Jumping when someone started thumping on the door, Becca glanced back. She quickly returned her attention to Mario, however, not wanting to give him the opportunity to blindside her. If he were going to overpower her, she needed to at least see it coming first. Chewing her nails aggressively, she tried to tune out the resounding thuds shaking the door behind her.
Thankfully, the noise was enough to jar the mafia boss from his stoic display. He terminated the phone call. Steepling his fat fingers, he sighed and stared at Becca. He appeared unperturbed. After several seconds of mutual appraisal, Mario finally got up and strode forward to the door, brushing against Becca as he went. He smelled like exotic soap and expensive cologne.
When he opened the door, Mario confronted the surprised goon behind it. Becca turned to watch, cowering under the intense, hostile glare of the thug. The fact that the muscular man wore a suit and tie and appeared like someone ripped from the tarmac of La Guardia and inserted into a high-level business meeting only exacerbated that fear. Watching the two, she couldn’t help but experience a wave of discomfort as she envisioned them as basketball coaches or motivational gurus, anything with a veneer of respectability where one would enjoy the benefits of having community trust conferred upon them. Dressing up a turd didn’t make it any less of a turd. Yet, someone had given Mario a business license and the keys to the District Attorney’s office.
It took a few minutes and some heated exchanges for Mario to calm the other man down enough to convince him to retreat. When he’d done so, the restauranteur and Calabrian crime boss slowly, quietly closed the door and returned to his desk. He sat there for several seconds, immersed in a pensive silence. His head tilted up, his beefy hands clasped over his sizeable gut, he looked up at the ceiling as if seeking some sort of divine guidance.
Finally, he spoke. “Takes guts to come in here like that. You put your hands on my employee,” Mario said.
Leaning forward, he suddenly slammed both of his hands down on his desk. The violent report echoed through the windowless room.
Mario stood up swiftly, moving far faster than Becca would have expected anyone of his size. Throwing his arms around wildly, he tossed stacks of paper around in a hysterical fit. His face transformed itself in a visage of purple rage. He kicked a file cabinet. He yanked the phone from the wall and hurled it across the room.
Timidly standing, Becca covered her head and began moving toward the door.
“My guy is on the other side of that door,” Mario said. His breathing came in harsh, ragged gasps. He was nearly hyperventilating. “I’d sit down, if I were you,” he said.
“You’re scaring me,” Becca said, nonetheless pausing.
“Good,” Mario said. Then he resumed his violent rant, tearing pages from a phone book, stomping on boxes of pens, and destroying anything he could find in the near vicinity of his desk. Finally, he simply heaved the desk up and tossed it against the wall.
Yanking his chair, he pulled it over the rubble he’d created and placed it directly in front of the seat Becca had hastily vacated.
Mario tapped Becca’s seat. “Sit down,” he said, his voice oddly calm, given his recent performance.
“What if I don’t want to?” she asked.
“Right now, you don’t have a choice,” he said.
“This could be considered kidnapping,” Becca said.
“Yeah, well, right now, I make the rules. You want to call the DA, or maybe your cop friend, whatever, after you get out of here, fine. But I don’t think you fully understand the world I operate in. And I really need you to understand that world,” he said.
“I never asked to be part of this,” Becca said, on the verge of tears.
“You did when you chose to join me. I gave you that option. Now, sit,” Mario said.
Reluctantly, Becca complied. She did, however, glance back at the door several times before doing so, her mind weighing the odds surviving an escape attempt.
“Ms. Baker, I am not here to hurt you. I do not want to hurt anyone, much less the woman I’ve given the very important task of finding my son’s killer. If I hurt you, I will not only have more problems on my hands- missing people and homicides generally don’t help make money- but I will also need to find someone else that I might be able to trust to look into this matter,” Mario said. “Does any of that seem reasonable to you?” he asked.
Becca nodded. She wanted desperately to have a cigarette right then.
