The Lagotti Family Series

by Leopold Borstinski

  “At the grocers. He’s a man who does his own shopping.”

  “What a modern world we live in.”

  A chuckle.

  “What’s he like then?”

  “He looks quite dapper. Wears smart clothes with oil in his hair. Nice hands: clean fingernails.”

  “Huh?”

  “You notice these things when you’re both trying to grab the same clementine.”

  “And he’s definitely a come-over?”

  “Has an accent so he was definitely born in the US. Hey, you might know him.”

  Claudia stared into her beer and counted to five. The next words were uttered with as much calm as she could muster.

  “What makes you say that?”

  “No reason. It’s a small world though, isn’t it?”

  “Yep.”

  “If I see him again fondling fruit, you want me to hook you guys up?”

  “What? Hell, no.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. Sorry. Just not been a good day. Kids were crying and wouldn’t settle.”

  “Must be tough what you’re going through.”

  Claudia nodded.

  “You have no idea how difficult it is being me.”

  Faye smiled not understanding how deep a truth had been uttered.

  “What else you picked up about him?”

  “I didn’t think you were interested?”

  “Didn’t say I didn’t want to know about fresh blood on the block. I said I didn’t want you making an introduction.”

  “Polite. Lovely fingers, like I said. You can tell he’s a white collar fella.”

  “Did he say what he did for a living?”

  “Well enough to afford a sharp suit.”

  “Seriously.”

  “Salesman. Sold typewriters.”

  “You’ve got to shift a lot of them to make any money.”

  “Maybe, but he looked like he was doing all right for himself. Did I mention he wore a beautiful hat?”

  “No. That makes all the difference.”

  They chuckled and Claudia went up to the bar to get another round of drinks in. This also gave her time to ponder the information she had on the guy. The more she thought, the greater her anxiety grew.

  If he looked like a mobster and he sounded like a mobster then the chances were: he was a mobster. The time had come for Mary Lou to get the fuck out of Dodge.

  MARY LOU CARRIED on talking with Faye as long as the beers lasted despite her overwhelming desire to flee. Nothing screams out guilty more than a woman running away for no obvious reason.

  Around eleven, Faye called it a night as she received a glance from David that said it was time to go home. They hugged goodbye as they left the bar and Mary Lou walked off without looking behind. As soon as she’d turned the corner, she picked up the pace and scurried in the opposite direction to the apartment. Mary Lou checked out every vehicle she passed until she found one to her liking.

  Opened handbag. Removed a hat pin. Door lock unpicked. Forty seconds later, the engine roared into life and she drove it home. A race up the stairs and she stopped to catch her breath. She snuck past Anita’s door so she could get into the apartment and deal without the twins. A suitcase stuffed with clothes. Bags filled with everything else and downstairs to shove it all into the trunk.

  Back upstairs. Mary Lou leaned against the wall adjacent to Anita’s door. Breathe, babe. The woman knows zip and all you are doing is getting your kids like you’ve done every week for months. She reminded herself there was nothing special about today.

  Rat-a-tat-tat.

  “Hi there. Hope I’m not too late.”

  “Of course not dear.”

  Anita walked away from the door, letting Mary Lou follow her in. The twins were asleep on a mat rolled out for them.

  “Have they been any trouble?”

  “Not at all. Slept all night.”

  “Good. Thanks. For everything.”

  “Huh?”

  “Nothing. Same time next week?”

  “You betcha.”

  Mary Lou scooped up the sleeping babes, one in each arm, so their heads flopped onto her shoulders. As she left Anita’s, Alice curled an arm around Mary Lou’s neck and Frank Jr gurgled contentedly near her ear. She walked toward her apartment and fumbled a little to poke the key in the lock - to give Anita enough time to close her door behind her.

  As fast as she could without waking her bundles of joy, Mary Lou slipped downstairs and flopped them into the back seat. She shoved a blanket over them so they didn’t get too cold, got into the driver’s seat and headed out of town.

