by Howes, Ann
“Like what’s happening with you,” Billy says.
My eyebrows shoot up. “You mean he’s a fixer? Like that show Ray Donovan?” Apparently, I watch way too much television.
Silence.
Of course he is.
My mother would be so disappointed. She dragged me from San Francisco to keep me from all this, and here I am, smack bang in the middle of my very own episode.
A Fixer!
I’ll be owing haircuts to these men forever. And jeez, never mind what Gianni’s expecting. I press my thighs together, remembering this morning. I have to admit, I enjoyed what happened in the kitchen, maybe more than I should so perhaps that won’t be so bad after all.
Noop, noop, noop. Can’t go there.
“Um…” I clear my throat and squirm a little. “What’s Carmine going to do?”
“Dunno.” Marco shrugs. I look at Billy. He shakes his head.
Crud…they’re not talking.
Before I can ponder that Billy lets out a long yawn. “You two have pooped me out. Gonna need my beauty sleep now.”
“No amount of sleep’s gonna pretty up that ugly face, man,” Marco chuckles.
Billy extends his middle finger and wiggles it in a wave.
I smile because I love their banter. Despite the irreverence, it’s honest and real and there’s a level of respect all these men have for each other.
After straightening Billy’s sheets, ensuring he’s covered, I fill up his water glass and kiss him on the forehead.
“See you tomorrow, kiddo?”
“Of course. You want anything?”
“Just yourself…and your smile. Good to see that bruise on your face is going away.”
We’re walking out the main hospital door when an incoming text pings.
Cass: You up for lunch?
As I still have a little room on my credit card and I definitely owe Marco food, I may as well go for broke. When I finally get back to work, I’ll make up for it with longer hours.
“Marco, you hungry?”
“I could eat. What you thinking?”
“Mexican?”
“Always.”
I text Cass back. Tony’s?
* * *
Half an hour later, we arrive at Tony’s Taqueria. The lunch rush is over and Marco drives the Land Rover into an empty spot in the back.
The place is a few doors away from the salon and a frequent after-work hangout for most of the stylists. It’s Monday, a regular day off, so there’s little chance of bumping into any of the staff.
Perfect.
I have no desire to explain my injuries.
We enter through the back door and pass through a hallway off the kitchen.
“Yo.” I throw a peace sign to the kitchen staff and they respond with a chorus of Yos of their own.
Cass, dressed in jeans and chunky black sweater sits at the dark blue-and-white tiled bar drinking a watermelon margarita on the rocks.
She’s talking to Tony who’s shimmying to Earth, Wind and Fire’s “Fantasy” blaring over the speakers. He inherited the restaurant, that’s been in business since the seventies, from his father, also named Tony, and restored it to its original condition.
The only difference is the color scheme, which is now orange and turquoise, instead of orange and brown.
“Woo-wee,” Tony calls, chucking a skinny, silver-lamé-clad hip to the side. “And who’s this handsome fella?” His wardrobe is reminiscent of Steven Tyler’s, except he doesn’t do hats.
Cass swivels in her chair, eyes widening when she sees Marco. She shoots me a you could’ve warned me look which I, of course, pretend not to notice.
“Marco, this is Tony,” I say.
Marco reaches over the bar. Tony drapes the towel he’s using to dry glasses over a purple-sleeved arm and extends a hand. He has a standing mani–pedi appointment every other Tuesday morning at the salon. This week his nails are silver. I believe it’s the only time he leaves this place. Unless he’s browsing vintage clothing stores.
“And you’ve met Cass.”
Big, tough guy Marco blushes as he takes Cass’s hand and she reciprocates with doe eyes.
I smile. My work is done.
Now, if only Gianni were here.
Noop. Can’t go there.
Probably still with Gina anyway. I sigh and try to ignore the black hole in my chest as I maneuver onto a barstool, leaving one open between myself and Cass, which Marco takes. Good man.
“You want a margarita?” I pick a tortilla chip from the basket on the bar and dip it into the house salsa.
