She sobbed right there on the floor of her infant pastry bar, grappling with the hard decisions she faced and the threats suddenly thrust upon her by her charismatic, well-dressed neighbor.
“It’s okay,” Tank said, kneeling down and patting her shoulder.
“No, it’s NOT okay,” Becca said. She looked up at Tank. Seeing the confusion written all over his features, she tried to think of a way to explain things to him. Could she hint at the danger without actually revealing the true nature of it all? In seconds, her whirling braining rationalized things away. Yes, telling Tank everything could pose an extreme risk. Yet, it could also offer a necessary lifeline. If Mario tried to make good on his constant threats, someone needed to know, if only to help protect Denise and David. But it wasn’t like there weren’t plenty of people in their small town whispering behind the mafia don’s back, somewhat accurately gossiping about Mario’s criminal ties. The only things the community seemed to be wrong about were the man’s origins- as if a thug from Calabria were somehow different than one from Sicily- and the true extent of the guy’s evil.
“If I tell you something,” Becca said, fighting for breath. She sat up, bumping her head on a nearby counter. Pausing to laugh at herself, she rubbed her cranium and took the opportunity to further collect her thoughts.
“You need me to keep it hush-hush. I get it,” Tank said, responding to the unspoken assertion.
Becca nodded. She reached out and patted Tank’s knee. “You’re a good man. Most guys are pigs. But you, I can vouch for,” she said. She sighed. “I’ve had a bad day.”
A timer buzzed, once again startling Becca. She began shaking. Watching as Tank stood up and moved across the kitchen, patiently turning off the intrusive device before returning to her side, Becca wondered just what it was she was doing. Somehow, life had conspired to take her from casual fan of amateur sleuth stories to active participant. Except, this time, in real life, the stakes were much higher. She possessed no earthly clue how to go about conducting an investigation. She lacked the necessary confidence. She knew she’d mess everything up. And that, of course, meant her entire family’s survival was at risk.
“Tank, the man across the street…” she paused on the precipice of full disclosure. Once the words exited her mouth, there wasn’t any going back. Inhaling heavily, Becca finally decided to just go for it. She needed to trust her gut. And everything in her intuition screamed for her to trust Tank with the vital information.
“Mario is a mafia thug. He might not look like it. But he is. He’s part of some thing,” Becca waved a hand dismissively and shook her head. “I don’t really understand the details. I guess it’s not like the mafia we always think of. It’s Italian, but I guess a different type of Italian,” she suppressed a wry chuckle. “The distinction is important to him. But I’m not sure I care, when the man is threatening to kill me,” she said.
Tank went on alert. He raised one eyebrow and tensed instinctively. “Do you need help? He threatened to kill you?” he asked.
“It’s not as bad as it sounds,” Becca said, nonetheless nodding.
“Becca, that’s pretty bad. How is that not as bad as it sounds?” Tank asked, his fists clenched and his jaw tight.
“Well, let me explain. I guess I don’t need to. I don’t know,” Becca said, shaking her head. “I’m a mess,” she said.
“It’s okay. Charlie should be okay out there. We’re not too busy. It’s almost closing time,” he said.
“Yeah. Well, anyway, he doesn’t want the cops involved, even though he practically owns several of them. Mario doesn’t trust them,” Becca said, laughing derisively. “Gee, I wonder why,” she said. She snorted and wiped her face before going on. “So, yeah. The first time he threatened to have me murdered, it was just because he’d told me what everyone already suspected. Mario just confirmed what I already knew but didn’t want to believe. Gosh, I am naïve. But I could deal with that, I guess. However, tonight…” her words trailed off as she fought another surge of helpless anger and anxiety.
“What happened today, Becca?” Tank asked, trying to goad her on.
“I went for a hike. To clear my head. To think. You know how I do that. I mean, I grew up in Maine. It’s natural for me,” Becca said, almost feeling the need to justify herself. When Tank didn’t respond, she continued on. “Turns out, Mario sent one of his guys to follow me. THEY USED A DRONE TO STALK ME, TANK. Can you believe that? The turd,” Becca said.