  Throughout her life with Frank as they fled across country, a simple mantra echoed in her skull: never go more than five miles below the speed limit. She hoped the car wouldn’t be missed until the morning to give her enough time to leave the vicinity before the local cops were asked to investigate.

  Mary Lou’s first thought was to hit another town in Canada but if the guy was following her then he’d know her false name by now and she’d be an easy catch. The mob had tentacles in every city of influence and they’d used Canada ever since the Prohibition.

  She figured the trick would be to go to the one place where the trail had grown coldest: the United States. The Feds must have given up on finding her otherwise they’d have done so by now. Hoover and his merry band have bigger felons to fry than a woman who robbed a bank and vanished into the mist.

  There was the small matter of her shooting a Federal office in the leg, but again, if it was that big a deal to them then they’d have tracked her down and they had not.

  Over the border in the small hours of the morning without a customs guard even twitching.

  “Purpose of your visit?”

  “Popping over to hook up with family in Seattle.”

  “Unusual time to be traveling?”

  “Well, they’re asleep and it’s much nicer to do it then.”

  She nodded into the back seat as Alice and FJ carried on snoozing despite the rush of cold air from the open window.

  “Stay safe on the roads, ma’am.”

  Men in uniform were the easiest ones to play, she thought. All you had to do was meet their bigoted expectations and you were home and dry.

  Four miles down the road, she pulled over and took out the cuticle scissors from her clutch bag. Mary Lou cut up her Claudia Starr ID and ripped up the passport until it was in small enough pieces to chop into shards.

  As she carried on down the highway, she grabbed handfuls of the identification confetti and released it out the window. Over the next ten miles, Claudia was sprinkled along the road until there was nothing left of her apart from Mary Lou’s memories.

  Being back in the US created its own set of questions: the pressing need to escape gave her no time to decide where to head. The east coast was out: living in the backdoor of the people most interested in seeing her dead was a bad plan. And she was damned if she’d return to the south - Mary Lou had spent all her adult life getting away from that hell hole.

  That left only two options: the midwest or the west coast. She needed a city; there was no space in her head for fields of wheat, which took her westwards. Mary Lou considered the craziest idea: who would think she’d go back to the place where she shot the Fed? No-one. And LA was such a sprawling metropolis, she could hide in plain sight forever.

  The coach ride to the Rainy City had taken over thirty hours and that was without the need to look after the twins. She followed the I-5 down to Ferndale where she ditched the car and stole another, changing the kids diapers in a diner.

  Then a stretch to Seattle and a layover in a dive hotel. The journey echoed in her mind, mirroring the days she spent with Frank the last two weeks they were together. Some of the roads were familiar because she’d seen them the previous year on her way from Burbank Airport and the bloodshed she left behind.

  Madness, inspiration: call it what you will, but Mary Lou plotted a return to Californ
ia with her children in the back seat and dawn’s early light streaming into the side of the car.

  FEBRUARY 1971

  8

  NO-ONE FOLLOWED Mary Lou into LA. When she looked back on her last few days in the Rainy City, she never could decide if she should have run. It felt right at the time, and she and the kids were living through the consequences of her decision.

  The City of Angels was warmer and drier than Vancouver and the twins, who were toddlers by now, enjoyed the outdoor life offered by the glorious weather. Another advantage of being back in the States was the cash in her black holdall could now be spent - carefully and with consideration. But she didn’t need to live on skid row any more.

  Mary Lou found a two-bedroom apartment to rent as soon as she could physically place a down payment and six months later, she looked around for somewhere to buy. A year and a half since the heist, she believed it was all over. That she could ease into a life with the children and become part of a community. Have some sense of belonging.

  What was the point of having money if she couldn’t enjoy a few creature comforts and buy her way into a bunch of acquaintances she’d eventually call friends? As much as she enjoyed LA life, Mary Lou wanted a quieter existence for her family so she moved a hundred miles west into Palm Springs and further away from the San Fernando epicenter.

