No angle. Just an out-of-work banker trying to flee her father’s reputation.
“Do you have any idea why anyone would take the dogs?” Lucie asked. Talk about a fishing expedition.
O’Brien gestured to Mrs. B. “We were just talking about that. It’s fairly common among show dogs. It could also happen with rare breeds. The dog is stolen so it can be bred and the perpetrators sell the puppies.”
Lucie gasped. “That’s awful. Don’t they know what these animals mean to their families?”
O’Brien responded with that patronizing half smile people gave her when it came to issues surrounding her father.
“Right,” she said. “They don’t care.”
He flipped his notebook closed and slid it into his jacket pocket. “The good news is the dogs are safe.”
“That’s the important thing.”
“Ladies, thank you. Call me if there’s anything else.”
Lucie sidled up behind him. “Is the case closed?”
“We’ll keep a lookout for the van, but it’s unlikely we’ll find it. You never know though.”
Basically, the case was closed. She wasn’t sure if that was a good thing. At least she wouldn’t have the police sniffing around as she hoarded a monster of a stolen diamond.
* * *
Joey hustled down the short block to the Lutz place. Being a half-second off schedule would get him in a load of trouble with Lucie, and he didn’t want to hear her yapping.
All in all, it wasn’t a bad day to be helping. The sun shone at high-voltage and the temps were supposed to hit sixty. This deal could have been worse. Maybe he’d schlep the mutt down to the lakefront. Weren’t dogs chick magnets?
He glanced at the house next to him, a rockin’ three-story brownstone with a gated front yard. Who the hell put a gate around a four-foot lawn?
Whatever. The Lutz place was yet another sweet-looking brownstone. This one didn’t have a gate so he marched up to the garage, punched in the code and the door eased open. Any other day, it would have shocked the living hell out of him that Lucie trusted him with the code. But what the hell? Did she think he’d rob the place? She was his sister. Even if he liked annoying the crap out of her, he wouldn’t screw her over by robbing one of her clients.
The dog started howling inside the house. Otis. Good name for a bulldog.
As he was told, Joey bent low to block Otis from bolting when the door opened. Sure enough, the little bastard tried to run, but a body block took care of that and Joey edged his way into the house.
“Step back, you little turd.”
Otis responded by clamping his jaw around the bottom of Joey’s jeans and snarling like a son of a bitch.
“These are new jeans. Back off.”
The dog, still attached, showed his teeth and tried to back away.
I should strangle this bastard.
Instead, Joey reached down, unhooked Otis’s jaw and shoved him back. “No.” He put a little mean into it to show this hound who the alpha was. Otis plopped his ass down.
“You know it.”
With the alpha-war settled, Joey grabbed the leash off the hook and snapped it on. He needed to get this walk done. Helping his sister would only take him so far.
“Let’s hit it. You need to do your thing so I can get out of here.”
Otis blasted through the door, nearly taking Joey’s arm with him. The runt stopped just outside the garage and Joey punched the button. Otis shot off, forcing him to reel in the leash.
“You are not gonna drag me around, pal. Just telling ya.”
Dogs needed to know who the pack leader was. Joey loved being pack leader.
He stopped a few times along the route and let the junior alpha do his thing. No problem there. The poop-scooping bags were holed up in a small dispenser attached to the leash, and Joey eyeballed them with the disdain of a man going to the electric chair. He hoped the dog would crap in an inconspicuous place so he could avoid the off chance somebody he knew would see him cleaning up the mess. This was embarrassing.
The sound of fast footsteps behind him sent a stinging warning up his neck.
He shifted the leash to his left hand before turning. Sure enough, some butthole—a big one—holding a steel choker-chain, came right for him.
Whoa. Now at full stride, the guy raised the chain overhead and shouted, “The dog. Give up the dog.”
With a second to spare, Joey flicked his wrist and the leash jettisoned from his hand.
“Run, Otis.”
