Blind Date

by Cheryl Anne Porter

  “I’ve got it!” Meg released Joe in her excitement and stepped up to his side.

  “You have the money?”

  “No, Joe, I mean I know what Maury means. Those keys go to a bank lockbox.” She turned to Maury. “Is that where the money is? In a bank? If it is, there’s no way you can get it until tomorrow when they open. His grandsons will know that. Just tell them you’ll go—”

  “You’re wrong, Meggie. I’m sorry. But it ain’t in no bank. Well, it is. But not like you’re thinking.”

  Only too aware of the continued pounding on the front door—why they hadn’t broken the door down or broken out a window by now and just barged in, she’d never know, not that she wasn’t glad they hadn’t—she put her hands on her hips. “Then, where is it, Maury? Where’s Ferlinetti’s money?”

  “It’s all around you.”

  That made no sense. Meg exchanged a look with Joe, who took up the questioning. “Uncle Maury, you still haven’t told us a damn thing. And I don’t know why I keep asking, but what’s all this business, then, with The Stogie?”

  “Oh, that. They think the money’s in a lockbox in The Stogie’s trunk.”

  “Why do they think that?”

  “Because I told Freddie the Flamethrower I’d always keep it there.”

  “Oh dear God,” Meg said, her voice rising. “I do not even want to know how that man got that nickname.”

  “Me, either,” Joe seconded. “But, come on, Uncle Maury, there’s more to it than that. All they had to do was steal The Stogie, pop the trunk and take the lock-box. Hell, I even offered the car and the keys to them yesterday when they had Meg. They didn’t want it. Or her. They just let her go.”

  Meg nodded, corroborating his story. “They did. They just let me go.”

  Maury was shaking his head and looking confused. “Then I don’t know what they’re thinking. Maybe they’re just stupid.”

  “They didn’t strike me as stupid.”

  “Maybe they misunderstood what you was offerin’.”

  “No, they didn’t.”

  Maury pressed his thin lips together, looking peeved. “Then I don’t know. That lockbox of money is all I have of theirs.”

  “Had. That’s all you had of theirs, Uncle Maury. That’s why we’re in this huge mess.” Looking suddenly tired, Joe scrubbed a hand over his face and stared balefully at Meg. “Great,” he told her. “Freakin’ Mafia money. Good thing I didn’t go to the cops.” He exhaled as if signaling a subject change. “All right, Uncle Maury, obviously they’re not satisfied with coming to get only what their grandfather sent them after. What else could you have that they’d want?”

  Maury shrugged. “Like I said, I ain’t got nothin’ else of theirs. I don’t know what they want.”

  But suddenly Meg thought she knew, and the knowledge sickened her, weakening her knees. She grabbed Joe’s arm. “It’s him, Joe,” she whimpered, looking up into Joe’s face and seeing understanding dawn.

  She turned to the older man. “They want you, Maury. They want the money, and you—dead. They let me go and didn’t take the car because they knew we’d run right back to you. All they had to do was wait. And if you weren’t here, they knew we’d find you. So they followed us until they were certain we were coming here, then let us think they’d left. Oh my God, we were so stupid. It almost worked. In another few minutes, we would have walked right out that door. But now we’re trapped. What are we going to do?”

  Maury smiled resignedly. It was all there in his eyes. “I think you’re right, Meggie. This is about me.” He looked up at Joe. “You got to let me go take care of this by myself.”

  “Over my dead body,” Joe growled, pulling the gun around in front of him.

  No, she thought. No, not Joe and not Maury. Before either man could stop her, Meg grabbed Joe by his head, pulled him down, planted a big, wet, smacking kiss on his lips, looked into his eyes and said, “I Iove you, Joe Rossi.” Then she shot out of the bedroom, tearing down the hallway, running for her purse.

  13

  “MEG! WHAT THE HELL are you doing? Come back here!”

  She didn’t waste breath on answering Joe. Meg kept running, bursting into the living room, and grabbing her purse up just as someone—Joe!—grabbed her arm. He meant to stop her.

