by Vivian Wood
“Ouzo,” he said, lining up three shot glasses.
Viola pulled a face, but they all picked up their shot glasses.
“To Viola,” said Damien.
“May she find what she really wants,” added Callum.
They all shot the burning liquor, wincing at the flavor of it.
“Gross,” said Viola, stacking her shot glass with the others. “Truly, that was wretched. How about a couple Anchor Steam beers to wash it away?”
“Sure,” Damien said. He went to the cooler for them, giving them a second alone.
“I don’t know what your deal is, but you’d better find someplace to be while I pump him for answers.”
Viola had her don’t-mess-with-me face on. Come to think of it, Callum had hardly seen anything else. All her sweet smiles were for Damien, apparently.
“No. You don’t even know what the guy’s name is.”
She swiveled on her seat, facing him.
“You want the info or not?” He watched her closely. Vi wasn’t backing down.
“Give me the name,” she said.
He thought about it for a second, then shook his head.
“Peter Capistrano.”
She smirked. She turned back, thanking Damien for the beers.
“You know, he’s just going to take his over there,” she said pointedly. “He has a bet on one of the races.”
Callum stood, eyeballing Damien the whole time. He pulled out his wallet, dropped a hundred on the counter, and grabbed his beer.
Walking away, he took a faux-leisurely stroll around the joint, sitting on one of the hard benches for race fans. From this vantage point, he could see Viola, but also the rest of the place.
He saw some major money change hands over by the gaming tables. The money went into a cage-like contraption, and then went in an unmarked door on his right side.
Callum’s eyes flicked to the wannabe strip club. He watched a big-tittied blonde grind on some fat slob for a moment. Then money changed hands, and the blonde led him through a red door.
Nice, he thought, disgusted.
That was the part about strippers he didn’t like. There was something about a girl that was always for sale. He’d met a lot of them, and the thing about them was that everything was available — for a price.
It was what kept Callum from getting too close to strippers.
He knew that the Cúram ran girls, escorts and strippers. He just didn’t feel right about the whole thing, stayed away from that side of things.
Even so, he knew it happened. Just like it was happening here, though there were no pimp overlords here to see the whole thing taking place. It ran without them, at times like this when they couldn’t be here.
Eventually he looked away, back to Viola and Damien. She was listening intently to what he was saying, intrigued. He was close enough to run his hands through her hair.
Try it, see how your fingers work when they’re broken, he thought.
Then Viola was walking across the restaurant, jogging actually. She had a huge grin on her face, a look-what-I-got grin.
She walked up to him, leaned close.
“I had to tell Damien you’re my boyfriend just to keep him from asking me to a party,” she said wryly.
He looked at her, cocked a brow but kept quiet.
“Guess who works here?” she asked.
“I don’t know. Who?”
“Peter Fricking Capistrano.”
Now both his brows shot up in surprise.
“Really.”
“Really. Works as a manager, oversees the girls. Hasn’t showed up for his shift in a couple of days, but he’s on his way right now.”
“Fuck.”
“Yep. I said he owed me some money, and Damien was all too happy to spill about Peter’s routine. Apparently Peter enters the building through the managers’ entrance… from the staff parking lot.”
“The staff lot?”
“Yeah, around back. Damien says it’s isolated.”
“I should go outside, then.” Callum checked his watch. Seven p.m. Good enough time for interrogating.
“I think you mean we should go outside.”
“I don’t,” he said.
“I got you the information! You wouldn’t even know he was coming without me.”
He grabbed her arm, not hurting her but shaking her hard enough to know the business. “You stay here. If I stand here talking to you anymore, I might miss him. So don’t make me, okay?”
She screwed up her face, looking away for a few seconds. “Fine.”
“I’ll be back in a few,” he said, releasing her. “Behave.”
With that, he was up and moving. Out the door, blinking in the mid-evening gloom. There were more strange characters standing around — Callum didn’t like the look of them, saw them as potential witnesses.
He didn’t know what was about to go down, but he didn’t need anyone seeing it.
Quickly, he walked around the front of the building to avoid them. He walked to the back, stopping short at the corner. He sank back against the building, watching two mafia-looking motherfuckers menace a short, dark-haired guy.
Callum drew his gun.
He couldn’t hear what they were saying, but clearly the short guy was Peter Capistrano. One the guys pointed to an SUV.
Callum slunk back along the wall for a second, then looked again. One guy pulled a gun, the other opened the door to the SUV.
Peter looked around, saw that there was no other decent option, and got in. The suits climbed in the SUV, then the car pulled out with a squeal of tires.
“Shit,” he said, putting his gun away.
There went his best chance to pin the murder on somebody else.
Standing in the twilight, he watched the SUV pull away.
13
“What are you doing?”
Callum turned, eyeing Vi. He looked tired as he faced her in the kitchen. Big circles under those intense green eyes, something a little worn about him. It was like he hadn’t slept, not since their discussion the day before.
Did he think she was going to miss her chance to help? As if.
