"You should have warned me," Mickey said, shutting out her old favorite pastime, baseball, and concentrating on her new favorite pastime, Dominic.
Beth's smile turned all female. It was an odd moment, seeing a vamp look on little innocent Beth. "Studalicious, definitely."
"I'm going nuts. You'd think I'd learn from the last miserable experience," Mickey said, honestly more of a whine, but she felt entitled.
Beth put her fingertips to her forehead. "Stop right there. I'm sensing scoopage. I know that I'm not the J-woman, but just consider me a poor substitute until Friday when she gets back. I need to live vicariously." She fanned herself two-handed style, and then sighed. "Okay, go on. I'm ready."
Mickey braced herself for the big moment of confession. She got up, paced three circles around the couch and wondered if she should really bare her soul. It seemed so awful. Finally, she just blurted it out. "I went to a wedding with him."
Beth's face fell. "I thought at the very least that sex was involved."
"It was a nice wedding," answered Mickey, now feeling like a failure. "And I did think about sex. A lot." Then she smiled a smile most feline. "And he did, too."
"You want him," Beth said, and Mickey flopped back . down onto the couch.
"You're supposed to be the voice of reason, not leading me to the dark side."
"He's in the Family," answered Beth, playing the part of the cautious friend.
"Oh, shut up," said Mickey, playing the part of a bitch.
"Now wait just a minute here. That's my best voice of reason. It doesn't get more reasonable than that. You're an astrophysicist, for God's sake. Get smart."
"I hate myself," said Mickey, as she pulled a needlepoint pillow over her head. "I want to see him again. Just to talkmaybe. Why can't I learn from the big old wonking past mistake that I'm still paying for?"
Beth got up and retrieved a bowl of carrots from the kitchen, and then flopped down in the chair across from Mickey. "I don't think you can put Dominic and John in the same category. He doesn't seem like the kind of man who would blackmail you for sex."
"No, because he's too busy killing people."
"We really don't know that," said Beth, crunching thoughtfully.
"You're deviating off the path of reasonableness."
"Okay. We'll stick to the facts. What happened last night? What crimes were committed?"
She retold the events of last evening, leading up to Amber, omitting some of the heat of the kiss. "There's this poor woman, physically abused by this jerkola, and did I stay up all night with worry, wondering if she would end up maimed? No. You know what I thought about all night?"
Beth smiled, a devilish smile. "Yes."
"What should I do?" said Mickey, the prehistoric woman's cry which roughly translates to "I know what I want to do, and it's not what I should do."
"Go for it," said Beth without hesitation.
"He's one of the Family," Mickey shot back, clinging desperately to Beth's own argument.
"Someday you can write a book about the whole experience and make a fortune. I Was a Mobster's Moll . They could have a TV movie about the whole thing. With Susan Lucci!"
"You write about it, Beth."
"Maybe I will."
"Don't you dare."
Beth waved a hand. "Oh, don't worry. Maybe I could write it up for one of those true-story magazines."
Mickey looked into Beth's innocent blue eyes. And for the first time she noticed it. Sneakiness, deviousness, intrigue. How cool was that?
There were untold depths that she'd never suspected. "Oh, my God. You've done it, haven't you?"
Beth blushed nicely, although the sneakiness didn't completely disappear. "A few. The money's good. I need something to pay the rent."
"No way! What did you write?" asked Mickey, sitting up to hear more.
"'I Was a Mail-Order Bride.' 'Turned on to my Pool Boy,' 'Play ToyDiary of a Bored Housewife.' 'My Mother-In-Law Tried to Murder Me,'" answered Beth, picking up a stick of celery and munching.
"How come you didn't tell anybody?"
Beth shrugged. "It's not something you brag about."
An awful thought occurred. "Have you written anything true?"
"Oh, please! Does everyone always think that fiction is based on real people? Uh, no. True life is not that interesting." Beth glanced at Mickey. "Well, most of the time."
"You swear you won't write about this?"
Beth crossed herself, Playtex style. "I swear."
"I keep thinking I'm stupid for actually liking him. He seems nice."
