Suddenly three shots went off so quickly they almost sounded like one. The roar of the shotgun filled the interior, but Phil saw that the man had been driven backward and his gun had loosed its blast at the ceiling. He heard Novak shouting, “Phil, keep down! Get out of the way!”
Phil threw himself behind some large bales, still holding his gun. There were other shots, but he could see nothing. Finally he heard Novak say in a calm voice he would never forget, “That’s it.”
Phil eased up and saw Lee walking toward him. Novak demanded at once, “Why didn’t you shoot? You had him right in your sights.”
“I don’t know. I just couldn’t pull the trigger.”
Novak stared at the younger man and shook his head. “You shouldn’t have come in here. That was a mistake. And you don’t need a gun if you’re afraid to use it.”
Phil Winslow stared down at the revolver in his hand as if he had never seen it before. He could hear men shouting outside, but he paid no attention. Looking up at Lee, he said, “I wasn’t much good, was I?”
“My fault. I shouldn’t have brought you here without any training.”
Phil studied Novak’s face, then said, “You saved my life, Lee. I’ll never forget it.”
Novak started to speak but changed his mind. Finally he put his hand across Phil’s shoulder and said, “Come on. Let’s see what we caught outside.”
The rest of the night was a blur to Phil, but he knew he would never forget what had happened. It was impossible to describe his feelings, for he knew that if it had not been for Lee Novak’s quick intervention, he would be lying dead in that dark building. “I’ll make it up to you, Lee,” he whispered as he watched Novak directing the officers who were putting cuffs on the prisoners. “I’ll make it up to you. See if I don’t!”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Amelia Meets a Man
Amelia had just sat down before the mirror in her dressing room when she was startled by a loud knock. Turning, she moved toward the door cautiously, for her dressing room had been invaded by backstage Romeos many times. She opened the door a crack and was relieved to see the big figure of Dom Costello. She smiled and opened the door fully. “Hello, Dom.”
“Hi, Amelia. You were great tonight.”
“Why, thank you, Dom. Won’t you come in?”
Dom shifted his feet and rubbed the back of his thick neck before answering. “Well, I’ve come to ask a favor.”
“Ask away.”
“It’s Rosa’s seventeenth birthday, and she asked her dad if he would bring her here to catch your act.”
“How nice. I didn’t see her out there. It’s hard to make anybody out with those lights right in your face.”
“Sure, but Mr. Morino’s got a table back out of the lights. He’s having them bring a cake and everything in—and what I wanted to ask was, would it be too much trouble for you to stop by and wish the kid a happy birthday? It would mean a lot to her.”
Instantly Amelia agreed. “Why, of course I will, Dom. Let me change into my street clothes, and I’ll be right out.”
Dom’s craggy face broke into a grin. “You’re a good guy, Amelia Winslow.”
Chuckling at Dom’s comment as he left, she quickly removed her stage makeup, then changed out of her performance costume and into something less flamboyant. She had discovered that being required to wear expensive and rather gaudy dresses while performing had whetted her taste for simpler outfits. The dress she chose was a demure gray with a skirt halfway between knee and ankle. As with all the modern fashion, the belt was very low on a dropped waistline. She slipped into some high-heeled court shoes with decorative buckles and then plucked a lightweight wool jacket from a hanger. Leaving her dressing room, she went into the club. She scanned the tables and finally saw Dom stand up and wave. There was no missing his big bulk, and she made her way toward him, weaving between the tables. People greeted and congratulated her many times, and she murmured her thanks for each compliment.
Rosa did not see her approach, although Tony and Maria did. Jamie was also there, and his eyes grew big. “Gee,” he said, “it’s the singer lady.”
Amelia noted another man at the table but paid no particular attention to him.
Rosa whirled at Jamie’s comment. Her mouth open in surprise, she leaped up and came flying to meet Amelia. “Amelia, you sang so well tonight.”
Amelia put her arms around the girl, took her hug, and then stepped back. “I hear you’re quite an old lady now. Seventeen years. Congratulations and happy birthday.”
