by Gina LaManna
He wagged a finger. “But,” he spat, “there are rumors floating around. With the Russians growing in Minneapolis, we can’t let any attack slip through without an investigation.”
What Carlos didn’t say spoke volumes. The Russian mob had been setting up shop in our Twin City, providing unwanted competition. I’d never thought they were much to worry about, but Carlos was obviously concerned.
“So you want me to make sure one of Leo’s sleazy friends killed him, and it had nothing to do with the Russians?” I clarified.
“Yes. If it is something with the Russians, we must retaliate. You will find out, yes?”
I narrowed my eyes. “I won’t be doing any retaliating, right?”
“You will report your findings to me. It is of the utmost importance we solve this before March eighteenth.”
“Right. Because March eighteenth is...” I wracked my brain, watching Carlos for any sign of a hint. It was useless. His face remained as stoic as ever.
“Only a week away,” I finished lamely.
“Shame on you,” he said. “It’s your cousin’s wedding.”
I stood, knowing his glazed expression meant I was dismissed. Thankfully my nose had stopped bleeding, and I tossed both towels in the garbage.
“The garbage?” Carlos raised his eyebrows. “This is a laundromat.”
I ducked under the counter to hide my blushing cheeks. When I righted myself I held both soiled rags in my hands.
Carlos’s eyelids were halfway shut as he watched my struggles. “It was a joke.”
“Oh, right.” I tossed them back into the bin.
“But it is a laundromat.”
“Oh, okay,” I hesitated as I made a move to reach back towards the garbage.
“Vai via.” Carlos instructed me to leave. “Find our problem.”
I hurried towards the door but, as I twisted the knob, I turned back to Carlos. “Can I ask you a question? How worried are you that the Russian mob is launching a full scale attack on the Luzzi family? Maybe they’re starting small with someone like Leo, just to test the waters and then they’re gonna work their way up into a full blown territory war. We can’t have that.”
Calmly, Carlos looked up from his glass of fine red wine. “That was two questions and an explanation. Which would you like me to address?”
“Uh, the second one, I guess. The one with the scale. We’ll say from absolutely no chance to...they’re probably already attacking us and maybe going to blow up this laundromat in two minutes.”
I watched Carlos struggle to find an answer. When he settled on something, he set his glass down and bridged his fingers. “I think a three. But even if it were a zero, I would want to be sure. You get nowhere in this world by trusting, leaving things to chance. If you learn one thing, Lacey, remember this: we are the only sane people in the world. Everyone else is crazy.”
I bobbed my head up and down.
“Do you understand?” Carlos’s gaze was piercing.
“Yes, sir.” I agreed.
“You didn’t ask if we’d win a war.” Carlos called after me as I pulled the door open.
I turned, one foot already out the door. “Of course not. I trust you.”
I thought I saw a hint of a smile flicker across his lips, but I didn’t wait to find out if it lingered.
Chapter 2
“DO YOU KNOW ANYTHING about Leo Campani?” My best friend, an ex-cop-turned-bar-owner named Meg, leaned on the bar, her voluptuous cleavage spilling onto the wooden counter. I had a vodka diet in front of me, a crisp lime floating on top, while Meg sipped out of a pint glass filled with whiskey.
She was wearing a sleeveless camo vest. Her tattoos made her seem much more like a biker than a cop, though she wasn’t a uniform anymore. After she’d punched out more than a handful of her captures for giving her lip, the department had decided a career change might be mutually beneficial.
“Yeah.” She chomped on a wad of gum the size of a walnut. “He stops by once in a while.”
“Wanna get that saliva under control?” I brushed visible drops of sugary spray from my arm.
“Sorry.” Chomp. Chomp. Snap. “Bazooka. You know.”
She spat a hunk of pink goop onto her hand and set it on a napkin. I couldn’t draw my eyes away even as she began to speak. It was like an oozing, disgusting brain just plopped right on the bar.
“...And he says that he—”
“Can you move that thing? It’s disgusting.”
“Fine.” Meg picked the gum from the napkin and popped it back into her mouth. “Your burden to bear, babe.”