  “No! I won’t let you!” Meg cried out, breaking away. Terrified for him, she swung her leather purse at Joe’s arm and—talk about lucky aim!—knocked the gun out of his hand, sending it flying over his head…and banging him into the wall. Looking stunned, he tripped over a potted plant, lost his balance and fell in a heap to the tiled floor.

  Instinctively, Meg knew he was just dazed, but, actually, her attention was riveted on the handgun. Seemingly in slow motion, it tumbled harmlessly through the air…only to land right in Larry, Moe and Curly’s tank with a wet, plopping sound. Water splashed everywhere…and the gun sank to the bottom. The startled goldfish took instant refuge in their little ceramic underwater castle. Their bugged eyes stared fearfully at Meg, who stood there stupidly staring back at them.

  Suddenly, she came to herself and, like Xena, Warrior Princess, in fast motion, she ripped open her purse and pulled out her pepper spray. As she turned toward the door, her heart nearly stopped when she saw Maury already there and reaching for the dead bolt. All he had to do was turn the knob and the door would open to the murdering Mafia hit men.

  “No!” Meg screamed. Maury jerked around and Meg attacked mercilessly. Using her shoulder and hip, she viciously bumped the startled old man right onto the sofa. A part of her brain registered that he landed safely on the cushions and bounced onto his belly. But the gun’s stock had also hit the cushions and the weapon popped out of Maury’s hands. It hit the terra-cotta tiles lengthwise and skittered away in a crazy circling motion.

  Meg knew it was now or never, but she couldn’t move. She stood in front of the door, close enough to touch it. Her breaths came in pants; her pulse raced. Open the door, Meg, just do it. Well, she’d love to, only she couldn’t make her muscles work, could she? She stood frozen in place, knowing both Joe and Maury were only momentarily incapacitated. Who knew how long that would last? In the next second, either one of them could recover, grab her away from the door and stupidly put himself in harm’s way, meeting those thugs with guns in their hands.

  Even if—miracle of miracles—Joe and Maury prevailed, they could still get arrested. For murder. It would be worse for Maury, being in the mob, but that would make Joe his accomplice. Oh dear Lord, they’d go to prison and end up some big sweaty guys’ bitches.

  Meg blinked, becoming aware, in the next second, of a bigger concern. The bad guys outside had to know by now, given all the noise on this side of the door, that their quarry was trapped. Why, they could open fire at any second and hit Joe or Maury or Larry or Moe or Curly.

  That did it for Meg. No one was dying today, not if she could help it. Mewling in terror, her fingers numb and clumsy, she fumbled with the dead bolt and jerked the door open. The startled men stood clustered together on the tiny front porch, staring mutely back at her. All three of them dropped their gazes to the canister in her hand. Rocco, who finally looked scared, opened his mouth to say something; but Meg cut him no slack.

  Without warning, she opened fire, shrieking like she was the one being attacked, and sprayed the hell out of the three men. Screaming now themselves, clutching at their eyes and faces, they stumbled back and fell to the ground, where they rolled around, curling into protective fetal balls.

  Even though they had their hands over their faces, their cries for mercy could still be heard. But Meg, still spraying, was beyond granting it. Completely panicked, she acted on pure instinct. Then, all of a sudden, her trigger finger locked. It wouldn’t allow her to spray anymore. That meant her job here was done. Still terrified, not quite believing the men wouldn’t reach out and grab her ankles if she turned her back—she’d seen that movie—Meg kept her canister aimed at her enemies and quickly shuffled backward
into Maury’s apartment.

  She slammed the door, threw the dead bolt and turned around, leaning her back against the solid wood. Breathing hard, her eyes closed, she felt the canister slip from her nerveless fingers and heard it roll harmlessly across the floor. Meg feared she was going to be sick. Or would collapse. Locking her knees to keep her balance, she pressed a hand to her stomach to stem the nausea. She opened her eyes—and nearly screamed before she realized the man standing in front of her was Joe.

  “I got ’em,” she said.

  “I know.” In his hand was the soaked handgun, which he held down at his side. His gaze roved over her face. “They could have got you instead, you know, Meg.”

  A frightening realization, but one she could handle, at this belated point. “I never thought about that.”