“Why would he do that? If he wants you to investigate his son’s death? Doesn’t seem like a very nice thing, to spy on your friends,” Tank said.
Becca snorted. “We are NOT friends. But, no, I think he just wanted to have tabs on me. Make sure I wasn’t having a secret meeting with a fed or something. I don’t really know. How can I even get into the warped mind of someone like that?” she asked.
“Well, in the Army, there were bad dudes. Real tough guys. And even they understood that you wouldn’t get the best out of your people by pulling stunts like that. Bad for productivity. You sure this guy is mafia? Because, for someone who should be all about their money, that really puts their bottom line at risk. What’s he think will happen, him telling you everything? His boss will kill him. What a dummy,” Tank said, shaking his head.
“Yeah, I know. And it’s exactly like you said. Instead of being productive and using my time to investigate, I went and made a fool of myself,” Becca said. She smiled. “I went right in and grabbed up the maître’ d. Who, apparently, is his nephew. Or something. I don’t remember, with all the hysterics. I had to march through the entire restaurant over there, evading tough guys and barging in on phone conferences. This time, Mario got very personal. Went over the top. He tore his entire office up. Throwing things, yelling. And, yes, he threatened to murder me and, and…” Becca bit her lower lip as she resisted the urge to begin sobbing again. When her emotions subsided, she continued on, her tone nearly a whisper. “He said he’d blame it on Lawrence.”
“That’s messed-up,” Tank said.
“I agree,” Becca said.
Chapter 14
They were hugging on the floor when Charlie barged in.
“What in the world?” she asked, her mouth hanging open as she stared, wide-eyed. She planted both hands firmly on her hips. An aggressive frown formed on her thin lips. With her small stature and short, pixie-style haircut, the defiant stance didn’t seem nearly as ominous as she perhaps had intended. It was comical, in fact. But Charlie kept up the act long enough to get their attention.
“What’s wrong with human affection?” Becca asked. Then, unable to contain herself any longer, she burst out laughing. As soon as her mirth exploded out, Tank added his own to the mix, creating a cacophony.
Looking first from Becca then to Tank, lines of confusion formed on Charlie’s forehead. She seemed to be trying to calculate whether or not she’d become the brunt of a cruel joke. She crossed her arms across her chest and chewed her lip silently, glaring at them both. “I’m not leaving until you tell me what’s going on,” she said.
Wiping tears from her face, Becca suddenly realized that it wouldn’t be a good idea to keep the daughter of one of the town’s biggest gossipmongers out of the loop. Even if Becca could never actually tell the poor girl the true extent of what was going on, she needed to give Charlie something. If she didn’t, Delilah would be calling non-stop, driven by obscene curiosity, putting a wedge between Three Sassters and Becca’s business clients. Trying to think quickly, a thought zoomed down and struck her like an epiphany. “We were talking about your mother’s birthday party,” Becca lied.
She watched Charlie’s face, gauging the girl’s reaction. As she did so, Becca had to wonder how she’d learned to lie so well. Part of her was impressed while another part felt like that road couldn’t lead anywhere good. Becca experienced a wave of relief when she observed her employee visibly relaxing.
“What’s so funny about mom’s birthday? Are you guys going to do som
ething weird to her cake?” Charlie said. Suddenly, her entire demeanor transformed from one of extreme irritation to one of mild excitement. “She hates unicorns,” Charlie said, winking.
Kneeling to get eye-level with Tank and Becca, who’d remained on the floor, Charlie lowered her voice to a conspiratorial level. “Wouldn’t it just be hilarious if you used UNICORN NAPKINS?” she asked.
Becca and Tank exchanged a look. Seeing her bald, black employee- a portrait of masculinity in many respects- struggling so valiantly to contain his laughter forced Becca over the edge. She once again began erupted, the peals taking her all the way to the floor, where she slapped the tile and struggled to breathe.
Everyone laughed. The scene continued on for several minutes, each of them feeding off of each other as they tried to regain their senses. As soon as Becca thought she’d had enough, she’d look over and see Charlie or Tank cracking up and then go off on a new round of mirth. This, of course, only fueled even greater levels of hilarity.
