Frankie began to pound the foot of the bed with the flat of his hand, gently at first, but the blows fell harder and harder, until he was hammering the wooden bar with all the strength of his arm. “She wanted it. I didn’t.” The words came strangely through his quivering lips. “I was scared. For her. But she wanted it. And she was going to have it. She told me that it was fixed up, but she was going to have it.” The tears were running down his cheeks and a moaning little noise sounded in his throat.
“Play it for all it’s worth,” Terrell said. “Beat your breast and shout ‘Mama Mia.’ ” Contempt put an edge to his voice. “What were your plans for the kid? A job running numbers, or maybe selling programs and peanuts in a burlesque joint? Then take him back to Sicily to show the old folks how well you’d done in free, democratic America. Were those your dreams, you ginny bastard?”
Frankie seemed hopelessly confused; he opened and closed his mouth but he couldn’t manage anything but incoherent little grunts.
“Beautiful dreams,” Terrell said. “Then Cellars put his foot down, and there’s nothing left but a grease mark on the floor. And Ike goes on as if nothing happened.”
“I got to ask some questions around,” Frankie said, forming the words slowly and laboriously, as if he were just learning to speak. “I’ll find out how much truth you’ve told me.”
He dropped his robe on the floor and took down a raglan topcoat from the dressing room alcove. “Nobody ever talked to me the way you did,” he said. “So I’ll see you again, don’t worry.” He transferred the gun to the pocket of his topcoat and pulled a soft felt hat low on his forehead.
“Wait a minute,” Terrell said.
But Frankie paid no attention to him. His young, spoiled face was closed and hard, and his eyes were already fixed on something beyond the room. He moved to the door and reached for the knob.
“Wait a minute,” Terrell said wearily. He didn’t understand his change of heart, but he knew he couldn’t turn this mad dog loose on the city. “Don’t be a sucker, Frankie. You start after Cellars or Rammersky and you’ll get your head blown off.”
“Sure,” Frankie said. “They’re tough guys.”
“I’ve been steaming you up for personal reasons.”
Frankie turned and looked at him then, his hand still on the door knob. “What kind of personal reasons?”
“Cellars picked up Connie Blacker. She came to my apartment last night and that’s where he found her this morning. I wanted him to start worrying so hard about his own skin that he’d forget her. I thought you were the boy to worry him.”
“You want the girl, eh?”
“That’s right.”
“You’re brainy. Using me to save her hide.”
“It’s no good, Frankie.”
“Why not? I’ll worry him plenty. And if I get my head blown off, what difference does it make? You’ll have your girl. I’m a nothing to you. A ginny bastard, wasn’t it? The kind of slug who’d raise a kid to run numbers or work in a burlesque joint.” Frankie was smiling but he sounded very much like a child trying not to weep. “Wasn’t that you talking a few seconds ago?”
“I shouldn’t have,” Terrell said.
“You don’t know me. You don’t know Eden. But we’re tramps to you. Isn’t that right?”
“For Christ’s sake, stop being so emotional. Who am I to judge?”
“Stop being emotional! That’s pretty funny!” Frankie turned away from the door and sat on the edge of the bed. He stared steadily at Terrell for a few seconds. Then: “Are you a Catholic?”
Terrell sighed. “This is relevant, I’ll bet.”
“Well, are you?”
“I don’t know.”
“What do you mean, you don’t know? You are or you aren’t. You know. One way or the other.”
“Was Jesus of Nazareth Christ Incarnate? Catholics answer yes,” Terrell said. “I’m not sure.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Frankie said irritably, and moved to the door. His young face looked suddenly very tired and old. “I think I’m going to die tonight,” he said.
“You’re doing a good job of talking yourself into it.”
“It’s the way I feel.” Frankie shrugged lightly. “That’s why I’m talking like an oddball. It’s important. You think she was a tramp, eh?”
“I think she loved you,” Terrell said. “She wanted to have your baby. She was no tramp.”
Frankie nodded slowly. “That’s a logical way to look at it. It’s funny that what you thought of her should matter to me. But you may be the last guy I’ll ever talk to about her. So it makes a difference.”
“You’re selling yourself a deal,” Terrell said. “You’ll die all right. You’ll be hit by a truck wandering around asking people about their religion.”
“No, it won’t be that way,” Frankie said. His hand turned the knob slowly and the door opened an inch or so. “You bought yourself an address,” he said. “Bancroft’s nursing home, on Madden Boulevard near the city line. Take it down.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s where Ike sent the little blonde,” Frankie said. “You should know how close you came to not getting it. So long now.” He opened the door and slipped quickly into the corridor.
