The Leone Crime Family Box Set

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The Leone Crime Family Box Set Page 48

by B. B. Hamel


  “You were a man?” I asked, eyes narrowed.

  He sighed. “No, you idiot. I was a full-time reporter with years of experience.”

  “It’s just lunch,” I said. “I mean, it can’t hurt, right?”

  “It can hurt,” he said. “It can hurt a lot.”

  I stared at him and felt my pulse racing. I didn’t expect this, not at all.

  I finally had a real scoop. Well, maybe not a scoop, but at least an angle into the life of an interesting figure. I could write a profile about Vince, change all the names around, obfuscate some details, but still, I could write something real. People love the mafia, and they want to know what the mob’s really doing in these modern times.

  And yet Tommy’s talking to me like I can’t handle it.

  “This is good,” I said. “Randy’s never going to take me on full-time, not with papers struggling the way they are.”

  “Fucking internet,” Tommy said.

  “Fucking internet,” I agreed. “So the only way to get my foot in the door is to prove that I’m smart, talented, and can take some real risks.”

  “This isn’t the kind of risk you want to take,” Tommy said. “These mafia guys, they’ll use you, chew you up, spit you out. They don’t give a damn about anything but themselves.”

  “Probably right,” I said. “But I still have to do it.”

  He looked at me for a long, tense moment, before he sighed and hung his head.

  “Damn it,” he said. “You’re really going to call him, aren’t you?”

  “Yes,” I said, and only just realized it was true. I hadn’t made up my mind yet, or at least I was telling myself that I had to talk to Tommy first.

  But now I knew I was really going through with it.

  “Fine,” he said. “But please, keep me in the loop. Keep me updated. If you disappear for a few days, I’m calling the fucking cops, you hear me?”

  “Tommy, if I disappear for a few days, you tell the cops to search every inch of the Schuylkill River for my body.”

  He sighed and rolled his eyes.

  “You think you’re joking,” he said, “but you have no clue how many bodies are down there already.”

  “Then I’ll have good company.” I leaned over and hugged him and kissed his cheek. “Tell Randy I’ve got a good story coming, okay?”

  He shrugged me off with a grunt and a grumble. “You show me some copy, then I’ll talk to Randy for you, all right?”

  “That’s a deal.” I held out my hand.

  He took it and stared into my eyes.

  “Be careful,” he said. “I’m serious, Mona. Mafia guys are no joke.”

  “I’ll be careful,” I said.

  He held my hand tight then let it go. He got to his feet with a grunt and pushed the paper back under his arm. He shoved his hands in his pockets and gave me a flat look.

  “I want to see some copy by this weekend,” he said. “You hear me?”

  “I’ll get on it,” I said.

  He nodded and turned away without another word. He stalked off and I watched him disappear into a mob of teenage boys on skateboards laughing about something, half of them fiddling with their phones.

  I turned and faced forward again before taking a small, plain white card and my cell phone from my back pocket. I held them next to each other and stared at the number printed in plain, simple black.

  I typed it into the phone app and hit the call button.

  The phone rang as another pack of teenage boys came skating past, or maybe it was the same pack with new additions, I couldn’t tell. I watched two small kids, maybe six or seven, throw a ball back and forth as their parents sat on benches a few feet away. I smiled a little to myself, tried to picture what it would be like to have a family in the city, tried to picture having a family at all, and fell short.

  Nothing came to me. The phone kept ringing.

  After a few seconds, I thought it would go to voicemail. I started to compose the message I’d leave in my head, trying to make it clever but still breezy, just really breezy and clever and cute, and maybe a little flirtatious, just enough to get him interested, so breezy and clever and cute and flirtatious, but still professional, when all of a sudden the phone clicked and a voice came through.

  “What?”

  I didn’t expect him to answer. I sat in silence for half a beat and stared down at the gray paved path, at a line of rocks next to my shoes.

