Vinny had a look of intense concentration on his face. He was focused on his upcoming meeting and knew she’d said something but missed it. “Sorry, what was that?”
“Wasn’t important. So you think Theresa’s case is going to trial?”
“There’s no doubt about it. The deputy mayor’s brother was killed. Someone’s going to do time and right now the only one they got is Theresa. The preliminary hearing ain’t gonna be nothing more than a formality.”
“Poor little innocent Theresa. The only thing she’s guilty of is standing by her man and look what she’s getting for it. It’s like they say, ‘no good deed goes unpunished.’” Another jet took off and the wash of the jet engines nudged the Caddy out of its lane. “Did you feel that?” she asked. “Almost two-and-a-half tons of steel and the jet engines pushed us around like we was a feather. I’d love to do a tear down on one of those jet engines one day. That would be freakin’ awesome.” Her enthusiasm was lost on him as they rolled up to the prison complex entrance gate. “You look terrible, Vinny. Don’t worry. You’ll figure it out.”
“I hope so. I’m kind of worried that I just got lucky with Bill and Stan. I got that ache in my gut again and I don’t think it was the sesame chicken from last night.”
“Don’t let it get to you. Think about how much more you know about how to handle a murder case than you did before. You won the case in Alabama and you didn’t even know what the hell you were doing. You ain’t gonna make the same mistakes again.”
He turned to her and smiled. “You really think so?”
“Yeah,” she said. “Once you’re out there doing your thing…you’re a Gambini, and no one pulls the wool over the eyes of a Gambini. You ain’t never been suckered. It ain’t humanly possible. Now get a grip and wipe that gloomy expression off your face. You look like a pregnant basset hound overdue to deliver her litter. You want to scare Theresa with that sad sack puss of yours? You look so bad the poor kid will end up taking her own life before she even goes to trial.”
The same guard was waiting for them when they arrived at the check-in area and seemed eager to bust their balls again. But they’d learned their lesson. Vinny flashed his naked fingers. Lisa lifted her untethered breasts and blew the guard an insolent kiss, flipping her off as she walked by just for good measure.
***
“I didn’t think I’d see you today,” Theresa said. “So you even work weekends?”
Vinny was dressed casually in a sweater and slacks. “I got to do whatever’s necessary to win the case.”
Theresa turned to Lisa and managed a weak smile. “I love your boots. Are those Tory Burch?”
“Thanks. Yeah, I got them at DSW. A Christmas present from Vinny.” She covered her mouth, mumbling, “That I picked out for myself.”
“I’ve been picking out my own Christmas and birthday presents from Sammy for the last seven years, and now…” Her chin quivered and she began to sob.
Vinny offered his handkerchief but the guard stopped him, shouting, “Don’t hand anything to the prisoner.”
“But she’s friggin’ crying,” Lisa snapped. “How about a tissue? You think she’s gonna fashion a shiv from a flimsy little tissue?” She fixed the guard with a cutting stare and the guard relented with a gesture. “Easy now,” Lisa said as she handed her the tissue. “You gotta take it one lousy day at a time…it’ll get better.”
Vinny’s legal pad and pencil were once again out on the table. “I know I already asked this question but are you one hundred percent sure you don’t know anyone who might have wanted to kill Sammy? Think hard, okay? Because it’s really important.”
Theresa was still drying her tears. She took a deep breath and settled into thought. “I don’t know, Mr. Gambini. I just don’t know. Sammy would’ve never told me anything like that. Even if there was someone after him—he wouldn’t have wanted me to worry.”
He seemed disappointed. “Yeah, I suppose.”
“Hey, how about this?” Lisa said. “Is there anyone we could talk to, a friend of his perhaps, who might be closer to the situation? A cellmate maybe? Think, Theresa. There had to be at least one person that Sammy was close with.” She turned to Vinny, her expression soliciting, “That’s a good idea, right?”
“Yes,” Theresa said, her eyes flickering with encouragement. “Bald Louie. I actually met him once, during a visit. Sammy said he was a real crazy son of a bitch but they got along. I think it was because they were both originally from the same neighborhood in Brooklyn.”
