by Landon Beach
“We will, baby. And don’t think that we won’t be getting something from my parents to help us out. You saw what was in the boxes you took underwater.”
He didn’t want to be crass, but the words came out too easily. “How much do you think we would get?”
“Gold digger.”
He turned on his side, facing her. “Shit, that came out wrong.”
She giggled. “Don’t worry. You’re so cute.”
He gave a nervous laugh back. “Glad I’m still that.”
She found his face in the dark and gave him a kiss. He could feel the warmth of her body as she inched closer. Then, the kiss ended, and they were on their backs again. “We will be taken care of,” she said. “Now, seeing how we were both addicts, I am sure that it will not be a lump sum. Probably a monthly allotment.”
As if he were already a professor and had just heard a convincing opening argument in a classroom discussion, he said, “Your point is well taken.”
“Ugh. Is that the kind of talk I’m going to get if you go back to school?”
“More than likely,” he said. Then, a thought occurred to him. “We haven’t heard from anyone back home yet. Does that worry you?”
“No. Remember, Ciro said that we wouldn’t if everything was okay. And we should definitely not call them. That’s what Nico said too.”
“Right. It’s just strange to me, that’s all. If everything was good, then why wouldn’t it be okay for them to call us and let us know or us call them to let them know we’re okay?”
“It takes some getting used to. But I believe it is for our safety. They expect us to return tomorrow afternoon. Don’t worry, they’ll be ready for us, and then we can tell them all about our adventure. You just asked me about getting money, right? Well, when we show up clean and on time, having done exactly what they wanted, then the chances of us getting to leave to start our own life increases.”
She was right. And yet, he couldn’t help but think something was not right. The deli that they had gone to for lunch had no televisions inside, and he had never been much of a newspaper reader—that was Brad—so he had no idea about the world outside of the tent right now. This bothered him some because he was always anticipating something historical to happen, but he admitted that it was nice not getting caught up in the twenty-four-hour news cycle addiction. That kind of news was not history—and not how you studied history. What he felt, though, had nothing to do with that world. Ralph Waldo Emerson had once said, “There is properly no history, only biography.”
Maybe Emerson was right.
“Conrad?”
The sound of his name brought his mind back inside the tent. You’re wasting your time worrying about things you don’t even know about, he told himself. “Sorry. You’re right. Everything is fine. I guess I’m so used to having things go wrong, many times by my own hand, that I got carried away.” He leaned over and kissed her. “We’re good.”
She put her hand on his muscular, hairy chest and started to move it slowly down his flat stomach. “Not yet,” she said.
✽✽✽
Grosse Pointe Shores
“Okay, well, we’ll see about the payment,” Don Fabian De Luca said into the phone. “I have to find where the money is first. Understand?”
The phone call ended, and Fabian handed the phone to a butler who would take the phone into the basement and destroy it. Then, he would bring Fabian a new disposable phone to use for any calls tomorrow.
As the butler left the study, Fabian sat back against the charcoal-colored couch cushions. On the ebony end table was a glass coaster and a snifter of brandy. He dipped his new cigar in the drink and then wrapped his lips around the end, tasting the heavenly sweetness mixed with the aroma of tobacco.
He looked at his watch. 9:30 p.m. Where were they? The search of Angela’s house for the phone yesterday had proven to be a challenge. Angela did not want to leave her house at that point, and they were only able to cover a few rooms. But, tonight, Angela had given in to the charms of Papa Pete and was taking a leisurely cruise in Lake St. Clair on the Consigliere’s seventy-two-foot yacht, Empire State of Mind. Perhaps they would sleep onboard tonight, which would give GiGi and his men even more time to search. The phone had to be there somewhere. It was the only link to find Stansie and the gardener—and the money. And when they found out where the money was, they would take it all for themselves.
The dim light of the study made the Don’s eyes sparkle in the window next to the end table. He put his cigar down, loosened his silk necktie, and drifted off to sleep.
