“Itch?”
“Yes. When I’m not with her, it’s like this . . . itch. And when I’m with her, I itch. When I think about her, I itch. It’s just this incessant . . . itching.”
“And she’s the only one who can scratch it?”
Malone dug his palms into his eyes and ground his teeth so he wouldn’t slap the man. “Are you laughing at me, Ness?”
“Yes. But I’m happy for you too.”
“She knows too much,” he said from behind his hands.
“About you?”
“Yes. About me. About every goddamn thing she touches. And she’s still good. I don’t know how she stays that way. I sure as hell couldn’t do it.”
“But you did. That’s exactly what you did. What you still do. That’s why you’re locked down so tight. You’re protecting the good,” Ness said softly. Kindly.
He needed to walk. To move. He set down his empty cup and stood. Eliot looked up at him, compassion in his gaze, and Malone sat back down. “I have never been known, Eliot.”
Ness frowned at him. “I don’t understand, Malone.”
“Is it just a human trait, do you think, to think no one knows us? Really knows us, deep down. And almost being afraid that if they did, they would back away?”
“She knows you. And she hasn’t backed away,” Eliot summarized.
“No. She hasn’t. And God is laughing at me.”
“Don’t be so dramatic, old boy.”
“I’m not bitter. At least . . . I don’t think I am. I never thought I deserved better, so how could I resent what I was given? But I am suspicious. Things always go bad. It’s nature. Fruit rots. People age. Things decay. Nothing lasts.”
“So when this is over, you’ll just . . . let her go?”
“It would be for her own good.”
“Maybe.” Ness nodded. “Maybe it would.”
Several seconds passed.
“You’re not supposed to say that,” Malone said. “You’re supposed to tell me it could work.”
“Could it?”
“I’d have to get a new job.”
Malone raised his gaze to Eliot’s, and for a moment the men studied each other silently.
“Yeah. Well there’s the rub, huh?” Eliot said. “What do men like us do without our work? I mean . . . somebody’s got to do it.”
“If we don’t do it, who will?” Malone agreed.
“I’m not the guy to get advice from. Not on love,” Ness said. “Maybe it’s just like you said. Edna knows me, and she doesn’t want me anymore. And she says I don’t want her.”
“Do you?”
“Yes. But not enough to be the man she says she needs. I would have to be someone else entirely.”
The silence from the other room was suddenly jarring. Malone wasn’t sure when the snoring had ceased, and he and Ness both stilled, listening.
“Do you know who I am?” Francis Sweeney boomed. “Because I know who you are.”
“Sounds like someone’s awake,” Malone said, rising.
Since the night on Short Vincent, she’d seen Darby O’Shea twice. Once it was just the reflection in the front window at the market on East Fifty-Fifth. She had paused to buy a paper poppy from the woman selling them by the door. She couldn’t resist the poppies since “meeting” Ivan at the morgue. Ivan had bought one for his Johanna every chance he got.
Dani tucked the flower in her pocket, thanking the woman, who thanked her back, and she saw her uncle, across the street, watching her. The same hat. The same stance. But when she turned, he began striding away at a good clip, and she wasn’t sure anymore.
The second time was in the line of cars waiting for attendees at the gala. He was propped against a car like many of the other drivers waiting for their passengers, having a smoke. She didn’t tell Michael. When she’d mentioned Darby at the Coney Island Café, he’d gotten tense and marched her out of there so fast she didn’t even get to finish her toast. She didn’t want to ruin their night, and unlike her aunts, and maybe Michael too, she wasn’t worried about Darby O’Shea.
She would be going to the morgue alone again today. Michael was holed up somewhere with Eliot Ness doing who knew what. He’d only been home once in three days to bathe and have dinner with her and the aunts, but he’d kissed her the moment they were alone. She didn’t even have to ask. He’d simply gathered her up and kissed her until she was climbing him the way Charlie climbed the curtains.