“Fine—what were you saying?”
“I’m saying that he comes up here on Wednesdays. I guarantee it. Come up here this week and you’ll see. It’s bingo night and he’s got a thing for older women. And when I say older, I mean...” Meg wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.
“That’s sick. Anyway, he won’t be here.”
“Why not, he find himself a honey? I bet she’s a prostitute. Fake tits?” Meg held her arms out in front of her body suggesting a woman who might have been wearing watermelons in her bra.
“Uh, no. Nope—not exactly.”
“Ah, he got tossed behind bars? What is it? I’ll betcha it was a dooey,” she said. That’s DUI, in Meg-speak.
“No, he’s dead.”
Meg blew a bubble and snapped her gum. “Huh. He didn’t seem important enough to end up dead. Must’ve cheated the wrong dude outta some serious cash.”
“Yeah, hopefully,” I said. “I think Carlos is seriously worried it might be the Russians starting an attack against the Family.”
Meg may have once carried a badge, but she was loyal to the Luzzi Family—just so long as they kept the dead bodies to a minimum and only hit people who deserved a good whacking.
She sucked in a breath and her breasts expanded to mind boggling proportions. “That’s tough. So, what’s your role in this?”
“I have to figure out who killed him. And why.”
“Fun. Count me in.”
“I didn’t ask.”
Meg winked. “Of course you didn’t.” She leaned across the bar and scanned the room suspiciously. “I’m totally in.”
I downed my drink and refrained from commenting. Having Meg on your side wasn’t always a benefit, especially since she had eyes for anything that remotely passed for male. She could be a bit, uh, aggressive when it came to the dating scene. It didn’t matter to her whether the men she targeted were convicted criminals, macho biker dudes, or even our prime suspects.
“Where do we start?” A thunk turned several heads as Meg’s gum wad hit the bottom of the trashcan.
“That’s what I’m trying to decide,” I mused aloud. “I technically started with you, I guess.”
“Bad choice.” Meg nodded. “I wouldn’t have advised that.”
“Then what do you advise?”
“Clay dog. He knows wassup.”
“All righty then.” I waved my hand at her. “He just finished his shift at the laundromat. He was gone before I got out of my meeting, so I missed him. Let’s skedaddle.”
“First things first. Do you think I can just leave the bar unaided at your beck and call?”
I shrugged. “It kinda seems like it.”
“All right. Julio, cover for me!” Meg screamed into the back room.
The Hispanic man who helped Meg run the bar stepped out, wiping a glass with one hand. He rolled his eyes at the empty bar and returned to the room where I could hear a TV blaring loudly in Spanish.
“Second of all,” Meg said, as she grabbed her bag from behind the counter and followed me through the door. “Don’t use the word all righty ever again. And consider ditching skedaddle, too.”
“That’s three things.”
“Huh. I guess. Ever considered a career as a mathematician?” Meg gave me a roll of the eyes and a hand on the hip.
“Believe me, when I took this job I had exhausted all of my options,” I groane
d as we climbed into my brick of a car.
“I bet, because this job ain’t got any perks. Like not even a car.”
“Neither does your job.” I fired up the engine and begged the wheel to turn as I eased towards the edge of the parking lot.
“I got all the perks I need. Like free booze. Not the cheap stuff, either. Which tends to not mix well with a free car.”
“Touché,” I agreed. Sometimes Meg was smarter than she looked.
I PARKED THE LUMINA in front of the fire hydrant at mine and Clay’s apartment complex. The cops never bothered to ticket around my neighborhood—there were much bigger fish to fry. An artful display of a certain four-letter word, beginning with an F and with an ending similar to DUCK, decorated our front steps. In addition, a few bullet holes in my bedroom window remained scotch-taped after a “small” incident a few weeks ago.
We crawled out of the car and hiked to the front steps, each of us flipping a special finger at Clay’s huge creep van taking up three parking spaces. It looked like a car fit for retired cable techs turned kidnappers. However, the inside was quite impressive, stocked with enough surveillance equipment to give the CIA’s fleet of stakeout vans a run for their money.
