“Nobody’s gonna believe you. You know that.”
“Oh, if I stick to my story, they will. I’m a fed, after all, the best of the best. They’ll eat it up with a spoon when I explain that you and Marvelli were in cahoots with Sammy Teitelbaum—Marvelli’s brother-in-law no less—and that Sammy was giving you a cut of the fee that Taffy was going to pay him for the hit on Rispoli.”
“You’re unbelievable,” Loretta said with a wry grin, but inside dread was filling her chest as she realized that Springer could actually pull this off. Loretta and Marvelli had conned their way into My Blue Heaven to get Rispoli out, and the connection between Sammy and Marvelli did look bad.
Springer smacked herself in the shin with the coffeepot. “And then,” she said, “when I tell them that Marvelli seduced me—well, it was closer to rape actually—I’ll get all the sympathy in the world.”
“Forget it,” Loretta shouted angrily. “No one who knows Marvelli will believe that.”
Springer shrugged. “My word against his.” She examined the cut on her shin, then tossed the coffeepot aside.
Loretta’s hands were sweaty. She was struggling not to pull the trigger. From this distance she could plug the witch easy, drop her where she stood, then rush up and empty her load into Springer’s frozen excuse for a heart.
“You gonna shoot me, Loretta?” Springer asked. “Fantastic.
It’ll just make my story all the more plausible.” She started to chuckle. “But you know something? I really don’t think you have the guts to do it. I mean you have a gut, but you don’t have the guts. Maybe that’s why Marvelli preferred me over you.”
Loretta’s eyes bulged. Her jaw was tight, and her head was throbbing. She squinted down the barrel of the automatic, intent on putting one right through Springer’s tight little abs. Gut shots were supposed to be the most painful.
But then she stopped herself and thought about it. This is just what the little witch wants, she thought. She wants me to hurt her. I’m not gonna do it.
Suddenly Loretta tossed her gun into a open sack of white-chocolate-covered espresso beans. Shuffling through the field of coffee beans, she skated up the aisle, her eyes locked on Springer’s.
“What’re you doing?” Springer said. She dropped the smarmy grin and took a step back.
Loretta started shaking her head. “It’s what I’m not doing. I’m not playing your game, honey.”
Springer took another step backward, wincing as she stepped barefoot on stray coffee beans.
“What’s the matter, Springer? You look like you’re in pain. Why don’t you just take a few more diet pills? That’ll make everything all right. It always does, doesn’t it?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Sure, you do. When things get tough, and you’re nervous and aggravated, and all you want is a bag of chocolate-chip cookies, you take a couple of pills and presto! you’re fine again. No appetite. Ready for anything.”
“I don’t take pills.” Springer was moving away faster, trying to run, but the self-inflicted coffeepot blows were more damaging than she’d thought, and she was hobbling in pain. She retreated into the tea aisle where hundreds of glass apothecary jars held loose tea blends in various shades of brown, green, and yellow.
Loretta stayed on her trail. “I saw you taking your pills the first time we met, Springer. But I don’t blame you. Someone in your situation doesn’t need to be fat on top of everything else.”
“What do you mean, ‘everything else’?” Springer snarled over her shoulder.
“Same old story: Hard-as-nails career woman trying to survive in a boy’s club. You know you’ll never be one of the guys, but you’ll never be anyone’s sweetheart either. Caught between a rock and hard place with a glass ceiling on top. I don’t blame you for popping diet pills like M&Ms. A woman like you has to hang on to every advantage she has. I mean, what are you? Forty-something? You still look all right for your age.”
Springer shook her head as she hobbled backward down the aisle. “Save your breath. That’s not gonna work with me.”
“No wonder you’re attracted to Marvelli. A good-looking guy, at least ten years younger than you—what’s not to like? He’d make a good trophy husband. You could show him off at feebie cocktail parties in D.C.”
Springer turned her back on Loretta and struggled on, rounding the tea aisle and stumbling back into the coffee aisle.
