I shake my head with a tight smile. “Sorry, I really can’t say.”
Her blue-haired friend who I almost forgot was sitting next to us, puts in her two cents. “Are you aware Martha used to be a newspaper woman for the New York Times?”
“I honestly did not.” As I pump shampoo into my palm, I am again amazed at what I learn standing at this sink.
“Well, dearie, you did the right thing. Elena wants her mother’s money. Inheritance is the only reason she moved in with her.”
Mrs. Murphy leans back as I massage her scalp and closes her eyes. “You will tell us first, won’t you Samantha? Nora got the scoop on the missing Jesus and she was invited everywhere for weeks. You’d think she’d visited the pope.”
I had no idea I was so notorious amongst the bingo crowd. “I can promise if you’re here, in the salon, you’ll be one of the first to know.”
Aunt Marion clears her throat and when I look over, she gives me a thumbs up. Phew. Maybe my day is turning around.
When my shift finally comes to an end, I stop by my old apartment and ask Joey if my room is available, just in case.
“Yeah, yeah, sure, sure. Josi went back to school but I’m guessin’ youz knew that.”
I nod.
“However, youz need to check with Vinny but it’s okay wid me.”
“Thanks. I will.”
At home, thank God, the construction next door is on some kind of prolonged break. Inside, I find Suds kneeling on the bathroom doorframe, placing the last ceramic tile on the floor.
“What do you think?” He wipes the yellowish marble with a rag.
I squat behind him, my chest to his back. “Amazing. I love the color. They look expensive.”
“Nah. The hardware store owner knew a guy who knew a guy who had some leftover tiles. I got them for a song.”
“What’s the catch?”
“None, why?” When he turns, he knocks me onto my ass and helps me up as I moan.
“Oh, Sebastian, Sebastian. There is always a favor owed for a favor given in this neighborhood.”
“Well, if a Mr. Lee comes in and wants you to fuck him, you’ll know why. You don’t suppose he’ll ask me to kill someone?” Chuckling, he rinses his rag in the sink while I stick my tongue out at him.
“If he does, you can ask Frankie. By the way, did Mrs. Rossini’s daughter, Elena stop by?”
His brows raise. “No, why?”
“She came to the salon and wanted me to return Martha’s retainer. She refused to leave so I told her she should talk to you. I guess she figured you were too intimidating.”
He gets down on his hands and knees, rubbing invisible spots off the tiles. “Me? I’m a fucking pussycat.”
“Uh-huh. I heard something else, too. Do you remember Mrs. Murphy? She owns the bakery on the corner?”
“Not really, but go on.” When his heavenly dark eyes lift, my clit twinges. Maybe we can get naked on the couch.
It takes me a second to get my mind back on business. “She said Martha used to write for the New York Times. I didn’t have a chance to look her up. I’m going to do it right now.
Back at the table, I open up a browser, and whistle. “Holy cow. She won a Pulitzer in the sixties.”
“Shiiit. No way.” Standing, he walks to where I sit and looks over my shoulder, playing with my hair until shivers run down my back.
“I guess we need to take her allegations more seriously.” I angle my monitor and he leans in, lips pursed, smelling fine.
“Huh. I thought you verified Gallo’s husband is in the Bahamas.”
“Obviously, my dear Watson, the man who was killed was not her husband.” Removing an imaginary pipe from my shirt, I tap it on my palm, then place it in my mouth.
He tickles me until I can’t stop laughing. Slapping at him, curled up in a ball, I struggle to get at his underarms, the only place I can retaliate.
“Hee hee, Uncle. Uncle. Uncle. Stop!”
“I told you, Sam. I get to be Holmes.” Holding both my wrists, he grins while I try to break loose.
As I uncurl from the fetal position, I shoot him an evil eye. “Paybacks are a…”
Bang!
We cover our ears as a huge crack forms in our living room wall. My mouth drops open, picturing the wrecking ball breaking through the bricks.
“I think we need to talk to our landlord.” I say this dryly but inside I’m freaked.
“On it darlin’. I called the city, too. Enough is enough.”
