’Til Death

Chapter 4

A black Cadillac limousine was parked in the driveway on the blind side of the Giordano house when Carella and Kling arrived. The car sat far back from the street, at the end of the concrete strips, close to the garage. The driver was nowhere in sight.

As they walked up onto the front porch, Kling said, “I make it for a gag, Steve. I think we’re going to a lot of trouble for nothing.”

“Well, maybe,” Carella answered, and he rang the doorbell. “It doesn’t hurt to be careful, though, does it?”

“I guess not. I get the feeling, however, that Cotton would much rather be elsewhere with his blonde.” He paused. “But... that’s show biz.”

“Huh?” Carella said, and Tommy opened the door.

“Steve, hi! Come on in. I was just dressing. Do you know how to tie a bow tie? I’ve been trying for the past half-hour and getting nowhere. Come on in.” He looked at Kling curiously.

“Bert Kling,” Carella said, “Tommy Giordano, my future brother-in-law. Bert’s with the squad, Tommy.”

“Oh. Oh, yeah. Come on in. I feel pretty silly about all this, Steve. I think it’s a gag.”

Kling caught Carella’s eye. “Well, gag or not,” Carella said, “Bert and another friend of mine will be at the wedding and the reception.”

“I appreciate what you’re doing, Steve,” Tommy said, “but in thinking it over, I’m pretty sure it was a gag. Come on into the bedroom, will you?”

They followed him through the house. In the bedroom, Tommy took a white tie from the dresser top and handed it to Carella. “Here,” he said. “See what you can do with this damn thing, will you?”

He faced Carella. He lifted his chin, and Carella began working on the tie.

“I checked on Sokolin,” Carella said.

“Yeah?”

“I don’t want you to start worrying... but he’s in this city. Got out of jail in April.”

“Oh.”

“Still think it’s a gag?”

“Gee, I don’t know. You think a guy would carry a grudge all this time? For something that happened in Korea? Or really, for something that didn’t even—”

“Were you in Korea?” Kling asked, interested.

“Yeah. You?”

“Yeah.”

“Army?”

“Yeah.”

“I was in the Signal Corps,” Tommy said. “With the Tenth Army Corps at the Inchon landings.”

“I was in on the Seoul liberation,” Kling said. “With the Ninth Corps.”

“Under General Walker?”

“Yes.”

“Hell, we linked up with the First and Ninth around Seoul!” Tommy said. “Jesus, I’ll bet we were close enough to touch.”

“You were on the drive to the Yalu?”

“Sure.”

“How do you like that?” Kling said. “It’s a small world, all right.”

“And you’re a cop now, huh?”

“Yes. What are you doing?”

“I work in a bank,” Tommy said. “I’m training to be an executive.” He shrugged. “It’s not really what I want to be.”

“What do you want to be?”

“I’d like to be a baseball announcer. I used to be a pretty good catcher when I was a kid. I know the game inside out and backwards. Ask Jonesy when he gets back.” He turned to Carella. “You didn’t happen to see him downstairs, did you?”

“Who?” Carella said. “There. Your tie’s tied.”

“Jonesy. My best man. My best friend, too. He went downstairs about a half-hour ago, said he needed some air.”

“Was he in a monkey suit?”

“Yeah.”

“Didn’t see anybody dressed for a wedding. Did you, Bert?”

“No.”

“Well, he’ll be back,” Tommy said. “Jesus, I hope he has the ring. What time is it, Steve?”

“Two o’clock. You’ve still got an hour. Relax.”

“Well, I’m supposed to get there a little earlier, you know. I’ve got to go back to the rectory. I’m not supposed to see the bride until she comes down the aisle. Your mother is a lulu, Steve.”

“How so?”

“I’m not complaining. She’ll probably make an excellent mother-in-law. But I called a little while ago, and she wouldn’t even let me talk to Angela. That’s going a little far, don’t you think?”

“She was dressing,” Carella said.

“Yeah?” Tommy’s eyes glowed. “How does she look? Beautiful, I’ll bet.”

“Beautiful.”

“Yeah, I knew it. Was she nervous?”

“Very.”

“Me, too. You want some coffee?”

“No, thanks.”

“A little drink?”

“No. Do you want to hear about Sokolin?”

