by K. J. Larsen
“Your wife wants you dead,” Max said. “She’s cheating on you with her real husband.”
“So make him go away.”
“What?” Max said.
“Look what you did to me.”
“And you’re still here. Besides I don’t think it would scare him. They do that shit in prison for entertainment.”
“Can you kill him?”
“You’re funny,” I said.
“I’ll pay you.”
“How much?” Max asked.
“Negotiate with Roger tomorrow,” I said. “He’s my client today.”
***
It was almost one when Roger drove Tino’s black Buick into Pederson Park. I crouched like a pretzel on the floor in the back.
“I hate a big black car,” Roger said. “I feel like a funeral director.”
“Why don’t you pretend you’re a gangster?”
Roger raised his collar. “Do I look like a gangster?”
“You look like a computer geek. Like my cousin Ginny. She’s perfect for you.”
“You forget I’m married.”
“And you forget you’re not.”
“I’m sure Bambi will explain everything when she gets here.”
I clapped my hands. “If you believe in fairies,” I sang.
“I wish you’d sit up here with me. What will Bambi say when she sees you skulking in the back.”
“In my business we skulk, Roger.”
“I don’t see her,” Roger sighed deflated.
“We’re early. Park where I told you along the boulevard and turn off the key. Did you bring your book?”
“Yeah, I started reading the final book in the Green Martians From Lexor trilogy last night. You see, the leader Tamadam escaped the evil overlord Leberdunly and—”
“Good,” I stopped him. Roger so deserved my geeky cousin. It would take time to get over Bambi. My cousin Ginny is patient and a saint. She gives up chocolate for Lent.
“Sit back and pretend you’re reading. Try not to talk.”
“Should I tell you when Bambi drives in?”
“You’re talking. Hide your mouth behind the book if you have to say something. Lock the doors and stay in the car. No matter what happens.”
“Skulking makes you paranoid.”
“Talk into the book, Roger.”
Roger shoved his seat back.
“Ouch,” I said.
“Sorry.” I heard pages flip as Roger thumbed to his place in the story. He was soon absorbed in his book and I listened to the pages turning. Roger was a fast reader averaging three breaths per turn. I played with the emerald stones against my neck but I wouldn’t get too attached to them. Roger would know soon enough that I set him up. He could want his rocks back.
The 9mm in the back of my jeans jammed against my flesh and my legs felt numb. I tried to wiggle the pins and needles from my limbs, keening my ears for cars that slowed and checking my watch every eternal five minutes.
Roger threw his book on the seat. “She’s not coming, is she?”
I stiffened. A diesel engine cruised toward us, the third time in six minutes. I pulled the gun from my pants and spoke tersely to Roger.
“Look straight ahead and don’t speak.”
“Is Bambi here?” The wild Einstein hair whipped around and Roger froze on a tattooed hand.
“Gun!” Roger screamed and four chilling blasts sliced the air. Roger slumped over the steering wheel and the horn howled. The driver broke away in a blaze of screeching tires, the stench of scorched rubber burned my nostrils.
I crawled up the seat and fell out the door. My legs were jello and I clung to the car for support. Behind me the blare of a siren knocked me to my knees. The chase was on, Rocco, parked three cars over in an unmarked police car in hot pursuit and Max, his face grim and unrelenting, brought up the rear.
“Roger! Are you hit?” My voice, caught in a sob, was drowned by the horn. I yanked at Roger’s door. It was locked and I reached through the back and jerked the door open. With all my strength I shoved Roger off the horn and rubbed my hands over his body searching for blood. His clothes felt dry and I slapped his face begging him to respond.
Tino’s car of tricks scored four bullets, two frozen in the door, two cut short at the window. My god, Roger had a heart attack. I pressed my fingers to his neck and felt his pulse going strong as a horse. I knew it then. Roger had stared death in the face and passed out cold.
