by Nova Rain
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I uttered, my voice mellower. “Do you guys suspect anyone else?”
“Nope. He was pretty much our only suspect,” he answered, looking back at his friend.
“We should go see your boss, man,” Joe suggested, Michelle walking alongside him. “Maybe Maltese’s people have heard something on the street we don’t know of.”
“Sure,” Donny shrugged his shoulders. “He probably would have told me about it but screw it. It’s not like we have something to lose. I’ll arrange a meeting.”
“I’d like to go home if you guys are done,” I told Donny, my fingers embracing his wrist.
“Yeah. Thanks a lot for tonight, big Joe.” He fist-bumped him. “Take care. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Goodnight.”
As we left that extravagant house, I came to a realization. Setbacks like this were capable of breaking Donny’s wings. An otherwise cool, smiling guy could transform into a sullen man of few words. He didn’t mind danger. The Donny that left me in Westchester that afternoon didn’t seem at all scared. What he did mind, was coming back empty-handed. Maybe he thought he had let down his buddies and me; I couldn’t know for sure. In any case, he had shown me another aspect of himself. And like almost every other aspect I’d seen so far, I liked that, too.
Chapter Nineteen
Donny
Just another wild goose chase.
I had that thought since the moment of Joe’s suggestion. Why? Because I was Maltese’s people. Bryan and I were his assets. We had a good relationship with him, and he trusted us. We didn’t fear him, but we did respect him, because he listened to reason. The money he paid us, and the occasional bonuses, were factors, too. Had he heard anything about us, I was confident we’d be the first people to know about it.
Still, I couldn’t blame Joe. We had run out of suspects. In this hour, he meant to turn to the people he had a chance of getting help from. A former henchman like him couldn’t rely on the cops, no matter how hard he tried to change. To them, he was a criminal, just like me and Bryan. This wasn’t just my impression. If Joe didn’t have a history in the organization, they would have contacted him after the bombing. They would have asked him to go downtown for a chat. During that, they’d have provided a list of suspects. In general, the cops would have shown they were interested in cracking the case. So far though, all they had done was show up after the blast and be their usual, stupid selves. None of them had called him. This meant that they thought the bombing was just about two criminals settling scores with each other. They would probably close the case, if they hadn’t done so already.
Reaching my place, my first thought was to call Maltese. But just when I was about to find his number on my contact list, my phone buzzed with an incoming call from him.
“Yeah?”
“Times Square, Carmella’s Café, seven-thirty tomorrow night. Bring Mancini.”
“Huh?”
My gasp went unanswered. My boss hung up the phone, leaving me puzzled. This wasn’t like Maltese. It sounded more like the late Eric Santone. Peter Maltese wasn’t the most talkative guy in the world, but he was never this blunt. Our phone conversations didn’t last more than a minute at a time, but this one was by far our shortest ever. Four seconds. That’s how long it took him to ask to see me. To add to my confusion, he didn’t want me to go to that café alone. Amazingly, he wished to see Joe, which didn’t add up. He liked him from when Joe was with Santone. This was no secret. Every time he saw him following that midget, a smile of satisfaction lit up his face. Yet, the two of them hadn’t seen each other in months. Also, if he was so eager to meet with Joe, he just had to call him. He didn’t need me around to have a cup of coffee with him.
Both of my friends were surprised when I contacted them that night, asking the same questions I had. Some speculation later, we agreed to attend that meeting together. We didn’t suspect foul play, but it sounded like the right thing to do. After all, Maltese was a Don. He might have been good to us up to that point, but we could never be too careful.
The speculation continued, even when the three of us got to Times Square. According to Bryan, the reason why Maltese wanted to see Joe, was that “some extra muscle wouldn’t hurt.” Joe on the other hand, thought that he wished to meet with him to ask how his life was outside the organization. I didn’t agree with either of them. In both cases, the Don could have seen Joe in private, away from any prying eyes. He wouldn’t have demanded a sit-down in such a public place.