“Sokolin? Who’s—? Oh, sure. Sure.” Tommy pulled on his jacket. “There. I’m all set. How do I look? Did I shave close enough?”

“You shaved close enough.”

“I’ll probably need another one by the time we check in tonight. I’ve got a heavy beard. You blond guys are lucky, Bert. Do I look all right, Steve? Is the tie straight?”

“The tie’s straight.”

“Good. Then I’m ready to go. You think we ought to leave now? It’s past two, isn’t it?”

“I think you ought to do something before you leave,” Carella said.

“Yeah? What?”

“Put on your pants.”

Tommy looked down at his hairy legs. “Oh, God! Oh, Jesus! Boy, am I glad you’re here! How could a guy forget to do something he does every day of his life? Boy!” He shucked the jacket and took his black trousers from a hanger in the closet. “What about Sokolin?”

“He spent a year in jail because he got into an argument about his dead Korean buddy.”

“That doesn’t sound so good.”

“It sounds pretty lousy. I don’t imagine he’s got much love in his heart for you.”

A knock sounded at the front door. Tommy looked up and then slipped his suspenders over his shoulders. “Steve, would you get that, please? It’s probably Jonesy.”

Carella went to the front door and opened it. The boy standing there was about Tommy’s age, twenty-six or twenty-seven. He wore his brown hair short. His gray eyes were alight with excitement. He looked very handsome in his tuxedo and his white starched shirt-front. Seeing Carella’s similar uniform, he extended his hand and said, “Hi. Usher?”

“Nope. Relative,” Carella said. He took the hand. “Steve Carella. Brother of the bride.”

“Sam Jones. Best man. Call me Jonesy.”

“Okay.”

“How’s our groom?”

“Nervous.”

“Who isn’t? I had to get out for a walk or I’d lose my mind.” They went through the house into the bedroom. “You okay, Tommy?” Jonesy asked.

“I’m fine. I was ready to walk out of here without my pants, how do you like that?”

“Par for the course,” Jonesy said.

“You’ve got dirt on your knees,” Tommy said, looking down at his best man’s trousers.

“What?” Jonesy followed his glance. “Oh, hell, I knew it. I tripped on the front step going out. Damn it!” He began brushing vigorously at his trousers.

“Do you have the ring?”

“Yep.”

“Check.”

“I’ve got it.”

“Check anyway.”

Jonesy stopped brushing his pants and stuck his forefinger into his vest pocket. “It’s there. Ready for delivery. Jones to Giordano.”

“Jonesy used to pitch on our team,” Tommy said. “I caught. I already told you that, didn’t I?”

“Jones to Giordano,” Jonesy said again. “He was a damn good catcher.”

“You did all the work,” Tommy said, zipping up his fly. “There. Now for the jacket. Have I got my shoes on?” He looked down at his feet.

“He was like this before every game,” Jonesy said, grinning. “I know this guy since he was three years old, would you believe it?”

“We used to get walked around the park together,” Tommy said. “Jonesy missed the Korean bit because he’s got a trick knee. Otherwise we’d have been in that together, too.”

“He’s the meanest bastard ever walked the earth,” Jonesy said playfully. “I don’t know why I like him.”

“Yok-yok,” Tommy said. “We’ve got mutual wills, Steve, did you know that?”

“What do you mean?”

“Had them drawn up when I got out of the service. Birnbaum’s son made them out for us. Birnbaum and his wife witnessed them. Remember, Jonesy?”

“Sure. But you’d better have yours changed now. You’re gonna be a married man in a few hours.”

“That’s right,” Tommy said.

“What do you mean, mutual wills?” Carella asked.

“Our wills. They’re identical. Jonesy gets everything I own if I die, and I get everything he owns if he dies.”

Jonesy shrugged. “You’ll have to change that now,” he said.

“Sure, I will. When we get back from the honeymoon. But I never regretted the wills, did you?”

“No, sir.”

“Birnbaum thought we were both nuts, remember? Wanted to know why two such young fellows were making out wills. His wife — may she rest in peace — kept clucking her tongue all the while she signed. What ever happened to that lawyer son of his, anyway?”

“He’s out West now. Denver or someplace. He’s got a big practice out there.”