Otis charged away, leash trailing behind. The butthole glanced at Joey, raised the chain overhead and swung. The loop at the end bit into Joey’s left shoulder and a sweltering burst of pain blasted across his back. His legs buckled and he fell to one knee.
Get it together, man.
“I wanted that dog,” Butthole said.
A juicy adrenaline buzz ripped through Joey and he knew he could kill this son of a bitch. If he wanted to. Right now, he needed to defend himself.
A rattling sound drew his attention. He looked up; saw the glint of steel coming at him, and the chain sliced across his forearm. He winced at the contact but caught the loop end of the chain and yanked.
Butthole toppled forward, taking the chain with him. He rolled to his back and swung at Joey’s legs, but the links sailed out of his grip and dropped to the lawn.
Joey dove and straddled his attacker’s chest. He was about to unleash a downward punch when Otis ran back, snarled and latched onto the attacker’s pants. The guy kicked out and blasted Otis close to his ribs. The yelp shattered Joey’s eardrum. He clamped his hand over the guy’s throat. “You kick that dog again and you’re done.”
“Arghhh.”
Joey eased the pressure and stuck his knee into the guy’s chest. “Are you out of your friggin’ mind coming at me? Do you know who I am?”
A gurgling came from Butthole’s mouth. “Want…the…collar.”
“I’ll ask again. Do you know who the hell I am? Because if you do, you’d know there is no way I’m letting you near this dog. He’s a pain in the ass, but word gets out that I got dogjacked, I’m a laughingstock. I should beat you for being stupid.”
Joey leaned in and the guy groaned. “Are you the guy that boosted those dogs from my sister?”
“No.”
The guy’s face turned a nice tomato red. Liar. “Leave her alone.”
“Can’t.”
The sound of screeching tires sent Otis into a growling fit. A white van barreled around the corner and Otis jumped for it. On instinct, Joey reached for him and, using the opportunity, Butthole bucked hard, knocked Joey off-balance and sent him to the pavement. His hip connected with the concrete and a tearing sensation shot down his leg.
The dogjacker rolled to his feet and Joey made a grab for him, but the guy slipped away.
Otis lurched forward and Joey snatched up the leash before bursting into a run.
No dice. The dogjacker reached the corner and jumped into the van before they could catch up.
Joey skidded to a stop, accidentally clotheslining Otis who was still in a dead run. He gagged once before giving Joey the what-the-hell look. “Sorry, pal.”
The sharp odor of the van’s wheels burning rubber sent the dog sniffing all around. Joey bent over, sucking air through his nose as the sinking edge of adrenaline disappeared. He hated the come down.
With the excitement over, Otis squatted and took the mother of all dumps right on the sidewalk.
“Oh, man. That’s nasty.”
Regardless, he let Otis finish and then did the deal with the poop-scooping bags. Lucie had supplied antiseptic wipes and he cleaned his hands before pulling his phone from his pocket to call Frankie, who had the day off. He’d better freaking answer.
“Hey,” Frankie said.
“Some dumbass just tried to boost Otis.”
“No way.”
“Yes way. This guy has got to be whacked to come at me. And he wanted the collar.”
“Lucie guessed right.”
“Looks like.”
On the other end of the phone, Frankie stayed silent. Otis gave the leash a tug. Might as well finish the damn walk.
“Joey, don’t tell Luce about this. She’ll freak. I’m calling my father. Maybe he can figure out where that diamond came from. Then we’ll tell her. Meantime, we’ll have to keep walking with her.”
“What?”
“I can take the morning shift, but I need to be at work by two. You’ll be with her in the afternoons.”
“Hey, I got my own business to run.”
“Please,” Frankie said before hanging up.
* * *
Craving some answers along with a meatball sandwich, Frankie walked the two blocks from his house to Petey’s. Maybe his father would be there and he could get with him on this dognapping thing. The only good news so far was that it was Joey who got hit this morning rather than Lucie. Joey could defend himself better.
Lucie had her own form of toughness. Precisely why Frankie was only mildly concerned over ignoring her request to keep his father out of this diamond issue. But when it came to her safety, some things were worth the risk. The way Frankie figured, he hadn’t actually said he wouldn’t speak to his father.
