Lucie had never known this and the constantly simmering resentment that came with being the daughter of a mobster spiked to a boil. Her father was free to make his own choices, but those choices reflected on his wife and children. All this time, they'd been subjected to his bad decisions and now this? Being spied on in their own home?
Disgusting.
"I..." She stopped, closed her mouth, and stared out the windshield at a starlit sky.
"What? I know you have something to say about it. I'm not gonna get lucky enough on this truly suckfest of a day to have you not rail about Dad's lifestyle."
"Actually, no. It's not your fault. Thank you for not telling me. I think that would have freaked me out. That they were listening."
"Well, Luce, I hate to tell you, but I think they're listening all right. Just not in the house."
Chapter Six
"You think our office is bugged?"
Lucie rested her head back, staring straight ahead at the cars littering Franklin Avenue. Mrs. DeSantis had stopped right in the middle to carry on a conversation with someone driving a Buick.
Joey honked to let them know it was time to break it up, and Mrs. D. waved before moving on. "I don't know," he said. "We'll find out."
Thinking on it, her office being monitored made sense. Every day Dad wandered down from Petey's to, as he put it, check on them. With all those trips, the feds might think her father conducted business out of her shop.
That alone fried her.
Joey swung a left, heading to his place, the home still owned by Lucie's ex, Frankie. She hated going there. As much as she loved Tim, the way things ended with Frankie bothered her. They had history together, years of loving each other and family friendships to boot. Now he was gone. Out of her life with zero communication. Somehow, it didn't seem right.
"The feds are still watching Petey's," Joey said.
"And it's not a stretch that they might think he's using Coco Barknell for business dealings."
Which, to her father's credit, he'd never done. He'd respected her wishes to keep her business legitimate.
Still, the feds wouldn't know that. Unless they planted listening devices.
Lucie let out a rueful laugh. All that BS about working hard and rising above the mob princess moniker had gotten her was a business under surveillance.
Horror renewed, Lucie ticked back over the last few days. "Since this whole thing with Buzzy stealing the designs started, Ro has threatened to kill her twelve different ways and...oh, no."
"Luce?"
She ran her fingers into her hair and tugged, allowing the pain to penetrate and bring her emotions back in line. "Just yesterday Ro said she wanted to wrap her fingers around Buzzy's scrawny neck. And then hours later the woman was found asphyxiated. If our office is bugged…”
“That’s what the cops have on her.”
“Yes.”
“We're screwed."
"Well, well, well."
Dead center between Ro and Lucie's desks, Joey stood on a step stool, shoving one of the drop-ceiling panels aside. He poked his head into the square, shining the flashlight one direction then the other.
"Did you find something?"
"I sure did."
He reached into the ceiling and came out with a tiny black device no bigger than a postage stamp. Hopping down from the stool, he dropped the bug on the tile. The tiny smack of plastic shouldn't have bothered her. Shouldn't have sounded like her world crashing in. Shouldn't have meant her bestie under arrest over conversations had in the so-called privacy of this office.
"Party is over, boys." Joey lifted his giant foot, stomped on the bug, and ground it into the tile. “One down. There might be more."
Still holding the walkie-talkie lookalike detector, Joey continued his exploration of the office with Lucie on his heels. Knowing the feds could be listening, they moved silently. They walked the short hallway to the break room, where Ro had set up a table, chairs and a reading nook. As if they'd read at work. But the overstuffed chairs with cushions deep enough to nap in were a nice touch. Particularly since Tim had gotten a little frisky after work two weeks ago and the two of them...well...they'd broken those chairs in right.
Just thinking about it sent heat to her cheeks. And other places. Because sex with Tim… All that solid muscle that wasn't too cut, but just enough to let everyone know he spent time in the gym? Outstanding. Every time. No matter if they were in a hurry or taking their time. Her cravings for him, like a streaming buzz under her skin, never ended.
Dear God, please don't let there be a bug in here.
