by Gina LaManna
Anthony barked laughter. “I’ll give Tony Stark a call and see if he can hook me up.”
“What about me?” I laughed. “I want an Iron Man car, too.”
“If you were a car...” Anthony reached over and grasped my chin between his hands. With a gentleness I didn’t expect, he tilted my face towards him. Alternating between driving straight on the Minneapolis freeway and scanning my features with an intensity that made me squirm, he pursed his lips in thought. “Mazda Miata.”
“Which one is that?” I asked, still trembling lightly from his touch. Anthony was quite possibly the safest driver I knew, so it was out of character for him to have taken his eyes off the road for so long. Not that I knew a bunch of safe drivers. Neither Meg nor Clay were particularly attentive behind the wheel.
“You’d be a bright violet one. It’s a zippy little convertible. It’s got a bit of flash and a lot of fun. It’s cute and girly, but it knows how to handle itself on the racetrack.” Anthony winked in my direction. “Best of all, it looks great topless.”
“Hardy har,” I said, Googling the image on my phone. The convertible popped up, and I wasn’t entirely displeased with Anthony’s assessment.
“But most of all,” he said, watching my face as I browsed the various shades of Miatas, “it’s feisty and has a zest for life that not even hard core car enthusiasts can deny.”
In my head, I wondered if we were still talking about cars. But I said nothing as he exited the highway and turned down the side street that would take us to Meg’s bar. I was still glowing from his explanation.
“I have a car,” Anthony said. “One not sanctioned by Carlos.”
“Ah,” I said, everything making sense. This car didn’t necessarily belong to Carlos per se, but it was like my grandfather to keep up appearances, and suggesting that his head of security drive a Lamborghini around town sent a definite message to anyone watching. “What would that car be?”
“Audi S8,” he said, stopping the Lambo in the middle of the street.
“Why that car?” I turned to face him. “You can park, you know.”
Anthony looked with a disenchanted expression at the one tiny slot available at a meter.
“I have places to be,” he said.
“Are you sure you’re not scared of parallel parking?” I joked, leaning towards him.
For a moment, an expression almost like guilt crossed his eyes, but it disappeared before I could say anything. A car honked behind us, signaling the traffic hold up. I felt the need to get out of the car, but I also wanted to hear Anthony’s answer.
“Listen,” he said, catching the back of my neck in his palm as I unbuckled my seat belt.
My eyes looked up to his, startled at the abrupt change in his demeanor.
“Don’t get yourself into any trouble out there today.” Anthony was so close that his breath skimmed over my cheeks. “Take Meg with you and be smart. Be safe. If I don’t hear from you by sunset, I’m coming after you.”
I winked. “Is that a bad thing?”
Anthony blinked, caught off guard by my brash change of subject. His features relaxed while his grip on my neck remained strong, the space between us thin as a blade of grass. The corners of his lips perked up. “That depends.”
On what? That’s what I wanted to ask. But the words never reached my mouth because Anthony pressed his lips to mine, taking his sweet time with the embrace. A louder, longer car horn sounded behind us, but my urge to get out of the car had all but disappeared. Just as I pressed in for more, he pulled back and I nearly toppled head first into his lap. The seatbelt flew up as I fell on the release button and it retracted violently, smacking my hand on the way to its holster. I was left a stuttering mess as he gave a nod to the car door.
“Uh, um. I forgot the question,” I mumbled.
Anthony’s grin could’ve parted a thundercloud it was so bright. “I didn’t ask one.”
Before I could embarrass myself further, I gave a quick nod and pulled the handle to the door open. I waved at the annoyed lineup of cars behind me and didn’t bother to look too closely which finger the man in the huge truck behind us waved in my direction.
“THERE SHE IS,” MEG said to a small crowd of bar patrons clustered around her. “I could feel the heat all the way from in here. Did it happen yet?”
“What heat? Did what happen?” I’d barely cracked open the door to Shotz, Meg’s Uptown bar, before she called across the room to me.