Chapter Twenty-two
I arrived at the Moose Lodge for my thirtieth birthday party on Max’s arm wearing the outrageously priced dress, the plunging neckline, those four-inch metallic stilettos, and Roger’s emerald necklace.
Max leaned down and kissed my cheek. “You look amazing.”
“You look pretty amazing yourself.”
We stepped through the door to shouts of “Happy Birthday, Cat!” Then they saw Max. Friends and family checked him out like a rack of beef. Everyone wanted to meet the mystery man and demanded to know where I’d been hiding him. Max was interviewed, interrogated, and drilled with questions concerning virility, children, and fiscal responsibility.
Mama raised her hand and the crowd hushed like she’d hit the mute button on a remote.
“Caterina’s man is not Italian,” she announced sorrowfully.
An audible gasp echoed around the room.
“But then Caterina is no spring chicken,” my sister Sophie was quick to point out.
“We know she’s been plucked a time or two,” a fool shot from the back in range of my three brothers.
SMACK
“OW! Uh, sorry, Cat, I was just kidding.”
Max grinned widely, enjoying the plucked chicken joke way too much.
“Sophie’s right,” Mama announced, muting the crowd again. “With Cat we can’t be too choosy.”
The crowd murmured sympathetically.
“We eat!” Mama shouted.
Everyone cheered and the music kicked in. Uncle Joey had made arrangements for an Elvis impersonator and the sequined King curled his lip and swiveled his hips.
Max was the bomb. He ate three generous servings of Mama’s lasagna, topped her glass with champagne, and danced with her like she was twenty. Mama purred like a kitten and the warranty on my biological clock wasn’t mentioned again all night.
“You’re more than perfect,” I told Max later on the dance floor. “Everyone’s buying the charade but Tino. He just sits in the corner and chuckles.”
“A couple more martinis and he’ll fall off his chair laughing.”
Rocco and Maria danced by and Maria gaped at Max. “Cuter than Kevin Costner,” she sang. She batted her eyes as Rocco swept her away.
“Kevin Costner?” Max grinned.
“You’re a chick magnet. The women are all over you.”
“It’s my raw sex appeal, Kitten.”
“Well they can’t have you. You’re mine for the night.”
His hot breath caressed my ear. “I thought this was a three hour gig.”
He laid a long stemmed red rose across my lips before I could respond.
We tangoed and Max dragged me across the floor, spun me like a top, and dipped me low, his lips gently touching mine.
A pudgy finger tapped his shoulder and Max pulled me up and swung around.
I squealed and threw my arms around Roger. “I was afraid you wouldn’t come!”
“The cops came by the house and arrested Bambi,” he whined.
“I know. Rocco told me.”
“The neighbors were over for coffee. I mean why today? They never came before.”
“She needed an alibi,” Max said and Roger’s round shoulders deflated like he stuck a pin in them.
“Dance with me.”
“Knock yourself out but I get to take her home.”
Max made a run for the lasagna but my sister descended like a hawk and captured him in her claws. I winced.
“Who is she?” Roger said.
“I never saw that woman before in my life.”
“You mean she’s crashing your party?”
“She’s crashing my life.” I came clean. “OK, Roger, she’s my sister Sophia, but I don’t want you to think the DeLucas all need therapy.”
“Do they?”
“Definitely.”
Roger stepped on my foot. “Sorry. I’m not a very good dancer.”
“It’s OK,” I squeaked. “Most women will take a slow hand over fast feet.”
“It didn’t work for Bambi.”
“I don’t know if it helps but Bambi played you. It was never about you.”
“It doesn’t help a damn.”
Max cruised by swinging Sophia around on the dance floor, clearing people for three feet in every direction. I hardly recognized my sister without a baby attached to her nipple.
The music stopped and I hugged Roger quickly and straightened his tie. “Come with me. I want you to meet my brothers.”
My cousin Ginny was at the buffet table with the twins. She’s my mother’s sister’s second daughter. She wears thick glasses and is less striking than her four sisters. But she’s kind and generous and smarter than the other four put together.