Yikes-a-roo. She and her cop boyfriend may have given the feds an X-rated show. Audio porn. So much for Tim thinking he'd done a crack job of balancing his career and his relationship with the mob princess.
Nausea whirled and Lucie ran her palm up her forehead. Tim didn't deserve this. She didn't deserve him. Not with the mess of baggage she brought.
The detector beeped and Joey moved left. Toward the reading nook.
"Oh, no," Lucie said.
That sickness whipped at her now and she set her hand over her mouth.
Joey moved closer to the chairs and, beep-beep, beep-beep-beep, the damned detector started going haywire.
"There's another one," she said.
"Yep."
Joey stopped in front of the first chair, the one where Tim had blessed her with a mighty orgasm. Beep-beep-beep-beep-beep. Apparently, she hadn't been the only thing beeping that night.
Lawdy.
"Ha!" Joey said. "They put one in the cushion."
Gulp.
Oh, those bastards. Flaming heat rose to her cheeks and she pressed her icy fingers against them while Joey set the detector on the arm of the chair, unzipped the cushion cover, and rummaged around. Finally, he snatched the filthy devil free.
Lucie shook her head. Maybe, the bugs hadn't been there long. Maybe...
"Oh, God." She might throw up. Right on that damned cushion. She waggled her hand at Joey. "Give me that thing."
He handed the bug off and she marched to the supply closet Ro had been organizing earlier that day, the supplies still scattered on the floor. In the corner sat a toolbox left by the previous owners. Ro wanted to throw it out because it was old and a little rusty, but Lucie liked the nostalgia of keeping something that belonged to the Carluccis. They had, after all, outfitted her with her first pair of shoes.
She opened the toolbox, the hinges squeaking as she lifted the lid and—there—right on top sat the hammer.
Hefting the hammer, she nodded. The people on the other end of this damned listening device had heard her and Tim making love. Saying…things. Having fun in what should have been a private moment.
A private moment that was probably now fodder for some voyeuristic federal agents. And if the feds were working in conjunction with Chicago PD and knew Tim was a detective the poor guy would never live it down.
By law, if a conversation wasn't criminal-related, authorities weren't allowed to listen. But who knew if someone had gotten their kicks by eavesdropping?
Smash! Lucie pummeled the tiny square device. Just beat that sucker to a fast and painful death.
"Take that. Jerks!"
Behind her came a slow clap. Clap, clap, clap.
Joey. Being a smartass, no doubt.
She swung back and shook the hammer at him. "Not one word or I swear, I will beat you with this hammer."
"Hey, I'm proud of you. Usually by now you're screaming about it being Dad's fault."
"They bugged my shop. Do you think if my last name wasn't Rizzo they would have done that?"
"Joe Rizzo comes here every day—it doesn’t matter what your last name is. Look at Petey."
That shut her up. Stopped her cold. For once, her heritage didn't matter. All that mattered was her link to Joe Rizzo, mob boss. And now Ro was suspected of murder and that bug probably helped to build a case against her.
Lucie tossed the hammer back into the toolbox.
"We should tell Willie about these bugs. Maybe he can do his magic and get any recordings thrown out. They're has to be some obscure reason they could be considered unconstitutional."
"I'll call him. Let's finish sweeping first. Make sure we got everything."
Did it matter? The damage had already been done. On several fronts.
The following morning, after a stomach-churning night of phone tag with Tim, Lucie stood in front of Bergman's, a total throwback of a Jewish deli on the north side of Chicago that served pickles straight out of giant barrels and sandwiches thick as bricks. The homemade bagels had been a mainstay during her banking days.
Today, with Tim staring down at her, his sucked in cheeks and puckered mouth a bizarre mix of disbelief and anger over the audio porn news, she might not even make it inside.
He had never been ashamed of his relationship with her. If people knew, they knew. But his career was important to him and Lucie didn't want him suffering because of her. At her request, they'd spent these last months navigating the fine line between flaunting their relationship and keeping it on the down low.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't know."