  “Hello?” he asked and sounded annoyed. “Who is this and how do you have this number?”

  “Hi, yes, uh, hi, it’s me, it’s, uh, it’s Mona,” I said and I wanted to kick myself in the face. “The waitress from last night.”

  That wasn’t breezy, or cute, or anything but stupid.

  There was a short pause.

  “Mona,” he said, and his tone changed. He sounded interested all of a sudden, and his voice dropped in pitch, sounded velvet and baritone. “I wondered when you’d call.”

  “Hi,” I said again. “I guess I’m calling now.”

  He laughed. “I’m glad you did. I was just wondering what I was going to do for lunch.”

  “That’s perfect, because I was wondering the same thing,” I said. “How about we solve this mystery together?”

  “If I didn’t know any better,” he said, “I’d guess that you were flirting with me.”

  I laughed. “Not even a little. I have some professional standards.”

  He chuckled and I pictured him sitting at a long, gleaming wooden table with a whiskey in one hand and a cigar in the other. I decided to make him shirtless in my fantasy, because why not.

  Mobster or whatever, he was a handsome man.

  “That’s right,” he said. “You’re a journalist. Just looking for a good scoop.”

  “Just looking for an interesting subject,” I said.

  “If we have lunch, it’s off the record,” he said. “And there may never be a record at all.”

  “I won’t come armed, I promise,” I said. “So long as you don’t.”

  “Oh, sweetheart, I always come armed.”

  I could hear the smile in his voice and I rolled my eyes toward the branches up above me.

  “Clever,” I said.

  “Where are you right now?” he asked. “I’ll send a car to get you.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “Little spot I like. Belgian Cafe. You know it?”

  “Sure,” I said. “I haven’t been in a while.”

  “Good. Text me your address.” He hung up the phone without another word.

  I shook my head and typed a quick text. Clark Park, across from the health center.

  I hit send and felt butterflies flutter through my chest.

  Maybe I was making a mistake. Tommy’s words came back through my mind, drifting through my brain.

  Men like Vince were dangerous. I was getting myself into a dangerous situation, all because I wanted to get some job.

  All for a story.

  I took a deep breath to steady myself. That was the whole point. I’d put myself in a risky situation, into a really minor risk, all for the story. That’s how I’d prove myself, how I’d prove that I’m a real journalist.

  My phone buzzed a second later.

  See you in ten. Look for a black SUV.

  I took a deep breath and stood. I might be making a mistake, but at least I was trying something.

  I walked across the park and hurried toward the spot where he’d pick me up.

  3

  Vince

  I got a table outside of Belgian Cafe, the only table in the shade beneath the awning. The table had just enough room for two, a little black metal thing with two uncomfortable metal chairs. The cafe was in a residential neighborhood, and brick-fronted houses with dark gray stoops sprouted up on either side of us. The intersection was quiet, and people walked past, some of them in a hurry, some of them at a leisurely stroll.

  The cafe was empty though, just the way I liked it. I stood when I sa
w the familiar car pull up to the curb and park a few feet away. Dino was driving, one of my father’s personal soldiers, and the back door opened.

  Mona climbed out. She wore tight light blue jeans and a short-sleeve shirt, cut low enough to show just a hint of her chest. Her hair was up, though some of it escaped. She pushed it from her eyes and smiled at me.

  “Hey,” she said. “Are you still wearing the same suit from last night?”

  I laughed and looked down at myself. “No, this is a different one,” I said. “And you know, I was hoping you’d show up in your caterer’s outfit.”

  She grinned. “What, you think I looked so good in that?”

  “Pretty much.”

  She tilted her head. “I can go home and change.”

  “No, you know what, you’re okay.” I gestured at Dino and he nodded then pulled out. “Come on, sit down.”

  I took a seat again and she sat across from me. She hung her little black purse over the back of her chair and leaned forward on her elbows.