Vinny wrote down the name. “Bald Louie, huh? You wouldn’t possibly know this Bald Louie’s last name, would ya?”
“No,” she said. “He only mentioned him the one time, when he was in the visitor’s room. Sammy said, ‘That’s my friend, Bald Louie,’ and Louie said, ‘Hey, Tool.’ They waved to each other and that was pretty much it.”
“Tool, huh? That’s what they called him?” Vinny asked.
“‘Tool Man’ was Sam’s nickname in the joint because he had a reputation for being good with burglar’s tools.” She paused. “Wait. What I said wasn’t true. There was this one other time…Sammy told me that Louie had just been released.”
“That’s okay.” Vinny circled the name and looked up. “We’ll give this information to our investigator and see if he can dig up any information on this Bald Louie guy.”
Lisa’s expression was classic. Investigator? What the hell are you talking about?
“You think that’ll help?” Theresa asked.
Lisa shrugged. “It couldn’t hurt.”
“You happen to know this neighborhood that both Sammy and Bald Louie came from?” Vinny asked.
“I know where Sammy used to live,” she replied.
“And where was that, dear?”
“Seventy-Third Street, off the corner of Eighteenth Avenue.”
“That ain’t far from where I grew up,” Vinny said.
“That’s where the Café Napoli is,” Lisa said. “I know that place. That’s where all the guidos hang out.”
“A guido?” Theresa asked. “You mean…?”
“A jabone,” Vinny said. “It’s a guy who sounds like he just got off the boat from Italy except that he’s been living in New York most of his life. They talk in Italian because they feel English is beneath them. They wear brightly colored shirts with the word ‘Italia’ monogramed on them in gold letters.”
Lisa laughed. “Just so no one’s confused about where they came from. They’re Italian men, who just can’t let go of the old country…guidos.”
Chapter Thirty-Three: A Man with a Plan
“What the hell was that all about?” Lisa asked as they walked past the security guard on their way out. They had turned the corner and were out of the guard’s line of sight when Lisa leaned back, extended her arm, and one again gave the guard the finger.
“You shouldn’t do that, Lisa. I know she busted your balls and all but I got to keep coming back here and I don’t need her making it tougher and tougher for me to get in.”
“Yeah. Sorry. It’s just that she was such an ass yesterday, making me put on those cockroach pants on over my tights. Anyway, who the hell is this mystery investigator you mentioned before?”
“You.”
“Me? What the hell are you talking about? I ain’t no investigator.”
“Who’s better than you? You’re always taking pictures of everything. It was your pictures that helped us figure out that there were two different but almost identical cars at the Sack-O-Suds, wasn’t it? Theresa said that Bald Louie is from the old neighborhood. All you got to do is ask some questions.” He schmoozed her, “I doubt that someone with your investigative skills will have any difficulty ascertaining the identity of this Bald Louie guy.”
“Yeah? Wait a minute. Taking a few pictures is one thing and I am most certainly not a wuss, but you want me to rub elbows with criminal types?”
“The guidos ain’t criminals. They’re just a bunch of Italian-speaking
tools. Anyway, take Joe with you. He’s got nothing to do. Trust me, no one’s gonna give you a hard time with Joe around. I know he looks a little dumpy these days but he threw plenty of beatings when he was in his prime. My big brother didn’t take any shit and everyone knows it.”
“So what do you want me to do, Vinny? It ain’t like I went to the police academy or nothing.”
“Just take Joe with you to the café. Tomorrow being Sunday, the place will be packed wall to wall with guidos watching the soccer matches. Buy a cup of espresso and some biscotti and ask a few questions. I would go with you but I got to spend the day preparing for court on Monday. You think you can handle that?”
“I suppose I can. You think Joe will come with me?”
“You’re kidding, right? When was the last time my gavone of a brother passed up free anything?”