“Don’t like fruit in my alcohol. I’ll have a beer. Amber ale?”
“Coming up,” Tony purrs. “And for you, lovey? Mango or watermelon?”
“Mango, please.” Tony minces in time to the music to the other end of the bar and fires up the blender.
“Dude,” Marco asks, “where did you bring me? There’s a fucking disco ball hanging from the ceiling.”
“I know,” I giggle. “Great, isn’t it?”
“Shit.” He shakes his head and tilts it back, taking in the glittery stars on the ceiling.
“You should see this place on karaoke nights,” Cass says. “It jumps. Shelley and I kick ass with ‘Wannabe’.”
“‘Wannabe’?” That barbell in his brow takes a hike north.
“Yeah, by the Spice Girls? On a good night, we bring down the house.”
Marco turns to me with his brow furrowed. I nod. “It’s all relative to the amount of alcohol we’ve consumed.”
The music changes to “Boogie Wonderland” and Cass and I bop and sing along, like we’ve done dozens of times before.
“Be happy my knees hurt, otherwise we’d be doing the electric slide.”
Marco’s head disappears behind the menu. It takes me a few seconds to realize his shoulders are shaking.
“You’re still a fucking nut, Shelley,” he says when he stops chuckling. “You haven’t changed. I get the feeling this isn’t going to be just lunch.”
Tony serves our drinks and takes our food order.
“Cass and I haven’t done this in a while. Dean didn’t like hanging out with my friends.”
“Asshole,” Cass mumbles.
“Amen,” Marco says and we all clink our drinks together.
Besides us, there’re two middle-aged businessmen sitting at the bar having a lively discussion, gesticulating in the air. And a table with five rowdy women who look like they’ve been there since opening. One looks familiar and at least two are checking out Marco, looking ready to pounce.
Cow bells on the wood and glass front door jingle and a cool breeze shoots through. A moment later a tiny figure with wispy, wind-blown white hair climbs on to a stool next to me and steeples his hands in front of him.
I do a double take. No freaking way!
“Hey,” I say to my gun dealer. “How are you, Alfie? Do you remember me.”
“Of course I do. Jimmy’s girl,” he wheezes. “And if that ain’t my distant cousin Marco Cadora, then I’m John Travolta.”
What the hey? Alfie’s related to the Cadoras?
“Hey, Alfie.” Marco nods. “How’re they hanging?”
“To my knees. Who’s the pretty blonde?”
“That’s Cassandra Jones,” I answer. “She owns the salon down the street.”
Cass smiles and waves.
“That used to be a barber shop back in the day,” Alfie says. “I’d get me a good shave and a trim. Too fancy now.”
“Come by any time you want, Alfie,” I say. “I’ll cut your hair for free.”
He smiles and pats my hand. “That’s very nice. You’re a good girl. It’ll take you two minutes.”
“I’ve never seen you here before,” I ask. “Do you come here often?”
“I knew his pop,” Alfie says, pointing with his chin to Tony.
Say what?
“Came here when I was a young man. Still do. I’m all caught up on The Walking D
ead so I thought I’d get some fresh air and a margarita.” He nods at Tony and holds up a gnarled finger.
Is everybody in this town I know connected? Including Tony? How did I not know this?
“How’s Billy doin’?” Alfie asks.
“You heard?”
“Everybody’s heard.”
Everybody, huh? That mafia grapevine must be buzzing.
“He’s got a long road ahead, but he’s alive and doing better,” I say. “I bet he’d love to see you.”
“He’s a tough son-of-a-bitch. He’ll be good.”
“That’s what everyone keeps telling me.”
Alfie’s mango margarita arrives and I clink glasses with him. He removes the straw and slugs it back in several gulps. Then holds up his hand to Tony, who nods and takes his glass. I gape and then start to giggle.
“Only fruit I get. Things don’t work so well no more.” He taps his yellowed dentures with his fingernail, then studies my face and says, “You have your pop’s eyes. Like a good cognac.”
“Did you know I was here, Alfie?”
