by Gina LaManna
Michael raised his gun. “Fine then.”
“Wait, actually – that first option sounds fine,” I said. I opened my eyes super wide, hoping Clay got the picture.
Michael leaned towards my chest with his mouth, as if to untie my suit with his teeth. It was almost a fantasy, if the gun hadn’t been real and Michael hadn’t been a shitty person.
Then, one of Clay’s inventions – at least, that was the only thing I could think of – went off. Smoke enveloped the room, lights flashed and a siren wailed. Nobody could see anything, and all I knew was that for the moment, was that I wasn’t dead.
Gunshots rang out and clinked off every surface in the room.
I held my breath as the black smoke rose to the ceiling.
“You’re a horrible shot,” Meg shouted and burst forward, tackling Michael. He’d been caught off-guard with his gun hand resting on the night table. She sat on him firmly, and I heard the air whoosh out of his chest.
“Hey, can one of you guys help me out?” I asked. I nodded towards my chest where one of my boobs had popped out of the skimpy top.
“I help,” Trina said. Balancing the cigarette between her pink-stained lips. Surprisingly gentle, she stuffed my breast back into its holder.
“I meant untie me,” I said through gritted teeth.
“Nice.” She nodded towards my chest. “Real.”
“Of course,” I said, brightening. “Thanks a lot. I needed that right now. Yours are nice, too. They barely look fake.”
Trina looked down and untied my hands with surprising deftness. “But they are not real. You want to touch them?”
“No, I’m oka-“ I started, but Trina glared at me. “Sure, would love to.”
I squished them between my two fingers very carefully; I was terrible at any sort of water balloon games and I didn’t want to pop her. “Lovely.”
Clay was watching with his mouth open and Meg was nodding in appreciation.
“Don’t stop on our account,” Meg said.
I rolled my eyes. “What are we gonna do with him?”
We all looked at Michael. He was still under Meg’s bum, his face turning slightly purple.
“Maybe give him a little air?” I suggested. “He’s the only person who knows where the good stuff is.”
Meg shifted her weight a bit, but unfortunately she’s not a fast moving mass of human atoms. Michael slipped from under her and rushed towards the door. His gun had been flung under the bed, so he was unarmed. Trina hadn’t run a day in her life, Meg and Clay couldn’t catch a turtle, and I wasn’t going to go bouncing around in public with bare feet. Enough people had seen my boobs for one day.
“Damn,” I said. “That’s annoying. He’s the one that’s trying to kill me.”
“Really,” said Trina.
“Was that sarcasm?” I asked. “Good job.”
She smiled. “I learn.”
“Let’s go home,” I said. “Let me revise that. First, let’s call the police, because we have a double murder to report. Then, I want a sweatshirt.”
** **
“How’d you find me?” I sat in my living room amid beeping monitors and whirring machines, sipping hot chocolate topped with a massive amount of whipped cream and holding a bowl of popcorn bigger than my head.
Clay gave Meg an embarrassed smile. Meg reached over and relieved me of half the popcorn with one handful. I almost complained, but then I remembered they’d just saved my life and deserved some popcorn. I stood up to make another bowl.
“Well, I didn’t actually want to work out,” Clay said. “I haven’t been working out, I just thought maybe you should be.”
I gave a mean look to Clay. “Excuse me?”
Clay’s faced turned rosier.
Meg butted in. “He just meant with your new job you should be bulking up those twig arms, skeletor.”
I smiled at Meg. “I appreciate that.”
Clay cleared his throat. “Exactly. So, I just was sitting in my van playing with my equipment…”
His face turned red.
“Yeah, yeah, I know what you mean,” I said.
“Well, then I heard Vadim’s voice talking to some chick with a Russian accent. And from the way they described the unconscious person, I guessed it was you.”
I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear the description, particularly since my attire had been a few strings holding my lady bits from being on display to the world.
“I rushed over and picked up this girl on the way.” Clay nodded towards Meg. “And we found that Russian girl outside saying we’d better hurry because there was a beech inside that was going to die.”