Rosa was so excited she could hardly speak. “I begged Mom and Daddy to bring me here, and they even let Jamie come.”
“Yeah, I’m fifteen. That’s old enough to be in a nightclub.”
“You hush, Jamie,” Tony said, but he was grinning. He ruffled the boy’s hair, and Amelia could see the fondness he had for the boy. For all his flaws, no one could ever find any fault with Big Tony Morino’s love for his family. It was entirely genuine, and she credited him with that.
“I wish I’d known you were here, Rosa. I would have sung happy birthday to you.”
“Oh, you wouldn’t either!” Rosa exclaimed.
Amelia laughed. “You don’t think so? Then, as Jolson says, ‘You ain’t seen nothin’ yet.’ ” She turned and went back away from the far table until she reached the stage. There was no spotlight, but when she said, “Charlie, give me a spot,” it came on at once. Everyone turned and people started applauding. Holding up her hand, Amelia said, “Folks, you’ve been such a wonderful audience tonight, and I want to ask you to do one thing for me.”
“What is it, Amelia?” a male voice shouted out. “You name it, kid!”
“I have a very dear friend here tonight. It’s her seventeenth birthday. Her name is Rosa Morino, and I’m going to ask you all to sing ‘Happy Birthday’ to Rosa. Harry, put the spotlight on our birthday girl—right over there.” She started singing in a clear contralto voice, and the room was filled as every person in the place joined in.
Rosa, she saw, was blushing furiously but was enjoying the attention. When the song ended, Amelia said, “Thank you very much, all of you.” She made her way amid the applause back to the table and smiled, “How was that, Rosa?”
“Oh, it was great! I didn’t think you’d do that.”
“I’ve got to do everything I can for my buddy,” Amelia said affectionately.
“Hey, Miss Winslow, that was real nice of you,” Tony said, his face flushed with pleasure. “I appreciate it.”
“Nothing’s too good for Rosa.”
Her eyes went to the man she had noted earlier, and she saw that he was smiling at her. Even though he was sitting down, she could tell that he was very tall. He had flaming red hair and bright blue eyes set off by a ruddy complexion. He looked lean, trim, and fit, unlike most of the men she saw in nightclubs.
“I suppose Mr. Morino is ashamed of one of us, Miss Winslow,” he said, smiling cheerfully. “I don’t know whether he won’t introduce me to you or you to me.”
“Hey, Ryan, excuse me!” Tony was somewhat flustered. “Miss Amelia Winslow, I want you to meet Ryan Kildare.”
Kildare got to his feet and nodded. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’ve heard you sing before, but you were great tonight.”
“Why, thank you, Mr. Kildare.”
He waited until she sat down and said little else then, for Rosa was talking excitedly about her presents. Amelia concentrated on the young woman, thinking how pretty she was and how much her brother would enjoy being here too. Out loud she said, “It’s too bad Phil’s not here to wish you a happy birthday, Rosa.” Instantly Amelia saw Tony Morino’s face harden, and she knew she had stepped into forbidden territory at the mention of Phil.
Rosa glanced at her father but said nothing, and the moment passed. But it was an awkward moment. Ryan Kildare was a tactful man and said, “They’re playing the one song I know how to dance to, Miss Winslow. Could I have the pleasure?”
An
xious to get away from the tense situation, Amelia agreed. He put his hand out and led her to the floor. As they moved slowly across the floor to the hit tune “I’ll Be With You in Apple Blossom Time,” Amelia tilted her head back. He was very tall—six-two or so she would guess—and there was a masculine ruggedness about him. He was not handsome in a Rudolph Valentino sort of way, but Amelia found him attractive, and she liked his hair, which was not plastered down and had a rebellious curl in it. She found herself wondering about him.
“You said this is the only song you could dance to,” remarked Amelia. “I don’t believe that for a moment.”
“Well, I can do a little black bottom when I’m in the mood.”
