Free Bloodline by Warren Murphy Page B

and Mario dare to think they’re smarter than you.”
    Falcone sipped at his beer. The Irishman had already finished both his whiskey and his beer and waved to the bartender for a refill.
    “You’re probably right.”
    “I’m definitely right. They were just trying to save you hurt. Tommy’s healthy, so forget it. What’s he going to do now?”
    “I don’t know. He’s talking about going to college. Down with the Jew boys at CCNY, I suppose. I wish I had enough money to send him to a good school like Saint John’s, but I don’t. And then Justina is graduating from high school and she wants to be an opera singer, and I don’t know where she’ll get the money for voice lessons. I wish I had it, but I don’t.”
    “Let ’em work for it like everybody else does.”
    “That’s okay for Tommy, I guess. You can always be a lawyer. But Justina’s different. You wait too long for voice lessons and by the time you take them, your voice is gone and you can’t get it back. It’s gonna break her heart if I get her a job in the coat factory.”
    Uncharacteristically, O’Shaughnessy reached across the table and put his hand atop his partner’s. “Tony, there’s always money to be made at our job. And with this new Prohibition thing coming in, there’ll be fortunes to be made.”
    Falcone glared at him. “You know how I feel about that crap,” he said. Then he recognized O’Shaughnessy’s expression and began laughing. “You’re just egging me on, you Irish son of a bitch,” he said.
    “Not me,” his partner said. “I like being one of the only two honest cops in New York. Anyway, bring Tommy around some night. I’d like to see him. I remember him when.”
    “He’s different now. Quieter. He’s always got his nose in a book.”
    “He got shot up, for Christ’s sake, to help the bloody goddamn Brits keep their goddamn empire,” O’Shaughnessy said. “That’d change anybody.” He took a deep breath, as if telling himself to change the subject and not mount his usual anti-British soapbox. “And what about this other kid? What’s his name? Daniel or something?”
    “Danilo. My sister’s boy, and he calls himself Nilo now. He’s doing okay. He and Tommy get along like brothers. I found him a little job, and he’s after Justina to teach him how to read.”
    “To read, huh?” O’Shaughnessy laughed. “If he’s like every other Sicilian I know, he’s after her for more than reading lessons.”
    Falcone nodded. “That had occurred to me. And I wouldn’t put it past him. Truth is, Tim, he’s my family and all, but I don’t like that kid. There’s just something about him that sticks in my throat.”
    “Like what?”
    “Like I don’t know. He tries too hard, sort of. He’s blood … but … I don’t know. He always seems agreeable enough, but if you watch him and he doesn’t know you’re watching, he’s always looking around, as if he’s casing the place, trying to figure out where you hide your money. I’ve taken to locking my cash away in my bureau drawer.”
    “Hey, what do you want?” O’Shaughnessy said. “He’s Italian.”
    “Go to hell, you big Irish moose.”
    *   *   *
    J USTINA F ALCONE CLIMBED OUT of the claw-foot bathtub and quickly wrapped a large gray towel around her body. High up on the wall above the tub was a little window that was cracked near the top, letting in a constant stream of cold air that dropped to the floor and chilled the legs. Her father always promised to fix it, but he never seemed to get around to it. The truth was he hated doing any kind of maintenance work.
    She vowed that one day she would be so rich that she would not ever have to worry about things like cracked windows.
    She shivered slightly and found the sensation so pleasurable that she tried to make herself shiver again but could not. Justina crossed the floor and stood in front of the washbasin. There was a mirror-doored medicine cabinet above it and a small kerosene