“Yeah, there were a lot of beaches,” I said. Meg and Clay looked at me confused. “Never mind.”
“I hadn’t taken off the tracking device from Vadim’s house, and it was almost accidental that I heard the broadcast. I was working on being able to listen to surveillance from far away, since normally I have to be right outside the house. But I think I got it!” Clay’s eyes lit up. “All it took was connecting the transmitter into the battery pack and looping it in the style of-”
“We get it,” I said. “Great job. Then you rescued me. But I have one question left – where was Anthony?”
I looked at the two, who exchanged a glance with one another. As much as I didn’t want to admit it, I thought maybe Anthony had been telling the truth and was on my side. But I guess not. It was starting to become such an annoying bummer that none of the men in my life were making it past the first date. Or even to the first date.
“I uh, forgot to get him,” Clay said. “When I heard you were in trouble, I zoomed away. Anthony made it to Vadim’s house, but he didn’t come inside since we had the situation under control.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“Well, since he saw Michael sneaking out of the back and we told him you were okay, I think he went after Michael, but I couldn’t say. I haven’t seen either since.”
My heart fluttered a bit. Maybe all men didn’t want me dead – just most of them. But that was okay, I didn’t hold my bar super high.
“Now I’m confused.” I dumped a third bag of popcorn into the large pink bowl. “Where are the drugs?”
I’d filled both of them in on the events of my capture and short imprisonment.
“I still haven’t really done my job.” I shrugged. “Carlos still wants the good stuff.”
“Maybe go talk to him,” Clay suggested. “See if he has any input.”
I buried my head in the popcorn bowl, keeping my mouth full until I could think of a response. “I dwown’t wawnt to.”
“Then find the good stuff.” Meg pushed herself to her feet. “I need a nap and a steak. In reverse order. You wanna come?”
“Nah.” I shook my head. “I’m good.”
“I wasn’t asking you,” she said. She grunted at Clay. “You.”
“Uh, uhm. I’m full,” Clay said.
“Liar.” Meg opened the door. “See you beaches later.”
I gave Clay an eyeball, but he retreated hastily to his room.
“Wanna come talk to Carlos?” I crossed my fingers very, very tightly.
“Not a chance.” Clay emerged and reentered the kitchen. “I’m starving. Saving people burns a lot of calories. Also, you left Butch and Layla stranded. I had to give them a ride back in my baby, and they slobbered all over my transmitter.”
** **
The meatball on the plate in front of me turned my stomach. Not only had I recently seen a man killed and eaten an entire day’s worth of food in five minutes, but I was so nervous to tell Carlos about my kind-of-botched job that my fingers trembled. My fork clattered against the plate.
Auntie Nora frowned at me. “We’re still waiting for the others. You’re not the only person who needs to eat around here.”
I looked up for the first time as if in a daze and realized that there was an extra place setting. Butch and his lady friend were already seated and Carlos could be heard shut
ting off the television and grumbling as he made his way to the kitchen.
“Who’s coming?” I asked. “Nicky? Tony? Angelo? Lord please not Marissa and Clarissa.”
“Not exactly,” Nora said with a frown. As Carlos entered the kitchen, a toilet flushed. “He’s already here, actually.”
I opened my mouth to ask who ‘he’ was, when ‘he’ appeared in the doorway looking tall and dark and handsome and all sex-on-legs.
“Anthony?” I gaped. “How do you know –what?”
Carlos nodded at Anthony with less hatred than I’d seen him nod at anyone with. There was almost an air of acceptance, a feeling of respect. Could that be real? Carlos hated everyone.
I chanced another glance at my trainer. Instead of his usual black spandex and track pants, he was dressed in nice khaki’s and a button down shirt, proper dinner attire. Especially compared to my laid back jeans and sweatshirt. His sleeves were tight around his biceps and his chest filled out his dress shirt deliciously, and if I’d met him anywhere but my grandparents’ house I would’ve visibly drooled all over my new sweatshirt. Which would have been unfortunate and gross because then I’d have to decide between doing laundry and wearing my sweatshirt inside out.
