‘What the hell’s wrong with you? I’ve only been bellyachin’ about that for years.’
Danny shrugged.
‘I guess I just thought—’
‘Well, what was it?’ I asked. ‘What was in it?’
‘Papers,’ he said, with a shrug. ‘Deeds to prime real estate that got turned into casinos later. They woulda made a killin’ if they hadn’t gone to jail – or in Phil’s case, died.’
‘Jesus,’ I said, disappointed. ‘That’s just about what I figured.’
‘So what’s the big deal, then?’
‘I just thought . . . maybe it’d be somethin’ . . . ya know, big.’
He punched me in the arm and said, ‘I gotta go, Eddie. Merry Christmas.’
‘Merry Christmas. Give Penny my love.’
He nodded, and left. I walked back to the sofa, sat down and picked up the remote. I was going to watch the DVD again when the phone rang.
‘Hello.’
‘Hey, Boss,’ Jerry said. ‘Merry Christmas.’
‘Well, well, another early Christmas visit from a friend. Happy Hanukkah, buddy.’
‘Who beat me to it?’
‘Danny was just here. Brought me a DVD of the Frank Sinatra Show for Christmas. He and Penny are gonna be out of town when the big day comes.’
‘Yeah, well, I got my own appointment on Christmas, so I thought I’d call ya now. Your present’s in the mail.’
‘So is yours,’ I said. ‘Watching this DVD made me think back to that time when Bing Crosby tried to buy the horse.’
‘That whole thing started out great, with you takin’ me to Del Mar, and then it turned into a mess.’
‘Yeah it did.’
‘So how you been feelin’, Mr G?’
‘OK, Jerry,’ I said. ‘Diabetes is under control, so’s the blood pressure. Say, when you gonna come out? It’s been a few years.’
‘Yeah, I know,’ he said. ‘I, uh, I got some stuff to take care of, but maybe, uh, next year . . .’
‘What’s goin’ on, Jerry?’
‘Whataya mean?’
‘Come on, big guy. We’ve known each other a lot of years. I know when somethin’s on your mind.’
‘Well . . . I went to the doctor last week and they . . . found something.’
‘What?’
‘A lump . . . a mass, they called it.’
‘Jerry—’
‘Now don’t worry, Mr G.,’ he said. ‘I’m goin’ into the hospital to get it removed, and to get a . . . whatchamacallit . . .’
‘A biopsy?’
‘Right, a biopsy.’
‘Do they think it’s cancer?’
‘Nah, they don’t think it’s nothin’, but they wanna take it out, just in case. You know how doctors are . . .’
‘Jeez, Jerry . . . I’m sorry . . .’ I did some math. Jerry was in his mid seventies. He still had plenty of life ahead of him. I was glad they didn’t think it was serious, but still . . . Jerry was alone . . .
‘That’s where I‘m gonna be on Christmas Day,’ he said. ‘Might as well get it taken care of. I got no family to see around the holidays . . .’
‘Well, you know,’ I said, ‘I don’t have any family here, either. Why don’t I figure on spending the holiday in Brooklyn? I could come a few days early. You could take me for some Nathans, and pizza . . .’
‘. . . and bagels,’ he said.
‘Right.’
‘Mr G.,’ he said, and I could hear the relief in his voice, ‘that would be really great.’
‘Hey, Jerry,’ I said, ‘that’s what old friends are for. To have each other’s backs, right?’
Fly Me to the Morgue Page 22
