“Who gets your vote?”
“One uses chopped steak, the other sliced. Beyond that I couldn’t tell the difference.”
“Perhaps a more discerning palate is required.”
“There’s an Italian restaurant called Luciano’s; I’ve already made reservations.”
“Luciano like the mobster?”
“Close enough.”
* * *
Luciano’s was located in an old brick building constructed long before Lucky made a name for himself in the New York rackets. There was an old-world vibe to it with waitstaff dressed in white shirts, black slacks, and red vests and photographs hanging on the walls of Italian celebrities like Frank Sinatra, Tony Bennett, Rocky Marciano, Tommy Lasorda, Al Martino, and Sergio Franchi, many of them signed. Plus, inexplicably, a painting of Theodore Roosevelt that greeted visitors as they entered. I asked the waitress about it, and she told me that Teddy had been a friend of the founder’s.
I had the stuffed calamari and baked lasagna, and as I ate it, I added a new name to my Best List under Italian food. When Heavenly finished her rigatoni carbonara, she waved the waitress over.
“I called ahead for a special order of ricotta cannoli with chocolate chips to go,” she said.
The waitress nodded and waited while Heavenly slipped an envelope out from under her sling; apparently it had become more useful to her than a purse. The waitress took the envelope and disappeared. A few minutes later she reappeared toting a white carry-out container. She set the container in front of Heavenly.
“The check has been taken care of,” she said.
“Thank you.”
“Thank you,” the waitress said before retreating again. Heavenly stood. She hugged the container to her ribs with her good arm.
“Leave a nice tip,” she told me.
I did.
I caught up with Heavenly at the door and opened it for her. We walked the narrow street to the Ford Focus. I opened her car door; Heavenly slid inside, the carry-out container on her lap. I circled the car and settled behind the steering wheel. Heavenly looked over her shoulder, saw that there was no movement on the street, and opened the container. The summer sun was still shining, so I had no trouble seeing the two handguns.
“This comes out of what I owe you for the hospital and the Queen Anne,” she said.
“Call it even.”
Heavenly handed one of the guns to me—a black nine-millimeter SIG Sauer with an extra eight-round magazine.
“You’re a SIG man, right?” she said.
I balanced it in my hand. I liked the weight, just shy of two pounds.
“Yes,” I said.
Heavenly picked up the second gun—a two-tone .40 Smith & Wesson. She ejected the fourteen-round mag, satisfied herself that it was fully loaded, slammed it back into the butt, and racked the slide. She slid the S&W into her sling and the extra mag into her bag.
“Think you have enough ammo there, sweetie?” I asked.
“If I get shot again, it won’t be because I’m not shooting back.”
“On that encouraging note…”
“We’re well-fed, heavily armed, and driving a car rented under a fictitious name. We should go clubbing.”
“Clubbing?”
“Music, dancing, women in tight dresses, men who haven’t shaved for three days, exotic drinks with sexually suggestive names—you must have done something similar when you were young. You were young once, weren’t you, McKenzie?”
“Not that I recall.”
“Tim Young doesn’t have an office like El Cid. That’s the plan, right? To talk to Doc Young? Only we’re not going to find him. He’s too paranoid. The best we can do is put the word out that we’re looking and let him find us.”
“Where do we start?”
“He has people. One in particular.”
Heavenly pulled her oversized smartphone from her bag, drew a diagram with index finger, and started typing with her thumbs—she hated it when people talked to their phones as much as I did. A map came up. She stared at it for a moment and pointed straight ahead.
“That way.”
* * *
Heavenly could have been an office wonk based on her attire—loose-fitting slacks and a simple white dress shirt beneath a striped charcoal vest, because it hurt to wear anything that she needed to pull over her head, what she wore on the plane. Yet she managed to turn heads anyway, this in a club where nearly everyone else was emulating the latest fashion magazines. I watched her do it from where I was leaning against the bar and sipping a tap beer; it was her idea that I enter first so I could cover her in case it all went sideways. It was still early in the evening, and there were plenty of tables to be had; the band hadn’t even begun its first set, so I had a nearly unobstructed view of the entrance. Apparently, many of the men and some of the women in the club did, too, because they all seemed to find her when Heavenly passed through the door. She wasn’t even wearing a sling to attract attention. Instead, she held her arm stiff at her side as she drifted to the bar, sitting several stools away from me. Meanwhile, I was dressed in my standard uniform of loafers, jeans, polo shirt, and sports jacket. No one noticed me at all.
The bartender appeared; he smiled brightly and set a coaster in front of her.
“What can I serve you?” he asked.
“Vodka gimlet.”
“Any particular brand of vodka?”
“Surprise me.”
“Right away.”
The bartender turned to prepare the drink. Heavenly glanced my way. I gave her a chin nod.
“What’s up?” I said.
I thought I saw the bartender grin when Heavenly dismissed me.
She spun on her stool and slowly surveyed the crowd as if she were searching for someone. I had the impression that a lot of men and more than a couple of women were hoping that her eyes steadied on them. Heads tilted; whispers were exchanged; wingmen were alerted. I knew it was only a matter of time before Heavenly would be approached. Probably just minutes.