Finally, a heavy knock on the kitchen door plucked them from their outburst. Slowly, Charlie stood. Wiping her face and running a hand over her brown apron emblazoned with the Three Sassters logo, she glanced back at her boss and co-worker. Shaking her head, she took a breath. Clenching a fist, she pulled her hand to her mouth to keep from sliding back into more laughter. After a few seconds, Charlie took a deep breath and moved toward the exit. “Wish me luck,” she said.
Surrounded by the deafening silence left in her wake, Becca and Tank both stared off into space for what seemed like a long time. In a way, Becca thought as she sat there, the nearly manic act had been cathartic. The tension and anxiety built up over the last day or two had suddenly found an outlet- albeit an unorthodox one that inconvenienced some of her guests- and Becca couldn’t help but feel relieved.
“’What if you put unicorns on the napkins?’” Tank said, mimicking Charlie with a humorously high-pitched voice. Then, abruptly, he switched back into serious mode, not bothering to leave any room for a transitional period. “You’re in some deep stuff right now, Becca,” he said.
“Tell me about it,” Becca said. “My main worry is finding Emma. That’s the girl that was outside the bathroom. The one who screamed? Yeah, her. So, Mario wasn’t exactly acting forthright about her. He clearly wasn’t excited when I started asking about her. And he was even less enthusiastic about providing any details about her current whereabouts,” she said.
“Wasn’t he the one who initiated all of this? I mean, he ASKED YOU to investigate, right?” Tank asked, raising one eyebrow.
“Yeah, exactly. I bought his line about not trusting the local authorities, hook, line, and sinker. Which, you know, I probably shouldn’t have done. Part of me wonders why I ever even agreed. I mean, I’ve always wanted to do something like this. The idea made me giddy, you know? I got a hint of adventure and decided it might be worth the investment of time and all that. Do a good social function while also getting a thrill and some good stories for any future grandkids. Does that make sense?” she asked, frowning.
Tank laughed. He shook his head. “Oh, sure, Becca. I joined the Army, remember? Being a 92 Golf isn’t exactly the most illustrious of careers. I sure could have cooked without serving in the military. Probably would have made more money, honestly. Over the long-term, anyway. And I KNOW I would have been better off, mental health-wise. You’ve never experienced humiliation or ridicule until you’ve served 11 Bs their food,” he said.
“What is 11 B?” Becca asked, furrowing her brow.
“Oh, sorry. An infantryman. One of the tough guys. They always looked down on all the support people. But we ‘culinary specialists,’” Tank used air quotes as he frowned at the term. “We were the lowest on the ol’ totem pole, if you know what I mean. Seriously, there were people that literally treated child molesters better than us. And if you think that’s hyperbole, go look up for yourself. Army’s been hard-up at times for recruits. They have given waivers to some really bad people,” Tank said.
Becca shivered. “Thank you so much for the reassurance. Glad there is something in the world WORSE than having a sociopathic mafia don owning the restaurant across the street,” she said. Profoundly disturbed by the track the conversation had taken, she tried to steer it back toward more manageable terrain. “Okay, so, please don’t tell anyone. But I’m glad at least you know. I honestly just don’t know what to do,” she said. “I’m not quitting,” she said, holding up one admonitory finger. “No way, Jose. Not in this life. I’m in, and I’m not giving up. Especially now. Nuh-uhn. Not after all I’ve gone through,” she said.
“So, did he actually tell you? Where the girl was? What’s her name again? And why in the world would he spy on you like that? You never did tell me the answer to that. Or, if you did, I forgot,” Tank said.
“Emma is the girl’s name. And no, he wouldn’t tell me much about her, at all. But I have some promising leads. If I can ever get out of here, I might actually try to work on them tonight. I can tap into Delilah’s contacts, since I need to follow up with her, anyway. Before she goes all crazy on me again,” Becca said, twirling a finger around her ear and rolling her eyes. “Plus, Lawrence knows everyone. Kind of his job. So, I think I can manage to find her. That is, if she’s not dead,” Becca said.
“What if she is? Is that even out of the realm of realistic possibilities at this point?” Tank asked.
