The Heavenly Fugitive (22 page)

“This is my mother,” Ryan said. “Mother, this is Miss Amelia Winslow.”

“I’m so glad to meet you, my dear.”

Mrs. Kildare lifted her hand, and Amelia went over at once to take it. She felt the smallness of the bones, although she guessed that at one time Mrs. Kildare might have been a strong, healthy woman. Amelia smiled, saying, “Your son has told me how hard you are on him.”

Mrs. Kildare laughed. “I would say it’s the other way around. He’s hard on me.”

“Mother, would you entertain Amelia while I go help Faye with dinner?”

“Of course, son.”

As soon as Ryan disappeared, Mrs. Kildare said to Amelia, “You can call me Judith, dear. Do sit down.”

Amelia glanced around the room. It was not opulent in the least but was pleasing. The pale yellow walls were decorated with attractive paintings. A vase of fresh flowers bloomed on the bedside table, and she exclaimed, “What beautiful flowers!”

“Ryan brings them every other day. He never misses. I used to grow a lot of flowers, but I haven’t been able to do that for some time.”

“I’m so sorry.”

Judith Kildare studied the young woman and said, “You’re a singer, I understand.”

“Oh, just in nightclubs, I’m afraid.”

“And you’re from Africa.”

“Why, yes, I am. My father and mother are missionaries there.”

“How wonderful!”

Amelia soon found out more about Ryan Kildare than she
ever would have from talking to him herself. She even discovered that Judith Kildare’s husband had been a drunkard and had abused them all, especially Ryan, who as a child, had tried to protect his mother and sisters from his father.

“He put himself through college and law school and kept us all from starving,” Mrs. Kildare explained. “He helped his two brothers get into successful businesses and has encouraged his sisters to marry well. His two older sisters are both married now to decent men who are good providers.”

Amelia had known nothing of Ryan’s family, and she was glad to hear that he treated them with love and generosity.

Ryan came back in, announcing that dinner was ready. He grinned at his mother as he got behind her wheelchair and began to push her out of the room. “I hope you haven’t been telling Miss Winslow what a terrible boy I was growing up.”

“Of course I was. Totally rotten.”

Amelia laughed. “I don’t think I can believe anything you say, Judith.”

The meal was delicious—a succulent lamb roast with mint sauce and roasted potatoes. Amelia complimented Ryan on his culinary skills, but he insisted the cooking was all Faye’s doing. Faye stayed by her mother’s side, taking care of her and helping her eat. After dinner they moved to the parlor, where they listened to two or three records, but soon Judith grew tired. Faye encouraged her mother to retire to her room, saying, “You’ve had enough excitement for one day, Mother.”

Judith Kildare smiled at Amelia as Faye wheeled her from the room. “It was so good of you to come, dear. I hope you’ll come back.”

“I hope so too.”

****

Pulling up in front of her apartment building, Ryan shut off the engine. He got out of the car, opened her door, and accompanied Amelia to her apartment. She got out her key,
but before unlocking the door, she turned to him. “It was a lovely evening, Ryan. Thank you.”

“You made Mother very happy. I thank you for coming. She doesn’t get many visitors.”

“She’s such a sweet lady and so is your sister.”

“Faye deserves all the credit for caring for Mother. She’s there on the front lines, day in and day out—all I can do is pay for it.”

They were silent for a moment, then suddenly Ryan said, “I’m about to break another promise I made to my mother.”

Amelia looked up at him and smiled. “I’ll bet I can guess what promise you’re about to break.”

“I’ll bet you can’t.”

“I’ll bet you promised her you’d never kiss a girl on your first date.”

He smiled and shrugged. “You should be the lawyer.” He put his hands on her shoulders and saw her eyes widen. He did not pressure her, but she willingly leaned forward, her lips softening and gently parting. Ryan suddenly saw Amelia as a woman of great passion who kept her emotions bottled up inside. He pulled her close and kissed her, feeling her respond to him as they embraced for a long time. Then he felt her hand pressing lightly on his chest, and he released her.

“Good night, Ryan. I had a lovely time.”

“Will you go out with me again?”

“Yes!”

CHAPTER TWELVE

Sentence of Death

“This is good, Sarah. How did you ever learn to cook Chinese food?”

