Lia huffed. “Peter’s ex-fiancée popped into town and made herself at home in his apartment. I thought we had a burglar, so I called 911.”
“Oh, my. What did Peter say about it?”
“Nothing. He was late for a meeting, so he left as soon as he knew there was no danger. I expect he’ll tell me what’s going on when he gets in.” She glanced at the clock again. “Which should have been thirty minutes ago.”
“Don’t be too hard on him. If Luthor was alive, he’d cause all kinds of trouble with no encouragement from you.”
“Truth. How did the fur kids do? Chewy looks traumatized.”
“Your little girl wore him out. My kitchen floor is the cleanest it’s been in years between mopping up the pee puddles and her splashing in the water dish. Every time I looked at the bowl, it was empty. I thought she was dehydrated until I realized I had a lake on my floor.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“I tried penning her in a corner, but she just howled and she’s such a cute little thing I couldn’t leave her there. Viola bullied her.”
“Oh?”
“She laid down in the middle of the kitchen and wouldn’t let your little girl out from under the kitchen table. I shut Viola in the living room. She liked having it all to herself just fine.”
Pup, restless on Lia’s lap, grabbed the hem of her blouse and tugged.
“Oh, no you don’t.”
Lia put Pup on the floor and knelt down to join her, hips in the air in a human play bow. She dangled Susan’s scarf. Pup yipped and snapped.
“You are one classy pup. I’ll have you know this is a four-hundred-dollar chew toy.”
Alma raised a hand in protest. “Is that silk? She’ll ruin it.”
“It’s Susan’s. She left it behind after saying Pup should be put down. Destroying Susan’s scarf is the only way girlfriend will recover her self-esteem.”
Lia held the scarf high, jiggling to make the silk shimmy. Pup leapt, latching onto the scarf, growling and tugging. Lia let go. Pup tumbled, wrapping the scarf around her.
“Goodness,” Alma said. “She’s so colorful. Just like a little gypsy.”
Lia unwound the scarf and started the game again. “Are you a gypsy? Is that your name?”
Gypsy growled and leapt, tearing a hole in the scarf.
The aroma of pizza and a slap on Lia’s upturned posterior announced Peter’s arrival.
Lia dropped the scarf and gave Peter her best stink eye. “Seriously?”
“Couldn’t resist. Hey, Alma. I brought dinner. Will you stick around for a slice?”
Alma stood. “No, thank you. The cheese doesn’t agree with me and I think you two have things to talk about. I’ll let myself out.”
Peter watched her leave. “She catch the Susan show this morning?”
“You think? Yeah, she caught it.” Lia disentangled scarf and dog and pushed herself up off the floor. “I was about to feed the kids.”
“How did Pup do at Alma’s?”
“She is Pup no more. Alma and I christened her. She’s Gypsy.”
“Did the christening have anything to do with Susan’s scarf?”
“Only everything. I think I’ll frame it.”
“You looked like a scene from Alien when she lunged out of your chest.”
“If only I had it on video. You left me holding the bag this morning.”
“Couldn’t be helped.” He presented the still-warm pizza box and a stack of napkins. “I brought a peace offering.”
Lia poured kibble for the dogs. They ignored it, staying glued to Peter and the box of amazing scents now residing on the coffee table. Gypsy—who had never experienced pizza in her brief life—whined at the box like a heroin addict in the presence of a loaded hypodermic.
Lia sat next to Peter on the couch, taking a napkin from the stack. “How can she possibly know about pizza?”
Peter opened the box and gently separated a slice, handing it to her. “Chewy told her.”
“I refuse to believe that.” She took a bite, humming with pleasure. “This is the first time you’ve brought Dewey’s home since District Five moved.”
“Desperate times, desperate measures.”
“I’ll think about forgiving you.”
Lia had just fed the crust of her second slice to Gypsy and Chewy when Peter took her hand, chafing the knuckles with his thumb.
“I love you more than Pepsi and Pop Tarts.”
