“Crap,” Marvelli muttered. Sammy was going into the bookstore. “I was afraid of this.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll get him,” Loretta said, swinging her door open. “What section do you think he’ll go to?”
“The weird section.”
“No, seriously.”
“Lit crit, philosophy, fiction, maybe true crime for a little professional reading.”
“Okay, give me ten minutes. If I don’t find him, I’ll come out and get you.” She started to close the door, then stopped herself. “By the way, do you think he’ll put up a fight?”
Marvelli shrugged. “My guess is he’ll run first. I don’t think he’d hurt a woman.”
“What makes you say that?”
“I dunno. Just a guess.”
She frowned. “That’s very reassuring, Marvelli. Are you telling me he’s a sexist killer?”
“Look, just don’t make a scene in the store. If he runs, let him run. I’ll catch him coming out the door.”
“What if he goes out the back way?”
“He must’ve come in a car, right? I can see every space in the parking lot from here. When he goes to his car, I’ll get him.”
“Okay.” Loretta shut the door and walked across the parking lot to the bookstore. She pushed through the front doors, then through a second set of doors in the vestibule. But as soon as she stepped inside, she wrinkled her nose, assaulted by a smell.
It was coffee. The aroma was strong, pungent, and enticing. She glanced around the store and immediately spotted the café. It was on a raised platform right in the middle of the floor. She resisted the temptation to have a cup and marched directly to the store directory. The literary criticism section was on the second floor. She decided to start there.
She got on the escalator, holding her breath as she glided up over the café. When she got off on the second floor, she scanned the signs on the outside walls, looking for the Lit Crit section. Line drawings of supposedly great contemporary authors decorated the walls above the high bookshelves. Some were pleasant faces, some were very intense, but Loretta was totally unimpressed. She’d tried reading most of this bunch, and they had all bored her to tears.
The Literary Criticism section was toward the back, just beyond the Travel section. She slipped into an aisle, pretending to be browsing, and wove her way through the shelves of books, passing through the Pet Care section, Movies and Television, and Antiques and Collecting. The shelves were tall, so it was hard for her to see over the tops. It was sort of like walking through a maze.
She unzipped her purse and felt around for her gun, making sure it was there. The cuffs were down at the bottom under her wallet and all the crumpled Kleenex that always seemed to accumulate in there. She slowed down as she came up to the Travel section, cutting into that aisle. She didn’t want to approach Sammy from the main aisle, hoping she could take him by surprise.
She strolled down the aisle, pretending to be looking for something, scanning the shelves of travel books that were arranged alphabetically by country—Argentina, Belize … Germany, Kenya … Paraguay, Puerto Rico … Switzerland, Thailand … Uruguay, Venezuala … Zanzibar. When she got to the end of the aisle, she paused and put her hand inside her purse, gripping the butt of her gun. She turned the corner slowly, hoping she wouldn’t have to use her weapon. But when she rounded the corner, there was no one there. She wandered farther into Lit Crit, but the whole section was empty.
She let go of her gun and adjusted the purse strap on her shoulder. She started to walk back toward the main aisle when suddenly she felt a tug on the strap as if she’d snagged it on something. But when she glanced over her shoulder to see what she was caught on, her heart nearly stopped.
For a moment she wasn’t sure it was them. But who else could it be? she thought. The grinning identical faces stared at her like some kind of goofy two-headed beast. One of them had his fat paw wrapped around the strap, the purse practically in his grip.
“Hi there,” one of them said. “ ‘Member us?”
“From Uncle Tino’s garage,” the one holding her purse said. “We got your car out of the mud. Remember?”
“And you didn’t even thank us.”
Loretta was speechless. It was the dum-dum twins, Larry and Jerry.
Back in the car Marvelli checked his watch again. Loretta had been in there exactly twelve minutes, and there had been no sign of either her or Sammy. Marvelli was beginning to worry. Sammy was a nut to begin with, and he may have picked up some new nasty habits in prison. Maybe like most cons, he didn’t give a damn about anything anymore. Maybe Loretta had confronted him, and he’d decided to take her on. And, unfortunately, Loretta could be pretty pigheaded sometimes. She wouldn’t back down. It could get ugly. Marvelli got out of the car. He couldn’t just sit there.