A half-an-hour later, GiGi Rizzo entered the study and carefully woke the Don. “We finally found it. Had it stashed underneath his prissy little bathroom sink.”
The Don rubbed his eyes and then focused on GiGi as his bodyguard took an object out of his pocket and showed it to the Don.
In GiGi’s hand was a black cell phone. “Do we call tonight?” GiGi said.
“No. We visit Angela tomorrow and have her call for us. Go into our communications room and contact my uncle’s yacht, I want to speak with him.”
25
Sterling State Park, Michigan,
1 Day Ago . . .
Conrad Cranston emerged from the icy shallows of Lake Erie after one final dive in the water as the sunrise loomed in the distance—beams of orange, red, yellow, and indigo spread across the glass surface. Stansie waited on the shore with a towel, and he shook his long hair by her, spraying drops of water everywhere.
“Someone wants to stay here for a while longer.”
He took the towel and started drying his hair. “It’s so gorgeous and quiet. I do.” Refreshed was an inadequate word for how he felt. After making love last night, he had fallen into a catatonic sleep. When he awoke this morning, he possessed a vibrance unknown to himself, and he had gently woken her up with a long massage, which had led to even better sex than the night before—more intense, with both of them reaching orgasm. Stansie first, and then him.
He took her hand, and they stood, looking at the water. “Did you know that, geologically, Lake Erie is the oldest of the Great Lakes?”
“No,” she said. “Am I about to get a history lesson?”
He smirked. “Can’t help it. All of our talks have me feeling the pull back to the university campus.”
She put her head on his shoulder. “Lay it on me.”
“Well, Erie is the shallowest of the Great Lakes. I think the deepest point is just over two hundred feet. But. There are over 1,750 shipwrecks out there,” he said, pointing at the water. “Most of them sank in sixty feet of water or less and were probably dynamited to remove them from being a hazard to navigation. You see, Lake Erie has a soft bottom, so when a wreck does settle on the lake bed, large parts disappear ten or more feet into the mud and silt. Some disappear completely, so when you dive for a wreck, sometimes you have to dig a little to even see something. And there’s all sorts of stuff that can destroy a wreck that sinks while it’s mostly intact.”
“Like what?” Stansie said.
“Oh, ice, wind, waves, current—collisions if some of it is still above the water.”
Stansie laughed to herself.
“What?” Conrad said.
“You’re standing here telling me all about the lake and its shipwrecks. I don’t even know how this area was discovered.”
“Well, discovered is a tricky word. Remember, Native Americans were already living in this area. But, as far as explorers to the new world are concerned, you’ve come to the right man. Lake Erie was the last Great Lake discovered.” He searched his memory. “Think it happened in the late 1600s.” He paused as if to verify the date. “Yeah, pretty sure it was then. Anyway, it was the Europeans who figured out just what a treasure trove of resources this area had: lumber, rich farmland, minerals like coal, copper, iron, limestone, and, arguably the most valuable resource of all,” he said, waving his arm across his body, “fresh water.”
“So, because of these,
a lot of people settled here instead of going farther west?”
“Indeed.” He gave her a quick peck on the cheek. “Sure you don’t want to study history with me?”
“Um, no.”
“Because of the resources, industries and massive urban populations took off in the Great Lakes Region. I think there were around three hundred thousand people living in the Great Lakes in 1800. By 1970, around the time my brother Brad was born, the population had exploded to thirty-seven million.”
“Okay, I get it, you can stop now. You are definitely heading back to finish your degree.”
He looked down at the ground. “Kind of makes you wonder, though, doesn’t it?”
“About what?”
“What I could have been had I not gotten into the stuff that I did?”
She pulled his head up by the chin with her palm. “Now, that kind of talk is over. We only go forward from here.”
They kissed.
“We’re down to our last four water bottles, so it’s a good thing we’re heading back in a few hours. Don’t want to push our luck too much.”
