Blood Money полностью

Nolan liked known quantities. He didn’t like the idea of taking any Family man along on the very delicate calls he was planning to make in Milwaukee these next few hours, but at least with Greer he would have been able to depend on unquestioning workmanship. Greer had shown himself to be an unobtrusive pro back at Iowa City, with Karen, Ainsworth, and Sturms.

Sturms had been no problem, none at all. He came in and, in spite of a slight case of nerves because of the guns pointed at him, the well-groomed glorified drug peddler told Nolan everything he knew of Charlie’s trip to Iowa City. Told Nolan about the phone calls from Charlie’s son, and how cautious he, Sturms, had been about helping the pair, insisting on the son calling Harry in Milwaukee for confirmation.

Nolan felt now that his initial appraisal of Greer had been hasty. Greer hadn’t done anything especially noteworthy in Iowa City, but he’d provided good solid back-up, and when Nolan suggested that Greer stay behind to watch over Sturms and Ainsworth, there’d been no smartass arguments or indignant refusals. Greer had just accepted it, without making necessary Nolan’s going into the obvious need for keeping the two men from getting to a telephone to warn Harry that Nolan was on his way to Milwaukee. Greer had only said that he’d have to call and check first with Felix, and Nolan had said go ahead.

But Felix hadn’t taken Nolan’s leaving Greer behind as graciously as had Greer himself.

“You knew this before you left,” the shrill voice had said from over the phone, “you knew then that you’d be leaving my man behind. That’s why you insisted on his taking a separate car, isn’t it? You want to shake loose from the Family on this, don’t you, Nolan? You see this only as a personal vendetta, and insist on ignoring the more far-reaching consequences.”

Nolan had denied the charges, but allowed Felix to carry on with his summation to the jury a while longer before interrupting to remind the lawyer that that list of addresses and phone numbers promised earlier would come in handy now. Felix had agreed and set up this meeting at the tollway truck stop, where Angelo was to deliver the list.

Nolan sipped his coffee, his second cup, and hoped things would be okay in Iowa City. He had confidence in Greer, now, but soon Greer would be leaving Karen’s apartment, releasing the two men, and Karen would be left to live in Iowa City, where both Ainsworth and Sturms roamed free, a couple of choice V.I.P. enemies for a young woman in a small town.

But they wouldn’t do anything about it. Before he’d gone Nolan had explained to them that after their release they would be expected to stay out of Karen’s hair. If, in fact, one hair on her head was touched, Nolan promised he’d come around and cut their balls off. Whether they were responsible or not.

“If you don’t think I’m serious,” Nolan had said, “check with Charlie’s brother Gordon.”

And Sturms had said, “I thought Charlie’s brother Gordon was dead.”

And Nolan hadn’t said anything.

Reflecting on that, he smiled a little, and thought that perhaps this Angelo was right about the hardnose routine; maybe it was just a routine, which he’d put into use now that he was getting old — fifty! — and perhaps didn’t have the stuff to back himself up anymore. An aging hoodlum, propped up on verbal crutches.

But that wasn’t right either, because he’d always found that saying things for effect was a powerful tool, when used with restraint, and he’d handled that tool long and well. If people think you’re hard, they’ll leave you be, and save you needless grief — not to mention energy and ammunition.

Not that he was the melodramatic son of a bitch Charlie was.

The old bastard. Now there was a guy who talked tough, always had, and was no fake: Charlie backed it up, every time. Nolan had never feared Charlie — but he knew enough to respect him. Not his word, which Charlie kept only when it was to his advantage to do so, but respect his threats, no matter how ridiculous they might seem. Charlie would hang a man by the ass from the ceiling of a warehouse with a meat-hook, in a day when such tactics were thought to be long dead and almost quaint memories of the Prohibition era. Charlie would have a man taken to a basement somewhere and tied to a stool and a dead bird shoved in his mouth and two men shooting behind either ear of the “stool pigeon” in a ritual that in being a cliché was no less terrifying and, well, efficient. Charlie might lie to you, but never in his threats, because Charlie was a melodramatic son of a bitch, who took delight in seeing his melodramatic notions brought into play, and that was probably part of why he snatched Jon.