Amelia laughed. “Not for me. I think that’s the awfulest dance I’ve ever seen—all that jumping and slapping the backside. Why do people want to do things like that?”
“To get attention, I suppose. But you don’t have to worry about that. You make a living getting attention.”
He did not go into rhapsodies over her singing, for which Amelia was grateful. She had heard enough of that from too many men. “What do you do, Mr. Kildare?”
“I’m a criminal defense attorney—most of my work is done for Mr. Morino.”
Amelia grew silent at this statement, and Kildare saw her reaction. “It seems like we’re moving from one tense situation to another,” he said.
“You mean at the table?” Amelia said. “Why do you think Tony got so upset when I mentioned my brother?”
“Why, because he’s for the opposite side,” Kildare said. “Tony sees everything in black and white. Us or them. Your brother works for the feds; therefore, he’s a them. Tony doesn’t want to have anything to do with them.”
“I’m very proud of my brother.”
“I haven’t met him, but I’ve met Lee Novak, his boss. He’s a fine fellow and as tough as they come.”
Ryan saw by Amelia’s eyes that she was not anxious to speak of anything having to do with Big Tony Morino’s business. Even though he was accustomed to being criticized for defending Morino, he felt compelled to apologize to her. “I’m sorry that my profession bothers you. But it’s what I do.”
“I don’t know much about it, but doesn’t it bother you sometimes getting guilty people free?”
“Well, I look at it like this. Every man and woman is entitled to a good defense, so I give them the best I’ve got.”
“Do you ask them if they’re guilty?”
“Never.”
The music ended, but before they left the dance floor, he said, “I’m usually not so impulsive, but I’m about to break a promise I made to my mother a long time ago.”
Kildare’s words caught at Amelia. “A promise to your mother? What was that?”
The corners of his mouth twitched, and he grinned broadly. “I promised her I’d never ask a girl to go out with me until I’d danced with her at least twice.”
Amelia found this amusing. “Then you’d better wait. Promises to mothers should be kept.”
They rejoined their party, but Amelia did not stay. She felt uncomfortable after Tony’s reaction to the mention of her brother. Before she left, Kildare winked at her. “One more dance, and you’ll be eligible.”
He was incorrigible but not obnoxious. “I think you’d better stick with your mother. She probably loves you better than anyone else.” As soon as she said this, a strange expression passed across Kildare’s face. His lips tightened, and then he nodded, “You’re right about that, Miss Winslow. Dead right.”
****
Every time Ryan Kildare had a meeting with Tony Morino, he grew somewhat uneasy. Morino had called a week after Rosa’s birthday party and did not request but simply gave a royal commandment. “Be in my office, Ryan. We got something to talk about.”
Now as Kildare sat facing the big man, he tried to analyze his feelings. He had always felt ambivalent toward Morino, for he knew there was some good in the man. On the other hand, his background and position had crafted him into a ruthless killer who could explode into violence. Kildare had seen it happen and was very careful not to trigger such a response toward him personally.
He looked around the opulent office. The massive walnut desk was empty save for a pen and a platinum ink bottle. Nothing but the best for Big Tony! The carpet underfoot was Persian and did not match the colors of the room, but that did not bother Morino. It was expensive—always his top criterion. Ryan smiled as he saw a genuine painting by Turner, which he knew would have cost thousands of dollars. Right beside it was the famous painting of “The Battle of Little Bighorn”—a copy, but a good one. It was a massive painting, perhaps four feet high and seven or eight feet across, scanning the battlefield, with dying soldiers everywhere and Custer himself dressed in yellow buckskins firing pistols in both hands, his long yellow hair flowing over his shoulders. It was a picture that had achieved immense popularity in saloons around the country. Any self-respecting saloon would have a copy of it. The idea of such a cheap, artificial work being placed next to Turner’s beautifully executed painting of the sea reinforced Ryan’s conviction that Tony could buy whatever he wanted, but he had no taste. But, then, how could he? He had no more than a fifth-grade education.
“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 Wor
ld 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.”
The Heavenly Fugitive Page 16
