Callahan's Fate

by Lee Ann Sontheimer Murphy

  “I didn’t know it was so close to Madison Square Garden,” she said.

  “Oh, yeah, and Hotel Pennsylvania is right across the street.”

  “So I see,” Raine told him. “I’ve never ridden a passenger train before.”

  “You’ll like it,” he replied. “You can have the window seat if you want.”

  “How long will it take to get there?”

  Callahan laughed. “Not long, doll. It’s just across the Hudson, first stop. We’ll walk to Pop’s building from the station on Market Street.”

  “Does he know we’re coming?”

  “I haven’t called him yet, but I imagine he does.”

  She frowned, looking confused. “What?”

  “Pop has a gift,” he said. “Some mystical Irish bullshit to listen to him talk, but I’ll almost guarantee you he knows I’m coming. I’ll phone, though, to be sure.”

  He would call once they reached Newark. On the way to the station, Callahan scanned the crowds searching for Snake, but he saw no one who resembled him, and with a lighter step, they entered Penn Station to catch a train.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Raine’s notion of train travel had been shaped by movies and early exposure to Thomas The Tank Engine. The reality didn’t begin to compare but she liked it. Riding out of the tunnels from Penn Station, she sat in a window seat, eager to see the view from the train.

  “How soon will we be able to see?” she asked Callahan.

  “It won’t be long. We’ll cross the Hudson River in a few minutes. We’ll be in Newark before you know it.”

  They were, and although she anticipated meeting his grandfather, Raine hated to end the train ride so soon. At the station on Market Street, Callahan paused long enough to call his grandfather. The short conversation was punctuated with laughter. As they walked onto the street, she asked, “So did he already know you’re coming?”

  “Yeah, he said he did.”

  “Maybe he’s just bluffing you,” she said. Psychic talent wasn’t something she had often experienced, and she wasn’t sure if it was valid or nonsense.

  Callahan laughed. “Doll, he said he went out this morning to buy donuts and stuff for lunch for us. Wait till you meet him, you’ll see.”

  I guess I will. “How far is it?”

  “A few blocks. It’s an apartment house for senior citizens.”

  Three streets and ten blocks later, Raine’s feet protested. Although she’d walked more than ever before since coming to New York City, she wasn’t completely used to it yet. Callahan, however, marched with purpose, and he wasn’t even winded when they stopped outside a multi-story building. “This is it,” he said.

  The senior Aloysius Callahan opened the door to his sixth floor apartment before they knocked. “There you are,” he said, his accent thicker than Callahan’s. “Come in already.”

  “Hi, Pop,” Cal said and hugged the tall, elderly man. “You’re lookin’ good.”

  He looked like Callahan if you changed his dark hair to white, added a dapper moustache, put lines in his face, and added six decades. Raine noticed the old man had a different nose but otherwise, without the age difference, the men could’ve passed for brothers, maybe even twins.

  “I look old,” Pop said. “And feel older than that. She’s lovely, Buddy, so introduce me.”

  “Give me a chance,” Callahan said with a grin. “Aloysius Callahan, known as Al or just Pop, this is Miss Lorraine Teasdale, but she goes by Raine. Doll, this is my grandfather.”

  “I’m pleased to meet you.” Raine extended her hand to shake, but the old man hugged her instead.

  “Likewise,” he said. “So you’re from Missouri. How do you like The Big Apple?”

  “Fine,” Raine replied. She turned toward Callahan and poked him. “You told him, didn’t you?”

  Callahan opened his hands and spread them wide. “No, I swear I didn’t. He just knows things sometimes.”

  His pop nodded. “Like I know you got trouble,” he said. “I’ve got a pot of coffee made. Come in, have a donut, and tell me about your problem.”

  Raine grinned at both of them. “I see what you mean,” she said. Her Callahan, despite describing his grandfather’s gifts, wore a stunned expression. “Maybe Pop can help.”

  The old man beamed at her. “I will if I can. Buddy knows that.”

  They exchanged a look of mutual admiration and trust that touched her. “Yeah, I do,” Callahan said. “So here’s the story.”

