by Xander Hades
I needed to get my thoughts organized. I used the excuse of getting a fresh cup of coffee for the two of us to buy some time. When the family office became mine, that was the first change I’d made – gorgeous machine that could concoct just about anything you wanted in the world of coffee. I liked mine black. I made a cup for her too and came back around to her, setting my hip against the desk and facing her.
“This is going to take a moment,” I said. She shot me a look, but her double-whip caramel mocha latte gave her something to play with. She twisted the cup in her hands and waited me out. I thought it was nice of her not to ask how much practice it had taken to learn how to make the little leaves in the foam.
“When you went off to school, I decided I didn’t give a damn anymore. You have to understand. When I thought that we were through, it was very bad time for me.” I paused a moment, discovering that this was harder to talk about than I’d realized. I sighed a little and stared into my coffee cup before continuing. “I went through a bad self-destructive time. I chose the school with the least amount of work and the highest amount of booze. So, I went to Arizona. The school is in the freaking desert. They get very little rain. When they get it, though, they get it all at once. I wasn’t prepared for that. So the second year I’m there, a hurricane comes driving through the Gulf and slams Texas and rolls over New Mexico and hits Phoenix before it runs out of steam.”
I shook my head at the memory. I’d never seen so much water in my life. The thing is, it hadn’t been coming from the sky.
“Phoenix didn’t get as much rain as Texas or New Mexico, but it’s not set up for any and so the streets all flooded and got nasty. Anyway, I’m sitting out the storm in a bar, shooting pool with a couple of guys that are probably looking to kick my ass just out of sheer boredom. Next thing you know someone in the place gives a shout. I guess they’d seen the trouble through the window or maybe someone had come in and said something. I never figured that part out. We only knew that someone was in trouble, so the next thing you know, we were standing outside in a downpour, still holding our pool cues like we’re some kind of knights of old come to rescue the fair maiden.”
“The thing is, we weren’t in any fucking fairy tale. Instead, we saw some lady and her kid trapped in a wash and the three of us go out there and pull them out and the barman’s impressed and buys us all we could drink that night. Between the three of us, we could drink a hell of a lot.”
Deanna’s eyes were wide. I don’t think she was thinking about the free beer though that was probably one of my finer moments in my own personal history of drunkenness.
“We got drunk. We talked. I ended up telling them about The Outfit.”
“Michael!” Deanna gasped.
OK, maybe not one of my finer moments.
The children of The Outfit, especially the D’Angelo and Marcotti children learn with their mother’s milk that no one EVER talks about The Outfit. Feds have been known to plant children in classrooms with wires. Nannies can be undercover agents. For someone of college age to betray that trust was… punishable.
I looked at her, meeting her eyes. Half-afraid I’d see disappointment there, more surprised when I saw sympathy. “I know. I was drunk and angry and soaking wet and… well, these guys kind of intimidated me. So I said more than I should have.” I shrugged. “Then they did. Each of them. We all knew enough about each other that if any of us was a fed, the other two would go away without a trace.”
I let her digest that for a moment.
“Ok, so what does that have to with us?”
“Well…” I looked at her and settled in across from her, watching her face. “As it happens, one of those guys lives in New Orleans…”
It took a while to explain. Mostly I got caught up in why someone would prefer the name “Hoodoo” to anything else. When I mentioned that his given name was “Francis” she thought about for a moment and nodded.
Then I told her the plan. All of it.
I’d heard her reaction to the dress from the kitchen through three walls and four closed doors. I was less than six feet away. When she burst out with, “ARE YOU FUCKING INSANE?!” I knew then that it would take a few days for the ringing in my ears to go away again.
I took a deep drink of the coffee, watching the incredulity on her face and… I couldn’t help it. I started cracking up. The stress of the past few days, the look she gave me, my own doubts about a stupid jackass plan….
I couldn’t stop.
“MICHAEL!” Deanna rose and hit my shoulder. Hard. I still couldn’t stop. For a moment I thought she was going to pitch her coffee at me. It’s a good thing she loves her lattes.
Eventually, she sighed and sat on the arm of the chair and waited me out.
“You know you’re going to get us all killed, right?”
If I hadn’t stopped laughing already, this statement would probably have done the trick. Though I still had tears in my eyes.
“Probably,” I admitted.
“I am not dying in that nightmare of a dress your Boy’s Club picked out,” she grumped, crossing her arms in front of her chest. I could feel the laughter bubbling up again and tried to fight it.
She snorted. It was the least feminine sound she’d ever made and it set me off again.
She hit my shoulder again, hard. It was a good thing she’d finished her coffee because when I reached out to grab her and pull her into my lap, her mug went flying, landing somewhere on the carpet.
Rico slipped in the door and found her in my lap, both of us laughing like loons. I may or may not have had my hand up her shirt.
“Sorry, Boss, we have a small problem.” He didn’t even say anything about the broken crockery on the floor.