“Sounds serious.”
“Susan’s off the rails right now. It has nothing to do with you or me, but I have to deal with her.”
“What makes her your problem?”
“I’ve known her all my life. I can’t ignore that.”
It wasn’t an argument Lia agreed with, but Peter’s sense of responsibility made him who he was. She let it go.
“Why is she off the rails?”
“She caught the furniture king auditioning last fall’s homecoming queen for his next batch of commercials. With his pants unzipped.”
“I suppose I should feel sorry for her. Was it the adultery or the thought of being upstaged on television that did it?” She waved her free hand. “Forget I said that. I suppose she wants to pick up where you left off.”
Peter sighed and squeezed the hand he still possessed, gave it a little shake. “She’s humiliated, and she’s starting over. She wants to do a local-interest video blog.”
Lia’s gut clenched. “She’s moving to Cincinnati?”
“It’s a big city. Nothing to do with us.”
“Lexington is a big city. Louisville is a big city. And both of them are closer to Bowling Green than Cincinnati. Both have plenty of local interest.”
Peter shrugged. “Maybe distance is the point.”
“If she wants distance, there’s Cleveland, Columbus, Indianapolis. Hell, she could shoot for the big time and go to Chicago. She came here because you’re here.”
“You and I are together. I made that clear.”
“Well, okay then.”
“You have no reason to feel jealous of Susan.”
“Who says I’m jealous?”
“You’re not?”
Lia’s voice rose and took on an edge, slicing the air like a razor. The sound and what it implied mortified her. “I don’t like that she’s here with the misguided idea she can snap her fingers and have you back.”
Peter gathered her in his arms. She hid her face in his chest, crumpling under the weight of the day.
He said nothing. He slid a finger down her neck to her collarbone, hooked the delicate gold chain that disappeared under her blouse and withdrew the token that hung next to her heart. He stroked a thumb across the surface of the opal, careful not to bend the bird’s nest of gold wire that cradled it.
“If I gave Susan a rock I picked up off the ground, she’d throw it in my face. It wouldn’t matter that it was pretty, less that it was a piece of me. I suspect you’d wear this if it was only a bit of polished gravel.”
Lia sniffed. “Only if the shape was interesting.”
Peter’s chest quivered against her cheek with a silent laugh.
“Even if I’d never met you, I wouldn’t go back to Susan.”
“Oh?” It was a small and pitiful sound.
“Susan … our parents are friends. We grew up together. They always hoped we’d marry. She was the prettiest girl in school and dated anyone she wanted. She wasn’t interested in me until the basketball team won state.”
“Were you interested in her? … Don’t answer that.”
Peter stroked a soothing hand up and down her back. “I didn’t have much experience with girls. My parents kept me busy with scouts and church and sports. Didn’t want me to get into trouble, I expect. But Susan was the next thing to family, and it was a boost having the most popular girl in school cooing over me. I fell into it without thinking much about it. After we got engaged, she started trying to fix me. She called it supporting me so I could reach my potential.”
“That makes it all right, then.”
Peter laughed. “God love you. I can’t blame her. She was raised to see a husband as a lump of clay and a wife as the driving force in his career. That’s a plan that works for a lot of folks. It took me a while to realize it didn’t matter to Susan who he was as long as he wound up with a fat wallet and a fine house. It was a harsh awakening.”
“I imagine.”
“I sat across from her at Ruth’s—”
Lia’s stomach twisted tighter. “You took her to Ruth’s?”
“No, I met her there. And I only stayed long enough to let her know it wasn’t happening. You know that saying they drilled into me at the academy?”
“‘Know where the exits are’?”
“I was thinking of ‘Be polite but plan how to kill them.’”
“You did not.”
“Cross my heart. I had my eye on a steak knife on the next table.”
“What will you do?”
“I have to keep saying no until she gets it. She has too much pride to push in where she’s not wanted. Right now, she believes I’m making her suffer before I take her back.”
“You’d never do that. Why would she think it?”