"He always says 'thank you' and 'please' when he orders his coffee."
"If I did pursue a relationship with hima purely superficial affair because obviously I can't get involved with him romanticallywould you tell anybody?"
"Not if you didn't want me to. He might not be a criminal. Maybe he's just hanging with the wrong crowd. A victim of poor social judgment. I've never actually seen him do anything illegal. You could have a private detective investigate him, find out if he's got a record or anything."
"No, Beth, hiring out is what got me in this mess in the first place."
"No. That was Monihan."
"Please don't mention the name of the unmentionable evil one. Dominic's just got to get that tape tomorrow. I keep putting him off, and putting him off, and he keeps pulling me back in."
"Dominic?"
"Monihan."
"He'll get it."
"I hope so."
"You got to have faith, Mickey."
Sadly, Mickey shook her head. Beth was so naive. "No, Beth. Lesson number one for a full and independent life, don't have faith in anyone else. You can only depend on yourself to get things done."
Beth laughed. "I have to depend on other people, or I'd never get anything done."
"It's that sort of defeatist attitude that will bog you down," said Mickey, shaking her head sadly.
"I don't know. I'm not smart."
That kind of patented self-pity just made Mickey mad. "But you've got looks. With looks, smarts aren't that important."
"Says the woman with the greener grass," said Beth snippily. And that from a woman who never got snippy.
Mickey rolled her eyes. "You really think women with brains can get further than women with looks and/or charm?"
"Every time," said Beth.
Arguing with Beth was about as productive as splitting quarks. "You know how to do IM, right?"
"Of course," answered Beth.
"Good. And you have to mark yourself 'away' if you're really away." It was the height of embarrassment to send out messages to empty air. What if you were being ignored on purpose?
"I can remember that," said Beth.
"Too bad you don't have a computer at Starbucks."
"Don't get any ideas."
Mickey sighed. "I know. I'll be happy when Jessica gets back."
Beth looked insulted, and Mickey realized that she stuck her foot in it. "But you are going to get all the juicy details on Dom, not her."
"You're going to do it, aren't you?" asked Beth, the devil in her eyes.
Slowly Mickey nodded. A load had just been lifted from her shoulders. It wasn't smart, but it'd be a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Something to tell the grand-kids, or most likely, the grandkittens. To have grand-kids, she'd have to have children, and to have children, at least in Mickey's Code of Conduct, she had to have a husband, and to have a husband, she had to meetand be attracted toa man of high moral precepts.
None of which was likely, considering her current track record. All the more reason to just give over to the hedonistic pleasure of doing Dom.
Then she leaned back into the pillows and smiled. "Not do it , Beth. Do him ."
* * *
Chapter Six
Monday was never Dominic's favorite day of the week. It was currently 6:00 a.m., and he was eyeing the cup of coffee with bleary-eyed suspicion. When he was growing up, Sunday had always been the day of rest at the
Cordano household. Due to the long hours of Saturday evenings, it was usually needed. Leftover resting on Monday was pretty common, as well.
Much to his mother's disappointment, school had never been his thing, and his high school in Bensonhurst wasn't really conducive to education. At least not book smarts. He learned all sorts of useful tricks. Breaking and entering, hot-wiring cars and how to make fake IDs.
He shut his eyes and downed the rest of the coffee. The past was dead.
Today there were three things on his to-do list. A meeting with Frankie at Dilly's this morning. Second, breaking into Monihan's apartment right about lunch-time and finally, stealing a tape, if the thing existed. Now see, this was the problem with hanging with the bad guys. You didn't believe in anything, anymore.
But lately things were starting to change. He felt different. Happier. Cleaner. More like a human being .
All because of her.
One Michelle Coleman, with eyes that made you feel like a man. Okay, he had to say that her long, lean body made him feel like a man, too. One very randy man.
He threw himself into the shower, allowing five extra minutes of extended sexual fantasies. Which was absolutely the last he was going to think about her, because trouble had a way of following in Dominic's footsteps. And one Michelle Coleman didn't need the sludge of his life oozing into her own.