The smell of freshly-ground coffee was lingering in the air in Carmella’s. Popular with young families, it was packed, the buzzing of children’s voices audible over the soft music. As usual, the Don hadn’t abandoned his favorite brown scarf. Sitting at the table nearest to the left side of the structure, he gestured us towards him. Four men of his security detail were at the tables around him, watching us like hawks.
“Evening, boys. Have a seat,” he requested, his gaze roaming the hall.
“Don Maltese.” Joe tipped his head down in a respectful manner. “I haven’t seen you in a while. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Does any of you know when I earned my title?” He posed the question, leaning forward. “I emphasized the word ‘earned,’ because unlike the prick you used to work for, I didn’t inherit my title. I won it fair and square. I took three bullets for Don Salvini, my old boss. Twice. I was his biggest earner for seven years in a row. The heads of the organization decided to grant me this title out of respect. This was in 1993.”
“Boss, what’s with the history lesson?” I wondered out loud, my tone low. “And what’s with the café, too? We could have met somewhere more private.”
“I thought I should remind you of my story, because somebody disrespected it last night,” He explained, shifting his gaze to Joe’s. “In fact, somebody’s still disrespecting it. We’re being watched. You see that guy in the corner behind me?”
I lifted my eyes up for an instant. Indeed, there was someone at that table, with an open book in front of him, his gaze on me.
“Yeah.”
“He’s been sent here by Dennis Howard. Does that name ring a bell?” My heart jumped in my throat at the end of his first sentence. That name sounded very familiar. Maltese was referring to the owner of “Red Rock Casino.” the guy we stole millions from, back in August. “He showed up at my house yesterday and told me about the heist you three pulled off last summer, demanding that I turn you over to him. I told him ‘no.’ No one bosses me around, especially in my town. He wouldn’t leave, unless I gave you his message myself. Return him his money, or he’ll send a small army for you.”
“He bombed my mall,” Joe concluded, his eyes shut as he rubbed his forehead.
“Yeah,” Maltese affirmed. “He’s also responsible for that shooting in Tribeca last week. Those yahoo’s don’t give a shit about keeping a low profile.”
“Where can we find Howard? Is he here?” I asked, my stare more intense.
“Listen up!” The Don grumbled, casting a nasty glare over at me. “The only reason why you’re not dead yet, is that you stole that money while you worked for Santone. You embarrassed me. You brought a fucking hillbilly in to my town. He threatened me with a war. I’m sixty-seven years old, and I could go to a war because some kids decided they wanted to get rich by stealing someone else’s money. Now, I don’t give a damn what you do, but fix this. You have a week. If you fail, I’m declaring open season on you.”
Maltese got up from his seat, and we were still glancing at each other, without a clue as to what to say. I put my elbows on the table and propped my chin in my hand, watching him and his little entourage walk out of the café. I was in disbelief, and not just because of the Don’s outburst. This was all on us. I bet neither Joe nor Bryan could have imagined that robbing that armored truck could have made such a terrible mess.
“How do we know he won’t have us whacked regardless of what we do with Howard?” Joe was the first one to
speak.
“He won’t,” I assured him. “He’s a hardass, but he’s fair. Besides, he could have done that without telling us jack about Howard.”
“I’m with Donny on this one,” Bryan stated. “If he wanted to take us out, he wouldn’t have opened his mouth about the heist.”
Joe heaved a sigh and folded his arms across his chest. “How the hell did Howard find out it was us? We left no witnesses.”
“It doesn’t matter now, does it?” I replied, throwing him a worried look. “How do you want to play this, boys? I don’t want to return that money. It’s not about the money anyway. This is our town.” I tapped my index finger on the hard surface. “No one can threaten us with war on our turf. And if they do, they’d better be prepared to pay the price.”
“Well, we boned Howard on his turf.” Joe pointed out, his voice regaining its usual nerve. “I guess we should have expected him to retaliate.”
