by Carsen Taite
“This house belongs to my momma. We put it up for the bond.”
I silently thanked her for this tidbit. “Well, then, you definitely want to protect her house. If he comes to court, everything will be just fine.” I lied with ease. I had no idea what would happen if I turned him in beyond the bounty I’d collect. The judge would probably decide the bond he’d already paid was insufficient and Hardin may or may not cash in on the collateral. Not my problem.
“He doesn’t stay here.”
“Do you know where he’s staying?”
“With his other girl, Shante. She ain’t had no baby yet. He don’t like the baby crying all the time.” Her desire to protect her double-dealing man was pathetic. All the more reason I would relish turning this guy in. “Do you know where she lives?”
“She stays with her auntie. In Cedar Hill.” She referred to a suburb, south of Dallas. I pulled out my notebook and handed it to her. She scribbled a picture of a house, instead of an address. “I don’t remember the house number, but it’s on Jefferson Street. Looks like this. She pointed at the drawing. A big flaming sun hung from the porch. Shouldn’t be hard to find.
I slipped the notebook back in my pocket. “When’s the last time you talked to him?”
“Couple of days ago. He brought some diapers by. He’s supposed to come by again tomorrow night.”
I thanked her for the info, assured her she’d been very helpful, and left. I’d nab Shaw either today at his girlfriend’s house, or tomorrow night back here at his baby mamma’s place. But before I made a trip all the way out to Cedar Hill, I wanted to make the most efficient use of my time in this neighborhood, or at least not far from here.
Old Dallas legend says that the Sicilian mob inner circle used to meet in the backroom at the original location of Mangia restaurant. I didn’t know for sure if the restaurant had a backroom, but I did know that most legends have a basis in truth. Couldn’t hurt to check it out. Besides, Mangia had some of the best crab claws in town and I was starving. Tab or no tab, a dry turkey sandwich from Maggie’s wasn’t going to cut it.
Lunch was booming business at Mangia. Seemed like such good business would be enough to make all the mobsters go legit, but old habits and steady money are too tempting. I told the hostess I’d sit at the bar and she looked relieved she wouldn’t have to waste a whole table on a single customer. When I saw the bartender’s back, I lost my breath. Tall, lean, spiky blond hair. Tight ass. From behind, she was the spitting image of Jess. Only when she turned around was I completely sure Chance hadn’t taken a second job.
“Just drinking or eating too?”
I caught my breath and found my voice. “Both. Draft and a menu.” She poured with one hand and shoved a plastic covered menu my way with the other. She was hot and definitely not Italian. Blonde, blue eyes. She did something besides shake drinks to get biceps like those. I wouldn’t mind working out with her.
“Start you out with something?”
She’d read my mind. I cracked a suggestive smile, but she only tapped a pen on a pad of paper. Oh, wait. She meant food. Well, I’d need food if I was going to go a few rounds with her. “Crab claws. Large order.”
She jerked her head in approval and wandered back to the register to type in my order. Again, with her back to me, she looked just like Jess. Or maybe missing her was making me see things. It’d been less than a week since I’d discovered Jess’s new penchant for doctors in fancy cars, but the distance was deep. I knew I wouldn’t be welcome on her doorstep late in the night.
I wasn’t being selfish, well, maybe a little, but the truth was Jess wasn’t herself around Dr. Red. At least not the self I knew. And, in my opinion, the new relationship Jess wasn’t an improved version. I wondered if any of her other friends had noticed. There was another softball game on Sunday. I knew because it was on a piece of paper hanging on my fridge. I hadn’t been called up to play, but maybe I’d stop by and see if I could commiserate with Jess’s teammates.
I nursed my musings by quickly downing my beer. Only took a few minutes before I had the perfect excuse to wander around in the back. I held up the mug, and when the barkeep asked if I wanted another, I said yes and could she hold my seat for a minute. I walked in the direction of the restroom, but once I was satisfied no one in the bustling crowd was paying attention to me, I veered off toward the kitchen. Guys in jeans and white chef jackets all nudged for the best positions in front of burners and ovens. I made it halfway through the line before anyone even noticed me.
