Bad Blood

by Anthony Bruno

  But when Tozzi pushed the buzzer on Room 22 and opened the door, what he saw was something else again. She was standing beside the reception desk, holding the phone to her ear. She had legs, incredible legs. Tall. Padded shoulders. Nice shape. Early thirties. Dark red hair. Small, Oriental-looking eyes, laughing eyes. She flipped her hair behind her ear and looked over at him. She smiled cordially. There was a slight space between her teeth. He almost dropped dead.

  “. . . yes, Mrs. Danzig, yes. I assure you. All our nannies have been thoroughly trained in child care. Our women have completed courses in pre-school psychology and first aid as well as the traditional nanny curriculum . . . Well, they will bath the children, of course . . . Only if there’s an emergency. If the baby spills his milk, nanny will clean it . . . No, I’m afraid our nannies don’t do floors and windows . . . No . . . No, I’m afraid not . . . Very well, I’m sorry we couldn’t accommodate your needs, Mrs. Danzig. Good-bye.” She hung up the phone and smiled at Tozzi again. “Hello. Can I help you?”

  She was very British. Welcoming but still stiff upper lip considering that she had apparently just lost a client. “Well,” he said, “I’m interested in hiring a . . . nanny.”

  “Well, you’ve come to the right place.” She walked toward him and extended her hand.

  Tozzi’s heart kicked. He wanted to grab her and kiss her. Was she ever nice.

  “I’m Roxanne Eastlake,” she said, shaking his hand. “I’m afraid my secretary is out to lunch right now.” She rolled her eyes back toward the reception desk. They were light brown, dark gold. “Please come into my office, Mr . . . ?”

  “Uh . . . Tozzi. Mike Tozzi.”

  “This way, Mr. Tozzi.” She pronounced the z’s like s’s. So what. She had a beautiful ass. And that space between her teeth . . . ooo-la-la.

  Her office was all brass and burgundy leather. A lot of women decorate their offices like powder rooms. This office was very classy, no silk flowers but no high-tech black-lacquer-and-chrome power shit either. He liked it. He liked her.

  “Now,” she said, lacing her fingers on top of her blotter, “tell me what you’re looking for in a nanny, Mr. Tozzi.”

  “Well,”—it was hard not to stare at her—“I have a daughter—”

  “How old?”

  “Uh, two.”

  “Ah-hah.” She nodded and smiled, encouraging him to go on. Oh, that space! It was so sexy.

  “Well, you see, Ms. Eastlake, I’m on the road a lot. Business. And—”

  “And your wife works?”

  “No . . . she’s dead.”

  “Oh . . . I’m terribly sorry, Mr. Tozzi.”

  “No, no, it’s okay. It was a long time ago.”

  She furrowed her brows. “But you said your daughter is just two.”

  Tozzi nodded, trying to think of an answer. “It seems like a long time ago. We were separated . . . I never really liked her.”

  Ms. Eastlake smiled tolerantly as if she were listening to a mental patient. “So I take it you need a full-time live-in nanny?”

  “Yes. Actually I was thinking about one of these Asian girls everybody seems to have. I have a neighbor who—”

  “The nannies I represent, Mr. Tozzi, are thoroughly trained in all aspects of child care. Young American women trained in this country by former British nannies. They are the state of the art, if you will, the best. However, I have to tell you that I do not have any Asian women on my roster. And I must point out to you in all candor that, professionally speaking, as far as I’ve seen, these Japanese girls who’ve become all the craze are far inferior to my people.”

  “Well, everyone seems to have them.”

  Her nostrils flared. “If your neighbor leapt off the Empire State Building, Mr. Tozzi, would you follow?”

  Tozzi suppressed a grin. If you were the neighbor, Ms. Eastlake. “So you’re saying you don’t have any Japanese nannies.”

  “Indeed not. And please don’t credit them with the title of nanny. What they are, in fact, are cleaning women who also watch the kids.”