  “I didn’t think you had. By the way, this gun—” he showed her the one he held in his grip “—isn’t even loaded. Neither is Uncle Maury’s shotgun.”

  “They would have killed you both.” It was a flat statement of fact.

  Joe nodded. “Probably. Just so you know, that was the bravest and the most stupid act of heroism I’ve ever seen. But remind me never to make you mad.” He smiled, but he didn’t touch her, as if he knew he shouldn’t—not just yet. “You said you love me, Meg.”

  “I do.”

  His blue eyes darkened. “I love you, too. Are you sure you’re okay?”

  Before she could reply, Maury—who was on his knees on the sofa and staring out the picture window—chortled and captured their attention. “Whew, you gave it to those guys good, Meggie! Look at ’em—like babies they are. Listen to ’em screamin’. Joey, you got to marry this girl.”

  Shock was receding enough that Meg could feel emotions slowly returning. Uppermost was amusement at Maury and embarrassment that he would say that. She smiled a weak, wavering smile at Joe. “No, you don’t. And I’m fine, to answer your question.” But in the next instant, she wasn’t so sure. Something troubling hovered on the edge of her consciousness, but she couldn’t quite grasp what it was.

  Joe obviously picked up on this. “Meg?” Hastily, he put the handgun on a small table next to him and gripped her arm supportively. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  Meg shook her head. “I don’t know. Something.” Fear once again gripped her. “But there’s something about those men, Joe. Something not right.”

  Apparently, her reply faded his concern. Chuckling, he released her arm. “Hell, nothing’s right with them, honey. They’re criminals. These guys will be put in jail for a long time because of your actions. You just did your country a great service—”

  “Oh my God, Joe, that’s it!”

  “What’s it?”

  “Putting criminals away.” One hand clapped loosely over her mouth, her other planted against his chest, Meg gazed up at him in horror. “Oh, no.” The something wrong had popped brightly, like a camera’s flash, into her mind, leaving her feeling sick.

  “Are you afraid they’ll send someone after you, some sort of vendetta?”

  “Oh, someone will come after me, all right. But it won’t be the Mafia.”

  “It will be if we don’t call the cops on these guys. They won’t be incapacitated all that long—”

  “No, Joe,” Meg said plaintively, “you don’t need to call the cops. What you need to do is listen. I think I just made a big, fat mistake. I think we all did.”

  Joe looked unconvinced. “You’re still in shock, Meg, from all this—”

  “No, I’m not. Listen to me.” Meg grabbed a handful of his shirt. “I’m trying to tell you I don’t think those poor men out there are Mafia at all.”

  Irritation claimed Joe’s features and she let go of his shirt. “Are you kidding me? You’re going to change your mind again?”

  “Not exactly. Joe, I now realize that I’d never seen two of them before. The third one is the guy who did all the talking for the limo lizards. But didn’t you notice how these guys, including our mobster, are dressed?”

  “No, I’m sorry, but I was a little preoccupied. What difference does it make how they’re dressed?”

  “Oh, for God’s sake, Joe, they’re not the same three guys. Only one of them is. And none of them is in mob clothes.”

  He stared at her. “Mob clothes? You mean they’re not in black? So what?”

  “They’re dressed in jeans and ball caps now. And they have on these dark all-weather jackets with three big gold letters on them.”

  Looking more confused now than irritated, Joe shook his head. “What are you talking about? Some designer logo? A brand of beer? A football team?”

  She shook her head no…slowly, fatalistically.

  Joe’s eyes widened, some of his confidence seeming to leach out of him. “You’re starting to scare me, Meg. What are the three letters?”

  “Oh, Joe.” Her chin trembled. “F. B. I.”

  THREE MORNINGS LATER, Meg woke up slowly and reached out across the satin sheets as she turned over in the huge heart-shaped bed draped in red velvet. As she knew it would, her hand met the muscled firmness of Joe’s warm, nude body stretched out next to hers. Smiling, she swept her hair out of her eyes and cautiously raised up on her elbow. She didn’t want to wake Joe. She wanted to stare at him while he slept. He was so beautiful. So perfect. But all she could see of him was his head and shoulders. Magnificent in their own right, yes…but not, by any stretch of the imagination, the only scenic views the man offered.