"Obviously." He gritted his teeth and muttered an F-bomb. "A bug. I should have anticipated that."
"We all should have. Anyway, I don't know if they heard us or not, but..."
"Yeah. Not good, Luce."
She dipped her head and nodded. "I’m sorry."
“I know you’re sorry. But somehow we still wind up in some kind of Rizzo shit storm. I don’t know how this keeps happening.”
The irritated tone set her back a step. For the most part, Tim took Lucie’s dustups in stride. The man saw all kinds of depravity in his job. Lucie? Small potatoes.
Until now. Now, he seemed…pissed.
Or humiliated.
He let out a long sigh. "Even if they heard us, the feds can't use it. That’s not to say the guys at the station won’t get wind and crucify me over it."
What had she done to this poor man? "I don’t know what to say.”
“Say you’ll stop with the screwball investigations. This bug thing you couldn’t control. The other stuff? Getting into a smack down with cops and getting arrested? I think that could have been avoided.”
Before she could fly into her defense, he shook his head. “Forget it. I know what you’re gonna say. You were watching out for Joey. I get that. Except, you have no idea how this tears me up. All I want is to protect you, but I’m caught in the middle. And my boss is giving me the deep freeze. Suddenly, I’m not assisting on a big case. Doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out the brass is afraid I’ll tell you sensitive information. If I share anything with you, I could lose my career. No law enforcement agency would touch me if I got fired for sharing information with Joe Rizzo’s kid."
A woman cruised by, checking Tim out as she passed, and Lucie gritted her teeth. Seriously, lady?
Tim kept his gaze on Lucie. My man.
Only, her man just got finished telling her she was creating all sorts of problems for him. Problems he could easily rid himself of. All he’d have to do is…oh no.
She steadied herself, pressing her heels into the ground. Time to face it. Just ask him straight out and be ready for whatever answer he gave. Even if it devastated her. “Tim, are you dumping me?”
“What? No!”
Phew. “Okay. Wow. You scared me there.”
He grabbed her cheeks and kissed her. —right in front of Bergman’s!—and Lucie went up on tip-toes, sliding her hands over his shoulders, holding on. Anything to get closer and just enjoy the relief. Suddenly, the thought of life without Tim had become a real possibility. She couldn’t lose him. She loved him too much.
But she’d learned the hard way that love didn’t always conquer all.
Still, knowing he’d be willing to deal with Rizzo nonsense, said a lot. Such a good man. She backed away from the kiss and met his gaze. "I'm totally in love with you. You know that, right?"
A small smile split his lips. "I know. I love you too. I’m...frustrated. That’s all. Are we okay?"
Somehow it should have been her asking that question. "Absolutely."
"Good."
His phone blurted the now familiar ringtone assigned to his boss. Typically, a text was followed by Tim running off to fulfill his civil servant duties.
"Crap," he said. "Home invasion. I'm sorry, Luce."
"It's all right. I have a lot to do before Ro's arraignment anyway. I'll just grab a bagel."
Tim responded to his boss and shoved the phone in his coat pocket. "Call me later and let me know how the arraignment goes."
After a quick kiss, she watched him walk away, his broad form plowing through the morning rush of pedestrians. Sunlight glinted off his red hair making it look more strawberry blond. Her man.
So different than anyone else she'd been with and, yet, so perfect for her.
Her phone buzzed. Joey disrupting her brief moment of peace. She checked the text and found a link from the local cable news station along with a message.
Welcome to Hollywood.
What the heck did that mean?
She clicked the link and an image of a woman's jean-clad rear filled the screen.
My rear.
"No," she said. "No. No. Noooo."
"Pardon me," a passing woman said.
A guy with a backpack bumped her. "Lady, cripes, you're in the middle of the sidewalk."
Keeping her eyes glued to the phone, she sidestepped. "Sorry. So sorry."
