A Bright Tomorrow (27 page)

Nick snapped his fingers as if he'd just remembered. “Hey, I know what happened, Sonny. As soon as he decided to send me over, he started for the phone…to spill it to you. But you know how it is…the phone rang and, when I left, he was talking to the big boy in Chicago. You know how Mr. Rocco's been workin' on
that
little deal!”

Costello hesitated, and Nick yawned. “He'll call pretty soon. Now how about that drink?”

For one moment Costello paused, then nodded. “We'll wait for the call.” He turned and moved to a table, putting down Nick's gun so he could pick up the bottle of whiskey and a glass. As he turned and moved toward Nick, he asked, “What if the Kid don't come through?” he asked. “The girl gets it?”

“That's what he said, Sonny.” Nick sat, willing himself to remain calm, and began sipping the drink. He was very much aware that even if he got Costello, Larry was still waiting…a dangerous man.
Got to get closer,
he thought, and for ten minutes he slouched in his seat, speaking languidly and listening to Costello's measured replies. Finally he got up, crossed to the window, and looked out. “Gonna snow pretty soon. I hate cold weather!”

Costello was leaning against the wall, and Nick walked past him to get a refill from the whiskey bottle. Then he sauntered back, taking a careless position not five feet from Costello. Time was running out. Nick was afraid that Rocco might call—and then he'd have no chance at all. He was aware that Costello himself had a gun and that he'd been watching carefully to see if Nick would try to retrieve the weapon he'd left on the table.

He left my gun there just to see if I'd go for it,
Nick suddenly realized, and a shock rippled through him as he realized that, if he'd made a grab for the gun, he'd have been shot down at once!

But now he saw that Costello had relaxed. He took out a cigarette, placed it between his lips—and just as he struck a match, Nick saw his chance and snatched the knife out of the sheath. Even as he drew it back over his head to throw it, Nick saw Costello's unbelievable reflex action. A gun leapt into his hand.
He was too quick for me!

Almost in one motion, Nick threw the knife and rolled to one side, but the gun exploded, and it felt as if a fist had struck him in the face. There was no pain, but the left side of his face went numb. Nick hit the floor and rolled over, frantically kicking a chair out of the way.
He'll get me with the next shot!

Nick came to his feet, his left eye blinded with blood, but he saw that Costello was not going to shoot anyone…not ever again.

The stiletto had penetrated his throat and, from the gush of blood, Nick knew that the razor-sharp edge had sliced through the big artery. A scarlet flower blossomed on the man's white shirt front.

Costello dropped the gun, reached up and grasped the handle of the knife, and pulled it free. There was a look of horror on his face, and he tried to cry out, but only a gurgling sound came from his throat. Frantically he clawed at his throat, trying to staunch the gushing stream of crimson, but he could not, for his heart was pumping the life's blood through the fingers of a dying man.

At that moment, Nick heard the sound of footsteps and whirled, making a dive for his gun. He picked it up just as the door burst open, and through the bloody veil that clouded his eyes, he saw Larry yank his gun from the holster. Without thought, Nick lifted his own weapon and pulled the trigger. A small black hole appeared in Larry's forehead, and he fell backwards, dead before he struck the floor.

Nick turned to Allie, gasping, “Let's get out of here!”

“You've been shot!” Allie cried out.

But Nick shook his head. “Never mind that—” The left side of his face was beginning to come alive with pain, and he could not see out of his left eye. Snatching a handkerchief from his pocket, he pressed it to his face. For one brief moment he stared at Costello, who was on the floor, his legs twitching as his life drained out. Nick took out a handkerchief, wiped off his gun, then stooping down, placed it in Costello's left hand. There was no strength in the limp fingers, and the gun dropped to the carpet.

Nick stood up and moved across to the body of the dead man. He picked up Larry's gun and stuck it in his pocket. By now Nick was sick at his stomach, and he held the handkerchief over his wounded face.

“Come on, doll, let's get out of here,” he said, and the two of them stumbled down the stairs. They walked down the street, ignoring the curious glance of a couple on the other side.

“Nick, you've got to get to a hospital.”

“Not right now, sweetheart,” Nick said. He managed a grin. “First, we get you to the arena…and then I got one more call to make—”

When Tony Rocco woke up, he discovered that the nightmare he was having was real!

Rocco was not afraid of guns, but he had a deathly fear of knives. In his dream, he had felt the cold edge of steel on his throat. Now he came out of sleep instantly, and a voice that was as cold as the blade on his throat spoke. “Hello, Tony.”

