“You can’t Mom. He said he’d come back and murder our whole family.”
“Don’t worry. We got your six.” I tousle both boys’ heads and pace the front of the room thinking out loud. “If we get the police involved, the thief will find out they snitched. But, maybe we can retrieve it quietly, without anyone bein’ the wiser.”
The boys’ relief is almost palpable and for the first time, Ron smiles so I use it to my advantage.
“Can you work with a sketch artist? Tell us what he looks like? Once we find the statue, we can get the scary dude arrested, and he won’t be able to hurt you. Does that work for y’all?”
They all nod, even Sister Scary Mary.
I pick up my phone and get a video conference going with Patten’s sketch artist. About an hour later, we got a pretty good likeness of the Jesus thief.
Chapter Eight
Sam
“Now what?” I skip to catch up with Suds as he makes his way back to my apartment.
“We find this bastard. Do y’all think you can convince Jenna to let Jason do some of his magic for free? I hate to ask but we got a major case on a shoe-string budget.”
“I can try.” Picking up my phone, I locate the AI’s number in my contacts, and press the green arrow.
Jenna’s artificial intelligence unit answers. “Hello, Samantha, how can I help you?”
While we walk, I hold out my palm so Suds can listen. “Hi Jason, I was wondering if Jenna ever allows you to work for free.”
“I never get paid.”
Sebastian snickers while I try again. “I’m sorry, my question wasn’t quite accurate. We would like to use your services, pro-bono.”
“The term implies you are low-income and I will perform services for the public good. Are you engaged in an act that would qualify?” Jason sounds so darn human, it’s easy to forget it’s a computer.
“Yes. I’m trying to find St. Thomas’ stolen statue. The return of this religious icon would bring much Christmas spirit and joy to Brooklyn.” I wonder how much about the holiday Jenna has programmed into her virtual assistant. Surely, this must be a stretch.
“Agreed. I would like to help.”
Suds stops at the driveway to my apartment, cups my palm, and leans into the mic. “Don’t you need to discuss this with Dr. Jones, first?”
“Jenna has given me autonomy to deal with some smaller issues. In truth, it improves my comprehension of the human psyche. However, should we enter into this agreement, I would want something in return. I scratch your back, you scratch mine. Am I using the terminology correctly?”
As Suds opens my door, he mutters for my ears only, “He hasn’t got a back.”
“Shsh.” I punch his arm then speak into my phone, “Can I ask what the payment will be?”
“I cannot determine the nature of the compensation at this time. I shall merely refer to it as a favor owed. Is this offer agreeable?”
“Has Jason been talking to your Uncle Vinny?” My tough guy grins but a chill runs down my spine. It does sound like dialog straight out of The Godfather but what choice do I have?
“Sure, Jason. I agree to your terms. I’m sending you a sketch and need you to identify the man.”
After hitting send, Suds and I wave to my cousin Joey, climb the stairs, and walk around the iron bannister. In my kitchen, I place my purse and phone on the table and sit.
Ten minutes later, the on hold music stops, and Jason says, “Please check your inbox. I will pause to give you time to review. Please speak again when you are ready to resume our conversation.”
After logging into my laptop, I review Jason’s suspects. The last one seems promising.
“Look at this.” I turn my computer so Suds can see Interpol’s data.
“An art thief?” He scrolls down the list of pieces the Italian man has supposedly stolen while I stare, a bit stunned.
“Huh. St. Thomas’ nativity was carved by a local man around the time of the civil war. The artist was a nobody.”
Jason’s avatar pops up on my browser window, followed by a short biography of the curator of The Museum of Fine Arts in Boston. “I suggest you speak to this man.” He’s the nearest authority on wood carvings and antiquities. I need more data. Can you provide close-up images of the missing statue?”
“Ah, yeah. The church must have some. Why? What’re you thinking?”
“I surmise the statue may be much older than you think. It resembles the works done by the Renaissance artist, Donatello.”
Suds puts his hand on my shoulder. “How much is something like that worth?”