“Hey, you can’t be back here. Get out.”
I looked at the guy holding a skillet in one hand, and I waved and held a hand to my ear, feigning inability to make out his words.
He shouted louder this time. “Get out!”
I shouted back. “I have a delivery outside. I’m new on this route. But it’s COD. I need to talk to your manager.” What the hell, I figured I could pass for a truck driver. Jeans, boots, leather jacket. Truth was I looked more like a hood, but it was the best I could do under the circumstances. Being this close to so much good food was making me dizzy. The drive thru breakfast I’d eaten in the car this morning was history.
He told me to wait outside and he disappeared behind a door labeled office. I doubted a secret room would be labeled, so while I pretended to walk back the way I’d come, I studied the room for another door. There it was, next to the walk-in. Could barely make out the outline of the door until I got real close. I eased over and, because I knew I didn’t have much time, pushed hard, spilling into the space.
I scrambled to regain my footing, distracted by the strong odor of garlic. Three men sat around a table. A fancy table, complete with a white tablecloth and real silver and crystal. The surface was crowded with my favorite things. Crab claws dripping in butter and garlic, homemade pasta and meatballs, lasagna, and baskets of bread. Drool was imminent.
One of the younger guys half stood, pulling his napkin from his throat and tossing it to the table. He pointed to the door. “This is a private room.”
I fought the fade of hunger and focused on the reason for my visit. “I’m looking for Geno Vedda.” I decided to lead with the name of the big guy rather than hinting I was looking to apprehend some smaller fish.
Napkin Tosser walked toward me, and I could see him reaching around his waist. Hunger was about to be the least of my worries. I considered drawing a gun of my own, but you don’t wave a weapon in front of mobsters unless you plan to use it. We weren’t there yet.
I raised both hands in surrender. I wasn’t really sure what to do next. Announcing I was looking for Geno’s guys instead of Geno seemed like a bad idea. None of these guys were Geno, but the big guy with the white hair at the head of the table looked vaguely familiar. I shot him my best “Hey, I’m harmless look” and prayed that whatever happened here today, I would get to eat some of those crab claws.
My prayer was strong. Head of the table signaled for Napkin Tosser to sit. “I’ll handle this.” He addressed me. “Who sent you?”
Trick question and I wasn’t falling for it. I knew I needed to be very careful about what I said next, but instinct took over and I blurted out, “Bingo.”
The one word opened doors. “Sit, sit.” He poked Napkin Tosser on the arm. “Get her a plate.” He waved his fork at me. “You’re hungry, right? I can see it in your eyes.”
I was starving, but conflicted. Here I was sitting in a secret room with a trio of mobsters who, if they found out I’d just lied to them, would make sure this was my last meal.
Oh well, it would be an excellent last meal. I accepted the plate and loaded it up. White Hair raised a glass to toast the food, and a full five minutes passed with no sound other than the smacks and groans that accompanied a good meal. I should’ve spent the time thinking of what I’d say next, but my brain was paralyzed by garlic.
When my plate was empty, they offered more, but I didn’t want to push my luck. I might need to be mobile soon and, as much as I would love
to eat more of this amazing food, I decided throwing up while trying to fight off gangsters would be a bad move.
A waiter came in and cleared our plates and took orders for espresso. I could almost pretend we were at a social gathering. Almost.
White Hair tipped his espresso cup and downed the whole shot at once. Then he picked up his glass of grappa and swirled a bit on his tongue as if to rinse. Pretty much all grappa is good for. When he set his glass down, he cleared his throat and announced. “My son owns Bingo. Does my son own you?”
Finally, it clicked. This was Anthony Vedda, Geno’s father. Word was the old man had retired and left the business to his oldest son, Geno. How much did Anthony know about his son’s dealings? Did he know he’d gone missing? Or was Geno only missing to the Feds? Without knowing the answer to any of these questions, I was walking through a minefield, and there’s only one way to make it safely to the other side. Run like hell.
