Lacey Luzzi Box Set

by Gina LaManna

  I let myself into the apartment cautiously. “Alfonso?”

  There was no answer.

  “Alfonso, are you hungry? Sorry, we got a little delayed on our, uh, quest this morning.”

  The place was suspiciously quiet. I picked my way through the kitchen, noticing nothing different than when I’d left that morning. I listened for sounds of meowing or human noises from the bathroom, but there was nothing except for the clanking of the garbage truck outside the apartment.

  Dang it, the garbage was right outside the bathroom window.

  I took a few steps down the hall. The only time the garbage truck was ever that loud was days when Clay took a novel into the bathroom with him, burned through a few candles and opened the window. If the noises were filtering through the apartment this clearly, the only explanation was an open window.

  And the window hadn’t been open when I’d left.

  I unlocked the door from the outside, but something was blocking my entrance. I pushed hard once, twice, three times, but the flimsy wooden door didn’t budge.

  “Alfonso, if you’re in there, open up ‘cause I’m about to bust the door down,” I called.

  I was bluffing, but how could he know? I used handicapped buttons to open doors at the gym.

  “I’m coming in! Coming atcha, Alfonso.” I backed way up against the other side of the hallway. Maybe I’d run towards the door and give it a little shoulder shove and a thunk for good measure in order to really scare him, on the off chance he was still inside. If he’d escaped like I suspected, then I’d wait for Clay to come home and work his magic on the locks.

  I took a walking start, sped up to a jog and crashed into the door, my shoulder situated accordingly.

  However, that flimsy door proved even less sturdy than I remembered, and my shoulder didn’t stop on impact like I’d planned. Instead, my shoulder, head, and the rest of my body hurtled right through the wooden frame. The door splintered into hundreds of shards, with one single chunk intact containing a perfect hole where my shoulder had hit. Splinters sprayed all over the bathroom—the floor was covered, the bathtub had a coat and even the toilet bowl looked like a woodchuck had taken a dump.

  “Crap.” I stood up and peered through the window, rubbing my shoulder, even though it wasn’t really sore. It fact, it felt like I’d run through a piece of paper, the door had been so thin. For the first time I noticed that it was my own kitchen chair that had been propped under the doorknob, preventing me from entering.

  Outside the window, the garbage truck moved on, and I pondered how the boy had climbed through and gotten out. It was a long fall, and the landing wasn’t exactly soft. In fact, it was either a metal dumpster or cement.

  The front door opened and in walked Clay.

  “Dropped Meg off,” he called from the living room. “You should pack, we’re leaving tonight for the wedding. Vivian just called us all to tell us they pushed it up a day.”

  “Great,” I muttered. “Just perfect.”

  “What happened here?” Clay rounded the corner and stared at the wreckage.

  “We have an escapee,” I said.

  Clay grunted. “Your hair is full of woodchips.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “So is everything else. I’m trying to figure out how the turd got down.”

  I climbed onto the bathtub once more and peeked over. “Nothing’s missing from here. He can’t have jumped, not if the lid of the dumpster wasn’t open. And it wasn’t when I left.”

  When I turned around looking for an opinion, Clay was gone.

  “Hey,” I yelled. “I was talking to you.”

  Clay returned a moment later, an almost amused glint in his eyes. “How’d that chair get in there?”

  “This?” I pointed at the kitchen chair. “I dunno, I guess he dragged it in here, but I can’t figure out why except to keep me out—”

  “Oh, shit.” I stared straight at Clay, my back ramrod straight.

  Clay let out a guffaw. “The kid’s messing with you. He balanced the chair under the knob, slunk out through a small crack in the opening, and shut the bathroom door slowly, so the chair would prop against the handle. Then he walked out the front door of your apartment.”

  I rolled my eyes and put my head between my hands. “This business is so difficult when everyone’s smarter than me.”

  Clay sat down next to me and put a beefy arm around my shoulders. One of Clay’s many skills was giving really fantastic hugs.

  “It’s okay.” He tapped my chin. “You’re smarter than Joey.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Gee, thanks.”