The place was dimly lit with wooden tables spaced just far enough apart to provide an intimate setting for conversations that were better left private. The floor was just sticky enough to give the bar a casual vibe, and between the strong drinks and friendly staff, it had quickly become a neighborhood favorite.
“What can I getcha, chickadee?” Meg asked.
“I’m okay,” I said, taking quick strides over towards the bar area. The customers dispersed quietly and found seats far enough away to be respectful. “Are you busy?”
“I’m always busy,” she said, pushing forward a glass of dark colored liquid. “And I don’t believe you when you say you ain’t thirsty. What can I get you?”
“The doctor said I should take it easy,” I said, climbing onto a stool and swiveling around once before facing my friend. “Plus, I have an errand to run.”
Meg cast a gaze up and down the bar at the tone of my lowered voice and leaned in, running her fingers very squeakily around the rim of her lowball glass. “What sort of errand?”
“The assignment variety,” I clarified, my eyes narrowed. “Interested?”
“Julio?” Meg asked, without taking her eyes off me. “Julio!”
I shook my head as the other patrons glanced towards us to see what the disturbance was. Julio, a smallish guy who helped Meg man the bar, appeared from the back room. I knew that there was a television there as well as all the beverages one could hope for. Julio looked annoyed at being disturbed.
“Julio, watch the bar for me,” Meg said. “I gotta run an errand.”
“Please,” I added. “And thanks.”
The staff at Shotz was small. Meg, being a large and in-charge sort of woman, had actually decreased the number of bouncers since she’d taken over the space. Julio was a trusty friend that covered for Meg’s frequent disappearances.
“No problem. But I have a date tonight,” he said, his dark eyes locked on mine. “Have Meg back by eight, or I’m leaving anyway.”
“No one would rob this place,” Meg said with a huff. “It’s got a reputation these days.”
Julio opened his mouth as if to tell Meg exactly what he thought of the reputation she’d built, but I grabbed Meg’s hand and dragged her around the bar before things turned into a cat-fight. “I’ll have her back by 7:30,” I said. “Where are you taking your date?”
Meg gave a snort as she joined me on the other side of the bar. “Where does he always take his dates?”
Julio shrugged. “It’s not my fault you don’t pay me enough to take them to a real fancy place.”
I looked between them, but Julio’s tone was teasing and it was clear Meg both liked and trusted her friend. “I pay you plenty,” Meg said. “Just not plenty to take four dates a week out to the fanciest place in the Cities.”
“Where do you go?” I asked, still pulling Meg towards the door.
“Right here,” Meg said pointing. “That table in the corner.”
“I like making her serve me,” Julio said with a wink. “Have fun, ladies. I’ll see you tonight.”
Outside the bar, Meg turned to look at me. “Where we going?”
“Stillwater,” I said, glancing around for Meg’s vehicle. “I’ll explain in the car.”
“Great.” She looked at me with a confused smile. “Which car?”
“Where’s yours?” I asked. “I thought we could take it. I promise I’ll give you double the gas money,” I said quickly at Meg’s raised eyebrow.
“I don’t feel like taking my car,” Meg
said. “I feel like taking my bike.”
I groaned. “I don’t really feel like taking the bike. What if we need to carry something back?”
“Well, since I don’t know where we’re going, I don’t know what on earth we’d need to take back.”
I pulled Meg into the alley behind her beloved bar. “Okay, I’ll explain here.” I glanced around, but nobody had followed us into the alley. A kitty prowled the outskirts of the place, but disappeared at the sound of our footsteps.
“We’re alone,” Meg said. “I keep tight security at my bar.”
I didn’t comment on the fact that Meg was the security at the bar, and instead set to explaining. “After you left this morning, I got the assignment from Carlos. Actually, I got two assignments.”
“Double whammy,” Meg said. “Jeesh. I guess he doesn’t want to enjoy your birthday after all.”
“Nobody except you remembers that it even is my birthday,” I said. “So please, please don’t say anything.”