Chapter 23
Deanna
“Who told you?” I demanded. It was good to laugh. God knows we both needed it, but Michael was being… Michael. He was insane. He was going to start a war. And I was going to be right beside him in big white froufrou dress. I had to admit the gallows humor quality of that.
But this…news Rico showed up with…. It couldn’t be true. I refused to accept it. Michael’s eyes were slits.
“I got it from the shooter we let go,” Rico said with a shrug. “He’s your man now, bossman.” Rico nodded to Michael.
“The one that tried to kill me?” I stared at my future husband. I remember feeling betrayed that Michael had let the shooter go. Now that act of mercy was about to pay off in a big way. Had he known that then?
Rico nodded. “That’s him. Finger’s gone off the deep end, bossman. He’s pulled every string he’s got to make sure that all the cops take a long time to report to any ‘disturbance’ at the wedding. He’s planning on taking out the wedding party, he’s got to be.”
“You might not be wanting to start a war, Michael, but Fingers is,” I said, feeling for the first time a hint of uneasiness in the pit of my stomach. Up until now, I hadn’t really been frightened. This whole thing had been nothing more than a game. But the game had just turned very real in a very uncomfortable way.
Oddly enough, it wasn’t until then that it occurred to me that I was draped across Michael’s lap and that he was talking to Rico like they were teenagers working out what movie we were going to go see.
“How many do you think will show?” I asked Rico.
He shrugged. “Ours or theirs?”
“Both,” said Michael. “Lines are shifting, where do we stand now?”
“Bossman, I gotta tell you…” Rico sighed. “Fingers is gone nuts. It’s like reading about the old kings that went mad and no one had the balls to do nothing because they was king.”
“Fingers is no king.”
“No,” Rico said. “As far as The Outfit goes, that’s him.” He pointed to Michael, “and you.” He added. I lifted an eyebrow. Rico didn’t relegate me to” Queen”, or even imply that there was hierarchy between Michael and I. We were both “the king.” I turned to Michael to see his reaction to that.
&nb
sp; He was staring at his coffee cup like it was a scrying glass.
“How many?” he repeated.
“Our shooter friend says that Fingers is bringing almost 1000 guys. It’s his turf. Most of them aren’t happy, they don’t want to splinter off, but until we’re settled…” He let that hang in mid-air.
“1000 guys?” I shot out of the chair. “Daddy’s bringing 120. Total.”
“We got more than that,” Rico said, but his tone was uneasy. I had no idea how many more. Enough? Was it even possible to have enough? Just what kind of support did Michael have anyway? Fingers had to have been using outsiders to get the numbers that high. Just how much money did he have? And how much of it would he be willing to spend?
How much would you have spent? You wanted the Outfit every bit as much as Fingers does.
It wasn’t a comfortable thought. But, I reminded myself, I wasn’t going to kill whoever got in my way to get there.
Right?
I didn’t like all these questions. I didn’t like where the answers were leading me.
I could see him figuring it out. “In order to find that kind of manpower,” Michael said slowly…
“He’d have to hire out.” I finished, too impatient to let him finish the thought. “New Orleans is a prime posting, but not that big of one.”
“He doesn’t need more than a dozen actual fighters or so at a time. Where’s he getting the talent?” Michael looked at Rico, though from his expression he’d pretty much figured it out already.
“From what I hear, he’s throwing money at people. Mercs mostly.”
“Mercenaries.” I couldn’t help the squeak that came out of my throat, even though I’d already figured it out. But just saying the word made me feel sick. “Michael, if he’s hiring mercenaries, he’s planning a war!” I paced around the room, finally coming to a halt in front of Michael, too wired from anger and caffeine to sit still. “We have to call this off. Even if all his regulars come to us, we’re looking at too many hired guns.”
Michael looked at Rico. “How much is this wedding costing so far?”
“About 250,” he said with a wince. “Roughly.”
“A quarter-million?” I stared at Michael. “For a wedding?” How in the world does a wedding cost a quarter million dollars?
“Rico.” He ignored me, still staring into the coffee cup. “Charter a jet, will you? LAX to New Orleans. And find me a uniform supplier. Someone that can work fast.”
Apparently, Rico was used to vague orders from Michael and headed off to do what he was told. I turned around and saw Michael’s gaze had gone from the coffee cup to his phone. His eyes were even narrower slits.
It’s a wonder he could see as he pressed the face of the phone a few times and held to his ear.
“Hey Rock,” he said. “Hitman. Did Hoodoo talk to you yet?” He smiled and looked at me. “You did get the invite, didn’t you?” He listened a moment. “Good. Listen. I want you to bring a date. I have a car all ready for you.”
When Michael hung up the phone, my eyes were as large as his were small.
“You. Are. Fucking, Insane.” I was barely able to whisper it.
He actually came up with a smile and threw it in my direction. “You’re marrying me. Doesn’t say much for your sanity either.”
“Love and boys named Michael will always drive you crazy,” I said, and shook my head, moving past to pick up the pieces of the coffee mug before someone stepped on them. Only he snagged my wrist and pulled me down on his lap. Again.“
’Love’, huh?” He tapped my nose with his forefinger, following the gesture with a kiss that took my breath away.
