HER BODYGUARD

by Michelle Jerott

"It could be the maid, Matt," she whispered, her fingers clutching him.

  He nodded, holding the gun low. With a quick look around, to see if anyone was coming up behind him, he pushed open the door.

  From inside, he could hear labored breathing, the sound of rustling papers. With Lili pressed against his back, he carefully looked around the doorjamb – right at Willis Conroy's stooped back.

  "Hello, Willis," he said, walking inside. "Is there something we can help you find? A pair of old shoes maybe?"

  With a grunt, the old man turned, eyes widening. Instead of alarm or embarrassment, his expression showed only irritation. Chin jutting, he snapped, "The hearing ain't what it used to be, or you wouldn't have caught me."

  Matt glanced at Lili, who looked both surprised and hurt. He regretted her disillusion, but he'd warned her that men like Conroy didn't change, no matter how many years passed or time served in prison.

  "Hands up, Conroy," he said, motioning with the Glock.

  "I don't got a piece," Conroy muttered, even as he raised his arms, his hands shaking. "Not like I can hold one steady anymore."

  "At close range you could still hit something," Matt retorted, and quickly searched the old man. When he was satisfied Conroy wasn't armed, he slipped the Glock back into the holster and pulled his shirt over it.

  "Nice rig," Conroy said. When Matt said nothing, he added, "We didn't wear nothing that small back in my day. Shoulder holsters were big and heavy. Made your back ache like a bitch."

  "What are you doing here?" Matt asked bluntly.

  Conroy was wearing jeans and a plain undershirt with red suspenders. He'd had on a cardigan sweater, but had tossed it on the love seat – and Matt noted the two faded but unmistakable bullet wound scars on his upper arm.

  Seeing the direction of Matt's stare, Conroy reached for his sweater and pulled it on. "Getting shot was a hazard of the job," he said wryly. "Something I reckon you know plenty about."

  "Answer the question, Conroy."

  "I guess you won't believe me if I said I was delivering fresh towels."

  "I don't suppose we would," Lili cut in, her voice cold. Conroy glanced at her, and shrugged. "I wanted Rosie's shoes."

  Matt studied their geriatric burglar, trying to gauge from his expression how much Conroy really did know. "Why?"

  "You haven't figured it out yet? Maybe you are as dumb as you look."

  Lili gasped, but Matt held up his hand to calm her. "He's just trying to make me lose my temper." He stared at Conroy, but the old man didn't look away. "Yes, we figured it out."

  Let Conroy stew over what, exactly, that meant.

  "Where are her shoes?" Conroy asked at length.

  "In a safe place," Matt answered.

  Conroy's gaze shifted to the papers and photos scattered across the table. He turned, lifting one of the photos of Joey and Rose, and there was no mistaking the grief on his face – or the sudden spark of rage in his eyes.

  "These were personal," he said, his voice cracking, and he picked up a copy of one of the letters as well. "He wrote the letters to her. It's not right, that anybody cam see them."

  "Joey forfeited his right to privacy when he started killing people," Matt said.

  "Easy for you to be judge and jury." Conroy's mouth worked in an effort to control himself. His gaze flicked to Lili. "We wasn't so bad; we just got caught up in hard times, but then we got to where we couldn't go back no more. And you don't know what it was like in them prisons, being a kid and doing time with killers … what they did to us boys, what they taught us. You can't understand what it was like," Conroy repeated, turning back to Matt.

  "When you don't got nothing and see all the other people who do, and you're just a kid, you think it's okay to take what you want. You tell yourself you deserve it, too, only life dealt you a bad hand. So you keep playing the game, hoping for the hand that'll take you outta the game for good. Joey wasn't so bad." Conroy's voice thickened with emotion. "He just didn't have no choices, see."

  Matt closed on Conroy, his anger blooming dark and hot. "I know exactly what it's like to be born into nothing. My old man was a drunk and an ex-con loser who knocked his wife and kids around – until I got big enough to hit back. In the slums where I grew up, kids survived by learning to be mean, and to always carry knives and guns."

  Matt heard Lili's sharp intake of breath.

  But it was too late now to close that door to the part of him he didn't want anybody to see.