I made the introductions.
“You can’t beat Mama’s spaghetti,” the twins said.
Roger stared into the brown doe eyes behind thick rimmed glasses and stammered like a school boy. I shoved them both on the dance floor.
Max escaped Sophia, leaping from the frying pan into the fire. Papa, in interrogation mode, cornered him beneath a bright white light. I grabbed a glass of wine and watched the entertainment. When the grilling was over, my commitment-phobic date made a beeline for the bar.
Papa hunted me down, smiled broadly, and hauled me out to the dance floor. I looked over his shoulder. Max had a drink in each hand.
“Max is a son to me already. I see the way he looks at you.”
Oh boy.
“He’s not a cop but he’s hard working and his legs look strong. He’ll breed strong boys.”
Yikes.
“You both have my blessing.”
I groaned inwardly. What had I done? I dragged Max to my birthday party so people wouldn’t think my love life was in the toilet. I didn’t count on my parents squeezing his name in the family Bible. Everyone was nuts about Max. They’ll expect a wedding.
Papa eyed my necklace. “Gift from Max?”
“No. Roger gave it to me.”
He frowned. “Who’s Roger?”
I flicked my head. “The guy over there dancing with Ginny.”
“Short, fat guy?”
“You know how they say married people start to look like each other. Roger and Ginny have a head start.”
“Your Mama got my mustache.” Papa held my face in his hands and he kissed both cheeks. His eyes leaked.
“Set a date with Father Timothy, Caterina. I’ve waited long enough for your sons.”
Chapter Twenty-three
Melanie and I were best friends in grade school. We spoke pig latin on the playground and everyone thought we were speaking French. We were the coolest kids in school until our teacher took a baseball in the head at recess and we got a substitute. Ms. Channing was from Quebec and her English wasn’t great. She was, however, a whiz at French.
Melanie and I are still friends and we never keep a juicy secret from each other. She cornered me at the party, steaming. I carved a chunky wedge of chocolate cake for emotional support.
“I thought we were friends,” she said in a tiff. “I come to your party and what do I hear?”
Melanie does wounded like an Italian mother.
“I hear my best friend is engaged and she didn’t even tell me. Eva Simpson told me and she’s the last to know anything.”
“I know it looks bad, Mel, but—”
“And who the hell is Max? I didn’t even know you were seeing someone. How long has this been going on?”
“I, uh…”
Melanie’s eyes froze on the emeralds around my neck.
“Max?” She said pettily.
“Roger.”
“Roger? Who the hell is Roger?”
“A lot has happened. I’ll fill you in later.”
“I’ll take the short version now.”
Uncle Joey danced by with a bottle of champagne. I tossed the contents of my glass down my throat and held it out for a refill.
Joey whispered. “This isn’t what it looks like with you and the bodyguard is it?”
“No it’s not. Did you hear that, Melanie?”
“I heard nothing.”
He flooded my glass with bubbles and chortled away.
“The short version,” Mel demanded.
“OK. Rita Savino hired me to follow her husband but he wasn’t her husband and after the explosion the FBI said he was dead but it was Rita who was dead.”
Melanie frowned. “The shorter version. The part where you sleep with Hunka Hunka and don’t leave the good stuff out.”
“The bomb went off, Inga ate my pizza, and I got a concussion.”
“Omigod, Cat. Is that where you met Max? He’s a doctor?”
“He’s a spy.”
“Your mama said you were bonkers.”
“I’ll fit you in for the exorcism. Somebody blew up my car and nearly killed Tommy.”
“Who the hell is Tommy?”
“So Tino loaned me his bullet-proof car and Max.”
“So how is Hunka Hunka in bed?”
I tossed more champagne down my throat. “Did you catch the part about the murder, the car bombing, and some whack job wanting to kill me?”
“Work it, girlfriend. Max is a prize.”
“Oh please, Rapher’s a hunk.”
“Was. Now all he does is drink beer and belch.”