He grins. His own watery nut-brown eyes twinkle.
“You’re as smart as you look. Word’s gotten around about you. Us old fellas, we ain’t got nuttin’ much to do no more. We loved your pop. Took care of us, now we take care of you.”
“How many old fellas are we talking about?”
“Enough to kick some scumbag ass.”
Oi yoi yoi.
“Please don’t be kicking scumbag ass on my behalf. I couldn’t forgive myself if anyone else got hurt.”
“Eh.” He waves a hand at me. “Ain’t much that hasn’t already been done. Besides, I like a little fun.”
“Fun?” My mouth drops open again.
He cackles, and accepts his second drink from Tony. This time he sips it through the straw.
“Miss the action. We’re all rotting away doing nuttin’. Better to go out like a warrior.”
“Thank you, I think. But I don’t understand something. What do you mean that my dad took care of you?”
“He was good with the money. Cleaned it up and taught us where to put it.”
“Uh huh.” I nod my head and chew on my thumbnail. “That’s another thing I keep hearing.”
Hmm.
How come he wasn’t so great with his own money then? This is something else that’s not adding up. While my fingers run circles through the condensation on my glass I decide I need to call my mother.
“Did you tell Alfie I was here?” I ask Tony when he shimmies back to our side after serving the two men fresh beers.
He smiles and does a little head bobble. “Of course I did.”
When I glare at him, he makes little huffing noises. “Lovey, there isn’t much that goes on in this town that I don’t know about. As soon as Cass told me what that dingleberry did to you, I blew my trumpet.”
I swivel to aim my glare at Cass, but she’s engaged in a grin-off with Marco and ignores me.
No help there.
Fine.
I plop my elbow onto the bar, drop my head into my palm, and suck a huge sip of my drink through my straw.
Aaah…jeeez!
Brain freeze.
While I wait for the pain to pass another thought creeps into my head. “Wait…Tony. How did you know I’d met Alfie?”
“Oh puh-lease.” His eyeballs roll back, then he looks at Alfie. “You’re one of us. It’s my business to know.”
Bloody hell. I’ve become a project.
The cowbells jingle again and I turn to see two men enter. One is a distinguished elderly black gentleman with a gray goatee and a dated chauffeur’s hat who stands by the door.
“Ah! My ride’s here,” Alfie says and sucks up the remaining margarita. “Gotta go. I ain’t as tall as I used to be so I can’t reach the pedals no more. Just wanted to stop by and say hello.”
He slips off the barstool and pulls a wad of cash from his pocket and tosses a fifty onto the bar.
“Lunch on me. Ciao, girly.”
“Alfie, no…” A hand on my wrist stops me. I eyeball Tony, who’s shaking his head.
“Accept it,” he says. “He’ll be hurt if you don’t.”
“But…?”
That gets me another head shake.
By the time I turn around again it’s too late anyway. Alfie’s sliding into the back seat of the biggest car I’ve ever seen. A double-parked nineteen-seventies black Cadillac. I catch a glimpse of the top of his wispy hair through the passenger window.
“What the hell?” I ask Tony, holding both hands palm up.
“Oh, don’t get your titties in a twirl. You need a lesson in mafia etiquette. You never turn down an offer like that. It’s not done. Didn’t your momma teach you anything?”
“Tony, I’ve been to his apartment. The poor man looks like he’s barely making it on his social security.”
“Ha!” One hip skids off to the side while he flicks his hair back with a head flip. “Shows how much you know. Didn’t you see the wad of cash on him? Alfie has more than enough, probably thanks to your dad. You don’t need to worry about his finances.”
“All right.” I sigh. “Well, I’ve got to visit the ladies.” I nudge Marco. “I’ll be right back.”
He nods but doesn’t take his eyes off Cass.
Pff.
Seems I’ve done my job too well.
A happy little tequila buzz flows through my veins as I follow a man in a windbreaker with the collar up and a baseball hat pulled down low. I can’t see his face but who needs to, as he has an amazing ass, and I can’t help thinking how it would measure up to Gianni’s.