It was a welcomed switch of subjects. He paused from his drying off and looked back out at the lake. “No, I suppose not.” He turned to her. “But one day we’ll be ready, and we won’t need water bottles to keep us on track. I believe it. Do you?”
“We’ll see,” she said, rubbing his cold arm. “Get a shirt on. You’ve got goosebumps all over your skin.”
He did, and they walked back toward the campsite. “I’ll make a run to the deli and pick up bagels and coffee, okay?”
“Got it. I’ll start breaking down the tent, and then we’ll stow everything after you get back.”
He gave her a kiss and headed out.
Twenty minutes later, he was back, and they enjoyed their breakfast around a small fire while watching some early morning kayakers enter the water and start to glide through the calm of Lake Erie.
“I’d like to have one of those,” Conrad said and took a final sip of his coffee.
“Going to be a kayak man?”
“I was thinking about what you said yesterday about should we live inland or on the water. I’m leaning toward living on the water even more than yesterday. There is just something about being able to walk off of your back deck, trudge across the sand, and then dive in to start the day. Or, put in a kayak and get a workout that way. Hey, we could both get a kayak and work out together.”
“I’m liking the idea,” she said, looking out as the kayakers cut the lake cleanly with their paddles, “Whatever we do, we have to stay together.”
“We can do anything, you know?”
“Are you just saying that?”
Normally, they would be empty, honey-laced words meant to appease or impress or motivate. But, today, they were true. He was moody, and today’s mood had him in a place of possibility—hope for the future. He studied Stansie’s beautiful face, lit by the sun rising over the water, and thought: Yes, I am ready to be a father. “No, I mean it. We have our whole lives in front of us.”
“So, the dreamer has become the realist.” She squeezed him with one arm. “We’ll get back today and talk with Papa and Ciro about our plan. I will even invite mamma, who will stay quiet but have my father’s ear later. And Ciro will know this.” She gave Conrad a wicked grin, one that meant: We are going to get our way.
They hugged. “We really are going to make it, you know?” Stansie said.
“I know,” he said, shaking his head enthusiastically ‘Yes.’ “Okay, let’s pack up the tent and get ready for our last hike. They wanted us to wait until around four p.m. to leave, right?”
She shook her head yes.
“And no phone contact either, right?”
“None. We just leave. If they call us, we need to listen because it could mean danger.”
“Then it’s perfect. We’ll go on our hike, come back and shower, go get lunch at the deli, check out of the campground, and then leave right at four. We’ll be home for dinner. I bet it’s going to be huge.” Verbalizing the routine for the day to himself had also become a habit, and it kept him focused and calm. This time he had said it aloud.
“A banquet to celebrate the mission,” she joked.
“Okay, okay, I’ll stop playing it up. But it still might be pretty bigtime, you know.”
“Never lose your sense of romance, Conrad. Oh, and since when have you become so planful with schedules for the day?”
“I guess you’re starting to rub off on me.”
She gave a nod of approval. “Now, help me with this tent, Mr. Professor Adventure.”
✽✽✽
Grosse Pointe Shores
Angela Russo sat at a table that had been set for a delicious late lunch in Papa Pete’s pool house. She wore a black dress with sandals that covered her recently pedicured feet—one of the many services available on Papa Pete’s yacht. They had slept in, and it was now around two in the afternoon.
His housekeeper, Vanni Palazzo, poured ice water into Angela’s glass and then filled Papa Pete’s, who sat across the table from her.
“It was a wonderful evening, Angie,” he said.
“Your company has comforted me during this difficult time, Pietro. I have been a prisoner in my own house, and it was nice to escape last night.”
