by Molly Greene
“We talked about it, then I decided to say yes. I’ve been looking for my Mom’s family for three months and nothing’s come of it. So, you know. I was ready to throw in the towel.”
He stopped and squirmed in the chair again, but Gen didn’t push.
“So long story short, he didn’t accidentally drop the coins in my guitar case, he gave them to me. Four of them, not just one. He put a loose one in that velvet bag and told me to take it into the pawn shop when both guys were working. I knew the men in there by sight, saw them coming and going, so I knew what he meant.
“Mr. Vitelli said the owner would tell me it was valuable and he’d suggest maybe I stole it, then he’d say he’d call the cops if I didn’t tell him where it came from. It didn’t happen just like he said it would. I don’t think the guys he was arguing with at his house were part of the plan. I was beating feet out of town when I ran into you and Mack.”
“Why, Luca? Tell me why Vitelli would want you to do all that.”
Luca shook his head. “I don’t know.”
“The pawn shop owner says the coin is priceless. That means they all are. Why would Vitelli trust you with them? He didn’t know you from Adam, right?”
Luca held her gaze and nodded. His lips quirked up as he said, “Maybe he’s more trusting than you.”
Gen drummed her nails on the desk. Luca’s story wasn’t logical, and she’d bet he’d left a few things out. Like the real reason Vitelli would trust a kid he didn’t know with such a treasure, and why he was looking in the old man’s window.
“Why’d you go back to Vitelli’s that night?”
Luca reached into his front pocket and pulled out a small brown paper bag, then upended it. Something tumbled out. She was looking at three more coins, laid flat and encased in clear plastic.
He fingered the strip. “I changed my mind about sticking around. I decided to take a bus down to San Diego, and I wanted to give them back before I went.”
Gen picked up the sealed coins and turned them in her palm so the overhead light didn’t glare off the plastic. She’d heard some crazy stories in her line of work, but this one was right up there in the top ten. “Why are you telling me now?”
“It seems like it would be better if they were in a place that was safer than my guitar case.”
“Has something happened out at Mack’s?”
“No.”
She might have imagined it, but it seemed as though his voice made a funny not-no sound, as if he really meant to say not yet. And she wondered if he was right.
She’d bet a bundle that the burglars who broke into her condo were looking for the whole quartet of coins. And if they knew about the coins, they might know about the boy. If they knew about the boy, they might think he had the coins – or could lead them to where they were. Ergo, they may be looking for Luca, as well. And that meant they might also be watching her to see if he would turn up.
Luca couldn’t leave her office.
They might follow him back to Mack’s.
She picked up the land line and punched in Oliver’s cell number. “Livvie, are you at home?”
“Yes, I’m here slaving away.”
“Lucky for me. Are you in the middle of anything really important?”
“Nothing monumental,” he replied. “Still just going through clothes. What’s up?”
“I need your help.”
“With? ”
“Luca’s here. He just told me a story that makes me concerned that the guys who broke into my condo might be watching for him.”
She saw Luca’s eyes go wide at the news that her place had been burgled.
“So that means,” she continued, “that he shouldn’t walk out of here looking like he did when he walked in. It’s a longshot, but they might follow him to Mack’s, if they haven’t found the place already. The kid’s there alone during the day.”
“I think I know what you have in mind.” Oliver’s reply was matter-of fact. “Describe Luca. Height? Weight? Hair color?”
“He’s not quite as tall as Mack, five-ten or a little more, just under six feet. Luca?”
“That’s right.”
“Thinner than Mack, thirty-two inch waist jeans hang on him a little. Straight, light brown hair that’s not quite long enough to pull into a ponytail. He needs a haircut, it’s a little straggly.”
“Shoe size?”
“Luca, what size shoes do you wear?”
“Twelve.”
“I heard him,” Livvie replied. “That’s perfect.”
“I think we’re on the same page. How long before you can get here?”
“I’ll be down in fifteen minutes. Tell the kid to take a deep breath and keep an open mind.”
Gen replaced the handset, then propped her elbows on the desk and supported her chin on her clasped hands. “You heard what I said. We can’t take a chance I’m not being watched. Oliver will be down in a while, and then we’re going to dress you up like a girl so when you leave no one will know it’s you. Hopefully, anyway. Can you handle that?”
Luca shrugged. “Somebody broke into your house?”
“Yeah. Trashed the kitchen and living room pretty good. After what you just told me, I’m betting they were looking for these.” She stopped, thinking, then cocked her head and pinned him with her eyes and asked him straight. “Why did you get involved in this, Luca? Didn’t you think at any point that it might be dangerous?”
“I did it for Mr. Vitelli.” He looked down at his hands. “It seemed easy enough at the time. And I needed money.”
“How much did he give you?”
“A debit card with two thousand dollars on it.”
Gen almost choked. “Jeez Louise.”
“I hid it with the coins in the lining of my guitar case. I was going to give the coins back that night, then pull a little cash from the card and mail it back later. It didn’t work out.”
“Why bring the coins to me and not give them to Mack?”
“I don’t want him to get in trouble with his job. It’s better they’re away from his house.”