“Tough guy, I know it’s not optimal, but I asked Joey if we could move back in with Rose and Mia and he said it was okay.”
He cups my cheeks and does his Spock mind-meld thing. “Would you have to agree to Vincent’s blind dates?”
“Uh… maybe… probably.” Unable to lie under his scrutiny, I drop my gaze, and he lets go.
“Well, if we do, we’re going to need a hell of a lot more money.”
“What for?
“To bail me out of jail. No man, other than me, gets to touch you.”
“They won’t. I promise. I can handle myself.” I walk back to the table and pat my purse, feeling pretty confident until he growls and opens my bag.
He grabs my pistol, and hands it to me. “How many times have I told you to keep your gun in your holster?”
“It gets in the way. Who needs a gun to wash hair?” Honestly, the man can be so unreasonable.
“What if Mrs. Rossini’s daughter had a weapon?”
“My Aunt Marion would’ve knocked her out with a baseball bat. Believe me, I’m safe.”
“Your family is too much.” He shakes his head back and forth, runs upstairs, and returns with my shoulder holster.
As he buckles the leather around my chest, he caresses my breasts and kisses me, making everything all better.
Moaning, I sigh and close my eyes. “I should call Mrs. Rossini.”
“Go ahead.” He kisses a sensitive part of my neck and nibbles an earlobe. “Ain’t nobody stopping you.”
Giggling, I push him away so I can call. With my phone on speaker, Suds can hear, too.
“Martha? This is Sam. Suds and I have a few more questions. Do you have time to talk?”
“Yes, dear, but not here and not now. I’ll text you, later.”
Shortly thereafter, I get her message. Our client wants to meet in midtown, but not for a few hours.
Lunch break over, the jackhammer starts up.
Moaning, Suds and I grab our noise-cancelling headphones and put them on. A second later, I get an email from him with a music file attachment.
Confused, I open the playlist called, tunes to strip by.
At the sink, Suds winks and gyrates his hips like Elvis. He unbuckles his belt, swings it over his head like a cowboy, and tosses it.
I catch the leather between my palms and applaud, already wet between my legs.
Holy shit. My eyes widen as he unbuttons his jeans, tosses his shirt onto the floor and flexes one pec at a time. This, while sexy, is also funny as shit so I laugh, lean back in my chair, and enjoy the show.
His eyes crinkle at the sides as he slowly shimmies out of his jeans. No underwear, his cock jumps to attention.
My mouth waters.
Turning on the kitchen faucets, he ducks his head under and when he rises, water drips down his chest. He presses the liquid soap pump and fills a washcloth.
To the grinding music he lathers his pits, chest, and privates. Now covered in foam, he needs a rinse. Wanting in on the action, I run to a pile of folded laundry and return with a towel.
Still sexy-dancing, he places his hands behind his head while I wipe down his entire body.
My man’s got muscles everywhere and his cock is so fucking beautiful, I almost orgasm as I rinse him off. Unable to resist, I kneel and take him into my mouth.
He’s still a little soapy, so I walk to the sink, rinse out my cloth, and use it to caress his thick, swollen, member. Hungry and aroused, I lick, rub, and stroke until
his eyes roll back and his hands clench the counter.
When his pelvis arches forward, I clutch the back of his thighs, and suck. His thick length swells as I take him between my lips and worship. My tongue flat, I grab his base and take him in more.
His knees bend and he grabs my hair, urging me on. Drunk on him, the power goes to my head. This man, a former SEAL with a God-like body, is all mine.
He pumps into my mouth as I work him into a frenzy. At one point I look up and he stares down with such love and emotion, my clit explodes into a billion stars. Shaking as I kneel, I puff my cheeks, and blow.
His muscles tighten, he grows larger, and when his juices burst forth, I swallow as much as I can, the rest dripping down my chin.
Dropping to his knees, he takes the nearby towel, and wipes his fluids from my face. Then, he kisses me with so much passion, my eyes get teary.
When he slips his hands into my pants, I shake my head, and remove his headphones so I can speak into his ear. “You were so hot, I came. Right before you.”
