by Lynn, JB
Zeke had suggested that it wasn’t a good idea for me to go home rocking blue skin. He thought there would be too many questions to answer.
He wasn’t wrong.
After stopping at a grocery store, he’d brought me to this motel, handed me a five-pound box of baking soda, and told me to “wash that blue right out of your hair”.
It turns out that it takes a long time to scrub dye off of skin, and I was pretty sure I’d missed some spots I couldn’t see, but finally, I emerged from the bathroom, with one towel wrapped around my body and another turbaned on my hair. “I’m shriveled,” I complained.
“You look pretty good to me,” Zeke said from where he was sprawled out on one of the beds, watching the news. He muted the TV. “I was sitting here hoping you’d invite me in to scrub your back.”
I glanced at him sharply, wondering if he was flirting.
He winked at me then tapped his ear, and I realized he was letting me know the place was probably bugged. I nodded my understanding.
“Do you want me to take you home or to the hospital?” he asked.
“I need to get my car.”
“That’ll be taken care of. So…home? Hospital?”
“Hospital,” I replied. “I don’t feel up to dealing with the family yet.”
He chuckled.
“They’re going to ask about Mia,” I said. “What should I tell them?”
“No, they won’t.”
“She came to the house. She called,” I told him.
He unmuted the TV just as a newscaster reported that a private plane carrying Leo “The Lion” Klugman and his wife, Mia, had crashed into the Atlantic Ocean not long after takeoff.
“They’ll say it’s sad, but they won’t ask questions,” Zeke said.
I pulled the towel off my head and twisted it nervously. “What really happened to Mia?”
He shrugged. “That’s above my paygrade.” He got to his feet and walked toward me. “You’ve had a hard few days, Maggie. Just focus on your family now.”
I looked up at him, keenly aware I was wearing only a towel.
“But I need you to promise me something,” he said with intensity.
I nodded.
“The next time you need help, you’ll ask for it.”
I swallowed hard and nodded again.
“I got you some fresh clothes,” he said, pointing to a plastic bag on the bed he hadn’t been stretched out on. “Get dressed and I’ll take you to see your dad.”
--#--
Beggars can’t be choosers, and I know there couldn’t have been many options at the supermarket, but I felt extremely self-conscious as I shuffled through the hospital, arms crossed over my chest, wearing only an oversized “Jersey Girls Do It With Attitude” t-shirt as a mini-dress, pantyhose, and flip flops.
Since I had no bra, God was curled around the top of my ear, complaining the whole time about the rough ride and pointing out that he’d seen better dressed homeless women. I wished Piss was with us, to cut him off, but she’d been more than happy to take up Zeke’s offer to get her home safe.
Gino’s wide grin when he saw me, as he stood outside my dad’s room, didn’t make me feel any better.
He stepped aside and waved me in without saying a word, but I felt his eyes following me. Not that I could blame him. Pretty much everyone who’d seen me in my tacky get-up had stared.
“Hi, Dad,” I called softly as I entered the room. He’d been staring at the ceiling, but he smiled as he turned toward me.
Relief flooded through me when I saw he looked a lot more like his old self. A mischievous vitality shimmered in his eyes.
“There’s my…” He paused as he took in my ensemble. “What happened?”
I shook my head. There was no reason to tell him about Mia and the attempt to frame me for murder. “How are you feeling?”
One of the few good things about being the daughter of a professional criminal was that he knew not to ask too many questions. He just nodded. “Feeling better than I was, but worse than I soon will be.”
I smiled.
“We didn’t finish our conversation before. Close the door.”
“We don’t have to,” I quickly assured him. I felt guilty enough that he’d passed out while answering my questions.
“I want to,” he assured me. “Now, be a good girl and close the door.”
I hesitated.
I heard the door click closed behind me, solving my dilemma.
“You and he are a thing?” Dad asked, patting a spot on the bed beside him.
I knew he meant Gino. “Not really.”
He raised his brows. “Not really? Either you are or you aren’t.”
“It’s not that simple.” I sat on the mattress next to him.
He nodded. He understood complicated relationships. “I told Griswald.”
I straightened, alarmed. “Told him what?”
“Where to find it.”
“Find what?”
“The evidence that would exonerate his father,” Dad whispered. “He’s wanted it for a long time and he’s willing to color outside the lines to get it. He’s not as perfectly squeaky clean as you think.”
I blinked, remembering what Delveccio had said about Griswald bending rules.
Before he could tell me more, the door swung open, a nurse bustled in, and I was kicked out.
“Come back tomorrow after he’s rested,” she said, practically shooing me from the room.
“But—” I tried to protest.
“Out!” she ordered.
I stepped into the hallway, reeling. What did Griswald’s father do that needed exoneration? And what had Dad meant that he wasn’t squeaky clean?
32
The moment I stepped back into the hall, Gino swung his jacket over my shoulders as he said, “I’ve got something for you.”
“Thanks,” I murmured, grateful for the extra cover.
“Come with me.” He wrapped an arm around my shoulders and led me through the hospital. “Are you okay?” he asked as we walked.
“Yeah.”