“I know that you are afraid. And I am not going to disrespect you by lying to you and saying that I did not want that reaction. Fear can be a powerful tool. But any tool has its limits. Fear can also cause people to behave irrationally. Impulsively. I am a man who despises such things. Too much of that and my entire family, all the families that depend on me, they could all be killed. So, I don’t want you to be afraid simply for the sake of showing off my power. I could care less about my power. Only God is truly powerful. The truth is, my power only matters because it offers my family the closest a poor peasant Calabrese can get to security on this planet,” he said.
Beginning to calm down, Becca licked her lips. She felt thirsty. “Uh, do you think I could at least get some water?” she asked. Her pulse still felt like it was going a mile a second. But, overall, the man’s rational discourse had the intended effect of quelling her fear.
“Of course. Please, give me one second,” Mario said. He got up and went to the door. He ignored Becca’s flinching as he passed. Cracking the entrance, he exchanged a few tense whispers with the guard stationed outside. Then he promptly returned to his seat.
“He’ll be back in a second,” Mario said. Then he shook his head. He smiled. “Before I ask you what made you so angry- even though I suspect I know- I need to establish some firm ground rules. There are many things I would love to collaborate with you on. After all, you are now my business partner. A rare privilege, indeed. Not many people who are not part of my organization ever even get to hear a member acknowledge its existence. Even fewer are allowed to be considered equals. Being a co-owner gives you power. Information,” he said, tapping his temple. “Information is power. That’s how my organization got its start, you know. Blackmail.”
Mario gulped. He looked away, composing his thoughts.
As he did so, Becca briefly entertained the idea of picking up the expensive gold pen laying on the ground by her feet and ramming it into the disgusting creature’s neck. She wanted to find the person behind his son’s murder. But she also knew, deep down in the innermost chasm of her heart, that she also desperately desired to see Mario taken down. She didn’t want him in her community. She needed to be rid of him and everything he stood for. And the brief interlude between acts in their ongoing dialogue only strengthened her resolve.
“Family means everything to me,” Mario said, his gaze somber as he returned his focus back to her.
“And that’s what this is about? Your family?” Becca asked, raising one eyebrow. She’d regained some of her temerity as she’d been envisioning the man’s untimely demise.
Mario smiled as he heard a knock at the door. He went and retrieved Becca’s beverage, then returned to his seat after handing it to her. “You really are something else, you know that?” he asked.
“Yeah, well, you had your men follow me to the trail. They were dumb enough to get spotted by someone who isn’t some little woman who runs a pastry bar, too. So, why don’t you go throw a tantrum in front of your hired killers, Mario? I’m pretty close to just taking my chances and walking out. You might be able to kill me and get away with it. But I doubt it. And you said yourself that murder isn’t exactly the best for business. So, you scared me. Good job. But you can cut the act and tell me why I should still play ball. Because that information you were talking about, it’s already on several computers,” Becca said. She was lying through her teeth about that last part. But she needed to regain the upper hand.
“I don’t believe you. But, let’s continue on, please? My little display was
more for my guys listening in the hallway. Sure, I wanted you to see it. But if I really wanted you afraid, there are more potent ways of demonstrating my power. I’d be careful, too. A lot of people in the Sheriff’s Department don’t like your friend, Yazzie. Lawrence, right? We Italians can be a devious lot. It would be far more plausible that a jealous lover killed you in most people’s eyes, right? No one wants to admit to themselves that they have a mafia problem. No Mayor wants that. No Police Chief wants that. No Sheriff wants that. So, I know you’re defiant and independent. I like that. But I urge you to think about what you’re doing from now on,” he said.
Becca shivered. She hated the fact that the man knew so much about her. She silently determined to take him down with the person who’d murdered his son as she waited for the man to continue talking. Becca figured the man liked hearing himself speak. He sure did it enough.
“Now, about family. That’s where I’d left off, right?” he asked.