  He smiled. “I’m kidding. You do a good job. Just, from now on, please stop destroying everything. Do you need me to put Anthony on you as a bodyguard again? To protect you from yourself, maybe?”

  “Nope—not necessary,” I quipped, probably way too quickly.

  My overzealous answer didn’t squeeze past Clay unnoticed. “That’s what I thought.”

  He winked and helped me up. “It’s either that, or I’m going to start charging you extra for rent for all the repairs.”

  I heaved myself up with his help.

  After a quick reassuring hug, he pointed towards my room. “Go. Pack. We leave in three hours to drive up north.”

  “All right,” I rolled my eyes. “Fine. Head to the boonies with a bunch of loonies. Sounds fun. But what do we do about the kid?”

  “Leave him be, for now.”

  “But he admitted to murdering his own Uncle. I don’t feel safe with escaped killers running around town. Plus, he should pay for what he did wrong.”

  Clay fixed me with a blank stare. “Lacey, you work for the Mafia. Your last task was to recover fifteen million dollars of stolen goods. When did you start caring about stuff like ethics?”

  “Well, this is just wrong.” I stamped my foot. “We don’t do stuff that hurts people.”

  Clay walked away into his room. I could see his eyes roll through the back of his head.

  He turned back to face me. “We’ll find him when we come back. But if you don’t get your butt ready to go to that wedding, you won’t be around to find anyone.”

  I stared at the ceiling and wondered for the umpteenth time why I’d ever decided to work for the Mafia.

  Then, I remembered. Money. Family. The only two things that matter...right?

  Chapter 5

  FOUR HOURS LATER, WE were on the road and heading north. Clay, Meg, Joey and I made for one cozy car ride, with an impressive lack of coordination for bathroom breaks. The wedding was in Lutsen, a three-ish hour drive from the cities, made slower by frequent snack breaks. We’d barely get on the road after getting gas before someone needed a beef jerky, or somebody else needed to whiz, or yet somebody else needed a nip from the flask in the trunk.

  After forty-five minutes of stopping every ten minutes, Clay locked the doors of the Lumina and sped undeterred up the Interstate. Meg sat in the front seat next to him, and Joey and I squished into the back. Clay refused to drive even one mile per hour over the speed limit, so after an hour of driving, we’d waved at Carlos’s motorcade as it flew past us, then a series of other Family members, and finally Vivian’s newly-rented pink Jeep. It was then that we caught the very first, fleeting glimpse of her fiancé. He looked utterly unremarkable, as expected.

  As every single guest invited to the wedding whizzed right on past us, the only consistent things about the drive were Joey’s orange sheen, Clay’s speed (seventy miles per hour, exactly) and the sleek black car behind us.

  “Why is he on my ass?” Clay asked. “I’m getting upset. Why doesn’t he pass us?”

  “Why don’t you try speeding up?” I coaxed. “Then maybe he’ll drop back.”

  “Not a chance. The Lumina starts shuddering at seventy-two miles an hour.”

  “Then why did we drive it?” Joey asked from my side.

  I glared at him. “Because it’s indestructible, as you proved. And you’re only here because I need money to b
uy an upgraded vehicle. Thanks for that, by the way.” Then I turned my glare to my cousin. “Clay, why did we take this damn car?”

  “Shit’s bound to hit the fan up there, and I’m not letting my baby near that,” Clay said. He caught Meg’s curious glance in the mirror, and quickly corrected himself. “My baby car.”

  I smirked and turned around to glance at our tail.

  I groaned.

  “What is it?” Joey asked.

  I pulled out my phone and dialed. “Why are you following us?”

  Anthony’s smooth voice floated through the speaker and made me wish I was riding along next to him, for more reasons than one. “Just protecting you, doll.”

  “From what? Or who?” I asked.

  “You are riding with a psychopath who destroyed your car,” Anthony said.

  “Right. Three of them, actually.” I glanced around the interior of the car. Meg was wolfing down beef jerky as if it had been made from the last cow on earth, Joey was applying spray tanning lotion that smelled like pee, and Clay refused to remove his hands from the steering wheel long enough to take a sip of water.

  “Arguably four,” Anthony said.