He passes two of the kitchen staff, stacking dinner plates on a cart before exiting through the rear door. I take a right and enter the bathroom at the back of the restaurant.
One of the women from the table of five is right behind me. The Bee Gee’s “More than a Woman” plays and I sing along as I take care of business. The other woman joins me and we do a little harmonizing through the stalls before we burst into giggles.
“Wow, you can really sing,” I say to her when we meet at the sink to wash our hands. “I remember you now. You work at Provocative, the lingerie store.”
“Yeah, I’m Terra. Funny, I’ve been meaning to stop by to make an appointment with you.”
“And I’ve been meaning to buy new lingerie. You’ve gorgeous hair, I’d love to get my hands on that.”
We chat for a moment longer then swap cards. “See you in there,” Terra says as she opens the door. I smile and finish touching up my face. After which I apply a little lip gloss, zip my purse, step outside into the hallway and freeze.
Fuck.
The base of my spine tingles as it hits me.
The dude with the sexy ass.
That was Dean!
I know because that ass was one of the things that attracted me to him.
Goosebumps erupt over my skin. I swivel around, frantically searching for him.
God!
Is he hiding somewhere? Fear squeezes my heart and I struggle to breathe.
Get a grip…get to Marco, fast.
As soon as I arrive back at the bar, Marco’s brow creases and Cass’s eyes widen.
“What happened?” They say simultaneously.
“Dean.”
Marco jerks to attention. “What, where?”
“Out the back door. But I think he’s gone now.”
“Stay here.” Marco slides off the barstool and sprints through the passageway.
“Shit, Shelley.” Cass clutches my hand. “You’re paler than platinum blonde number ten.”
I swallow and bend over, putting my head between my legs, sucking in air and trying to get some blood to my brain.
“What’s going on and where did that fine specimen disappear to?” Tony asks.
“Dean’s outside,” Cass says.
“What? Oh, hell no!” He dips behind the bar and comes up a moment later with a shotgun. Everybody in
the bar halts.
Tony jumps butt first onto the bar, swings silver glitter platform boots over my drink and slips off the other side. He points the shotgun at the ceiling and pumps it as he trots towards the back door after Marco.
The only sound is the song “How Deep is your Love”. I sit back up and glance around. Except for the music playing, it’s like the giant clock of the universe stopped ticking. One of the gesticulating men still has his hands in the air, mouth hanging open and the women are silent for the first time since we’ve been here, staring after Tony.
It stays like that for a second longer, then suddenly the spell breaks and everybody’s back to what they were doing.
No big deal, just another day at Tony’s.
I look around the room then at Cass. We both shrug and I suck up more of my margarita. Now is definitely the time for liquid courage.
Marco jogs through to the front door, motorcycle boots clomping on the tiled floor. The women stop talking again, drop their jaws and follow him with their eyes. I think a couple even squirm in their seats.
Marco pulls open the door and steps outside. He’s gone for at least a minute, while Cass grips my wrist. When he enters again, he shakes his head, his eyes sliding from me to Cass.
“He’s gone.” He pulls his cell from his pocket, punches a number and heads back out to the parking lot, passing a re-entering Tony on the way.
“Jesus, Tony,” I say. “You surprised the crap out of everyone. Who knew you were so macho?”
“Just ’cause I’m a fairy, lovey, doesn’t mean I’m not ready for action. Pop taught me well. How else do you think this bar has managed to maintain peace over the years? I’ve got a reputation in this town.”
Good point.
He returns to behind the bar taking the long way around then squats for a moment as he sets the shotgun back in its place.
“Woo-wee,” he says when he rises. “I’m jazzed.” He shimmies those skinny shoulders and shakes his hands.
“Who’s for another round? On the house!” There’s a chorus of Yays all round and he slices up more mangos, tosses them in the blender and pushes the button. After he adds a double dash of tequila, he shakes the container, then pours. Just as he places our drinks in front of us, the front door jingles again. Tony follows the sound of the bells, then his face goes slack.