  “So what’s a mobster doing coming to a little hipster cafe like this?” she asked.

  I laughed and shook my head. “First of all, you can’t just say that shit out loud,” I said. “And second, this isn’t a hipster place. It’s a legitimate Belgian-style cafe. And the food’s good.”

  She rolled her eyes and laughed. I grinned at her and ran a hand through my dark hair. I had to admit, she did have a point. The Belgian Cafe was a corner bar, dark on the inside, lots of wood and pint glasses, with a little dining area to the right. The outside was simple, with a big red banner up at the top that scrolled around the corner of the building, and a big old-fashioned style wooden door with black handles. Everything about it screamed old world, but it was all facade, since it was built only a few years ago.

  “All right,” she said. “I won’t judge. Since you haven’t been in the city for a while. Do you live in New York full-time now?”

  I leaned forward. “Are you going to interrogate me this whole time?”

  “Maybe,” she said. “Although I’m not sure how we’re supposed to talk if I can’t ask you questions.”

  I laughed and gestured. “Fair enough,” I said.

  “So, New York.”

  “Been there a while,” I said. “I’ve been establishing some businesses there for my family.”

  “Happy to be back here?”

  I shook my head. “Not really, if I’m honest.”

  “Oh, what a typical New Yorker thing to say.”

  I ran a finger along the metal table, tracing the circular patterns.

  “I like Philly,” I said. “But it’s just not my home anymore.”

  “You grew up here, right?”

  “Born and raised.” I tilted my head. “You read my Wikipedia entry, huh?”

  “Didn’t know you had one,” she said, her tone innocent.

  I laughed and let my eyes linger on her chest and lips. Goddamn, she was a pretty girl, but she was smart. I could see her weighing me already, that little disarming smile on her lips, and I knew she was filing away all my answers for when she needed them again.

  The waitress came with menus. I asked for a beer and Mona just wanted water. I crossed my legs and tilted my head at her once the waitress was gone. I didn’t bother with the menu, but she looked at it with tight lips and a frown.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  “I never know what to order,” she said. “I mean, these places, not everything can be good, right?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t see why not.”

  “I mean, some of the ingredients won’t be fresh, and maybe the chef just isn’t that good at a certain dish.”

  “You could always ask the waitress.”

  She waved that way. “She’ll just tell me to get whatever they’re trying to sell off,” she said.

  I snorted. “That’s cynical.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “And you’re not a cynic?”

  “No,” I said. “I don’t think I am.”

  She put the menu down. “Interesting, coming from a—”

  “Don’t say it,” I interrupted.

  She rested her chin in her hand. “I was going to say, interesting, coming from a rich boy like you.”

  “Ouch,” I said, putting a hand over my chest and laughing. “You wound me.”

  “It’s true though, right?”

  “Not exactly,” I said. “My father’s wealthy now, but we weren’t when I was young.”

  “I find that hard to believe.”

  “He took all our money and invested it back into his businesses,” I said. “Didn’t leave much for me or my mother, god rest her soul.”

  Mona chewed on her lip. “When did your mother die?”

  “Years ago,” I said. “Long time ago. I don’t think my father even noticed when it happened.”

  “But I guess you did. How’d she die?”

  “Cancer.” I tilted my head. “Saw the best doctors in the city, and you know what? Didn’t do shit for her.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “Ah, you know.” I waved my hand like I was trying to swat the memory away. “It’s in the past now, been twenty years.”

  “That would’ve made you…” She trailed off, and I would’ve bet my life that she was trying to do the math based on my birth date on Wikipedia.

  Which wasn’t accurate.

  “I was ten,” I said.

  “Ah.” She arched an eyebrow. “You’re thirty?”

  “I’m thirty.” I spread my hands out. “I don’t look it?”

  “No,” she said. “I mean, yes, and no. I don’t know.” She gave me a nervous laugh.

  I leaned toward her. “And how old are you, Mona the journalist?”

