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“You were right, Boss. He’s here.”
Charlie was alone in the suite. He’d been in a meeting with a couple of guys from out in Queens, but he’d told them to go get lunch at the hotel bar when Jimmy Blue Eyes called.
“How’s he doin’?”
“He’s in a bad way.”
He closed his eyes and covered them with his hand.
“He been sleepin’?”
“Not much I’d say.”
He sighed. No surprises there.
“Right. Put him on.”
Jimmy Blue Eyes paused.
“I don’t know if he’s in a mood to talk.”
Charlie scowled. “I ask you?”
The hint of steel in his voice was enough. There was the sound of footsteps and muffled voices along the line. Charlie pulled out his cigarette case and lit up while he waited. He was just breathing out the first drag of smoke when the voice came on the line, quiet and constrained:
“Charlie.”
“Meyer.”
They both were silent for a good minute or so, the sound of breathing and crackling on the line the only signs they were still connected. Eventually Meyer broke the auditory staring match:
“You shouldn’t’ve sent Alo.”
Charlie rolled his eyes.
“Yeah Little Man, you’re right. I shoulda come down there and kicked your ass back to New York myself.”
More silence. Not even a ‘Fuck you’. It was bad then.
“Maybe I will,” he added as an extra piece of bait.
“No you won’t.” Meyer sounded too tired to be irritated.
“Why not? Nice trip to Boston. You got the right idea.”
“You’re Lucky Luciano.” He spoke as though explaining it to a child. “You disappear, everyone from Harlem to Wall Street would know.”
“And that don’t apply to you?”
“Exactly.”
He had a point there. Not that Charlie would concede it.
“C’mon. Like you don’t got responsibilities.”
“You are not my boss, Charlie.” There was a warning edge to his voice, but at least that meant he didn’t sound like he was talking in his sleep anymore.
“Oh, so now your business has nothin’ to do with mine?" Charlie pushed.
Meyer was quiet for a moment. Even without being able to see him, Charlie knew he was grinding his teeth like he always did.
“It’s got nothing to do with business.” The little fire that had risen in his voice had ebbed away again.
Charlie took a drag on his cigarette and sighed out through his nose.
“Yeah. I know,” he said, then when Meyer didn’t reply: “Anna talked to Esta, she talked to me.”
“I figured.” His voice was tight, as though compressed into as small a space as possible. “She tell you—?”
He broke off, and for a moment Charlie thought the line had gone.
“Yeah,” he replied when he realised it hadn’t, “she told me about Buddy."
“You know she thinks it’s my fault?” He spoke like the words were being pulled out of him one by one. "That I'm being punished?"
Charlie ran his finger down the raised scar on his cheek. He still remembered what Meyer had said to him the first time he’d seen it.
‘I should’ve been there.’
He remembered his reply too.
‘You was with your wife. That’s exactly where you shoulda been.’
He pulled himself back to the present.
“That’s crazy talk. You know that.”
Charlie waited for Meyer to come back at him for daring to talk about his wife like that, but he was silent again. When he spoke it was hushed, like he was at confession:
“This wasn’t part of the plan.”
Charlie took a slow drag of smoke to give him time to choose his words.
“Plans gotta be able to change. Ain’t you always tellin’ me that?”
“Not with— I just thought—” Then, almost too quiet to hear: “I don’t know how to fix this.”
It was good no one was around to see him wince. Least of all Meyer.
“You’ll figure it out.”
“Not with this.”
There was a lot Charlie wanted to say. ‘Maybe this don’t need fixing.’ ‘It ain't your fault.’ ‘Come back. I need you.’ But he knew none of these would work. They’d bounce off the iron shell Meyer had put up around himself, or worse make him retreat further into it.
He knew what he needed to say, even if he didn’t want to.
“You want us to pass it on to Anna then? Y’know, that you’re givin’ up.”
He could almost hear Meyer blink.
“I–”
“I’m sure they’ll get along,” he pushed on before Meyer could continue, “She can always ask Yetta for advice, right?”
“That’s enough.” The spike to his voice was almost enough to make Charlie stop, but he knew he was on the right track.
“I mean I always figured you for a different kinda dad, but I guess the apple don’t fall too far—”
“Fuck you .”
There was the clunk of the receiver hitting a tabletop, then silence save for a faint crackling. Then Jimmy Blue Eyes’ voice came on again:
“Hey Lucky, it’s me.” Pause. “What you want me to do?”
Charlie took a last drag on his cigarette before stubbing it out.
“Make sure he eats. Try and get him to sleep.” He paused, considering. “Get him some scotch, as much as he wants. And talk to him.”
“What about?”
“Anythin’. You like to read, yeah? Talk about books.”
“What if he don’t—?”
“Give it a week. He’ll come out of it in his own time.”
In the end, it only took six days. When he next saw Meyer in New York, it was almost like it had never happened.