“Guess we’ll just have to figure that out if we ever reach that point. I mean, I guess it’s not all that far-fetched. But if he’s killing his son’s best friend, it’s probably indicative of something. I’m not sure what, exactly. But I’d be much more willing to believe Mario was directly responsible for his son’s death if that happens. Right now, much as I don’t like him, my gut is telling me that he actually wants to know who did it. I think he has a true bond with his son. Had, I should say. You know, as a mom, I want to think I recognize that parental instinct. But it could just be wishful thinking,” Becca said, shrugging. “I’m getting too tired to care, at this point,” she said.
Then, as she turned to leave, a thought strafed her consciousness. “Hey,” Becca said, snapping her fingers and smiling. “Again, it could be wishful thinking, but what if Mario wants to hide the girl to protect her from his rivals? I mean, he genuinely seems to think another organized crime group of some sort is behind this. Mario thinks it was a hit,” she said. She stared at Tank as she awaited his response.
“I guesssssss,” Tank said, his hesitant response tepid. “I’ll be honest, though. I’m pretty biased against the guy, right now. So, I don’t necessarily want to see him or any of his actions in a good light. I do have to say, however, that the idea makes sense. All of it does, in a strange way. He’s a mob boss, and he’s from out-of-town, to boot. So, yeah, I can see him wanting someone like you conducting a discrete inquiry. As for the whole bit about the girl… yeah, that kind of makes sense, too,” he said.
“Well, thanks for the ambivalence there, Tank,” Becca said, chuckling. “I’m going to go. I need to check up on my daughter and future son-in-law. Make sure they haven’t wrecked my house or eaten everything in sight. Maybe both at the same time. If they’re lucky, I might actually cook for them. Just because I like cooking. After that, I’m back to my old workaholic self. I’ll be searching for our girl. If you need anything, just call me,” Becca said. And, with that, she exited the kitchen.
On her way out the front door, however, she encountered several regular guests. Unable to help herself, Becca stopped to schmooze. One of the best parts of her job was witnessing the joy she helped bring to people’s lives first-hand. Seeing Betty, an urbane older woman with carefully coiffed white hair and perfect olive-colored skin that belied her age, Becca rushed over and embraced the lady. “Hello, miss Betty. How ARE you? Is everything okay? I do hope you’re enjoying your snack,” Becca gushed.
“Oh, it’s always good here. I just love your little establishment. And calling it a pastry bar,” Betty said
, offering an exaggerated wink. “That was just a stroke of genius,” she said. She sniffed. She obviously had a mild criticism. However, the lady was too polite to just out and say it.
“Was there anything you’d like to suggest? We treat our guests like our second family, so if you have an observation that might help us improve, by all means, please, tell me,” Becca said.
Betty reached out and brushed Becca’s arm. “Oh, am I that transparent, dear?” she said, chuckling. She turned and reached into her slim red purse and grabbed a crisp one-hundred-dollar bill. She tried to give it to Becca, frowning when the proprietor pushed it away. Folding it into her hand, she clucked her tongue and glanced away, revealing heavy diamond earrings that danced with her movement. “Well, anyway, dear, I think you really could use some fresh local juices. For the health-conscious. Does that seem like a good idea to you?” the elegant woman asked.
“Oh, sweetie, I would NEVER have thought of that if you hadn’t brought it to my attention. I absolutely love the idea,” Becca said, smiling. Part of her hated being so superficial. She did like interacting with her guests. But it required a certain level of fakeness that was anathema to her personality. She was always as tough on herself as she was honest, and she never fully understood how others could be any different. Nonetheless, she knew full well how important it was not to offend her regular guests, and Becca would play any part needed in order to do just that.
“You really think so?” Betty asked, raising her voice.
“Oh, I do. It might be a bit of a challenge, logistically. Seasonality and supply shifts, all that. Frozen doesn’t always preserve the same taste or texture. But I think we could conjure up some good recipes. How is everything else, though?” Becca asked.
“You know, I hadn’t really thought of that. The seasonal aspect. But I guess that’s why I’m not in business. My Ed, he always used to say I had a head for art,” Betty said. She sniffed. “Guess I should just stick to my paintings,” she said.
Slice of the Pie Page 12