“Clay been well?” Meg fluffed her ratted mane of hair.
“Yeah, why? You saw him three days ago.”
“Can’t a girl be curious?” She tugged on her camouflage vest, her array of violent tattoos on proud display. “He single these days?”
I glanced sideways at her. “I don’t know. Maybe you should ask him. And let me know what he says. I’m curious to know what’s up with him myself.”
Clay didn’t exactly have luck with the ladies. Or interest in the ladies. I’d speculated he was gay after he’d flaunted a pair of skinny jeans last Thanksgiving; he and Carlos had exchanged words and then not spoken for three months. In short, Clay’s love life—and tastes—were a mystery. If he could marry a computer, I’m sure he’d have seven wives at minimum.
Meg harrumphed. “You’re no help.”
I shrugged and turned my key in the lock. As I pushed the door open, three things happened almost immediately. The first was that Tupac the Cat let out a shrill yowl and leapt from his hiding place above the refrigerator. The second was that the refrigerator door started opening as if a ghost was creeping in for a midnight snack. The third was an annoying, incessant dinging of the microwave timer, as if it was confused about its job and thought it was now an alarm clock.
“CLAY!” I bellowed.
He walked into the kitchen and winced after one glance at my furious expression. Then, his face went slack as he noticed Meg standing behind me. Despite the noise and the ghost at the refrigerator, the two seemed frozen in a cheesy romantic comedy moment, locking eyes from across the room.
“Hi.” Meg lifted one hand in a feeble wave.
“Hello.” Clay limply raised an arm in an odd semblance of a greeting.
“Oh, my goodness. Clay, shut those damn things off. And stop setting stupid alarms!” I crossed my arms.
Snapping out of his reverie, Clay jumped towards the refrigerator. He tinkered with a few knobs that I’d thought controlled the ice dispenser, then moved towards the microwave and adjusted the dials.
“You’ll thank me one day,” Clay said, turning around and wiping his hands on his pants.
I grumbled.
“I think it’s pretty sick.” Meg nodded with an enthusiasm I didn’t understand.
“Thanks.” Clay blushed and turned his eyes to his old-man slippers.
I rolled my eyes. “We need some help.”
“With what?” Meg asked.
“No, you and I need help. We need information.” I stared at her.
“Oh, right-o. Info.” Meg nodded and her flyaway hair bobbed like the end of a witch’s broom.
“What can I help you with?” Clay asked, eyes glued to Meg.
“Yo, here. Over here.” I waved. “It’s my new case from Carlos.”
Clay sighed, then moved out into the living room and plunked himself behind one of his numerous computer monitors. “What are we dealing with?”
I sat on one side of Clay and Meg took the other. The couch was a squeeze for three children. Three fully-grown adults, including two that edged towards the heftier side of the size spectrum, made for a tight fit.
“We have an extra chair,” I told Meg.
“I’m good.” Meg wiggled her butt as if to show exactly how comfortable she’d made herself.
I sucked in air, held it for three seconds, and then on the exhale explained the situation about Leo Campani to Clay.
“Him?” Clay wrinkled his nose. “He’s a sleazy, little associate and a cheat. There ain’t nobody that can possibly be missing him.”
“Carlos wants to eliminate the possibility that it was a hit ordered from the Russians. We’re hoping that he was killed for his terrible qualities as a human being and not because he worked for the Luzzi Family.”
Clay shrugged. “Whatever.”
A few keystrokes later, we had a glut of freshly printed documents to browse.
“Leo Campani,” I read. “Age thirty-two. Did time twice for carjacking and possession. He was a small time player, a regular at Shotz...”
I looked at Meg, the owner of the seedy bar often frequented by many patrons with a rap sheet longer than the menu.
Meg shrugged. “I don’t discriminate on race, sex, or crimes. Well, sometimes I discriminate on sex, but only if it’s bad.”
Clay turned as red as a tomato.
“Don’t worry.” I patted his knee. “Her standards aren’t exactly set high.”