“First because she can’t imagine I’m not secretly pining for her, second because that’s what she would do. Are we okay?”
Lia saw the worry in Peter’s eyes and her stomach relaxed. “We’re fine. Let’s not let her ruin any more of our evening.”
“I wouldn’t call you hanging on me a ruined evening.”
She thumped his shoulder, gently. “Smart ass. Not to change the subject, but why do you have a spare key where anyone can find it?”
“Not anyone. Only someone I grew up with. My homies aren’t thick on the ground here.”
“It won’t be an issue anymore. I trashed your rock.”
“You didn’t.”
“Dig it out of the garbage if you want it for a paperweight. We need a better solution.”
“It was an acceptable solution that didn’t cost a cent. You spent plenty on that security system. Why didn’t it go off?”
Lia grimaced. “I didn’t think I needed to set it while I was at the park. Who breaks in at 9 a.m.?”
“Apparently Susan does.”
“She won’t be doing it again.”
“You know this because?”
“I took your key away from her.”
Seeing Peter wince satisfied the same small part of herself that took pleasure in watching Gypsy chew Susan’s designer scarf.
“Didn’t think she’d waltz off with it, did you?”
“No, but I should have.”
“Sounds like we both had an exciting day.”
“You don’t know the half.”
“Oh?”
“I finally got the evidence I need for a warrant on a guy running kids to steal packages.”
“That’s great.”
“Then Parker told me to hand the case over to Brent and assigned me to Not Elvis. Just me. No resources. Tomorrow my life will be whack-a-doodle city.”
“No! I’m so sorry.”
“It’s a boost that they chose me, but it’s frustrating. Jamal’s running a half dozen juveniles or more, kids with lives headed in the wrong direction. If Jamal is part of a network, it could be a hundred kids across the city.”
“Still, it’s just packages.”
“Mostly Amazon. You know who shops at Amazon?”
“Um, everyone?”
“Older people on fixed income, disabled people who can’t get around. A fifty-dollar loss, not getting what they need when they need it, these are hardships for them. For some of them it’s groceries.”
“I’m sure Brent can handle it.”
“Something will go wrong. I can feel it.”
Lia toyed with a button on Peter’s shirt. “Then you come home and I give you a tough time about Susan.”
“You were very civil to her this morning, considering.”
“I was also planning ways to kill her.”
“Poor Cal. He’s too polite to say, but he was hoping for a girl fight.”
Lia’s head popped up and her mouth gaped. “He was not!”
“It’s been a long time since that YouTube video.”
Lia shoved him away. “You’re a jerk, Peter Dourson.”
He pulled her back. She struggled for form’s sake while he tipped her chin up and kissed her.
“But I’m your jerk.”
A Dream Realized
Wednesday, May 5, 1937
Mal followed Pete—Mr. Schmidt said to call him that—up the long stairs to the second floor of the newly remodeled Beverly Hills Country Club. A year ago, he’d watched it burn.
In a few hours, the first and finest carpet joint in the country would reopen. The rich and famous would return—for fine food, the best shows outside of New York, and wall-to-wall gambling.
Tonight, the Dublin gutter rat was inside.
Mal schooled his face to look like it was no big deal, the plush blue carpeting you could sink your feet into, gold-leaf patterned wallpaper, crystal chandeliers bigger than your average Packard.
Pete stepped through a door labeled “Trianon,” then stopped at a landing overlooking tiers of linen-draped tables encircling a central dance floor. The only sounds were the clink of china and silver as silent waiters prepared for the first service. A large, empty stage loomed over all. Mal’s mouth went dry. I’ll be on that stage, if I have to kill to make it happen.
Pete, a broad man with a receding hairline and a double-breasted suit, dropped his usual worried expression and grinned. “You’ll be in here. Nervous, kid?”
Mal shook his head.
Pete gave Mal a shrewd look. “You’re stupid if you aren’t.”
Mal jerked a shoulder. “I can handle it.”
