by Rob Cornell
“I’d like to think of it more as a way of keeping the peace. Once Ona realizes she will never get her files back, she’s likely to lash out.”
“And I’ll crush her for it. No offense to your mama, but she’s not as big a player as she likes to think.”
“I know. But that won’t stop her. And she’s maybe stronger than you realize. Can she take you? No. But she can, and she will, hurt you. Obviously, I don’t want to see my mother destroyed. And you would rather go without the inevitable losses of a gang war.”
The singing duo suddenly burst into a rendition of “Happy Birthday” in Italian. Several people began clapping in time to the music, punctuated with laughs and cheers.
Moretti glanced toward the noise and smiled. “I love birthdays.”
Jake tried to work up a smile in response but couldn’t get it to feel right on his face.
“How exactly do your ‘services’ keep your mama from seeking retribution?” Moretti asked this while still smiling, which made Jake worry if the man was taking him at all seriously. All at once, the plan looked foolish, desperate, and…well…pathetic.
You should be used to that feeling by now.
Might as well forge ahead then.
“The loss of those files puts a large dent in Ona’s operation. She’ll not relish the idea of losing what remains of her empire. But I could give you the inside knowledge to threaten those remains enough to keep the peace.”
“Or you could just turn on your mother all the way, come work for me, and we’ll wipe her out together.”
“I…” The back of Jake’s neck tingled. It wasn’t fear. It almost felt like…arousal. Not necessarily sexual, yet not any less exciting. Unbidden, the image of Mother choking on her television remote flooded Jake’s mind. “I’m not sure what to say to that.”
“Any son who truly loved his mama would tell me to fuck off. But I’m getting the feeling she ain’t too nice to you, and maybe you don’t really like her all that much either.”
“I…I love my mother, Mr. Moretti. We simply aren’t getting along at the moment.”
Moretti set his fork down, pushed his plate of pasta aside, and leaned forward with his forearms on the table. “She’s kidnapped and threatened to kill your wife. She obviously don’t love you. What makes her worthy of your love?”
Gak…guk…gak…
Now Jake could hear his mother choking, could more vividly see how the remote would make a rectangular bulge in her fat throat, could imagine her wide, shocked eyes begging him to stop.
Jake slowly shook his head. “Nothing.”
Thirty-Six
Harrison reluctantly started the engine again so he could run the air conditioner. Between the humidity and the lowering sun shooting straight through the windshield, having the windows down in the car wasn’t enough to keep from boiling. He cranked the fan to full speed and aimed all the vents directly on him.
Jake had been in Bella Cucina for an hour now. Harrison started to wonder if maybe the mobster hadn’t taken Jake out back and shot him like Jake had feared he would.
To kill time, he texted back and forth with Kamille. She had finally talked to Matt about their issues and they agreed that Kamille should get an IUD, so no more babies. Harrison refrained from texting that he’d told her so. In pure Kamille fashion, she over shared what she planned on doing to Matt once she got the implant.
Harrison was surprised to feel some jealousy. He’d been off the dating scene since moving back to Michigan. Here he was, at forty-three, with no sex life to speak of, never mind a marraige. Of course, he had no one else to blame but himself for that. His job had always stopped him from taking any relationship to the next level.
The sun slipped the rest of the way behind the restaurant by the time Jake finally came out. While a phosphorescent orange glow remained in the sky, Bella Cucina’s outside lights flicked on. A set of ground lights created a hatch work of shadows under the trellis which crawled up and across Jake’s face as he came through.
Something in Jake’s gait drew Harrison’s attention. He still walked like he had a hot poker shoved up his ass, but there was also a more relaxed set to his shoulders. Or maybe Harrison was overanalyzing.
Jake got in, pulled the door shut, and let out a whistling sigh through pursed lips. “That was intense.”
“I take it he agreed to see you?”
“Without hesitation. I think he was expecting a visit from someone in the Seelenberger family, seeing as he’d horned in on our business.”
“How did it go?”
Jake reached into his suit coat and withdrew an envelope. “This is a written guarantee of protection for Arlie’s daughter and her mother from the Moretti family, signed by Venezio himself.”
Harrison laughed. “Holy shit. It worked.”
Jake gave Harrison a startled look. “Did you think it wouldn’t?”
“I didn’t know what to think. I’ll admit, I started to get worried after an hour passed and you still hadn’t come out.”
A young couple dressed to the nines approached the restaurant, arms linked, laughing together. Jake watched them go. His face went slack for a moment. The gentleman opened the door for the lady. She went in. He disappeared in after her. The door swung shut behind them.
Jake jostled his head and blinked. “We need to get Jen.”
“You need to get Jen,” Harrison corrected. “You don’t need me for that. You’ve got what you need to get Arlie on your side.”
“I suppose you’re right. Give me a lift back and I—”
Jake’s phone trilled from inside his coat. He started at the sound. “Sorry.” He drew his phone and glanced at the screen. “Dear, God. Why do you hate me?”
Harrison raised an eyebrow.
“It’s Mother,” Jake said. “I better take it.”
