Sucks to Be Me

by Painter, Kristen

  Her eyes were the same. Well, the baby crow’s-feet that had been forming at the corners were gone, but the color was the same. That seemed proof enough that this was really her.

  How were those wrinkles gone? How was everything so taut and lifted? And glowing? None of it made sense. That was the theme of this new life apparently.

  Could this be what freedom looked like on her? Or did widowhood just really agree with her?

  She stripped off her tank top, eager to see if the transformation had hit her below the neck too. “Holy Francis.”

  It had. Her boobs were higher, her stomach flatter, and her boyshort underwear was almost falling off her. She turned sideways. She had definitely lost weight and toned up. Overnight. “How is this possible?”

  She rubbed her eyes. Was this some kind of stress response? If it was, she’d never heard of anything like it. One more look in the mirror, one more shake of her head. “Please let this be permanent.”

  She pulled her tank top back on, then put on a pair of sweatpants and some fuzzy socks. She gathered up the clothes she’d left on the floor last night and tossed most of them in the hamper. The trench coat she took a closer look at.

  There was a hole across the top of the shoulder. A scorched tear that could have been made only by a bullet. She’d definitely been grazed.

  She shook her head. She couldn’t make sense of how she hadn’t been hurt more.

  Lucky meowed at her.

  “Okay, I know.” She took the coat downstairs with her, laying it over the dryer in the laundry room to deal with later. Lucky scampered past, sliding into the kitchen ahead of her.

  She stuck a K-Cup in the machine and hit brew, then fed Lucky. The coffee was finishing up as she dug her phone out of her purse to see what she’d missed by sleeping a day away. Wow. A couple new texts. One from Rico, one from Rosie. Both essentially checking to see if she was okay. That was nice. But there were ten new voicemails. She looked at her missed calls. Actually, two of those were from Rico from yesterday.

  Three were from him today. Three were from Big Tony. Then one each from Rosie, Christina, Joe Jr., and Cammie.

  None from Lucinda. Good.

  Donna added stevia and creamer to her coffee, then took a sip as she dialed her voicemail and tapped in her code.

  The automated voicemail began. “First message. Donna, this is Rico. We need to talk. Second message. Donna, it’s Rico. Please call me. Soon. Third message. Donna, are you okay? I know yesterday was Joe’s funeral, but not hearing from you worries me. Please check in.”

  “Aw, Rico’s worried.” She drank a little more coffee. “That’s sweet.”

  “Fourth message. Donna. It’s Tony. Everything go all right?”

  She squinted at the phone, trying to figure out if he’d sounded sincere or not.

  “Fifth message. Donna, call me.”

  She shook her head. She was not calling Big Tony now. Not at this hour. Not because he wouldn’t be up, but because it was too late to start with him.

  Although she was going to have to deal with him at some point. She was a little surprised he hadn’t sent Vinnie out to check on her. Or maybe he had, and she’d slept through the visit. That was more likely. So maybe Big Tony didn’t even think she was home.

  She hoped that was the case and it would buy her some time.

  The sixth message was a hang-up from Big Tony. The seventh was Rosie repeating what her text had said. “Wanted to make sure you’re all right. Don’t be a stranger.” Then the eighth message was from Christina. “Hey, Mom. Just wondering how you’re doing. Love ya.”

  “Love you too, baby.” She held the warm mug in her hand, still smiling from the sound of her daughter’s voice.

  “Ninth message.” This one was from Joe Jr. “Hey, Mom. Just checking in. Love you.”

  “Love you too, Son.”

  “Tenth message. Hi, Donna. The sisters loved the cookies. They wanted me to let you know they’re praying for you. Talk soon.”

  Donna nodded. “Those prayers worked.” She glanced down at her body. “Maybe better than expected.”

  She disconnected from voicemail, then stared at her screen. She needed to talk to Rico. Which meant she had to tell him what she was doing about the whole state’s evidence thing. Also, she was definitely giving him the guns from the safe room. And the drugs.