  He sketched out the tale, everything from running into the Marshes at Coney Island to the back story, how he’d sent Snake to Riker’s Island. Callahan left out nothing as he shared with his grandfather, describing each encounter and ending with what happened on Halloween night. Al listened, head cocked to one side, and when his grandson finished, he nodded.

  “Yeah, you got big trouble, that’s for sure,” he said. “This, what’s his name, Snake? He’s out for blood, and he’s made you the target in his personal vendetta. He wants to hurt you and he’s found your vulnerable spot—Raine. Once a perp knows they can get to you through your woman or your kid, you’re screwed. He ain’t gonna quit until you’re dead or he’s in custody.”

  Raine listened and watched the old man as he spoke. Although tall and slender, he appeared to be so frail that a gust of wind might blow him over. His eyes were bright and alert, but his skin reminded her of thin parchment paper. Something about him reminded her of a fine antique, fragile yet infinitely valuable. He’s wise, she thought, and his body might be weak, but his spirit is strong.

  “Yeah, I got that,” Cal said. He scrubbed one hand over his face and reached for another donut. “What I can’t figure is how to end it.”

  “You take him down, or he takes you. It’s that simple.”

  “I can’t kill him without a reason,” Callahan replied. “Or arrest him either.”

  “Then get something on him.”

  “It’s not that simple, Pop.”

  “Why the hell not? Back in my day, we would’ve managed to do it.”

  “I know, but things are different now. It’s the Twenty-First Century, not the 1940s and 1950s. We gotta obey the rules or take the consequences.”

  Al snorted. “Oh, c’mon, this is one time you outta bend ‘em a little.”

  “I can’t if I want to stay in law enforcement, and I do,” Callahan said. He sounded exasperated but not angry. When he looked across the coffee table at his grandfather, Raine could see the affection. “So besides that, whaddya suggest?”

  His grandfather reached for the open pack of Lucky Strike cigarettes on the end table and fired one with a match. He clamped the unfiltered smoke between his lips and dragged hard. As a cloud of powerful, aromatic tobacco surrounded them, Al glanced at Raine. “Do you mind if I smoke?”

  She inhaled. “No, not at all,” she told him. “My grandfather used to smoke Luckies, too, so it reminds me of him.”

  Callahan shook his head. “You know I mind,” he said. “Didn’t the doctor tell you to lay off the cigarettes?”

  The old man winked. “He might have,” he said. “But I’m not and I told you already. I’m ninety-three. Something’s gonna kill me sooner or later, so I might as well enjoy one of the few pleasures I got left. Whaddya care?”

  Despite what could be a harsh question, his tone retained affection. “I like having you around,” Callahan said. “I don’t have much family left.”

  “That’ll change, if things work out.”

  Her cheeks warmed, and she refilled her cup to prevent either man from noticing her blush.

  “It will,” Callahan said.

  Raine fumbled and spilled coffee down her sweater. She leaped up as the hot liquid burned through two layers. “Oh, no!”

  Callahan grabbed a handful of paper napkins and tried to blot it without success. “I’m sorry, doll.”

  “It’s okay.” She would just wear a brown coffee stain the rest of the day and endure the moisture. At least it smelled goo
d.

  Al crushed out his smoke. “If she don’t mind wearing an old pullover of mine, we can run her clothes through the wash. I got a washer and dryer stackable unit in the kitchen.”

  “It’s up to her. Raine?”

  “Sure,” she said. “Is there someplace I can change?”

  “My bedroom’s right there,” Al said and pointed. “The pullover is in the top bureau drawer.”

  “Thanks,” she said and went where he indicated. Raine shut the bedroom door and stripped out of her stained clothing. Her red sweater and the blouse worn beneath were both soaked. Her bra was a little damp, but she’d rather keep it on so she opened the drawer. She located the sweatshirt, an old Giants one, and when she pulled it out, Raine found a .32 pistol.

  She pulled on the top and started toward the door but stopped when she heard the two men talking.

  “So did you come up with anything, Pop?”