The bartender returned and served the drink. Heavenly turned back to greet him.
“I poured our well vodka,” he said. “It’s just as good as the name brands, yet much less expensive.”
“That’s very kind of you.”
Heavenly pulled a twenty from her bag and set it on the bar. The bartender hesitated before he took it.
I wonder how many free drinks Heavenly scores, I asked myself.
Helluva lot more than you do, my inner voice answered.
I don’t know. In Nina’s club …
That doesn’t count.
The bartender returned with Heavenly’s change. She pushed a ten spot into the gutter. The bartender was visibly surprised by the size of the tip.
“All good deeds should be both acknowledged and rewarded,” Heavenly said. “We witness so few of them.”
“That’s a generous philosophy,” the bartender replied.
“I’m a generous woman.”
“Beautiful, too. Are you a model?”
“Of course not.”
“You’re pretty enough.”
“Do you really think so?”
“Oh, yes. You might be the most beautiful woman to ever walk into this club.”
“I should come here more often.”
“Is this your first time?”
“I came to meet someone, but he doesn’t seem to be around.”
“Who’s the lucky guy?”
“Marcus Camby.”
The bartender flinched at the sound of the name; he literally took a step backward. He was still smiling, but suddenly it seemed forced.
“Are you a friend of Mr. Camby’s?” he asked.
“Merely an acquaintance.”
“I haven’t seen him, and Monday night, it’s usually a little slow so I don’t know if I will.”
“Do me a favor—do you have a pen?”
The bartender found one. Heavenly took it and wrote on the coaster.
�
��If you see Marcus, please give this to him.”
The bartender took the coaster and stuffed it in his shirt pocket.
“If I see him,” he said.
Heavenly reached out and touched his hand.
“Don’t worry,” she said. “Nothing bad is going to happen. For the record, he’s not my boyfriend.”
I don’t know why that cheered him up, yet it did.
* * *
Heavenly took only a sip of the vodka gimlet before leaving the club. By the time I caught up with her she was seated inside the Ford Focus and carefully adjusting the passenger seat belt over her shoulder.
“I notice you removed your sling,” I said. “Is that a good idea?”
“You don’t want to show weakness to these people.”
I thought she was being awfully melodramatic, but what did I know? I was new in town.
“Where to next?” I asked.
Heavenly plotted a course to a club in a West Philadelphia neighborhood called Belmont Village, and I started the car. As I pulled away from the curb, I noticed the taillights flash on a red Chevy Tahoe parked up the street, signifying that someone had just put it into gear. I watched in the rearview after I passed it. The SUV gave me a healthy head start before it also pulled away from the curb. I looked for a license plate number. Unfortunately, Pennsylvania law requires that plates be mounted only on the backs of vehicles, unlike in Minnesota.
“Do you get that a lot?” I asked.
“What?”
“People watching you.”
“Depends on the circumstances. Take a right at the next corner.”
I did as Heavenly directed. The SUV stayed with us.
“If I’m just walking down the street, buying groceries, shopping at Target, people tend to leave me alone,” she said. “If it’s a place where they meet socially, clubs, restaurants, theaters, concert halls, even ballparks—that’s where I get the turning heads and the wistful gaze, I like to call it. Most people look and then look away. It’s the ones who stare that make me nervous. The ones who stare and glare like I committed some kind of crime, I always try to keep track of where they are at all times. Take a left and then the first right.”
I maneuvered the Focus around the two corners. The SUV kept going straight.
“That’s terrible,” I said.
“It’s hell being a babe.”
Heavenly laughed, but I noticed there wasn’t much mirth in it.
“How about what the bartender said, about how you should be a model?” I asked.
“That, too—since I was little. People tell pretty girls that they should be a model the way they tell tall boys they should play basketball.”
“We lost the Chevy Tahoe. Either that or the driver figured we made him and decided to peel off.”
“So you are paying attention.”
“Enough to know that no one else has picked up the tail. If we were being followed, it was by a single vehicle.”
Heavenly reset our course.
“Nina must get it, too,” she said. “The admiring glance as she walks by. The flirting.”
“Not like you do.”
* * *
We hit three more clubs without incident, following the same script each time. No one tailed us when we left.
The fifth club was located in North Philadelphia. The night was no longer young, and the joint was both crowded and loud; the band played from an elevated stage at a volume that suggested it was afraid the kids in Jersey might not hear them. Colorful lights flashed for no particular reason according to no discernible pattern.
It took a few minutes before I found a spot where I could lean against the bar and a few more before I could shout my order to the bartender. I didn’t see Heavenly enter the club; didn’t know she was there until she sidled up to a small, chest-high table that should have been surrounded by chairs yet wasn’t—the groups gathered at nearby tables had captured them. She set her bag on top of the table; I presumed her S&W was tucked inside. A waitress approached; Heavenly spoke into her ear, and the waitress moved away. By then the bartender had set a tap beer in front of me.