Last evening, they had cruised around Lake St. Clair, sitting on the yacht’s top level, which had a jacuzzi, bar, and sunbathing area. After a world-class dinner of steak, shrimp, lobster tail, and the finest red wine that Papa Pete carried on board, they had put on their swimwear and headed to the top level and relaxed in the jacuzzi while some of their favorite jazz musicians—Getz, Coltrane, Sinatra, Davis, Fitzgerald—set the mood. Vanni Palazzo had been onboard and had brought over two large flutes of champagne. She had refilled a second and then a third time.
“I wanted to give you some space to breathe, my dear friend. You have been through entirely too much, and we are working night and day to find out who made the move on Ciro.”
She lowered her head, but Papa Pete could still see the outline of her mouth. It frightened him when he saw her clench her teeth and then lift her head to where he could see them straight-on. “I want them found,” she snarled. In his fifty years of knowing her, lusting after her, he had never seen her do this. It aroused him, and he felt his massive organ throb against his undershorts. He’d been close to unleashing it on her last night but continued to bide his time.
He took a sip to calm himself. “And we will, my sweet Angie. I swear on the souls of my children.”
She relaxed her jaws and began to eat.
Papa Pete saw his opportunity. “We have men posted everywhere. The Don’s mansion, your mansion, mine. Everyone is accounted for except for your daughter and her gardener boyfriend, what’s his name?”
“Conrad,” Angela said.
“Ah, yes, Conrad. A simple German name for a simple man.”
“Maybe simple, but sweet, and he has helped turn my daughter’s life story from tragedy to triumph.”
Papa Pete set down his water glass and leaned forward. “We believe they may be in grave danger, Angie. We need to find them so that we can protect them.” He paused, reaching for her hand until he had locked his fingers around her palm. His tone became even more serious. “Do you know where they are?”
Angela Russo gave a knowing grin, the one she had been giving to people for years whenever she was asked a question that dealt specifically with the family business—a business she had never been a part of. “I do not, Pietro. They met with the Don and Ciro a few days ago and then left. My son told me that they would return within a week. That is all I know.”
“Have you had any contact with them?”
“None.”
“Do you have any way to contact them, so that we could warn them and then arrange an escort to get them back safely.”
“No. I assume that my husband and my son were arranging all of that. Why didn’t you ask me about this last
night?”
“I tried to the other night at your house but saw how distraught you were. I didn’t want to push. And because you didn’t bring it up, I assumed that everything was fine and they would both be home yesterday. When that didn’t happen, I decided to get you away from everything so that you could clear your mind and rest. I honestly thought that when we docked the ship today, Stansie and her man would be waiting for us on the pier. When that didn’t happen, I decided that I must try and bring it up again during lunch. They may be in danger, Angie.” He grasped her other hand and began to massage them both. They were so smooth and cold. “I only ask the following for the safety of your daughter and her boyfriend, Angie. Do you know anything about what they were doing?”
The knowing grin appeared again. “I am so sorry, Pietro. I was not a part of it.” A tear appeared in her right eye. It dropped to her cheek. “I just want them back safely.”
He believed her and believed that she believed him. Now, he would be able to use her. He leaned back and stretched his arms to the sky—it was the sign for GiGi to enter with the phone—“I want the same thing, dearest. Thinking back to last night, it was almost like old times with us. It made me long for those days when things were much simpler.”
She wiped her eyes with a napkin, and Vanni was soon at the table with a fresh one. Many more tears were wiped into the cloth, and, before leaving, Vanni refilled the water glasses and poured them each a glass of Papa Pete’s homemade wine, the vintage that he knew Angela loved.
GiGi Rizzo entered the pool house, gave Angela a kiss on the cheek, and then took up position next to Papa Pete.
“Angela, GiGi has come across what we believe to be one of Ciro’s phones. Have you ever seen it before?”
Her expression displayed both sadness at the hearing of her deceased son’s name and hope at the thought of being able to communicate with her daughter and bring her in safely. “No, where did you find it?”
“It fell out of one of his pockets when...well, one of my men picked it up off of the street. We don’t need the police getting their hands on it,” GiGi Rizzo answered.