“Mac knows everyone. He’s one of those people who remembers faces and names real good. He keeps track of what he calls the ‘criminal element’ out there.”
Artie snorted. “Criminal element? Fancy words.”
“Mac’s well-read.”
“You sure seem to admire Mac,” Artie commented. He took a sip of his ginger ale, and when he looked at Maria, she was staring at him with those brown eyes, a speculative look causing little frown lines to crease her forehead. “How about telling me what really happened yesterday?”
She looked away from him and stared at the far wall as she talked. “I ran away from Roberto. He’s so mean to me, Artie.” Her voice was flat, so he didn’t know whether to believe her or not. “Jetso found me and dragged me back.” She sniffed.
“Where did he find you?”
“Here.”
“You mean, here, at this hotel?” Artie stood up and began pacing. “Are you crazy? Why did you come here again?”
“Well, he’d never figure I’d come here again, would he?”
“Maybe not,” Artie said, sitting down and putting his head in his hands. “But one will get you ten the manager will let him know.”
“Not after I pay him what I do,” Maria said, her tone sharp.
Artie looked up at her. “You think that makes any difference? It’s Lopresti he has to be afraid of, not you.”
He stood up again and grabbed her hand. “Come on. We need to get out of here.”
The sound of a key scraping in the lock made them both jump. They looked at each other, then around the room. There was no way out.
The door flew open, and two men rushed in. Behind them stood Roberto Lopresti. He looked mad as hell, his jutting jaw pushed out farther than usual, deep frown lines creasing his forehead. Totally bald, stout, and short, Rob Lopresti still exuded power and a certain machismo. Artie felt like putting his head in his hands, but that would feel awkward while standing. Instead he stood, staring at the two goons and their boss. The palookas were not the same as the ones with Jetso earlier.
The one nearest Artie did a quick body search. “Hey, hey!” Artie protested as he tried to wiggle away from the guy.
“He’s not carrying, boss,” the guy said, keeping a big paw around Artie’s upper arm.
Lopresti nodded and turned his attention to his wife. “This has gotta stop, Maria,” he said softly.
Maria took a step backwards. “Don’t hit me, Roberto. Please don’t hit me.”
Lopresti sighed. “You know I’ve never hit you, Maria. Now, let’s get out of here.”
The goon nearest Maria reached for her. She cringed. Huge tears fell from her eyes, and Artie grabbed her arm. “Leave her alone,” he snarled.
“Or what?” Lopresti asked, his tone mild. “Whatcha gonna do to us, huh, Artie?”
Artie looked from one man to the other. What could he do? His head felt suddenly very heavy, and he bowed it.
“You get one warning, Artie,” Lopresti said. “Stay out of my business.”
When Artie didn’t lift his head or respond, Lopresti said, “You hear? Answer me!”
Artie looked up and nodded. The two goons pulled Maria by her arms out of the room, Lopresti following. Artie closed the door and sank to the couch, at last able to put his head in his hands. Her sobs echoed for a long time in Artie’s ears.
About fifteen minutes later, he went to the refrigerator and emptied all the stuff into his bag and left the hotel by a back door, the bottles and cans clinking inside as he walked.
He took a bus back to his apartment and found Josie dusting. It always amazed him when he caught her doing housework. She’s doing that for me, he thought. Well, maybe for herself, too. Josie liked things nice.
She took one look at him and abandoned her dusting. “What happened?”
He sat down on the couch, pulling her down to sit next to him and told her.
Josie was shaking her head before he even finished. “You gotta stay away from all that, Artie. That Maria is lying, you know. I’m not sure about what, but she’s lying.”
“How do you know?” Artie asked. “You’ve never even met her.”
“Us women know these things about other women. There’s a complicated situation there. You stay out of it!”
“I’m trying, Josie, but people have been pulling me here and there and everywhere.”
“You gotta stop letting them do that, Artie.”
“Letting them? Letting them?” Artie stood up and began to pace. “What am I supposed to do, Josie?”