Meg shrugged again. “I never claimed they were.”
Clay cleared his throat. “Check this out. He has a certificate to marry people.”
“He’s a priest?” Meg asked. “That’s unholy to murder a priest. Real bad.”
“No, not a priest.” Clay glanced closer. “He was just an officiant. I’m guessing it was some sort of side income deal. Probably just for Family members who wanted a quick wedding and disappearance, if you know what I mean.”
“Nice,” I said. “What a guy.”
“Well, this should give you some good reading material.” Clay dumped a stack of papers in my lap. “But if I were you, I’d go ask some questions around Payne and Larpenter. That’s his area. If you wanna find out what people thought of him, who he owed, and who he hung around with, that’s the place to start. But be careful, they ain’t nice fellas looking to take you out for a beer.”
Clay pulled up some sort of calendar. “Hey—I found his iPhone schedule, and it looks like he’s got a drop-off with a man by the name of Looney in 30 minutes.”
“That intersection is a graveyard,” I said slowly.
“Kind of fitting, isn’t it?” Clay gave a wry smile.
“I hate those graves,” Meg said. She shuddered. “They give me the runs.”
“Disgusting,” I said.
“Tell me about it.” She shook her head mournfully. “I definitely shouldn’t have eaten this morning.”
“You didn’t,” I said. “You drank a pint of whiskey.”
“To each their own.” Meg pursed her lips. “And you’re wrong. I had donuts and a pint whiskey. Plus the booze puts me at risk for D.A.D.S.”
“Dads?” Clay wrinkled his nose.
“Day After Drinking Shits.” Meg smiled proudly. “Came up with that all by myself.”
“No, you didn’t,” I said.
“Basically,” she whispered, still eyeing Clay, who looked somewhere between mortified and enthralled.
“Well, I’m going now. Are you coming?” I asked Meg as I stood up and grabbed my purse.
“Yeah, yeah,” she sighed. “But I’m gonna do some business here first. And I’m probably gonna do a little more business once we get there, so they better have nice facilities.” Meg huffed down the hallway to the bathroom.
“Nice girl.” Clay muttered. “They’re not all that
honest.”
“Uh, yeah. For a reason.” I unlocked the door. My cousin and I stared at each other for a few minutes in a very awkward silence. Eventually there was a large groan from down the hall, and I cleared my throat. “Say, have you thought of dating at all? It’s been awhile since your last relationship.”
“How do you know?” Clay asked.
“I’m assuming, since I haven’t met any girlfriends since I’ve been living with you.”
“What if I don’t bring them home with me?”
I raised my eyebrow. “What do you think about Meg?”
Clay opened his mouth, just as Meg stomped back from the bathroom. “I lit a few candles, but I wouldn’t suggest going in there for a few hours. Jeesh, those sprinkled donuts, I tell ya. Colorful.”
“I’ll meet you in the car.” I left as Meg offered a wave to Clay, who flicked his wrist in a weird attempt at a goodbye.
“Coming,” Meg said. “Don’t you dare leave without me. I ain’t afraid to sit on you.”
I closed my eyes. I couldn’t imagine anything more unpleasant.
A GRAVEYARD SPARSE in decoration stretched out before us, the sun shining brightly on the crumbling gravestones. A dirt path wound its way through the plots, beginning at a set of intimidating gates out front.
“So, what do you think this Looney guy looks like?” Meg asked.
“I dunno, do you think it’s his real name?” I scanned the horizon. Apart from a few stray stands of grass, there wasn’t any life in the whole graveyard. Not even a fresh bouquet of flowers.
“Uh, hang on. I think we got him.” Meg nodded towards the gates.
A figure who appeared to be double my height and half my weight approached slowly. I was worried that if I spoke too loudly, my breath would knock the wisp of a man over.
He shuffled towards us, slouched over with hands shoved in his pockets.
“Has he seen us yet?” I asked Meg.
“Don’t think so,” she murmured back. “He’s staring down at those boat-sized feet he’s got. Hell, I’d be staring at them too. You know what they say about big feet.”