1 Dog Collar Crime

by Adrienne Giordano

  They both turned to Lucie and she shoved the printouts at Joey. “What color do you like?”

  Joey glanced at the picture. “My ass.”

  “Your ass will be sitting on that scooter. Pick a color.”

  He looked at Frankie, who wore the smile of a man quite comfortable with the direction of the proceedings. “Is she stunade or what?”

  Stunade. Stupid in Italian. He knew better.

  Frankie leaned back and wrapped his hands behind his head. “She charted a new route. It’s so damn complicated we’ll have to ride scooters.”

  With narrowed eyes, Joey stared at Frankie, and then turned to Lucie. It would be a miracle if he agreed to this. He still hadn’t gotten over scooping poop.

  “I’m not doing it.” He pointed a beefy finger at the picture of the scooters. “My six-foot-four body won’t fit on that.”

  She waved him off. “Of course it will.”

  He planted his hands on his hips. “No.”

  Lucie turned to Frankie. “I don’t really care if he rides the scooter. I’m still walking the dogs. These dognappers will not dictate how I live my life. I’ll find a way to protect the dogs with or without bodyguards.”

  “Now she’s being a brat,” Joey said.

  Were they kidding themselves? These men had been around her long enough to know she wouldn’t back down. The truth was, after the incident with Otis, she was terrified to do the walks alone, but she knew Frankie wouldn’t let that happen. That was the joy of being together so long. They had fallen into a rhythm of understanding. Where her thoughts left off, his picked up and, at the moment, she could sense him calculating a compromise.

  Frankie finally pulled his hands from his head and leaned forward on the chair. “You’re not doing it yourself.”

  Then he turned to Joey. “We can’t let her walk those dogs alone.”

  “Frankie promised Dad you two would walk with me.”

  “Oh, son of a bitch.” Joey dug his fingers through his hair. “You have got to be kidding me with that tactic.”

  “Is it working?”

  “Well, yeah. We wouldn’t have to worry about my ass fitting on that thing because Dad would rip it to pieces.”

  Sometimes Joey’s fear of their father worked to her advantage.

  Frankie high-fived her. Lucie grinned at them and picked up the picture of the scooter. “I like the midnight blue for you boys.”

  * * *

  Frankie stepped into Petey’s for lunch the next day to find the walls of the place busting with locals. He took a second to enjoy the familiar scent of garlic and baking bread before a few neighborhood people stopped to say hello. As usual, his father’s crew sat in the four-top table in the center of the room and their voices carried over his conversation with Kimmie, the little girl from down the street who was now seventeen and looking all of twenty-eight.

  Kimmie didn’t hide from Frankie, but he hid from her. Last thing he wanted was the neighborhood thinking he had an interest in getting busy with a minor. She was a nice enough kid, but she got around, and made no secret of wanting to get around him. Literally.

  “Ho!” Jimmy said and Frankie thought back on all the years of ho. When had those two letters become the all-purpose word? When someone pissed Jimmy off, they got a big ho! An off-color joke also received a ho! It worked for him. It fit.

  “Hey.” Frankie shook Jimmy’s hand, gave Lemon a slap on the back and looked for his father.

  “Taking a piss.” Lemon didn’t bother looking up from the newspaper spread in front of him.

  “Could have done without that info, but thanks. Who’s buying lunch?”

  Jimmy scraped his chair back. “I got this one. Meatball?”

  “Yeah, thanks.”

  Lemon gestured to Frankie’s dress pants and shirt. “You’re gonna mess up your big boy clothes.”

  “Ho!” Frankie did a spot-on imitation of Jimmy. “I’m on my way to work.”

  “Frankie,” his father yelled from the hallway leading to the single restroom.

  “Hey, Pop. Jimmy’s buying lunch, jump in there.”

  “Give me a chicken parm.”

  “On it,” Petey said from behind the counter.

  Frankie hung his jacket on the back of the empty chair next to Lemon and sat. Being in Petey’s sometimes felt like revisiting his childhood. As a kid, he’d come in here on his way home from school and the guys would slip him money and tell him to fill his gas tank or, his personal favorite, go play in traffic.