His eyes search my face until he’s certain I’m telling the truth. Then, he calls me on Skype.
“Fuck, you are damn hot.” He throws the towel toward the hamper, missing by a mile.
I pick up the dirty item, open the basket, and toss it inside, locking gazes. He knows what he did because he chuckles all the way up the stairs.
Chapter 7
Suds
After we dress, we grab our coats, and trot downstairs. Outside, I take her hand and jog to my SUV, parked the next block over. We shouldn’t be too late if we hurry.
While I start the car, Sam gets a phone message and curses. “That was Martha. She’s cancelling on us. Her daughter came home and won’t let her leave.”
Her lower lip sticks out so I lean over and nibble it. “I can think of one other interesting thing to do.”
“That would be fun… or we could go to plan B or plan C.”
I almost hate to ask. “And those would be?”
“We have two other divorce cases to put to bed, so to speak. What is Mr. Nardo up to tonight?”
“Let me see his texts.” I read them and grimace, shaking my head in disgust. “Doesn’t this guy have any regard for his wife?”
Not long after, we’re parked in front of the same cheap hotel as the other night. One more set of pictures and we can put Mrs. Nardo’s case in the finished file.
Sam sighs as we sip our coffees, eyes the red neon vacancy sign. “I feel sorry for her.”
“Don’t be. She’s better off without him.” My hand slips to her knee and I squeeze.
“True, but it won’t be easy. They’ve been married for years.”
“And he’s probably cheated on her for all of them.”
At the bitterness in my voice, her brows crease as she cups a palm to my cheek. “I assume we’re not talking about our clients?”
I turn my face into her soft skin, kiss her hand, and then lower it to my thigh. Our eyes meet briefly before focusing on the job.
After a bit of silence, she asks, “Did you ever try to locate your mom?”
“No. She left, Sam. She didn’t want anything to do with me and my sister. As soon as Dad quit the service, we never heard from her again.”
“I know, tough guy, but maybe learning her side of the story might make it easier to swallow. I’m guessing she was about our age when it happened.”
“Younger. She had me at eighteen.”
“Yikes.”
I roll down the window, inhale cold fresh air, then use the distraction to stuff the pain back where it belongs, in the past. “Let’s talk about something else.”
“Okay, how about getting married?” She points. “Hold on, here he comes.”
Tonight, Mr. Loverboy has a younger woman on his arm. For an old guy, he’s quite the player. He puts his hand way too low on her back and leads her toward the door marked office.
Sam twists the zoom lens as the digital camera clicks away. “Got it.”
She shows me the screen and I nod. “Yeah. I saw her picture online. She works for him.”
“God, she’s half his age. How does he do it?”
“Job security, I’m guessing. The other one worked for him, too. He probably hires desperate women who’ll do almost anything for a steady paycheck.”
“What a douchebag.” She waits for them to go inside then sighs heavily.
“So, I was wondering… about the wedding.”
“I got an idea. Why don’t we elope?” In my humble opinion, huge affairs are a big waste of money. A couple could put a down payment on a house or any number of other important things. Besides, we don’t need a priest to say some mumbo-jumbo to prove to the world we love each other.
“Vegas? Really?” Her pretty lips purse to match the disappointment in her voice.
I’m a horse’s ass. Of course, she wants the whole enchilada. I picture her in a white dress, an angel walking down the aisle, and change my mind.
“I was kidding.” Goodbye Hawaiian honeymoon, hello ramen noodles.
Her tone brightens as she bounces up and down in her seat, counting on her fingers. “Well, we have a few things to do, before we can get married in the Catholic Church. First, we need to sign up for Pre- Cana classes. We could do a weekend retreat or-”
“Whoa… Pre-Cana?”
“I’ll take care of everything. You only need to show up.”
“Saaammm…”
“I’m sure Father O will cut us a deal what with us finding his missing Jesus.”
“What, exactly, are we talking here?”
She frowns, “It’s not so bad. We’ll be with other couples discussing marriage, setting expectations about kids and ah… what religion we want them brought up in. That kind of thing. It’s a prerequisite.”