  The money, however… She sighed and bit her bottom lip. That was tainted money. She knew that. But it also represented security for herself and her kids until she got her insurance money. And she really wanted to donate some to the church as a way of balancing out all the bad that had probably been done to earn it.

  So right now, she couldn’t just give that money to the FBI.

  But she also couldn’t call Rico and tell him about the contents of the stash room until she dealt with that money. With everything else facing her, taking care of the cash seemed like the easiest thing to check off her to-do list.

  She drained the last of her coffee. “I guess I know what I’m doing tonight.”

  Chapter Seven

  There was too much money to count it all bill by bill. That would take too long, and she wanted this room dealt with tonight. Instead, she counted the bundled stacks. First, she counted one stack to find out how much it was. Each bank-band-wrapped stack held a hundred bills. Each bill was a hundred. Which meant each banded bundle was worth ten thousand dollars.

  A hundred of those made a million.

  And all of it tainted. Such a freakin’ shame.

  She used a pencil and scratch pad from Joe’s desk to keep things straight. This wasn’t any kind of accounting she’d ever done before, and she wanted to get it right.

  When she finished, she looked at the numbers written on the scratch pad. Then back at the stacks of bills. Then at the scratch pad again.

  Was that right? It had to be. She’d been careful and thorough. But she didn’t really believe the number she was looking at, so she counted it again.

  Same number.

  Five million, four hundred twenty thousand dollars.

  She stood there for an undetermined amount of time, hands on her hips, just looking at it, taking it all in. “Wow.”

  As soon as the bank opened, she was going to get herself a safe-deposit box and put the money in there. She couldn’t deposit it. That would create a record, and she knew better. But she refused to have that money in the house a second longer, either. After her insurance check came, she’d probably turn this stash over to Rico. Let him figure it out.

  Until then, it was going to the bank. As soon as possible. Once that was done, she was going to the church to make her anonymous donation. She’d see Cammie, too.

  She needed to see Rico, too. She’d put him off long enough. Staring at all this money helped convince her that talking to him next was what made sense. So did giving Rico whatever he needed to shut down the Villachi syndicate.

  That was her best path forward. Maybe her only path forward, considering what had gone down last night.

  The Villachis had to be stopped. And her family needed to be safe from them.

  With that decision made, she picked up one of the ledgers. The latest one. She flipped through it. Names, numbers, amounts. A few notes in Italian. This had to be about Big Tony’s business. She wasn’t sure what, exactly. People paid off? People who owed money? Who’d bought drugs? Whatever it meant, the information had to be incriminating since Joe had kept the ledgers in this room.

  Rico would figure it out. He’d probably get a promotion for this. She was good with that. Maybe he’d think of her kindly then, because she was pretty sure right now he just thought of her as one more mobbed-up informant.

  That’s not who she wanted to be. Never again. Not the mobbed-up part, anyway. She hated having that taint attached to her name.

  She wanted to do something good with what was left of her life. Like help take down the Villachis. Like right some of the wrongs they’d done. She could, too, with all this money. Now ther
e was a thought. She could do a lot of good with this kind of bankroll. Donate to charities. Help those in need.

  Maybe even start a scholarship for kids to go to Quantico. Wasn’t that where the FBI trainees went to school?

  She laughed. Mob money helping to make more FBI agents. Now that was rich. If she decided to use the money for charitable purposes, she’d talk to Rico about setting up an FBI scholarship once the Villachis were behind her.

  She went out to the garage, remembering just in time to turn off the alarm, and found a duffel bag big enough to hold the cash among Joe’s sports equipment. Surprisingly, five and a half million dollars wasn’t as bulky as you might think.

  She’d hold a million back. That was for the convent. The rest would go into the safe-deposit box until she needed it.

  Of course, getting that duffel bag out made her think about the one still in the trunk.

  But she wasn’t making any other moves until she talked to Rico. No calls to Big Tony. No messages. Nothing. She was not getting pulled into any more schemes with him. And there was definitely a chance of that. With Big Tony, you never knew what to expect.

  And saying no wasn’t really an option. So, better not to talk to him.

