CHAPTER 10

Life is One Big Party

A man in a black suit and small cap stood near the open door of the Lincoln Town car parked on the tarmac. Maria looked through the plane’s tiny window. She could see Philadelphia’s high rises in the distance and wished Mama was still alive to see her baby coming home in a private plane on the arm of a doctor. She would love him.

Doc finished signing paperwork with the pilot. “Great flight, James. See you tomorrow.” He waved off any assistance, grabbed two bags from the underbelly of the plane and tossed them in the trunk of the waiting car. 

Traffic was worse than Maria remembered. Unhappy memories came rushing back with every mile. There was no ocean to gaze into, no gardening to demand her attention, no distractions, except the one sitting next to her. She raised the driver’s partition and distracted herself all the way to the hotel.

The penthouse suite was fairytale perfect, lace and satin, glass and silver. Maria sipped the complimentary Chardonnay and took her time getting dressed while Doc napped on the large bed. She watched him sleep, glad she hadn’t come alone. She allowed herself to believe, if only for a minute, that everything would be okay. Maybe she would go to the party, deliver the message and that would be the end of it. Maybe she could go back to Cape Cod and start her new life with Doc, putting her past behind her once and for all. Maybe she wouldn’t have the dreams here—the ones where she stood on a street corner talking to strangers and calling them by name. The dreams that ended like nightmares, with shouting, guns and blood.

“You’re beautiful.”

Maria turned around. Doc stared at her from the bed. How long had he been awake? 

She went to the bed and kissed him then asked, “Could you?” She turned her back so that he could pull up the long zipper on the satin gown. The deep navy dress complimented the sapphire earrings perfectly and a large opal brooch winked from her cleavage.

Doc whistled. “I’ll be the envy of every man at that party.”

Maria’s smile disappeared. “Well, let’s not make them wait any longer then.” 

It was hot and humid in Philly. Hair stuck to the pimply foreheads of the valet runners. Their starched white shirts bunched up under snug red vests and escaped waistbands of black Dockers. Ties hung loosened and askew. Their mandatory black sneakers served them well as they sprinted from parking garages three and five blocks away. They drove Bentleys and Porsches, Mercedes and Lexus SUVs. They fought over Ferraris and made themselves scarce when a minivan was next in line. The tips were good, the hours great. But it was the driving they loved.

Maria and Doc arrived in a white stretch limousine. Cameras flashed, reporters scribbled as security men spoke into shoulder mics. The party was in full swing.

Sailor drove while Reilly went over the plan. Her purse was now a fully automatic camera and Reilly was wired with a mini-recorder. Sailor declined the hardware, claiming she had her own secret weapon. One look at her dress, and Reilly had to agree. They pulled up to the stoplight. 

Reilly fumbled with wires attached to a gold angel-shaped pin. “Why do I feel like I’m in a bad Scooby-Doo episode?” 

Sailor giggled. “Here. Let me help you.” She tucked the wires inside his shirt, straightened the lapel pin and tightened his tie before the light changed.

Constructed in 1908 as a bank, the neoclassical building that now housed the Ritz-Carlton had been modeled after the Pantheon. Sitting at the right hand of City Hall, the world class hotel with its adjoining thirty story tower was an impressive sight, even to Sailor who’d seen the ruins of the real thing. 

As they approached the huge columns at the entrance, they heard strains of music. A little Jimmy Buffet escaped with each pull of the heavy glass doors. The doorman tipped his hat and motioned with a white-gloved hand to enter. Reilly hung back. A small group of men stood just inside the rotunda at the nearest column, their eyes on the arrivals. Whether they were waiting for someone or hoping for someone was unclear. It was obvious only that they were alone and uncomfortable. A similar group of well-dressed women gathered on the opposite side of the entrance. It was like dance night at Catholic school.

Fast Eddie Deluca noticed Sailor, excused himself from his conversation with an older couple and approached. “There you are. I was beginning to wonder if you’d changed your mind.” He held out his arm. “Shall we?”

Sailor looked for Reilly, who smiled and waved, then ran a hand through his hair and adjusted his lapel pin. 

Deluca spoke into Sailor’s ear, steering her by the elbow toward the rotunda bar outside the ballroom. “You clean up good, Beaumont.” She felt his eyes on her. “You got something for me?”

“Excuse me?’ Sailor jerked her head back, twisting to face him. Deluca’s blue eyes twinkled, half a smile on his full lips. 

Sailor understood what women saw in him. His custom-tailored suit fit his body like a glove. Cufflinks on his sleeve gleamed as only real gold and diamonds do. The streaks of gray at his temples gave him just the right amount of authority and the year-round tan hinted of a life of leisure. He was a walking advertisement for success. And he smelled good, too. Sailor drew her eyes back up to his face, reminding herself she was here for information, and nothing else. 

“Well?’ Deluca seemed amused. “Witherspoon?” 

“Oh,” she said. “Yes, of course. I had the most interesting conversation with my father about Mr. Witherspoon and his condition.”

Deluca raised his brow.

