Gin Palace 02 - The Bone Orchard

down, and you did. Take the money. I insist.” He gestured toward the folder with his head. “In it is a check for the other ten grand I promised, plus a stocks fund. It’s a Thornburg fund and there’s ten grand in it. Leave it be, and in twenty years it could be a million dollars. A little something for your future.”
    I didn’t make a move toward the folder. After a moment Curry picked up his briefcase and snapped it closed and stood before me, ready to go.
    “I know all about you, Mac. I know about what that asshole Van Deusen put you through. I know that he thought he owned you and that you thought he wouldn’t ever let you go. You were right, he wouldn’t. He’d invested quite a bit in you, teaching you all those languages you know, all that hand-to-hand-combat training, making you his little bodyguard. He’d never walk away from that kind of investment. Plus, you were plenty scared of him, weren’t you? That meant a lot to him. It’s okay, we were all scared of him. But it was a good thing for you that that boating accident happened to come along when it did, though, don’t you think? Damn good thing. I don’t know, maybe it was an accident, maybe it wasn’t. Maybe it was a little of both.
    “Maybe I’m right in thinking what I think about what happened that night, and maybe that’s why you live the way you do. Maybe you think this shitty little life is all you deserve. Maybe it eats away at you. Maybe you’re trying to pay what you think is some karmic debt in your own way. But let me tell you one thing I do know for certain. You’re no different from me, or from Frank Gannon, for that matter, Mac, so don’t fool yourself.
    “You did what you did that night to get out alive. And because of that you know, deep down in your heart, that you’re capable of anything, just like the rest of us motherfuckers you hate. That’s why Frank Gannon wanted you around. And that’s why I want you around. Because you’re just like me, and maybe someday I’ll need you services again.”
    I looked at him and said nothing. My heart pounded as hard as it pounded that long- ago night out of Sag Harbor, the night that sailboat went down and I made my choice.
    “I’ll see you around,” Curry said.
    He moved past me then. I didn’t look at him. I heard him close the door behind him and walk down the hall. I listened till he was down both flights of stairs, then picked up the folder and held it for a moment before tossing it onto my coffee table. I left it there and went into my bedroom and sat on the edge of my bed in the dark and looked out the window.
    ***

    The folder lay unopened on my coffee table for three days. I tried to forget that it existed but I could see it from almost every point in my apartment. I knew it was just numbers on paper, but it connected me to something that I wanted to be over and done with and far behind me.
    On the fourth morning after my visit from Curry I got up, opened the folder, and pulled out the cover sheet. On the letter head was the broker’s contact information. I took it and went to my phone and dialed. A woman answered, and I told her my name and who I wanted. Almost immediately a deep and cheerful male voice came on the line.
    “Mr. MacManus, good morning. This is Gordon Banks. How can I help you?”
    “I have a question about the Thornburg stock fund James Curry set up for me,” I said. “Could I have it put in someone else’s name?”
    “Of course.”
    “I would like to do this anonymously, if possible.”
    “I’ll have to contact the person you want to transfer it to.”
    “That’s fine, as long as I can remain anonymous.”
    “Certainly.”
    “I also have two checks for ten thousand dollars. I’d like it all to go to the same person.”
    “Very well. To whom would you want this to be transferred?”
    I went to my window and looked down on the train station. A woman waited for the 9:33 eastbound. There was no one else on the platform. She was wearing jeans and a man’s overcoat and running shoes. Sitting at her feet, like a pet, was a large suitcase. Her hair was dark brown and thick and shoulder length, like Catherine’s had been the day she left for New York.
    “Mr. MacManus?”
    “Yes.”
    “I asked to whom did want these funds to be transferred.”
    “His name is Tommy Miller,” I said. “Tommy Miller.”
    “A relative of yours?”
    I waited a moment, watching the woman waiting on the platform. She had a fifteen minute wait for