Rocco tried to move, but at once the blade bit into his flesh. He felt the blood running down his neck, over his chest…and a scream bubbled up in his throat. “Noooo! Don't cut!”

“Let's have some light.” The gaslight blossomed, and the blade left his throat.

Rocco shaded his eyes, peering at the four men who surrounded his bed. Terror shot through him, and he began to beg, “Now, let's talk, boys! You know me! We can make a deal!”

“We're going to make a deal, Tony.” Rocco sat up in bed and saw Nick Castellano standing beside him.

The left side of Nick's face was bandaged, and he held a slender knife in his hand.

“Marko…Pete!” Rocco called out in fear.

“Why, they're right here, Tony,” Nick said, motioning to the two men on his left. And here's Alphonse.

Tony stared at his hirelings, and the glitter in their eyes told him he was no longer their boss. “You sold me out!” he whispered. It was a moment he'd feared, as did all his kind. Obviously Nick Castellano had gotten to his men. “Look, you guys,” he babbled, “Whatever Nick promised you, I'll give you more—”

“You're a little late, Tony. The boys and I have decided to…restructure the organization. You'll still be up front, but I'll be with you all the time.” He leaned forward and touched the tip of the blade to Rocco's cheek. “All the time, Tony, baby…and if something happens to me, one of my partners here will see that you get sliced up.” Nick paused and then asked in a soft voice, “You wanna live, Tony?”

“Yes—yes, Nick! I'll do just what you say.”

Nick Castellano's one eye glittered. He knew that he would probably never see out of his left eye, but one was good enough. “Sorry to be the bearer of bad tidings, but Sonny and Larry got into a fight and knocked each other off. We'll have to send lots of flowers to their funeral, won't we, Tony?”

“Yeah, Nick!” Rocco nodded quickly. He knew he was a dead man if he crossed Nick Castellano…and he wanted to live. “Yeah, sure, lots of flowers!”

The two figures walking along Thirty-eighth Street moved slowly. Snowflakes had begun to drift down, and the smaller figure moved in closer.

“Owen, are you very sorry about the fight?”

He looked up at the flakes, tracing their lazy path, not answering her for a moment. The flakes bit his lips, miniature fire, then melted. “Always liked snow,” he said through puffy lips. Then he put his arms around her. “No, Allie. I lost, and that's that.”

“If it hadn't been for Nick—” Allie began, then broke off, pushing the bad memories from her mind.

“He's quite a fellow,” Owen murmured. “When the two of you came busting into my dressing room ten minutes before the fight, I thought I was seeing things!” Then he laughed softly. “And Rocco went to all that trouble for nothing. I had no chance to beat Jimmy Spears. He's way out of my class.”

Allie said timidly, “Maybe next time—”

Owen held her tightly. “There's not going to be a next time, Allie. I've fought my last bout.” He watched the joy erasing the worry lines in her face and smiled. “It's all different, Allie. Everything seems so clean and new! If I live to be a hundred, I'll never forget how Jesus came to me in that room and saved me.”

Allie dropped her head, leaning against his chest. She said nothing, but he knew what she was thinking. Putting his hand under her chin, he tilted it toward him. “Feel left out, don't you, sweetheart?”

“Y–yes.”

“Sure you do. So did I when I was around Amos and Rose and Ma. But it won't take you long to come in out of the cold. You're ready to find the Lord. And I'll be with you, Allie, all the way!”

“Will you, Owen?” Allie shook her head. “I've been so afraid.”

Owen held her tightly and kissed her. Her lips were warm, even in the cold, and he said, “I think God's got something for me to do, Allie…and I think it's the kind of job that requires a wife. So, first, you say yes to Jesus…and then say yes to me!”

Allie felt her heart lift, knowing he was promising her what she most longed for. She touched his face lightly. “I'm ready, Owen!”

He laughed, and the two of them held each other as the snowflakes swirled around them. Then they turned and moved down the street, seeming to meld into one figure as they walked toward the light.

The story of the Stuart family continues in the next book of the American Century Series. As America teeters uncertainly between war and peace, the family reunites one more time in the calm-before-the-storm shelter of the Arkansas hills.

Then, in London, Lylah finds bittersweet love. She is swept into the vortex of wartime Europe while her brother Gavin joins the French Foreign Legion.

Gilbert Morris
spent ten years as a pastor before becoming a professor of English at Ouachita Baptist University in Arkansas and earning a Ph.D. at the University of Arkansas. A prolific writer, he has had over twenty-five scholarly articles and two hundred poems published in various periodicals, and over the past years he has had more than 180 novels published. His family includes three grown children. He and his wife live in Gulf Shores, Alabama.