25

“CHUCK! IT’S FOR you,” the bartender called to the back. He’d had a phone installed primarily for Connors’s calls and was used to acting as an informal answering service. “You comin’?”

Connors snatched the mouthpiece after a slow shamble to the bar. “Yeah?”

“Mister Connors? Are you there?”

“Who da fuck else’d be here?”

“My God! I’ve been trying to reach you since early this morning. This is Lionel Saturn.”

Connors didn’t see any reason to comment on the first bit of information and certainly not on the second. He knew who it was.

“Mister Connors. I say I’ve been trying to reach you. This is an emergency, man!”

“Yeah, well, I don’ keep reg’lar hours, Lionel.”

“But I’ve been assaulted. They were Paul Kelly’s men. They almost killed me!”

It was Connors’s turn to digest things. “But you ain’t dead now I take it?”

“No, no, of course not. I was rescued by two detectives. Listen, Connors; you have to do something. They said Kelly didn’t like me going to Big Tim. Told me to keep him out of it or they’d kill me. You have to get Big Tim to back off or I’m a dead man.”

“Can’t do it.”

“What?”

“Kelly’s been paid off. Big Tim done what youse wanted an’ now by da way youse owe me a grand.”

“But for God’s sake, there has to be some way to reverse this, something you can do.”

Connors thought for a moment. “Listen,” he said “Big Tim’s out maybe eleven grand on dis. Youse gotta pay ’im back, an’ quick. What youse owe me, too,” he added.

“God!” There was a long pause. “I suppose. There’s stock, I suppose, stock in the steamship company. Would he take that?”

“Stock?”

“Yes, you know, shares in the company. They’re worth quite a bit actually,” Saturn said with an air of resigned sadness.

“Don’ know what Tim’d do wit dose,” Connors said, though he knew quite well. “How much youse got?”

“Never mind how much, Mister Connors. Suffice it to say it’s enough to pay Big Tim several times over.”

Connors waited for what he thought was an appropriate time before saying, “I could call Tim, I guess.”

“Good, good,” Saturn’s voice sparked through the earpiece. “And what about Kelly?”

“Fucked if I know. What about ’im?”

“Well, damn it, man, that’s what this is all about. Can’t Big Tim talk to him or something? I mean with Sullivan out of the picture, maybe Kelly would be more amenable.”

“Paul Kelly’s a lotta t’ings Lionel. Fucked if ’meanable is one o’ dose.”

“But he has his money, you say. What more can he want?”

“Listen, I ain’t gonna talk for Kelly. What ’e wants is what ’e wants, get me? My advice is you wanna stay breathin’, youse play along, see?”

“All right, Connors. What choice do I have?”

Connors smiled into the mouthpiece. “Youse could go ta da cops.”

“Don’t patronize me, Connors.” The line went dead and Connors chuckled. He had the bartender flick the cradle for the operator and a few moments later had Big Tim on the line. “Tim? Looks like Kelly done youse a favor,” Connors said into the phone. He gave Sullivan the short version of his conversation with Saturn. He heard a chair creak and pictured Sullivan’s bulk leaning back in victory.

“Easier than I thought, Chuck. But then Kelly is nothing if not predictable, eh?”