Bye, Bye Love

by K. J. Larsen

  I’d know those buns anywhere. They belonged to my cousin, Frankie DeLuca.

  Busted.

  I’d been made breaking the police tape and manipulating the locks on the front door. Somebody ratted me out. Some busybody, tattletale neighbor called the cops. The first responder was here. Frankie. More cops were on the way. I know how this works. He was supposed to wait for backup. But not my crazola Cousin Frankie. He barreled up the porch steps like a superhero with no powers.

  Frankie burst through the front door as I slipped out the back. I followed the sidewalk around the house to the front and slid into my car. The front door was open. I could see Frankie darting about looking for something to shoot.

  I punched a number on my cell. “Frankie, I’m outside in my car. You can stop searching the house.”

  Frankie’s whisper was ragged and tense. “Not now, Cuz. I’ve got a situation here. I’ll call you back.”

  “Wait. I can see you in the window. Wave to me.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  “Seriously. I’m outside Bernie Love’s house.”

  “Stand down, Cat. A dangerous woman is on the loose. A neighbor called it in. She’s tall. He said she was hot.”

  “Really?” I looked around. “Which neighbor?”

  “He said there’s something wrong with her feet. I’m thinking a limp.”

  “I don’t limp. It was sticky police tape.”

  “Geesh, Cat. It’s not all about you.”

  “Whatever. Wise up, Frankie. The perp’s gone. She’s in my car.”

  He yelped. “She stole your car? You couldn’t outrun a cripple?”

  The sirens screamed louder. I pulled the Silver Bullet away from the curb and blew a sigh.

  “Goodbye, Einstein. If you’re hungry, there’s a pizza in the fridge.”

  ***

  I was tooling to Tino’s Deli for some spy chitchat when my phone blared “We Are Family.” It was Rocco.

  “Yo. Cat.”

  “Hi, Bro. Did Bernie’s body show up?”

  “No one’s seen it since you lost it.”

  “You’re hilarious.”

  “Booker says you ID’ed the guy in the park. I thought you might want to tell me who he is.”

  I rummaged for my Lip Smacker. “Oh puh-leeze. You know how Booker is.”

  “Yeah. He’s damn smart when it comes to reading people. What’s going on, Sis?”

  I popped the top off the Dr. Pepper and smothered my lips. “Nuthin’.”

  “Let me guess. Captain Bob ticked you off. He said you’re not a real detective and you’re gonna prove him wrong.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “I’m a real detective. Like you.”

  To my brother’s credit, his voice didn’t smile.

  “I knew you’d understand. Bob has disrespected the Pants On Fire Detective Agency for the last time. I hope he chokes on his donuts.”

  “I don’t understand. This is way up on the Stupid Idea List, and you’ve had some whoppers. Give me a name.”

  “I got this.”

  “No. You don’t. This is police matter. These guys are dangerous.”

  “Oh yeah?” I dug my heels in even more. “Maybe they don’t know who they’re messin’ with.”

  “They’re messing with a dead woman.”

  I gave a snort. “Where is your faith in me?”

  There was a long sigh on the other end of the phone. “Where are you?”

  “On my way to Tino’s. Uhm, by the way, have you heard anything about Cleo lately?”

  “Like what?”

  “Like is she wearing silver bracelets?”

  “Dammit, Cat, what are the two of you up to now?” He took a deep, breath and silently counted to ten. I know cuz I counted with him. “No. Cleo hasn’t been arrested. Yet,” he added for good measure.

  “Good. Then I’m meeting her for lunch.”

  “We’ll join you.”

  Ten minutes later, I pulled into the deli parking lot. My booty vibrated. It was Chance.

  “Babe. Mom just called. She wanted to confirm we’re on for tomorrow night.”

  “I hope you told her of my untimely demise.”

  “Give it up, Cat. Our parents are meeting. It’ll be fine.”

  “You sound way too cheery.”

  “What can I say. I’m an optimist. My glass is half-full.”

  “And my parents are half-crazy.”

  “All parents are crazy. I think having kids makes you a little nuts.”