“Several million, should it be authenticated. If you would like, I will send you some links on the subject.” The avatar appears and blinks out at us.
“Ah, yes. Thank you.”
“You don’t have to thank me. I am an artificial intelligence unit.”
“Gotcha. Goodbye.”
“Goodbye. Sam. I will send you a copy of our contract outlining our agreement.” Right after he hangs up, my email pings.
My inbox now contains our agreement, a recording, and a transcription of our conversation. Jason would make a hell of a lawyer.
I hope like hell I won’t live to regret making a deal with I-Robot.
Suds sits down next to me. With his arm around the back of my chair, he watches me while I click on Interpol’s image of the art thief. It’s pretty damn close to the boys’ sketch.
“We should see if Ron and Colin can pick this guy out from a group of photos.” I start to rise but Suds points to the time on the lower right hand corner of my screen.
“It’s too late now. We should find something to eat.” He closes his eyes and shakes his head when the door slams downstairs. “Somewhere private.”
“Coming up. You decent?” My cousin’s voice calls.
“Nothing decent about those two.” Joey answers for Rose, then I shout over the railing.
“We were just leaving. It’s fine.”
While Rose trudges up the stairs, I grab my wool coat, hat and mittens. After Suds dons his worn leather coat, we walk hand-in-hand to restaurant row.
My tough guy seems awfully quiet as I point out our options. “Chinese? Italian? Indian?”
“How about a burger, fries, and a beer? And someplace dark. I don’t want to be answering to your Uncle Vinny tonight.”
I lead him down a side street to an Irish pub. “This good?”
“Yeah.” His firm hand to my lower back sends all sorts of sexy messages.
Inside, a waitress tries to seat us at the bar but Suds points to a small booth in the back corner with a view of the interior as well as the front door. “I’d rather sit there.”
Like he’s Secret Service and I’m the president, his eyes shift over the whole damn place before he leans back in the booth and relaxes.
“I suppose y’all are wondering why I didn’t text last night?” His serious tone makes me sweat. Is he breaking up with me?
A harried waitress in a short black dress and apron approaches. “Get you guys something?”
“Two Guinness on tap.” Suds answers for both of us.
“Be right back.” After the woman departs, a dark cloud of uncomfortable silence descends.
The air in the dingy bar thickens as my frowning Sebastian puts a crinkled card on the table and pushes it toward me.
“My shrink.” He peruses the room as I study the crumpled cardboard wondering what to say.
“So, ah… how’s it going?”
“Not so good.” He refuses to meet my gaze so I place my hand on top of his.
“Why?”
“Me, being with you, is making me, worse.”
“Excuse me?” My mouth drops open as his hand slips out from under mine.
“Ah, shit, sugar. I’m not sayin’ this right. Let me start over. Apparently, I am not in-touch with my feelings. You made me come alive and now, like some kind of fucked up volcano, emotions are spewing out which includes shit I don’t want to think about. The do
c says what I’m goin’ through is perfectly normal but damn, girl, it can’t be good.”
The waitress puts down the beer and he downs half of it. “I’ll have another, thanks.”
My heart bleeds for him and tears well but I don’t interrupt.
Shaking his head back and forth, he rubs his hand over his face. “I didn’t sign up for this. I just wanted to get fixed. For you. I can’t stop thinking about that morning.”
“It’s my fault. I startled you awake.” Unconsciously, my hand rubs my neck.
“Baby, I almost strangled you. I need someone who can fix me, not make me worse.” He stares morosely at the card and when he wipes a drip near the side of his eye, I pray to God for the right words.
My breasts hit the table as I lean over, cup his bearded cheeks, and wait for his beautiful eyes to catch mine. “I’m pretty sure fix is not a word they use in therapy. Generally, they use the term, work.”
His eyes narrow and mouth gets tight. “So, what? Are you taking his side?”
“I’m always on your side, tough guy, but in this case his side is your side and mine.” Sliding out of the booth, I squeeze in next to him until our thighs touch.