  “Hardy har,” I said. “I’m laughing over here. Anyway, this is painful. You don’t have to drive this slowly, we’ll be fine.”

  “I’ve heard that before.” Anthony let out a long sigh. “But tell Clay if he slows down even the slightest hair I will ram him so hard he’ll hit Lutsen in three seconds flat.”

  “Yeah, okay.”

  “Ciao.” He clicked off the line.

  “It’s just Anthony driving behind us. He says if you don’t speed up at least five miles per hour, he’s going to ram your ass all the way to Lutsen.” I slipped my phone back into my handbag.

  “What?” I looked up at three faces all staring horrified at me, Clay’s eyes twitching in the mirror like a rabbit.

  “Oh my gosh, you guys. He’s going to ram your car, Clay. Your car. Get your minds out of the gutters.” I felt my cheeks tinge the color of pink cupcake frosting.

  Nevertheless, Clay sped up six miles per hour for the rest of the drive. And when we hit Lutsen, I smiled back at Anthony with a thumbs up. I was rewarded with an eye roll in return.

  AS WE TROLLED THE STREETS of Lutsen looking for our resort, I had the sudden realization that I’d be seeing Carlos in the morning and he’d be expecting an update.

  “Guys, I don’t know what to tell Carlos,” I said. “He’ll expect a report on Leo.”

  “Well, what do you have?” Joey asked.

  “We went to talk to Looney to get some information, but he scattered and we thought we were SOL. But then this kid—Alfonso—shows up. Get this. He confesses to the whole thing! He said he killed Leo, his own uncle, in order to get Carlos’s approval to join the Mafia.”

  “There ya go. What happened to the kid?” Joey shrugged.

  I looked out the window and ignored the question. “It seems a little odd. I’m not sure if he did it or not—I mean the kid’s fifteen, looks like the love child of a carrot and a tangerine, with bonus freckles. He’s way over-anxious to get into the mob. Like he wanted to prove he was Italian, you know?”

  “I don’t understand the problem. That kid’s trouble. I knew him. Always claimed he was going to make his bones to get in good with Carlos—Leo and I tried to convince him not to. Told him it didn’t make sense unless Carlos requested his services. Guess the kid didn’t listen, and it bit Leo in the butt.” Joey shook his head sadly.

  “I’m just not sure he’s capable of it,” I mused.

  “He gave you a confession,” Joey said gruffly. “Anyways, where is he now?”

  “Well, I don’t know.” I scrunched up my face.

  “You don’t know?” Joey looked at me, dumbfounded.

  “He escaped while I went to visit Vivian. If you hadn’t distracted us, maybe I would’ve been back in time to catch him.” I crossed my arms.

  “Probably not, though,” said Clay.

  “Oh, stop it,” I said.

  “Tell Carlos you found the dude’s information, and you’re just working on locating his whereabouts. That way it buys you a little time, he’s appeased for now, and you don’t sound like as much of an idiot.” Joey looked at me.

  I had to admit, his solution was reasonable. I just hoped Carlos didn’t ask questions. I wasn’t a good actress or liar. Which were two of the reasons I was terrible at my job.

  “That’s the place,” Joey pointed out a gaudy inn with too many Christmas lights. We pulled over and hopped out.

  A perfumed entrance scented the entire front yard and a girlish pink sign announced Vivian & Donald in swirly, slightly tilted, letters. A terrible grin spread across Joey’s face. “That’s where she’s getting hitched.”

  “Wow,” I said. “That is very...Vivian.”

  “My sparkles will look ah-mazing with those lights,” Meg said. “The men won’t know what hit ‘em.” I kept my mouth shut, thinking that if Meg hit any man, he’d probably believe it was a brick wall or a semi-truck.

  “All right, let’s unload.” Clay went around the back and pulled out a few bags.

  My door opened without my touching the handle.

  “You staying with that clown?” Anthony’s hand reached out to help me from my seat.

  “Uh, yeah.” I said, glancing quickly at Joey.

  Anthony leaned his head in the rear window, where Joey’s orange face deepened to the shade of an overripe squash.

  Anthony gently rested one hand on the window, his large frame blocking the door, as he spoke to Joey. “You’ll behave, right?”