His hair was very lightly gelled, dark and wavy as ever, looking luscious enough to run my hands through. His lips looked soft enough to kiss for hours and his chocolate eyes gleamed with intentions I couldn’t let myself think about at the dinner table.
“Friend of the Family,” Anthony explained.
I eyed him closely. Was it just me, or did he mean family with a capital F? “Then why have I never met you before?”
“I’m new to town,” he said, as if that settled things.
“I believe you’ve met,” Carlos said. He looked between us.
“Yeah, gym,” I mumbled.
Butch smiled, two of his teeth newly missing. “Makes sense he’d be working out.”
I looked at Butch, who was admiring Anthony’s muscles. Butch raised an arm as if to squeeze Anthony’s bicep, and said, “Hey, Tony, if I get muscles like this, can I be a body guard, too?”
Carlos opened his mouth, then shut it as if watching a horror flick.
“He’s not a body guard,” I explained. “He’s my trainer.”
“Nope, he’s your bodyguard. It’s a secret.” Butch clapped a hand over his mouth. “Oh, crapola. I shouldn’t have said that, eh, sis?”
I could feel the steam coming from Carlos’ head and see the venom in his gaze.
Nora looked at her hands, tied in knots in her lap. It was the first time I’d seen her speechless.
“I don’t have a body guard.” I looked between Carlos and Anthony. “He’s my trainer.”
Carlos didn’t exactly meet my eyes and Anthony cut a large slab of meatball and focused on balancing it on his fork.
“Or do I have a bodyguard?” I stood up and my chair clattered to the floor. I pointed a finger at Carlos, then whipped it at Anthony, then back to Carlos. “I see what this is! You didn’t think I could handle a task for the Family. You gave me a babysitter. You know what? I don’t need a babysitter. You know who does? Nicky – for his evil twins. And Nicky himself needs a babysitter. I’m the most responsible person in this Family.”
I looked around. “At least I’m in the top fifty percent of reliable people. You know what? I’m going to go get that good stuff – and I better not see you following me.”
I eyed Anthony with my most menacing stare. “And once I rescue it I’ll dump it here and you can pay me my money and I’m leaving. Changing my name. Screw the Luzzi Family – you’re all crazy!”
I stormed out the door and leapt into Clay’s van which I’d sort of stolen for the ride over and zoomed away. Something clattered in the back seat, but I didn’t turn around. I only cared about putting distance between myself and my family.
When I was sure I wasn’t being followed by my stupid trainer turned body guard, I pulled over to the side of the road. I banged my head against the steering wheel a few times, cried for approximately five minutes, then wiped my sniffles and sat back in the seat.
“Where could that damn good-for-nothing stuff be?” I wondered aloud. “Stupid men. Only the nice ones get killed. Poor Andrey.”
I unbuckled my seat belt and slumped down in the seat. “I let the trainer kiss me and it turns out he’s paid to follow me. Bake cookies for the biggest liar of – oh.”
I wasn’t sure exactly what it was, but I knew exactly where the good stuff was stashed.
Chapter 22
The creep van was parked about three blocks from Michael’s house, hidden conveniently in the Uptown area.
“Didn’t know when he moved here – pshh,” I mumbled, my eyes glued to the window. I’d parked far enough away to hopefully not draw attention to myself, but not far enough where I had to actually exert myself to get to his front door.
“Lacey Luzzi – be smart this time,” I told myself. “You have the creep van, so nobody will come rescuing you this time.”
I groaned and seriously debated calling Clay or Meg to tell them where I was. I even considered calling Anthony. I could yell at him first and then subtly drop a hint about where I was, and maybe he’d feel the urge to come and watch my back.
“No. Be strong, Lace,” I said. “You can do this.”
I could always hope Michael was scared, or at least a little intimidated from the events of yesterday. There had been more guns and hookers and shooting than I was used to in my formerly quiet St. Paul town. I briefly looked for a black sweatshirt or sweatpants, but upon finding none settled upon my red college sweatshirt and stiffer-than-I’d-like pair of jeans.