  A new development had popped up on Oakcrest Drive, a square loop of a road. Each house suffered from an enormous backyard, and sculptured lawns beyond, so there was ample play opportunity for the twins even if Mary Lou got a tennis court built for fun. There were four bedrooms in the south facing house she purchased and an attic fit for a live-in maid.

  Downstairs boasted a huge open plan living area, a dining room and kitchen. At the rear was a conservatory leading onto a patio and swimming pool. Beyond was a summerhouse and the rest of the backyard.

  As she walked around the area before deciding to buy, Mary Lou noticed how many young families festooned the drive. She and her brood would fit in well here. And she was right.

  Within days of getting hold of the keys, she used a local agency to hire a maid. Cindy Magdaleno had barely reached her twenties but possessed impeccable references and seemed to love Alice and FJ.

  She sported a tight bun in her head which hid a mane of long black hair. Brown eyes and thin lips. A straight back reflected years of healthy living, which was far from the norm at this point in America’s history and not usual in the couch potato paradise of Palm Springs. Cindy was taller than Mary Lou and quite skinny: like she wasn’t fed enough as a child. She could almost get away with being described as white, but there was a Hispanic tinge to her skin color.

  Mary Lou wasn’t prejudiced. She didn’t care where the woman came from as long as she cared for her children and kept the place tidy. Cleaning would be a bonus.

  While Cindy spent her time entertaining Alice and Frank Jr, Mary Lou seized the chance to leave her home and meet the neighbors. She walked from one house to the next holding an empty cup. With a knock on the door, she’d wait until it opened:

  “Hi. Sorry to bother you but I’ve just moved in nearby and I was wondering if I could borrow a cup of sugar?”

  The technique worked when she and Frank murdered that woman when they were on the lam. What was her name? And it came up dixie now too.

  She first met Janet Frazzini who lived in the house to her left. The woman was a stylish brunette and her son was handled to within an inch of his life by a German nanny. A photo of husband, Milton took pride of place above the fireplace. No ego there.

  On the other side was Sylvia and Raymond Amante. Again the woman was immaculate and the husband was absent. Mary Lou wasn’t surprised. Despite the sexual revolution and the rise of feminism, men worked and their women stayed indoors to tend to the kids. Opposite number twenty - Mary Lou’s paradise on Earth - were Vivian and Roy Canepa. Another picture postcard perfect home and missing spouse.

  After that day, Mary Lou thought Sylvia was her favorite, not just because she was the first but because she was the friendliest. Like Sylvia knew how ridiculous her life with Raymond was. While they were sipping cocktails and glancing at manicured lawns, there were sixteen-year-olds losing half their faces and a limb or two in Vietnam.

  The following evening, Sylvia invited Mary Lou over for a barbecue - the twins too. All the families gathered round, adults and children of various ages. They welcomed Mary Lou as if she was a returning friend they hadn’t seen for several years rather than the stranger who landed in their street a few minutes ago.

  Wine was poured and the men stood around the grill offering advice to Raymond how best to cook his burgers and hot dogs. Meanwhile, the women huddled on sun loungers discussing home improvement ideas and the state of their nails. This was hardly the conversation Mary Lou was used to, but it was calm and worry-free: an experience she relished due to its absence in her life for so long.

  Memories of fleeing Burbank Airport faded for an evening and the bloody pool of Frank’s chest melted into the back of her mind. Instead, she smiled watching Alice enthrall a crowd of women and FJ climb up onto the diving board before being scooped up and cuddled to within an inch of his life by Janet.

  CINDY AGREED TO move into the attic but explained how she still had rent due until the end of the month. Mary Lou considered paying off the rental for Cindy but stopped herself. The flush of joy from having money to burn needed to be tempered: you only have green by not spending it. All those months of counting out the dollars to eke out the cash to the next weekly pay check seemed to have flown out of her mind.