Reaching?
Probably.
Too bad.
Keeping Lucie safe was the priority, even if she didn’t agree with his methods.
He turned the corner and spotted a Franklin P.D. cruiser double-parked in front of the luncheonette. Jimmy Two-Toes’ Caddie was right behind it. Chances were Frankie’s father would be here because wherever his father went, Jimmy was usually close by.
The bell on the door jangled when Frankie opened it, and the cop at the counter—an old high school classmate—looked over.
“Hey, Brian.”
“How ya doin’, Frankie?”
The chatter from the tables mixed with Sinatra and the smell of garlic and baking bread converged on Frankie. Not much beat fresh-baked Italian bread with crust so hard it could split a lip.
The place, the people, the smells, might as well be part of his DNA. That’s how well he knew it. And Lucie wanted him to give it up.
“Ho!” Jimmy Two-Toes yelled. “Frankie’s here.”
Sitting with Jimmy at the four-top table were Slip and Lemon. Slip got his name because the government could never get any charges to stick. Lemon; who knew? But that poor bastard had jumped off a two-story building some years back and landed with one foot in a garbage can and one out. That would teach him to run from the cops.
Frankie looked around. A few of the tables were occupied, but the people weren’t locals or he would have recognized them.
“Your father is in back,” Lemon said. “He’ll be right out.”
Translation: he’s talking business, don’t go back there. Somewhere along the line, Frankie had gotten used to this life. He couldn’t say he was comfortable with his father’s occupation, but had grudgingly accepted it. What else could he do?
He made his way to the counter to order. “Anybody need anything?”
“We just ate,” Jimmy said.
Petey, dressed in his usual track pants and white T-shirt, handed Brian his sandwich and he took it to one of the corner tables.
“Meatball?” Petey asked, retying his grease-stained white apron. The apron tended to slide under his growing belly and he had to keep hiking it up. Between the gut and the thinning gray hair, Petey looked way beyond his fifty-five years.
“Throw some mozzarella on it,” Frankie said.
“Living a little today, eh?”
Frankie considered responding with scathing sarcasm but decided to let it go. He probably deserved it since a meatball sandwich was the only thing he ever ordered. And wasn’t that one of Lucie’s complaints? That he liked his meatball sandwiches from Petey’s? And why not? Petey made an exceptional meatball.
“Kid,” his father yelled, emerging from the back room wearing a white dress shirt with no tie and tan dress pants. His typical daytime look.
“Hey, Pop.”
“Petey, feed my son.” His father clapped him on the back once, put a hand on his shoulder and pushed him into a chair. “You off today?” Pop snagged an unoccupied chair from another table, hitched his pants up and sat.
“Yeah. Can I get a minute outside?”
Away from any bugs planted in here.
His father angled his chin toward the back door. “Sure.”
Frankie opened the door leading to the alley and the pungent smell of four days’ worth of garbage smacked into him. He held his breath for a minute.
“What’s up?” his father asked, clearly oblivious to the smell.
“This dognapping thing with Lucie took a turn.”
Pop crossed his arms, readying himself for bad news. “What happened?”
This was where his famous temper could fire. He had promised to take care of the Rizzo family while Joe was in prison, and he took that promise seriously. Someone hiding a stolen diamond in Joe’s house would be a serious infraction.
Here goes. “Lucie found a real diamond in her craft supplies.”
His father stared at him, his face full of nothing in particular, and Frankie wondered if he’d understood.
“Heh?” Pop finally said.
“Yeah. It’s nuts. Roseanne found it and did a scratch test. It’s real.”
“Whose is it?”
“We don’t know. Joey doesn’t think it belongs to their father and Lucie won’t ask Theresa. She doesn’t want to upset her. We think someone hid it in her dog accessory crap and that’s why the dogs are getting boosted. We’re guessing the dognappers think one of the dogs is running around with the diamond on it. Joey just got—”
“Hang on, Frankie. You’re telling me you think someone snuck into Joe’s house and put that diamond there?”