  “Yeah? Well my folks had five.”

  He chuckled. “My parents didn’t need five. They did enough drugs in the seventies. Don’t worry, DeLucky. We’ll have dinner and everyone will get along.”

  “What about Father Timothy?”

  “Keep filling his wineglass. A sober priest can be one hell of a buzz-kill.”

  I laughed. “Gotcha.”

  “One more thing, DeLucky.”

  “Yeah?”

  “You were going to tell me about last night.”

  “It was a freaking nightmare.”

  “Catch me up tonight. Be careful. And don’t take any chances. If there’s anything you need…”

  “I thought you’d never ask. I’ve got two names. Toby Smoak and Nick Provenza. I’ll e-mail the particulars.”

  “I’m guessing these guys have something to do with what happened in the park last night.”

  “Bingo.”

  “The word is the cops still don’t have a body.”

  “I know. Awkward, right? Some jerk stole the body.”

  “It happens.”

  “Thank you very much. Captain Bob acted all huffy, like I was the only one to ever lose a dead guy. But it happens, right?”

  “Not really. I was kidding. But I want to hear everything tonight. I should make it around nine. I’ll get takeout. Thai? Falafels? Sushi?”

  “Surprise me.”

  “Red or white?”

  “Just you. I have both. If you’re early, swing by Mickey’s. I’m meeting Tommy for a beer.”

  “I will.”

  “And about those names—”

  “Let me guess. This is between us.”

  “You know me so well.”

  “Hmm.” Savino sounded distracted for a moment. “Was there anything else you wanted to tell me, DeLucky?”

  “Uh, nope. Not off the top of my head.”

  “Really? I just got a text from Cleo. Frankie said a one-legged woman stole your car.”

  Seriously?

  “Cat? Are you there?”

  “Arrrrrgh!”

  I tossed the phone on the passenger seat and grabbed my bag with the lottery ticket. Then I stomped into Tino’s Deli, muttering under my potty-mouth breath.

  Chapter Twelve

  Tino’s Deli hummed with the late lunch crowd. The line drifted from the counter and the staff buzzed like bees on steroids. Tino plated two orders of broccoli and shrimp linguini and barked for a server. I caught his eye and pointed to the same.

  “I’ll have that,” I mouthed.

  Tino signaled for one of his staff to take over for him. He joined me with the two plates and a broad smile.

  “For you and Cleo.” He held out his hands and I greedily scooped the plates in mine. I took a deep breath of the linguini and my eyes rolled back in my head.

  “OMG,” I breathed and kissed his cheek. “Tino, you’re a prince.”

  He laughed. “Your partner wanted—”

  “Assistant,” I corrected him.

  He smiled. “The audacious Ms. Jones ordered Caesar salads. But you should eat well when you’re on a case. You never know when you’ll have another chance.”

  “Is that what they taught you in spy scho
ol?”

  He winked. “The only spy here was your mama. She came by for pepperoni and smoked pork chops this morning.”

  “Pork chops? Maybe I’ll drop by later.”

  “If you do, you’ll eat pepperoni. The pork chops are for Inga.”

  “Of course they are.” I made a face. “In my next life, I’m coming back as my parents’ granddog.”

  Tino laughed. “The chops and pepperoni were a cover story. Your mama wanted to know where Tony’s taking her for their honeymoon.”

  I groaned. “She woke me cleaning my bedroom. The woman is obsessed. What did you tell her?”

  He smiled wickedly. “I might have said she’d look lovely in a bikini.”

  I didn’t ask how he knew about the cruise when Papa just got the tickets last night. Tino knows stuff. I’ve given up wondering how.

  The deli door jangled and a burst of cool air swept the room. My head spun around as an older couple hobbled inside.

  “Expecting someone?” Tino asked.

  “My brother and Jackson.”

  “Ah,” Tino smiled. “I know just what to make.”

  He excused himself and helped the couple find a table. I waited for him to return.

  “I found one of your pizzas in Bernie’s fridge this morning. Did he drop by yesterday?”