The plight of Catholic Italian girls. Always apologizing.
She shook it off and turned up the volume on her phone. "Police brutality," a man hissed. "Right in front of my eyes."
She knew what this was. Damn it!
The image panned wide to show Joey being shoved to the floor while Lucie hung onto the jerky cop's shoulders as he tried to swing her off.
That goofy guy from the police station had released the smack down video to the press.
Lucie looked up, peering through the crowd to where Tim stood at the corner waiting for the light to change. At least she wouldn't have to face him with this latest cluster until this evening. Maybe she'd get lucky and a rampant crime spree would erupt and he'd have to work.
Even for her, this was a banner day. Usually, the Rizzo-related mayhem came in small, sporadic doses.
Today? Two snafus at once.
How much could she expect one hunky Chicago detective to take?
The Cook County Criminal courts building, a scary stone behemoth known as the old-school courthouse due to its neoclassical architecture, wasn't new territory for the Rizzo family.
Sitting behind the defendant’s table in the front row on one of the sturdy oak benches that were murder on the healthiest of backs, Joey leaned forward, talking around Mom to Lucie. "We had a hearing in here once. You were away at school. Bribery charge that time."
"Huh," Dad said from the other side of Lucie. "That was this courtroom? I thought it was next door."
"Nope. This one."
Criminal court nostalgia. Excellent.
Dad nudged her with his shoulder. "The charges were dropped. Another case I beat."
Lucie sighed. She must have blocked that particular trial out. Then again, there'd been so many potential cases they all seemed to meld together.
"Willie earned his money that day," Dad said.
Behind them, spectators continued to pour in, folks squeezing into the benches, grabbing every available inch. It wasn't every day a famous reality star suffered an atomic wedgie death. The press wanted in on the action.
A bailiff standing near a door that Lucie assumed led to the judge's chambers moved in front of the empty jury box. No jury necessary for Ro’s arraignment. The judge would do the work on his own today.
"All rise."
Chatter, that annoying crescendo of mingled voices, stopped. They all stood. Joey leaned in again. "Pray we don't get Jackson. We're cooked if we get him."
To drive the point home, he sliced his hand across his throat and made a slashing noise.
"Sssh."
Lucie glanced over at the Buccarellis on the other side of Dad. Mrs. B. had done her best to put on a full face of makeup and her fancy hair, as she called it, but the pale, puffy skin under her eyes told the story. If Ro didn't get released today, her mother would have to be committed. Unlike the Rizzos, the Buccarellis weren't conditioned for this.
"Court is now in session," the bailiff said in a voice meant to convey he wouldn't take any guff. "The honorable judge Jackson presiding."
Joey let out a grunt and Mom elbowed him.
"Screwed," Dad muttered.
A rotund, gray-haired man with sagging cheeks entered, his robe swaying as he climbed to the bench. "Thank you, everyone. Please be seated."
He situated himself, tucked his glasses on his beak of a nose, and peered around the courtroom, his gaze zooming to Dad. His already slacked cheeks dropped another inch.
Maybe Dad being here wasn't such a good idea.
After a full minute's stare-down, the judge addressed the attorneys. "I'm ready to call the People vs. Buccarelli. The officers will be bringing in Ms. Buccarelli any minute."
The attorneys did their thing, introducing themselves to the judge in the seconds before the side door opened. Escorted by a guard, Ro stepped into the packed room. She wore orange prison scrubs, her hands and feet shackled. Her long, silky hair had been brushed and the leftover curls she painstakingly styled each morning drooped. Something inside Lucie shattered. Had she ever seen Ro with limp, unwashed hair?
On sleepovers when they were twelve. Maybe. Even on nights when Lucie crashed at Ro's for girl time, Ro always put her hair into a ponytail in the morning.
Their eyes met for a few seconds and Lucie, at a complete loss to find the upshot, gave her a thumbs up. Thumbs up? Really?
Dog Collar Chaos Page 7
