by Gina LaManna
I turned and continued on my journey towards the back room, hoping that the kid was especially annoying and maybe even a little bit dangerous. If he kidnapped the twins, I’d try my best to fake some tears. It might be possible, especially with the pain from my still-bleeding nose.
I was kidding. I forced my thoughts to be a little less evil as I trekked down the dimly lit, rather intimidating hallway. The back room was not a place people stumbled upon accidentally. And if they tried to, the culprit usually ended up with a rearranged face. Which would be easy in my case, as I was already halfway there with how my morning was going. I was a little afraid of becoming Mrs. Potato Head by stepping foot in this direction.
Miss Potato Head, I thought rather painfully.
“Doll.” A dry, deep voice drew my attention upwards.
I pinched the bridge of my nose as an onslaught of blood rushed out. I took a tiny stumble as a wave of dizziness hit me and righted myself by grabbing onto Anthony’s arm.
He was the current head of security for our Family. I’d met him last month after being tricked into thinking he was my randomly-assigned gym trainer. Much later, I found out he’d been hired by Carlos to be my body guard for the duration of my first assignment.
“What happened to your face?” Anthony glanced down at me, and though I could never detect any emotion from him whatsoever, I thought I caught a hint of either exasperation or worry. Or it could have been amusement. He was tough to read.
“Devil children.” One of my arms was still grasping his bicep for balance, which was probably a quarter as large as the trunk of a redwood tree and at least half as thick. I wondered if his other body parts followed suit…
When I shook the dirty thoughts from my head a moment later, I looked up and, this time, definitely saw the corner of his mouth twitch.
“Doll, you’ll have to let me go.”
I retracted my vice-like grip on his arm, though my fingers had made as much of an indent as if I’d been gripping cement.
I cleared my throat and nodded at the door. “So, do you know what they want?”
He shook his head, his black hair lightly gelled into place. The thick waves looked delectable in the dim hallway light. Maybe it was the lightheadedness from blood loss, but I was suddenly overcome with a desire to stand close to him, press my hips against his, and stare deeply into his eyes…
“What are you doing? Are you feeling okay?” Anthony stared down at me. “You’re swaying back and forth more than a swing set.”
“I’m all good.” My words might have slurred a bit. “Nice outfit.”
I pushed by him and into the room, as he glanced down at his typical spandex shirt and black track pants, a small tattoo on his neck peeking over the raised edge of the tight material.
“Lacey? What’s happened to you?” Uncle Nicky, father of the two devils, lounged back on a plush leather couch with a cigar dangling from his fingertips, the room foggy with smoke.
I took a moment to respond, soaking in the details of the coveted Back Room. The lighting was dimmed, the carpet thick and deep red, the vibe much like that of a hidden speakeasy deep in old Los Angeles. Black leather couches and chairs lined the walls, and a full-length mahogany table sat in the middle of the room, complete with place settings and tall-backed chairs. The Italians did all their business deals over meals.
Wine racks lined the walls not already covered by couches, the cozy, dusty smell rivaling the scent of a musty library crossed with a priceless wine cellar. Cuban cigars and other illegal devices, used to smoke things I wasn’t familiar with, were contained in a special unit—I could see the expensive linings of the glass cabinet and the little thermometer keeping the case at the perfect temperature from across the room.
I forgot the question by the time I got around to responding. “Whad? Oh, dis.”
I let the towel drop from my nose, but immediately pushed it back as the flow started up again. “Your evil children.”
“Yeah. They’re tough nuts to crack,” Nicky agreed. He chuckled. “But obviously your nose isn’t.”
Carlos sat in the corner of the room, observing the situation from afar.
“Hewwo, sir,” I nodded and instantly regretted that decision.
“Don’t bleed on my carpet.” Carlos blinked once and then turned back to Nicky and continued a discussion I must have interrupted with my entrance.
