Chapter 5 - LOCKER 219
Pier 46 smelled like cold river water, diesel, rope and old fish.
We arrived just before two in the morning.
Wartime patrols made moving difficult, but Lucardi seemed to possess permits no ordinary citizen would ask about.
Locker 219 was inside a dockworkers’ storage building.
The lock had already been broken.
Lucardi stopped.
“So someone heard the broadcast.”
Walter said nothing.
The locker door swung open.
Inside was a navy pea coat.
Tommy’s.
I knew immediately because one cuff had a burn mark from when he reached across a soldering iron in 1939.
I touched it.
Cold fabric.
Empty.
Underneath sat a metal toolbox.
Lucardi opened it.
Inside were radio parts.
A photograph.
And blood.
Old.
Dark.
Not much.
I stared.
Lucardi closed the lid halfway.
“You don’t need to look.”
“He’s my brother.”
I opened it again.
Beneath the parts was another cylinder.
This one larger.
Walter whispered:
“There.”
Lucardi did not touch it.
He looked at me.
“Your choice.”
That surprised me.
Maybe he had learned something since the first one.
I picked it up.
The seal was already cracked.
Inside were three photographs and a typed memo.
The first photograph showed Walter entering a warehouse near Pier 52 with two men.
The second showed crates marked as machine parts.
The third showed a man shaking Walter’s hand.
Edwin Vale.
I knew because his name was written on the back.
My hands shook.
The memo was Tommy’s.
Not official.
Just typewritten notes.
WALTER HALLOWELL IS NOT THE SOURCE. HE IS THE COURIER. VALE IS RUNNING THE CHANNEL. LUCA KNOWS PARTS ONLY. DO NOT GIVE HIM MASTER LIST.
I read it twice.
Lucardi stared at the words.
“Luca.”
That was what Tommy called him.
I looked up.
“You knew parts only.”
“Yes.”
“And Tommy deliberately kept the full list from you.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Lucardi answered without pride.
“Because I still had criminal operations he couldn’t distinguish from compromised operations.”
Meaning Tommy trusted him only as far as necessity.
That sounded like my brother.
Walter suddenly said:
“Now you understand.”
I turned.
“Understand what?”
“I wasn’t working for the Germans.”
“Then who?”
“Vale.”
“Doing what?”
Walter rubbed his face.
“Moving crates. Giving access to buildings. Arranging tenant vacancies.”
“For sabotage.”
“I didn’t know at first.”
Lucardi scoffed.
Walter snapped:
“I didn’t.”
He looked at me.
“Vale told me the government needed unregistered storage because they were watching union agitators.”
That was plausible enough in wartime America to be dangerous.
“When did you realize?”
Walter went quiet.
“Six months ago.”
“And you continued.”
“He had records on me.”
“What records?”
Walter laughed bitterly.
“Tax fraud. Bribes. Black market rentals. Take your pick.”
Lucardi said:
“So you became his prisoner.”
Walter looked at him.
“Like you weren’t?”
Lucardi’s face shifted.
I looked between them.
“What does that mean?”
Walter smiled.
“Vale had Salvatore too.”
Lucardi’s silence confirmed it.
“How?”
“Shipping records.”
Salvatore looked at the river.
“My people moved contraband before the war. Vale collected proof.”
“And forced you to cooperate.”
“At first.”
“At first?”
Lucardi looked at me.
“Then Tommy convinced me something bigger was happening.”
“You could have told him Vale was blackmailing you.”
“I did.”
“Everything?”
“No.”
Of course not.
Every man in Tommy’s orbit had given him half-truths and expected him to survive the gaps.
I looked back at the memo.
There was another line.
IF I DISAPPEAR, CLARA IS CLEAN. DO NOT BRING HER IN UNLESS WALTER MOVES FIRST.
My throat closed.
Tommy had tried to keep me out.
Walter’s attack broke that protection.
I looked at him.
“You came because Vale told you?”
Walter shook his head.
“Vale disappeared yesterday.”
Lucardi frowned.
“What?”
“He never made the scheduled contact.”
My skin prickled.
Walter continued.
“Then someone left a note under my office door: DEMPSEY RADIO.”
“So you thought Tommy left evidence there.”
“Yes.”
“Who sent the note?”
“I don’t know.”
I looked at Lucardi.
“If Vale disappeared and someone sent Walter to me…”
Lucardi finished:
“Someone else is cleaning the channel.”
We were not at the end of Tommy’s conspiracy.
We had only reached the layer Vale answered to.
Then I noticed something tucked beneath the pea coat.
A matchbook.
Green cover.
Gold lettering.
THE VESPER CLUB
Lucardi took one look and swore under his breath.
“What?”
He turned it over.
A name was written inside.
MARGARET VALE
I stared.
“His wife?”
“No.”
Lucardi’s face hardened.
“His sister.”
Walter went pale.
That frightened me more than anything else.
“Who is Margaret Vale?”
May you like
Lucardi put the matchbook in his pocket.
“Someone your brother should never have trusted.”
