by K. J. Larsen
“Yeah. Can you do something?”
I heard Rocco smile. “I can make them disappear.”
I hung up and unbuttoned my top three buttons. I made up my face to just short of skanky. When I finished, I gazed in the mirror at a $50 ho. Beefy boy wouldn’t recognize me. I hardly recognized myself.
The Hummer arrived a few minutes later and snagged a spot in the hotel parking lot. Cristina and Max climbed out, and Cristina hopped in the backseat behind the tinted windows. Max jumped in beside me. He did a double take.
Max whistled. “Damn, girl! I’m all out of twenties.”
“Twenty! You call this a twenty dollar date?”
Max reached over and touched my blond wig. “I could throw in a burger and a pack of smokes.”
Cristina laughed. “You two have great chemistry. How long have you been together?”
I stumbled over my words. “We’re not. I mean, not like that. We are just good friends.”
“You keep telling yourself that,” Max winked.
“Uh hunh,” Cristina laughed.
I blushed and tugged at my wig. “Tierney’s men took a room down the hall from Cristina’s. They don’t look so good. You beat them up pretty bad.”
“I thought we scared the shit out of them. Why are they still here?”
“Maybe you’re not that scary,” Cristina said.
“He’s plenty scary,” I said. “Max was Special Forces. He can kill with his bare hands.”
Cristina wet her lips. She wasn’t immune to Max’s incredible hotness. Max didn’t seem to notice. I rolled down my window and sucked a breath of stale, city air before I choked.
“I can’t believe those morons are still here,” Max said.
I smeared Dr. Pepper Lip Gloss over my red lipstick and smiled. “Not for long, babe.”
***
The Chicago PD detective car cut to the curb alongside a fire hydrant. The doors opened and Rocco and Jackson trolled across the street. They were, as Chicago cops go, as intimidating as they got. Jackson was Samoan by heritage and built somewhat similar to a brick. And then there was my brother—Italian through and through. He wasn’t as massive as his partner, but what he lacked in size he made up for in attitude. They joined Max and me in front of the hotel.
Jackson smoothed my blond wig. “That’s a new look for you.”
Rocco gave me a quick squeeze. “We’re gonna get the guy who killed Bill. Let the ninth precinct handle it. If Tierney’s dirty, we’ll get him.”
“Are you saying Captain Bob considers Kyle Tierney a suspect?”
“Not exactly.”
“Cuz this morning Captain Bob blew me off.”
Rocco made a face. “Bob blew me off too. I tried to talk to him about the incident at the pub yesterday. He said Billy pissed everybody off.”
“I hope he chokes on my donuts.”
Rocco said, “Don’t go all Rambo on us. We’re investigating Tierney on the QT.”
“And don’t get yourself carried out of his pub again,” Jackson said.
Not my proudest moment. “Savino has a big, fat mouth.”
Max stared. “You didn’t say you were stupid enough to confront Tierney alone.”
“Didn’t I?”
We stormed the hotel together, Max and I hot on the heels of the Chicago PD. Rocco and Jackson flashed their badges to goth-girl behind the desk. Her gaze lurched to the phone and her fingers twitched. Talk about your big, fat tattletales. I wondered how much the two guys at the end of the hall paid her to squeal if there was trouble. Or if Cristina returned. Clerking at a sleazy hotel can be a surprisingly lucrative job.
I jerked my head toward the phone. “Max, this is Miss Congeniality. She makes too many calls.”
“You go ahead. I’ll hang here with the hired help.”
Goth-girl glared. She reached for the phone and Max clapped a hand over hers. “We like to surprise our friends.”
Irene from Georgia closed her book and picked up the toys her son was playing with in the lounge. I pulled a baseball hat and a pair of clear lens glasses out of my pocket and put them on Colby.
“Irene, meet Detectives Jackson and DeLuca from the Chicago PD.”
The guys flashed their badges.
“Your son is safe with us,” Rocco said. “But it would be best if they don’t see you.”
