Chapter 9 - TOMMY’S LETTER
The envelope was small.
My name in Tommy’s handwriting.
Nothing official.
Nothing coded.
Just:
Clara
I opened it alone.
Not because the men offered privacy.
Because I demanded it.
I sat on the floor beside my broken radio after returning home.
The landlord had been removed.
Police had sealed Walter’s office.
Lucardi paid for a carpenter without asking me.
I told him I would repay him.
He laughed.
I told him I was serious.
He stopped laughing.
Tommy’s letter read:
Clara,
If this gets to you, then I made a mess big enough that somebody had to admit it.
I’m sorry.
You always hated when I said that before explaining why.
So I’ll do it properly.
I got into something dangerous because I thought I could control who knew what.
Turns out everybody thinks that.
Vale thinks he controls his office.
Lucardi thinks he controls the docks.
Walter thinks he controls every tenant in his buildings.
Pryce probably thinks he controls the whole city by knowing where paper moves.
Nobody controls as much as they think.
Remember that.
I laughed through tears.
It sounded exactly like him.
The letter continued.
I kept you outside because you are the one person I would tell everything to if I let myself.
That made you dangerous to me.
Not because you’d betray me.
Because I’d talk.
I could hear his voice.
I wiped my face.
If they tell you Lucardi is a hero, don’t believe it.
If they tell you he’s only a gangster, don’t believe that either.
People hate mixed answers because mixed answers require judgment.
Use yours.
Walter is weak, which can be more dangerous than wicked.
Vale means well. That may get him killed.
Margaret is smarter than all of them.
I smiled.
Tommy had always liked Margaret.
Then:
There are three cylinders because one secret should never belong to one frightened man.
The first points to you.
The second points to the pier.
The third points to the target.
If they reach all three, then enough people failed in different ways that maybe somebody honest is finally looking.
That somebody may be you.
I stopped.
He had planned for me to enter only if everything else broke.
Which it had.
Last part:
I know you’ll be angry that I lied about the work.
Be angry.
You’re good at it.
But don’t turn me into a saint because I died.
I liked the danger more than I should have.
I liked knowing things.
I liked being useful.
That’s how men like Pryce find men like us.
They don’t recruit evil first.
They recruit pride.
I stared at that sentence a long time.
Then:
Take care of yourself before you take care of my memory.
And if Salvatore shows up acting like he owns the room, remind him he still owes me twenty dollars.
T.
I laughed so hard I started crying again.
Twenty dollars.
Of course.
Three weeks of death.
Sabotage.
Espionage.
A fake funeral.
And Tommy still remembered a gambling debt from some card game I probably never knew happened.
I folded the letter.
Then unfolded it.
Read the last line again.
That evening, Lucardi came by.
He stood outside the new door frame holding his fedora.
“I heard you got the letter.”
“Yes.”
He nodded.
Neither of us spoke.
Finally I said:
“You owe Tommy twenty dollars.”
Lucardi closed his eyes.
For the first time, I saw him laugh fully.
“That son of a…”
I held out my hand.
“Pay.”
He reached into his wallet.
Gave me a twenty-dollar bill.
I looked at it.
“What do I do with this?”
“He’d tell you to spend it badly.”
That sounded right.
I folded it into Tommy’s letter.
Then asked:
“What happens to Walter?”
“Federal charges. Maybe other charges.”
“Did he knowingly help Pryce?”
“Eventually.”
“Did he help stop him?”
“Eventually.”
Mixed answers.
Tommy again.
“What happens to you?”
Lucardi smiled faintly.
“Nothing as satisfying as you’d like.”
“You helped the government.”
“I also committed enough crimes to keep several judges busy.”
“Will they prosecute?”
“Maybe not the ones they used.”
Convenience again.
“Do you feel guilty?”
He looked around my damaged apartment.
“Yes.”
“For Tommy?”
“Yes.”
“For believing Angelo?”
“Yes.”
“For everything?”
“No.”
That was probably the most honest answer he could give.
I nodded.
“Good.”
He seemed surprised.
“Good?”
“I don’t trust people who confess too beautifully.”
Lucardi smiled.
“Thomas taught you well.”
“No.”
May you like
I folded my brother’s letter carefully.
“He just reminded me.”