“Rapher drank beer and belched when you met him.”
“It’s not disgusting until you’re married.”
Mel took a bite of my cake and her eyes glossed over. “Fabulous.”
“Have a piece,” I said.
“Can’t. I’m on a diet.” She stabbed her fork in my cake and crammed another bite. “Seriously, Cat, I’m worried about you. You should see a doctor about this dead guy. My mother-in-law knows a good one.”
“I have a doctor.”
“This guy’s a shrink.”
“He can’t be that good. Your mother-in-law is loony.”
I got that sudden itchy feeling on the back of my neck like somebody watching my back. I spun around. Chance Savino’s hard muscular physique leaned against the door. He gave the ghost of a smile. My stomach did flip flops.
“Bonkers, huh?” I twisted Melanie around. “So who is that?”
“Where?”
I looked again. “Damn!”
Savino was gone. I shoved the cake in her hand and wobbled to the door in my stilettos.
“I’ll get the shrink’s number for you,” Melanie yelled finishing in French. “Ou-yae eed-nay elp-hay.”
“Bite me.”
“I’m eating your cake.”
I pushed the door open and stormed out to the parking lot. It was deserted.
“Come on, Savino. I know you’re out here.”
No answer.
“Not funny. Quit playing around.”
A blanket of darkness and a chilling gust of wind blew off the lake. I shivered. Something wasn’t right. I caught a little movement in the corner of my eye. Yellow eyes blinked in the shadows. I ceased breathing. A primordial fear gripped me and my stomach twisted. I swung around and calculated the distance to the door. Forty feet, four-inch stilettos, and a terrifying urge to run for my life.
I couldn’t run but I set my sights on the door and wobbled as fast as my shoes would carry me. Thirty feet, twenty feet. I counted down and behind me thundering footsteps pounded the pavement. I broke
into a precarious run. My heart raced and I gulped small terrified sobs.
Perhaps with a fair start and a pair of flats I could have outrun him but he came at me full throttle. I felt the heat of his body behind me and his breath hot on my hair. A long snake-like arm reached around me and my heel caught a snag in the pavement, knocking me off balance. My arms flailed and I crashed to the ground, skinning my knees and catching the asphalt with my hands. He thrust his hands under my arms and dragged me into the shadows. My skin stung and I heard my dress rip. I couldn’t make out the face of my assailant but he was taller and thinner than Charlie. I was thinking the rat sent someone else.
He jerked me to my feet and slammed me against the brick wall. I fought back savagely, hurling fists and pummeling his chest. I tried to jab his eye and shove a knee in his groin and he snorted.
I stopped like he slapped me and stared hard, willing my eyes to adjust to the darkness.
“Devin?” I blinked and stared again. “What the hell are you doing?” I shoved him. “You ruined my new dress.” I looked down and my feet were bare. My four-inch stilettos had been abandoned in the parking lot.
“They were Italian,” I moaned and kicked him in the shin.
“You know why I’m here,” Devin said and his eye didn’t twitch.
“I know you scared the bejesus out of me. I thought you were someone else they sent to kill me.”
He didn’t flinch and I saw it in his eyes. Devin had killed before. Maybe it happened in prison or maybe outside but it wasn’t keeping him awake at night.
“Gimme the diamonds, Cat. I’m taking them back.”
Some bodyguard. I wondered if Max was still attached to the bar. I could hear a flood of laughter and Elvis doing “Jailhouse Rock.” I wanted to scream but it would do no good. No one would hear me inside.
Something silver flashed in his hand and he shoved me back against the brick again, this time pressing a knife to my throat.
“I’m meeting a fence tonight with the diamonds. He’s not a guy you can screw around.”
“I don’t have them on me.”
“We’ll go to your house.”
I took a ragged breath. My voice sounded hollow to my ears. “The diamonds are in my purse. I brought them to the party.”
“You’re lying.” His other hand squeezed my throat.
“Devin, stop, you’re choking me.”