I said, “If you’d like to wait in your room, I’ll bring Colby right up.”
The boy and I followed Jackson and Rocco down the long corridor of wooden doors. We walked past the room with the violin and laptop. I’d return to gather up Cristina and Halah’s things. We tromped down the hall to the second door from the end. Colby and I stood well back and off to the side as Jackson pounded on the door.
“Chicago PD. Open up.”
“Shit.”
The door opened. “We didn’t do nothin’.”
We came forward then, Colby tightly gripping my hand. Two men glowered. One sucked on a cigarette. There was a small stain around the other man’s lip that looked like chew. I suspected it was licorice.
Rocco turned to the boy. “Are these the men who said they’d give you candy if you got into their big black car?”
He laughed, thinking it a game. He nodded.
“That’s all we need,” Jackson said.
Colby and I retraced our steps down the long, stark hallway.
“This ain’t right. The kid’s on crack.”
“Sir, do you drive a big black car?”
I didn’t hear the response. I imagined there was a gulp or two.
“Turn around and place your hands behind your backs. You’ll need to come to the precinct for questioning.”
“This is bullshit. I know my rights.”
“You’ll get your phone call.” The smile was back in Rocco’s voice. “Sir, do you have a permit for these guns?”
“Uh…”
“What’s this?” Jackson said.
“Whoa! Those drugs weren’t there. You planted them.”
“That’s what they all say,” Rocco said.
Colby swung my hand in his. “I like this game. It’s fun to pretend.”
“I get to do it all the time.”
Chapter Thirteen
Exhaustion blindsided me when I walked through my front door. I’d hardly slept. I had a headache the size Cristina’s boulder-bag. The emotional toll of Billy’s murder was grueling. I wanted it all to go away. And I wanted to talk to Billy again.
I stripped and stepped into a hot, pulsing shower. I lathered my skin with soft, lavender soap and scrubbed away the slutty layers of makeup. When every last drop of hot water was spent, I slipped into a plush, terry-cloth robe and fell on my bed. Tears welled in my eyes. I was asleep before one hit the pillow.
I didn’t know how long I’d slept, but the sky was dark when I opened my eyes. It was the glorious smell of coffee that woke me from a dreamless sleep. And bacon and waffles, I thought. And something else. I sniffed. Fresh strawberries, I decided.
The mattress moved a bit. It wasn’t my beagle. I sighed deeply. If a burglar makes me supper before taking off with the silver, I’m putting out the welcome mat.
A hand brushed my hair back and Chance Savino kissed my neck.
“Hmm,” I said and rolled over on my back. “I didn’t know you could cook.”
“I can’t. I called my mother.”
I sat up with a jerk. “She’s here?”
He laughed. “No. She told me to look for a pancake mix in the cupboard.”
“And she’s definitely not coming?”
“My mom and dad are in India. I think they’re visiting a holy man.”
I seized his collar with an urgency that surprised me. “I want you to tell them my parents are dead. Say I’m an orphan.”
He
laughed. “Relax. My parents aren’t like that.”
“You know, I’ll love your parents. But we’re talking about my parents here. My family is—I don’t know, different. But my parents with your parents? There will be blood.”
I knew I was babbling. I couldn’t stop.
Savino kissed my mouth. “I like us. I don’t really need a visual of our parents meeting right now.”
The remnants of my headache were fading fast. He plopped pillows behind my back, and placed the tray in front of me. “Your coffee’s getting cold.”
A waffle with thinly sliced strawberries and whipped cream seemed to swallow the plate. There was coffee, champagne, and orange juice. A beautiful red rose completed the presentation.
“Champagne? What’s the occasion?”
“I was worried about you. It’s tough to lose a friend.”
“Billy and I were engaged once.”
“I’m sorry, honey. I didn’t know.” Chance wrapped his arm around me.
“We were eight.” I looked into his cobalt blue eyes. “I’m going to get Tierney.”
“Listen, DeLucky. No going in guns blazing. Let’s make sure Tierney’s responsible first.”