Trying to be subtle, I reached for the closest chair. I wanted to drag it from the carpet over to the patch of linoleum in a small corner that qualified as a kitchen. There was a small stainless steel sink, marble countertops and an oven. Saucepans decorated the ceiling, and wine glasses hung precariously from contraptions on the walls.
I winced as the chair tipped over and clattered onto the linoleum. “Sowwy.”
I yanked the chair upright and set its legs firmly on the itty bitty linoleum patch. I crossed one leg over the other and quietly changed out my blood-soaked towel for a darker hand towel draped over the sink. I did my best to look dignified. I was positive I’d failed miserably.
Carlos and Nicky wrapped up their conversation amidst clouds of blue smoke, and Carlos turned his steely black eyes in my direction. “Thank you for coming, Lacey. I have your assignment ready.”
I nodded. He’d called a few days ago telling me to be prepared for another gig. For what? I had no idea.
“Nicky?” Carlos looked at his son.
“Yes, we do.” Nicky lounged back in his chair, missing the obvious clue to ‘get out of here.’
“There’s a boy out front chatting up Marissa and Clarissa. He’s got about ten years on ‘em.” I nodded my head towards the front of the laundromat.
“What the fuckety fuck?” Nick stood, his chair tipping precariously backward, but righting itself just before it tipped all the way over.
“Exactly my thoughts,” I nodded solemnly. “I think you need to put a stop to that sort of behavior. You wouldn’t want your girls to grow up and turn out… promiscuous,” I whispered. However, if they were anything like their father, Carlos could be expecting great-grandchildren in the semi-near future.
“I’m going to destroy his face. I’m going to—” Nicky huffed out of the room, punching his fist into his hand.
“Good.” Carlos blew out smoke in approval. “You’re getting more creative with your lies.”
I didn’t say anything, since it wasn’t technically a lie. But hey, I’d take credit if Carlos thought I’d come up with it on the spot.
“It wasn’t a lie, was it?” Carlos sucked on his cigar, and I hung my head.
“A half-lie.” I tested my nose bleed and was pleased to see it had slowed to a trickle. “So what’s the gig?”
Carlos sunk into the chair so comfortably that it became an extension of him. “There’s a body. Leonardo Campani.”
“Leo?” I parroted. He wasn’t related, but he was one of the Family’s associates. He was on the streets selling substances of the sketchy sort. It wasn’t a well-paying gig, but it was a start. Nobody got into the Family (who wasn’t blood related), without making their bones on the street first. “He played poker with Nicky, right?”
Carlos gave a nod, his expression halfway between disgust and passiveness. “Not a huge loss to society. He had two kids, but I doubt he knew their names. He was a mean drunk and a cheat at the tables. He got kicked out of the Family Games last year.”
The Family Games, a low-key poker tournament with high stakes, was by invitation only. Once a kid became a made-man, he was invited to a few trial games. If he held his own and played fair, he was allowed to stay.
“Who did it?” It was odd that Carlos was giving special attention to a street soldier.
I’d been under the impression that anyone outside the administration (aka his inner circle) was dispensable. Tough, but true. Being the Godfather, Carlos wasn’t especially bothered by death or dead bodies unless it posed a direct threat to the honor of the Luzzi Family name. What I was missing was the link betw
een Leo’s lifeless body and Carlos’s attention.
“That’s what I need you to find out. Leo, he was a goomba.” Carlos pinched his thumb and middle finger together and shook his arm like he was loosely rolling a pair of dice. His bottom lip turned outward in a pout as he reverted to his native language.
He wagged a finger. “But,” he spat, “there are rumors floating around. With the Russians growing in Minneapolis, we can’t let any attack slip through without an investigation.”
What Carlos didn’t say spoke volumes. The Russian mob had been setting up shop in our Twin City, providing unwanted competition. I’d never thought they were much to worry about, but Carlos was obviously concerned.
“So you want me to make sure one of Leo’s sleazy friends killed him, and it had nothing to do with the Russians?” I clarified.
“Yes. If it is something with the Russians, we must retaliate. You will find out, yes?”