  Meg smiled at his sleeping form. He was lying on his back, his legs spread, one arm flung over the side of the bed, the other over his head. She considered the light in the room, dim but sufficient. She could do this. Daintily pinching the edge of the sheet with her thumb and forefinger, she slowly lifted it up and peeked—

  “Meg, we’ve talked about this.”

  Shrieking her surprise, she dropped the sheet, which billowed softly down to cover Joe again. She stared into his merry but accusing eyes. “Hi. I thought you were asleep.”

  “I know.” He stretched mightily, like a contented cat, flinging an arm out to capture her and pull her to him.

  Ablaze with happiness, she rested her head on his bare shoulder, which he bumped up to get her attention.

  “And what’s the rule when I’m sleeping?”

  Thoroughly enjoying herself, Meg ran her hand over his wonderful chest with its smooth, tan skin and light scattering of dark hair. “I’m not to be a pervert and check out your package when you’re not awake.”

  “Exactly. And what’s the rule when I’m awake?”

  “I can do whatever I want to you anytime I want, in public or private.”

  He chuckled. “No, it isn’t, and you know it. Instead, we can…?”

  “We can both enjoy each other—” her voice took on a singsong quality “—and do whatever the other one consents to.” She tapped a fingernail against his skin. “Remind me, should we ever get married, not to write our own vows. Yours would be a series of rules, all of them starting with ‘Thou shalt not.’”

  “Very funny.” He kissed her hair.

  Safe and happy, warm and content within the circle of his arms, Meg said, “Do you like it here in Las Vegas?”

  He shrugged. “It’s okay. I wouldn’t want a steady diet of it, but it’s fun for now. I’m just glad we talked Uncle Maury into flying out here instead of driving cross-country in that un-air-conditioned old jalopy of his.”

  “No kidding. I couldn’t have come if he’d insisted on driving, what with school starting back next Monday. But can you believe Vera Warden? Who knew what a wild and crazy woman she was away from work? I was so embarrassed watching her up on stage doing a bump and grind last night with that comedian.”

  “Yeah, I was nowhere near drunk enough to witness that and not be scarred emotionally. But at least Uncle Maury approved.”

  Meg idly sketched lazy circles with her finger around Joe’s nipples, first one, then the other. “Wendy was pretty shocked when I called he
r out in Texas to tell her everything that’s happened. Wow. Mrs. Warden is not only Maury’s employee but also his girlfriend. I told you those white boxers with the red hearts he packed were significant.”

  “I remember that.” Joe shifted about as if uncomfortable—or aroused—and quickly grabbed Meg’s roaming fingers. “You have to stop that…for now.” He kissed each fingertip and held onto her hand. “I just wish our two favorite senior citizens—along with Larry, Moe and Curly—”

  “By the way, you were so cute holding that big plastic bag of water and traumatized goldfish on your lap during the entire flight out here. You’ll be a good father one day.”

  “Right. Anyway, I was saying I wish Uncle Maury and Vera Warden weren’t in the adjoining room.”

  Along with Joe, Meg stared at the locked and bolted door across the room on their left.

  “Too freaky,” Joe added.

  “All those, uh, sounds they make…I mean, how old are they? They go at it like two rabbits, Joe. I don’t think we’re keeping up.”

  “I’m not even going to try. I just hope I have the same kind of stamina when I get to his age.”

  Meg rested her chin on Joe’s chest. “I don’t think you have anything to worry about in that department. Not if the last five days have been any indication, my little stud muffin. I’m just glad I’m here with you and not in prison.”

  “Yeah, it was kind of touch-and-go there for a while on Sunday and Monday at the police station.”

  “No kidding. I thought I was going to have to kiss my freedom goodbye.”

  “Along with your reputation. And what were you doing flipping through those mug shots? Looking for a suitable big sweaty chick?”

  Meg gave his chest a playful smack. “That did not happen.” Sobering, she laid her forehead on Joe’s ribs. “I pepper-sprayed three FBI agents, Joe.”

  “Hey, they’re fine. By now. I guess. Anyway, how were you to know Rocco was undercover on a sting to catch the real Ferlinetti family?”