“Taffy likes his women with meat on the bone,” Rispoli said. “Hefty.”
“Yeah,” Sammy said. “He really digs the big, beautiful ones. But flashy. You know what I mean?”
“Yeah, he likes ’em all dolled up,” Rispoli said.
Marvelli’s gaze bounced back and forth between Loretta and the two hit men. He knew what they were getting at, and he didn’t like it.
The hit men were still staring at Loretta, sizing her up. “It wouldn’t take much,” Sammy said. “Just a little … jazzing up.”
“Bait,” Rispoli said ominously. “We need good bait.”
Loretta looked to her partner for support. “Marvelli?”
But Marvelli didn’t say anything. He knew what they were aiming at, and he didn’t approve. But the alternative was even less appealing. What if Taffy decided to try a skinny girl for a change? The thought of Taffy forcing himself on Jennifer turned his stomach. That was Rene’s little sister, for God’s sake. He couldn’t let that happen.
“Come on, Loretta,” Sammy said with a con man’s smile. “Whattaya say?”
Rispoli looked at her with watery hound-dog eyes, his arms spread out, palms up.
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “Forget it.”
Marvelli felt that he should be defending her, but he kept his mouth closed. He was worried about Jennifer and Annette, and he had a feeling Sammy and Rispoli were right. This might be the only way to lure Taffy out. He hated the thought of Loretta doing something she didn’t want to do, but she was tough and she could take care of herself. Jennifer and Annette couldn’t.
“Come on,” Sammy coaxed. “It could be fun.”
“Forget it,” she said, raising her voice.
“It’ll be easy,” Rispoli said. “No big deal.”
“Yeah,” Sammy said. “Nothing major. Just a little more makeup, do your hair a little different, some heels, a sleazy outfit—”
“No, I said.” She was adamant.
Marvelli was about to intervene when the front door opened, and Alan clomped into the room, carrying a white paper bag. “Anyone want a tart?”
Loretta bared her teeth at him.
26
Rispoli called out from the back of the beauty parlor. “She won’t do the nails.”
Sammy was in the waiting area with Marvelli. “Frankie, she’s gotta do the nails,” he whined. “Go talk to her.”
Marvelli was sitting in a canvas director’s chair that didn’t quite fit his frame. The salon, which was called the Mane Event, was down the street from Alan Winslow’s apartment. It was a very “girly” place with lots of plants and open Chinese fans hanging from mauve walls. Marvelli felt very uncomfortable being here even though Loretta was the only customer except for a little old lady under the dryer helmet. The old lady hadn’t moved in a while, and Marvelli wondered if someone should check on her, see if she was still breathing. The two beauticians, Gayle and Tina, were both out back working on Loretta under the strict supervision of “Mr. Gus.”
Rispoli came out into the waiting area. Both he and Sammy were staring at Marvelli, expecting him to do something, but Marvelli just shrugged. “What do you want from me? I can’t force her.” He went back to flipping through the pages of an old Cosmopolitan, looking at the pictures of the models.
Sammy pulled the magazine out of his hands. “You don’t understand,” he said. “The nails are essential. She’s got to do it.”
“Long and red with the little pictures on them,” Rispoli said.
“Take it up with her,” Marvelli said, snatching up a copy of People from the glass-topped coffee table in front of him.
“You don’t get it,” Rispoli said, taking the chair next to Marvelli. “This is necessary. Taffy likes flashy.”
“Very flashy,” Sammy said, pulling up another chair. “She’s gotta have the nails to get his attention.”
Rispoli grabbed Marvelli’s forearm. “Listen to me. You know how Taffy got his name?”
Marvelli shook his head.
“When he was a kid, he worked on the boardwalk in Atlantic City, at a candy store that specialized in saltwater taffy. He worked there until he was, like, twenty-five because he liked to make time with the fat broads who came in to buy candy. That’s a fact.”
“Gimme a break, will ya?” Marvelli said, opening the magazine.
“Tell him about Big Mo,” Sammy said.