  Instead, she made Cindy commit to arrive in time for breakfast and only leave once the kids were in bed and waited for Cindy to move in. Part of the deal was to have Sundays off - or any other day of the week if Mary Lou fancied.

  Only when Cindy left after the first night of work did Mary Lou internalize what her life would be like sharing the home with someone else. It’s one thing to share a bed with somebody: there’s more than physical space as part of that union. But this was a housekeeper, a maid. There would be no privacy once Cindy appeared on the doorstep.

  This meant Mary Lou had work to do. There was a holdall at the back of her closet containing just under one hundred and ten thousand dollars - enough money to last the rest of her natural life.

  The financial cost of Frank’s death lay in a wardrobe and needed to be secured from prying eyes and sticky fingers. Perhaps she should put it somewhere safe, like a deposit box in a bank. Mary Lou smiled at the irony of that consideration. Not a good idea.

  Mary Lou walked round the first floor of the house, past the cascading staircase which was far to ornate for a woman of her simple tastes. Into the kitchen: keeping paper money near an oven or a sink? Fire and water were not greenbacks’ best friends.

  She stood in the living room, staring. In the corner, behind the door that led from the hallway was a loose floorboard. The builders hadn’t nailed it completely down. Mary Lou could see the gap from the window. Perhaps this would work. The cash would always be near her but no-one would know it was there. Almost perfect.

  On closer inspection, half the plank that made up the floor was under the sideboard. To get that baby up would need a saw and then the subtle nook would be a home improvement disaster. She sighed, stood up and walked to the floor-to-ceiling window that led out to the conservatory. Keeping an ear out in case one twin called out, Mary Lou sauntered into the glass enclosure and stared out.

  Dusk was falling into the night and she wallowed in the orange, purples and reds of the sky caused by the dwindling sun. The summerhouse looked inviting. It’d be a great place to spend long afternoons with the twins. She could turn it into a playroom. A sanctuary for the kids no matter what went on in the main house - not that she had any plans. She reckoned they’d want their own space as they got older although she couldn’t imagine Alice or Frank Jr as teenagers. Them going to school was beyond comprehension.

  The summerhouse: that was
the answer. First, she crept upstairs to check on the children and, satisfied that all was well, she nipped downstairs and scurried outside with a torch. There was a key dangling in the lock and she wandered inside.

  The space was enormous - fifty feet by twenty - and empty apart from two stacked chairs in one corner. Mary Lou stood at the entrance, shining the light into every cranny hoping for inspiration. Then something caught her eye: two walls were glass to let the sun swarm in. One of the other walls remained solidly brick and the fourth had wooden cladding on it. No biggie. Except there was a door handle.

  She strode over and entered the room. It was an empty store cupboard. Mary Lou checked out the handle: no lock. If she removed the handle from the front and added a single hole for a lock then the walk-in store room would be a perfect hiding place for the money and anything she might acquire that needed discretion. Her firearms were a good example of this. A quiet life was all she wanted right now but she’d been on the run for so long, she hadn’t convinced herself that world was over for her.

  The next day she found a local hardware store on South Cerritos Drive: left out of Oakcrest and left again after a five minute walk. The man behind the counter was more than helpful.

  “You want some help putting this into the door, little lady?”

  “No thanks. I’ll be fine.”

  “I'm happy to come by and finish the job for you, honey.”

  “Really. You’re very kind but I know what I'm doing.”

  “Oh?”

  “My husband died two years ago and I've had to fend for myself ever since.”

  “I'm mighty sorry to hear that darling.”

  Had she revealed too much about herself? There’s a world of difference between saying your husband was shot and killed robbing the Lansdowne branch of the First Bank of Baltimore and admitting he was dead at all. The twins were a testament to the fact she’d had Frank’s sperm inside her. He had existed and now he was gone. That was inescapable. So better to glide past the truth as often as possible instead of creating some cockamamie story she’d be stuck repeating for the rest of her life.