  "I was seventeen when I was shot while trying to steal a car. When I was lying in that hospital bed, fighting not to die, I had a hell of a lot of time to think. I didn't want to be just another statistic, and after I left the hospital my probation officer helped me find a job. I passed my GED, and joined the army a few years later. When I got out, I took everything I'd learned – even the ugly shit – and made something worthwhile out of it."

  He glanced at Lili, holding her shocked gaze for a moment, then looked back at Conroy, biting back a sharp resentment.

  "I started with nothing," he said tightly. "And nobody expected more of me than to get shot to death or end up in prison. But I knew I had a choice, and I made damn sure I took it. Nobody else was in charge of my life, and nobody was to blame for my mistakes but me. I rose above what I was, Conroy, so don't give me any excuses."

  "Rose above what?" Conroy's smile didn't reach his black eyes. "Look at yourself, with your gun, breaking the law, hiding out, gunning for the men who shot your pals … and you telling yourself those rich big shots you muscle for ain't as much a crook as some guy in prison with no nickel to his name." He leaned closer over his cane. "If somebody were to hurt that gal of yours, would you kill them? If you can look at me and tell me no, then I guess you're a better man than I ever was, all right, but you got that itch to kill. I can see it. You didn't rise above nothing."

  Matt stared at him, the heat of anger replaced by a sliver of cold. "I'm not like you, Conroy, no matter how you twist facts. Try telling the families of those men you and Joey killed that you weren't so bad, and see what they'd say to you."

  All at once, Conroy's defiance crumbled. His body seemed to fold inward, and his head drooped. "Yeah," he said, his voice low. "You're right. Joey wasn't nothin' but a no-good bum."

  The quiet words were full of grief – but something about his response didn't feel right. Before Matt had a chance to examine it more closely, though, Lili grabbed his arm.

  "I want to talk to you," she said, with a firmness he'd not heard before.

  He didn't need to be Mr. Sensitive to tell she was upset. "You stay put," he ordered Conroy. "I'm not done with you yet."

  He followed Lili to the bedroom, and the minute she'd shut the door behind them, she rounded on him.

  "What the hell is the matter with you?" she demanded, shrugging off the backpack and dropping it to the floor. "You treated him like—"

  "Don't fall for his act, Lili," Matt interrupted. "He's a manipulator and a liar, and he always will be."

  "And how can you be so sure of that?"

  "Because people like him can't change."

  She gave him a long, measuring look. "For your sake, I hope that's not true."

  Body tensed, he asked quietly, "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

  "You know exactly what I mean."

  He stared at her, speechless with anger – and that chilly fear he didn't want to look at head-on.

  "Oh, come on, Matt. Don't deny it: The real reason you're angry with him is because you're afraid you're more like him than you want to admit."

  "Nothing about that old man scares me," he shot back, and before he could stop himself, he added darkly, "So much for your belief in me."

  "Don't." She took in a sharp, short breath. "After what we've been through and shared, I don't deserve to be shoved away." Her blue eyes were bright with anger. "You're ashamed of your past."

  "Hell, yes!"

  "Why? What you've done with your life is all the more remarkable fo
r what you had to overcome. But you won't believe that, will you? No, it's much easier to believe I'm just a Pollyanna trying to make you feel better." She stepped closer, her face inches from his. "Let me tell you something else, Matt Hawkins: I'd much rather risk loving you, and maybe failing, than walk away from you without even trying."

  "That's because you're not afraid of anything," Matt said after a moment. "I keep telling you that you have more guts than you give yourself credit for."

  She stared at him for a long moment, the silence ticking by to the thud of his heartbeat. "We have something special between us. I don't want it to end."

  Neither did he, but end it would.

  "We live different lives," he said quietly. "Too different, and I can guarantee your family and friends won't jump for joy if you bring home a man like me."

  "It's not their life. It's mine," she replied, and rubbed at her brows, as if she'd suddenly developed a headache. "What did he mean, that you're breaking the law?"

  Matt didn't answer.

  "Are you?" she persisted.

  "I'm carrying a concealed weapon without a permit. That's illegal, but if I'm caught, I'll just get a slap on the wrist and a fine. It's why your father is paying me an extra bonus under the table, and why my boss brought me in. He knew I'd take the risk if I felt it necessary." He hesitated, then added, "The men after you aren't exactly obeying the laws, either."