I stood. As much as I wanted information, I needed some to get some. Time to regroup. “Thank you for lunch. I hope you’ll excuse me. I have an appointment across town.” I took two steps toward freedom before turning to face Anthony. Old, faded, yet still very powerful. “And to answer your question, no. Your son doesn’t own me. No one owns me.”
Chapter Nine
Lunch and confrontation drained my earlier ambition. Once I was convinced I was no longer being followed, I traded Sally’s car for mine and headed home. A nap seemed like the safest way to spend the afternoon. I stripped and fell into bed within seconds of returning to my apartment. Sleep came easy, but my dreams were full of activity.
My brother’s wedding reception was a huge affair, mostly because of all the Cosa Nostra in attendance. Maggie directed caterers while my mom and dad sat on thrones in the front of the room, accepting plain white envelopes from the Italian strangers who filled the room. A Russian gymnast performed on a mat in the center of the room. Mark and his bride danced around the perimeter of the mat, holding each other with one hand and stuffing wedding cake into each other’s mouths with the other. Jess stood in a corner, dressed in a low-cut black dress with a high slit up the side. When she caught me looking, she raised her glass. I started to walk over, but stopped when I saw a hand snake around her waist. Diamond Collier didn’t stop there. She stepped in front of Jess and leaned in. I couldn’t see what they were doing, but I was mad to find out. Unfortunately, I suffered from dream quicksand. No matter how fast I walked, I wasn’t moving. Maggie passed by with a silver tray and offered me an icy shot of vodka, which I gladly downed. She said, “Love is in the air,” before she flitted off to satisfy the thirst of the remaining guests.
I woke up sweating and I swore off grappa. So much for a refreshing nap. I’d have been better off hanging out with Anthony Vedda, telling him the Feds were looking for his son. Of course, that probably wouldn’t be a surprise to him. The Feds were always looking for his kind—came with the territory.
Still, I had the feeling that whatever Geno was involved in wasn’t sanctioned by his daddy. And whatever it was involved Bingo. Bingo, to whom I’d instructed my dad to visit. Maybe we should all stay away until this blew over, let Bingo deal with whatever mess he’d gotten into on his own.
Wasn’t going to happen. I tried not to care about Bingo’s fate, but he was a fixture in my life. I spent the equivalent of a car payment at his place every month, and when I was a kid, he hung my pen and paper drawings on his fridge. I may not know much about him, but I knew enough to know he was probably in deeper than he realized.
Our last encounter had been bizarre. He’d been pissed, but anger is usually a placeholder for something else. His face had been flushed. He even shook a little when he’d ordered me out. In his case, I guessed the anger stood for fear. Maybe he realized how tangled up he was, but he definitely didn’t have a way out. More than the potential loss of my second favorite indulgence motivated me to take an interest.
I couldn’t trust Diamond to give me a straight answer about Bingo or anything else for that matter. Maybe I just wanted an excuse to call Chance. I was a little pissed at both of them after the dream I’d just had, but I needed info. Besides, it was only a dream.
I picked up my phone and it rang in my hand causing me to jump out of my skin. Hate when it does that. The display read private caller. Could be Diamond, but she’d know me well enough to leave a message. I punched ignore and set the phone down. I’d have better luck getting Chance to talk to me if I showed up in person.
Showered and semi-awake, I drove to the substation where Chance and her partner worked. Despite what you see on TV, once cops made detective, they rode a desk more than you’d think. Nowadays, investigations happened over the phone and Internet. Since it was late in the day, I was hoping to catch them in, finishing up paperwork for the day. When I hit the lobby, I told the desk sergeant I was looking for Detective John Ames. When John showed up, he looked surprised to see me, but talking to him first was part of my master plan.
“Hey, Luca. Chance just left. I expect her back though. You want me to tell her you stopped by?”
“No worries. Maybe you can help me. Can we take a walk?”
He looked around, then shrugged. “Sure. Give me a sec.” He disappeared for a minute, then returned with his wallet in his hand. “Come on. I’ll buy you a coffee.”