I narrowed my eyes. “I won’t be doing any retaliating, right?”
“You will report your findings to me. It is of the utmost importance we solve this before March eighteenth.”
“Right. Because March eighteenth is…” I wracked my brain, watching Carlos for any sign of a hint. It was useless. His face remained as stoic as ever.
“Only a week away,” I finished lamely.
“Shame on you,” he said. “It’s your cousin’s wedding.”
I stood, knowing his glazed expression meant I was dismissed. Thankfully my nose had stopped bleeding, and I tossed both towels in the garbage.
“The garbage?” Carlos raised his eyebrows. “This is a laundromat.”
I ducked under the counter to hide my blushing cheeks. When I righted myself I held both soiled rags in my hands.
Carlos’s eyelids were halfway shut as he watched my struggles. “It was a joke.”
“Oh, right.” I tossed them back into the bin.
“But it is a laundromat.”
“Oh, okay,” I hesitated as I made a move to reach back towards the garbage.
“Vai via.” Carlos instructed me to leave. “Find our problem.”
I hurried towards the door, but, as I twisted the knob, I turned back to Carlos. “Can I ask you a question? How worried are you that the Russian mob is launching a full scale attack on the Luzzi family? Maybe they’re starting small with someone like Leo, just to test the waters and then they’re gonna work their way up into a full blown territory war. We can’t have that.”
Calmly, Carlos looked up from his glass of fine red wine. “That was two questions and an explanation. Which would you like me to address?”
“Uh, the second one, I guess. The one with the scale. We’ll say from absolutely no chance to… they’re probably already attacking us and maybe going to blow up this laundromat in two minutes.”
I watched Carlos struggle to find an answer. When he settled on something, he set his glass down and bridged his fingers. “I think a three. But even if it were a zero, I would want to be sure. You get nowhere in this world by trusting, leaving things to chance. If you learn one thing, Lacey, remember this: we are the only sane people in the world. Everyone else is crazy.”
I bobbed my head up and down.
“Do you understand?” Carlos’s gaze was piercing.
“Yes, sir.” I agreed.
“You didn’t ask if we’d win a war.” Carlos called after me as I pulled the door open.
I turned, one foot already out the door. “Of course not. I trust you.”
I thought I saw a hint of a smile flicker across his lips, but I didn’t wait to find out if it lingered.
Chapter 2
“Do you know anything about Leo Campani?” My best friend, an ex-cop-turned-bar-owner named Meg, leaned on the bar, her voluptuous cleavage spilling onto the wooden counter. I had a vodka diet in front of me, a crisp lime floating on top, while Meg sipped out of a pint glass filled with whiskey.
She was wearing a sleeveless camo vest. Her tattoos made her seem much more like a biker than a cop, though she wasn’t a uniform anymore. After she’d punched out more than a handful of her captures for giving her lip, the department had decided a career change might be mutually beneficial.
“Yeah.” She chomped on a wad of gum the size of a walnut. “He stops by once in a while.”
“Wanna get that saliva under control?” I brushed visible drops of sugary spray from my arm.
“Sorry.” Chomp. Chomp. Snap. “Bazooka. You know.”
She spat a hunk of pink goop onto her hand and set it on a napkin. I couldn’t draw my eyes away even as she began to speak. It was like an oozing, disgusting brain just plopped right on the bar.
“… And he says that he—”
“Can you move that thing? It’s disgusting.”
“Fine.” Meg picked the gum from the napkin and popped it back into her mouth. “Your burden to bear, babe.”
“Fine—what were you saying?”
“I’m saying that he comes up here on Wednesdays. I guarantee it. Come up here this week and you’ll see. It’s bingo night and he’s got a thing for older women. And when I say older, I mean…” Meg wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.
“That’s sick. Anyway, he won’t be here.”
“Why not, he find himself a honey? I bet she’s a prostitute. Fake tits?” Meg held her arms out in front of her body suggesting a woman who might have been wearing watermelons in her bra.