Loretta followed her. “Of course, it’s not exactly the same for a woman,” she said. “People would look down on you. To them, being with Marvelli would be like picking up a hustler. Very unseemly for a federal agent. It would definitely hurt your career.”
Springer dragged her injured leg through the spilled coffee beans.
“You might do better with Taffy Demaggio,” Loretta suggested. “More age appropriate. Besides, you’re already in bed with him. May as well show him off to all your colleagues.”
“No!” Springer screamed as she wheeled around and faced Loretta. Her face was drenched in sweat. She was like a trapped animal, her eyes wild, darting all around. “You’re wrong!”
Springer’s gaze was fixed on one of the burlap sacks that hadn’t toppled over. Loretta followed her gaze to the sack full of white-chocolate-covered espresso beans. Her automatic was sitting on top. Springer lunged for the gun, tipping over the sack as Loretta dove into the beans. But Springer snatched up the weapon first and held it out in both hands, feet planted ankle deep in coffee beans.
Loretta skidded to a stop on the tile floor, her hands splayed out in front of her for protection.
Springer was blinking back tears, her mouth a strained clown frown. “It’ll still be my word against yours. I’ll say it was self-defense. They’ll believe me. I know they will.”
“I don’t think so.” A man’s voice came from the end of the aisle.
Loretta glanced past Springer. Marvelli’s scruffy FBI pal Mike Tarantella was coming down the aisle, making ski tracks in the coffee beans. He had a big black 9-mm aimed at Springer’s back.
“Put the gun down, Springer,” he said.
She glanced over her shoulder and was about to bolt when suddenly another man dove between the coffee sacks on the open shelving and grabbed her around the ankles. Tarantella moved in fast to assist, kneeling on her gun hand and taking the weapon away. In no time the men had her handcuffed and back on her feet.
“Come on,” Tarantella said as he took her by the elbow and led her toward the front of the store.
Springer didn’t resist, but she looked sullen and resentful, glaring at Loretta as she passed.
The other man dusted off his pants as he came up to Loretta. He was compact and barrel-chested, bald to the crown of his head with a hanging nose shaped like a hot pepper. He reached for her elbow, and she automatically shrugged him off.
“You’ll have to come with me, Ms. Kovacs,” he said firmly. “We have some questions for you.”
“How do you know my name?” she asked indignantly.
He flashed a tight grin. “Your reputation precedes you. Come on, let’s go.”
She shrugged him off again. “Who are you?” she demanded. His gaze bored into hers. “Special Agent C. Gibson,” he said. “Your alias.”
Loretta’s face fell. “Oh … Well … thanks for the loan, I guess.”
“Don’t mention it.”
“You don’t seem very upset about it.”
“Oh, I’m pissed, but not about that.”
“What are you pissed about?”
“You not shooting Veronica Springer when you had the chance. Tarantella and I heard the whole thing. You should’ve shot her. We would’ve backed you up.”
“Really?”
“Absolutely. Anything to get rid of that backstabbing harpy.”
“Oh … I wish I’d known.”
Gibson shrugged. “What can you do?”
Loretta pressed her lips together and shrugged.
“So shall we go?
” he said.
“I guess.”
They headed for the front of the store together.
Suddenly she stopped. “My partner. Frank Marvelli? Do you know if he’s all right?”
Gibson raised his eyebrows and shook his head.
She grabbed his elbow and rushed him along. “Come on, let’s go. Quick!”
36
The next day Loretta was back at the Grind, staring at swirls of steam rising from a double espresso—caffeinated. It was late in the afternoon, and the overcast sky sent a peculiar glare through the plate-glass windows. A motley assortment of luggage waited in a ragged line by the front door. She was sitting with Marvelli, Annette, Jennifer, and Sammy at a round oak table. They were jabbering away about something, but Loretta wasn’t listening to any of it. She hadn’t even touched her espresso, which Jennifer had provided on the house. She felt too weird. She was thinking maybe she shouldn’t have had espresso with Taffy the other night. Maybe she should have stayed on the wagon. But it wasn’t just caffeine that was bothering her. “Loretta? Loretta?”
