Secondhand Smoke

by Karen E. Olson

He nodded, and the smile finally creased his face. He looked pretty confident, his hand tight on my arm; the last few days’ events bubbled up into my chest, and I bit back tears.

  Vinny let go of me and went to the door. I turned, my back to the window.

  “You’d better fucking fix this,” I said as he opened the door to leave.

  I saw his mouth twitch; he wanted to smile again, but he just bit his lip. When the door was open and it hid half his face, I saw him wink. “I’m expecting a pretty big thank-you. Up for it?”

  Chapter 20

  As soon as Vinny left, I was on the phone to Abate’s to order a small white-clam pizza. Abate’s delivers, so all I had to do was give the guy a few dollars and bring my dinner upstairs, where I devoured it in about fifteen minutes. A beer chaser and I was sated, but not content. My head was swirling with what my mother had told me.

  Just before I went to bed, I plugged my cell phone into its charger. I wasn’t going to miss any more calls if my dad needed me.

  THE LANDLINE PHONE woke me up. The sun streaked into my bedroom, rushing across the walls. A glance at the clock told me it was 8:00 A.M. I reached out from under my comforter and pulled the receiver toward me. “Hello?” I said, still under the covers.

  “Hey, Annie, sorry it’s so early.” Paula’s voice was a little funny, a little too high, a little too nervous. They’d made her call me, the FBI. Her bosses. I should’ve expected this.

  “It’s okay. What’s up?” I tried to sound nonchalant, but I knew I wouldn’t be able to fool her, any more than she could fool me.

  “I’m sorry I never really got back to you. Things have been pretty hectic.”

  “Yeah, I know.” I wasn’t quite sure what else to say.

  I could almost see Paula’s boss pantomiming that she should move the conversation along.

  “Is your dad still in town?” Paula was trying to ask this casually, but it came out too fast.

  “I don’t know. Pulled a disappearing act on me last night. I was supposed to meet him for dinner at Consiglio’s, and he never showed. My mother’s looking for him, too.” I threw out the last bit of information to get them to leave my mother alone.

  “So you have no idea where he is?”

  I sat up, pulling my comforter tightly around me. How the hell had it gotten to this point? Three days ago I was covering a fire, and now the FBI was trying to get information out of me about my father through my friend.

  “No. I don’t,” I said. “Listen, want to have some breakfast? I’ll meet you at The Pantry on State.”

  A second of silence, she was probably asking the boss, and finally: “Okay. Half an hour?”

  I leaned over and looked at myself in the mirror over the dresser. I looked like hell. “Sounds fine.”

  My stomach growled as I rummaged through my drawers and found a very old pair of jeans shoved in the back. Go figure, but the jeans actually fit. I should clean out my drawers more often.

  I pulled on a turtleneck and glanced out the window. It was sunny outside, but I could see the layer of ice that had formed on top of the snow, and I knew it had to be really cold out there. I threw a sweatshirt over the turtleneck and put on a thick pair of socks. The snow boots were going out again. I couldn’t wait until spring, and it wasn’t even really winter yet.

  When my hand was on the doorknob to go out, my thoughts strayed to my gun. Well, it wasn’t really mine. It was Vinny’s. He’d lent it to me after mine was used in a crime, and I’d never gotten around to giving it back. I yanked open the drawer on my bedside table and there it was. Granted, taking it along to meet the FBI might be stupid, but with all this Mob talk and Cadillacs all over the place, it might not be a bad idea to have it handy.

  Paula was sitting at a booth when I finally walked into The Pantry. I ordered coffee and eggs before saying anything else. I kept my hand on my bag, like everyone was going to know there was a gun in there. But how the hell would they know?

  “Why’d you bring the gun?” Paula whispered, leaning close to me across the table.

  “Shit, Paula. And what’s with the G-men hanging around?” I jerked my head toward the counter, where two guys tried to look as if they were interested in the menu, but I could see them sneaking peeks at us.

  She sat back and sighed. “I told them they shouldn’t come in.”

