by K. J. Larsen
Mr. Savino watched the women scoot back to the restaurant. He sighed deeply. “I need a drink.”
I knew what he was saying. He wanted to drink in the bar with men who smoked cigars and would rather wrestle a snake than talk about weddings. But the bar was in the back of the café. To get there, they’d have to pass the women. Mama would reel them in.
“We’ll never make it,” Papa said.
Father Timothy grinned broadly and took off at a trot. “To the alley! I know the back way.”
***
The investigation with the cops didn’t take as long as I had anticipated. Ettie Opsahl led the show. Ettie and I have a history. Suffice to say there’s no love lost between us. Ettie mocks the Pants On Fire Detective Agency and totally dismisses my detective skills. I am pretty sure she’s Captain Bob’s nark. That, and her life is one long bad-hair day.
Ettie shrugged. “No one got the alleged shooter’s license plate.”
“Alleged? Look at this dress.”
“I’m sorry, Ms. DeLuca.” She wasn’t. “We don’t have much to work with without a plate or description.”
“Work with this. The man behind the helmet is Toby Smoak.”
Her mouth pinched. I swear a smile would crack her face. “Let me get this straight. It was dark. How much of his face did you see?”
“Enough.”
“One witness described the rider as wearing a Darth Vader helmet. And yet you recognized him.”
“I didn’t have to see his face. I saw his Rolex.”
“And he has a Harley,” Chance said.
Officer Opsahl gave him a withering look.
Savino flashed his creds and introduced himself. “FBI. Special Agent Savino.”
Ettie checked out the badge and identification. She rolled her eyes. Or maybe it was a minor seizure. Either way, she wasn’t impressed. I’m guessing the FBI turned her down for general insanity, like my Cousin Frankie.
“Toby Smoak owns a Harley. He was in the park Sunday night with the dead body of Bernie Love,” Chance said. “Cat is the only witness who can implicate him in Mr. Love’s murder. She’s a threat, and it stands to reason, he is trying to silence her.”
Ettie yawned. “I was there Sunday. I saw Ms. DeLuca. What I didn’t see was a body.”
“You must know Captain Bob was called back a second time to process the murder scene.”
“Still no body. The guy on the bike could be anyone.”
“Anyone with a Harley, a Rolex, and a motive,” Savino said dryly.
“You know, everyone isn’t trying to kill me.”
“Frankly, Ms. DeLuca,” Detective Opsahl mumbled into her notebook, “I find that hard to believe.”
Chapter Twenty-seven
I gave myself ten minutes in the restroom before joining the others at the table. I ditched the stockings and washed the blood and dirt off my legs and face. There wasn’t much I could do about the dress. Frankly, I couldn’t have cared less. I was lucky to be alive.
The server brought Red Lentils and vegetables cooked with spices. Gomen Kitfo, a chopped greens dish. Shero, highly seasoned chick peas, and Doro Wot for the meat eaters. Baskets of Injera, the delicious sponge-like sourdough bread were kept filled to sop up all the flavor of the dishes. I took pictures of Papa eating vegetables, and eating beans, and then getting gas. I posted them on Facebook.
The guys were pretty juiced after their stint at the bar. They didn’t care what the women talked about. They were bleary-eyed and happy.
Mrs. Savino passed around pictures of a trip they took to New Zealand last summer where the Tolkien trilogy was filmed.
“People live in hobbit houses, built into the hills.” Mr. Savino said. “It’s like middle earth.”
“Hobbit?” Mama’s eyes lit. She reached for her bag. I steeled myself for Nonna DeLuca’s wedding dress to dance across the table.
“You! You!” A shrill voice screeched behind me and Mama dropped her bag. I turned around. A crazy lady had stumbled from the bar. She was pointing at me.
I reluctantly pointed to myself. “Who, me?”
She shrieked. “You. Bitch. Ruined. My. Life.”
I looked again. Crap. It was the liar-liar wife of my birdlike client, Jerry. Her big hairy bear of a lover snarled beside her.