“Poor Birnbaum. All alone here in the city.” Tommy stood at attention, ready for inspection. “Pants on, tie tied, shoes shined. Am I okay now?”

“You’re beautiful,” Jonesy said.

“Then let’s go. Ooops, cigarettes.” He snatched a package from the dresser. “Have you got the ring?”

“I’ve got it.”

“Check again.”

Jonesy checked again. “It’s still there.”

“Okay, let’s go. What time is it?”

“Two-twenty,” Carella said.

“Good. We’ll be a little early, but that’s good. Let’s go.”

They went out of the house. Tommy locked the door behind him, and then turned left, walking toward the driveway lined with tall poplars that shielded it from the house next door. They walked toward the car with all the solemnity of a funeral party.

“Where’s the driver?” Tommy asked.

“I told him he could go get a cup of coffee,” Jonesy said. “He should be back by now.”

“Here he comes,” Kling said.

They watched the driver as he ambled up the street. He was a short man wearing the black uniform and peaked cap of a rental service. “Ready to go?” he asked.

“We’re ready,” Tommy said. “Where were you?”

“Up the street getting a cup of coffee.” The driver looked offended. “Your best man said it was all right.”

“Okay, okay, let’s go,” Tommy said.

They got into the limousine, and the driver began backing into the street.

“Wait a minute,” Tommy said. The driver turned. “What’s that?”

“What?”

“There. In the driveway. Where we just came from.”

“I don’t see anything.”

“Have you got the ring, Jonesy?”

Jonesy felt in his pocket. “Yes, I’ve got it.”

“Oh. Okay. I thought I saw something glinting on the concrete. Okay, let’s go. Let’s go.”

The driver backed out of the driveway and turned into the street.

“Relax,” Jonesy said.

“Boy, I wish I could.”

The limousine moved slowly up the tree-lined street. The sun was shining in an eggshell blue sky. It was a beautiful day.

“Can’t you go any faster?” Tommy asked.

“We’ve got plenty of time,” the driver said.

He stopped at an intersection at the top of a long hill. Patiently, he waited for the light to change.

“You turn left at the bottom of the hill,” Tommy said. “The church is on the left.”

“I know.”

“Oh, hell,” Jonesy said suddenly.

“Huh?”

“Cigarettes! I forgot cigarettes.”

“I’ve got some,” Tommy said.

“I’ll need my own.” He opened the door on his side. “I’ll get some at the candy store. Go ahead without me before you bust a gut. I’ll walk down the hill.” He slammed the door behind him and started for the sidewalk.

“Don’t get lost!” Tommy yelled after him frantically.

“I won’t. Don’t worry.” He vanished inside the candy store on the corner.

“The light’s green,” Tommy said. “Go ahead.”

The driver put the car into gear and started down the hill. It was a long steep hill with one street bisecting it. It ran at a sharp pitch to a second street at the far end, a dead end blocked by a stone wall that shielded a steep-angled cliff of jagged rock. The stone wall was painted with alternating yellow and black lines as a warning to approaching motorists. As a further precaution, a huge blinking DEAD END sign flashed in the exact center of the wall. Since the time that excavation for gravel had begun in the area behind the wall, leaving the rocky cliff and the steep drop, only one motorist had driven through the wall and over the cliff. He’d been killed instantly, and it was learned later that he’d been drunk, but the accident had been enough to warrant the yellow-and-black paint job and the blinking light.

The limousine gained momentum as the car hurtled toward the end of the hill and the painted stone wall.

“That’s a bad turn at the corner,” Tommy said. “Be careful.”

“Mister, I’ve been driving for twenty years,” the driver said. “I never missed a wedding yet, and I never yet had an accident.”

“Yeah, well there’s a steep cliff behind that wall. A guy was killed here once.”

“I know all about it. Don’t worry, you ain’t gonna get killed. When you been married for fifteen years, the way I have, you’ll maybe wish you did get into an accident on your wedding day.”

The car sped for the bottom of the hill and the turn. The DEAD END sign blinked monotonously. Clutching the wheel in two massive fists, the driver swung it sharply to the left.

There was an enormous cracking sound that jolted the automobile.

The car did not turn to the left.

With something like awe in his voice, the driver said, “Jesus, it won’t steer!”