“Oh, he knocked Billy off, alright. I saw it in his eyes.”
He kissed my hair. “Give me a day to check him out. I’ll let you know what I learn.”
There was a definite advantage to having a boyfriend who was with the FBI. I glanced at my plate and smiled. “You get bonus points for the whipping cream.”
“And I plan to collect.”
Chance mosied to the kitchen, and I heard him stack the dishwasher. I felt a warm tingly feeling rolling southward. I decided it wasn’t the waffles. Chance Savino was the full package. Eye candy. And he takes out the garbage. Without being asked.
That’s the ultimate turn on. I doubt my ex knew where the garbage can was.
The “candy” word slapped my brain like a big, black licorice whip. It all came slamming back. Beefy boy, the bobbing cigarette dude, Max, the head bashing client, and our devious plans to burgle the pub. Tonight.
I shook any remnants of champagne from my head, dashed to my feet, and dropped my robe. I was frantically tugging black jeans over Victoria’s leopard-print Secrets when Chance wandered into the room.
“Uh, what are you doing?”
I hopped on one foot, pulling up my jeans. “I’m sorry, babe. I totally forgot I have to work tonight.”
“You didn’t just say that.”
“I really wish I didn’t. There’s no way I can miss it.” I said, stuffing a bite of the waffle in my mouth.
“Yes there is. All you have to do is come back to bed.” He walked over, wrapping his arms around my waist, kissing the whipped cream off my lips.
I sighed looking at his perfectly kissable lips. “You are not making this easy.”
“I’m not trying to.” Chance spoke softly in my ear, while he was making massaging circles with his fingers across my lower back. I knew I was seconds from blowing off my work for the evening.
I pushed off Chance’s chest like a springboard and pulled out my evening’s attire. I slipped on a black turtleneck and covered it with a black hooded sweatshirt. I took another bite of the waffle and tugged on black socks and soft-soled black shoes.
“Uh, that’s a whole lot of black.”
“Black is classic.”
“My God, DeLucky. Is that a black ski mask in your hand?”
I looked at my hand. “It goes with the flashlight.”
“Are you going to tell me what you’re up to?”
“Nope.”
“Is it because I’d be obligated to arrest you?”
“Pretty much.”
“Tell me. Whatever you’re doing can’t be worse than what I’m imagining.”
“It probably is. Don’t underestimate me.” I winked, taking one last bite of the waffle and a swig of coffee to wash it down.
“I’m sorry about tonight, Chance. I’ll make it up to you.”
“You have no idea. Be careful out there.”
We walked outside and down to the street. “I don’t see your car,” he said.
“I’m using Tino’s car. It’s bulletproof.”
He groaned. “This just keeps getting better and better.”
I put my arms around Savino and kissed him. “Don’t worry. And don’t wait up for me. I’ll be late.”
I slipped behind the wheel, started the engine, and rolled down the window.
“Anything else?” he said.
“Leave your phone on. You may have to bail me out of jail.”
***
It was after eleven when I pulled up to Mickey’s. I parked behind a Hummer and checked the hood on my way by. It was still warm. My partners in crime hadn’t been waiting long.
Mickey’s is my favorite bar. The food is good and if you like cops, the company is too. You don’t have to like cops to hang out at Mickey’s. But you probably don’t want to be a felon.
I know the cops who hang out at Mickey’s. A lot are DeLucas. Others are almost like family to me. I know their kids and I go to their birthday parties. Like Captain Bob came to mine. But my friends don’t make me crazy. And the alarm on my biological clock doesn’t keep them awake at night.
I sailed through Mickey’s door and a hand squeezed my bum. I looked back at a half-dozen cops with goofy smiles on their faces. I zoned on the biggest one. Alec Hoard grinned like a boy with mirrors on his shoes. He was having way too much fun.
“You got some quick hands, Alec,” I smiled. “Your wife’s in my book-club. And do you know what we do in our book club? We talk. We drink good wine. We nosh on good food. But mostly we talk.”