I got out of the van and did a few lunges around the outside, a few butt shimmies and high kicks (my definition of high being knee-level). I needed all the flex I could from these pants in the instance I needed to make a fast getaway.
Just as I’d psyched myself up to go inside, I spotted some flannel material in the back of the van. I crawled over the driver’s seat and retrieved a pair of Clay’s boxers. A quick smell test proved there was a sixty percent chance they were clean, a risk I was willing to take. I slipped out of my jeans and tried not to glance at my reflection in the van as I stomped towards Michael’s place. On a good day, I’d draw minimal notice. On a bad day, everyone would wonder why there was a crazy lady stomping down the street in a red sweatshirt with purple and green polka dotted boxers, the outfit complete with a classy pair of fuggs.
As I got closer, I made my steps stealthier and slipped around the side of the house. I peeked in the windows, but the house looked untouched from the night I’d been there. The bed was suspiciously wrinkled in a similar way, the closet door halfway ajar, just as I’d left it and when I poked my head around to peer in the kitchen windows, I gasped out loud.
Each and every one of the cookies remained on the baking pan, completely untouched. He hadn’t even tried one! I huffed and gained more confidence, my anger propelling me to try the kitchen door. It was unlocked.
I refrained from sticking my finger in the cookie dough bowl still on the counter.
“There’s probably bacteria,” I told myself. “Bad idea, Lace.”
“There’s definitely a virus in this kitchen. But it’s not in the cookie dough.” Michael wandered lazily from the main entrance, a gun dangling from his thumb.
Damn. I should’ve called for backup when I had the chance.
As if reading my mind, he grinned. “No one’s rescuing you this time. Where’s your fatso troop of body guards? The gym trainer?”
I clenched my fist, but didn’t move. “You don’t want to kill me.”
“Not particularly. But it’s not a matter of want. It’s a matter of professionalism.” He winked. “And I am the consummate professional – no loose ends. No stone unturned. Sorry, babe. Shouldn’t have gotten in the way.”
“What about the idea you had before?” I squirmed, grasping at straws to save time. I took a step clos
er to the stove and rested my hand on the edge, bending over slightly to steady myself.
“Feeling woozy?” Michael nodded at the stove. “Could be the fumes. I had no idea the effect making cookie dough with this stuff had. Could be a new product on the market.”
“What could?” I asked.
“Answer me this honestly. How big of an idiot are you?”
I straightened a bit and lost my cool. “NOBODY EVER TOLD ME WHAT ‘THE GOOD STUFF WAS.’”
Michael watched me.
“Well?” I asked. “If you’re going to shoot me, could you at least please tell me what you’re killing me over?”
He shook his head back and forth slowly, a slow grin creeping over his face. “You really are that naïve. Honey, this isn’t the business for you.”
“I found that one out the hard way.” I rolled my eyes.
“You have been searching for fifteen million dollar’s worth of powder.”
My jaw nearly bumped the stove in my shock. “Excuse me?”
“You see that there batch of ‘cookies’ you made?”
I stared weakly at the suddenly menacing looking pail.
He picked up a cookie. “This burnt, shitty block of rock is the most expensive biscotti in the world – to the tune of twenty thousand dollars.”
I tried to suck in air, but nothing was coming in or going out.
“This ‘batch’ you cooked up for me – that was about a million bucks worth of baking you did.” Michael shook his head again. “I thought you’d figured me out, but I just couldn’t figure out how. I thought I’d been beaten.”
Michael walked close to me and bent over. “But then I remembered that never happens. Because I’m the best.”
I gagged, bent in half.
He frowned at me. “Oh, babe, don’t give me that. The way you were coming onto me the other night, I know you agree.”
Michael winked, and I wished I had something to throw up, but unfortunately I’d never gotten around to eating that meatball earlier, and the popcorn must’ve already digested. That’s one of those things that goes straight through me – kind of, well, kind of like corn.
“How about this – do you want to try one of your fucking cookies before I kill you? I know you like to eat.” He eyed me up and down. “You won’t even have to worry about going to the gym this time.”