  He noticed that the angrier she got the more her accent faded. “Well, if you don’t represent these Japanese girls, who does?”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Tozzi, but I’ll be damned if I’ll act as a referral service for them. I just lost a very good client because the nanny I supplied wouldn’t wash the floor. The woman told me her sister-in-law’s Japanese girl washed floors and even did windows. Cleaning windows is not child care, Mr. Tozzi. Child care is caring for children, period. I’ve lost a lot of business thanks to these Nips. They’re cut-rate, to be truthful. If you want to go cheap with your child’s well-being, then get yourself a Nip girl. But if you truly care about your daughter, as I suspect you do, you’ll opt for a properly trained nanny.”

  Her choice of words seemed odd. Maybe she’d been in America for a long time. The mix of the accent with the American phrasing was very sexy, though. She was something. “Ms. Eastlake, I have to come clean with you. I’m not really in the market for a nanny.”

  “Pardon?” Her eyes became slits. She was about to become quite furious.

  He pulled out his ID. “I’m with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. I’m gathering information on a case.”

  She glared at the ID, then glared at him. “What the hell do you want? Why the ruse?”

  He regretted telling her the truth. She looked like she didn’t like him at all now.

  “You know, just because my phone isn’t ringing off the hook, that doesn’t mean my time is yours to waste. I have enough to do to keep this business afloat, I don’t need government interference. I don’t need this aggravation. I really do care about children. I care about their needs, particularly the ones who’re neglected by parents who’re too damned busy to be bothered with them. I’m sure you don’t understand any of this, but I do and I think it’s important. That’s why I can’t believe that you’d have the gall to come in here and feed me this cock-and-bull story, blithering on about the Jap—”

  “Whoa.” He held up his hands in surrender. “I’m sorry about the story, but it was necessary until I knew you were all right.”

  “Oh . . . and am I ‘all right’?” Very sarcastic now.

  “Just fine.”

  “You know, you’ve been eyeing me like a dog eyeing a steak since you arrived. You’re not very subtle for an FBI agent. I caught you staring at my fingers, looking for a wedding band. I don’t need some sex-starved cloak-and-dagger man invading my office just to harass me.”

  The idea suddenly popped into his head. He spoke before he could talk himself out of it. “Would you consider doing me a very big favor?” he said, cutting her off before she started up again.

  Her eyes shot open in disbelief. “What utter gall,” she whispered venomously. “You are some piece of work, Mr. Tozzi.”

  “You know, I may be able to help you with your Japanese competition,” he said, having no idea what he could do for her. “This all relates to the case I’m working on. We can discuss it now and then go out to dinner tonight. My way of apologizing for the intrusion. How’s that sound to you?”

  The corners of her lips turned up. She was curious. Tozzi was delirious. “And what about this favor?” she asked, eyeing him with a wry grin. “What is it?”

  “Oh, it’s nothing much. We can take care of it on the way to dinner.”

  She leaned back in her chair and folded her arms over her chest. She sized him up, taking her sweet time about it, lording that wry grin over him. Then she suddenly broke out into a full-fledged smile and showed him that space between her teeth again. “Explain yourself, Mr. Tozzi. I just might be intrigued.”

  Tozzi’s cheeks felt hot. It was a very inviting space.

  THIRTEEN

  “SO WHAT DO you think, Mrs. Tozzi? Is it everything your husband told you it would be?” The overhead light glinted off Mrs. Carlson’s oversized glasses, making her seem even more bizarre than she already was.

  “Indeed, Mrs. Carlson. It’
s all that and more.” Roxanne stepped back a half-step to maintain the personal space this henlike real estate agent persisted in invading.

  Tozzi just stood there on the bare floor, watching Roxanne play “Mrs. Tozzi.” She was doing a good job, better than he ever expected. She must’ve been an actress once. He hoped he was just as convincing as “the husband.”

  “Michael, darling, I want to show you something in the bedroom.” She extended her hand to Tozzi. “I have an idea about the bed.”

  He raised an eyebrow as he stepped toward her. What bed? I don’t have a bed, dammit.

  Roxanne smiled at Mrs. Carlson. “You’ll excuse us for a moment, won’t you, Mrs. Carlson?”

  “Oh, of course, of course.”

  She took Tozzi’s arm and led him into the empty bedroom. “You’re a lousy actor, Tozzi,” she whispered when they were out of earshot. “I wouldn’t have taken the part if I knew you’d be such a stiff. Loosen up.”

  Tozzi shrugged. “Gee, I thought I was doing okay.”