  At ten, it made him feel like a man that his father’s friends joked with him. At the time, he never questioned why most fathers worked in an office while his father considered a luncheonette his workplace.

  His father copped a squat in the seat across from him. “Can you get me tickets for the Bulls tomorrow night?”

  The newspaper, in an effort to schmooze advertisers, kept season tickets for all the sports teams in Chicago and employees were permitted to request unused tickets. Since Frankie’s editor liked him—it didn’t hurt that his family provided a constant flow of breaking news—he never found it difficult to scoop up leftovers. “How many do you need?”

  Pop turned to Lemon. “I’m in.”

  Then he spun to the counter where Jimmy hammered Petey about not using too much vinegar on his sandwich. “Jimmy, Bulls game tomorrow night?”

  “Ho!”

  That would be a yes. “Three tickets?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Let me check if advertising has anything left.”

  Jimmy finished harassing Petey and joined them at the table. “Ho. I took that Jeanette out.” He held his hands palm up in front of his chest. “What a coupla melons on that one.”

  A cringe snaked up Frankie’s back. He didn’t have a problem with commenting on a woman’s brick houseness, but hell, in a room packed with females, he liked to keep it light.

  The young woman at a nearby table gave a hard stare and looked away. Yep, sorry.

  “I heard,” Frankie said.

  “About the melons?” This from Lemon.

  After a valiant attempt to stay straight-faced, Frankie laughed. He couldn’t help it. “That Jimmy went out with her. Her store got robbed while they were out on Sunday.”

  “No foolin’?” Jimmy asked.

  Frankie nodded. “A bunch of Lucie’s stuff is gone.”

  “She can’t catch a break,” his father said.

  “It’s like a black cloud is hanging over her.” Frankie checked his watch to make sure he was doing okay on time.

  “The cops have anything?” Lemon asked.

  “Not yet. They took some prints, but who knows.”

  “Hey, Jimmy,” Lemon said, “maybe you need to call that Jeanette. Make her feel better.”

  “Ho!”

  Frankie blew out a breath. He needed his sandwich. Possibly to go. The stress over the dognappings must be getting to him because the joke about Jeanette’s chest, combined with the hoing, were pounding his nerves. Call it a bad freakin’ mood, but he couldn’t deal today.

  “Any more dog problems with Lucie?” his father asked, just as Petey yelled that their order was up.

  Jimmy and Lemon stood to retrieve the plates. Frankie seized the opportunity to grill his father about the dognappings. Pop already had his head tilted back to tuck a napkin into the collar of his shirt. The chicken parms made a mess.

  “Someone tried to jump Joey and Lucie.”

  Pop poked his bottom lip out. “What happened?”

  “Nothing. Joey beat the crap out of the guy.” And Lucie paralyzed him with bug spray.

  “Poor schmuck. What kind of idiot gets into a street fight with that animal?”

  “Have you heard anything?”

  His father glanced over his shoulder to see where Jimmy and Lemon were. “Nah. I’m still checking around.”

  “Thanks. This diamond is freaking Lucie out. Plus, she can’t understand how people can steal animals. It’s tearing her up.”
/>   His father shrugged. “When you hit someone, you make it hurt.”

  A wicked hiss filled Frankie’s head. Hearing his father talk like this created too much reality. A reality he had no interest in.

  A meatball sandwich, via Jimmy, landed in front of him and he stared down at it until the hissing subsided. Had he just run ten miles? Sure felt like it. Time to go. He did an obvious check of his watch. “I gotta head out. I’ll see you guys later.”

  His father pointed to the sandwich. “You haven’t even cracked it.”

  “I’ll take it with.” No sense wasting a good sandwich. He’d eat it at his desk. Frankie slid his jacket on and took his plate to the counter. “Petey, I need a box.”

  “Ho,” Jimmy said as a farewell.

  Lemon raised a hand. “Take it easy, Frankie.”

  His father stood and, as he’d done thousands of times, laid a hand on Frankie’s shoulder. This time though, the weight of it pressed into him, confined him. He pushed his shoulders back.

  What the hell was wrong with him today?

  “Let me know about the tickets,” Pop said.

  “I’ll call you this afternoon.”

  “You need anything?” His father always asked.