We walked over to the diner across the street and settled into a booth. After we ordered, he leaned across the table. “If you’re here to pump me for information on Jess, don’t bother. She’s as tight-lipped with me about her personal life as anyone.”
It had occurred to me to try to mine personal details from him, but I hadn’t planned to lead with it. I waved him off. “I get it. She probably doesn’t want to talk about her flings.”
“Fling?” He took a sip of coffee. “I guess you know about the doctor. Luca, I don’t think she’s a fling. I think she’s moving in. I’m pretty sure Chance is with her now. About an hour ago, she got a call from her, sounded like an emergency. She left right away. Not like her, so I assume it’s serious.”
Serious? For who, her or the doctor? If Jess was in trouble, I wanted to know. I wanted to be there for her. But the doctor filled that role now. If whatever it was was serious for the doctor, I didn’t want Jess to care, but there was nothing I could do about it. I didn’t know what to do with these feelings. Didn’t want to have to deal with them.
Focus, Luca. Get what you came for and get out. I plunged in. “I had lunch with Anthony Vedda today.”
“No way.”
Part of the reason I liked John so much was he didn’t feel the need to maintain a cop poker face around people he trusted. And I liked being one of the people he trusted. “Damn straight. Grappa and everything.”
“Want to tell me how you managed to score that invite?”
I told him about my trip to Mangia and how I’d essentially invited myself to lunch.
“Okay, now for the why? Any particular reason you want to rattle those guys’ cages? You have a death wish?”
“I’m looking for a couple of Geno’s guys. Looking for people—it’s what I do, you know?”
“You need to stick to your day job.” I raised my eyebrows and he continued, “Since when do you start hauling in mobsters? Did Hardin post their bond? I got a twenty says Hardin doesn’t care if you find them.”
I took a deep swallow of coffee and considered my options. I knew what I should do. Find Shaw, haul him in, collect a decent bounty. Tell Diamond Collier and her posse to do their own dirty work. Return Yuri’s gold, Laura’s RX. Get used to the fact Bingo’s place was closed to me. Wasn’t like me to let my life get so complicated.
But even if I didn’t care for puzzles, this one had me tangled. Or maybe I was just avoiding the tangles in my personal life. Dad in a relationship, Mark getting married, Jess running off to be with her doctor—I couldn’t wrap my tongue around the word girlfriend—at the drop of a hat. My stomach was twisted in knots and I knew it wasn’t from a ba
d lunch.
“Hypothetically, you might be right. Hardin doesn’t give a rat’s ass if I find Amato and Picone, but what if the Feds do?”
“Then leave it to the Feds.”
“I may have made a promise in a moment of, uh, weakness.”
“She blonde or a redhead?”
“Shut up. She’s a U.S. Marshal. And her hair color has nothing to do with her performance.”
“She’s using you. Doesn’t seem like your style to do something for nothing.”
“Sex isn’t nothing.” The words fell flat. “Besides, I got curious.”
“Curiosity killed the—”
I held up a hand so he wouldn’t finish the sentence. “I know, I know. If I tell you what I know, will you promise not to tell anyone else?”
“Anyone?”
I knew what he meant. “Yeah, even her. I just need to brainstorm for a minute and I can’t hear myself think. I’ll tell you what I know, you tell me what you think. We walk away and it’s like we never talked. Cool?”
He shook his head, but I could tell by his expression, he was curious too. So I started talking, and once I did, he couldn’t help himself. He hung on my every word.
I started with the day Diamond came knocking, and except for intervening real work episodes, I told him everything, closing with the surreal lunch hosted by the head of the Vedda family. When I finished, the first thing he asked was, “Do you have the Imperial with you?”
I sighed. “Really, that’s all you’ve got? You want to see my coin collection?” I couldn’t resist his enthusiasm, and I fished the coin from my pocket and shoved it toward him.
“Wow, this is amazing.” He twisted it through his fingers and peered at the details on both sides. “Rare. Probably worth a grand.”
“More, actually. I looked it up. Wanna buy it?”
“Really?”
“Since when did you become a coin collector?”
