Free Never Love a Stranger by Harold Robbins Page A

kid!” she said. “You’re frightened to death.” She drew me close to her.
    “I’m not frightened,” I lied. I buried my head against her breasts. It seemed so warm, so safe there. I didn’t want to move. A tremor shook me: first one, then another. I tried to fight them but couldn’t. In a few seconds I was shivering and my shirt was covered with sweat. I just stood in the circle of her arms, shivering, my teeth chattering like a baby….
    A little while later I was sitting in the small armchair in the corner of her room. I began to think. “No one saw me come here. I guess they were after Fennelli. They didn’t want me. They had to get Keough ’cause he saw them. I didn’t see them. They didn’t want me. The cops may want me for questions. But I didn’t see nothing. I’m safe as long as I keep my mouth shut. I won’t be bothered.” Julie went into the other room to get me a drink. “What’ll I do with the dough?” I took it out and counted it. There was 653 bucks there. I put it back in my pocket. Julie came back with a cup of coffee.
    “Here, drink this,” she said, “you’ll feel better.”
    I smiled at her. “I feel better already,” I said, drinking the coffee gratefully, “but I can’t leave here with this shirt on. It’s covered with blood.” I took it off and gave it to her. “Here, throw this down the incinerator and give me one of Marty’s.”
    She didn’t answer. She took the shirt and left the room. I heard the door of the kitchen open, then the slam of the incinerator. Then she came back into the apartment and went to Marty’s room. A few seconds later she came into the room with one of his shirts over
    her arm.
    I put it on. It was a little tight fitting but not bad. “I better get out of here,” I thought. “Thanks, Julie,” I said. “I’d better get out of here before the family comes in.”
    “You don’t have to rush,” said Julie. “They all went to the country for the week-end except Mr. Cabell. And he won’t be home until one o’clock in the morning when the store closes.”
    I had supper there and left about nine o’clock and went to the orphanage. I sneaked in the delivery door and up to the dorm. The kids were all asleep. I undressed and tumbled into bed gratefully. I was tired. I fell asleep almost at once.
    In the morning I ran downstairs before anyone else and grabbed a look at the papers. The Daily News had given it the front-page spread. A big headline shouted: “Fennelli Shot”, and the story was on page two. I turned the page. There was a picture of Silk Fennelli in the right-hand corner. Underneath was the story:

    Gang War Again Breaks Out In New York
    Silk Fennelli, famous gambler and racketeer, was shot and seriously wounded, and James (Jimmy) Keough was shot and killed today, by an unknown gangster. Keough was shot twice through the heart, and Fennelli was shot once in the chest and once in the groin, yesterday afternoon in front of a pool parlour that was run by Keough. Police are looking for a boy known to work at Keough’s, who may possibly be a witness to the crime. Fennelli’s condition, it was stated at the Roosevelt Hospital today by the doctors, was serious but not critical. Fennelli, true to the code of gangland, would not make a statement. “I don’t know who would want to shoot me as I’m a guy who minds my own business,” he said. The police are working on the case and expect new developments to arise shortly.

    I put the paper down. I thought I could recognize a warning to me from Fennelli in the paper—a warning for me to mind my own business. I went on into the dining-room for breakfast and then went over to the church to serve altar. I didn’t have a thing to worry about.
    Chapter Thirteen ‌

    A FTER a week had gone by and I hadn’t been troubled by anyone, I began to feel safe. Again I could walk on the streets without being afraid. I had seen in the papers that Fennelli was getting better and would be discharged