  She hesitated at the garage door, her gaze returning to the trunk of her Mercedes. Big Tony knew where she lived. And there was nothing stopping him from coming here whenever he wanted.

  Suddenly, she didn’t feel so safe in her home. She ground her teeth together. That was unacceptable. She was not going to be intimidated by him. If Big Tony showed up here, Donna would call Lucinda and let her know where her husband was.

  Let Big Tony deal with that.

  Donna lifted her chin, marched back into the house, and turned the alarm on.

  So what if Big Tony showed up here? Nothing said she had to let him in. Or even acknowledge his presence. She wouldn’t either. In fact, if he got ugly, she’d not only call his wife, she’d call the cops. She was a free woman. She owed him nothing. Least of all loyalty. He was a criminal.

  She went back to Joe’s office, more determined than ever to extricate herself from this mess. The sooner she could talk to Rico, the better.

  She bagged the money, grabbed the Taser and a pair of handcuffs just because, and locked up the secret room. She put the million for the convent into a boot box, which just about filled it, and put that in a shopping bag. That and the duffel went into the coat closet by the garage door for tomorrow morning.

  Having that done made her happy. Right now, however, she needed to eat. She didn’t feel weak, exactly, but for some reason, she was dying for a steak. There wasn’t any in the house, though. Some frozen ones, but she wasn’t waiting for them to defrost.

  Blue Bell’s Diner was open twenty-four hours, and she was pretty sure she could get a steak there. Maybe not the same quality as at Lorenzo’s Chophouse, but at this hour Lorenzo’s wasn’t an option. Reluctantly, she went upstairs to get dressed.

  It took digging into her skinny clothes to find a pair of jeans that didn’t hang off her. And the ones she found still weren’t snug. She checked herself out in the mirror. The last time she’d fit into these jeans, she’d had the flu for a week and had been living on sugar-free Jell-O and wonton soup broth from her favorite Chinese place.

  To the jeans, she added a slouchy sweater and flats. She scraped her hair into a ponytail and didn’t bother with makeup. She looked nothing like herself. She figured that was a good thing, even if the odds of running into someone she knew at Blue Bell’s at this time of night were slim. Also good.

  She drove carefully, well aware of the duffel bag in the trunk. If she got pulled over for anything, the name on her license would trigger a search of the vehicle. It had happened before.

  She made it to the diner without incident. Even at this hour, the parking lot at Blue Bell’s had a handful of cars in it, which surprised her. Maybe it was the pie. Blue Bell’s was known for great pie.

  She went in and took an end booth so she could see the whole restaurant and had her back to no one. None of the other patrons paid attention to her. She liked that.

  The waitress came over with a glass of water and a menu. Her name tag said Nell. “I’ll give you a minute, hon.” Her voice had a Jamaican lilt that made Donna smile.

  Donna liked her instantly. “No, that’s okay. I know what I want. What’s your biggest steak?”

  The waitress gave her a smile. “That’d be the porterhouse. Comes with two sides and a roll. Big meal for a little woman like you.”

  “I haven’t eaten in a while.” Donna handed the menu back to her. Little. Hah. She couldn’t remember the last time anyone had called her that. “The porterhouse sounds great. Rare. Can I get a baked potato as one of the sides?”

  “Sure thing. Loaded?”

  “Yes. And for the second one…” Donna realized she’d given the menu back too quickly.

  “Mac and cheese, green beans, coleslaw, french fries, corn casserole.”

  “Mac and cheese.” Donna suddenly felt the need to carbo-load.

  The woman’s demeanor changed ever so slightly into admiration. “You got it. Anything to drink?”

  “Water’s fine.”

  “All right.” The waitress took the menu and went back behind the counter to put the order in.

  Donna stared out the window into the night. Something about being here in this diner made her happy. It felt like an adventure, as sad as that sounded. Maybe because she’d never done anything like this before? Her life had been a prison before Joe had died. Now that she was free, it was still chaotic, but it was hers. Hopefully, her meeting with Rico would straighten a lot of it out.