“You’re bold for a seventeen-year-old kid, I’ll give you that. But a few nerves give you an edge. Just remember, they’re only schmoes in fancy suits, like me. When you forget that, pretend you’re back on the loading dock, showing me your tricks.”
Since the fire, Mal had made it his business to learn about the big wheels who ran Newport. Pete was a smart guy, even if he called himself a schmoe. He’d spent years in prison protecting the money he made bootlegging with George Remus during Prohibition. When he got out, booze was legal and Pete was out of business. Instead of folding his tent, he built the Beverly Hills and got richer.
More joints opened up. Now Newport rolled in money. Enough money you could smell it all the way to Cleveland. The Cleveland Four—the most powerful gangsters in the Midwest—wanted in, but they didn’t see the logic in opening their own joints when they could take over places that were already successful.
One of the Cleveland Four, a guy named Moe Dalitz, decided to buy the BH. Pete wasn’t selling. Dalitz hired an operator named Red Masterson to set fire to the club, figuring this would make Mr. Schmidt—Pete—change his mind. Only the BH burned to the ground and the daughter of the caretaker died, outraging a police department used to looking the other way.
Pete rebuilt, making the BH bigger and better than ever. That made him Mal’s hero.
Mal had spent weeks as a day laborer hauling debris from the burned-out shell. Later he spent more weeks unloading endless truckloads of furnishings for the renovated club before he found the right opportunity to show his tricks to Pete.
Mal wasn’t nervous, but he knew not to contradict the guy giving him his big chance. “Thank you, sir. I will remember. Are the Andrews Sisters really on next month’s bill?”
“It’s not official yet. Cab Calloway not good enough for you?”
“I like him just fine, but he’s not as pretty as they are.”
Pete barked a laugh, the same laugh that had given Mal the confidence to show him his card tricks.
“There will be plenty of pretty ladies here, but don’t notice them too much, no matter how much they notice you. No pulling coins out of cleavage. I
don’t want complaints.”
“No, sir.”
“You’ll work the tables during dinner. You ever work in a restaurant?”
“Ate in a few.”
“It gets tight between the tables. Don’t bump the guests. See Bess about your clothes.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You need a stage name, something to get people excited.” Pete pulled a cigar from his breast pocket and squinted. “What’s Mal short for?”
“Just Mal, sir. It’s not short for anything.” Mal was what the gang called him in Dublin. It meant “chief,” but it wouldn’t do to let the boss know that.
“My wife has a Pomeranian named Malachi. Sharp little fellow and too big for his britches. Got red hair like you.” Pete poked the cigar at Mal. “From now on, you’re Marvelous Malachi.”
Mal blinked. He wasn’t sure how he felt about being named after a lapdog, but he suspected he’d wind up washing dishes if he wasn’t grateful. “I don’t know what to say. Thank you, sir.”
Pete lit the cigar with a gold lighter, puffing to get it going. “Get something to eat in the kitchen and be ready to start at seven. We’ll see how it goes after tonight. Do well and I’ve got a place for you.”
Mal stood beside the stage in his new swallowtail tuxedo, his heart thumping pleasantly in his chest. He rubbed a thumb across the lucky Irish shilling in his pocket as he looked out across the ocean of fancy-dressed diners.
The jewelry in that room could set him up for life, and he had the hands to make much of it disappear. But Pete would cut those hands off if he touched one tiny rock. Anyway, fishing in this pond would be ungrateful after the opportunity he’d been given.
He allowed himself a minute to regret leaving those glittery treasures lying on their soft, pillowy breasts, then reminded himself to focus on the prize. No haul was worth giving up his shot at the limelight.
Mal, tonight your life changes.
Day 11
Tuesday, April 30, 2019
Peter shoved the enormous stack of tip reports under one arm to open his office door. Elvis greeted him in the form of a life-sized plastic bust sitting next to his computer. This Elvis featured a grinning skull, Elvis hair, and a collar reaching to the skull’s non-existent ears.
Swamp Monster Page 9