Becca grunted. But she nodded. She sipped her drink reluctantly, not liking the fact that it had come from her interlocutor.
“So, that kid you grabbed? He is my nephew. In fact, everyone that works for me is related to me. Why would I give opportunities to others, when I have my own flesh and blood who are in need? Anyway, when you attacked him, you humiliated him and me. My nephew has a boss. You humiliated him, too. You disrespected his mother. That is not okay,” Mario said.
“Yet, somehow, forcing me to listen to your dumb speech and spying on me IS? I mean, threatening to murder women and rat out innocent people, sending them to prison for your crimes, THAT is fine,” Becca said.
“Hey, you have a family, right? What is fine in this world is often determined by force. You know, my son, the one who unfortunately ended up in your bathroom, deceased, he, uh, he took a political science class one time. I asked him what he was learning and he told me that one of the defining features of any government was the monopoly on violence. Now, here, I may not have the monopoly. But it’s close. And what I have is far better than anything your family will likely ever have. So, until you convince me that you have enough men to kill my men, I’ll continue to be calm and composed,” Mario said.
“You do realize I hate you, right?” Becca asked.
Mario shrugged. “Did I ask? I don’t care. All I ask is that you refrain from touching my family like you did today,” he said. He held up a fist to his mouth as he coughed. “Look, did someone screw up today? Yes. I honestly didn’t know someone went to follow you. My guys know I like to know things about people. Should I have told them that you deserve some respect and privacy? Sure. You want an apology? Fine. There. I’m sorry. And I really am. Had that not happened, this would not have happened. Had this not happened, I would still have the fifty grand I need to now spend on new office equipment and paying off little Luca’s poor mother,” he said.
“Is that all you care about? Money?” Becca asked pointedly.
“No. Which is why you’re even here at all. I care very much about finding out who killed my son, Ms. Baker,” Mario said.
“Well, then, why don’t you tell me more about that girl you disappeared. She was his friend. What’s her name? How might I find her? What can you tell me about her?” Becca asked.
For what seemed like the first time since Becca had encountered the man, Mario appeared distinctly uncomfortable. He grabbed at his collar. He began jiggling his leg. Gulping, he briefly looked away. Observing all of these palpable signs of nervousness, Becca smiled sharkishly. She knew she’d hit the jackpot. And she enjoyed the fact that she’d forced the veteran poker player to show his tells. “Something wrong? You need me to step out? Get some help from the guard in the hallway?” Becca asked.
“You’re very rude. Someone should teach you some manners,” Mario said, his voice strained.
“Get used to it, sir,” Becca said, the last word coming out dripping with derisive sarcasm. “You’re not my daddy, last I checked. And I doubt you’d want to kill me on your own property, so I at least have some time before you try and frame my friend. Which just means I’d have time to test that theory of yours,” Becca said.
“Leave,” Mario said.
“How about no,” Becca said. “I need to know who that girl is. The longer you try to avoid telling me, the more I want to dig. And I’ll continue to dig as long as I live, if only to spite you,” she said.
“Do you know who I am?” Mario suddenly thundered.
“A petty thief in a suit who’s really far from home,” Becca said. “You can put cologne on a turd, but it’s still just that. You can spend your entire life trying to run from the truth, but it will always haunt you,” she said.
Breathing heavily, Mario looked up, locking eyes with Becca. For a moment, extreme hate burned in his twin orbs, boring a hole into her soul. But then it clicked off. And, slowly, a smile emerged. He clapped his hands, chuckling as Becca flinched at the harsh report. “You’re part French Canadian, yes? Is that where you got your spirit?”
“I don’t know, Mario. But I still want to know about the girl,” Becca said.
“The girl. The girl,” Mario said with mock disgust, standing abruptly. He stretched his arms as he towered over Becca. Rolling his neck, he grimaced. “The girl is Emma something. I don’t know her last name. I already admitted I was a bad father to Giovanni. I should have been more supportive. I tried. But I didn’t try hard enough,” he said.