I take a deep breath, remembering how much I love her. “Are there any others?”
“Do you have proof of baptism?”
“Fuck. Only my mom would have it. Dad was deployed at the time but I can probably find a copy. Anything else?”
“I was thinking we could set a date. How about twelve months? I should be able to get everything done by then.”
“A year? Hell no. I want you to be my wife, sooner than that.” Is she having second thoughts?
“But I need to rent a hall, buy a dress, and reserve the church. Then, there’s cake, flowers, caterers, photogr-”
“Stop. My God, Sam.” Hell, we’ll never get out of debt.
“My mother and father will pay for most of it,” she mutters.
“How do you figure that? Your Dad hates me.”
“No, he doesn’t.”
“He put an APB out on me last month. I think that’s pretty telling.”
“True, but he’s coming around. Honey, I can buy a used dress and our guests will give us money. I’ll do the math and talk to my mom. Everything will be fine, you’ll see.” She has an answer for everything.
Obviously, I’m in over my head and will need to talk to my married buddies who managed to survive taking their vows.
Damn, I do believe I’m about to be hog-tied and roasted on a spit.
Sometime later, after discussing the intrinsic nature of strawberry filling, taffeta, and roses, Mr. Nardo reappears. I have never been happier to see a cheating fucktard in my life.
My soon-to-be wife takes a few more shots and we make it home without any more disagreements.
At home, our driveway is blocked by a new, bigger dumpster.
I hope they realize, this means war.
In the morning, when the jackhammers rev up, I have had enough. The rat-a-tat triggers my nightmares, my PTSD alarm screeches and as my girl crawls into a corner, the cat yowls.
“Jesus H Christ!” I throw on my sweats and sneakers while Sam and the kitten stare wide-eyed.
I’m not sure if either one has ever seen me lose my temper. It ain’t all that pretty.
“No. I’ll talk to them.” Sam starts to get dressed but it only get
s my blood boiling more.
“Hell no. You aren’t goin’ over there.” I’ve heard their catcalls and those don’t sit right, neither.
I stomp down the stairs, turn left, and cut across the debris field into the front of what used to be a Pentecostal Church.
Inside, it takes only a few seconds to locate the guy making the racket. While three other guys in hardhats cross their arms, I tap Jack Hammer on the shoulder.
He stops, his eyes go wide, and then narrow as I remove his ear protectors.
“Do y’all know what time it is?”
His face scrunches up and he points a thumb to no place in particular. “Take it up with my foreman.”
“Is he here?” I turn and ask the workmen starting to crowd me.
An older, gray-haired man with gorilla arms steps closer. “What’s it to youz?”
“I live next door and the law says you can’t make loud noises until seven. I would prefer you wait until after eight.”
His chin juts out. “Is that so? You some kind of attorney?”
The minute I shake my head no, he motions for Jack Hammer to start up again.
Prepared for this lack of consideration, I walk to the generator, slip my utility knife out of my pocket, and slice through the pneumatic hose, stopping the noise.
The ape comes at me with a right cross, which I easily block. I twist out of his way but miss his left upper cut which just catches me in the jaw. Ducking his next jab, I sink low, step, and punch him below the belt.
“Mother fucker.” Behind me, a bigger asshat, spreads his arm wide but before he can grab me, I back kick him in the balls.
While his eyes water, one of the others raises a sledge hammer over my head.
“Now, now. That’s downright un-neighborly.” A quick heel to his kneecap and he goes down.
Feeling generous, I catch the falling iron so it doesn’t crush his skull.
The last guy is smart enough to not try anything. Just in case I’m wrong and he’s a bit dim-witted, I speak real slow-like. “You tell Vincent Vitale if he tries any other dirty tricks, he’ll find out what it is to mess with me. I wasn’t born yesterday and got plenty of friends from my service days. There’s a bodega around the corner. I suggest you find some coffee and hot buns and stay put for a couple hours. Y’all have a nice day. Y’hear? Oh, and by the way? Move the fucking dumpster out of my drive.”
The Dead Gigolo Caper (Suds and Sam Book 4) Page 5