Part 18 (1/2)
Jack knew the answer to the next question but felt obliged to ask. ”Just where do you think I fit in?”
”Well, it's not something I can be going to the police with, is it now. And I'm too old to be doing it meself. So I was hoping you'd be watching over him.”
Jack had been afraid of that. Guardian angel to some lunatic. Make that new lunatic.
”Afraid not, Ed. I'm not in the bodyguard business.”
”Wait, now. It's not like a real bodyguarding job. You wouldn't be after protecting him from someone else. You'd only be protecting him from himself. And it's only for three days, lad. Three days!”
Jack shook his head. ”That's the problem. No way I can spend three days baby-sitting some wacko.”
”It wouldn't be three whole days. Just at night, after he closes his shop.”
”Why do you need me at all? Why not just hire a professional bodyguard? I can get you a couple of numbers.”
”Oh, no,” Edward said, vigorously shaking his head. ”It's imperative that he not know he's being watched over.”
”Let me get this straight: you want me to bodyguard your brother without him knowing his body's being guarded?”
”Exactly. And the beauty part is, you might not be having to do a thing. He might not go off at all. But if he does, you can be there to restrain him, and perhaps be preventing him from hurting himself or anyone else in the process.”
Jack shook his head. Too weird.
”Please!” Edward said, his voice rising. He reached into his back pocket and wriggled out a thick legal-size envelope. His trembling hands unfolded it and pushed it across the table. ”I sc.r.a.ped together every spare cent I have. Please, take it all and-”
”It's not a matter of money,” Jack said. ”It's time. I can't spend all night watching this guy.”
”Then don't! Just watch him from the time he closes his shop till, say, midnight. We're talking about a few hours a night for three nights, lad. Surely you can do that.”
Edward's intense concern, almost anguish, for his brother wormed under Jack's skin. Three nights... not forever. The only other fix-it he had running was the Kenton brothers, and he didn't think watchd.o.g.g.i.ng their place would be necessary after last night.
”All right,” Jack sighed. ”For three nights, I suppose I can give you something.”
Edward reached across and grasped both Jack's hands. ”Oh, bless you, lad, that's wonderful! Wonderful!”
”I said 'something.' No guarantees.”
”I know you'll be doing your best. I know you won't let me down.”
Jack pushed the envelope back toward Edward. ”Give me half of that. I'll keep an eye on him for three nights. If nothing happens-that is, if I don't have to step in and restrain him-we'll call it even. If there's any rough stuff, any at all, you owe me the other half.”
”Fair enough,” Edward said as he lowered the envelope into his lap and began counting the bills. ”More than fair, actually.”
”And speaking of rough stuff, it may come down to putting the hurt on him if he decides not to listen to reason.”
”Hurt? How?”
”Disable him. Put him down hard enough so that he won't be able to get back up.”
Edward sighed. ”Do what you must. I'll trust in your judgment.”
”Right,” Jack said, leaning forward. ”Now that that's settled, where is he and what does he look like?”
Edward jutted his chin at the manila envelope on the table. ”You'll be finding it all in there.”
Jack opened the flap and pulled out a slip of paper plus a candid photo of a balding man who appeared to be about sixty years old. Jack stared at the upper-body shot; the man's face was partially turned away.
”Doesn't look much like you.”
”We had different mothers.”
”So he's really your half-brother.”
Edward shrugged and kept counting bills.
Jack said, ”Don't you have a better photo?”
”I'm afraid not. Eli doesn't like to be photographed. He'd be upset if he knew I took that one. I wish I could be telling you more about him, but we weren't raised together, so I hardly know him.”
”But he came to you and told you he was going to do something crazy?”
”Yes. It's the weirdest thing now, isn't it?”
”I don't know about the 'weirdest,' but it earns a spot in the 'odd' category.”
Jack glanced at the sheet of paper. ”Eli Bellitto” was printed in large letters.
”Bellitto?” Jack said. ”That's not an Irish name.”
”Who said it was?”
”n.o.body, but, I mean, you've got this Irish accent and that's an Italian name.”
”And because the 'O' is on the wrong end you're after saying that Eli can't be Irish? Would you believe that where I grew up in Dublin we had a Schwartz on our block? G.o.d's truth. His accent was thicker than mine, don't you know. My American uncle came to visit and couldn't understand a word he said. And then there was-”
Jack held up his hands surrender style. ”Point made, point taken.” He tapped his finger on the downtown address below the name. ”What's this 'Shurio Coppe' mean?”
”That's the name of his shop. He sells-”
”Don't tell me. Curios, right?”
Edward nodded. ”Antiques, odd stuff, rare books, and all sorts of grotesque thingies.”
”Where's his home?”
”Right over the store.”