“Uh, no. Nope—not exactly.”
“Ah, he got tossed behind bars? What is it? I’ll betcha it was a dooey,” she said. That’s DUI, in Meg-speak.
“No, he’s dead.”
Meg blew a bubble and snapped her gum. “Huh. He didn’t seem important enough to end up dead. Must’ve cheated the wrong dude outta some serious cash.”
“Yeah, hopefully,” I said. “I think Carlos is seriously worried it might be the Russians starting an attack against the Family.”
Meg once may have carried a badge, but she was loyal to the Luzzi Family—just so long as they kept the dead bodies to a minimum and only hit people who deserved a good whacking.
She sucked in a breath and her breasts expanded to mind boggling proportions. “That’s tough. So, what’s your role in this?”
“I have to figure out who killed him. And why.”
“Fun. Count me in.”
“I didn’t ask.”
Meg winked. “Of course you didn’t.” She leaned across the bar and scanned the room suspiciously. “I’m totally in.”
I downed my drink and refrained from commenting. Having Meg on your side wasn’t always a benefit, especially since she had eyes for anything that remotely passed for male. She could be a bit, uh, aggressive when it came to the dating scene. It didn’t matter to her whether the men she targeted were convicted criminals, macho biker dudes, or even our prime suspects.
“Where do we start?” A thunk turned several heads as Meg’s gum wad hit the bottom of the trashcan.
“That’s what I’m trying to decide,” I mused aloud. “I technically started with you, I guess.”
“Bad choice.” Meg nodded. “I wouldn’t have advised that.”
“Then what do you advise?”
“Clay dog. He knows wassup.”
“All righty then.” I waved my hand at her. “He just finished his shift at the laundromat. He was gone before I got out of my meeting, so I missed him. Let’s skedaddle.”
“First things first. Do you think I can just leave the bar unaided at your beck and call?”
I shrugged. “It kinda seems like it.”
“All right. Julio, cover for me,” Meg screamed into the back room.
The Hispanic man who helped Meg run the bar stepped out, wiping a glass with one hand. He rolled his eyes at the empty bar and returned to the room where I could hear a TV blaring loudly in Spanish.
“Second of all,” Meg said, as she grabbed her bag from behind the counter and followed me through the door. “Don’t use the word all righty ever aga
in. And consider ditching skedaddle, too.”
“That’s three things.”
“Huh. I guess. Ever considered a career as a mathematician?” Meg gave me a roll of the eyes and a hand on the hip.
“Believe me, when I took this job I had exhausted all of my options,” I groaned as we climbed into my brick of a car.
“I bet, because this job ain’t got any perks. Like not even a car.”
“Neither does your job.” I fired up the engine and begged the wheel to turn as I eased towards the edge of a parking lot.
“I got all the perks I need. Like free booze. Not the cheap stuff either. Which tends to not mix well with a free car.”
“Touché,” I agreed. Sometimes Meg was smarter than she looked.
** **
I parked the Lumina in front of the fire hydrant at mine and Clay’s apartment complex. The cops never bothered to ticket around my neighborhood—there were much bigger fish to fry. An artful display of a certain four-letter word, beginning with an F and with an ending similar to DUCK, decorated our front steps. In addition, a few bullet holes in my bedroom window remained scotch-taped after a small incident a few weeks ago.
We crawled out of the car and hiked to the front steps, each of us flipping a special finger at Clay’s huge creep van taking up three parking spaces. It looked like a car fit for retired cable techs turned kidnappers. However, the inside was quite impressive, stocked with enough surveillance equipment to give the CIA’s fleet of stakeout vans a run for their money.
“Clay been well?” Meg fluffed her ratted mane of hair.
“Yeah, why? You saw him three days ago.”
“Can’t a girl be curious?” She tugged on her camouflage vest, her array of violent tattoos on proud display. “He single these days?”
I glanced sideways at her. “I don’t know. Maybe you should ask him. And let me know what he says. I’m curious to know what’s up with him myself.”