Chapter Thirty-Four: Mighty Joe and the Guidos
Joe approached the café’s display case and looked into it while grabbing his waistband and yanking up his pants. He pointed at some of the pastry. “Lisa, look at the friggin’ size of the sfogliatelle.” He ran his tongue over his lips like a starving hound. “And the cassata cake—holy shit that looks good.”
The café was packed with men in brightly colored warm-up suits monogrammed with words like Italia, Ferrari, and Cinzano. The cafés decorating cues had come straight out of a Roman palazzo. The walls were finished in handcrafter wood and the floors were pure white marble. There was enough glass on display to bottle all the Coke and Pepsi produced for the next ten years. Lisa had her pink camera out and was snapping pictures when she noticed that her legs were drawing unwanted attention from some of the regulars. She tugged down the hem of her skirt. “Listen, Joe, I’m gonna sit down before one of these guys makes a move on me.” She handed him a twenty. “Get whatever you want and meet me at the table in the corner.”
“Can I get two things,” he asked.
“Yes, Joe. Get two things. Just hurry up.”
“What do you want?”
“Just coffee.”
“What kind of coffee? Espresso? Cappuccino?”
“Just coffee.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah, I’m sure.” She sat down and began sizing up the crowd. She was looking for the right guy to talk to when one of the men watching soccer looked under the table at her legs and winked at her.
“F-off,” she said rejecting him with a scowl.
Joe whistled happily as he made his way over and put a tray down on the table upon which rested a foot-long cannoli cream-stuffed lobster tail and a mammoth piece of cake.
“You gonna eat that all by yourself or did you invite the Green Bay Packers?”
“I figured we’d share,” he said as he squeezed his substantial rump into the dainty little chair. He picked up his petite cup of espresso and sipped with his pinkie extended. “Try something. It all looks amazing.” He picked up his fork and shoved a huge piece of cake into his mouth.
There were four men at the next table. One of them had a dense mop of dark hair. It looked as if it had been groomed with axle grease. He watched as Joe went to town on the dessert. “Gavone,” he contemptuously announced to his friends as he nodded in Joe’s direction.
Joe noticed Lisa shooting the man daggers. “Whatsa matter? That guy bothering you?”
“The scrawny goomba over there called you a gavone,” she said. “He don’t like to see other people enjoy their food.”
Joe glanced over. “Who? That guy?”
“Yeah. Him.”
Joe put down his fork and turned around. “Hey, Helmet Head, you got a fuckin’ problem?”
He said something to his friends in Italian before turning to Joe. “Me? No. Enjoy your cake.” He whispered, “Maiale,” the Italian word for pig too low for Joe to hear.
“Ask them,” Lisa whispered. “Ask them if they know Bald Louie.”
Joe wiped his mouth and turned toward their table. “Say, where you guys from?”
They snickered over the absurdity of the question. One of them pointed to the word Italia emblazoned on his warm-up jacket.
“Yeah, of course,” Lisa said in a snide manner. “Just in case you were afraid someone might mistake you for someone from Norway.”
One of the other men replied sarcastically in a heavy Italian accent. “We’re from Milwaukee. Where the hell do you think we’re from?”
“Oh yeah?” Lisa said. “Four wops from Milwaukee? You must be in fuckin’ witness protection.”
“You’re funny,” the man with the long, over-gelled hair said with a laugh. “I might need witness protection after I spent the night with you.”
Lisa snorted. “Me go out with a greaseball like you? That’s ridiculous. I’d rather get bamboo shoved under my fingernails.”
He reached over and laid his hand on her arm. “How you know you wouldn’t like me?”
She stared at his hand with contempt. “Take your fuckin’ paw off me before I—”
Joe grabbed his fingers and crushed them in his huge hand. He rose to his full six feet of stature, looking like three hundred pounds of trouble, as tall and wide as a double-door refrigerator.
The man grimaced.
Joe still had the man’s fingers in his hand as the other three men got to their feet. “Sit the fuck down,” Joe ordered. “Before I make your friend’s fingers look like cooked linguini—permanently!”
They looked from one to the other before backing down.