“Uhh,” he said, rubbing his hand across his face. “Nothing, Viola.”
“I’m coming with you,” she said. “I’m going to get my purse, don’t you dare leave.”
He tried to say something, but she was out of the room before he got a word in. She came back to find him still standing there, holding a ball cap.
“For me?” she asked, pointing to the cap. “It’s night, they won’t be able to see me.”
“Put it on,” he said, tossing the cap to her.
“Braves fan, are you?” she said. She put on the cap, which was roomy enough to fit her long hair.
“Shut up. Let’s go.”
He led her down the elevator, making her wait until he jumped in a blasé grey sedan and did two laps of the parking lot.
Once she was in, she noticed that his driving slowed noticeably, as if having a female in the car somehow hindered the speed.
“Are you gonna drive like this all night?” she asked.
He shot her a look, but kept driving like they had all the time in the world. Probably because they did; when they pulled up outside a low-rent but glittering strip club, Callum parked and stretched out.
“What are we waiting for?” she asked.
“For a guy to come out of the club. Alonso Marquetti. We got a tip that he’s in there, but it’s packed to the gills with Italians.”
“Mmmm. And what do we want with Marquetti?”
He looked over at her, and she had a hard time not shivering. His gaze was more intense than it should be, for such a simple question.
She returned his gaze, her eyes drifting down to his lips for a moment. For a second there was definitely heat, drawing them together. For a moment she thought they would both lean in, kiss like they were both starving for it.
And then he seemed to realize what was happening, shaking h
is head. When he spoke, his voice was gone to gravel.
“I need to trail him. I think he knows where our guy is hiding.”
He sounded gruff as he turned to look out the window.
“Ah.” Stupid, but it was all she could think of.
They sat in awkward silence for a minute. Vi kept coming up with stupid icebreakers, then shooting them down.
So, you a Red Sox or Celtics man? What’s that, you’re more of a Patriots fan?
She rolled her eyes at herself. She was a bartender, she shouldn’t be short on the gift of gab.
“What’s with you and the medical books?” he asked, surprising her.
“It’s what I studied in school. I was pre-med.”
He cocked a brow. “You wanted to be a doctor?”
“Yes. I would’ve been the first in my family to graduate college, much less med school.”
“What happened?”
Well… see my father murdered my fiancé…
Not appropriate banter, unless she wanted him to head for the hills. She considered a good replacement.
“Life.” She meant it to come out carefree, but it came out sounding tense and guarded.
Nice job.
“Listen—” she started, but just at that moment she noticed a man come out of the strip club.
Callum straightened up. “That’s him, I think.”
He took out a manila file folder and opened it; it was full of photos from every angle.
“That’s him, all right,” she said, glad for something to talk about.
Callum didn’t answer, just waited until the guy got in a high-end sedan and followed him discreetly. They drove around seemingly without purpose, until the guy darted out of traffic.
“Hey, the guy we’re following stopped,” she said with a frown. “Back there.”
“I know that. I don’t want him to know I’m following him, so I’ll go around the block.”
They did a quick tour around the block before they pulled up across from the place, which turned out to be another strip club.
“Nice habits this guy has,” Vi said distastefully.
“Yeah. It’s his business. He runs the less legal side of these bars, if you get my drift.”
“Less legal? Like he runs girls, or something else?”
Callum gave her a look, then went back to monitoring the scene.
“Everything. Girls, drugs… You name it, Mr. Marquetti’s sticky palms are all over it.”
“Interesting. So how does he know where our friend is hidden?” Vi asked.
“He’s a connected guy with a lot of properties. People tell him things. Hopefully, one of those things is where our quarry is hidden.”
They sat in silence for a moment, Callum all about the window and Vi trying to look, too.
“Here he comes again,” Callum muttered.
It was true, the guy was headed out the doors, toward the parking lot. From here, Vi could make out the guy’s paunch and thinning gray hair.
“He’s not going toward his car,” Vi said. “Where is he going?”
“He’s got a duffel bag,” Callum said. “Shit, he’s coming this way.”
Callum turned to look at Vi. Her breath caught as suddenly his big hands were in her hair, his lips on hers.
She made a small, panicked noise as he kissed her, long and hard and insistent. It went on and on, until she almost relaxed into it, started to kiss him back…
Without warning, he broke the kiss, looking out the window. She blinked.
Alonso Marquetti walked past without glancing their way, having written them off as no concern. Thus, the reason for the kiss.
Vi’s mouth turned down, but Callum wasn’t paying attention.
“I’m going to go after him. Stay here,” he said.
Opening the sedan’s door, he slid out of the car. Vi didn’t miss the dull flash of metal in his waistband as he got out of the car.
He was carrying, that was sure.
She watched him go, saw him pace after Marquetti like a tiger on the hunt. He was a predator, couldn’t be mistaken for anything else.
But what if the predator becomes the prey? she thought.