“Gee, Cookie,” I said. “I didn’t recognize you with your clothes on.”
She made crazed animal-like noises.
“Down, girl. What’s going on?”
“Jerry kicked me out of my own house. He changed the locks.”
“He can’t do that,” I said.
“Well he did. He says if I come around, he’ll send your horrible, nasty photos to my parents.”
“Ouch,” I said.
Cookie groaned. “My father has a heart condition. It’ll kill him.”
I winced. “I’m sorry about your dad.”
“He’ll disown me. He won’t leave me his money.”
“Seriously? So what you really want is his money.”
Her lip curled in a nasty sneer. “I’ll get your money. I’ll sue you for everything you’ve got.”
“Wow. I guess those pictures will be in all the papers.”
She lunged at me. Chance held her back and Yogi Bear charged him. A chair tipped over. Diners scattered.
Chance flapped his badge. “Federal agent. Stand down or you are under arrest.”
“You ain’t no cop,” Yogi snickered.
He threw a quick and explosive jab but Chance has dancing feet. He dodged the blow and delivered a hammer fist to the side of his neck. Yogi’s knees buckled and he shook his head, mixing up stars. Chance cuffed him and shoved him in a chair.
Cookie flung her arms wildly. She might be the worst fighter in the world.
Papa kicked his chair back and held her in a choke hold. “Now I’ve got something to say to you, missy. Don’t. Mess. With. My. Little. Girl.”
“Gee, Papa. That was sweet. Now if you’ll let go of her for one moment—”
Papa dropped his hands. I reached into my bag and zapped the crap out of her. Cookie crumpled to the floor.
I blew the tip of my taser. I’d been saving that jolt for Toby Smoak but, what the hell.
Papa stepped aside and made a call on his cell phone. When he was done, he addressed Yogi Bear, handcuffed in the chair.
“My guys from the Ninth are on their way. You kids got maybe two minutes to disappear or spend the night in jail.”
Yogi’s eyes fired hate-darts. Savino removed the handcuffs and the big bear of a man lifted Cookie in his arms and carried her outside. He didn’t look back.
Mr. Savino slapped the table and hooted. This was more fun than he’d had in a long time.
A deep chortle escaped Father Timothy’s lips. He raised his glass. “The story’s never this good when they tell it in the Confessional.”
Mama made disapproving clicking sounds with her mouth. Mrs. Savino glared. I could’ve slapped them silly.
I knew what they were thinking. What transpired here tonight was not a good message to send to their grandchildren.
What grandchildren? I wondered if they realized the kids they talk about are like imaginary friends.
I knew one thing for sure. Chance would have to establish boundaries between his parents and us. I’ve already talked to my parents. They laughed their socks off.
“It’s been a rough day, my Caterina,” Papa said.
I pitched down my drink. Papa reached an arm around me and kissed my cheek.
I nodded. It happens sometimes. People shoot at me and I don’t always piss them off. Occasionally a disgruntled cheater will confront me and make a scene. But on this day of all the days? The one day when we meet the parents? I mean, what are the odds?
I leaned close into Papa, and I wiped awa
y the one lone tear that escaped. “Some days, it seems I just piss off the gods.”
“Chancie” and I headed out while the parents and a tipsy priest decided on dessert. Papa walked with us to the car. He seemed tired and his limp was more pronounced. I hooked my arm in his and we walked at an easy pace. I felt a little sick when I saw the snag on the sidewalk that had caught my heel and saved my life . The shattered store window had been boarded up and the insurance company would’ve been called.
I have to be the luckiest or perhaps the unluckiest person I know. It’s hard to tell.
When I was a kid, I was nearly struck down by a car that careened onto the sidewalk. Mama was a mess. She cried all the time and she wouldn’t let me leave the house for a week. Papa talked to her. The priest talked to her. The school psychiatrist came to the house when she wouldn’t let me go to school.