  She pulled her phone from her purse and decided to send him a quick text. Just wanted to let you know I’m all right. Would like to talk tomorrow.

  She didn’t expect him to answer. It was late, and she imagined she was texting his work phone. He might not answer that unless he was in his office for some kind of FBI emergency.

  But an answer pinged back almost immediately. Good to hear from you. Was a little worried. What time tomorrow?

  The bank opened at eight. She figured an hour there, max, then fifteen minutes to get to him. As soon as she was done there, she’d go to her standing appointment with Dr. Goldberg, then finish the day with a visit to the convent to see Cammie. That way she wouldn’t be rushed while visiting her sister, and she could fill Cammie in on whatever Rico said. She tapped out her response. Nine fifteen okay?

  Great. See you then.

  She smiled. “It’s a date.” Would Rico notice her new figure? If she still had it, that was. Maybe she’d imagined it. She glanced down. Nope, she hadn’t imagined it.

  This meal might put an end to it, though.

  The waitress returned with a plate the size of a family serving platter and set it down in front of Donna. “There you go, hon. You want any steak sauce with that?”

  “No, I’m good.” The steak was enormous and smelled like everything that was right in the world. Who knew Blue Bell’s could turn out a porterhouse like this? The baked potato was dripping with butter, sour cream, cheese, bacon bits, and chives. Loaded really meant loaded. The mac and cheese had a crumb topping, and the yeast roll was the size of a softball. Donna’s stomach rumbled. She couldn’t remember when she’d eaten a meal like this. Probably because she never had.

  “Yell if you need something.”

  “Thank you.” Donna picked up her fork and knife and dug in. Juice oozed out of the meat as she cut into it, and her mouth watered.

  She was so hungry her gums started to ache. Okay, that had never happened before. Suddenly, sharp pain jolted through her upper jaw. She let out a little noise and pressed her hand to her mouth.

  “What the—” Her tongue collided with teeth that hadn’t been there before. Longer, sharper teeth.

  She kept her mouth closed while she ran her tongue over these two new canines. Discreetly, she turned on her phone’s camera and put it in selfie mode
so she could look at what was going on.

  With her head down, she parted her lips. “Mary and Joseph.”

  She had fangs. There was no other word for them. That wasn’t possible. Or normal. Or—

  “Here you go.”

  Donna clamped her mouth shut and looked up at Nell.

  She put a little dish on the table. “Forgot your butter for your roll.”

  “Thanks,” Donna mumbled. It came out a little lispy.

  “Practicing for Halloween?” Nell asked.

  Donna nodded. Sure, that was as good an excuse as any.

  “Don’t go trying to eat your steak with those things in, or you might choke,” Nell said. “I know the Heimlich maneuver, but I’d be afraid I’d snap you in half.”

  Donna nodded. “Right.”

  The waitress walked away, but Donna sat there, paralyzed. Why did she have fangs? What in the name of Mary was going on with her?

  She closed her eyes for a moment. Please go away. She took a few deep breaths, hoping to calm down whatever response had caused this.

  They didn’t seem to be budging. She sipped her water, wondering if something cold would make them shrink. It didn’t, and she dribbled a little down her chin.

  Her stomach rumbled again.

  Finally, she finished cutting a bite of steak and ate it. She chewed carefully. She didn’t want to stab her own lip with these crazy teeth.

  Little by little, she got the hang of it. About a third of a way through the meal, the fangs retracted as quickly as they’d shown up.

  She wasn’t sure why they’d disappeared, but she ate faster, trying to get through the rest of her food before they returned. If they returned. Which she hoped they didn’t.

  Somehow, she finished everything on her plate, the roll included, but what really surprised her was that she didn’t feel the need to unbutton her jeans. She wasn’t uncomfortably full, didn’t feel bloated or even remotely stuffed.

  Nell returned. “Well now, you did a good job. Don’t suppose you saved any room for pie?”

  Out of habit, Donna started to say no. Then she stopped herself. “What kind of pie do you have?”