with prostitutes, cheerfully endorsed cigarettes when he smoked only cigars, appeared in all-American cotton underwear ads, although he now refused to wear anything but custom-made silk undershorts. By 1925 the Babe had fallen on rough times. He had seriously neglected his own health, so by the time he got to spring training that year, he was a wreck—thirty pounds overweight and often drunk. With Ruth no longer at his best, the Yankees were falling behind.

Although Amelia was intrigued by Ruth, along with everybody else, she greatly admired another Yankee who was just starting his career. She was there in June when a broad-shouldered twenty-two-year-old newcomer was sent in to pinch-hit. The next day he went in again, and from that moment on, Lou Gehrig hit almost as many home runs as Babe Ruth. Gehrig was, however, in every way Ruth’s opposite, a quiet man devoted to his mother and reluctant to be away from her.

Yankee Stadium had become a haven for Amelia, where she could unwind from the stress of her life of performing. Sometimes Phil came with her, but one day, only two weeks after Rosa’s birthday party, she got up early and suddenly decided, “I’m going to watch the Yankees today.”

She had received a ticket in the mail by itself with no note or return address. She often got gifts, but usually the giver wanted to be identified. This time there was simply a ticket for the game, so she thought,
Why not?

She arrived at the stadium, fought her way in, and made her way down to seat number eighteen. The seat next to her,
number seventeen, was empty. She sat down and began to study the players as they took batting practice. Babe Ruth drew most of the attention of the fans. Whatever else you might say about him, he could hit the ball! Amelia remembered an article she had read about him, in which he’d been quoted as saying, “I try to swing through it, and I hit it with everything I got. It’s a home run or nothin’ for me.”

As the game started, Amelia entered into the spirit of it right away. She yelled and stamped her feet along with the crowd, waving her arms around when the Yankees got a hit and groaning when they made an error.

In the middle of the second inning she was aware that a man was making his way to the empty seat beside her. She did not look at him, for she had discovered this was a sure way to get an unwanted conversation going. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him sit down, and then she heard a familiar voice. “Well, this is a real surprise. I’m glad to see you again, Miss Winslow.”

Amelia snapped her head around and saw Ryan Kildare smiling at her. He was wearing a white shirt, tie, and straw skimmer.

Instantly Amelia knew where the ticket had come from and felt a tinge of anger. “What about your promise to your mother?”

“I called her. She said it was all right.”

Amelia’s anger vanished and she laughed. She could not help it. He was so brash and cheerful she could not take offense. “You are a devious lawyer.”

“I think that’s redundant, isn’t it? Like saying apple pie à la mode with ice cream.”

She could only laugh in reply.

“Are you enjoying the game?” Kildare asked.

“Very much. You come often?”

“As often as I can,” Ryan replied. “I doubt if the Yankees will win it this year. Who’s your favorite player?”

“Lou Gehrig.”

“Well, there’s a switch. I thought you’d tell me Babe Ruth. Gehrig’s just a rookie.”

“I like his looks, though. He seems so steady, and I don’t particularly like Ruth. He’s such an immoral man.”

“I don’t think they check out moral credentials when they sign ball players. Just how far they can hit the ball.” Ryan laughed, and once again she couldn’t help joining him.

Amelia turned her attention back to the game and found she enjoyed it even more with someone to share it with. The score was one-nothing going into the eleventh inning, when Lou Gehrig slapped the ball out of the park for a homer. She rose and cheered, “That’s the way, Lou! Show that Bambino how it’s done!”

Aware that she was getting cold looks from several Yankee fans, she laughed and said, “Well, I must go.”

“Oh, don’t go yet,” Ryan said. “I’ve got a birthday present for you.”

Amelia laughed. “But it’s not my birthday.”

“Well, it will be sooner or later. I thought you might like to meet some of the players.”

Amelia stared at him. “You mean the Yankees?”

“Yes, I’ve done some legal work for the team once or twice. Gotten players out of trouble really.”

“Babe Ruth?”

Kildare grinned. “Yes, for one. Will you come?”

“You think it will be all right with your mother?”

“We won’t tell her.” Kildare winked at her and took her arm to lead her down to the field. The players had not yet gone to the locker room, and Ryan said, “Come along. I’ll introduce you to Gehrig.”

“Do you know him?”

“No, but we soon will.” He led her up to a big broad-shouldered man, slightly bowlegged, with deep dimples in each cheek and said, “Mr. Gehrig, this is a great admirer of yours. She’s the famous singer Miss Amelia Winslow.”

Gehrig smiled shyly and shook hands with Amelia. Despite
his size, he seemed very timid. “I’m glad to meet you, Miss Winslow.”

“Congratulations on winning the game, Mr. Gehrig.”

Lou Gehrig was used to taking second place to Babe Ruth, and his smile broadened, but he dropped his head humbly and muttered, “It’s good for the team.”

