“Take it up with the baby.”
Then I heard it. It pierced the winter air, drawing our attention: a shrill female scream coming from Sal’s house. Although I’d never heard Tangi scream before, or even moan for that matter, I knew it was her.
“If I were still a cop,” Jack said, “that would be probable cause for breaking the door down.”
“It’s too dangerous,” I said.
Jack made a face. “Pregnant or not, I can take care of myself, McGlade.”
“I meant too dangerous for me.” I turned and started walking back to my car. “When you rescue Tangi, tell her I won’t make the next doctor’s visit because I’ve left the country. Forever.”
Another scream, this one even louder.
Despite every fiber of my being telling me to keep going, my feet faltered. Damn. I obviously needed new shoes.
“So, you coming?” Jack called.
I shut my eyes. All my problems would be solved. All I had to do was be myself. Take a few more steps. Not look back.
I looked back.
“Come on.” Jack held her .38 in both hands and started waddling for the rear of the wrought iron fence surrounding Dovolanni’s house.
It didn’t take half as much time as I’d hoped for me to catch up. “The gate’s locked. I guess we’re out of luck. Well, we tried our best.”
“It’s okay. I’ve got a key.” Jack leveled the barrel of her .38 on the lock and fired.
The report cracked through the neighborhood, bouncing off concrete and pavement, echoing down alleys, and making my ears feel like someone had stuck screwdrivers in them.
Jack nodded at the mangled padlock. “It’s open now.” She tugged the gate open and held her revolver in both hands, having to bend her elbows because her belly got in the way.
“What about Phin?” I said. “We should wait for him.”
“No time.”
Unholstering my .44, I followed her into Sal’s backyard, pausing to admire a topiary in the shape of a woman’s ass. Those wise guys had style.
The house’s back door flew open and a guy wider than Tony filled the entrance, a shotgun in his mitts. I think I recognized him as one of the nine. Or nine of the eighteen. Or whatever.
Jack glanced back at me, already in motion. “Go find Tangi.” She waddled up beside shotgun dude in a blur of pregnant speed, popping him in the nose with the butt of her gun, yanking his weapon away from him, and then punching him, full force, in the crotch.
I winced. Hell hath no fury like a preggo denied Zingers.
She stepped over his hulking form and led the way into the house. I followed at a safe distance.
“Really feeling the hormones lately, huh Sis?”
“If I popped right now, I’d cover the entire Gold Coast with estrogen.”
“Nice. You should put that in a greeting card.”
We moved through the kitchen. When we’d reached a hallway leading to the house’s front rooms and had just passed the solemn portrait of Sal’s macho wife, I heard a feminine whimper coming from Sal’s man cave.
Something happened to me then. I no longer wanted to get the hell out of there. Just the opposite, in fact.
I certainly didn’t love Tangi. I didn’t even like her. But I couldn’t let anyone hurt the mother of my son.
My son.
I’d heard endless stories from parents about all the cute shit their stupid kids did, and I always rolled my eyes and thanked the universe that I would never be forced to endure any of that myself.
But all of a sudden, I didn’t feel that way anymore. I wanted to endure it. I wanted to watch Harry Jr. being born, and to be the first person he saw when he opened his eyes. I wanted to watch him learn to crawl. I wanted to hear his first words. I wanted to help him grow to become a better man that I’d ever be. I wanted to someday sit down with him, raise my whiskey glass to his and say, “You know what, kid? I’m proud of you. I’m so damn proud of you. And happy fourteenth birthday.”
Clutching my Magnum tight in my fist, I kicked Sal’s door in, ready to shoot, ready to kill anything or anyone who dared to hurt Tangi WhateverHerLastNameWas and Harry McGlade Jr.
I burst in just as Tangi screamed again. Screamed long and loud as Sal knelt before her, showing me his naked, flabby ass, her leg up over his shoulder, his mouth on her…
“Aw… God.”
“Harry?” Tangi’s eyes focused on mine, coming back from the brink of ecstasy. “What the fuck are you doing?”
Sal, face glistening, grinned at me like the old idiot he was. “Ha!” he said. “She’s all woman! No dick here!”
I was disgusted, repulsed, and only a teeny bit aroused.
Jack put her hand on my shoulder. “This is what we were saving her from? Orgasms?”
“Women can have orgasms?” I said.
Tony and five or six other thugs converged on us, but Sal ordered them to stand down.
“Here’s the deal, Mr. McGlade,” Sal said, wiping off his chin. “I see why you tried to protect Tangi. She’s pregnant with your baby. I understand. That was a noble thing to do. But I love her. And while I’ll allow you visitation rights with your son when he’s born, Tangi is going to marry me, and they’re going to live here.”
“What about Mrs. Dovolanni?” I asked.
“My lovely wife. The poor woman choked on a chicken sandwich last month, God rest her soul.”
All the wise guys made the sign of the cross, Sal included.
“You’re an asshole,” Jack told me. “This was a complete waste of my time, and I’m fucking starving.”
She turned and left. I shrugged. “Okay. So we’re… uh… even, I guess?” I said to Sal.
“Far from it. You owe me the five thousand dollars I told you to give to Tangi.”
Tangi’s face went from flushed to pissed in a nanosecond. “What? Sal, baby, you gave this idiot five grand?”
“Well, I’ll leave you two lovebirds alone,” I said, backing out of there. “Tangi, gimme a call when you’re having your next appointment thingy with Dr. Patel.”
“You son of a bitch! Why didn’t you give me that money?”
“Gotta run. Stuff to do.”
We got out of there, fast, and the only thing that saved me from Jack’s wrath was Phin showing up with an entire 7-11’s worth of junk food. It’s hard to bitch with a full mouth.
A few months later, my son was born.
And when I held his pink, squirming body in my arms, for the third time in my life I had nothing flippant to say.
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Copyright © 2010 by Joe Konrath & Ann Voss Peterson
Cover and art copyright © 2010 by Carl Graves
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from the authors.
Edition: April 2011
Jack Kilborn & Ann Voss Peterson & J. A. Konrath Page 29