“Why shouldn’t I say anything?” Meg asked. “I wanna throw you a party.”
“No party,” I said. “Please, just don’t say anything.”
“You’ve convinced me for the moment. But it might cost ya.” She rested a hand on her chin as if contemplating what she could get in exchange for not planning a birthday party. “Start talking about the assignment. My curiosity is tickled.”
“Piqued?” I suggested.
“Nah. Tickled.” She grimaced. “I’m giggling inside. You just can’t see it on my face.”
“All right, then,” I said. “There’s one issue regarding an influx of fireworks in the city. Someone around town is apparently importing a bunch of them.”
“Doesn’t sound like a problem to me,” Meg said. “Sounds more like a party, as a matter of fact.”
“He’s disassembling the fireworks.” I glanced up and down the alley again, but all was quiet except for the rustle of a paper bag blowing through a few muddy puddles. “He’s taking them apart to build a bomb.”
“I’m guessing it’s not a bomb for fun,” Meg said with a knowing smile.
“What sort of bomb is fun?” I asked. “According to Carlos’s sources, he’s planning to set off a fireworks display that will not be fun at all for a large number of people.”
“Hmm, I see your problem. I don’t exactly see why it’s Carlos’s problem to solve. Isn’t that something the police could handle?”
I paused. That was a very valid question. Now that I thought about it, I wasn’t entirely sure why I hadn’t asked that myself.
“Do you want to give Carlos a call before we trek most of the way to Wisconsin looking for fireworks?” Meg held out her phone for me.
“I have my own phone,” I said, slipping it out of my pocket. “But that’s not the reason we’re going to Stillwater.”
Meg scrunched up her face. “Is this regarding assignment numero dos?”
“Yes,” I said. “We’re looking for a special sauce.”
Meg’s eyes crinkled into a gleeful smile. “You’re telling me that Carlos sent you on a mission to find a special sauce?” She gave a bark of laughter. “You know what they say about special sauces around—”
“Stop with the jokes,” I said, raising a hand, hiding my own smile. It was kind of funny, now that I thought about it. “Apparently it’s a common task; an initiation of sorts. Everyone in the family has to find the special sauce for the barbecue at one point or another.”
“Congratulations then, chickadee.” Meg gave me a slap on the back strong enough to fell a giant. I lurched forward, and she hauled me back up before continuing. “But I have to say, that’s the strangest form of hazing I’ve ever seen.”
“Do you wanna help?” I asked.
“Special sauce?” Meg cracked her knuckles. “Fireworks? Babe, count me in.”
Chapter 4
AFTER A QUICK ARGUMENT about whether or not we’d take the bike, one which Meg won by a long shot, I gave Anthony a quick call.
“Hey,” I said once he’d picked up. “I have a question for you.”
The silence on the other end wasn’t at all reassuring.
“Okay, then I’ll get right to it,” I said. “Do you have any more information on why it’s our job to find the fireworks?”
Anthony cleared his throat. “I believe you received the instructions from Carlos.”
“Yes, but the instructions were concluded with the words Anthony will explain more.” I crossed my arms, even though he couldn’t see me. “Your explanations have been subpar.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t quite see where to fit it all in between rescuing you from a lazy desk and chauffeuring you across town.” Anthony’s voice dripped with amusement.
Slightly flustered, I decided not to argue. Pick your battles, they say. “Fine. But now I’m asking. Carlos said it was a threat to Family security. How?”
“You know about the bombs. You know about the Fourth of July, yes?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said. “But that doesn’t explain why this is a Family matter, and not something for the cops.”
After a long beat, Anthony spoke in a slightly less amused tone, but still with a teasing edge. “Have you ever known Carlos to leave the safety of his Family to a third party?”
Smiling at an image of Carlos calling the police for help, I spoke without thinking. “Technically, aren’t you a third party?”
I knew I’d said something wrong the moment the words left my lips. What I’d meant as a simple joke, a line of banter in an endless string of lighthearted cracks between the two of us, had fallen flat. I wished with all my heart I could take the words back.