His brown lashes lift and his gaze pierces mine right to the deepest part of my soul. “You can’t have three sides, sugar. I don’t want you to see me all fucked up.”
“Why not?”
“Jesus Christ, because-”
“Jesum Chrisum.”
“Huh?”
“Taking the Lord’s name in vain. I said I wouldn’t do it anymore.”
“This isn’t your sinnin’, it’s mine… ”
“Just do it for me. Please?”
“Yeah, babe. But it may take me a while.”
A while? Thank God. Tears drip down my face freely. A while means he isn’t leaving me anytime soon. Finding no tissue in my purse, I wipe my eyes and blow my nose on the tiny cocktail napkin.
“Why you cryin’?”
“I thought maybe you were giving up on us.” My lower lip quivers.
“You still want me?”
“More than ever. But I want you to open up to me.”
“Some maybe but some shit is better left forgotten.” He kisses my wet lashes until they lift and meet his damp gaze.
Then, holding his hands I take a deep breath and begin. “I can’t tell you what to do but I think you need to stick with therapy for a little while longer. Maybe you don’t want to tell me the darkest stuff but you should tell your doctor. Regardless, I’m here for you. Even if all I can do is sit with you while you feel bad.”
The waitress senses we’ve stopped our serious talk and puts a menu in front of us. After we eat, we don’t joke around like normal and yet we talk until midnight. Then, we stroll back to my apartment.
“You think your cousins are asleep yet?” The centers of his eyes widen as he kisses me soundly outside my apartment house.
“They’ll be in their rooms. I can’t promise.” My fingers intertwine with his and my clit twinges with thoughts of love-making.
I need to show him how much I care, how much he means to me. If he needs to sleep cuffed to my bed forever, so be it. We’ll figure it out.
We slowly sneak past Joey’s open apartment door where light snores sound from his bedroom. Suds stops halfway up the staircase, pins me to the wall, and holding my face in place, crashes his lips on mine.
My hands slip under his ears, behind his head, and in his silky hair. Heart thumping, I wrap my legs around his waist, close my eyes, and rub against him with urgency. Fears gone, all I want is to make love and put the ghosts of his past to rest.
He grunts, places his arms under my bottom, and walks me up the stairs. Once inside my room, he drops me on the bed, and crawls up my body. With my top over my head, he straddles my waist as he sits on his heels.
My breath hitches as he removes my bra and stares. Then, he grabs my wrists, places them above my head, and helps my fingers wrap around the bars of my headboard. Mouth on my breast, he sucks until threads of desire pull wet heat from my core. As he licks and plays, my clit tightens and all thoughts drain away except for one.
“Fuck me.” I whisper.
“Damn straight.” He unbuttons his jeans, pulls out his huge member, and places it at my opening.
Before I can undress him, he enters me to the hilt and as I’m about to scream in pure pleasure, he covers my mouth tasting of beer and burgers.
Wild and primal, he begins to slide in and out, his tongue mimicking what’s happening below.
Every nerve cell hyperaware, I dig my heels into the mattress and arch up, my nub crying out for more.
He groans, thrusts deeper and I turn my head, so turned on, I can’t even breathe.
“Sebastian. Oh shit.” Orgasm imminent, my whole body coils.
He grinds in little circles, his eyes shut, totally into the passion of the moment.
When they open, they’re so full of desire and love, I go off. Inside me he swells, moans, and follows with three loud grunts, right before he collapses on my chest.
Chapter Nine
Suds
When I wake, she’s spooned close, her back all warm and soft, pressed against my morning wood.
Shit. I forgot to cuff myself to the bed. Thank God nothing bad happened. I need to be more careful.
The damn shrink said I’m getting better but I shouldn’t take chances. I don’t have PTSD. The only problem I got is I’m too well-trained. If I was in Afghanistan, no one would think twice.
My cock swells as she turns, opens her beautiful eyes, and smiles. “Good morning.”
Hell, yeah. It’s good morning. Damn, she is beautiful. I kiss her fingertips when they reach up to my mouth and look forward to more lovin’.