And to make sure that he kept his word, he did an extra two litanies, which in his mother's words, were better insurance than Allstate.
Dilly's was a combination deli-pool hall near Comiskey Park. A lot of cops thought it was old school and out of business, but Dom was learning otherwise.
The Chicago Crime Commission made sure there was always someone keeping the Outfit in check. It wasn't the most glamorous assignment. Capone was only a bedtime story. Nowadays the criminals stayed low and kept out of the papers.
Dominic liked it. Nobody believed the investigation into possible construction kickbacks would amount to anything, except for Dominic and his captain.
He walked inside, and a few construction workers were waiting at the counter for breakfast. Old man Dilly was slicing lox and pouring coffee, and Frankie was sitting at a table in the back, reading the morning paper.
Thinking better of mainlining any more caffeine, Dominic bought a pint of orange juice and then pulled up a chair. "Morning, Frankie."
Frankie scowled over the top of the paper, his reading glasses making him look more like somebody's father than a second-class mobster. "Do I look cheerful and happy to you? Devilish Wings tanked in the fifth. God, I could make glue out of that horse myself."
Dominic pulled his face into a suitably serious look. "I told you that Jiminez was running him too hard. You should have gone with Tough Luck. Twelve to one."
"With my luck, he'd have lost anyway."
Dominic took a swig of the OJ, all casual like. "You just need something to turn it around, Frankie."
Frankie shook out the paper and continued reading. "I ain't superstitious."
Time to bait the hook. "I might have just the thing."
Frankie paused in his reading. "What?"
Dominic pretended to stall and carefully scoped out the room. "I got a whole batch of ATM cards, passwords included, for sale. I thought this might be a good time to include a partner. Maybe bring Vinny in on the deal if he wants."
"You've always been quiet about your deals before. Why not now?" asked Frankie, his eyes distrusting.
This was the tricky part. Dom couldn't look too open, but he didn't want to be too cagey, either. "You want to know the truth?" he asked.
"Yeah."
"I think I could help you."
"You don't need to be feeling sorry for me. I do fine on my own."
"Well, I know you're having a bad run, and things have been flush for me recently. My own endeavors have prospered nicely."
Frankie nodded. "That's very thoughtful, but I'm betting that right around September, I'll be having a change of fortune."
"Something good?" asked Dominic, trying not to seem too overeager.
"Very lucrative, if you catch my meaning."
Frankie was holding his cards close and it was too soon to pry, so Dominic stole the sports section and pretended to read. "You're entitled to good things. I'm glad to hear it."
"Can I ask you some advice?"
Intrigued, Dominic lowered the paper. "Sure."
"You're a winner with the ladies."
Dom shrugged his shoulders, disappointed in the change of subject.
"There's a certain lady who has caught my eye, but I'm not sure how I should approach her."
"She been giving you the look?"
"What look?" asked Frankie blankly.
Dom felt a surge of real pity for the big guy. "You know, intense, lots of eyebrow action, little smiles."
"No. She don't really know I exist."
Dominic blew out a breath. "That's a problem, Frank."
"Don't I know it," said Frankie, pushing up his glasses.
"You talked to her, asked her out?"
"I talk to her, we chitchat about the horses."
"Does she seem interested in the horses?" asked Dominic, figuring this was Frankie's mistake.
"No."
"What is she interested in?"
"How should I know?"
"You have to ask."
"Oh," said Frankie with a considering nod.
Dominic put aside the paper and leaned forward. "Can I make a suggestion?"
"I would be happy if you did."
"Send her flowers."
Frankie frowned, his eyebrows knitting into one. "I'm not sure if I should do that."
"Why not?"
For a minute, Frankie thought in silence. "It's not really my style, you know? I wouldn't know a rose from a gardenia."
"Give her flowers," insisted Dom.
"What if she doesn't like me? I'd never be able to show my face around her again."
"Just sign the card 'From your secret admirer'. She'll love it, and you can ask her about it later. Say you heard she received some flowers anonymously, and you can get her reaction and she'll never know it was you."
