Chapter 2 - TOMMY’S LAST RULE
Lucardi’s men did not touch Walter.
That surprised me.
They stood between him and the hallway, but Salvatore did not order anyone to hit him, threaten him, or drag him downstairs.
He simply said:
“Sit.”
Walter sat.
It happened so quickly that I understood something about the balance between those men.
Walter was afraid of him.
Not theatrically.
Practically.
Lucardi turned toward me.
“Can you stand?”
“I think so.”
One of his men moved to help.
I flinched.
Lucardi noticed.
“No one touches her.”
The man stopped immediately.
I pushed myself upright using my good arm.
Pain burned through my shoulder but nothing felt obviously broken.
Walter muttered:
“She called you. That makes her part of it.”
Lucardi looked at him.
“You entered a woman’s home and put your hands on her.”
Walter laughed bitterly.
“Don’t pretend morality now, Sal.”
That name.
Not Don Lucardi.
Sal.
They went back farther than I understood.
Lucardi’s eyes hardened.
“I’m not pretending anything.”
I pointed at the cylinder.
“What is that?”
Lucardi did not answer.
“What did Tommy hide?”
Still nothing.
“Why did he hide it from you?”
Walter spoke before Lucardi could.
“Because your brother finally realized what kind of man he was working for.”
Lucardi turned slightly.
Walter smiled.
“He didn’t tell you?”
“Tell me what?”
Walter leaned back in my kitchen chair.
“Tommy worked for Lucardi.”
“No.”
I laughed because the alternative was impossible.
“My brother was Navy.”
“Yes,” Lucardi said.
I looked at him.
That one word silenced me.
He continued.
“And sometimes those facts overlapped.”
I stared.
“What does that mean?”
Lucardi slipped the metal cylinder inside his coat.
“It means your brother had work he couldn’t describe.”
“Government work?”
Walter laughed again.
“Government. Mafia. Black market. Take your pick.”
Lucardi’s gaze cut toward him.
Walter shut up.
I stepped closer.
“You were at Tommy’s funeral.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“He was my friend.”
“No.”
The answer came out instantly.
I knew Tommy’s friends.
Men from the repair shop.
Navy boys.
Two neighbors from Queens.
Not Salvatore Lucardi.
Lucardi’s expression softened by a degree.
“Your brother kept more of his life from you than either of us would have preferred.”
My anger rose hot enough to outrun pain.
“So everybody knew except me?”
“No.”
“Walter knew.”
“Walter knew pieces.”
Walter leaned forward.
“I knew enough.”
Lucardi said quietly:
“You knew enough to get Tommy killed.”
The room went still.
Walter’s face emptied.
I looked at him.
“What?”
Walter shook his head.
“He’s lying.”
Lucardi did not blink.
“Ask him where he was the night Thomas died.”
Walter stood.
One of Lucardi’s men moved.
Walter sat again.
I stared.
“Where were you?”
Walter looked at me.
Then toward the broken door.
“Home.”
“That’s a lie,” Lucardi said.
Walter snapped:
“Then prove it.”
Lucardi looked at me instead.
“Your brother came to Pier 46 that night.”
I swallowed.
The Navy had told us the accident happened near the Hudson.
“Why?”
“To deliver something.”
“The cylinder?”
“No.”
I felt colder.
“Then what?”
Lucardi’s jaw tightened.
“He was supposed to bring me a list.”
Walter interrupted.
“A list of American citizens he was helping you blackmail.”
Lucardi turned slowly.
“You want to keep lying in front of her?”
“I want her to know what you are.”
“I know what he is,” I said.
Both men looked at me.
I continued:
“What I don’t know is what Tommy was.”
Lucardi answered first.
“Brave.”
Walter said:
“Naive.”
I ignored them both.
“What list?”
Lucardi took a breath.
“Names of dockworkers, freight clerks, shipping contractors and warehouse supervisors believed to be helping move restricted materials through New York Harbor.”
“Smuggling?”
“Some.”
“What else?”
He hesitated.
That scared me.
“Sabotage.”
The word changed the room.
Since America entered the war, sabotage was the kind of thing people whispered about in diners and apartment hallways.
German agents.
Damaged ships.
Burned warehouses.
Cargo manifests altered so supplies went to the wrong place.
Most stories were rumor.
Some were not.
I looked at Walter.
“You were on the list.”
He smiled thinly.
“You think because he says it?”
Lucardi answered:
“You were number eleven.”
Walter’s smile disappeared.
The precision mattered.
I turned back to Lucardi.
“How do you know?”
“Because I saw the first ten.”
“Who had the full list?”
“Tommy.”
“And now he’s dead.”
“Yes.”
“And you still want that cylinder.”
“Yes.”
I thought of Tommy.
One week before his death, he had come to my apartment and repaired the radio though I never asked.
He stayed nearly three hours.
Twice I caught him staring at the back panel.
When I teased him, he said:
“Clara, if anything ever feels wrong, don’t trust the first man who explains it.”
At the time I thought he meant politics.
Or men in general.
Tommy liked making dramatic rules.
There had been three of them since childhood.
Never follow anyone into an alley.
Never let anyone hold money “for you.”
Never trust the first man who explains it.
Now I understood.
He knew something was coming.
I looked at Lucardi.
“You were the first man to explain it.”
He stared at me.
Then, unexpectedly, smiled.
Barely.
“Your brother warned me you were difficult.”
Walter laughed.
I ignored him.
“Open the cylinder.”
Lucardi shook his head.
“Not here.”
“Why?”
“Because if Thomas hid it from me, then whatever is inside might be meant for someone else.”
“Who?”
“That,” Lucardi said, “is what worries me.”
He turned toward Walter.
“Get up.”
Walter’s face tightened.
“Where are we going?”
Lucardi put his fedora back on.
“To the only place in Manhattan where I trust the telephone less than I trust you.”
I stared.
“Where?”
“My warehouse.”
I shook my head.
“I’m not going anywhere with you.”
Lucardi looked at my broken door.
Then at Walter.
Then back at me.
“You called me because you believed Walter would hurt you.”
“He did.”
“Yes.”
He nodded toward the hallway.
“And someone sent Walter here because they believed the cylinder was still inside the radio.”
Walter said nothing.
Lucardi continued:
“Which means your apartment is known.”
I looked around at the shattered wood.
My home no longer looked like a home.
“What choice do I have?”
Lucardi’s expression went almost sad.
“Very few.”
Then Walter said the first thing that truly terrified Lucardi.
“You’re assuming Tommy hid one cylinder.”
Salvatore stopped.
Slowly turned.
Walter smiled.
May you like
“He made two.”
And suddenly the object inside Lucardi’s coat became only half the secret.