  “What’s up?” I asked.

  She shrugged. “They think I’m going to fuck this up. Because we’re friends.”

  “Fuck what up?” I feigned stupidity.

  The waitress came over with coffee for both of us and our eggs and toast. When she left, I smiled. “Listen, Paula, I really don’t know any more about where my father is than you people.”

  “‘You people’?”

  “You’re using me. To get to him.”

  “I’m sorry.” And she really looked it. I couldn’t be pissed off at her. I’d do the same thing if I were in her shoes.

  “Yeah, right.” I couldn’t let her know I’d forgiven her that easily. I took a long drink from my cup and hailed the waitress back for more.

  “Vinny doesn’t know where your father is, does he?”

  She was sneaky, but I had to give her that one. “No, Paula. He doesn’t know, either. And my mother’s looking for him. He seems to have vanished.”

  “I’m sorry, Annie, but it’s my job.”

  “They didn’t even call you when the restaurant burned down and Sal was still alive.”

  I could tell she didn’t like being reminded of that. We ate our eggs in silence for a few minutes.

  “How long are you guys going to watch me?”

  Paula wiped her mouth with her napkin. “Until he shows up again.”

  “You know he won’t contact me. He’s not stupid.”

  “Yeah, I know. But we have to try.”

  One of the guys at the counter was getting up, doing something with his head that made me think he had Tourette’s syndrome or something, except he wasn’t cursing.

  “Excuse me for a minute,” Paula said. She slid out of the booth and sidled up to him. They went outside, and I could see them on the sidewalk, the man gesturing wildly, his mouth moving faster than a fucking train, and Paula’s eyes getting wider. She nodded, then came back inside and sat down.

  “I have to get going,” she said, draining her coffee cup.

  I was finished with my eggs and halfway through my toast. “What’s up?”

  She grinned. “Top-secret agent shit.” She swung her bag over her shoulder as she got back up. “I’ll be in touch.” The second guy at the counter followed her toward the door.

  “Tell them to stop watching me,” I shouted after her, not caring who heard. And no one seemed to care, since no one even looked up to see what all the shouting was about.

  I watched as Paula and the two agents walked around the side of the building to the parking lot. I threw down a $10 bill, put on my coat, and picked up my bag. If I hurried, maybe I could find out where they were going.

  Paula had parked farther back in the lot, so when my car started, they were just turning onto State Street. I kept a car length behind them. If I was lucky, no one would notice.

  I really had no idea why I was following the FBI. Maybe it was a sick sense of being more in control than I really was. I didn’t know what that guy had told Paula, but if they were willing to have her stop grilling me, it must be important. I hoped they hadn’t found my father before Vinny did. I was compelled to follow them to find out.

  My cell phone rang as we passed the old Malone’s, the place where Vinny and Pete Amato had gotten into their brawl.

  I pulled the phone out of my bag and held it to my ear. I had to get one of those handless things. It would be a lot less awkward, and anyway, it was now against the law to talk on a cell phone without one while driving. With my luck, I’d get pulled over and thrown into jail for this. If they found my father, maybe we could share a cell.

  “Hello?”

  “Annie?” Jesus, i
t was my father.

  “Can they trace this?” I asked. “I’m following the FBI as we speak.”

  I heard him chuckle. “You’re following them? And, no, I don’t think they can trace this.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “You watch too much TV.”

  I didn’t see what TV had to do with it. I was pretty sure technology was advanced enough to trace a cell phone call. But before I could say that, he asked, “Why are you following the FBI?”

  “Oh, it’s Paula and some guys she works with. They had her call me to find out where you are.” I paused, watching the car ahead of me. “Where are you?”

  “Don’t worry. I’m sorry I didn’t call you earlier.”

  “Why did they find your fingerprints?”

  “When I see you next time, I’ll explain everything.”

  He was a master of evasion. “Mom said they think you’re involved in Sal’s murder.”

  “They’re wrong. Why would I kill one of my closest and oldest friends?”