“Stay outa sight for awhile.” She stood up and took his hand, led him to the couch. “Stay here with me,” she whispered in his ear.
Without even putting his head in his hands, Artie decided Josie had a good idea.
Artie didn’t venture out of the apartment for a week. No one called or pounded on the door, so he figured it was all over with Maria. But he couldn’t help thinking about her a lot. Wondering if she was okay.
Finally he couldn’t stand it any more, and he left the apartment to case a jewelry store way uptown. Looked good, and he decided to hit it that evening. He got a bite to eat at a coffee shop, called Josie and left a message that he’d be working late, and went to a movie—not The Godfather. Afterwards, he changed into his black clothing in the men’s room.
By midnight Artie had opened the back door and was scooping up jewels left and right when his cell phone rang. He almost didn’t answer it. Somehow, it didn’t seem right while burglarizing a place. It quit after four rings, but immediately started up again.
“Yeah, whatdayawant?” he asked as he dropped a pearl necklace into his bag.
“Artie, you gotta help me,” a voice whispered.
“Who is this?” Artie asked, although he thought he knew.
“Maria.”
He groaned. “How’d you get my number? I’m busy!”
“Please, Artie. Come by the alley and pick me up. Pretty please?”
He imagined those eyes pleading with him. He imagined it was Josie. How could he refuse? He had to refuse! Lopresti would kill him. He groaned again, the jewels in front of him forgotten.
A scream came over the line, and then it went dead. “Hello? Hello?” Artie shouted into the phone. Then he realized where he was and what he was doing. Was he crazy? The cops would be here any minute at this rate. He gathered up his stuff and left the way he’d come, running to the bus stop. He always used the buses. Figured the cops wouldn’t think a burglar would.
He arrived at the alley within fifteen minutes, wishing he didn’t have his bag. But he had no place to drop it quickly. The alley looked deserted. Now what? He could neither go knocking on one of the doors nor go busting in.
Well, he was a burglar, wasn’t he? He could pick the lock and get inside, take it from there.
What are you doing, he kept asking himself as he worked at the lock. It was too easy. Lopresti must not worry much about being burglarized. He crept inside and saw he’d entered a kitchen, all gleaming stainless steel and copper. Not a soul in sight—probably all in bed. He tiptoed to the door and peeked out. Dining room, of course. Huge—looked as if twenty people could sit down to eat. Sweat began to slide down his back as he made his way across the dining room and found himself in an enormous foyer. Red-carpeted stairs rose majestically upwards onto a large landing. Not even the sound of a ticking clock disturbed the silence.
Gripping his bag tighter, he inched his way up the stairs, pausing every few steps to listen. The house was as quiet as a cemetery, not a comforting thought. At the landing, he took a deep breath. Right or left?
A door down the hall opened suddenly, and Artie’s heart did a jig in his chest. Lopresti stood staring at him, a look of awe slowly spreading across his face.
“Artie? What are you doing here? And how did you get in?”
Lopresti pulled his green silk robe tightly across his paunch and tied the belt.
Artie’s brain screamed at him to run. His feet seemed
to itch, and his body almost turned around.
“I came to see your wife,” Artie said, his sweaty grip on the bag loosening. He grasped it tighter so it wouldn’t fall to the floor.
“Maria?” Lopreski asked. Then he shouted, “Maria!” He didn’t at all look like a man who beat his wife and held her captive.
The two bodyguards who had been with Lopresti at the Waldorf came running down the hall. They were fully clothed.
“What’s goin’ on, boss?” one asked while the other glared at Artie.
Seeing the three of them together again reminded Artie of their first encounter. Lopresti’s words: “You get one warning, Artie. Stay out of my business.” And his reaction when Maria accused him of hitting her.
“She played me for a sucker, just as Josie said,” Artie muttered.
Lopresti must have had good hearing. “Josie, your wife? Always thought she was an astute female.”
Astute? She was downright brilliant.
“What’s Josie say about Maria?” Lopresti asked.