“Of course, ‘love’.” I kissed his chin. Crazy. Adorable. Maybe it was all the same thing at this point. What do I know? “Why else would I stand next to you while someone shoots us both?”
“I’d like to see them try.” He said.
“No,” I added. “No, you wouldn’t.”
Chapter 24
Deanna
“It’s bad luck to see the bride before the wedding,” Daddy said. I was in the dress I hated. Once Michael explained the more practical aspects of it, the froufrou grew on me. But I still couldn’t walk.
Daddy wasn’t looking happy. But he hadn’t been looking happy ever since he’d gotten on the plane back in Chicago. He seemed a little nervous about the whole thing, though you had to know him real well to see it. He was keeping a couple guys on us at all times, ones I knew to be his best. I wanted to tell him the plan, to let him know that everything was going to be ok, but he wasn’t really listening to anything I had to say. He just stood there with his back to the wall, or the nearest thing he had to it which was a decorative pillar about as wide as he was, with his eyes constantly checking the room. I was willing to bet he was carrying, but then so was everyone here. And that included my great-aunt Margaret who wouldn’t have stayed away for anything.
Money certainly made all the difference. The grounds of the wedding venue in New Orleans were drop-dead gorgeous. I had to kick myself for my poor choice of words. It was beautiful, though the word seemed weak when confronted with artful arrays of shrubbery, fountains, and more flowers than a human being could imagine. I’d been worried when Michael said we really didn’t have to worry about the flowers, but given the displays at every turning, I could see now why he’d been so laid back about it.
But then he’d seemed so laid back about all of this. My respect for him grew as I looked around and noted the details. He really had been paying attention, probably more than I would have. There wasn’t a thing here left to chance.
I hoped.
“Well, it might be,” Michael said, laying a hand against the small of my back. “But it would be worse luck if she wasn’t right by my side.”
Daddy looked at him and then at me. “Did you see who Fingers has here today? He’s strutting around like a pig in slop.” He nodded to a few men in suits that looked like they came out of a Predator movie. All muscle, they wore suits like it was camo, with chins so square and thick you could use them to lay brick.
There were several of them, clustered in groups of three or four at strategic points around the open-air venue. I was guessing there was a lot more of them out of sight. I found it hard to believe that there could be a thousand such thugs, but I guessed in a crowd like this, anything was possible. I think every relative right on down to the fourth cousins twice removed had showed up for what was being called “The Most Important Wedding of the Century.” I’d been worried initially about bystanders, but Michael had told me he’d had it all under control.
I stared at the staff as they drifted past. Young Hispanic men in white blazers were tending the guests, serving drinks and canapés. A handful of others moved about the grounds, tending flowers, parking cars out in the lot. It seemed that everywhere I looked there were people moving, and all I could think of was that every person there was loved by someone else. That man serving drinks was someone’s son, someone’s lover. That man at the bar…ok, that man was my Uncle Tito. No one liked him.
But it scared me. Because I’d come to realize something about the world around me that I hadn’t seen until Michael, and that had changed me.
So yeah, it was the perfect wedding if you didn’t count the mercs and the weapons that bulged under their jackets. And oh yeah, that general feeling that the entire world was going to blow up every minute.
Daddy, Michael and I were delaying the ceremony for as long as possible, and the pastor Rico had hired was getting pissed. He wanted to do the joyful duty and go. I couldn’t blame him. It was a beautiful day.
He also might have caught wind of just what kind of wedding this was.
“What you delaying for?” Daddy asked Michael, impatience lacing his voice.
“Fingers wants to make his move after the ceremony when we’re both too busy staring at each other to look around.” He shrugged. “I’m doing this on my timeline, not his.”
As if on cue, Fingers walke
d over nice and slow. Fingers was an ugly little man, that would have benefited from a nose job. It was hard to believe a guy with a comb-over could have become one of the most powerful mafia presences that this part of the country had ever seen.
On the other hand, as I was fast learning, appearances meant very little in this business.
“In case I don’t have the opportunity to do so later,” Fingers said with a predatory smile, “Congratulations on your nuptial.”
“I can’t tell you what that means to me,” Michael snapped.
Daddy was practically frothing at the mouth. I wasn’t sure what pissed him off more – the fact that this guy had had something to do with my getting shot at, or that Fingers was intending to betray him.
It’s one of those questions I didn’t really want to know the answer to.
“You little son of a bitch,” Daddy growled as Fingers got near. Michael lay a restraining hand on Daddy. Much to my surprise, it worked.
“Allow me to give you a present.” Fingers drawled, ignoring Daddy. He snapped his fingers and a couple of goons came over from one of those mass groupings, dragging the man I recognized as the man who tried to shoot me. The poor guy was dumped at my feet. Not that I should have cared. He’d tried to shoot me after all. But he’d also been decent in giving us a heads up about the numbers.