He chuckled. “I like a woman who doesn’t talk much.”
I glanced up at him, not amused.
He winked and kissed the tip of my nose. “You’re cute when you’re doing the strong, silent thing.”
I couldn’t help but respond to his teasing by grinning.
“Oh, look,” he goaded. “She smiled and her face didn’t crack.”
I shoved at him gently, but not so hard as to actually push him away. It felt pretty good to be in the protection of his arms.
“Wait ‘til you see what I’ve got for you,” he tempted. “Then, you’ll really be happy.”
He led me outside and through the parking lot, straight to his car. “Close your eyes,” he said as we approached the vehicle.
I did as he asked and immediately stumbled.
“I’m not going to let anything happen to you,” he promised, lowering his arm from my shoulders to my waist. “Close your eyes.”
I did it again, trusting him to keep me upright.
I heard the click of a car lock and a door open.
“Maggie!”
My eyes popped open as DeeDee stood on her hind legs, front paws on my shoulders, to lick my face.
“Maggie! Maggie! Maggie!”
Gino kept me steady while the dog gave me her enthusiastic greeting.
“You’re going to smother her, you clumsy ox,” God bellowed from behind my ear.
“God!” The dog tried to lick him, too.
The lizard screamed and fell backwards.
“Gotchya,” Gino said with satisfaction.
“Down,” I ordered the Doberman, worried that God had hurt his sensitive skin in the fall to the pavement.
She got off of me and Gino held his hand in front of my face.
God peered at me from his palm. “I also like this one because he has excellent reflexes.”
“You caught him!” I cried. Without t
hinking, I kissed Gino’s cheek.
“I save your lizard, your dog, and Mulligan, and all I get is a kiss on the cheek?” Gino pouted.
Remembering Zeke saying they hadn’t saved Patrick, I realized it must have been Gino who had. “Thank you.”
Gino stared at me for a long moment and I watched the sense of fun drain from his face. “Glad to help,” he said politely. “Would have been easier if you’d called, but hey, I’m here to serve. I’ll drive you.”
He left me standing there while he walked around to the driver’s side.
I swayed, feeling bereft and alone.
He was already starting the car and had put God on the dashboard by the time I ushered DeeDee into the back seat and sat down beside him. I flashed too much leg in the process, but he didn’t notice since he was staring straight ahead, jaw clenched.
“Do you want me to take you to your place or Mulligan’s?” he asked in an overly calm tone.
“Mad Gino is?” DeeDee panted curiously.
“Jealous,” God corrected.
“I’d rather not go home looking like this,” I began.
“Mulligans’s place it is.” He pulled out of the parking spot.
“No!” I cried out.
He slammed on the brakes. Since we were barely moving, it didn’t have much effect. “What are you yelling for?” he shouted without looking at me.
“Fighting no,” DeeDee whined softly.
I fought not to raise my voice. “I didn’t say I wanted to go to Patrick’s.”
Gino turned to face me. “Then, what do you want, Maggie?”
I shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know. I honestly don’t know.”
“I understood you being hung up on Mr. All-America, Angel. He’s got everything going for him. He’s a nice, good-looking guy with a career, who likes children, pets, and Hallmark Christmas movies. He’s perfect,” Gino said with exasperation. “But I don’t get what you see in Mulligan.”
We stared at each other for a long moment.
“I was saying I didn’t know what I wanted to do about my clothes,” I admitted.
Gino blinked. “What?”
“I said I didn’t want to go home looking like this.” I waved at my grocery store ensemble. “I didn’t say I wanted to go to his place.”
He stared.
I stared.
Finally, he shook his head and looked away. “Okay, I get it. You need me to find you some clothes. Let me think.” He drummed on the steering wheel. “You and your dad are pretty spoiled, you know,” he complained. “Griswald shows up every time your pop’s about to get shot. I’m running around all over town keeping your butt out of trouble.”
A chill ran down my spine and I shivered.
“What did you say?” I gasped.
“I said I keep your butt out of trouble,” Gino raged. “Before I was on babysitting duty with you, I—”
“Before that,” I interrupted. “What did you say before that?”
“That Griswald shows up whenever your father’s in trouble,” Gino repeated in a subdued tone, having picked up on my fear, but not on the reason behind it.
“Dad says he doesn’t know who’d want to kill him,” I muttered as the pieces began to fall into place. “At the cemetery, Griswald wasn’t sure which of them was the target. He had me lie about why we were there.”
“They shot up Archie’s hospital room,” Gino reminded me.
“When Griswald was visiting,” I pointed out. “That’s when everyone decided my dad was the target, but no one ever admitted to being after him.”
“He didn’t shoot the bed,” Gino said. “The gunman, he didn’t shoot at the bed. He shot at us. He was trying to take out the other people in the room.”
“They’re after Griswald,” I gasped.
“Where is he?” Gino demanded. “At his place?”
I shook my head. “They moved back to the compound. My entire family is in danger.”
33
The car was moving before I could even ask Gino to drive.
“Save me!” God screamed as he slid across the dashboard.
I scooped him up and cupped him in my palm.
The car tires squealed as we sped out of the parking lot.
