It's in the Book Read Free Page B

of us were wondering. Mr. Hammer, do you know why I’m here?”
    â€œYou want your uncle’s ledger.”
    â€œYes. Do you have it?”
    â€œNo. Next question.”
    He crossed his legs as he lighted up a cigarette. He was not particularly manly, though not effeminate, either. “Do you understand why I thought you might have the book?”
    â€œYeah. On his deathbed, your uncle said he was bequeathing the thing to somebody he trusted.”
    He nodded slowly, the big dark sleepy eyes in the narrow face fixed on me. “You did a few jobs for the old don, jobs that he didn’t feel he could entrust to his own people.”
    â€œThat’s true as far as it goes.”
    â€œ Why did he trust you , Mr. Hammer? And why would you work for him? You’re well-known to be an enemy of La Cosa Nostra. Carl Evello. Alberto Bonetti. Two dons, representing two of the six families, and you killed them both. That massacre at the Y and S men’s club— how many soldiers did you slaughter there, anyway? Thirty?”
    â€œIt was never proven I did that. Anyway, who’s counting?”
    Another tasty smile. There was an ashtray on my desk for the benefit of clients, and he used it, flicking ash with a hand heavy with bejeweled golden rings. The suit might be Armani, but down deep Sonny was still just another tacky goombah.
    He was saying, “And yet Don Nicholas, Old Nic himself, not only let you live, he trusted you to do jobs for him. Why?”
    â€œWhy did he let me live? Now and then I killed his competitors. Which saved him the trouble. As for why I would do a job for Old Nic … let’s just say he did me a favor now and then.”
    â€œWhat kind of favor, Mr. Hammer? Or may I call you ‘Mike’? After all, you and my uncle were thick as thieves.”
    â€œNot that thick, but you can call me Mike … Sonny. Let’s just say your uncle helped me out of the occasional jam in your world.”
    The hooded eyes narrowed to slits. “They say he helped you get out of town after the waterfront shoot-out with Sal Bonetti.”
    I said nothing.
    Giraldi exhaled smoke, blowing it off to one side. Thoughtful of him.
    â€œWhat is the government paying you?” he asked.
    â€œWhat government? Paying me for What?”
    â€œYou were followed to the St. Moritz, Mike. Senator Boylan is staying there. The G wants the book—maybe to try to bring us down, or maybe they got entries in there themself. I don’t give two shits either way, Mike. I want that book.”
    â€œYou’ve got an army. I’m just one guy. Go find it yourself.”
    Again he blew smoke to one side. His manner was casual but I could tell he was wound tight.
    He said, “I have a feeling you’re in a position to know where it is. Call it a hunch. But I don’t think that book got sent to anybody in the family business. I was close to my uncle. He would have given it to me!”
    He slammed a small fist onto my desk and the ashtray jumped. I didn’t.
    Very softly he repeated, “He would have given it to me.”
    I rocked back. “What use would somebody outside of the family have for that book?”
    â€œI don’t know. I honestly don’t know, Mike.”
    â€œDoes the thing even exist? Do you really believe that your uncle wrote down every important transaction and key business dealing in some ledger?”
    He sat forward and the big eyes didn’t seem at all sleepy now. “I saw him with it. The book exists. He would sit in his study—he wasn’t a big man, he was my size, never one of these big fat slobs like so many in our business—a gray little guy always impeccably dressed, bald in his later years, and like … like a monk goin’ over some ancient scroll. After anything big would go down, he’d retire to his study and hunker over that goddamn book.”
    â€œWhat did it look like?”
    â€œIt was a