  Joey fumbled for an answer. Anthony’s gaze was unwavering, and eventually Joey figured out how to open the door and stomped around the other side of the car.

  “Thanks, but not necessary,” I said. “I can handle myself.”

  A wry smile spread across Anthony’s face. “I’d like to see that.”

  I SETTLED INTO MY ROOM and stood under the gloriously warm shower for a minimum of forty-two minutes. At home, our water would run cold after seven minutes of a slight drizzle, so I took advantage of the hot water and the wonderful water pressure while I had it. By the time I stepped from behind the shower curtains and toweled off, the steam making it difficult to feel completely dry, I already considered the weekend a win. Long shower, fresh shampoo, clean sheets on a regular-sized bed, continental breakfast—what more was there to life, really?

  Except when I opened the bathroom door there was a surprise waiting for me that I could have done without. A note rested on the end of my bed, typed in block letters and emitting a menacing aura even from far away.

  YOU MESSED UP. KILLER WILL STRIKE AGAIN.

  I closed my eyes and rubbed my face from top to bottom, trying to squeeze out the impending stress headache. I lifted the sheet of paper very carefully by the tippy, tippy corner and moved it to the nightstand. I’d deal with that later.

  Right now, I had business that needed tending to.

  More specifically, a bed that needed de-fluffing.

  I backed way up to the door, took a nice deep breath, and then charged at the puffy mattress like a bull after a red cloth. I ended my run at the bed with a gorgeous, flying leap and landed spread eagle, perfectly plopped in the middle of the king-sized mattress. Just one of those things that never gets old.

  I’d wanted to do that since I’d arrived, and I wasn’t going to let a measly little letter stop me. Squashing fresh hotel beds was a once-a-year sort of deal. It wasn’t like I was rolling in the dough and taking vacations once a month.

  Anyway, I knew what the note was about. I’d underestimated Freckle Face. I’d let him slip through my grasp, and somehow he’d followed us up here to torment us throughout the wedding, trying to break into the Family business.

  And for what? I wanted to shake him. Life in the Mafia wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. (See previous thought about bed squashing: I wasn’t exactly rolling in dough and flying to Haw
aii willy-nilly.) It was a lot of work, pain and stress. Kind of like a job as a banker, or an actuary. At the end of the day, work was work.

  Maybe the kid was working with somebody. He’d escaped only three hours before I’d driven up here. Plus, I wasn’t even sure if he had his driver’s license. Not that a small thing like an ID would stop him; it certainly hadn’t stopped me from embarking on one of several joy rides in high school, or trips to the bars at an age younger than was legal.

  I sat up and dug through my purse for the back of a receipt. I was confused, overwhelmed, and didn’t know exactly where to go from here. Maybe if I started organizing my thoughts, I’d get a better idea of who I should be looking for. Making a list of all of the people who had passed us on the freeway during the ride up here would be a decent place to start.

  I poised my pen, but stopped short.

  Maybe I could just grab the wedding invite list. That would be much faster. Probably Vivian would have it, or one of her bridesmaids. Or even Anthony, since he was on security detail. I could imagine him being Type A enough to carry a copy of the guest list in his pocket, scanning the crowd to see if anyone didn’t belong.

  I opened the door and came nose to nose with Joey. His face was contorted into an anguished grimace as he held three bags and tried to shove his key into the card reader.

  “Stupid card doesn’t work,” he said. “Yours work?”

  “Yeah, mine is fine—obviously. I already showered. You haven’t been in here yet?”

  “No. Do you see my things in there?”

  “All right, Mr. Crabby Pants. Excuse me.” I sidestepped around Joey and headed to find Vivian or Anthony, whoever I ran into first.

  “I went to the bar for a drink,” Joey called after me as I hit the elevator button.

  “I don’t really care where you went,” I said, stopping and turning around. “Just so long as you keep your shit on your side of the room. Plus, where’s my money?”

  Joey grunted and hauled his oversized luggage into the room, while I trailed with my nose wrinkled. Even I didn’t need that many bags, and I’d brought a dress, heels and my new cotton undies. I was going all out.