And then one day, Mama had a dream. She worked things out for herself after that. She said the dream told her that I am a Cat with nine lives. It’s a little insane, I know. But she let me go to school after that.
I have to think if she’s right, my luck is running out fast.
Papa helped me in the car and buckled me in. He kissed my cheek and shook Savino’s hand.
“Get my girl home safe,” he said.
I watched Papa limp back to the restaurant. He looked tired and a little old and it made my heart ache a little. I watched him from the window and Chance waited until he was gone. Then he reached over and grabbed my hand. He brought my fingers to his lips.
I turned to him and the deep burn in his cobalt blue eyes made something sizzle inside me. He took my face in his hands and kissed me slow and deep. When he let me go, I couldn’t breathe.
Savino cranked the engine. “Let’s go home and see if we can remember where we left off.”
Chapter Twenty-eight
I awoke to a soft clatter of dishes and the glorious aroma of coffee wafting from the kitchen. It still gets me all tingly inside that my delicious G-man knows his way around a kitchen. DeLuca men can’t load a dishwasher. My ex wouldn’t take out the garbage. And if my twin brothers need a snack, there’s still a good chance they’ll call Mama first. She’s not real popular with their wives.
I tugged on a robe, and swiped a toothbrush around my mouth. Then I finger-combed my hair, took two steps out the door, stopped and sniffed. The wonderful whiff of waffles greeted my nose. Yum. I took two steps back into the room.
This deserved some extra attention. So I dropped the robe on the bed and crossed to my dresser where the serious ammunition was. I slipped into a pink and white, satin and lace teddy and stuck on a couple twirly, silver tassel pasties. I made a low dive into the closet. I emerged in insanely tall silver rhinestone platforms, did a quick check in the full length mirror, and adjusted everything to the right place, and clomped down the hall to the kitchen where I fully expected some sugar before my coffee.
Savino’s head was in the oven, checking to see if the ham was hot. It was a rear view but everything on that man is rock, hard, and gorgeous. Muscular back, wide at the chest, narrow at the hips, and a bum that can wow the shit out of a pair of jeans.
I moistened my mouth, and leaned my back against the door frame, raising a knee. That sexy pose you see in the magazines, was the one I was going for. I closed my eyes and held my breath. I was hoping I looked at least as tempting as the pig in the oven.
“Yowsa!” Max breathed.
My eyes popped.
“Max?? What the hell are you doing here!”
He made little circles with his pointy finger. “Can you do a little spin?”
I groaned and spun a teetering one-eighty on my stilts. I wobbled fiercely to my room. Max scooched behind me, whistling softly.
“Go away!” I said.
I scooped my robe off the bed and white knuckled it in front of me.
“No can do, Kitten. Savino called me. He doesn’t want Smoak scattering lead around you again. He asked me to keep an eye on you.”
“I’m pretty sure this isn’t what he had in mind.”
He grinned. “I’m a Seal, babe. We’re thorough.”
I made a mental note to kill Chance later. I’d happily choke Max now but my hands were a little busy with the robe.
“Go home, Max. I don’t need a babysitter. I’m all grown up.”
“So I noticed.”
“Arrrgh!”
His expression became somber and his voice softened. “Seriously, Cat. Smoak is deranged. He does some scary shit. He blew up a Ferrari, for godsakes. Who does that?”
“What kind of monster kicks a beagle?”
“Exactly. Toby Smoak will regret that. I promise.”
I nodded, surprisingly cheered.
“You are the one person who can place Smoak at the park with Bernie’s body. Your testimony can send him to away for a very long time. He has his sights on you, Kitten. And he is going to do everything in his power to make sure you won’t be able to testify.”
Max was right, dammit. The cold, hard truth knocked some of the wind out of my sails. Maybe it wasn’t a totally horrible idea to have Max around. He was, after all, easy on the eyes.
“I can take care of myself,” I said with less conviction.
“I know that,” he lied. “But I was actually on my way over when Savino called. He’s not the only one who’s worried about you. Tino insists you drive his bulletproof car. Joey’s threatening to put a hit out on this asshole. And Rocco’s ready to wring your neck.”