“Said she was a liar,” Artie replied, then held his breath as he realized the crime boss might not like having his wife called a liar.
Maria came staggering out of the bedroom, her hair a mess, one of her low-cut nightgown’s straps hanging off her shoulder. The bruise on her face had faded to a dull yellow, but Artie noticed new ones on her ankles and wrists.
“Artie!” she yelled. She ran to him and threw her arms around his neck, making him drop his bag.
Artie disentangled her, thrusting her towards her husband.
“You lied to me, and to Lop, um, Mr. Lopreski, all along,” Artie said. “He never hit you. You weren’t just running away from your husband. You were running to Jetso.”
“No, no,” Maria shouted, flinging herself at Lopreski now.
He held her at arm’s length. “Go on, Artie.”
Artie focused his attention onto the crime boss. “She suckered me in from the beginning, hoping I’d get mad enough to kill you, Mr. Lopreski. First she made sure I saw her as Jetso dragged her down the street. Then Jetso pretended to be working for you when he beat me up as a warning. A beating that was way too mild. But when you showed up at the Waldorf, you said you were giving me one warning. And tonight I got a phone call that ended in a scream.”
Marie struggled in Lopresti’s arms. When he wouldn’t let go, she screamed, long and loud. Artie saw the bodyguards cringe, and he wanted to put his hands over his ears.
Lopreski shook her. “Stop it. Stop it right now, or I’ll give you to Mutt.” One of the bodyguards took a step forward. Must be Mutt, Artie thought.
The scream died in Maria’s throat as she stared at the huge, scar-faced man. He had one ear missing, and hands as big as hams. Maria huddled into Lopreski’s arms, further proof to Artie that her husband had never hit her.
“So, that’s why you left the bedroom awhile ago. Go on, Artie.”
“Um, she knew you would never take me seriously as a threat. And she knew how lax you are about security. Why no alarm?”
“I have one all right. It’s hidden. Must have been turned off tonight. Now I wonder why? No, I know why!” He shook Maria again. “Maria!”
She glared at Artie. “He’s wrong, Roberto. I was trying to get him to protect me from Jetso!”
“Cut the crap, Maria,” Lopresti growled. “Explain yourself.”
Maria’s eyes flashed fire, but then she slumped, and Lopresti had to tighten his hold on her so she wouldn’t fall.
“You treat me like one of your possessions, Roberto,” she whispered. “You order me around like a servant. I got tired of it. Jetso treats me like a woman. A person.”
“By beating you?” Artie said. He couldn’t help it; he felt shocked. Why would a beautiful woman like Maria put up with that?
Maria’s fiery eyes turned to Artie. “He cares for me,” she said, her voice suddenly stronger. “He gets angry when I don’t do as he wants. This one,” she pointed at Lopresti, “he does nothing. He just says, ‘Now, Maria,’ when I displease him.”
“Now, Maria,” Lopresti said, then clamped his mouth shut.
“You set me up,” Artie said, looking into those beautiful brown eyes. And at that moment he saw their emptiness. Their hopelessness. Not like Josie’s, after all.
“Mr. Lopresti,” he said, “with all due respect, I’d give her a pile of money and let her go. She’s not worth the trouble. Maria, I don’t know what you expected of me. I don’t even carry a gun. Your husband knows that.”
Maria’s lips turned up in a sneer. “You’re not even man enough to carry a gun?”
“He’s more man than your Jetso,” Lopresti said. “He figured out what you were up to, and he doesn’t beat his wife.”
Brown eyes look at both of them with scorn.
Lopresti let go of her. “Take her to the Waldorf,” he said to Mutt. “I never want to see her again. Artie, thank you. I’m in your debt.”
They shook hands, and Artie picked up his bag and turned to leave.
One last look at those eyes. A tear—regret, real sorrow?—slid down Maria’s cheek. Artie left them then, thinking of Josie at home, waiting for him, brown eyes full of love.
THE END
Artie and the Brown-Eyed Woman (The Artie Crimes Book 4) Page 2