Anthony cleared his throat.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that at all,” I said, a knot already formed in my stomach, the helpless feeling of wishing I had thought for a minute – just a half a second before dropping a stupid, insensitive joke. “Carlos thinks you’re Family. We all do. I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Of course not,” Anthony said, the tone of his voice similarly flat. “The answer to your question is that Carlos has a fondness in his heart for the Twin Cities area. He has spent most of his adult life here, and it has treated him well. If the bomb is allowed to be built and set in place, it will be too late to find on the Fourth of July.”
I was barely listening to Anthony as he spoke, wishing instead he was standing before me so I could hug him and hold his hand, tell him how sorry I was for making an insensitive joke that wasn’t even true. What had I been thinking? He’d been part of this Family long before I had, both with a capital and a lower case f. Just because I had Luzzi blood didn’t mean I should joke. I didn’t know Anthony’s past.
He was still talking when I tuned back in. “—so, he finds it his duty to dismantle the bomb and catch the culprit before it’s planted. Otherwise, there’s the potential for civilian casualties, and Carlos doesn’t accept that in his city. He doesn’t let people mess with his own. That’s how families work.”
Just when I thought I couldn’t have felt worse, my chest clutched.
“In addition, Carlos doesn’t have a solid file of firm evidence. He has his sources – which, of course, we cannot and will not turn over to the police. Should the police believe Carlos’s claims, when all he has is a faceless whisper from the alleys of St. Paul?”
“Of course not,” I said. “I understand. And Anthony – I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“I understand,” Anthony said. “I have to go.”
“Anthony, wait—” I called, the desperation so heavy in my voice that Meg turned towards me with a look of alarm. I shook my head in her direction, but the dial tone in my ear made my insides churn.
“What’s wrong?” As always, my friend knew when to joke and when I was hurting.
“I said the wrong thing,” I said.
“Chickadee, you can’t be going on about bombs and special sauces and then look so worried. I thought half the city had blown up,” Meg ga
ve a small smile and threw a hand around my shoulder. “Let’s go look for the sauce and you can tell me all about it. I’m positive we can fix it.”
I looked at her, hope in my eyes. “You think so?”
Meg nodded. “Chocolate always works.”
“It’s Anthony,” I said. “I kind of called him not part of the family.”
Meg sucked in a breath. “I can think of one way he might forgive you.”
I gave her a playful slap on the shoulder as she winked at me. “It’s not funny.”
“Girl, I’ve seen the way he looks at you. You’d have to say a lot worse to make him forget about you.”
“I feel really bad,” I said. “I don’t know anything about him or his history. Family is...it’s tricky. I feel like I hurt him.”
Meg leaned in, her hand squeezing my shoulder. “Find out, then.”
“About what?”
“His family,” Meg said. “You can fix it. Tell him you’re sorry and that you didn’t mean it. And then find out about Anthony.”
“You’re pretty smart sometimes,” I said, throwing my hand over her shoulder. “Maybe we should go to Stillwater later. I’ll talk to him now.”
“He’s still a dude,” Meg said. “A buff, sexy-ass, powerful dude; give him a minute to cool off.”
“You’re probably right.”
Meg smiled. “That’s the Lacey I love. Now, let’s distract you and find some sauce.”
THIRTY MINUTES LATER, Meg and I cruised into Stillwater on her motorcycle. She wore a helmet that was neon orange and rocked a mohawk. Mine wasn’t much better. It looked like I had half a watermelon on my head, which was unfortunate because green was not my color.
“Where to now?” Meg asked as she pulled into a gas station on the outskirts of the city.
Stillwater was a quaint town that looked like it had never left the 1800’s. Famously, it hosted the St. Croix River crossing, a bridge spanning the distance between Wisconsin and Minnesota over the murky river splitting the two states. It hosted a variety of small town shops, including my favorite candy store with the free samples, and a variety of bed and breakfasts, coffee shops, and signs declaring “Minnesota’s Best Fudge Sold Here!”