  “Nah. I’m good. But if you talk to Joe, Lucie is trying to keep this dognapping thing quiet.”

  “I’m on the list for the weekend. I won’t bring it up, but if he asks me, I gotta tell him. I’m not gonna lie.”

  His father wouldn’t lie. Didn’t that beat all? He’d steal, he’d run numbers, he’d bribe officials, but he wouldn’t lie to Joe Rizzo.

  Before he said something he’d regret, Frankie walked out the door and suppressed the jolt of seriously pissed off taunting him. He was too damned close to this situation. He wanted Lucie happy, and maybe expecting his father to cooperate was asking too much. Didn’t seem so.

  Not in his father’s world anyway.

  Chapter Eleven

  As screwed up as it was, Frankie didn’t so much mind spending his day off riding a scooter. On a sunny morning two days after the discussion about buying another scooter, he and Lucie tore down West Fullerton on the way to Buddy, a three-month-old Wheaten Terrier.

  The wind whipped at Frankie’s face, and he decided he needed a helmet with a face shield. He’d already swallowed a few errant bugs of dubious distinction.

  The face shield wouldn’t matter because psycho scooter girl might get him killed storming these alleys. All in all, he found it fun to chase her around town.

  They made a quick right, hauled tail down an empty alley. Lucie pulled into a driveway and jumped off the scooter, her petite body moving fast as she ditched the helmet and unzipped her jacket. By the time Frankie had gotten his helmet off, Lucie had reached the back door.

  “Where’s the damn fire?” he asked. “That garbage truck nearly flattened me.”

  “You’re the one who said to change the route. We’re already eleven minutes behind schedule.” Lucie shoved the key into the lock and turned it.

  Eleven minutes. Big deal.

  “And don’t say big deal, either. We have to stay on schedule. My future depends on it.”

  A round of applause for Lucia Rizzo, drama girl.

  Thirty seconds later, Buddy bounded out the back door, his light brown hair flying in the breeze.

  Frankie took a step back. “Pee on me you little bastard and I’ll kill you.”

  Luce laughed. “Leave him alone. He’s just a baby. He can’t control his bladder yet.”

  The baby lunged at Frankie’s feet and he reached to push him away, but the monster chomped on his hand, those baby teeth like daggers digging into his flesh. “Ow! Off.” He shoved Buddy away, but the pup barreled back, latched to Frankie’s jeans and tugged. “Off!”

  Luce stood back. “Stop engaging him.”

  What the hell was she talking about? “I was standing here. How is that engaging him?”

  “He thinks it’s a game. Stand still and ignore him. Pretend you’re a tree.”

  “Ow!” The dog’s teeth plunged into his ankle and he lifted his foot. Stand still? The dog was making sushi out of his leg. The terrorist switched to the other leg. “Luce! Get him off.”

  “Be a tree.”

  “Screw the tree.”

  Finally, Lucie tugged on the leash. “Sit, Buddy.”

  The dog’s furry butt hit the ground. You little S.O.B.

  She bent low, patted Attila the Hun on the head. “Good boy, Buddy. You’re a sweet boy.” She made kissing noises at Attila, and Frankie suddenly wanted those lips pointed at him. These were the times he realized how much he loved her. The simple times when she didn’t feel self-conscious about being silly or showing unabashed affection to an animal.

  Buddy stuck his snout in the air and licked her face. She giggled at the bath, and craned out of his reach, but Buddy kept at her until he pushed her off balance and she fell over. The dog jumped on her stomach and went into a licking frenzy. The more she pushed at him, the more he licked, and Frankie knew he and Buddy were of the same mind.

  She looked so damn cute trying to wrestle the puppy.

  And then her belly laugh broke free. “Frankie, how about a little help?”

  “Be a tree,” he mimicked. “Stop engaging him.”

  That cracked her up even more and he couldn’t stand it. He stepped up, pushed the dog off, straddled Lucie and kissed the hell out of her. Right there on the ground. What did he care? Of course, the woody he sported would have to be patient because doing Lucie on the street with Attila the Hun watching could get them arrested.

  His girl didn’t seem to mind. She kissed him back and even offered him a little tongue. His Lucie. He loved her, but he could do without the puppy nipping his ear. Little bastard.