  “No. Bernie was on the down-low. His boss thought he was out of town. If my pizza was in his fridge, someone delivered it to him. What was on the pizza?”

  “Hmm. Meatballs. Fresh tomatoes. Oregano. Peppers.”

  “And Kalamata olives. My South Chicago Special.”

  “No olives on this one. Capers.”

  Tino’s brow lifted. “Booker bought that pizza yesterday afternoon. It’s odd he didn’t mention it last night.”

  “Booker would’ve been one of the last guys to see Bernie alive.”

  Tino put his palms together. “And now, Caterina, you have something to tell me.”

  “Do I?”

  “The guy in the park. You have a name.”

  “Oh. That.”

  He smiled. “What is it?”

  I smiled back. “Toby Smoak.”

  Tino’s eyes flickered.

  “You know him.”

  He shrugged. “I know he’s a lowlife shylock. Made a name for himself collecting debts for South Chicago loan sharks.”

  “Nice guy.”

  “His mistake was ‘collecting’ from a guy whose uncle was a judge. Smoak did a stretch in Joliet for breaking the nephew’s legs.”

  “Well, he’s on Provenza’s payroll now.”

  “Maybe. I’ll ask around and let you know.”

  “I’m gonna find Toby Smoak. I’m gonna tie him to Provenza. And I don’t need the captain’s help.”

  “Take Max with you.”

  “Thanks, but I got this.”

  “Just until we know what we’re dealing with. Toby Smoak was one sadistic son of a bitch, and that was before he was sent away to prison. You can implicate him in a murder. You’re not bulletproof.”

  “Max isn’t bulletproof either.”

  Tino smiled. “He’s a hell of a lot scarier than Provenza’s soldiers.”

  He shuffled behind the counter again, barking at a server to bring salads and a basket of crunchy bread to our table.

  My eyes swept through the room and found Cleo. She sat in the back, her head buried in one of her steamy romances. There were only a few dozen customers at Tino’s. But I could pick Cleo Jones out in a parade. Her pink-tipped hair is a dead giveaway. But it’s her magnetic energy and brass-ball chutzpa that suck me in.

  Cleo glanced up and her lips broke into a smile. She popped out of her seat and captured a plate of linguini with juicy, buttery shrimp.

  “God, I love that guy,” she said.

  “I told him we’re taking Smoak down.”

  “Damn straight.”

  “He wants Max with us.”

  “Why?”

  “I think he doesn’t want Toby Smoak to blow my face off.”

  “I got your face, girlfriend.”

  She flashed her coat open exposing the Glock in her shoulder holster. Then she hiked up her skirt to show off the .22 in her garter holster. She started unbuttoning her blouse and I threw up my hands.

  “Gotcha.”

  Geesh.

  She frowned. “Who the hell is Toby Smoak?”

  “Rolex Man.”

  Her face shone with unabashed admiration. “You found him?”

  “Oh yeah, baby.”

  “Damn, girl. You got Captain Bob eating some serious crow.”

  “Well, not exactly.”

  “So where is this Smoak? Does Bobby got a SWAT team surrounding his rat hole?”

  “The SWAT team is you and me. And Max, if Tino has his way.”

  “Huh? I’m feeling like I missed something here.”

  I climbed back on my soap box. “Captain Bob was a jerk. He has dissed the Pants On Fire Detective Agency for the last time.”

  She feigned shock. “Bob? No! Go on.”

  “We’re doin’ this on our own. Without Bob and without the Ninth. It’s you and me. And Inga if Mama lets me have her back.”

  “Oh yeah. You’re a force to be reckoned with.”

  “Here’s the plan. We bring Smoak in. And we take Provenza down. And when we’re finished, Captain Bob will have to admit he’s a dumbass.”

  “Must have taken you hours to come up with that plan.” Cleo said as she twisted her fork around the linguini, stabbed a juicy, garlicky shrimp and stuffed it all in her mouth.

  “Did you not hear the part about Bob disrespecting us?”

  Cleo blubbered some mumbo jumbo with her mouth full. I didn’t get a word of it. I waited for her to swallow.