  "So what you're telling me is that your definition of 'illegal' depends upon the circumstances of the moment," she said quietly.

  "That's right." He didn't look away from her troubled gaze. "And the chances of somebody shooting at me."

  "Maybe we should call in the police now."

  "I'll call Monica."

  "I meant the local police."

  "I'll call Monica," he repeated.

  Her eyes narrowed. "If you won't listen to me, maybe you should listen to what Willis Conroy is telling you. Walk away from this, Matt. Come back with me to New York."

  He'd seen this coming, but expecting it didn't make it any easier to deal with. Part of him wanted to believe he could turn his back on everything and go with her. For the first time in a long time, an inner need called out to him, challenging him to do more than just skate through the motions.

  Instead of answering, he said, "You stay here. I have to talk to Conroy a minute. Alone."

  Before she could respond, he'd walked out the door and back into the main room. A split second later, he heard her footsteps following. No surprise; he hadn't really expected her to stay in the bedroom.

  Conroy was still in the room, his back to them, holding a picture of Rose McIntyre. Matt came up quietly behind him, and watched the gnarled finger, with its prominent blue veins, tremble as it touched the woman's smiling face.

  The tenderness of the gesture struck him, and that earlier, indistinct feeling of something being all wrong suddenly fused with sharp, shocking clarity.

  A wild, absurd thought, and yet…

  Taking a deep breath, his heart pounding, Matt said quietly, "Hey, Joey."

  The old man turned without hesitation.

  Across the short distance, their gazes met and locked, and Matt whispered, "Jesus."

  The old man straightened, as much as the weight of his years would allow, and slipped the photo of Rose into his pocket. His glare defying Matt to stop him, he walked past, feet shuffling, cane tapping on the wooden floor.

  Matt watched him pass, stunned. He hadn't really expected that crazy hunch to be right, and when he swiveled around to look at Lili, he saw his own shock mirrored in her wide eyes.

  As the old man reached the door, Matt turned and said, "Hold on. You owe me a few answers."

  "I don't owe you nothing." The voice was low, steeped in weariness.

  "Yeah, I think you do," Matt said. "For Lili. For my two men who were shot because of what you know. What you did."

  A dozen questions crowded his mind, not the least of which was what had happened to the real Willis Conroy – as if he couldn't guess. The old man turned, and their gazes again locked.

  "Are you really Joey Mancuso?" Matt asked.

  "Joey Mancuso died on a hot August night back in '33."

  "And Willis Conroy? When did he die?"

  "About 1978, as near as I can remember."

  "And how did that happen?"

  Mancuso smiled. "You think I killed him."

  "Did you?"

  The thin shoulders lifted in a shrug. "He was dying anyway, with a cancer eating away at him." Mancuso glanced at Lili, then back to Matt. "He didn't fight it none. He knew he deserved it. And we made a deal. I let him go on his terms, quiet-like."

  "Did he know you were going to steal his life?"

  "Neither of us had much of a life to steal," Mancuso muttered. Several seconds passed before he let out a long sigh and squinted at Matt. "You're a smart boy; I give you that. How'd you figure it out?"

  "There were no bodies," Matt said. "Everybody assumed they were dumped in the lake, but there wasn't enough time between the two gunfights for that. The motor boat was found drifting, and when I saw how close the two lakes are, I knew somebody had escaped by boat. Somebody who'd been bleeding. It wasn't until you kept defending Mancuso, and I saw you touching that picture, that it all clicked. Willis Conroy never would've defended a man he'd betrayed."

  "You got that right," Mancuso said darkly. "The lying sonofabitch."

  "Why did you do it?" Lili asked, and Matt glanced at her. She still looked dazed.

  A strange sense of regret touched him, that her romanticized image of Joey Mancuso had ended like this. In the space of a few minutes, two men had turned out not to be who she'd thought they were.

  "Why? So I could come back here and spend my last days with Rosie. I buried her on the island," he said, motioning toward the lake. "Because I'm family, see, Susie and Frank agreed to scatter my ashes over there when I'm gone. They'd never do that for a stranger. It was the only way to be with her again … and Tony Graziano has no cause to bother Willis, but he'd never leave Joey Mancuso alone. I'm an old man; I don't want no more trouble. All I want is to die in peace and be with my girl."