Rispoli nodded. “Back in those days, he used to hang out with this three-hundred-pound stripper named Big Mo. Her real name was Maureen. Hair, heels, lips, nails—the whole number. Taffy was gaga over this woman. She had him by the nose.”
“So what happened?”
“She went on a diet,” Sammy said. “Lost half her body weight.”
“And Taffy dropped her like a friggin’ stone,” Rispoli said.
Marvelli resented their telling him this story. Loretta was nowhere near three hundred pounds. She wasn’t even two hundred—he didn’t think.
“Go talk to her,” Rispoli urged. “Tell her to do the nails.”
Sammy leaned forward and laid his hand on Marvelli’s knee. “This may be the only way to get Jennifer and Annette back. You lost Rene, man. We can’t let that happen again.” There were tears in Sammy’s eyes.
Marvelli heaved a big sigh. He knew how Sammy felt. The guy was a schmuck, but he really did care for Jennifer.
“Talk to Loretta,” Sammy pleaded. His voice was choked. “Please?”
Marvelli dropped his head to his chest and let his body go limp. He did not want to deal with this. This whole thing was a stupid idea; he didn’t know how these two mokes had convinced him that it wasn’t. He felt guilty that he had pressured Loretta into going along with it. But the look on Sammy’s face was killing him. The guy was breaking his heart and busting his balls at the same time.
“All right,” Marvelli finally said, tossing the magazine back onto the coffee table. “I’ll talk to her. But no guarantees. She can be stubborn.”
“Yeah, tell me about it,” Rispoli muttered.
Marvelli ignored the sarcasm and started toward the back of the beauty parlor. He glanced at the old lady under the dryer, expecting her to stop him from entering the inner sanctum, but she didn’t. She was asleep, her shoulders rising and falling ever so slightly with her breathing. Still, he walked gingerly, hesitating with every other step. It felt funny going back there, as if he were going into a women’s room.
He passed several empty barber chairs and avoided looking at himself in the mirrors. When he got to the back of the salon, he found the two hairdressers. Gayle, a pretty but emaciated blonde, was sitting at the manicure table, filing her own nails. Tina, a striking redhead with an incredible body and a prize-fighter’s nose, was standing behind Gayle, her hip cocked and her arms folded under her unavoidable breasts.
“Your friend’s not cooperating,” Tina said, making it clear that she was losing her patience.
Gayle look up at Marvelli and pouted. “She looks great, but she won’t let us finish. It’s a shame, too, because we’re almost done.”
“Where is she now?” Marvelli whispered.
Tina pointed with her head toward the back. “She’s in the John.”
“Let me talk to her alone,” Marvelli said. The women shrugged and headed toward the front of the salon.
“Why don’t you check on the lady under the dryer?” Marvelli called after them. “I think she’s done.” Well done, he thought.
Loretta was just coming out of the bathroom. “What the hell do you want?”
Marvelli’s jaw dropped. “Loretta?”
“What?” she snapped.
But he was speechless. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Her dirty-blond hair had been highlighted or something, and it was … big. It was as if it had been inflated. Her brows had been shaped, and she was wearing two shades of purple eyeshadow, with lots of mascara. Her lips were ruby red, shiny, and moist. She was wearing a sleeveless black blouse, buttons op
en to show a hell of a lot more cleavage than Marvelli had ever seen before. A tight tan skirt came up to the middle of her thighs, which made him wonder what would happen when she sat down. Stylish black platforms with very high heels gave her at least two or three inches on him. She walked up to him, but he leaned back so he could take in the whole package. He couldn’t believe it. She looked … incredible.
“Stop staring, Marvelli,” she growled. “It’s just me.”
“I—” He cleared his throat. “I know that.” But he’d never imagined that Loretta could look so sexy. He’d never thought of her that way.
“So what do you want? Do you want me to do my nails, too?”
“Well, I … they say it’ll help. But what do I know?” Yeah. Do the nails, he was thinking.
“I don’t want claws,” she said. “I feel ridiculous as it is.” She flicked at her big hair as if it were an alien creature sitting on her shoulder.
“Why don’t we sit down?” Marvelli said. His shorts were getting tight. He sat down at the manicure table and crossed his legs, hoping to readjust things down there.