He walked briskly to the front of the bookstore, forcing himself not to run. He didn’t want to look conspicuous, but also didn’t want Loretta to get hurt.
Inside the bookstore it was deceptively tranquil. A string quartet was playing softly over the sound system. In the café, four middle-aged women were gabbing away, sipping cappuccinos and nibbling on biscotti. Two old guys and three teenage boys were standing in front of the magazine rack, scanning the titles and slowly gravitating toward the high shelf where the current issues of Playboy and Penthouse were kept. A studious-looking girl with long red hair and wire-rim glasses was sitting at a table, gazing intently into a book. Marvelli guessed that she was about eleven or twelve. She reminded him of his daughter Nina.
He walked down the main aisle, heading toward the music department in the back, looking for signs of Loretta. He passed the New Fiction and Nonfiction sections, the Current Affairs section, Biography, History, Politics, Economics, Finance, Sociology, Myth and Religion, Health and Fitness, Beauty and Diet, Mystery, Science Fiction, Romance, Westerns, and General Fiction, peering down each aisle and disturbing some of the browsers. But there was no sign of Loretta.
Where the hell are you? he thought, getting more and more anxious. Loretta hadn’t been a PO that long. She didn’t know how to handle nut jobs like Sammy.
Marvelli picked up his pace, heading toward the Children’s section. If Sammy did anything to her, he swore to God he’d strangle the little creep.
The Children’s section was in a boxed-off corner of the store, all by itself. Marvelli stood in the Cookbook section just outside the entrance and peered in, doubting that either Sammy or Loretta would have gone in there.
Then suddenly someone cleared his throat over Marvelli’s shoulder. Marvelli turned around, startled, and saw a tall, good-looking man in his early fifties, wearing tinted aviator glasses and a gray checked jacket over a black knit shirt. He was flipping through a glossy picture book called Cakes and Pastries for All Occasions.
Marvelli paid no attention to him. He had to find Loretta. But as he started to walk away, the man stopped him.
“Mr. Marvelli,” the man said. He smiled cordially, showing two rows of perfect dental work. His voice was like velvet.
Marvelli furrowed his brows at him. Who the hell is this guy? he thought. And how does he know me?
But when the man took off his glasses and showed his light gray eyes, Marvelli nearly lost it. He knew that undeservedly handsome face all too well. The guy looked like Paul Newman with a Greco-Roman perm and a Continental makeover, haute greaseball. It was Taffy friggin’ Demaggio.
Marvelli stepped forward and closed the distance between them. He wanted to rip this guy’s spine out and beat him to death with it.
“Something wrong, Mr. Marvelli? You look upset about something.” Taffy kept flipping pages, glancing back and forth between the book and Marvelli.
“Yeah, there’s something wrong,” Marvelli said. “You. You’re what’s wrong.”
“Me? What’s wrong with me?” Taffy grinned as if he thought this were amusing.
“You’re a mob scumbag who sells cheap-crap medical supplies to hospitals. You�
��re killing people. You killed—” Marvelli abruptly stopped himself. He didn’t want this bum to think that he’d harmed Rene. That was private.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, my friend.”
“I’m not your friend,” Marvelli said.
Taffy shrugged. “Have it your way.”
Taffy was staring down at a picture of a coconut layer cake, wondering if he should just have this friggin’ pest whacked or what. Veronica Springer had told him that Marvelli and his partner—whoever that was—had come out here to find Sammy. That wasn’t good. Sammy had a job to do. Taffy flipped the page and saw a picture of a banana cream pie. He tilted his head to the side and frowned a little. He didn’t care that much for banana cream pie.
Marvelli inched closer to him. “So what’re you saying here? You didn’t sell that cheap foreign-made crap to all those hospitals? Is that what you’re saying?”
Taffy kept his eyes on the pie, but he could see Marvelli in his peripheral vision. This guy better watch himself, Taffy thought. He was getting a little too testy.