  The older man’s voice was so low it almost sounded like a growl. “You ain’t gonna like it, Buddy.”

  “Just tell me.”

  “I got two different ideas. The first one depends on when he’s burying his brother. Do you know?”

  After a pause, Callahan said, “No. I’d rather not intrude on a funeral. I loathe this guy and all he’s done, but I know what it’s like to bury a brother firsthand.”

  Al snorted. “I figured you’d say that. So here’s the only other idea I got. If you want this Snake character, you’ll need to draw him out somehow, and to do so it’s gonna need bait.”

  “Bait?” Callahan sounded upset or mad, Raine wasn’t sure which.

  “Yeah, you or her,” Al told him. “I told you that you wouldn’t like it.”

  “I don’t. And I’m not putting Raine at risk.”

  “Buddy, don’t you get it? She already is and was the minute they saw her with you.”

  Although the old man spoke in a matter-of-fact tone, his statement chilled her more than all Callahan’s warnings. Raine put her hand on the doorknob, ready to end this, when Cal spoke.

  “Yeah, I know. That’s the problem. I’ll put my own ass on the line but not hers.”

  “Then you’re gonna have to have her back 24/7.”

  Callahan’s sigh echoed like the wind under eaves in winter. “It’s kinda hard. See, she’s a teacher…”

  “I know that already.”

  “She teaches kids who are in juvenile detention and drug rehabs and hospitals and community centers, the at-risk students who need extra help,” Callahan told him. “And she goes to all the boroughs, to a different place every day of the week. I got her to take off today, but she doesn’t want to take a leave of absence.”

  “Send her home, Buddy, to keep her safe.”

  “I tried but she says no, and she’s stubborn.”

  Her ears caught the distinct rasp of a match, then she inhaled tobacco smoke as Al lit another cigarette. “I can tell,” Al said in a dry tone. “But here’s the thing—and I’m not trying to scare you—if you don’t take care of this, get Snake or whatever his name is outta the picture, you’re both gonna die. And that’ll kill me, Buddy, you know it would. And it won’t do much for Anthony’s boys.”

  “Don’t say this shit, Pop.”

  “I wish I didn’t have to, kid. But there it is.”

  “Okay, so look into that crystal ball brain of yours and tell me this—where will the confrontation, and I know there’s gonna be one, go down? The Bronx? Lower East Side? Where?”

  “Shit if I know for sure,” Al said. “I think it’s the theater district, maybe Times Square, somewhere near there. But I’m not always one hundred percent right either.”

  “You’re right most of the time. So what if we just stay away from that area?”

  “Fate will find you sooner or later anyway. You know that.”

  Callahan groaned and he must have buried his face in both hands, because his words were muffled. “Yeah, I do. Shit.”

  Neither man spoke for several moments, then Callahan said, “Is there a chance we’ll both make it through this and come out alive?”

  “Damn straight there is,” the old man answered. “It’s all in your hands, though.”

  “Great,” Cal muttered. “Just fuckin’ great.”

  “Just keep her with you as much as you can.”

  He mumbled something Raine couldn’t hear, but the old man laughed. “Yeah, that’ll do for when she’s not working.”

  She had heard more than enough. Raine burst through the door, her stained clothing in her arms. “Where’s the washer?”

  Since the kitchen space filled one wall of the large living room, it was a dumb question but she had to say something. Callahan rose. “I’ll show you,” he said. He put his arm across the small of her back and propelled her toward the kitchen. “You might need help with running the thing. It’s a dinosaur.”

  Callahan took the clothes from her and loaded the washer. “Here’s how you work it,” he said, demonstrating. He leaned closer. “How much did you hear?”

  “All of it, I think.”

  “Whaddya think?”

  Raine resisted an urge to put her head against his shoulder and bawl. “I’m more scared than before, and that’s saying something. I didn’t think I could be.”

  “Doll, we’ll see this thing through somehow. I promise.”

  “Is that with you as bait or me?”

  His head shook back and forth. “I’d prefer neither, but I guess we’ll see.”

  “Yes, I suppose we will. What do we do now?”