“How?” I rolled my shoulders. “You said it yourself. We didn’t leave any witnesses.”
“I don’t want to return that money, either,” Bryan finally interjected. “Even if we do that, how do we know he won’t keep coming after us?”
“We don’t,” Joe answered perhaps the million-dollar question. “And I don’t want to take my chances. I suggest we handle this the way we handled Santone. Howard wants a war? Fine. Let’s give him one.”
“I’m with you man, but…” I paused and leaned right. “How do we do that? The guy lives in Vegas. I don’t know anything about Vegas. Also, we don’t have the numbers to fight him over there.”
“We didn’t have the numbers to take on Santone over here, either,” Joe added, his eyes blazing determination. “We came out on top, though. How did we do that?”
“By hitting him where it hurts the most,” I told him, beginning to understand what he had in mind.
“Exactly,” Joe nodded in agreement. “We follow the same strategy. Bryan…” He paused and turned his attention to our friend. “Jimmy researched Howard back in August, didn’t he?”
“Yeah,” Bryan assumed a confident tone. “I’ll ask him to do some more digging on him.”
“It won’t be enough,” I warned, my voice deepening. “We need locals for this. You guys know locals are the best source of information.”
“Well, we can’t just ask random people on the street about Howard,” Joe disagreed, a hint of discomfort in his voice.
“We won’t.” I smiled. “We just need a dirty cop.”
“That’s a pretty good idea,” Joe praised. “Oh, man…” He sighed once again and palmed his forehead.
“Let me guess. You just thought of telling Michelle about all this.” I was one hundred-percent sure that her angry reaction had crossed his mind.
“Yeah,” he confirmed. “That conversation is not going to be pretty; I’ll say that much. Let’s go.”
I might have been amused, but my smile was wiped off my face when we left the café. Ava’s smiling face popped into my mind, reminding me that I had to let her know. I wasn’t worried about arguing with her. She had accepted who I was and what I did for a living. I just hadn’t had the chance to enjoy what she called “a real relationship.” I couldn’t wait to do that with her, but it looked like I didn’t have much choice,
Chapter Twenty
Ava
I’m understanding, but will you and I spend some quality time together? Ever?
With a cup of tea in my hands, I watched the rain lash against the glass of my balcony door, unable to block that question out of my mind. I liked being in a relationship with Donny. He wasn’t a complicated guy by any means. Yet, the start of our relationship seemed eerily familiar to Michelle and Joe’s.
Dates? Zero.
Sex? We were different in that area. Joe and Michelle were doing it like bunnies, but Donnie and I had only had one night of passion. I’d be happier if we’d had more, but it still wouldn’t change the way I felt inside. It was like holding a jar of honey, and I couldn’t take the lid off. I’d managed to do that once, but somehow, I hadn’t been able to do it again. Sadly, for me, I was experiencing the reality of the words I gave to Michelle once:
“Your boyfriend doesn’t dictate the terms for his life. Guys like him will always have a boss.”
There were a lot of differences between her situation and mine. For instance, Michelle agreed to date Joe after forgiving his sins of the past. I didn’t think I had to forgive Donny for anything, because my own past hadn’t been that great. However, the bottom line was the same. What he and I had together was largely affected by his lifestyle.
My doorbell pulled me out of my thoughts and sent me to my door.
“Who is it?”
“It’s Donny.”
I wished it was just Donny. All 6’3” of him, his thoughts focused on me, not on another plan to find the bastard who had bombed his friend’s mall to kingdom come.
I left my front door open and headed back to the window. I just couldn’t welcome him with a smile, as if nothing was wrong.
“They say it will rain like this for the next two days,” he spoke, his footsteps thumping on the floor.
“Are we really going to talk about the weather?” I asked, my gaze still on the glass in front of me.
“I just thought I should mention it,” he claimed, halting beside me. “You sound upset. What’s wrong?”