“Come on, Taf. Tell me to my face. Tell me you had nothing to do with the leaky IV tubes and the hypodermic needles that broke in people’s arms and the gauze bandages that weren’t sterile. Come on. Tell me.”
Hey, Taffy thought, no ever died from a leaky IV tube, not that I know of.
He casually flipped the page and found a slice of angel’s food cake sitting in a puddle of raspberry sauce. Besides, he thought, holding back a grin, you don’t know the half of it, my friend. I’m selling to HMOs now. My stuff is showing up in something like three hundred hospitals across the country. And I’m gonna be doing more business with these HMOs once I go over to the other side and rat out my competition. I’ve got it all set up. I’ll run it from Witness Protection with Tino as my front man. Taffy turned the page and saw a big plate of artfully arranged butter cookies next to a cold pitcher of lemonade. It’ll be beautiful, he thought.
“So where’s Sammy Teitelbaum?” Marvelli barked.
Taffy slowly rolled his eyes toward him. He was getting annoying, this guy.
“I said, where’s Sammy?” Marvelli repeated. “I just saw him come in here.”
Taffy turned the page. Key lime pie. He liked key lime pie. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, my friend.”
“Look at me when I talk to you,” Marvelli said. “It’s rude.”
Taffy turned the page and kept his eyes on the book. Peach cobbler in a cut-glass dish. He wasn’t going to bother talking to this guy. He wasn’t worth the trouble.
“I said, look at me,” Marvelli said.
Taffy turned another page. French apple pie with raisins in it. “I’m asking you nice, Taf. Look at me.” Screw you, Taffy thought. He flipped the page. Little lemon tarts.
“I said, look at me!”
Where the hell does this guy get off talking to me this way? He keeps it up, I’ll send Larry and Jerry over to work on his attitude.
“Taffy! Look at me!”
Taffy frowned and glanced up from Cakes and Pastries for All Occasions. The next thing he saw was the spine of a thick hardcover crashing down onto his curly head like a tomahawk. Taffy dropped his book and clutched his head, worried about his hair weave first until he felt the aftershock of the blow. Julia Child’s The French Chef Cookbook was in Marvelli’s hand.
“You son of a bitch—” Taffy started, ready to grab Marvelli by the throat.
But the commotion had drawn a small crowd, including a few little kids from the Children’s section.
“Are you all right, young man?” an old woman asked Taffy.
“Did you see what he did?” one of the teens who had been ogling the centerfolds in the Magazine section said. “Totally agressive.”
“Must be a real meat eater,” another teen said. “Cool.”
“Sir!” A big gawky clerk in a plaid shirt and a maroon knit tie wove through the crowd. “Sir!” Taffy thought the kid was talking to him until he snatched the book out of Marvelli’s hand. “Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to leave the store.”
“But—” Marvelli started.
“I’m sorry. Either leave now or I’ll have to call the police.”
The old woman reached out to feel Taffy’s forehead. “Are you all right?” she asked.
The overwhelming urge to break Marvelli’s legs that Taffy had been feeling dissipated like a puff of steam. The crowd was on Taffy’s side. Marvelli was the bad guy.
Well, that was a switch, Taffy thought. He figured he’d milk it for all it was worth.
He held on to the closest bookshelf. “I’m all right,” he said weakly. “I’ll be fine.”
“Sir, I’m asking you nicely,” the clerk said to Marvelli, getting in his face.
Marvelli was looking past him, glaring at Taffy, who was letting the old lady fuss over him.
“Sir!”
“I’m going, I’m going,” Marvelli grumbled, and stomped off. The clerk turned to Taffy. “Can I get you anything, sir? A wet towel?”
Taffy kept his hand on his head even though it didn’t hurt much anymore. “I just want to sit down,” he moaned.
“Come to the café,” the clerk said, staying close in case Taffy keeled over. “Can I get you something? Some water?”
Taffy groaned a little. “How about a mochaccino?”
Loretta glanced out the picture window on the second floor. She could see Marvelli standing out in the parking lot with his hands in his pockets. She wondered what he was doing out there. He should be in here, helping her, dammit.
Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum-Dum were still harrassing her, and Jerry, the meaner of the two, wouldn’t let go of her purse strap. They were both wearing baggy jeans and heavy black round-toed shoes. Larry was wearing an ugly paisley-print golf shirt; Jerry was wearing a white V-neck T-shirt under a khaki zip-up jacket. She’d noticed that the expressions on their faces seemed to fade in and out, menacing one minute, blank the next. Loretta wondered if this was a congential condition, or had their mother dropped them on their heads both at the same time?
Jerry pulled on the strap. “So whattaya doing out here, lady?”
“Yeah,” Larry chimed in. “You following us or what?”
Loretta kept trying to back away from them, but they stayed right with her. At this rate she was going to have her back pressed up against the plate-glass window pretty soon, and she had a feeling these two idiots wouldn’t have any qualms about molesting her in full view of the parking lot. She glanced down at Marvelli again, willing him to look up at her, but her mojo just wasn’t working because he didn’t notice her at all.
“Why ain’cha answering us?” Jerry said. “You think we got cooties or something?”
Larry just laughed, scrinching up his eyes and showing too much tongue.
Loretta gripped her purse. If she thought she could get to her gun fast enough, she’d blow these two maggots all the way back to Self-improvement. But she had to negotiate a zipper and do a bit of rummaging before she could get to her weapon. She cursed herself for keeping all those half-used tissues in there.
“I know what you’re thinking, lady.” Jerry opened the flap of his jacket and showed the butt of a blue-steel automatic sticking out of his waistband. Larry lifted his shirt and showed an identical gun pressed against his hairy jelly-belly.
“You see that guy down there?” Loretta nodded down at Marvelli. “He used to be a sharpshooter in the army. He’s carrying a gun, and if he sees you touch me … forget about it.”
Loretta swallowed on a dry throat and watched their faces to see if they were buying it. The truth was, Marvelli couldn’t shoot for beans and he was always forgetting to carry his weapon.
The twins craned their stubby necks and stared down suspiciously at Marvelli. It was hard to tell what they were thinking … or if they were thinking at all.
But they were distracted, and Loretta decided not to wait. She yanked her purse and pulled the strap out of
Jerry’s hand, then pulled the zipper and reached in for her gun. “Okay,” she started just as she was about to whip it out. But when she looked up, there were two blue-steel nine-millimeters staring back at her like vipers. She glanced sideways out the window. Marvelli was still standing there, doing nothing.
Thanks a lot, she thought. And why the hell weren’t there any customers up here?
Then she remembered that she was in the Lit Crit section. No wonder no one was around.
The two doughy potato faces were focused now, and they weren’t happy with her. Loretta could feel the sweat forming on her upper lip. She was at a crossroads, and she had to make a decision. Should she play their bluff and dare them to shoot her in public? Or should she play the helpless female and start crying? That went against her nature, but she had a bad feeling these two nitwits could care less if half of Seattle saw them commit a murder.
“Listen,” she said, figuring she had at least three times their combined IQs, which meant she might be able to talk her way out of this. “Put the guns away. Let’s talk.”
Neither of them budged. It was as if they were deaf.
“Come on, guys. Don’t be this way.”
Suddenly Jerry jabbed his gun in her forehead as Larry simultaneously stuck his in her gut. A quick leg sweep from Larry sent her sprawling on the carpet. Together they grabbed her ankles and dragged her back into the seclusion of the Travel section. They were astonishingly fast and efficient. If Loretta hadn’t been so busy being scared, she would’ve been impressed.
The twins dropped to their knees, one on either side of her. Jerry’s gun was pressed against the side of her neck; Larry’s was in her armpit.
Larry’s face was grim. “You think we’re stupid, don’t you?” he growled.
Jerry dug the muzzle of his gun into the hinge of Loretta’s jaw. His teeth were clenched. “I hate people who judge us like that.”
Loretta suddenly had to pee very badly. “Easy, guys,” she said, trying not to sound scared. “I never said you were stupid.”
“You don’t have to,” Larry said. “We know.”
Double Espresso (A Loretta Kovacs thriller) Page 9