“Sure.” Harrison put the car in gear and pulled out of Bella Cucina’s lot while Jake answered his phone.
“Hello, Mother.”
The volume on Jake’s phone was high enough that Harrison could hear Ona’s voice, but he couldn’t make out anything she was saying. As he eased into traffic, he glanced at Jake to get a read.
All the color had drained from Jake’s face.
“Yes, Mother. I’m working on it. I only need a little more… Just listen… Now isn’t a good time… I’m…” He jerked as if goosed. He slowly returned his phone to his inside pocket and turned to Harrison. “She’s wants an immediate update. In person.”
Harrison could only shake his head. “Your mom’s timing sucks.”
“It certainly does. I have the sense someone might have tipped her off about who has the drive. If that’s the case, she’s only calling me in so I can listen to Jen scream on speakerphone while Mother has her killed.”
“Or she’s looking for confirmation from you.”
“Either way, Jen’s as good as dead when I arrive.”
Harrison’s mind raced. He had clicked right back into problem-solver mode. A rough plan materialized. “You’ll need to stall her.”
“I can’t.” Jake’s voice cracked. “If I don’t get over there right now, she’ll kill Jen for that, too. That’s it. It’s over. I’ve failed.”
“Shut up and listen to me. I’m taking you back to your car. From there, you will drive straight to Ona. She at home?”
“She’s still at the office.”
“Fine. You go to the office. I’ll take that…” Harrison nodded at the envelope Jake had rested on his lap since pulling it out. “…and go see Arlie. You stall Ona. Give me as much time as you can for me to get to Jen.”
“You’ll do that for me?”
Harrison glanced at Jake. “Do you want my help?”
Jake nodded emphatically.
“Fine. Let’s save your wife from that bitch.”
Thirty-Seven
“Hi, Arlie. This is Harrison Hart. Remember me?”
Harrison had just dropped Jake off at his car in the parking lot outside the agenc
y. Now he drove in the direction of the address of Arlie Eckman’s apartment. Half the sky was filled with a dark blue twilight in the east and a pink glaze in the west. Harrison hadn’t adjusted the air conditioning since leaving Bella Cucina and now the car was freezing. But he had one hand on the wheel and the other held his phone to his ear, so he couldn’t adjust it.
“What the fuck do you want?” Eckman asked, sweet as Harrison remembered him.
“How about giving you a ticket to get out from under Ona’s thumb?”
“Jake put you up to this? I don’t have time for bullshit. I have a meeting to get to.”
“That meeting with Ona and Jake?”
Eckman hesitated. “So what?”
“You going to cut up his wife some more? Or is this the end of the line?”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You going to pull the trigger, Arlie? Are you going to kill Jake’s wife personally or have some other meathead do the actual deed?”
“Like I said, you don’t know what you’re talking about. Mind your own damn—”
“Do you want your daughter safe from Ona or not?”
Harrison pulled to a stop at a red light and waited for Eckman’s response. The light turned green before he finally spoke.
“I don’t know what Jake told you, but his threats didn’t work so well the last time. They aren’t going to work any better with you delivering them for him.”
Harrison pulled through the intersection.
“You misunderstood me. I’m not threatening her. I’m telling you she is protected. Her and her mother both. Ona can’t touch them.”
“Protected by you? Sorry if I don’t feel any better, but I think Ona’s people can get around one little private dick.”
“Not by me. By the full weight of the Moretti family.”
The confused sound Eckman made was near comical. He stuttered like a CD with too many scratches on it. Finally, he spat, “Bullshit.”
“I have it in writing, Arlie. Signed by the boss himself. I’m bringing it your way if you’d like to see it for yourself.”
“I don’t get it. Why would Moretti do something like that?”
“Because your good friend Jake asked him to. He arranged the whole thing. But don’t forget, he’s a Seelenberger. He didn’t set this up out of the goodness of his heart. You owe him now.”
Eckman didn’t say anything for a moment. Harrison checked the clock on the dash. Twenty minutes till eight. Jake was supposed to drive slow, but he couldn’t only stall getting to Ona for so long. On the other hand, if Eckman was supposed to be at that meeting, holding him up could buy Jake more time.
“Let’s assume you aren’t full of shit,” Eckman said. “I don’t control Ona. Nothing I can do will stop her from seeing her plan through.”
Something about that didn’t sound right. Harrison couldn’t nail down what, though. “If you tell me where to find Jen, we can put a stop to all this madness.”
Eckman laughed a green, sick kind of laugh. “That won’t fix anything.”
“It’ll keep Ona from killing her.”
“Did you not fucking hear me? You don’t know what the hell is going on. Your best bet is to stay out of it or you’re the one she’ll kill.”
“Jesus, Eckman. Do you want protection for your daughter or not?”
“I’m not dumb enough to look a gift horse from Moretti in the mouth. Still ain’t gonna solve Jakey’s problem.”
“Why don’t you let me worry about that? Give me an address.”
Eckman laughed again. “You have this protection down in writing?”
“Yes. I’m headed to your place right now with it.”
“Save yourself the trip for now.” Then he gave Harrison an address. “That’s in Center Line. You familiar?”