Joe towered over the seated man, staring into his eyes with a cold and menacing expression. “Now before I twist your fingers so they stick out your ear the next time you go to pick your nose—I want to know one thing. Where the hell do I find Bald Louie?”
Chapter Thirty-Five: Masters and My Johnson
“Joe was fuckin’ great!” Lisa bragged as she dropped her coat and rushed toward the kitchen table where Vinny was preparing for court—books and notes covered every inch of the table. “You should’ve seen him, Vinny. You were right.”
His mind was on his work. He looked up at her, confused. “Right about what?”
“Your brother. One of the mooks over at the café was giving me a hard time and Joe cut him down like he was dry twig.”
“He hit someone?”
“No, he just squeezed the jerk’s fingers but that was all it took. The guy said that Bald Louie got out of jail about six months ago.”
“That’s great,” he said with a glimmer of enthusiasm. “I mean we kind of already knew that. You get a last name and address for this guy?”
She shook her head. “They thought he was still in the neighborhood but they didn’t know where he lived. They said he comes into the café once in a while but not often. That was all they knew.”
“Well at least we confirmed that he’s out of jail where we can reach out for him. Getting approval to meet with him in prison would’ve been a big hassle. We just got to find him and see if he can think of anyone who might’ve wanted Sammy dead.”
“You come up with anything powerful to say in court, Mr. Bigtime Lawyer?”
His expression shouted failure. “No, not much. I’ve been reading and studying all afternoon so that I’m prepared for anything they might throw at us during Theresa’s preliminary hearing. My brain feels like roadkill.”
“Like roadkill? Your brain feels like a dead raccoon lying in the gutter?”
“Yeah, like that.”
“I think you’re too tense.” Her eyes blazed. “I’ve got just the solution.” She grabbed him by the shoulders and straddled him. “You look so studious sitting here with your books and legal pad.” She fussed with hair. “I can’t hardly keep my hands off you.”
“Lisa, what are you doing? I’m hopelessly buried in courtroom procedure, in motions and inculpatory evidence. I ain’t even begun to write my brief yet.”
“Well, as your official legal assistant I would be remiss if I didn’t point out the therapeutic benefits of blowing off a little steam. I’ve
read that there’s a long list of benefits to having sex, including glowing skin and a healthy prostate.” She continued to pontificate. “Top industry experts have now determined that by teaching your mind to focus solely on pleasurable stimuli during sex—and let’s face it, why wouldn’t you? You aggressively train your brain to zero in on and focus better while studying.”
“I’ll be damned,” he said. “When did you become friggin’ Masters and Johnson?”
Lisa pulled her dress off over her head and tossed it aside. “I don’t know nothing about those two nerds but smart money says I can master your johnson any day of the week.” She put her mouth on his and kissed him. “I’d like a sidebar, Counselor. How ’bout you take me upstairs and I check your briefs?”
“Oh yeah? What will you be looking for?”
“Large, shocking allegations. Swelling concerns. Probing questions. Dangling participles.” She kissed his neck. “Am I getting warm?”
“Yeah, you’re getting warm.”
“Good,” she said, swooning. “Then get your ass upstairs and drill me on wrongful tarts.”
“Don’t you mean torts? Wrongful torts?”
“Stop teasing me, ya big dope, or I’ll have grounds for justifiable homicide.”
“You gonna help me study after this?” he halfheartedly asked before lifting her and carrying her up the stairs.
She’d had enough of the sexual innuendo and wanted only to be taken. “Sure, Vinny,” she answered. “Anything you want—provided you bang me unconscious.”
Chapter Thirty-Six: Too Many Balls in the Air
Vinny never got back to the books. His eyes opened to the sight of his gorgeous fiancée sleeping soundly next to him. He drank her in, the gentle sweep of her nose and her long delicate eyelashes, the hollow of her neck that he had kissed over and over again, the contour of her waist and the roundness of her hips. He fell in love with her again every time he saw her. Time seemed to stand still while he basked in her beauty. But along with that rapture the same nagging question always arose: What is someone so beautiful doing with a big lug like me?
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