She gradually snapped out of it when she realized that Jennifer was talking to her. “Sorry,” she said. “What did you say?”
Jennifer hooked her hair behind her ear and flashed a smile worthy of a toothpaste commercial. “I just wanted to know if you wanted a piece of cake or something.”
Loretta shook her head. “No thanks.” She glanced at the dirty plate in front of Marvelli. He’d already polished off a slice of Mississippi mud pie, a blueberry scone, and a piece of linzer torte. He’d said that he was eating now because he didn’t want to have to eat the food on the plane, but she knew him better than that. When the meal was served, he’d end up eating his own, hers, and Annette’s.
Loretta picked up her cup and brought it to her lips, but she couldn’t bring herself to take a sip. Staring through the swirls rising from her cup, she watched Jennifer as she came back around the counter with a piece of marbled cheesecake for Marvelli, who accepted it gratefully. She studied Jennifer’s eyes as Jennifer watched Marvelli eating. The woman seemed a little too attentive, a little too … something. Sammy had picked up on it, too—Loretta could tell from the expression on his face. Sammy was hovering between suspicion and becoming really ticked off.
Annette was leaning back in her chair with her arms folded, ordering her daughter to bring Marvelli more coffee, more cake, more this, more that. It was as if she were training Jennifer in how to serve Marvelli.
Loretta took a tiny sip of her espresso. The taste spread out on her tongue like battery acid. She put the cup down and pushed it away. She eyed Marvelli’s cheesecake, wanting just a little bite to kill the taste in her mouth, but she knew she shouldn’t, not after that big meal with Taffy.
She shifted her position and crossed her legs, and suddenly she noticed Alan Winslow sitting at one of the computers on the other side of the coffee bar. He must have been staring at her because he was blushing now. She waved to him, and he gave her a tiny wave back, then quickly looked away, embarrassed to have been caught.
She imagined Alan’s apartment, recalling the computer room and how Gus Rispoli had made himself comfortable on the futon. Yesterday Special Agents Tarantella and Gibson had escorted Rispoli back to his old digs at My Blue Heaven. From what Loretta had been told, Rispoli would face no additional penalties for his little getaway. He was too valuable—and too cranky—to risk losing his cooperation.
Taffy was under arrest and being held without bail until prosecutors here in Seattle and in New Jersey worked out their jurisdictional problems, trying to figure out who had the better case against the mobster. Larry and Jerry had been arrested, too, but stand-up guys they weren’t. They’d offered to flip before the fingerprint ink was even dry on their processing papers. They were more than willing to make a deal in exchange for testimony against their old boss. So no matter which state took him, Taffy was definitely going to be convicted of something.
As for dear little Agent Veronica Springer, no one seemed to know what the feds had done with her. Loretta had asked Tarantella and Gibson about her, but they clammed right up. Maybe there was a special dungeon somewhere in the hinterland where bad feds are sent. Maybe they’d let her diet herself down until she was paper thin, then use her as a target for new recruits at the FBI training grounds at Quantico. A cautionary poster with bullet holes.
Loretta was suddenly pulled out of her ruminations by Jennifer’s plaintive voice. “But, Mom, I love him.”
Loretta’s blood pressure instantly shot up. Who was she talking about?
“I don’t care about love,” Annette said. “He’s a bum. Look at him.” She pointed an accusing finger at Sammy, and Loretta sighed with relief.
Sammy’s mouth fell open, and his glasses slipped down his nose. “What’re you talking about, Annette? I saved your lives. You people would’ve been pepperoni if I hadn’t shown up.”
Jennifer was nodding vigorously.
But Annette was unmoved. “You’re a bum, Sammy, and you always were.”
Sammy grabbed Jennifer’s hand, and they locked fingers. “We don’t care what you say, Annette. We’re getting back together. And we’re gonna make it work this time.”
Annette looked up to heaven as she bit the knuckle of her index finger. “Help me, God. Help me!”
Marvelli took a sip of coffee to help the cheesecake go down. “Just one problem,” he said to Sammy.
“What’s that?”