“Oh yes,” Sailor nodded. “Mr. Witherspoon should have known better than to mix over-the-counter allergy tabs with his heart medication.” 

Deluca grinned, then motioned to a strolling waiter. He selected two flutes of champagne from the waiter’s tray and handed one to Sailor. 

“Beautiful. I knew you were the right girl for the job.” He toasted her. “To success!”

“To success.”

Sailor drank, toying with the long pendant that swung between her breasts, pleased to see Deluca’s eyes follow. It was like taking candy from a baby. 

In the Grand Ballroom, Reilly found the hors d’ouevre table and would have pulled up a chair if he hadn’t heard the guy next to him say, “Berger looks the same, don’t he?”

“Yeah,” the other guy said. “Still looks a like an asshole.” They laughed. 

Reilly followed their gaze to a table near the stage. A loud group of cops clinked mugs with a guy in a Hawaiian shirt. Berger. Reilly watched him move off, thinking he looked familiar, but it was too far away to get a good look. The guys went back to drinking and punching each other on the arm, while at their table three buxom, bored redheads waited. 

Reilly saw his in. He bought a pitcher of beer from the bar and headed over to the table. “Refill, boys?”

The cops looked at him, then the full pitcher and shrugged.

Across the room, Sailor watched Reilly. The guy worked fast. He had the redheads smiling and the cops drinking. A few feet to her right, Deluca had been pulled into a conversation with an up-and-comer in the hotel business. She pretended to be interested in the architecture and decor of the room, as she worked the hidden purse camera. Detective Berger was easy to find, with everybody buying him shots and toasting him. Sailor took pictures of anyone he talked to. 

She saw Reilly snaking through the crowd with two empty beer pitchers held overhead. He saw Sailor and headed her way.

“How’s it going?” 

Sailor tipped her head in Deluca’s direction, “It’s going.”

“I know what you mean. I swear, if I have to keep up with these dicks for another hour, I’ll be too shit-faced to remember to turn on my recorder when they finally do say something important. I don’t know how many more blowjob-in-the-patrol-car stories I can listen to and frankly, I’m running out of cop jokes.”

“Just do your best. Drop some names, see what kind of reaction you get.”

“Yeah.” Reilly glanced at Deluca, then back at Sailor. “And, I’ll try to keep my eye on you, so I can, you know.”

“What? Rescue me?” she said.

“I’d love to,” Reilly said.

Sailor laughed, surprised that she wanted him to do just that. She met Reilly’s eyes and almost said, “Let’s get out of here.” She imagined them running out of the ballroom holding hands like in a sappy musical, her glass slippers tapping across the marble floor. But Reilly wasn’t anyone’s Prince Charming, so she said, “Shouldn’t you be getting back with those?” 

And maybe it came out a little rougher than she’d hoped. Reilly looked down at the pitchers he’d forgotten he was holding and when he looked up, Sailor darted her eyes away, as if she was searching for someone in the crowd. 

Reilly followed her gaze. “Who’s that?”

“Who?”

“The blonde in the blue dress,” he said. “The one talking to the band leader.”

“Isn’t that-”

“Gina,” he said.

“Yeah,” Sailor said. “Wait. Reilly, do you know her?” 

“We’ve met.”

“You’ve met?” she asked.

“Yeah. She helped me with some directions.”

“Reilly, that’s Berger’s girlfriend. Gina Chamblee? Deluca had her on the stand last week, remember? She was Lou Gallo’s alibi.”

“No,” Reilly said. “That can’t be right. I heard Gallo was with his ex-wife. Hold on a second.”

“Hold on a second? Reilly? Where are you going?” 

It didn’t matter what she said, because Sailor was talking to his back as Reilly snatched champagne and glasses from an empty table in exchange for the pitchers. He pushed and excused himself through the crowd to get to Gina.

“Pardon me,” he said to her sequined back, his breath warm on her neck. “Would you know where I can find the best breakfast in town?”

Gina spun around. “Mr. Reilly?” She laughed. “Are you lost again?”

Reilly smiled. “‘If I am lost, let me search no more. ’Tis here I find all that I need or wish for.’” He handed her a glass. “Don’t ask me who said that. If I could remember the rest, I’d give them credit.”

“It’s lovely. You’re a man of surprises.”

They touched glasses. Reilly said, “To my inspiration.”

Gina took a sip, smiling. “So tell me, what are you doing here?”

Reilly looked around. “Isn’t this the Alfonso wedding? I was hoping to kiss the bride.”

Gina laughed. “Sorry, no brides here. You’ll have to find someone else to plant that kiss on.”

“I don’t think that will be difficult.” 

“You sound pretty sure of yourself,” she said finishing her drink, then handing him the empty glass. “As a matter of fact, you’re beginning to sound like Fast Eddie.”

Before Reilly could respond, the song ended and the band moved off stage, to be replaced by a silver-haired gentleman at the microphone. The man cleared his throat, then raised his glass. The words were carefully chosen, his voice strong with the Irish lilt that was his calling card. “To my dear friend, Hiram. May you never forget what is worth remembering—aye—or remember what is best forgotten. Happy Retirement, my lad.” 