Loretta took Gayle’s seat. “I only agreed to do this for one reason: to nail that snippy little witch Springer.”
Marvelli nodded. God, was he horny. He hadn’t been horny like this in a very long time. “Well,” he said, “why don’t you get your nails done so you can scratch her eyes out?”
“Never,” Loretta spat. “That’s how girls fight. I want to punch her lights out.”
“Okay.” Marvelli nodded. He shifted in his seat. His shorts were getting tighter.
She leaned in closer to him and suddenly softened her tone. “Do you really think the nails will make a difference? Be honest.”
“Well …” He shrugged. “Sammy and Gus say yes. They say Taffy’s particular.” It was true, they had said that, but Marvelli felt guilty telling her to do it. He was the one who wanted to see her with killer nails.
“All right.” She sighed. “I’ll do it. I’ve gone this far.” She flicked at her hair again.
Marvelli couldn’t stop staring at her.
“Veronica Springer,” Loretta grumbled to herself, shaking her head.
“What about her?”
“Nothing,” she said. “Just talking to myself.”
“Oh.”
“You haven’t got any aspirin, have you?”
“Aspirin? No. You got a headache?”
“Yes,” she said. “I thought I had gotten past my coffee withdrawal symptoms, but I guess I haven’t yet. Unless it was the hair-spray that gave me a headache.” She hunched her shoulders and flicked at her hair again. He wished she’d stop doing that. Her hair was very sexy.
“Why don’t you go get the mousse girls so we can get this over with?” she said. “I’ll bet they have aspirin someplace here.”
“Right,” Marvelli said. But he didn’t want to get up. Not with what he had in his pants.
He spun around in his seat. “Gayle? Tina?”
“Coming,” one of them called from the front of the salon.
Marvelli slunk out of his chair like Groucho Marx, staying low and keeping his back to Loretta. “I’ll wait out front,” he said, but as he hurried away from her, he couldn’t help but look back. He dug his hands into his pants pockets, trying to make more room.
Suddenly he thought of that guy in the Bible who looked back and turned into a pillar of salt.
27
Marvelli was sitting behind the wheel of his rented green Taurus, staring out the windshield at Loretta across the street with her new hair, nails, and heels and all that leg showing as she took her time strolling down Sixth Avenue, checking out all the fancy shop windows. Sammy was in the passenger seat, cracking open pistachios and dropping the shells on the floor. Rispoli was in the backseat smoking. Marvelli drummed on the steering wheel, making it thrum. He didn’t like this one bit, none of it. It had been a stupid idea from the start.
This was the fourth place that they’d tried. The two “criminal geniuses” had picked these places based on their proximity to the better downtown hotels. Their assumption was that Taffy wouldn’t stray too far from his base of operation. But it was twilight now, and there was still no sign of Taffy. Marvelli was convinced that this was just a big waste of time. They weren’t going to find the bastard, not this way.
“How come we don’t have a wire?” Rispoli suddenly croaked from the backseat. “It would be better if she were wearing a wire.”
Marvelli sighed in exasperation, trying to hold his temper. “I told you already, Gus. I don’t have those kinds of toys. I’m a parole officer, not a feebie.”
Sammy nodded in agreement as he popped another pistachio into his mouth. All his fingertips were stained red.
“Why didn’t you get the white ones?” Marvelli asked him testily. He was fed up with Sammy, too.
“The red ones taste better,” Sammy said.
“No, they don’t,” Marvelli said. “They taste the same.”
“I don’t think so,” Sammy said. “What do you think, Gus?”
“About what?”
“Pistachios. Which taste better? The red ones or the not-red ones.”
“How the hell should I know?” Rispoli snapped. “I don’t eat them things.”
“Why not? You don’t like ’em?” “Too much damn trouble to open.”
“Yeah, but they’re good.”
“Who the hell cares?” Rispoli said.
“Enough with the pistachios!” Marvelli shouted, his eyes starting to cross. He was trying to concentrate on Loretta. He was worried about her. What if Taffy did show up, and he had those two retards Larry and Jerry with him? They knew her. What if they recognized her through all that makeup?