That thought had her launching herself out of the car, purse over her shoulder. She followed Callum two blocks, until he ducked into an alley. Flattening herself against the wall, she made herself as invisible as possible, pausing at the corner for several long breaths.
When she heard voices, she slid around the corner tentatively. She saw Callum holding Marquetti at gunpoint, while the guy was sort of slouched against a wall.
It looked to Vi as though Marquetti was holding something, though she wasn’t sure Callum could see from his vantage point.
Callum said something and Marquetti grimaced, then shook his head. In the next second Callum leaned forward and Marquetti pulled a knife; then everything went sideways.
Callum jumped back to avoid the knife, clearing room for Marquetti to move. They both turned toward her and spotted her as one. Marquetti saw that she had no weapon and raced toward her, giving her barely enough time to turn and run.
BANG.
She heard the sound of Callum’s gun through the silencer. She turned to see him stare at Marquetti for a second, then shake his head.
She felt herself begin to tremble at the sight of the body on the ground.
How had she come back to this type of life, so far from her family?
Then Callum was moving toward her at full speed, grabbing her arm and forcefully towing her back the way they came. She risked a glance up at him as they went, and guessed from his seriously pissed-off expression that he wasn’t in the mood to answer questions.
When they got to the car, he opened the passenger side and shoved her in roughly. He climbed in his side and pulled the car out, driving as if there were nothing wrong, as if he hadn’t just shot somebody.
“Callum—” she tried.
“Silence.”
The word fell like a sword, slashing all hopes of conversation.
She looked down at her hands, realized she was shaking like a leaf. Tried to still her hands in her lap, tried not to picture the body on the ground. The trail of blood streaming from the front of his neck, a trademark of the Cúram.
That must be the outfit he worked for, then. Violent men with even more violent tempers.
Before today, she would’ve defended him, said he just didn’t belong…
But that was before he’d dropped a body right in front of her.
She closed her eyes and leaned her head against the glass, overwhelmed.
Callum pulled the car into the garage, his face expressionless. He handed her a spare set of keys, though who knew where he’d gotten them.
“Go upstairs.”
Simple words, spoken by someone who intended to be obeyed. Someone who wasn’t often disregarded, she could tell by tone alone.
With one last glance over her shoulder, she headed into the elevator and rode straight to his floor.
This time, she would submit to his will, mostly because she was shaking too hard to do anything else.
She let herself into the apartment quietly. Nothing awaited her but the heated embrace of the tub, it was the only thing that called to her.
Heading to the bathroom, she locked the door behind herself and stripped down. She ran the water as hot as she could stand it, turned the lights down, and climbed in the tub.
Sighing as she sunk in, she had to wonder.
Was she able to wash this death off, just as she had Jason’s?
She blanched at the thought. Poor Jason, whose only crime was to love her. Her thoughts couldn’t help but drift back to where she’d come from.
Young and successful, graduating high school early and doing three years at Northwestern, she’d come home to tell her father the good news. She’d been one of the first people in her class to get engaged, to a young lawyer with dark hair and a nice smile.
Viola had been dead set against telling
her father, but Jason wore her down. His easy smile and patience were like that, persuasive. So Vi had called her father, a big hulking Italian that seemingly just came out for graduations — elementary school, high school, the like. He stayed in the city, his mysterious business there.
After Vi’s mom had died, he went away and stayed away. He hadn’t seen Viola for three years, but when he did…
“You look like a model!” he’d exclaimed. “Just like your mother. Whaddaya foolin’ with this college thing for?”
Jason took it as a joke, laughing until her dad’s glare withered it on the vine.
“God, Dad…” she sighed, but they were in too public of an area to chat properly. They were at a restaurant, after all.
The whole dinner her father made inappropriate jokes, bordering on sexual harassment. Her dad was suddenly keenly interested in her, interested especially in who she went out with.
“You know who you should go out with? Pauly diSalvo,” her father said, mouth full of caviar.
“Dad, I’m here with Jason,” she said firmly.
“Oh yeah?” her dad said, continuing to chew. “And how’s he gonna protect you, doll?”
She’d squared her shoulders and announced the engagement, which left her fiancé red in the face and her father less than impressed.
That was the end of that dinner, and Vi’s connection with her dad, as far as she was concerned.
Imagine her shock when she came home a few days later to find Jason dead…
Vi’s eyes welled up just thinking about it. She ducked under the water to rinse them away, along with the remnants of her tremors.
When she came up she felt cleaner, at least a little.
A few days later and a lot wiser about her father’s business, she’d made the decision to run, and never looked back. Viola became Vi, and the whole thing eventually slid into the realm of painful memory.
Rising from the bath, steam coming off her body as she did so, Vi wrapped herself in a towel and crawled in bed. She glanced at her books, but found no solace there.
Today wasn’t like Jason, she told herself.
She pictured Callum’s face, felt guiltier than ever for being so drawn to him. What the hell was wrong with her?
Rolling over, she wrestled with her conscience, willing sleep to come.