“Exactly.”
“No chance.”
Disagreeing with his father had never gotten him anywhere, but in this instance, he needed to try. “How else would it have gotten there? If it was Joe’s, he would have told Joey about it.”
Pop ran his palm across his lips, curled his fingers around his mouth and blew air into his hand. “A diamond.”
“Yeah. So far it’s the only one. Lucie is checking her stock to make sure.”
“That’s good. Does Joe know about this?”
“Not about the diamond. Joey talked to him on the phone and told him about the dognappings to see what his reaction would be, but that’s it. Joey is convinced Joe doesn’t know about the diamond.”
The screen door, one of those rickety wooden deals, flew open and smacked against the brick building. Jimmy stuck his head out. “Ho, your meatball is ready.”
Frankie did a thumbs-up. “Thanks.” Jimmy went inside and Frankie turned to his father. “Can you ask around? See if you can find out about this diamond? Who it belongs to?”
“It better not be one of my guys. I’ll tell you that much.”
* * *
Lucie sat at her mother’s dining room table setting a new collar for a customer Mrs. Lutz had referred. The dog’s owner was a stickler for detail, and Lucie wanted to get the placement of the rhinestones in a perfect X pattern. Not so easy on a collar barely an inch wide.
The lack of sound in the house brought an odd sense of peace. Her parents’ home usually equaled a fair amount of stress, but now, with Joey and her mother out, Lucie thought about family get-togethers—Christmas, Easter, birthdays—that happened here.
She smiled to herself, reminiscing about parties where loud voices barking orders mingled with the laughter of friends and extended family.
One thing about her family, they threw a great party.
Someone knocked on the front door. Shoot. She’d have to put the collar down and risk the stones shifting. Her go-to Notre Dame glass caught her eye. She picked it up, slammed the last of the diet pop hugging the bottom and turned the glass on its side. After sta
bilizing the glass between two bead containers, she draped the collar over it to dry. That might work.
The knock came again, harder this time, and Lucie ran to the door expecting Sasquatch to be on the other side. She checked the peephole. Detective O’Brien.
As uncomfortable as this guy made her, might as well be Sasquatch. Maybe there was a break in the case? Lucie tugged her faded T-shirt into place and swung the door open.
“Hello, Detective.”
He offered a closed-mouthed smile. “Ms. Rizzo, sorry to disturb you. May I come in?”
“Of course.”
She led him to the living room where he sat in Frankie’s favorite wingback chair. Lucie took the couch. “What brings you here?”
“We had a call from the Glencoe P.D. this morning. One of their residents had a dog stolen yesterday.”
No. It must have been one of her dogs or O’Brien wouldn’t be here. But wait. Glencoe? She didn’t have any clients in Glencoe.
“Do you work in Glencoe?” O’Brien asked.
“No.”
A fiery punch of guilt landed square in Lucie’s chest. This poor dog was missing, the owners probably heartbroken, and she was relieved because it wasn’t one of her dogs. Could she be any more selfish?
Not likely.
“What’s the owner’s name?”
O’Brien checked his notes. “Winthrop.”
Whew. “Sorry. I don’t have a client by that name.”
Still though, the name sounded familiar.
The detective nodded. “I thought I’d see if we could connect the thefts. You haven’t had any more trouble have you?”
She shook her head. “No.” Aside from the possibly stolen, fifteen-carat diamond in my safe deposit box.
O’Brien clucked his tongue in a way that screamed disappointment. Clearly, the good detective wanted to tie these dognappings back to Joe Rizzo’s daughter. Sorry, pal, I’m legit.
Most of the time.
Diamond notwithstanding.
“That’s good.” O’Brien tapped his left thumb on his thigh. “Be sure to call me if anything comes up.”
“I will.”
He stood. “Sorry to disrupt your day.”
“No problem. I hope you find the missing dog.”
I also hope it doesn’t have anything to do with me.
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