Page 97 of Hoofin’ It

“You are, ma’am. The red was nice, but the black is perfect on you.”

“These aren’t my shoes, Shane.”

“I’m buying the shoes, too.”

“What?”

“I’m buying the shoes.”

“But, Shane, they’re—”

“Worth every penny. Can you get a bag for her regular clothes and a jacket that suits that dress for her, please?”

The clerks knew a sucker when they saw one, and both women darted off to do as I asked.

“It’s not white.”

“I’ve changed my mind about the color requirement. There will be one white dress I’ll want to see you in, but you get to pick that one.”

“You’re weird.”

“I’m going to blame my parents for that.”

She laughed. “All right. I’ll wear the dress out, but only because you wore the suit like a champ and didn’t complain about it. Why the jacket?”

“You need somewhere to hide your gun.”

“So practical.”

“I try. We should go have dinner before we call the cab. Preferably somewhere that will take several hours.” I grinned and checked my new phone for the time. “Two hours should do it. That’ll give them enough time to be a little less snarly when we go over.”

“And where would you suggest we go for dinner?”

I looked up the number of a restaurant on the canal, owned and operated by one of Ernesto’s vampire daughters. Dialing the number, I tapped my foot while waiting for someone to answer.

“Michietti’s,” a man barked before stifling a yawn, which made him one of Ernesto’s many children. I thought about the candidates and assumed I was speaking to Quinton, one of Ernesto’s older sons, a vampire able to handle daylight without frying to a crisp.

“Quinton, it’s Shane Gibson. Is there any chance Pierina she can fit me in with a lady friend?”

“Since when do you have a lady friend?”

“She’s a recent development. I’m even wearing a suit, so I shouldn’t embarrass you fine folks too much this time.”

“A private table for two?”

“If you could. Oh, by the way, your father is paying, so make it extravagant.”

“He is?”

“He borrowed my parents, so he owes me.”

Laughter rang out, loud enough I winced. “Give me a minute, Gibby. I’ll ask the boss, but I bet she’ll fit you in. I think the balcony is free.”

The balcony was private for two and hung over the canal where it fell into the abyss of Chicago’s third level, making the view one of the most spectacular in the lower city—and the most dangerous. I waited, wondering if Marian had any issues with heights. No one had fallen from the balcony at Michietti’s since I’d been in the city. It was over the Lower Chicago side of the canal, so if someone did fall in, there was a chance they could be peeled from the grate before they drowned.

“When do you want to come in, Gibby? I translated the boss’s shrill squeal as an affirmative.”

“We’re at the mall, so it’ll take us twenty or thirty minutes to walk there. Can I get one more favor?”