“Rocco? Why?”
“Maybe because you wouldn’t give him Smoak’s name. Or his Chicago River address. Or the lead to the biker bar. Now, bullets are flying when you walk down the street, and, Rocco thinks you’re still holding out on him.” Max shrugged. “You’ve got to admit, there’s one hell of a pattern here.”
“I got nothin’.” I hid my face in my hands. “Ah shit. My brother’s gonna kill me.”
“You might want to avoid him for a few hours, anyway.”
“Ya think?” I gave myself a head slap. “Oh sure, I can bring Smoak in myself. Then Captain Bob would have to respect me and my agency. Yeah, right.”
“So, what was the plan?”
“Plan?”
“You know. The master plan? First, you’d have to capture the guy, right? Then get him to the Ninth. How were you going to do that, exactly?”
“Uhm…”
“Cuz you didn’t have a firearm on you. And I am betting he did.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I know your Glock is almost always in your panty drawer. I’d be willing to bet it’s there now.”
“It’s a safe bet I don’t have it on me.” I winked.
He smiled. “Get it, please, and carry it with you until we get this ass-wipe.”
“I will have to get clothes on first, bossy.”
He checked his watch. “It’s early. We may be able to grab Toby Smoak before he crawls out from under his rock and deliver him to Captain Bob.”
“I don’t know where he is,” I said miserably.
Max tapped his shirt pocket. “I do. Tino called in a favor.”
“Yay!” I threw out a high five. “I’ll show those bonehead cops. The Pants On Fire Detective Agency will get the respect we deserve.”
Max left my hand hanging, and instead ruffled my hair. “That’s never going to happen, Kitten. But it’s adorable you think so.”
“Well,” I thought for a moment. “I’m glad Chance called you.”
He gave a cheesy grin. “He clearly doesn’t know how irresistible I am.”
“Well I’m starving. Are those waffles I smell?”
“Waffles with blackberries, and whipping cream. Your favorite as I recall.”
“Yum.” I kissed his cheek. “You’re irresistible and amazing.”
***
Tino’s address for Toby Smoak was a well maintained two story clapboard with frilly, lace curtains. Not exactly the lowlife cockroach fest I’d expected from Rolex Man. Max pulled to the curb a few houses down and parked behind a brown Impala. The Impala’s door opened and a bald African American man stepped out of his car and climbed into ours.
I passed back a hot coffee and breakfast sandwich to Ronnie that we had picked up on our way. Ronnie is a friend of Tino’s. He’s one of the guys who hang out in the back room. Sometimes customers hear hushed whispers, and that only stokes the rumors of the mysterious deli man’s past. Once I walked back there and saw five guys hunched around a flurry of maps and diagrams. You’d think they were plotting a bank heist, but knowing Tino, I suspect something much more devious. Like, maybe he still works for the CIA.
The one thing I know for sure is Tino doesn’t exist on a government salary. And he lives better than a man who sells sausages. Tino has oodles of money and he likes giving it away. Last summer an apartment fire in Bridgeport rendered several families homeless. The evening news did a story on an anonymous eye-popping donation that helped each of those families get back on their feet. Later a Chicago Tribune reporter traced the source of that money to Tino’s door.
First Tino denied making the donation and when that didn’t work, he tried explaining the meaning of “anonymous”. The reporter was a cocky, arrogant sort who insisted on running the story. But the reporter’s big mistake was insulting Tino’s Ziti Al Forno. Ronnie and a couple friends approached the reporter on Tino’s anonymous behalf. I don’t know what was said but the donor story never made the papers. The Trib published, however, an endearing blurb about the “best deli in Chicagoland” and Tino’s amazing ziti.
The day I walked into Tino’s back room, Ronnie removed the papers in one grand sweep and Tino pulled a deck of cards out of thin air. He dropped them on the table.
“Care to join us, Caterina? We’re playing cards.”