“Cat the hootchie stalker,” Alec said. “She always knows who’s grabbing ass.”
The guys at his table roared and slapped Alec’s back.
“True.” I smiled sweetly. “And for your wife, I will offer my services for free.”
And with that, half the bar exploded in laughter.
I caught Max’s easy smile across the room. There was something about Max. He had a charisma that drew people to him. He got up from his chair and met me halfway.
He and Cristina had taken a table off to the side where the three of us, surrounded by Chicago’s finest, would prepare to execute a felony. I caught my cousin Frankie’s crazy laugh before making it to safety.
I waved Max back and faced a herd of four large DeLuca men alone. Papa, Uncle Joey, and Uncle Rudy hugged me. Cousin Frankie weaseled in for a hug, but I effectively cut him off at the pass.
“Ain’t you breakin’ into the Irish Pub tonight?” Frankie said. “That’s what my little birdie tells me.”
He was talking about my bird-brain assistant, Cleo.
Papa paled. “Caterina? Is this true?”
“You got a freakin’ big mouth, Frankie.” I punched his arm. “You don’t see my papa standing right next to you?”
“What?” Frankie shrugged and rubbed his arm. “I see him.”
Papa is something of a local hero in Bridgeport. His career with the CPD was cut short a few years ago when he was struck down by friendly gunfire in the line of duty. The rookie cop who lost a bullet in Papa’s bum is forever banned from Mickey’s. And his future on the Force is cemented in traffic duty.
“I know what you’re doin’,” Frankie said all cocky. “You’re going after Tierney for offing Billy. Gonna clean out his safe.”
“What?”
“Your partner keeps me in the loop.”
Papa seized his battle scar. “It’s not true, Caterina. Tell Frankie he’s crazy.”
“That’s been documented, Papa.” I punched Frankie again.
I summed it up for my cousin. “Frankie, you’re a jackass. Cleo is my assistant. My partner is the b
eagle. And do you know why she’s my partner?” I stomped my foot for extra emphasis. “She’s the only one who can keep her mouth shut.”
That was a lie. I’ve had complaints from the neighbors.
“I forbid you to go after Tierney,” Papa said. “It’s insane.”
Papa forgets I’m not twelve.
“Seriously?” I said.
“She’ll be fine,” Uncle Joey said. “For the record, Caterina was with us all night. We played poker.”
Joey is my favorite uncle. Sometimes he’s reckless with the truth. For a cop, he has pockets deep enough to drive a Ferrari. But he has a big heart. And he’s on the short list of people I’d call if I was in trouble.
“Poker? Who won?” Frankie asked.
“Me,” Uncle Joey grinned. “Let’s make it believable.”
“I could win,” Frankie said.
“Why don’t you practice keeping your big mouth shut,” Uncle Rudy said.
“Billy was working on an important case,” I said. “He’d want me to finish it for him.”
“I trust Cat,” Uncle Joey said. “She has a good head on her shoulders.”
“If your mama finds out…” Papa’s shudder pierced through me.
“Deny everything, Papa. You know I will.”
Uncle Joey pressed something in my hand. I glanced at the small white card clutched between my fingers.
Robert Beano, Robert Beano and Associates, Criminal Defense Attorney.
“Just in case,” my uncle whispered in my ear. “Tell him Joey sent you.”
Chapter Fourteen
As I joined my cohorts in crime, a server dropped a big gooey cheese and anchovy pizza on the table. I plopped on a chair, and Max filled my mug with a dark, foamy beer.
“Your papa is staring at Max,” Cristina said. “It’s creepy.”
I smeared my lips with Dr. Pepper Lip Smacker. “Ignore him. His scar itches.”
Cristina glanced sideways over her glass. “I think he wants to shoot him.”
“Papa’s not going to shoot Max. Not unless I’m arrested. Then all bets are off.”
Max groaned. “Do all these donut commandos know about tonight’s operation?”
“Just the DeLucas.”