“I’m getting tired of this, Donny,” I confessed, bringing my focus to his face. “I know you’re loyal to your friends and all, but we don’t do anything together. This is the second time I’ve seen you since you helped me out in ‘Smoking Lace,’ and guess what. You’re exhausted. Again.”
“Believe it or not, I was thinking about this on my way over,” he uttered, his voice calm. “I want to do things with you, too, but I just don’t have the time these days. I don’t let it bum me, though. You know why?”
“Why?”
He flashed me a bright smile, before clearing his throat. Then, he raised his hands up to my shoulders and leaned a bit forward, looking down into my eyes. Wave after wave of surprise surged through me as he opened his mouth. His explanation didn’t come in the form of words. It came in the form of melodious lyrics. All of a sudden, a deep rasp and reverberation enriched his voice, causing my eyes to shoot wide open. The first one of those lyrics brought back the memory of an old song I knew by heart.
“Tommy used to work on the docks”
Seconds went by, with him singing Bon Jovi’s “Living On A Prayer,” and me staring at him like a smitten schoolgirl. I hummed a word or two at first, working up the courage to sing along. A light squeeze on my shoulders convinced me to put aside my shyness. Just as Donny reached the first chorus, I joined in, a smile of embarrassment bursting upon my lips. We tipped our heads back, our voices equal in volume, merging into a duet that raised every fine hair in my body. His face twisted with passion and intensity as we repeated the title of the song one last time. He tipped his head forward, offering me one more of his sexy smiles while I struggled to come up with a single phrase.
“Very good,” he praised, his fingers sliding up either side of my neck.
“Wow…” I gasped. “I didn’t know you could sing so well.”
“Not many people do,” Donny continued, stroking his thumbs back and forth over my jawline. “I meant every word, babe. We’ve got each other. We’ll make it.”
“What makes you so sure?” I wondered, somewhat confused by his confidence.
“We’re cut from the same cloth,” he stated, pecking a kiss on the tip of my nose. “We know who we are, which means we don’t have to keep secrets from each other. We can afford to be honest with each other, because whatever bad thing we’ve done won’t destroy our bond.”
“I’m officially stunned,” I confessed, my voice dripping with admiration as a growl from my stomach ruined the moment.
“You’re officially starving,” Donny teased with a grin. “Is there a supermarket near here?”
&nbs
p; “Yeah, there is one two blocks away,” I answered. “Why?”
“I’ll be right back,” he said and laid another kiss on my cheek.
He left my line of sight, and my mind was still stuck on his singing voice. He was up to something, but, after listening to him, it just felt secondary. And as if that wasn’t enough, his speech had pulled at my heartstrings. It wasn’t much, but it was more than enough to demonstrate who I was dealing with. I thought he was a brute. A very cute brute, but a brute nonetheless. Yet, in those sentences, I saw someone else: a thinking man.
Donny returned within minutes, with three, large bags in his hands and a big smile on his face.
“Fire up the oven. We’re making pizza.”
I burst out laughing, his suggestion sounding like music to my ears. Okay, it wasn’t a fancy date, but it was something we would do together. More than that, pizza was my favorite food.
I set all the ingredients on the counter, before Donny sprinkled cheese over the dough. Immediately, I realized that this was just the beginning of his playtime. Indeed, his inner nine-year-old emerged, willing to have fun and give me a good time.
He fed me the occasional bit of cheese. Holding two tomatoes to his chest, he pretended they were breasts and nodded in appreciation. After slicing them, he picked up a slice with his knife and set it into my mouth. Bacon seemed to be his favorite ingredient. He created rolls with it and pricked it with toothpicks, before offering it to me. He even flicked his tongue over the edge of a piece, doe eyes staring down at me.
He might have said we would do this together, but the truth was he was doing most of the work. Amid tons of laughter, I helped him arrange the ingredients, and that was about it. Most of the time, I was clutching my stomach, watching him pull silly faces. At some point, he took an ice tray out of the freezer, pressed it up against his bare arm and made a sizzling sound, saying: “Damn, I’m so hot.”