  “Why don’t you act like you know me, at least?” Out of the corner of his eye he could see Mrs. Carlson loitering down the hall. Suddenly he felt Roxanne’s hand caressing his cheek. “See, you’re blushing now, Tozzi. A man doesn’t blush with his wife.”

  Tozzi coughed. “I can’t help it. I mean, we just met this afternoon.”

  “Listen,” she said, “we both know you have the hots for me, so there’s nothing to be embarrassed about. You’re being ridiculous now, and you’re well on your way to losing this apartment. Any idiot can see right through you. Mr. Halbasian isn’t going to buy our little act.”

  He took her hand from his cheek and held it in both of his. “Why not? Mrs. Carlson believes we’re married.”

  “She’d believe we were Chuck and Di if we told her so. Her commission’s at stake.”

  He wrapped his arms around her waist and grinned. “Okay, okay, you’re right. I’ll be cool. I’m getting into it. See?” He pulled her close.

  She gave him that wry grin of hers. “Yes, I see.” She took his hand then and pulled him over to the place where she thought the bed should go, against the wall between the windows. Tozzi objected mildly, saying what he thought a husband who knew he’d ultimately be overruled would say. He waited for her reply, but she was lost in thought, staring out the back window at the dark settling on the backyard. It looked ominous out there, and it wasn’t even night yet.

  “Maybe Halbasian will be doing you a favor if he rejects you,” she said, still staring out the window. “Why the hell do you want to live here anyway? I wouldn’t live here if you paid me eight-fifty a month. It looks like Beirut for God’s sake.”

  Tozzi glanced back at Mrs. Carlson who was still loitering. He put his arm around Roxanne’s shoulder for appearances. He really liked this husband and wife routine. “What’re you talking about, Beirut? Everybody wants to live in Hoboken. It’s chic, it’s goddamn yuppie heaven. And it has history, too. I didn’t tell you. Frank Sinatra used to live in this building.”

  “So why didn’t he stay?”

  He looked her in the eye, nose to nose. “You really know how to bust cogliones, Ms. Eastlake.”

  “Uh-uh. Call me Roxanne, darling.” She kissed the end of her finger and touched his nose. “It’s more convincing.”

  He could smell her she was so close, the real her, not the cologne. She smelled very nice. He had an incredible hard-on.

  “Mr. Halbasian’s here,” Mrs. Carlson crooned from the hallway.

  Roxanne took Tozzi’s elbow and led him out to meet their prospective landlord. His underwear was constricting him he was so hard. He forced himself to walk straight as they headed for the living room, expecting to see a bald, grizzly fat man in a polyester suit and a polo shirt. But the guy standing in the living room with Mrs. Carlson didn’t look old enough to shave.

  Mrs. Carlson threw her arms open like a game-show hostess. “Mr. and Mrs. Tozzi, this is Jeffrey Halbasian.”

  Everyone shook hands and exchanged pleasantries. Tozzi was leery of him, though. It was hard enough taking Dennis the Menace in a Botany 500 suit seriously, but having him as your landlord? There was something basically wrong about that.

  “Sorry, I’m late,” the kid said. “Hectic day on The Street. Lot of flux on the Dow all afternoon.”

  “Ummm.” Tozzi nodded and grunted.

  Roxanne bugged her eyes out at him as if he’d done something wrong again. Was his prejudice against money-people that obvious? He worked up a warm smile for the kid to recover the fumble.

  Roxanne started bubbling. “That’s quite all right, Mr. Halbasian. We haven’t been waiting long.” She started pouring on the Brit, probably figured young Halbasian would eat it up with a spoon. Most Americans with pretensions to wealth and power did. That’s what she’d told him in the car on the way over here. They always thought it was so classy, so “Masterpiece Theatre,” she said. Hell, if it would help him get this damn apartment, pour it on thick.

  She’d moved a step closer to the Menace. “I must tell you, Mr. Halbasian, we’re absolutely in love with the apartment. The renovations are so well-done. I think the place is just sup-ah.”

  Young Halbasian’s face brightened like Tiny Tim’s on Christmas morning. He took the hook, the little guppy. Tozzi loved it.