  Paula was turning left, onto Court Street. “Hold on a minute, okay?” I put the phone on the seat next to me as I made the turn, then picked it back up. “I need one of those handless things.”

  “Christmas is coming.”

  “Jesus, Dad, what the hell’s going on?”

  “That’s what I’m trying to find out. I just wanted you to know I’m okay and I’ll be in touch.” We were quiet a few seconds. “Love you.”

  “Love you, too,” I said, and the connection was broken. I put down the phone. Paula had pulled up in front of Vinny’s brownstone. I kept going, parked in front of my building, and hopped out onto the sidewalk. I strained to see what was going on but couldn’t, so I crossed the street and went into the park about halfway down, where I had a much better view.

  I watched it like a silent movie. Paula stayed on the sidewalk as her partner went up the steps and rang the bell. In a minute or so, the door opened, and Rosie stepped out in a bathrobe. And then Vinny came out; his hair was tousled, and he was also in a bathrobe. I watched him shake his head and say something, then the FBI guy indicated Paula should follow him, and they pushed Vinny and Rosie inside, and the door closed after all of them.

  I must have held my breath the whole time they were in there, and when they came out, I let out a long sigh. Paula and her partner got back into their car. I saw Vinny looking out his window, watching them drive away. Oh, shit, he saw me, too, and there he was, waving like a goddamn flag.

  I shot back across the park and to my car, which wouldn’t start. I think I flooded it, laying on the accelerator as if there were no tomorrow, and it just whined at me. Vinny was knocking on my passenger-side window, now dressed appropriately in jeans and a leather jacket.

  “Open the window, Annie,” he demanded.

  I cracked it about a quarter of an inch. “I’m on a secret mission, Vinny. I’m following the FBI.”

  Just then my car started, and in the same second that Vinny opened the door and jumped in, the old Honda lurched forward, throwing him into the dashboard. The door blew back on his leg and he shouted, “For God’s sake, slow down!”

  The car careened around the corner, and he managed to pull himself into a seated position and close the door. I turned to glare at him. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m going along for the ride. What do you think?” Vinny glared back. “And I think you lost them.”

  I craned my neck and spotted Paula’s Toyota Camry turning back toward Chapel. I made a hard left turn, and Vinny nearly fell into my lap. “What the fuck . . . ,” he muttered. “How long have you been at this?”

  I shook my head. “I met Paula for breakfast, she asked about my father, she and the other guys left, I followed them to your place.”

  I snuck a peek at him. His face had turned an odd shade of pink. “Oh.”

  I slammed on the brakes, and the car screeched to a halt in the middle of the street. “I certainly don’t have the right to be jealous, but I’m a little confused.”

  He wouldn’t look at me for a minute, and I could see him forcing himself to bring his eyes to my face. “I’ve got some things to sort out.”

  I snorted. “No shit. So what did they want?”

  “What?”

  “What did Paula want?”

  “Oh, they wanted to find out if I knew where your father was.” He was quiet a second. “I went over to Dominic’s last night after I left you, guess someone saw me there. But your father wasn’t there.”

  My brain tried to wrap itself around his words, but it was going in a hundred different directions.

  “You lost them,” he finally said when I didn’t say anything.

  “They’ll be back.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  At least he said that. But it didn’t really help. “I think I’m going to go to the paper. I’ll drop you off.” The car started moving again, and I turned at the light.

  “Drop me here,” he said.

  “I can take you home.”

  “I need to walk, to think.”

  I pulled over on Wooster Street. He opened the door and was about to get out when he turned back to me. He tried a smile, but it didn’t really work. “I’ll let you know when I find your father.”

  “He called me.”

  “What?”

  “He called me on my cell phone when I was following Paula.”

  “Where was he?”

  “He didn’t say. But he said he’d be in touch.”

  Vinny frowned. “I’ll call you if I find out anything,” he said as he climbed out of the car. He slammed the door shut and tapped on the window a couple of times. I pulled out into the street. I looked back at him in the rearview mirror. Damn, he looked good. I was one sick puppy.