Sarah Novak’s face beamed with pleasure. She had just brought a steaming bowlful of fried rice and set it down when Amelia had reached out and forked herself a healthy portion. “Oh, I didn’t know how to cook anything when Lee and I got married except Southern cooking. I could fry chicken, but I’d never eaten Chinese food.”

Phil picked up a cabbage roll, dipped it in the sweet-and-sour sauce, and munched on it with evident pleasure. “Well, I think you ought to start a restaurant. You could call it Sarah Lee’s Chinese Food. Then you could quit work, Lee, and let her support you.”

Lee Novak reached across and captured his wife’s hand. They were obviously a very devoted couple, and this was the third time they had invited Phil and Amelia to their home for dinner. The Novaks’ children were all grown and married, so it was just the four of them. Novak looked at Sarah fondly and said, “She can cook anything—Italian, Southern, Chinese. It’s a wonder I don’t weigh three hundred pounds.”

The talk went around the table, and Amelia found herself liking Lee and Sarah very much. They spoke for a time about various relatives who were scattered all over the world, and then finally the talk turned to Tony Morino.

Amelia was enjoying one of the tiny pastries Sarah had set out on a tray for dessert, and she said, “I met his lawyer
a few weeks ago. He seems nice enough. I’ve been out with him a few times.”

Novak turned his eyes on Amelia and said quietly, “I know.”

Startled, Amelia glanced at Phil, who shrugged his shoulders. “What do you mean you know? Did Phil tell you?”

“No, but I’ve been watching Tony and the men who work for him. They’ll make a slip someday, and I’ll put them where they belong—in prison.”

“Surely you don’t think Ryan Kildare is the same kind of man as Morino.”

“They’re all in it together. You don’t see it like we do, Amelia. It’s brutal. There are killings all the time, and it’s Kildare who gets them off. Just last month they found one of Morino’s men practically standing over a body with a smoking gun, but Kildare got him off. He’s in the dirty business just as much as anybody else.”

Amelia was upset, for she had grown fond of Ryan. She took a sip of tea from the small porcelain cup and then aggressively said, “Let me tell you about Ryan. He came up the hard way, Lee. . . . ” She proceeded to tell the facts as she had received them from Judith Kildare. She finally ended by saying, “So he’s fought his way up out of nothing and supported his family. I say that’s good.”

Phil was studying his sister carefully. He knew what an independent woman she was, and he hesitated to comment. He watched Lee, who also seemed reluctant to say too much. It was Sarah who finally said, “Amelia, New York City is a jungle just like Chicago and other big cities. Their gangsters aren’t all as famous as Al Capone, but they’re all just as ruthless.”

“But Ryan’s not like that,” Amelia insisted. “He loves his family. I’ve seen it.”

“The man Ryan Kildare got off is guilty as sin and will kill again,” Lee said. “Now, wouldn’t you say that Kildare has to take part of the responsibility for that?”

Seeing the distress on his sister’s face, Phil decided to change the subject. “Let’s play Mah-Jongg. I feel lucky tonight.”

They all readily agreed, and soon the couples were playing the popular game. But as Phil took part, he was aware that something was troubling about Amelia’s defense of Ryan Kildare. He made it a point to talk to Lee about this later, but he was fairly certain of the answer he would get.

****

The next day Amelia and Ryan returned to her apartment after a Yankees game, and she invited him in. It was still early, no later than four o’clock, and she fixed coffee and brought out a cake, proudly announcing, “Here, I made it myself.”

Ryan pulled his chair closer to the table and dug in with his fork, closing his eyes in delight with the first bite. Licking his lips, he said, “Lady, you can make all my cakes. This is good.”

Amelia had said nothing up to this point about her conversation with the Novaks the night before, but it had been on her mind all day. Now she said tentatively, “Ryan, we’ve talked about this before. I can’t help thinking that there’s something wrong in getting criminals off that are obviously guilty.”

Ryan swallowed another bite of cake and put his fork down. He leaned back, his electric blue eyes fastened on her. He made a roughly handsome picture as he sat there. “Been talking to the law?” he said quietly.

Defensively, Amelia came back, “Phil and I have a meal once in a while over at the Novaks’. They are very good people.”

“I’m sure they are. The word’s out on the street—don’t try to buy Novak. He’ll bury you. He’s an honest man.”