Harrison cut across two lanes to make the next left. Someone blew their horn at him, but Harrison was oblivious to it, focused only on making his course correction. “Yes. Weird place to hold her, isn’t it?”
Eckman laughed one more time and hung up.
Thirty-Eight
Jake sat in the shadows cast by one of the bright sodium lights in the parking lot outside Mother’s office, hands still on the steering wheel, the car tick-ticking as the engine cooled. And while the engine cooled, the inside of the car grew warm and moist. Between his cologne and the humidity, the air smelled like the locker room at the club after Sunday golf.
This reminded him of Poppy. Poppy had taught Jake all he knew about golf, tennis, polo. He’d been a tremendous athlete, which made the cancer all the more insulting. Here Mother spent most her life gorging on sugar, fat, and daytime television, never a care about her health, yet Poppy was the one who got sick.
It should have been Mother.
He tried to imagine his life if Mother had died and Poppy lived. But his mind shirked away from the fantasy. Too painful to even think about.
He looked down at the laptop case on the floor of the passenger side. The front pocket bulged outward. It didn’t look anything like a gun from the outside. Could have as easily been a wadded up charging cord. But it was a gun. A gun, he realized, he needed to take inside with him.
Like you would ever have the guts to use it.
Probably not.
Then why take it?
He leaned over, opened the pocket, and drew the gun out. A slice of light caught the dark metal barrel and gleamed like a streak of silver. The faint smell of oil emanated from the weapon. It felt heavier than it looked in his hand. He made sure to keep his finger out of the trigger guard as he held it. Accidentally shooting himself would be the kind of final insult to his pathetic life that would prove his mother’s life-long disdain as completely earned. He wouldn’t give her the satisfaction.
He slipped the gun into the side pocket of his sport coat and got out of the car.
There were only a few other cars in the lot, none of which Jake recognized. Those who worked for Mother’s financial management front had all gone home. The stragglers currently in the lot must have belonged to those working for whatever other companies rented space in the building. Mother, herself, never drove. When she was ready to go, she would call her driver who ferried her around in a maroon Cadillac.
His footsteps echoed on the tarmac as he crossed the lot. The humidity smelled like rain, but Jake hadn’t heard mention of any rain in the forecast on the radio.
The hum of the elevator sounded especially loud and forlorn on the way up, and the bell when he reached Mother’s floor startled him because the building was otherwise so quiet. He cursed his own skittishness as he stepped off the elevator, heart racing.
The lights in the reception area were still on, though Gregory’s computer was shut down, chair pushed in under his desk, and any sign of his presence absent. Mother’s office door remained closed.
Before he knocked, he pressed his hand against the hard lump in his pocket, felt the outline of the gun through the fabric of his coat, and worried it would be obvious what he was carrying. Would Mother notice? What would she think about him bringing a gun to this meeting? Would she see it as a threat?
When has she ever found you a threat? Hah!
He rapped on the door.
“Come,” she called from within.
Thirty-Nine
Center Line was a small suburban city occupying less than two square miles completely surrounded by the larger city of Warren. The address Eckman gave Harrison belonged to a tiny single family home that couldn’t have been larger than seven hundred square feet. The patch of grass out front that probably only took six swipes with a push mower to maintain was apparently what passed for a lawn around here. None of the closely placed neighbors had any more. Some had less.
There was no car in the driveway, so Harrison pulled right in. Thick curtains obscured any view inside through the front window. He couldn’t see any sign of lights on. First glance made it look like no one was home, and Harrison worried Eckman might have giv
en him a fake address.
None of this looked right.
If Ona was keeping her daughter-in-law captive in this place, she would have to have at least one goon in there to watch over her. Two goons would make more sense. So where was their car? There weren’t any parked in the street nearby. Maybe they had taken her out on a field trip.
Or maybe they had already killed her.
Harrison grabbed his Glock 22 from the glove box, tucked it in his waistband at the small of his back, and got out of the car.
Unlike many of the other homes on the block, this one didn’t have its porch light on or some other kind of lighting built into the meager landscaping out front. Just another sign that nobody was home.
What sounded like an army of crickets chirruped in the shadows.
Harrison scaled the two concrete steps up to the porch and rang the bell.
A few seconds passed silently, and Harrison felt his spirits continue to fall, but then he caught movement at the corner of his eye. He wasn’t sure, but he thought the far edge of the curtain across the front window had twitched.
He skipped the bell and knocked on the aluminum frame of the storm door. The door rattled as if ready to fall out of its frame. Probably wouldn’t have taken much to tighten it up and keep it from doing that. One of those little touches of maintenance you had to do if living in an older home like this one.
This time, while he knocked, he watched the spot where he thought he’d seen the curtain move.
Nothing.
Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was hiding in the dark in there.
On a whim, he pulled the storm door open. It rattled and creaked like old metal bones. The spring that would normally pull the door shut again if released must have sprung. The door swung freely, however noisily. Harrison made sure it didn’t swing too far and bang against the house, then reached in to try the knob on the inside door.
It had worked at Jankowski’s, after all.
Yeah, and look how that visit had turned out.