Gen nodded. That part could be true enough, the kid seemed honestly grateful. She wondered if he’d bonded with his host the same way his host had taken to him.
She hoped so, for Mack’s sake.
Oliver appeared ten minutes later, true to his word and faster than Gen expected. He was dressed in a blonde wig and wide elastic-topped pants and flat shoes and a fluttery blouse. He wore sunglasses and a hat with a floppy brim, and he carried a huge purse on his arm.
He was also wearing a grin when he came though the office door. Gen went past him into the lobby and locked up in the front. By the time she returned, Oliver had Luca standing in the middle of the room and was sizing him up.
Gen guessed at his strategy. “So we’re going to put Luca in the outfit you’re wearing, then you’ll trade clothes with the boy and leave as him. I don’t know, Liv, that might put you in harm’s way.”
“It won’t if we go someplace crowded and I change into something completely different in the bathroom and then walk out alone.”
“That would do it, you conniving devil.”
“I’ve learned from the best.” Oliver pulled a makeup bag from his purse. “Luca, are you game?”
“Sure,” the boy replied. “Why not?”
“You understand what we’re proposing you do here, right?” Gen eyed the boy. He appeared to be unconcerned about the implications. “We’re going to put what Oliver is wearing on you.”
“Look,” he replied, “rock bands wear makeup all the time. It’ll be an adventure, that’s all. As long as the shoes are flat, I’ll be good.”
“I love kids today,” Oliver said. “The gender lines have been blurred. They’re not all stuck in macho man land like older generations.”
While Oliver got to work, Gen steeled herself and called Mack’s cell. She wondered if he would let the call go to voice mail, but he picked up.
“Hey, Genny.�
�
His voice was bland, and she matched his tone.
“Luca’s at my office,” she said. “I won’t go into it now, he can explain later. Bottom line, he needs a ride back to your place. Can you meet us somewhere private near the bridge when your shift is over? That is, if you haven’t caught a case that would keep you late.”
His answer was smooth as a rock on the bottom of a river. “There’s an industrial complex near the last bridge on-ramp. Pull around back in the alley, and I’ll meet you there at four-thirty.”
“See you then.” Gen replaced the handset and looked at the duo in front of her.
They’d been transformed.
Luca was a replica of Oliver, and Oliver was Luca, if you saw him from a distance. He’d brought a Luca-like wig in his bag and trimmed it a bit right there in the bathroom, then styled it close enough to the real thing to pass.
Gen marveled at Luca’s apparent ease over the whole situation. “Can you walk okay in those shoes?”
He demonstrated. Straight as an arrow, not a glitch. They discussed their plan and decided on lunch at Swan’s, a madhouse even on a slow day.
Then they took a deep breath and casually walked down the block and back into the lobby of Gen and Oliver’s building. They took the elevator down to the garage, climbed into her Beemer, and headed uptown.
They waited in line for a table and took their sweet time over the food. Anyone watching would be bored stiff. When they’d finished their meal, Gen paid the bill while Liv and Luca headed for the restroom.
The plan was for Liv to slip some clothes from Luca’s massive bag when they were hidden from sight, then go into the men’s room, take off his wig and Luca’s clothes, change, slip Luca’s things back into the bag, then part company with the boy and leave through the side door.
And slick as you please, that’s exactly how it went down. Gen and Luca climbed back into her car and drove to meet Mack. He was waiting when they arrived.
“You have to tell him,” Gen said. “I’m sure you don’t want to, but he needs to know.”
“Yeah, I figured you’d say that.”
“He’s a good man. He won’t think less of you. And I’ll put the coins in my safe deposit box with the other one.”
He looked at her. “Thank you, Genny.”
She smiled. “You watch your back. And Mack’s, too.”
“I’m sorry I made you and Mack fight–”
“Let it go. The argument was my fault, not yours.” She turned away and grasped the steering wheel.
“You and Mack shouldn’t split up over something I brought down on you.”
“You better go. You have my number, so use it if you need to. One more thing, Luca. Don’t tell Mack about my condo getting tossed. Promise?”
“Yeah.” He opened the door and slid out.
Gen’s eyes went to Mack. He was sitting in the pickup, one elbow stuck out the open driver’s side window. He didn’t react when he saw Luca’s clothes, just sat as stoic and expressionless as you please.
But he made eye contact with Gen and gave her a single nod that said thank you.
She wondered what he’d think when Luca explained; that is, if he actually kept his word and told the tale. Was this most recent story the truth?
Time would tell.
She squared her shoulders and returned Mack’s nod, then fed the car some gas and drove away.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Once again, Vitelli didn’t answer when she knocked on his door. This time Gen didn’t ring the bell, just left the porch and hiked around to check if his car was in the garage. But before she got that far, she saw a wide-brimmed straw hat bobbing among the feathery fronds in the back yard. She opened the gate and went in.
“Mr. Vitelli, it’s Gen Delacourt.”
Vitelli looked over his shoulder, then rose and brushed the soil from his gardening gloves. He was in good shape for a man his age. He hadn’t struggled up from his knees and he had a pile of weeds and clippings in the middle of the path, ready to be bagged. It looked as if he’d been at it for a while.