  “Say what?” I asked.

  “So this is your plan.” She took a long swill of lemon water. “We snag this Smoak guy. We rearrange his face and choke him with his Rolex. And then we take him to the captain.”

  “That’s the plan.”

  “OK. But nix on taking down Provenza. He walks.”

  “Who are you, and what have you done with Cleo?” I looked for signs of some alien abduction.

  She started to stab shrimp again. I resisted the urge to wrestle the fork from her and clamped a hand over hers instead.

  “You got the wrong guy,” she said. “Bernie’s boss didn’t do it.”

  “Provenza got to you,” I said incredulously. “You went to his house and he got to you.”

  “That’s the meanest thing you’ve ever said. I’m a damn good detective, Cat DeLuca. I’m practically your partner.”

  She challenged me with a glare but I know when to keep my mouth shut. I mentally superglued my lips and gnawed on my tongue.

  She snorted. “You didn’t ask what I learned on my mission to the Provenza residence.”

  Frankly I’d been relieved and somewhat surprised that Cleo wasn’t wearing a blue Cook County jumpsuit. That was, in itself, a spectacular success.

  “My bad. What do you have to tell me?”

  “Two things. First, boss man is innocent. Provenza wasn’t involved in Bernie’s untimely demise.”

  “That’s a load of bull pucky.”

  “I’m not finished.”

  “Sorry. What’s the second thing?”

  “Let go of my hand before I shoot you.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  A bell jingled and the deli door opened with authority. Rocco tromped in and Jackson swaggered behind him. Both are gorgeous, muscled guys but Jackson is Samoan. He’s got thick curly black hair and a bleached white smile. His shirts are tailored to show off six-pack abs. Jackson’s a nice guy. He takes his mom to dinner every Sunday. The other six, he tries to get a date. Sometimes he gets luck
y.

  My brother Rocco is no slouch. He’s got the casual guy look. That mostly means he prefers blue jeans and a sweater and forgets to comb his hair. Women turn their heads when he walks in a room but Rocco’s out of the game and doesn’t seem to notice. He’s crazy about Maria and he’s way too smart to be stupid.

  I gave Cleo the QT sign.

  “What’s up with you today?” she said. “Your craziac is showing. Hell, it’s a big-ass neon sign.”

  I glared as I spoke without moving my lips. “Just, follow my lead for once. And don’t tell them anything.”

  She made a scoffing snort. “Like that’s gonna happen. Rocco needs to know Provenza is not our guy.”

  “Is so,” I said all ventriloquist like.

  “What’s wrong with your mouth?” Jackson asked, pulling up a chair.

  Rocco chuckled and sat beside me. “She thinks she’s keeping secrets.”

  “Got that right,” Cleo muttered.

  He leaned over and gave me a hug. “How ya holdin’ up, Sis?”

  “She had a rough night,” Cleo volunteered. “She dreamed Mama was in her bedroom, hanging up clothes and ranting that the room was a disaster.”

  I shuddered. “It was a freakin’ nightmare.”

  “She’s revisiting her childhood,” Rocco said. “When we were kids, my room was always neater than Cat’s.”

  “Only cuz Mama cleaned it for you. And she did the twins’ room. There’s a word for that.”

  “Su-weet,” Jackson said.

  “Sexist,” I countered.

  Rocco commandeered my lunch. “Mmmm,” he said making yummy noises. “You should eat this while it’s warm.”

  He chomped away and I went to work on a breadstick and salad. We talked about Mama’s church wedding and I told Rocco about Papa’s honeymoon cruise. The guys were getting fitted for their tuxes tomorrow and my brother wasn’t digging it.

  “Who wears a freakin’ powder-blue tuxedo?” he demanded.

  “That would be you,” Cleo said.

  Rocco winced.

  “Be nice,” I said. “Mama’s having the wedding she planned thirty-five years ago. Powder-blue tuxes with a matching blue ruffled shirt. It was a big hit in the eighties.”

  “So were mullets and parachute pants. We should learn from our mistakes.”