his new base for his loan-sharking business, we finally slapped the padlocks on the Paddock Grille for known felons in actual control and ownership—chiefly meaning him. No sign of Abie, but no trouble spotting Cistaro. Sittin’ right up at the bar, in the middle—which by itself, up-and-coming young hood, not known for anything serious yet, having himself a beer and a sandwich after a long but-not-too-tiring day of wrongdoing? Wouldn’t’ve meant a lot to me. But the guy who was with him did—Al DeMarco, FBI.
“Never thought that much of DeMarco, even though a lot of people I knew then thought he shat vanilla ice cream—old Commissioner Ferris was in
awe
of him. Course if Frank saw it had ‘FBI’ written on it, he was liable, bless himself and genuflect. Best investment that outfit ever made was ‘selecting,’ not just giving, Saint Francis Ferris twelve weeks of brainwashing at Quantico. ‘There’s a chapel right there on the grounds. So we were able to start each day down there with Mass and communion, just like I do here at home.’
“After that he was convinced the only reason the Virgin appeared at Fatima was because she’d been blown off course the way down, bad weather over the Azores, on her way to FBI headquarters.
“But still, if DeMarco was interested in this Cistaro kid, that meant we oughta be, too, so from that moment on, I was. He did know his bird book of hoods; if Al DeMarco thought this place was a promising place to chat up young gunsels, probably meant it was. Miss Bright-eyes wasn’t here then.”
“Right,” Dowd said as the waitress came back. “Ettie,” he said, “my friend the superintendent here was just telling me how you and he’ve kept your youth while I’ve aged terribly. He won’t tell me how you’ve done it; maybe you will—where did I go wrong?”
She laughed, her eyes lighting up. “Maybe you’ve been workin’ too hard,” she said. “Myself, I’ve got so much seniority around here now I scarcely have to lift a finger anymore now, ’less I want to. Only wait on friends these days, and since I don’t have that many of them, I don’t have to work very hard.”
Naughton pretended dismay. “Oh, I would doubt that,” he said. “You must be on your feet all the time.”
She dimpled and said: “Will it be the fish and chips as usual?”
Naughton pretended chagrin. “Oh, I suppose so,” he said.
“And you, James, as well?” she said, collecting the menus.
“No imagination either,” he said. “Fried shrimp. Skip the fries so I can have the onion rings. And a fresh Bass Ale when the food’s ready.”
“I’m all set,” Naughton said, tapping his iced-tea glass.
“A remarkable, strange devil, isn’t he,” Dowd said after she had left.
“Arthur McKeon,” Naughton said. Dowd nodded, hunching forward and resting his elbows on the table. Naughton nodded back. “Yes, he is that. In fact I had a woman actually tell me one night that that’s who he really is—the devil, Satan himself. And she wasn’t givin’ me the leg, either. She believed every word she was saying about him. ‘You’ll never get him. He knows whatyou’re trying to do to him before you know yourselves. He can go where he wants, whenever he wants; do anything he wants to do, to anyone he wants—
and get away with it—always
. He can probably change his shape, it suits him, just be some
one
else, some
where
else, if he likes. You guys’re all wasting your time, trying to catch him and put him in jail. Playin’ games—big little boys.’ She said that to me, and she was perfectly sane.”
5
D OWD LAUGHED INCREDULOUSLY . “What in God’s name’d he
do
to her?” Dowd said.
“Or someone dear to her,” Naughton said. “I really don’t know—maybe nothing. Doesn’t matter—from McKeach’s point of view the end result’s the same. A lot of people believe he
incarnates
evil. And if enough people think like she does, believe what she said to me, she may very
“Never thought that much of DeMarco, even though a lot of people I knew then thought he shat vanilla ice cream—old Commissioner Ferris was in
awe
of him. Course if Frank saw it had ‘FBI’ written on it, he was liable, bless himself and genuflect. Best investment that outfit ever made was ‘selecting,’ not just giving, Saint Francis Ferris twelve weeks of brainwashing at Quantico. ‘There’s a chapel right there on the grounds. So we were able to start each day down there with Mass and communion, just like I do here at home.’
“After that he was convinced the only reason the Virgin appeared at Fatima was because she’d been blown off course the way down, bad weather over the Azores, on her way to FBI headquarters.
“But still, if DeMarco was interested in this Cistaro kid, that meant we oughta be, too, so from that moment on, I was. He did know his bird book of hoods; if Al DeMarco thought this place was a promising place to chat up young gunsels, probably meant it was. Miss Bright-eyes wasn’t here then.”
“Right,” Dowd said as the waitress came back. “Ettie,” he said, “my friend the superintendent here was just telling me how you and he’ve kept your youth while I’ve aged terribly. He won’t tell me how you’ve done it; maybe you will—where did I go wrong?”
She laughed, her eyes lighting up. “Maybe you’ve been workin’ too hard,” she said. “Myself, I’ve got so much seniority around here now I scarcely have to lift a finger anymore now, ’less I want to. Only wait on friends these days, and since I don’t have that many of them, I don’t have to work very hard.”
Naughton pretended dismay. “Oh, I would doubt that,” he said. “You must be on your feet all the time.”
She dimpled and said: “Will it be the fish and chips as usual?”
Naughton pretended chagrin. “Oh, I suppose so,” he said.
“And you, James, as well?” she said, collecting the menus.
“No imagination either,” he said. “Fried shrimp. Skip the fries so I can have the onion rings. And a fresh Bass Ale when the food’s ready.”
“I’m all set,” Naughton said, tapping his iced-tea glass.
“A remarkable, strange devil, isn’t he,” Dowd said after she had left.
“Arthur McKeon,” Naughton said. Dowd nodded, hunching forward and resting his elbows on the table. Naughton nodded back. “Yes, he is that. In fact I had a woman actually tell me one night that that’s who he really is—the devil, Satan himself. And she wasn’t givin’ me the leg, either. She believed every word she was saying about him. ‘You’ll never get him. He knows whatyou’re trying to do to him before you know yourselves. He can go where he wants, whenever he wants; do anything he wants to do, to anyone he wants—
and get away with it—always
. He can probably change his shape, it suits him, just be some
one
else, some
where
else, if he likes. You guys’re all wasting your time, trying to catch him and put him in jail. Playin’ games—big little boys.’ She said that to me, and she was perfectly sane.”
5
D OWD LAUGHED INCREDULOUSLY . “What in God’s name’d he
do
to her?” Dowd said.
“Or someone dear to her,” Naughton said. “I really don’t know—maybe nothing. Doesn’t matter—from McKeach’s point of view the end result’s the same. A lot of people believe he
incarnates
evil. And if enough people think like she does, believe what she said to me, she may very
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