  From the living room a few feet away, Pop answered. “I got these photo albums you might want to see, Raine.”

  “Aw, Pop, don’t bring those out!” Callahan sounded unhappy. “She won’t want to see old pictures of me.”

  If anything could distract her from fear and take her mind off their situation, snapshots of Callahan as a kid would do the trick. “I’d love to see them.”

  Two hours of flipping through photograph albums and breathing secondhand smoke caused Raine to have a major headache. She enjoyed the few photos of Callahan, one as a baby, another as a toddler taken at Coney Island, a family portrait with his parents and brothers, school pictures, his high school graduation portrait, and a photo taken at his police academy graduation. The others were older pictures, and although she pretended polite interest, she became bored long before lunch.

  Pop insisted that they stay and brought out a variety of cold cuts he’d bought from the nearest deli. “There’s pickle loaf and pepper loaf,” he said. “Also, bologna and cooked ham and some salami. I bought longhorn and Muenster cheese. There’s plenty of mustard and mayo in the fridge. I got sodas, too.”

  With her head pounding like a carpenter on overtime, Raine lacked much appetite, but she liked the old man so she forced down a pepper loaf sandwich. She drank a Pepsi and took some ibuprofen from her purse. Although she’d participated in the conversation as much as she could, Callahan leaned over, “Baby, are you okay? You’re pretty quiet.”

  “I’ve got a headache,” she said.

  He folded his hand against his forehead like a parent checking for fever. “Do you want to go home?”

  She nodded. “I need to get my clothes from the dryer.”

  Pop jumped to his feet. “I’ll get them for you, kiddo. Go ahead and change, take anything you need.”

  Raine accepted her clean clothes and headed for the bedroom. On the way, she picked up her purse so when she changed they would be ready to go. Once dressed, she put the borrowed sweatshirt into the hamper she spotted in one corner. She hesitated for a moment as Pop’s words ran through her mind, and on impulse she opened the dresser drawer and put the .32 into her bag.

  She had no idea why but it seemed important, and maybe she’d need it. Callahan would have a fit if he knew, and New York City had strict gun laws, but Raine went with her instinct. I hope I don’t regret it.

  Chapter Fifteen

  On the trip home, Raine sat back in the train
seat, eyes closed, as limp as dirty laundry. Callahan thought she looked pale, but he said nothing. He’d already checked to make sure she wasn’t running a fever. He figured stress was taking a toll and no wonder. As they crossed the Hudson, he touched her hand. “Baby, we’ll be at the station in a few minutes.”

  Raine opened her eyes and nodded. “Okay.”

  At Penn Station, she accepted his offered hand. As they worked their way through the crowds, he leaned over to ask, “Hey, you want a soda or something?”

  “No, I’m good.”

  “How’s your head?”

  She offered him a faint smile. “It still hurts.”

  “We can stop at Duane Reade on Eighth Avenue if you need some medicine or something.”

  “Maybe.”

  Her lack of enthusiasm concerned him. “Are you sick, doll?”

  “No, I don’t think so,” she replied. “I’ve just got a killer headache. I get them sometimes, not migraines but bad tension ones. I really just want to go home and lie down for a while, but I’m almost out of ibuprofen.”

  Callahan tightened his grasp on her hand. “C’mon. Let’s get you home.”

  Once Raine settled into bed, wearing just a T-shirt and panties, the covers tucked around her and an ice pack on her head, he headed off to the drugstore with a list. As he walked the few blocks up to Eighth Avenue, Callahan focused on the face of everyone he passed. He peered at the ones tucked into a doorway smoking, and he tried to scan the crowds on the opposite side of the street. None resembled Snake so he continued on to Duane Reade. After buying Raine’s over-the-counter medication, a couple of cold sodas, and a few snacks, he headed back to the apartment.

  He found her asleep so he pulled the blinds down and waited. To pass the time, he switched on his laptop and surfed the web. Callahan scanned Bull’s obituary, then checked on Broadway shows. He’d promised to take Raine to one soon so he perused the possibilities. Several times she stirred but didn’t wake, and when she did, she sat up in bed, blinking.