The Perfect Ten Boxed Set

by Dianna Love

  ***

  That evening, tired of feeling helpless over the dognappings and non-random robbery at Sammy Spaniel, Lucie devised a plan. That plan included pepper spray and a stun gun. She had a vision of herself dressed as Wonder Woman—God help her giant boobs in that outfit—zapping the you-know-what out of any man trying to steal one of her dogs.

  “Wonder Womaaannnnnn!” Lucie sang as she planted herself at her makeshift desk and booted up her laptop. The whirring subsided and she quickly went to her search engine and typed in ‘stun gun’. She would work on the pepper spray next.

  Taking this step was bold and who knew if she had the nerve to actually use either of these devices; but she’d carry them just in case.

  Once the purchase was made with overnight delivery, Lucie checked pepper spray and stun gun off her to-do list. Next up, she’d have to start varying walks. No sense making it easy for the bad guys to find her. For this project, she would need the expanse of the dining room table. She scooped up her laptop, grabbed her Chicago street map and headed downstairs.

  She’d make this work. How she would do it in a car, she had no idea. The guys had been rotating driving her from client to client, but the traffic and parking issues were murdering her schedule. Precious time had been wasted battling traffic and searching for parking spaces.

  Time for a scooter resurgence.

  Lucie reached the dining room and found her mother at the table stitching buttons on a new pea coat for Otis. “That coat looks great, Mom. Otis will love it.”

  “I want to meet this Otis. Maybe I’ll walk with you one day.”

  Oh, boy. Not gonna happen. “Mmm-hmmm.” Safest answer.

  Mom set the coat aside and flexed her fingers while reading the production list Lucie had prepared. “The pea coat is finished. Now on to the leopard print with the velvet collar.”

  “Mom?”

  She looked up and stared at Lucie over the top of her reading glasses. “Yes?”

  “Thank you. I couldn’t do this without you.”

  She smiled her perfect smile that made Lucie think of hot chocolate and marshmallows. “Sweetie, I’m enjoying it. I’m part of the executive team for Coco Barknell. It’s exciting. I think I needed something. This might be it.”

  “And don’t forget you’ll get paid.”

  “And won’t your father love that?”

  Lucie shrugged. “Don’t tell him. At least not now. It can go on the what-he-doesn’t-know list.”

  Lucie unfolded her map and started checking cross streets and side streets. Internet mapping searches would need to be performed to see if she could get a visual on where the alleys ran.

  She could do this. No problem.

  At some point later, her phone rang and she glanced at the screen. Frankie. Off of work already? What time was it? She checked the wall clock. Ten-thirty. Wow, she and her mother had been sitting here for over two hours.

  “Hi.”

  “Hey. You still up?”

  “I’m talking to you aren’t I?”

  “Duh,” he said in his teasing voice. “Are you up for a visit? I got done early.”

  “Sure. Mom’s working on a coat and I’m rotating between paperwork and collars.”

  “See you in five.” He hung up. No goodbye. Nothing. She was so going to break him of that.

  “Frankie is coming by. Is that okay?”

  “Of course. You know I adore him.”

  She knew all right. At least her mother didn’t nag her about marrying him.

  Mom stood and arched her back into a long stretch. “I’m turning in. There’s an old Cary Grant movie on. It’s a good night for Cary.”

  After finishing her stretch, Mom stepped around the table and kissed Lucie on the cheek. “Goodnight, honey. If Joey comes home, tell him there’s a plate in the fridge.”

  Lucie smiled. “I will. You’re too good to him.”

  “He’s my boy.”

  Frankie knocked lightly on the front door just as her mother hit the lower landing. She turned, checked the peep and opened the door. “Hi, Frankie. Goodnight, Frankie.” She pecked him on the cheek and headed upstairs.

  He walked toward the dining room. “Did I break up the party?”

  “No. She’s tired. I hope I’m not working her too hard.”

  “She’ll tell you if you are.” He stared at the street map. “What’s this?”

  “I’m varying my route.”

  His face lit up. “Really? Is that what all the highlights and dots are?”

  “Yes.” She pointed to yellow dots. “These are alleys we can cut through to avoid traffic lights.”

  He scanned all the arrows pointing different directions. “Ouch.”

  “Yep.”

  “You can do all this in one day?”

  “Yes.”

  He eyed her. “You sure?”

  “Pretty sure.”

  “In a car?”

  Here’s the sticky part. “Scooter.”

  He gave her the psych ward look. “Well, you need to do it by car if Joey and I are going to be with you. Non-negotiable.”

  Non-negotiable. Pfft. That’s what he thinks. “I’ll never get it done by car. It has to be done by scooter.”

  Frankie held out his hands. “How’s that gonna work?”

  And now the fun really begins. Lucie handed him computer printouts of the scooters. “What color do you like?”

  He tossed the pages on the table. “No.”

  “It’s the only way. In order for me to keep my business running, I need to make adjustments. Those adjustments include riding scooters. You and Joey are rotating days so you ride it one day, he rides it the next.”

  “Luce, I can deal with the scooter. It’ll be tough, but I’ll suck it up. Joey? Forget it. He’ll look like a gorilla on a tricycle. You won’t get him on it.”

  This, she expected. Had even prepared for it. “Oh, I’ll get him on it.”

  “I’d like to have a ringside seat for that conversation.”

  The back door opened and in came Joey. Lucie glanced at Frankie. How the hell did he do that? “I guess your request has been granted.”

  Joey entered the dining room wearing jeans and a Bulls slicker. “What?”

  She swore he had inherited their father’s hearing. She could be screaming and if they didn’t want to hear it, they wouldn’t. Start whispering and they had bionic ears.

  “Mom left you a plate in the fridge.”

  “I ate at the bar.” Joey shifted to Frankie for a fist bump. “What’s up?”

  Preparing for the show, Frankie pulled a chair and sat. “Ask your sister.”

  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 t
ruth 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 t
he 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!”