They managed to get a short conversation out of him, but he was a man of few words.

Ryan spotted Babe Ruth as Gehrig walked away. “Look, there’s Ruth over there. I
do
know him.”

Reluctantly Amelia followed Kildare, and they waited until the big ball player had fended off questions from several sportswriters. He saw Ryan and said, “Counselor, you come to get me out of trouble again?”

“Not this time, Babe. I want you to meet a fine lady, Miss Amelia Winslow.”

Ruth’s eyes fixed on Amelia. He stepped forward and without hesitation put his arm around her. “Hey, sweetheart, get rid of this guy here. You and me will go steppin’.”

Amelia felt helpless in his iron grasp. He had been drinking, and his eyes were bloodshot. “I’m afraid I’ll have to beg off, Mr. Ruth.” She sent a pleading look toward Ryan to rescue her.

“Ah, come on, honey,” Ruth said, pulling her even closer. “I’ll show you somethin’ you ain’t seen before.” The ball player winked obscenely, but then his attention turned to another woman who had come his way, heavily rouged and wearing a skin-tight dress. He dropped his arm and said to Amelia, “Well, you missed your lucky day, honey.” Then he was off, embracing the other woman, who was only too delighted to receive him.

“What a horrible man!” Amelia said, brushing herself off.

“Yes, he’s pretty bad,” Ryan agreed, then to change the subject quickly, he took Amelia’s arm and asked, “How about you and me having dinner tonight?”

“Oh, I don’t think I can,” Amelia said, not anxious to encourage Kildare too much. “But thanks for asking.”

Kildare hesitated, then said quietly, “My mother will be there.”

Despite herself, Amelia burst out laughing at his serious face. “I doubt that!”

“No, I mean it,” Ryan insisted. “Come and see.”

“I’m afraid of you lawyers.”

“There’s no need to be afraid of me. I’m just a man with the same hang-ups and problems as the next guy.” He grinned. “Why don’t you give me a try—if you’re not too afraid, that is.”

Amelia eyed him askance, then took the challenge. “All right, but if your mother’s not there, you’re in big trouble!”

****

A couple of hours later when Amelia had washed up and changed for dinner, she heard a knock on her door. She opened it to Ryan’s smiling face. Smiling back at him, she said, “I wasn’t sure you’d show up.”

“You knew better than that. You look lovely, Amelia.”

“Thanks. So do you.”

Ryan laughed and shook his head. “You have a way of putting a fellow down.” He did look sharp in a three-piece herringbone lounge suit with a narrow-fitted jacket, cuffed trousers, striped shirt, and black tie. “We’d better hurry. We wouldn’t want to be late.”

“What’s the rush?” Amelia asked. “Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.” That’s all Ryan would say as he waited for Amelia to grab her purse and wrap and follow him outside to his car, a black Oldsmobile. He helped her in, then ran around to the driver’s side. No sooner had he gotten in and started to drive than he began to talk baseball to her. She sensed that he did not want to talk about his profession—and also that there was some tension in him she had not noticed at the birthday party. From time to time she looked out the
window, noting that they had entered a quiet residential area. He suddenly turned to her and asked, “Do you still carry a thirty-eight?”

“How did you know about that?”

“Dom told me.”

“I’m not carrying it tonight. I thought I’d be safe with an upstanding lawyer.”

He smiled at her and nodded. “All right. I’m glad you feel that way.”

Five minutes later he pulled the car up to the curb in front of a white frame house with dormers in the upper story. He shut the engine off, got out quickly, and opened the door for her.

“Your mother lives here alone?” Amelia asked as they walked up the front steps.

“No, one of my sisters lives with her.”

He knocked on the door, and it opened almost at once. A young woman who Amelia thought must be no more than twenty smiled at them.

“Amelia, I’d like you to meet my sister, Faye Kildare. And, Faye, this is the lady I told you so much about, Miss Amelia Winslow.”

Ryan’s sister was also a redhead. She was not tall but had a pleasing figure and a sweet smile. “I’m so glad you could come,” Faye said. “Mother’s been so looking forward to it.”

“I’m looking forward to meeting her too,” Amelia said, stepping inside. “So we’re having dinner here, huh?” she whispered to Ryan. She was relieved to learn that Ryan really had planned to bring her to dinner with his mother.

“Come along,” Ryan said. Then hesitantly he added, “My mother’s not in good health.”

“I see.” Amelia followed him down a hallway, where he knocked on a door, waited for a voice from inside, then opened it.

“I brought you a visitor, Mother.”

Amelia stepped into the room and saw a woman sitting in a wheelchair. She was wearing a light brown dress, and her
hair had turned silver, although Amelia suspected she was not all that old. The woman had the appearance of being very ill, but there was the same sweetness in her that Amelia had seen in Faye Kildare.