  “Twenty-three,” she said.

  I barked a laugh and leaned back. “You’re barely out of school,” I said.

  “Two years,” she said. “And what’s that matter?”

  “I guess it doesn’t.” I grinned and shrugged. “When I was your age, I had a lot of responsibility. Where’d you go to college?”

  “Temple,” she said.

  “Very nice. You liked it?”

  “It was fun,” she said. “Met some important people there.”

  “Yeah? Husband?”

  “Mentors.”

  “Ah,” I said and nodded.

  The waitress returned with my beer. I ordered the mussels and Mona asked for the same thing. The waitress hurried off again, as if she had other people to wait on, but based on the smell of alcohol on her lips, I suspected she was hurrying off to finish whatever drink she’d started before anyone caught her.

  “I take it you didn’t go to school,” she said.

  “You take it right,” I said. “School wasn’t really a priority in my family.”

  “What was?”

  I ran a hand through my hair. “Ah, you know. Things I wouldn’t tell a journalist.”

  She laughed and seemed genuinely delighted. I grinned at her, sipped my beer, and leaned back in my chair.

  I spent the next twenty minutes asking her questions. I didn’t give her a chance to press the attack again. I learned about her life growing up in South Philly, about attending the crappy public schools here, about her father running off when she was young, about her mother getting addicted to pills when she was a teen, about being raised by her grandmother and rebelling against the world.

  “I was the kind of girl that dyed her hair purple and thought it made me unique,” she said.

  I laughed and cocked my head. “You’d look good with purple hair.”

  “Oh, yeah? I bet you wouldn’t look twice at me if I had purple hair.”

  “You’re probably right, though then again, if you were wearing that catering outfit…” I trailed off with a smirk.

  She rolled her eyes and laughed.

  The waitress came with our food not long later, and we both dug in. The Belgian Cafe was known for its mussels, and she made all the appropriate
noises as we tore the delicious flesh from the tiny black oblong shells. I dipped mine in the white wine sauce and tried not to be a pig about it, but couldn’t help myself.

  It was a good meal, and by the time we were both done and I was on my second beer, I realized that we’d spent the whole time talking. I couldn’t remember the last time I went out with a girl and just talked. Normally, I would’ve tried to get her in the bathroom at some point, down on her knees, my cock in her pretty little mouth.

  Instead, she made me laugh. Maybe it was being back in Philly, or maybe it was the girl, but I felt a little different, a little bit lighter, like I didn’t have the weight of an entire crime family on my back for once.

  “This was good,” she said and sighed. “Way too much, but good.”

  “I told you. Not just a hipster place.”

  “Still very much a hipster place.” She tilted her head. “But I’m not judging.”

  I grinned and leaned back. I put my hands behind my head then let them drop as a young couple in matching t-shirts and jeans came past, walking a pit bull on a long leash. The dog gave me a look like it wanted to rip my face off and I smiled and made a kissy face at it.

  Mona laughed as I turned back at her. “What?” I asked.

  “I didn’t know you were a dog guy.”

  “I like dogs,” I said. “I like cats too.”

  “You like cats?”

  “Sure,” I said. “I’m allergic as hell, but I don’t mind them.”

  “Animal lover, huh.” She shook her head and reached up to take her bun down. Her thick dark hair spilled down her shoulders. “Never would’ve guessed it.”

  I stared at her toned arms, her breasts rising up and shaking ever so slightly as she put her hair back up into a bun.

  “Guess you don’t know me all that well.”

  “Guess not.” She finished the bun and took a breath then leaned toward me. “Look, Vince. I have to admit something to you.”

  “Uh oh,” I said, crossing my legs and sipping my beer. “You’re a fed, huh?”

  “What?” She blinked rapidly. “Oh, god, no, no, not at all.” Her face turned red and I laughed at her.

  “I’m fucking with you,” I said. “Relax. What do you want to admit?”

 

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