Heavenly remained standing. It was clear to me that she was favoring her left arm, yet I couldn’t say if anyone else noticed. The waitress reappeared and set both a napkin and a drink in the center of the table. Heavenly managed to pull a wallet from the bag, shake out a bill, and set it on the waitress’s tray using just her right hand. The waitress went to serve other customers. Heavenly sipped her beverage and gazed toward the band. The floor in front of the stage was jammed with dancers. There was so little room to maneuver, most of them looked as if they were jogging in place.
A man came up behind Heavenly. He was young and blessed with the kind of good looks God gives to the extras in beer commercials. He rested his hand on Heavenly’s left shoulder and squeezed as if he knew exactly how to hurt her. She spun away from him. He smiled. He said something. He smiled some more. Heavenly’s response was to glare at him and shake her head. He gestured at her drink. She shook her head again. The smile left his face, and he tilted his head as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He motioned toward a table where two guys were sitting, and I knew what had happened—he bet his pals that he could score a cell phone number or better from Heavenly and was now embarrassed by his failure.
Heavenly picked up her drink and returned her attention to the band. The young man took hold of Heavenly’s left wrist and gave it a violent tug. Heavenly dropped her drink; the glass bounced off the table and shattered on the floor. From the expression on her face, I knew that the pain from her fractured collarbone was acute. She tried to twist her wrist from the young man’s grasp, yet that caused even greater hurt.
I would have intervened, except a second young man appeared, this one bigger than the first. He grabbed a fistful of hair and yanked backward. The first young man grimaced even as he arched his back and flailed his arms. He tried to turn, tried to free himself. The second young man slapped him with the back of his hand, slapped him twice. He pulled his hair back even farther and gripped his throat. The eyes of the first young man bulged as the second young man leaned in and spoke harshly into his ear. The first young man nodded. The second young man released him and stepped back, fully prepared to deal with any retaliation. The first young man pushed his way past the small crowd that had gathered; he refused to look at Heavenly or the second young man. I keep calling them young men as if I were old and they were children, which wasn’t true, but you get my drift.
The second young man turned toward Heavenly. She was brushing at the alcohol that had spilled on her shirt and vest with a napkin. He looked as if he wanted to help with his empty hand, yet thought better of it. A waitress appeared to wipe the table, and another swept up the remains of the shattered glass. It took only a few seconds. The young man smiled. Heavenly smiled back. He asked a question. She answered it. He turned to leave. She set her good hand on his wrist and said something more. He nodded and left.
I was thinking about moving to Heavenly’s side. Possibly she read my mind, because she glanced my way while pretending not to and shook her head just enough to warn me away. I remained at the bar. A few moments later, the young man returned with a replacement for Heavenly’s drink. She made an effort to pay, but he wouldn’t hear of it.
They leaned toward each other, their foreheads nearly touching. I had studied body language when I was in the police academy, and I could tell they were both relaxed, yet I knew nothing about reading lips, so I had no idea what they were talking about. I only know I had time for a second tap beer before they quit.
The band was just closing out its set when they separated. The young man pulled a smartphone from his pocket. He inputted a number as Heavenly recited it to him, and brought the phone to his ear. He was looking directly at Heavenly as he spoke into his phone. They were both smiling; there seemed to be a lot of that going on between them. Yet what surprised me most was when he gave Heavenly a gentle hug and kissed
her cheek as if he were wishing his lips were touching something else. Heavenly patted his shoulder, took up her bag, and moved toward the exit. The young man watched her go.
* * *
By the time I reached the Ford Focus, Heavenly was already inside. She was adjusting her sling; the dome light let me see the pain it caused her.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
“Do I look okay?”
I didn’t reply.
“Nothing, McKenzie? You’re not going to tell me I should be modeling lingerie for Victoria’s Secret?”
“Is that what your friend in the club said?”
“The one who grabbed my shoulder, adding insult to injury. McKenzie?” Heavenly brought her hand to her wound. “That really hurt. It still hurts. I wonder if he pushed the bones out of alignment.”
“I would have come to your assistance except the second guy beat me to it.”
“That was Marcus Camby.”
I started the car and pulled away from the curb.
“Marcus is Doc Young’s right-hand man,” Heavenly said. “I met him when I was going after the stolen Gibson. He said the doctor would be happy to chat with us. We’ll arrange a meeting tomorrow.”
“Sounds promising.”
“We’ll see.”
“Where to now?”
“Back to the B&B.”
“How do I get there?”
Heavenly gave me directions. They were easy to follow. So easy that the red Chevy Tahoe had no trouble keeping up with us.
“Don’t look now,” I said.
Heavenly was watching through the passenger side mirror.
“I see him,” she said.
She reached into her bag and found the cheap flip phone that the Voice had given her. She found the last number it had captured and called it. Someone answered.
“Dammit, Marcus,” Heavenly said. “I thought we had an understanding.”
I couldn’t hear what he said in reply.
“We’re being followed … Never mind who we are. You promised to lay off until we spoke with the doctor … He’s not?” Heavenly continued watching the SUV through the side mirror. “Are you sure? Maybe he’s one of your guys trying to score extra points … Red Chevrolet Tahoe … Promise me you’re not lying, because—hang on.”
Stealing the Countess Page 23