A lightbulb went off in Frankie's eyes. "Whoa. I could do that, couldn't I? Lends the whole thing an air of mystery and intrigue. The ladies go for that?"
"They love that," said Dominic, pretending that he knew. He didn't have a clue and wasn't any closer to understanding the female psyche. After all, he was the poor sap that was massively intrigued by a woman who didn't trust him with her real name.
Frankie put down the paper and beamed. "You're a good friend. Want to play some pool?"
Dominic polished off his juice and then picked out a cue stick. "We betting on this game?"
Frankie grinned, showing more teeth than a shark. It was going to be an expensive morning. "Of course."
Dominic watched as the big guy prepared to break. Frankie was ready to trust him with his love life, but not his business. When Dominic had taken the case, nobody thought much of it. Everybody said the Outfit was dead. Dominic thought otherwise and he wanted to prove it.
Now he was on his way to doing just that. Frankie was a captain, and one level up the food chain. If Dominic could help Frankie snag his mystery woman, then that could be his way deeper inside.
Frankie cleared the table before Dominic even had a chance, but Dominic paid up with a smile. The day was looking bright after all.
After leaving Dilly's, he donned his Chicago ConEd hat and shirt, in case of prying eyes. But there was no one around when he found Monihan's apartment.
And Monihan lived in a dump, he thought to himself as he surveyed the three-story walk-up. As he made his way upstairs, the steps creaked, but all was quiet. It was a good day for a break-in.
Illegal entry was a talent that Dom had acquired in high school, and he had yet to meet a building he couldn't penetrate. If locks didn't work, there were windows. The criminal element was Dom's best talent. Unfortunately not all Co
rdanos were duly blessed. His brother had sucked at it.
Dominic felt for the cold medal around his neck, and pressed the silver deep into his flesh. Pain was always preferable to guilt.
Now was time to go to work.
A single door lock protected the door, no dead bolt, probably not a security chain, either. This town was a dangerous place without the proper protection. He made a mental note to himself to call Michelle and talk to her about proper apartment security. Surely an astrophysicist would have a dead bolt at the very least.
And, on that note, he made it inside. Just as Michelle had said, Monihan wasn't home. Other than her name and true identity, which was a biggie, she'd been telling him the truth. He had wanted to believe her, wanted to think that he could trust her now. Wanted to think that maybeat least on her sidethey could dispense with the lies. As soon as he got the tape back, that is.
So he went to work and searched the place. Next to the TV were several unmarked videotapes, so Dom sat down to fast-forward through them, trying to maintain a professional attitude. He'd avoided thinking about this part, actually watching the tape. It'd be like betraying Michelle's trust, but he didn't have a choice. It's not like Monihan was going to label it: "Sex with Michelle."
And the sex fantasies were back, only Monihan was nowhere in the picture. Just Dominic and Michelle. A very naked Michelle.
Dominic whapped himself on the forehead. Mind out of gutter, please.
Then he went through six videos, which contained several episodes of 24 and the last few innings of the Giants game. No Michelle at all.
He was frustrated and really wanted to hit something, but that wasn't going to solve anything, so he continued his search in the kitchen. Patience wasn't his strong point, which was why he became an under cover cop.
The coffee table was piled high with books, and Monihan's choice of literature was certainly enlightening. Spies of the Soviet Union, The History of Extortion, 37 Sure-Fire Plots and some more how-to books on writing mysteries.
So Monihan was writing spy novels. Interesting, but not illegal.
Dominic turned on the computer and started poking through the files. There were a handful of video files there. Movie clips, music videos and one striptease clip, but unless Michelle had bazoomed into Pamela Sue Anderson, it wasn't the one he was looking for. Further down, he found two-hundred files labeled Chapter One. He stopped reading after Chapter1-Number10.doc. These were bad. So bad that he laughed in several places. He'd remember that for when he talked to Michelle. It'd be nice to make her laugh, because his search wasn't going to make her happy. If Monihan had a tape, it wasn't here.
It Should Happen to You Page 7