Cheers of “Happy Retirement!” resounded through the ballroom.

Reilly whispered in Gina’s ear. “Is that who I think it is?”

“The one and only. His honor, E. Patrick Shanahan.”

Oh, this just gets better and better,” Reilly muttered.

“Sorry? I couldn’t hear you.”

“I said, I think I’d like a little bread and butter. Would you excuse me?”

“Sure. Looks like I’m needed, anyway.” She tilted her head toward the table of tough guys. They were attempting to lift Berger and pass him through the crowd. 

Reilly made his way back to Sailor. A redwood of a man blocked his path. Reilly reached up to tap the man’s shoulder. “Excuse me.”

The giant turned around. “Yes?”

“Sorry, I just wanted to get through.”

Sailor heard Reilly.

The large man stepped aside, his arm knocking a waitress who went sprawling, dropping her tray of crabmeat canapés and staining the white dress of a guest. 

Sailor pulled Reilly closer. “Kenneth Reilly, this is Jeremy Strom.” 

The men shook hands. Reilly winced.

“I was just telling Jeremy how you left me standing here all alone.”

“Me? Where’s your escort?”

Sailor shrugged, finished another glass of champagne.

Strom answered for her. “Mister Deluca was called away, and that’s okay by me, pal, I never would have had the distinct pleasure of meeting this fine gal, if you two hadn’t abandoned her the way you did.” 

Reilly couldn’t take his eyes off the huge man before him. He was as big as a linebacker, as handsome as a movie star, but had a voice that sounded like Sylvester the cat. Reilly didn’t know whether to laugh at him or cheer for average guys with normal voices everywhere. “How do you know Detective Berger?”

“I work for Deluca. Used to be in the old days, Berger was the kind of guy you kept close. Know what I mean?” Jeremy tried to wink, ended up blinking both large cornflower eyes.

Reilly nodded knowingly. The band began to play a loud dance tune, fortunately rendering all conversation impossible. Reilly mimed sipping a beer then waved goodbye. Sailor replied by scratching her cheek with her middle finger.

Reilly made his way to the bar. Waiting for his beer, he searched the crowd. His eye landed on Gina, the youngest one at a table of white-haired women. As she leaned forward to speak to one of the women, her dress fell away from her chest.

“Nice, eh?” The man on his left elbowed him, hard.

“Excuse me?’ Reilly turned to the voice.

Hiram Berger squinted his bloodshot beady eyes, tried to still his body’s sway by leaning into the mahogany bar. 

“I said, nice. As in, her tits are nice. Don’t you think?”

“I wouldn’t know.” Reilly ran his eyes over the room. “I was just looking for my friend.”

“I saw you talking to her, earlier.” Berger took a long pull on his beer. “Haven’t I seen you around?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Yeah well, I’m getting older, the memory is going. Probably why they retire us at this age. Nobody wants a cop with a bad memory, right?’ Berger at his own joke, spilling beer on his pants.

Reilly forced a smile. Berger made him uncomfortable. There was something creepy about him. Like a caged hyena, he seemed harmless enough, until the raw meat hit the concrete.

Maria watched Berger give some good-looking kid a hard time at the bar. Still a jackass, aren’t you, Detective? Nice choice for your party. The loud Hawaiian shirt, tuxedo pants and sneakers. Look at you: fat, balding and now a has-been, too. She smiled.

“What are you thinking about, darling? Do you feel okay?” Doc asked.

“I’m fine. I was thinking how happy you make me.” Maria lifted Doc’s hand to her cheek, kissed his palm. What the hell was she doing here? It was loud and busy and smoky, and the waiter had probably lost her note to Berger. 

She should have said no, and accepted the consequences, should have made Lou and Deluca do their own dirty work. She was tired. Too tired. She wanted to go home, but when a woman in a rainbow dress approached she realized she was cornered. It had been years, but Maria would have known her anywhere. Mrs. E. Patrick Shanahan, Kate.

Doc stood with Maria to greet the woman. The ladies exchanged air kisses, then Maria introduced Doc and there was another round of kisses. 

Kate Shanahan smelled the way women with money smell. Rich. Her beaded dress bulged over an obvious girdle and she struggled to speak over an unruly maribou wrap that circled her neck. A few errant feathers stuck to her bright red lipstick, giving His Honor’s wife the appearance of a well-fed fox. 

“Kate, you’re just in time,” Maria said. “I need to find the ladies room, and Doc is dying to dance. Aren’t you, darling?”

“Only if Kate will have me.”

“You’ll be lucky to get him back.” Kate tugged Doc through the crowd to the dance floor, feathers flying. 

Doc mouthed, Help me, making Maria laugh. 

She waited until the crowd swallowed them, then took her purse and glass and slipped out of the ballroom. The note she’d given the waiter asked Berger to meet her in the cigar bar’s humidor. She hoped he wouldn’t be late.