“Emma. Well, that’s a start, at least. Any idea where she lives? Or stays? What more can you tell me about her?” Becca asked.
“I don’t know. My man Marco might be able to tell you more. But I wouldn’t ask him right now, since he was the one in the hallway who was begging me for a chance to teach you a lesson,” Mario said.
“What happened to her after you first approached me?” Becca asked.
Chapter 13
Becca felt relieved when she walked back into the Three Sassters. Seeing guests milling about, engaging in casual conversations in their quiet claques and clusters, she managed to suppress a euphoric shout. However, she rushed toward the back, her head down, hoping to avoid any contact with her patrons. Becca just couldn’t trust herself to not sound silly right then.
Reaching the kitchen without incident, she collapsed against the nearest wall and allowed tears of joy to stream down her face. The gentle, familiar hum of the various instruments mixed with the comforting aromas of flour and spices and fresh berries all helped to pull her from her trembling rage. Cooking had always provided her a refuge from the problems of the world. Becca had a deep connection with the food she served. In her own way, she sought to offer others the temporary bliss and sanctuary that only a good gastronomical experience could provide. It was her small way of helping to build a better world.
That’s what she told herself, anyway.
Sniffing, Becca opened her eyes. She gradually acclimated herself to her new surroundings. And not having to feel so small and afraid. She hated Mario for what he’d done to her. For defiling her innocence and corrupting her sense of peace and community. Not even the threats to her own life and livelihood had devastated her as much as being confronted with the evils that lurked in the world. She smiled and wiped her face, glad that Tank or Charlie hadn’t barged in to witness her display of emotion. Looking around, she saw a row of ingredients lined up for apple galettes. Slowly standing up, she took a deep breath and waited for her legs to stop shaking. Then she proceeded over to the hastily assembled work station.
First, she sliced the apples, making sure to get them thin enough to bake properly. The art of crafting galettes required the right cuts for the fruit filling. Otherwise, the pie-like dessert wouldn’t cook properly. Once that was done, Becca eyeballed the brown sugar as she combined it with the Golden Delicious pieces, trying to get as close to three tablespoons as she could. Squirting some lemon juice into the plastic container with the previous ingredients, she then added some cinnamon and a bit of salt. The last thing to do before completin
g the important beginning step was carefully folding the combination, making sure everything got mixed fairly well.
Next, Becca plopped a slab of dough down onto the floured counter, Becca carefully rolled it into a circle. She chewed the inside of her lip and cocked her head as she paused to guesstimate whether or not she’d gotten to 12 inches. Shrugging and making a little noise, she went to the baking sheet, arranging the coin-shaped concoction onto it. Doling out some of the apple filling onto the pie crust, she made sure to leave enough room at the edges so she could fold it forward. She finished by brushing some egg over the top of the dessert and then sprinkling some sugar atop it.
Becca jumped, nearly dropping the prepared dessert as she went to insert it into the oven. Whirling around, she confronted the intruder. Her dilated pupils and distorted visage created a mask of pure, unadulterated rage. However, as she clenched her fist and prepared herself for a verbal tirade, she realized that it was just Tank.
Blinking, she felt herself blushing. Recognizing the hurt look on her trusted baker’s face, Becca experienced a hot wave of shame. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, raising a hand to her chest to still her beating heart.
“Is this a bad time? I mean, I can come back,” Tank said, taking a step backward. “I saw you come in. But I thought you were just taking a shortcut to the alley,” he said. “I know how hard it can be to find parking sometimes.”
Shaking her head, Becca smiled sadly. “No, just me overreacting,” she said.
“Is… everything okay?” Tank asked, his tone concerned.
That did it. Becca collapsed to the floor, a crying, hysterical mess of mixed emotions. She needed to tell someone. To unload the secret baggage she’d been loaded up with. But she also understood that she couldn’t. Not then. Disclosure was just too dangerous.
Slice of the Pie Page 11