“Do you have Griswald’s number?” I asked. “You’ve got to call and warn him.”
“Carrying around a U.S. Marshal’s number is the kind of thing that gets people in my line of work killed,” he said, gunning the engine. “Don’t you have it?”
“My phone died,” I told him.
“So plug it in.”
“It’s waterlogged. Dead.”
Muttering beneath his breath, Gino dialed another number. “Griswald’s the target. He’s at the farm. Can you get there?” A moment later, he disconnected the call.
“I could call the police,” I suggested.
Gino concentrated on the traffic as he weaved through it at a dangerous speed. “They’ll think it’s a prank call. Besides, they’d roll up, sirens blaring, and make the situation worse.”
Images of my entire family—both human and not—gunned down in their own home, flashed in my mind, and I shook my head to clear it. Tamping down my panic, I said, “I’ve got to do something.”
“We are doing it.” He cut across three lanes of traffic, causing horns to blare and tires to skid.
“Take the gun out of the glove box,” Gino ordered.
I put God on my shoulder so that I could remove the weapon with both hands.
“There’s no safety, so don’t go near the trigger,” Gino warned.
I held the gun in my lap as we sped the wrong way down a one-way street.
“Maybe you’re going to die, after all,” God shouted.
“Not helpful,” I muttered.
“What?” Gino asked, spinning the wheel so tightly that two tires lifted off the ground.
I swallowed a scream of terror. I appreciated that he was rushing to save my family, but I was pretty sure I was going to die on the way.
About a quarter mile from the house, he turned off the headlights. We traveled the rest of the way in the dark. He parked above the driveway.
“I don’t suppose you’d listen if I asked you to stay here,” he said.
“No.” I reached for the door handle, the heft of the gun heavy in my other hand.
“At least, be careful,” he pleaded.
“You too,” I muttered. I was out of the car and had released the dog before he’d emerged.
“Maggie,” Mike cawed from above. “There’s company.”
“Gino, stop,” I called softly. I ran around the car and grabbed his hand.
He looked at me. “What?”
“I know this is going to seem crazy, but I need you to trust me on this.”
“I trust you,” he replied simply.
“How many?” I asked the crow.
Mike landed on the hood of the car. “There’re six. Three pairs of two. They’ve surrounded the house and are moving in.”
“Tell Irma and Percy not to make any noise,” I told him. “The last thing we need is Herschel coming out to check if something’s wrong.”
“You got it.” Mike took off.
“Mike!” I called.
He swooped back.
“If you can communicate with Herschel or Matilda, tell them to get everyone in the basement.”
“Now, you’re pushing your luck, toots,” he squawked and flew toward the house.
I turned to Gino. “There’re six men all together. Three sets of two, advancing on the house.”
“You got that from the bird?” he asked incredulously.
“We should split up,” I continued. “I’ll take the front door. You take the back.”
“Is that your plan or the bird’s?” he asked.
Knowing that he knew where my mother resides, I said, “I’m not crazy.”
“Yeah,” he said with a smile in his voice. “You are a little bit. That’s what I love about you.” Then, he too
k off running toward the back of the house.
“Get me others,” DeeDee panted softly and then ran off to find the third team.
Grocery store flipflops are not meant for Black Ops. I slipped and slid and twisted both ankles as I tried to reach the front door.
As I got close, I saw the shadowy outline of two men ahead of me. They had automatic weapons held at the ready. I raised the gun, aiming it at them. In general, I’m against shooting people in the back with no warning, but I’d make an exception to my rule if it meant saving my family.
I forced myself to take a steadying breath. I’d have to get two accurate shots against two targets off quickly. I wasn’t sure I was up to it, but I knew I couldn’t let them get closer to the house. Not with the kind of firepower they were carrying.
I aimed.
“Steady,” God whispered in my ear.
And they dropped to the ground simultaneously, their bodies at odd angles.
I hadn’t shot them, but someone else had.
“Snipers,” God guessed.
A team of ninjas, outfitted in black, rushed toward the two men, picked them up and carried them away into the shadows as I watched, transfixed.
“Do you think they got them all?” I whispered when they’d disappeared from sight.
“Maybe,” God answered.
My knees buckled, and I fell to the ground as a terrible thought occurred to me. “Do you think they shot Gino, too?”
God stayed silent.
I slapped my hand over my mouth to suppress the scream that was tearing through every cell in my body. Not Gino. Not Gino. Not Gino. I rocked back-and-forth, unable to stand, incapable of staying still.
That’s how they found me.
“Mags,” Patrick said, dropping to his knees in front of me. “Are you hurt?”
I couldn’t really make out his face through the shadows, but I knew it was him. I closed my eyes, realizing he must have been one of the calls Gino had made.
“Gino,” I moaned.
“I’m right here,” he said from behind me and squeezed my shoulder.
I opened my eyes and grasped his hand. “Gino?”
“We need to get out of here,” he said, grabbing me under my armpits and hauling me unceremoniously to my feet.
“Gino?” I repeated. “You’re alive?” I threw my arms around his neck, pressing my beating heart against his. “You’re alive.”