  Young Halbasian clasped his hands behind his back and stuck out his chest. “I’m so glad you like it, Mrs. Tozzi. A lot of work went into renovating this building. But I tend to think that a restoration isn’t complete until the tenants have been selected. I’m very big on ambience. I think it’s very, very important. We want people who will maintain the ambience that the new Hoboken is striving for.”

  Was this little shit coming on to her or what? What was he, crazy? Goddamn. That was the whole problem with giving kids adult responsibilities. They don’t pick up on the subtleties, like the jaw muscles Tozzi felt flexing in his face right now. This is how kids get hurt.

  “Tell me something, Mr. Halbasian,” Tozzi cut in. “By ambience, do you mean that you basically rent to white, upwardly mobile types? Or do you actually try to mix up your tenants—black, white, Hispanic, Indian, rich, poor—for a more bohemian ambience?”

  “I don’t think I follow you, Mr. Tozzi.”

  “Well, there aren’t too many people who can afford these kinds of rents. It seems to me that your ‘ambience’ would have to be pretty much yuppie for you to get these . . . kinds of rents.”

  The tense silence indicated that they all knew what Tozzi was driving at. Halbasian glanced at Roxanne and Mrs. Carlson, then glared at Tozzi. He looked very cross, like the little kid who’d been embarrassed in front of the teacher he had a crush on. Well, what do you want from me? Tozzi thought. I didn’t tell you to grow up to be a rent gouger and a racist.

  Seeing her commission evaporating before her eyes, Mrs. Carlson decided to break the silence. “I understand your concerns, Mr. Tozzi, and I assure you that neither Mr. Halbasian nor my company would ever tolerate discrimination on any level. It’s illegal, and we abide by the law. As for the rents that are charged, all rents in Hoboken are regulated by the city’s Rent Leveling Board. You’re free to go to city hall to check the history of this unit, and I’m sure you’ll see that Mr. Halbasian has priced this apartment within the board’s guidelines.”

  “Ummmm.” Tozzi nodded, looking down at young Halbasian, deliberately accentuating the difference in their heights. Roxanne was giving him the bug-eyes again. He didn’t care about the apartment now. He was having too much fun busting balls.

  “Nothing personal, Mr. Halbasian, but because of my job as a federal law-enforcement employee, I’m obligated to ask these things. You see, it would reflect badly on me if I rented under anything other than legal circumstances. I’m sure you can understand that.” He looked down patronizingly on Halbasian.

  “Oh, no problem. I entirely understand your position.” The kid was frying. It was clear from his face that he hated Tozzi’s guts now.
>
  All of a sudden Tozzi had second thoughts. What the hell was he doing? He wanted this apartment, for chrissake. He needed this apartment. Couldn’t invite a woman like Roxanne back to that shitty rented room he’s got now. Maybe Ivers was right, maybe he did have problems with authority figures. Maybe it wasn’t too late to make up, though. He put on the warmest smile he could muster and started complimenting the renovations. Roxanne picked up on her cue and chimed in, but Halbasian didn’t look happy. He looked like he was going to pick up his ball and go home.

  Mrs. Carlson piped up, desperate to salvage the situation. “Mrs. Tozzi works in Washington. A lobbyist, you said?”

  “Yes. I do lobby work for several British concerns.” She left it simple. Let young Halbasian’s imagination fill in the blanks. Very smart.

  Mrs. Carlson clucked down at Halbasian, keeping him close under her wing and away from Tozzi. “They keep an apartment in Washington. Mrs. Tozzi stays there most of the time, and Mr. Tozzi’s work brings him to the capital frequently.”

  “How much time would you actually be spending here?” Halbasian asked Tozzi. The little piss-off wasn’t too good at hiding his feelings.

  Tozzi opened his mouth to answer, but Roxanne cut him off before he did any more damage. “Well, besides being stationed in DC, I do travel quite a bit. As does my husband, sporadically, as he’s needed. It’s hard to say how much time we’d be spending here in Hoboken.” She looked at Tozzi, begging him with her eyes not to blow it. “Maybe two weeks a month?”

  He shrugged. “Sometimes more, sometimes less. It depends on work.”

  Young Halbasian nodded, squinting at Tozzi. Either he was trying to figure out how he could get rid of him and just take her, or he was wondering how he could rent out the apartment on the sly for the weeks they wouldn’t be there, the money-grubbing little shit.