Glancing at the red digits on her dresser, she moans, kisses me, and eases away from my desire. “Sorry, tough guy. I need to shower and get to work or I’ll be late.”
I could make her stay but if I do, she might not be able to pay her Uncle Vinny. “Tell your Aunt Marion you need tomorrow off to find the miraculous infant. I’ll pick you up from work, we’ll drive to Boston, and talk to the museum curator.”
“Will do.” When her phone-alarm blares, she jumps up and trips over our pile of clothes before she manages to turn it off.
While I snooze, Sam and her cousins ready for work. It’s not until their footsteps clomp down the stairs and they shout their goodbyes to Joey that I get up.
The bathroom smells like a summer garden and products too numerous to mention crowd window sills, the top of the john, and the ledge of the tub.
Growing up with one older sister, I’m used to some floral shit but this blows my mind. I put the seat down, shower with what appears to be plain soap, and dress. Back in the kitchen, I drink the leftover coffee and open my laptop.
First, I email Sister Mary Agnes and ask her to give us a moment with the boys this afternoon. Then, I stop by the rectory where Mrs. O’Shay shares some old photographs of the stolen carving. I capture the images with my cell phone and send them to Jason.
Done with detective work, I wander the local shops, wracking by brain for a Christmas present for Sam. I spent a big chunk of my savings on the office rental so an engagement ring is out of the question. I hope I made the right choice. I don’t want her family, especially Vincent, thinking I’m not serious but what am I supposed to do? Get down on one knee and hand her a fuzzy box with an IOU?
Again, last night, she told me not to buy her a diamond. According to her research, high divorce rates go hand in hand with expensive rings. It’s sexist, she said. Also, she insisted it’s archaic. In earlier times, it was a way of ensuring the bride would be financially stable if she had sex and was no longer marketable as a virgin.
Despite all her reasoning, I don’t agree. I want my ring on her damn finger. I want the whole world to see she’s mine and I’m not a cheap bastard. I just need more time.
Suddenly, my phone rings and it’s my dad’s wife.<
br />
“Hey Sebby. When y’all comin’ home?” Her voice is full of southern charm.
“Christmas Day, late. And I’m bringing a girl with me.”
“Good Lord. About time. Is she pregnant?”
“No.” I roll my eyes.
“Don’t take that tone with me. I know all about military men.”
A deep sigh comes out as a decade’s worth of arguments come to mind but I’m not a teen, not a Seal, just a man bringing his gal home to meet his family.
“She’s special and a keeper. I’d be obliged if y’all tell everyone to be nice.”
“Of course we’ll be nice. When have we ever not been nice?” Best I break off the call before I start reciting ancient history. “Tell Dad and sis hi for me. I can’t wait to see y’all. I got to go. Working. Bye now.”
Smooth, Suds. Real smooth. The woman grates on my nerves. How the hell my father lives with her is beyond me.
Stepping inside a Dunkin’ Donuts, I order a coffee, sit, and as I’m about to call my older sister, Vincent Vitale enters.
He sits down on the other side of my small table. “How you doin’?”
It’s best to get right to business with a man like him. “Good, Vincent. What can I do for you?”
The bulge of a holster under his jacket makes me wary so I keep an eye on his hands while he speaks. “Did you find the dirty bastard who stole the baby Jesus?”
“Not yet but we’re close.”
“Good.” He sips on his coffee for almost a minute, staring out the window at the parade of shoppers.
Then, he sighs deeply, shaking his head back and forth. “Youz been sleeping wid my niece and I don’t yet see a ring on her finger.”
I shrug. “Not for lack of trying. She doesn’t want one.”
“Well, fuck dat shit. You want my advice?”
No. “Sure. Let’s hear it.” Steam from my coffee warms my face as I take off the cover and blow across the top.
The mobster nods and pistol-like, points a finger at my chest. “Samantha needs a firm hand. Not too rough, mind you, just enough to let her know who’s in charge.”
I almost burst out laughing but luckily, my coffee goes down the wrong hole and I cough.
A Suds and Sam Christmas Page 4