  Lili walked to the love seat and sat down heavily. "So nobody knows who you really are? Not even Susie?"

  "Nobody knows the truth." Mancuso shifted his weight stiffly, both gnarled hands gripping his cane. "Willis wasn't close to his family and they never kept in contact with him while he was in the pen. It helped that we looked a little alike, but after over forty years of hard living in prison, nobody would know the difference, and it's not like anybody cares enough about old ex-cons to check too carefully. Not even when they bury them, and Willis went into the ground as Joey Mann … that was the name I went by after Rose died."

  A long silence followed, tense with questions still unanswered.

  "We found the note to Rose," Matt said finally. "And the diamonds."

  The diamonds part was still mostly a guess, but he knew he'd hit it dead-on right when the old man didn't even react to his statement.

  "A good joke, eh? All them diamonds, for my million-dollar baby."

  "Yes," Lili murmured. "A good joke, Joey."

  Mancuso looked at Lili, sudden tears filming his eyes. "I sure didn't want to see another girl killed by a Graziano, I was gonna steal the shoes and call Tony. It don't matter if his boys kill me. It's not like I got anybody left. My people, my girl, they're all gone." His gaze grew distant, bleak. "Funny, what'll keep a man alive … a fear of not knowing what's on the other side, a need for revenge that eats at you for years and years."

  "You wanted revenge against Graziano and Conroy," Matt said, his gaze meeting Mancuso's in an uncomfortable understanding.

  "You got it, boy. But by the time I healed up, ol' Lou had got himself rubbed out and Willis was in the pen. I didn't know what to do, but Joey Mancuso was dead, and I'd promised Rose I'd try to go straight, see … so I kept my promise to her." He paused, then added, "In my own way, I did. I headed up
to Canada and found work in the lumber mills. I met a gal who'd lost her husband. She had two girls, and was in a bad way for money and a man to help her out."

  "You married her," Lili said.

  Mancuso glanced at her, and nodded. "She had red hair … I always had a weakness for redheaded gals. And she was good to me. We didn't have no kids of our own, but I got on well enough with her two girls. Then she died, and the girls married and moved on, and I got to thinking about Willis again. I found out when he was getting out, and I was waiting for him when he did." Mancuso suddenly grinned. "You shoulda seen the look on his face when he saw his old pal Joey."

  Matt and Lili exchanged glances, and Lili shook her head in disgust and sadness.

  "What's in the bag, Joey?" Matt asked.

  "I told you. A wedding ring." Mancuso looked down. "A bit of jewelry, and a lot of money. It was a lot of money back then, anyway. These days, it wouldn't amount to much."

  "Did the ring belong to Lou Graziano's wife?" Lili asked.

  Surprised, Matt looked at her. That thought hadn't crossed his mind, but when he turned back to Mancuso, he saw the old man nodding.

  "Maria Graziano was Mike Riley's mistress. One of 'em, anyway."

  "Did Lou Graziano know?"

  "Yeah, but he didn't want anybody else to know. Never figured that one out. He didn't care if his wife slept with another man, so long as nobody knew about it. He wasn't playing with a full deck, ol' Louie."

  In Matt's opinion, assassins rarely were. Rubbing at the back of his neck, he fixed the old man with a thoughtful stare. "Mike Riley wanted his money back, and Lou Graziano wanted his wife's wedding ring."

  "Yup. And Lou also wanted back the diamond necklace and earrings he gave Maria for their first anniversary. They was big as rocks, those diamonds. Who they got stolen from I don't know, but they were worth a fortune back then."

  So far, everything Mancuso said made sense, and Matt asked, "Why'd you steal from Riley to begin with? You had to know he wouldn't let you get away with it."

  "I was mad, and not thinking too good. It all had to do with Maria. I tell you, she was a crazy bitch. Pretty thing, but no better than an alley cat in heat," Mancuso said, his voice hardening with a decades-old anger. "She and Rose got into an argument one night – Rose called her a shameless slut – and Maria pulled a knife. Cut Rosie's arm real bad. I went to Mike about it. He laughed it off, like he always did. Truth is, he liked Maria because she was nuts. Then Mike started bad-mouthing my girl, and I lost my temper."