  Chapter 21

  I turned the car around and started back up Chapel Street. I had to go to work. It was Sunday morning; it would be quiet, and I could go through my notes to try to make sense of everything that was going on, even though I wasn’t officially on the story anymore.

  But as I passed my brownstone, I had to stop. Amber and about six other people were stacking placards into a minivan. I caught a glimpse of one, which had big block letters announcing STOP THE SUFFERING. What the hell was this?

  I got out of the car and scurried up the sidewalk, sidling up to Amber. “What’s going on?” I asked.

  She seemed a little startled to see me, then: “Oh, Annie, it must have been dreadful for you to see those poor defenseless chickens cut down before their time.”

  Chickens? Sal’s chickens? She must have seen the paper this morning. I choked back a laugh when I saw how serious she was. I could thank years of talking to crazy people about ridiculous story ideas for my ability to keep a straight face when I was looking at someone who was obviously deranged. “It was pretty bad,” I admitted.

  Someone jostled me, and I stumbled.

  “Sorry.” Walter the Pit Bull didn’t even stop as he carried two placards to the van.

  “So what’s up?” I asked Amber.

  “We belong to a group called Vegans for Animals. We don’t eat anything that has a mother.”

  Christ, she was fucking serious about this. I could feel the laughter bubbling up inside me again, and I forced it back down. “So you’re protesting what?”

  “The murder of those innocent creatures,” she said. “We’re heading for the Green, where we can talk to as many people as possible.” She waved her arm toward Wooster Square. “Not enough people here. Want to come along?”

  “No thanks. I really can’t, you know, since I have to be objective and all.” I began backing up toward my car, then stopped. “So what do you expect to gain from this?”

  She shrugged. “Community sympathy. We’ve planned a memorial service.”

  “For who?” I asked, confused.

  “The chickens, of course,” Amber said. “It’ll be tomorrow afternoon. Please come.” She paused. “Do you think the newspaper would be interested in
this?”

  It was a publicity campaign. For her weirdo group. I shook my head. “Don’t think so,” I said as I climbed into my car.

  “You really should be more aware,” she called as she went back to join her friends.

  I watched them for a few minutes from the car as it warmed up, Amber’s tall, slender figure weaving in and out of the group, obviously the leader. She really was nuts.

  I was looking forward to going to the paper, where, after fifteen years, there were no surprises left. There would be one or two reporters reading the Sunday paper, waiting for their assignments to come up, and there wouldn’t be any editors on yet. The room would smell like Chinese food or garlic, depending on what the Saturday night copy desk had ordered in for dinner.

  They’d ordered pizza. A lone piece sat on the cardboard on the obituary desk. It looked tempting, especially since it was covered with pepperoni, and after talking to Amber, all I could think about was eating barbecued chicken or big slabs of meat. But I knew eating the pizza would be risky since it’d been there for more than twelve hours.

  I pulled out the notebooks I’d kept since Thursday. I’d just started reading through them to see if I’d written down anything I’d forgotten when I heard them approach.

  Bill Bennett and Dick Whitfield. Neither of them was smiling. In fact, Bill Bennett was looking downright disturbed about something.

  “Hello, Annie.” Bill Bennett’s voice grated on me like fingernails on a chalkboard. What the hell was he doing here on a Sunday morning, anyway? Maybe he was going to do something about the heat. But I doubted it. He didn’t even seem to notice it was like a sauna in here—his tie was perfectly straight, his suit jacket neat and wrinkle-free.

  I mumbled something that could have been construed as “Hello” as I yanked off my sweatshirt, wishing I’d worn a sleeveless shirt rather than a turtleneck underneath it. I could feel a band of sweat forming on my neck. Maybe this was what it was like to have hot flashes. Something to look forward to.

  “I’m glad you came in this morning,” Bill Bennett was saying. “I was going to call you.”

  I stared up at him without saying a word. It didn’t seem to faze him.