  When she pulled back he said, “How about when we get done, I put a smile on your face?” He grinned. “I could lick something off you.”

  She shoved him away. “If we ever get done. I’m way more than eleven minutes behind schedule.”

  “Let’s get moving then.”

  * * *

  After finally completing the walks, Lucie and Frankie zoomed into the Lutzes’ driveway to store the scooters for the night. Thank goodness, Mr. Lutz had built extra storage space in the garage. There wasn’t an inch of property left to spare, but the man had managed to get a building permit so he could extend the garage.

  She’d already given Otis his afternoon walk, but maybe since she was here, she’d give him another one.

  Mr. Lutz parked his Mercedes in the driveway and got out just as they parked the scooters. “Hi, Lucie. I never get to see you anymore.”

  For a man not yet fifty, Mr. Lutz rocked a full head of gray hair—he could thank the stressful job for that—but even with the gray hair, the man had a way about him. Sort of a fifty-year-old Frankie Factor.

  “You’re home early today,” Lucie said.

  “The missus has us scheduled for some charity thing tonight.”

  Lucie introduced Frankie to Mr. Lutz and they chatted about a story Frankie had done on the new Cubs’ manager while Lucie stowed the scooters.

  “Lucie,” Mr. Lutz called, “I saw that leather jacket my wife ordered for Otis. The dog is better dressed than I am.”

  “Wait until you see the chaps that go with it.”

  He shook his head. “Moving on from that, a friend of mine called today. He has an opening at his bank and asked me if I knew anyone. I could set up an interview for you.”

  Lucie’s heart thumped. A job. Yes. “Absolutely.”

  But then her mind wandered back to Buddy licking her and Frankie doing the follow-up work. An office job didn’t offer those perks.

  No. She needed to be an investment banker. Her education couldn’t go to waste.

  “Good,” Mr. Lutz said. “I’ll give him your credentials and have him call you.”

  “That sounds great.” She jerked a thumb toward the door leading into the house. “Otis had two walks already
today, but I thought I’d treat him to another.”

  Mr. Lutz smiled. “I won’t argue. It’ll save me from walking him.”

  “I’ll come in and grab him.” She turned to Frankie. “Be right back.”

  “I’ll be here,” he said.

  The two men exchanged the normal nice-to-meet you pleasantries, and Lucie followed Mr. Lutz into the house with her mind absorbed in the possibility of another banking job. Somehow, she wasn’t as relieved as she should be. She shouldn’t get her hopes up anyway.

  “So,” Frankie said when Otis dragged her through the door. “A job interview. You can get back to what you do.”

  She nodded. Three times. What’s up with the bobblehead bit? “That would be good. It could get me out of Franklin.”

  “Yep.”

  Otis fired off to the big oak tree in front of the house and Lucie glanced back at Frankie. “I know what you’re thinking.”

  “What?”

  “You’re thinking if I get a job, I’ll be happy and everything will be peachy with us.”

  “I don’t think that. Your job isn’t our only problem. Granted, I’d like to knock that problem off.” He caught up to her and reached for her free hand. “Luce, I want you to be happy. Whether it’s in banking or dogs. That’s all I want for you.”

  How did she wind up with this man? He had always been the steady one who never needed much. She always seemed to need more, but lately, despite the horrifying dognappings, she felt…well…settled. “I’ll go on the interview, but there are a lot of out-of-work finance people floating around.”

  “Right. And the good news is, you have Coco Barknell as a backup. You’re not desperate.”

  “Right,” Lucie agreed. “Coco Barknell.”

  * * *

  “This is it.” Lucie pointed to the assortment of coats, collars and leashes on the dining room table. Mom had just left for her weekly dinner with her friend, and God only knew where Joey was.

  Ro slipped off her jacket and set it over the back of one of the chairs. “The last of everything you’ve sold?”

  “Yes. Frankie and I collected it today. Let’s go through it all and see if there are any diamonds.”

  From her oversized satchel, Ro pulled a headband with a monster-sized magnifying glass attached—no one could accuse her of not taking the situation seriously—and slipped it on her head. She looked like a mad scientist. Lucie snorted a laugh.