Amelia did not answer, but she felt dissatisfied, and finally Ryan leaned forward and picked up her hand. “It’s meant a lot to me going out with you, Amelia, and my family thinks you’re wonderful. But about my job, the courts are built on the premise that every man and every woman is entitled to a defense. Would you do away with that?”

“No,” Amelia said slowly, “I wouldn’t do that. I don’t
understand these things, Ryan, but I don’t like the idea of your being mixed up with Big Tony Morino. You know what he stands for. He’s vicious. Oh, he puts on a good act, and he can be pleasant enough, and he loves his family, but he’s no better than the men who work for him. You know what they are.”

The silence built up, and finally Amelia said, “Ryan, I think we’d better not see each other for a time.”

Ryan sat very still. He leaned back in his chair and studied her carefully. Finally he said, “I’m sorry you feel like that, Amelia—for I find that I’ve fallen in love with you.”

The words frightened Amelia. She was not in love with Ryan Kildare, and she had already purposed that she would allow nothing to stand in the way of her career. She did like him very much, however, and had allowed him to kiss her several times. Still, she knew she had to break this off now. It would be too painful for both of them if she let it go on.

“I’m sorry, Ryan, but I don’t want to get serious right now.”

****

Lee Novak’s dark eyes were flashing, and he grabbed Phil by the shoulders and shook him. He was a powerful man, and Phil blinked with surprise. “Hey, you’re going to break my neck. What’s wrong with you?”

“We’ve got him, Phil! We’ve got him!”

“Got who?”

“We got Leo Marx!”

The trial of Leo Marx had been going on for nearly a week. It was almost a forgone conclusion that Marx would be found not guilty. It had happened before. He had the best legal team in the country, and the evidence was, even as Novak admitted, skimpy.

“What happened?” Phil said. “I didn’t think the DA had a prayer of convicting him.” He was excited, too, and watched as Novak stalked back and forth, slapping his fist into his hand with a meaty sound.

“It’s not because the DA’s so smart—somebody blew the whistle on him.”

“Who? That’d be suicide. You know what Marx is like.”

“I don’t know. Probably never will. The dope came in an unmarked brown manila envelope through the mail. It had dates, names, places—everything the prosecution needed—and I’ve already nailed down the witnesses who can vindicate it.”

“Somebody set him up all right,” Phil said abruptly.

“That’s right. That’s the way it is with these gangsters. They stay on top only by crushing people who get under them. Somebody is out to move Marx out of the way. He’s a rat, but he’s a smart rat.”

As Phil and Novak talked about the case, Phil became convinced that the evidence was indeed solid. “There’s no way he can beat this, and I don’t care where it came from. I say it’s good no matter who did the job!”

****

The New York City jail was not particularly inviting. It had endured many years of use and abuse, and even when it was built it had not been designed for the comfort of its inmates.

Leo Marx, who was accustomed to the finest suites in the finest hotels in New York City, sat in a cell leaning over and whispering to a small man with hazel eyes and stiff blond hair. Jake Prado was the one man in the world Leo Marx trusted.

“I was set up, Jake.”

“You’ll beat it, Leo.”

“Not this time. They’ve got it all. I’ve seen it.”

Prado was a cold-blooded killer. He was smart, tough, and absolutely ruthless, and his idol was Leo Marx. He sat there shaking his head as if to deny it, but Marx reached out and grabbed him by the arm. “I’m going to be convicted. No way out of it. But there are ways of getting out if enough money goes to the right places.”

“Why, sure.” Prado brightened up. “Well, I bet you won’t be in here a month.”

“A little longer than that,” Marx said dryly. He was a tall man with black hair and dark brown eyes, a thin face and a knife-edged mouth. His hands were long and graceful like those of a concert violinist, but all the grace was in his hands, for he had none in his soul.

“Jake, you’ll have to hold things together until I get out. You’ll be the boss.”

Jake Prado was a good lieutenant, but he had no illusions about his capability. “I can’t do that. I ain’t up to it.”

“You’ll have to put a few down. They’ll try to take over our territory. But you’ve got some good help with Abrams, Michaels, and Foy. They can do the thinking, and you do the rough stuff.”

Prado nodded. He had his orders—that’s all he ever wanted. “How did it happen, Leo? I can’t believe it.”

“I was fingered, that’s what.”

“Give me a name,” Prado insisted.