While she made her way to his side, Gen was surrounded by deep green, healthy foliage. The garden was lush and vibrant. The paths that crisscrossed the space were heavily mulched with bark chips, and the soil was dark and rich.
It struck her that so many people in her life were gardeners. It must give them something other than fresh produce. Peace, maybe. Release from worry, if only for a while. Madison had told her once that it made her mind stop revving like a race car engine. How had the urge to nurture the earth passed her over? Maybe she should give it a try.
“The dirt,” she said. “It’s almost as black as tar.”
“I keep worms,” he replied. “I feed them manure from a friend in the country who has a cow. The plants reward me for my care.”
Despite her musings, Vitelli did not look anywhere near peaceful. His face was as ravaged as before. Sleep was still eluding him, it seemed, and once again she felt a pang of worry and wondered why.
“I can see they love it.” She looked around at the beds that teemed with vigorous plants. “Isn’t it late for tomatoes?”
“They produce until the first freeze. Would you like some to take home? I still have Romas and cherry tomatoes. Molto delizioso.”
“You might not feel so generous once I’ve told you why I’ve come.”
He gestured to a bench in a shaded niche. The arbor above was laced with vines, and once Gen was beneath it she saw that the stems were heavy with grapes. She’d never before seen so many plump clusters in one place, and her mouth watered just thinking of their sweetness.
“Mr. Vitelli, I’ve had a visit from Luca. He gave me the other three coins for safekeeping, and he told me about the debit card and your plan. So like I said before, I need to know what’s really going on. You tried to stage something. I want to know why. If you tell me, I can help.”
Vitelli looked away and shook his head. “I told the boy to stay quiet.”
“Why?”
“We have discussed this,” he replied. “Nothing is amiss, as I said. The Carabinieri have simply mistaken me for someone of lower moral standards.”
“You and I both know there’s more to it than that. What about the thugs who tied you up?”
He sighed. “Women in my country are not so curious.”
“You’re not in your country, Mr. Vitelli, you’re in mine. And the women in the United States want to know what’s going on around them. Look, somebody gave me a black eye. Then someone broke into my house and sliced up all my furniture. I’ve had a fight with a man I care about very much over all this, and I’m not going to let anything else happen. Luca told me about your deal, now I want you to tell me why you made it.”
“Why will you not leave it alone?”
“I left it alone and got a living room full of shredded upholstery for my stupidity. Luca said–”
“The boy exaggerates.” Vitelli turned on the bench and held her gaze. “He needed help. I gave him money, nothing more. It was harmless.”
They stared at one another for five beats.
“That’s not true. I saw you with Zuccaro.” Her voice softened as she worked her way through the evidence against him. “You know him, Mr. Vitelli. You’ve got some kind of deception working here. I know you gave Luca the coins and money and told him to go hide. It beats me how you’d think a destitute kid would keep that kind of an agreement and not run off and sell the goods behind your back. How did you know he’d stay true to his word? Why did you put the kid in harm’s way like that? None of it makes sense.”
Vitelli’s features had turned to granite. “I asked that you stay out of it.”
“I can’t.” She matched his expression and gave him more. “You put the coin back in my purse. You pulled me into it. I will not just stay quiet and stop wondering about anything and keep it until you give me a call and tell me I can bring them all back. You need help.”
Gen had never been the be
st at pulling off a bluff, but she decided to try. She stood and walked to the edge of the arbor.
“I’m taking the coins to the Carabinieri team. I want out of this before my life goes south any farther than it has. There’s nothing in it for me, Mr. Vitelli.”
“Please–” He held out a hand and she stopped. His voice held a tinge of desperation she hadn’t heard before. “Please wait. I care what you think. You heard the Carabinieri call me a tombarolo?”
“Yes.”
“A tombarolo is a tomb robber, a digger.”
“I know all about them. And you swear you aren’t one.”
“No my daughter, I am not. I am not tombarolo, and I am not capo zona, a regional chief who buys from the diggers.”
“And you don’t buy from the capo zona, either.”
“No.”
“What are you then?”
“I am loyal to the country of my birth.”
“You keep saying that, but it doesn’t tell me anything. I don’t believe that’s all there is to it. Luca said–”
“The boy lies!” Vitelli shot to his feet. It was the first time Gen had heard him raise his voice, and the strength behind his words was startling. Who was telling the truth? Luca had been dishonest from the beginning. Was he misleading her again, about the deal and Vitelli’s part in it?
“What is he lying about, Vincenzo? Which part? You have to tell me. Please tell me what’s going on.”
Vitelli dropped his head into his hands and sucked in a deep, raspy breath. “It is not the boy who is the problem,” he replied. “It is not the boy.”
Gen turned away and contemplated a fat grape. It glistened in the sunlight, despite the powdery white coating that obscured the color beneath, just as the red skin hid the pale pulp within.
People were like that, too.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Gen accompanied Oliver to the SFPD Central Station Friday afternoon, then stood by while he raised a ruckus about a pair of thieves who’d pinched his wallet on the street outside his condo. He described the men he’d passed in the hall, but kept mum about the real story.