Marvelli speared another chunk of cheesecake. “You’re wanted for a parole violation back in Jersey. Loretta and I have to take you back.”
Loretta’s heart started pounding. Jennifer and Sammy had to get back together. The thought of Jennifer single under her mother’s influence filled Loretta with cold dread.
Sammy pleaded with Marvelli. “Hey, come on, man. Can’t you cut me some slack here?”
“It’s not up to me, Sammy,” Marvelli said, his voice clogged with cheesecake. “I mean, even if we did leave you here, some skip tracer would eventually come looking for you. You’re money in the bank to those cannibals.”
“How will they know about me?”
“Sammy, you’re in the computer. Every bounty hunter from here to Bayonne will know about you.”
“Why? I didn’t actually kill Rispoli. I only tried.”
“Doesn’t matter, Sammy. You’re still a jumper. You violated the terms of your parole.”
“Yeah, but I should never have gone to prison in the first place that time.”
Marvelli held up his hand. “Stop! I’ve heard this song before. Every con I’ve ever picked up sings it, over and over again. ? was framed, I didn’t do it, it wasn’t my fault, it was a mistake.’ Please. Spare me, Sammy.”
“No, it’s the truth,” Sammy insisted. He was a little pale, and he seemed to be having trouble getting the words out. “I … I never really killed anyone … ever. I took that rap for another wiseguy in Taffy’s crew so I could get in with those guys. I wanted to get made.”
Marvelli stopped eating and stared at him. “Sammy, you’re Jewish. They don’t make Jewish guys.”
“I thought they’d make an exception.”
“You mean you never really killed anybody?” Jennifer asked.
Sammy shook his head, clearly ashamed. “I made it all up. I just told everybody I’d done a couple of hits, but it’s not true.”
Marvelli was dumbfounded. “How could you make up stuff like that?”
Sammy shrugged. “I’m an English major. I just stole the details from books I’d read.”
Marvelli just shook his head.
Annette was scowling at Sammy. “What a jerk! At least I thought you knew how to do something. You’re worse than I thought.”
Sammy looked to Marvelli. “So can’t you get me out of the computer? Like I said, I shouldn’t have been there in the first place.”
“It’s not that easy, Sammy. You’ll have to go back to Jersey and ask the prosecutor’s office t
o reopen the investigation. Then you’ll probably have to have a retrial. It’ll take years.”
Sammy’s chin crumpled. “But I don’t wanna go back to Jersey. I want to stay here with Jennifer.” A tear clung to the bottom of his horn-rimmed glasses. “Frigging computers!”
“There’s nothing I can do,” Marvelli said, his brows slanted back in sympathy.
Loretta was all choked up, seeing how much Sammy loved Jennifer. She wanted them to be together—desperately wanted them to be together.
“Maybe I can help.” Alan Winslow timidly approached the table. He waited until he had everyone’s attention before he continued. “I overheard what you were talking about. I mean, I couldn’t help it. You people are kind of loud. Anyway, I’ve gotten into the New Jersey Bureau of Parole’s database.” He jerked his thumb at the glowing computer screen on the other side of the room. “I can delete Sammy’s file if you want.”
“Do it,” Loretta blurted, then blushed when she heard herself.
“Yeah, do it,” Sammy said.
“Please,” Jennifer said.
“No!” Annette screeched.
“Wait a minute, wait a minute,” Marvelli said, his voice still thick with cheesecake. “You can’t tamper with those files. That’s against the law.”
Alan shrunk back. “Okay. I won’t do it. I’ll get out of there right now.”
“No, wait,” Loretta said quickly. “Marvelli, these two people love each other. Have a heart.”
“You stay out of it,” Annette barked. “Mom!” Jennifer scolded.
“Loretta, this is against the law,” Marvelli said. “We’re law enforcement. We can’t break the law. Remember?”
“How about bending the law?” she said. “You’ve done that before.”
Jennifer gave him the doe eyes. “Please, Frankie,” she begged. Her voice was barely more than a squeak.
Double Espresso (A Loretta Kovacs thriller) Page 23