Sammy held out the bag of pistachios to Marvelli. “You want some?”
He shook his head. “No thanks.”
Sammy’s eyebrows shot up. “What’re you, sick?” he said. “I’ve never seen you refuse food.”
Marvelli ignored him and kept his eye on Loretta. He couldn’t stop thinking about her, thinking about her the way she was now, and that was making him mad. They’d been working together for almost six months now, and he’d never thought of her that way. But as soon as she got a makeover, he suddenly got the hots for her. Was he really that shallow?
Across the street Loretta moved on to the next shop, a fur store. He watched her eyeing the full-length mink coats. He was getting grouchier by the minute, but he wasn’t sure why.
The interior of the car had become very quiet, so much so that Marvelli could hear Rispoli drawing on his cigarette.
All of a sudden Sammy heaved a heavy sigh and broke the silence. “I love her,” he said with a catch in his voice.
Marvelli’s first impulse was to backhand him between the eyes with a closed fist, but then he realized that Sammy wasn’t talking about Loretta.
Sammy looked at Marvelli. “We are going to get Jennifer back, aren’t we?” A tear clung to the bottom of his thick black eyeglasses. He was asking for hope.
“We’ll get her back,” Marvelli assured him, even though he had some serious doubts himself.
Cigarette smoke swirled in the space between Sammy and Marvelli, doing a slow tango.
“Last time I saw her,” Sammy said. “I told her I wanted to get married again. She didn’t say no.”
“Did she say yes?” Marvelli asked.
“She didn’t say no.”
Marvelli pressed his lips into a noncommittal smile and shrugged.
“You don’t know what it’s like, Frankie.” Sammy was staring blankly out the window. “You had Rene, and you two had been together forever. Plus, you were both so cool about things. What I mean is, you’re a real-life tough guy, Frankie, and in a lot of ways so was she. But with me and Jennifer, it’s different. We run hot, man. Real hot.”
“What the hell’re you talking about?” Rispoli grunted.
“I love her. That’s all there is to it, Gus. I’m just … comf
ortable with her. I’m not like that with anyone else. I mean, when I see her, the rest of the world just dissolves. She’s the only one I can see, the only one who matters. It’s like I don’t need anybody else. I’d be perfectly content if she were the only person I ever talked to again. You know what I’m saying?”
Marvelli nodded. He understood exactly what Sammy was saying, and he wondered if he could ever feel that way about someone again. Loretta maybe, he thought.
But the word Sammy had used—“comfortable”—stuck in his mind. He actually was comfortable with Loretta. But was comfortable enough? Shouldn’t there be something more? Like passion? And not the kind that starts in your pants.
“I know Annette hates my guts,” Sammy said. “I mean, she used to tell me to my face all the time. I know she doesn’t want me and Jennifer getting back together. But so what? She doesn’t understand how I feel.” He turned to Marvelli. “Maybe you could talk to her for me. She likes you.”
Marvelli rolled his eyes toward Sammy and didn’t say what he was thinking. Annette would hire a hit man to keep Sammy away from her daughter.
“Maybe you ought to get things straight with Jennifer first,” Marvelli said. “Worry about Annette afterward.”
“Yeah, but Jen listens to her mother. I mean, she was the one who spoiled things between us the first time.”
Marvelli kept his mouth shut. Hanging out with wiseguys had nothing to do with it, huh, Sammy? he thought.
Marvelli glanced at Loretta and wondered what Annette would think if he got involved with her. Not much, probably. Annette was pretty negative, and she didn’t like anyone who wasn’t already related to her—preferably by blood. It was a Sicilian thing.
“Whatever it takes, I’m gonna get Jennifer back,” Sammy mumbled. “I don’t care. I love her.”
“Hey, you two,” Rispoli rasped. “Snap out of it. Over there.” He pointed with his cigarette.
Out in front of the fur shop, Loretta was frozen where she stood. She was staring at Alan Winslow, who was walking tentatively toward her, about twenty feet away.
Double Espresso (A Loretta Kovacs thriller) Page 18
