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Standing on the curb, she places her hands on her hips. “You got a better idea?”
“Nah. Let’s get this over with.” Like her, I’m dying to know who shot at us and why the Feds took over the investigation. Not only that, I’m hungry.
Before long, the pizzeria owner wipes his hands on his stained apron and points a thumb toward the freezer. “I’ll take your credit card now. You might be dead by the time your pie comes out of the oven.”
His grin could mean two things.He’s either glad I’m about to end up at the bottom of the river or he’s joking. I can’t be sure.
“Come in. Take a load off.” In a room more suited to Louis XIV, Sam’s uncle waves us to the head of the table where he sits in front of a huge antipasto platter.
Eyes ever-vigilant, I choose a red cushioned chair closest to the exit. Sam, however, walks right up to the old mobster, kisses both his cheeks, and plops Mikey in his lap.
“You wanted to see us?” If you didn’t know, you’d think she didn’t have a worry in the world.
Adjusting his great-nephew on his lap, the gangster smiles indulgently at his niece. “I heard youz had a little trouble at one of my warehouses.”
My partner reaches long, grabs a toothpick and plops a tiny meatball in her mouth. “Who the fuck would have the balls to shoot atfamiglia? Shameful. Disrespectful, too. How can we be of help?”
His smile sends a shiver down my back but rolls off my partner like water off a duck, or should I say a cooked goose?
While our son bounces on one knee, Vincent hands the boy a small block of cheese. “No one shoots anybody in my neighborhood… at least not wid-out axin’ me first. I tell you what. I’m going to hire youz two to find out how dis happened.”
My first inclination is to jump up and shout, hell no. Instead, self-preservation prevails.
“Sweetheart, I’m not sure we can take on another client at this time.” By raising my brows and clearing my throat, I telepathically transmit my concerns to my wife.
Busy uncurling my son’s fingers from a crystal goblet’s stem, she misses my signal. “Nonsense. We need the money.”
“Honey-pie…” I swear I am going to strangle her when we get home and no judge or jury in their right mind would find me guilty.
Vincent Vitale’s eyes narrow and he puffs his cigar, trying to get it to light. “How about I sweeten the deal? I promise to get your plumbing fixed before Christmas.”
“That would be nice, huh, Sebastian?” My spouse glances over and while it would be lovely to have our toilet fixed, I don’t want to be indebted to the mafioso.
“What about the Chinese Auction, dear?” Before she can answer my question, Vincent snaps his fingers and one of his thugs brings him a briefcase. I expect it to be full of unmarked bills but it’s simply an old-fashioned checkbook.
“I’ll get you started and match every dollar you raise. How’s dat?”
Sam jumps up and hugs him. “Mille grazie, Zio Vincenzo.”
How the fuck am I supposed to compete with The Godfather?The best I can do is contain the risk. “To be clear, if we take this case, there are no implied future favors of any kind. This is a one-time agreement.”
As I stick out my hand to shake on the deal, he chuckles, and graciously takes what’s offered. “Done and done.”
After tapping some ashes into a glass tray, he blows a smoke ring, then glances at my wife. “I’m beginning to see why you married this chump.”
A few minutes later, alive and no worse for wear, we don our coats and walk back to the SUV. I have the kid on my hip, and she carries the warm pizza box.
“I cannot believe you consented to work for him. A few cases ago, we agreed to keep him at arm’s length.” Because Mikey’s got big ears, Itamp down my ire.
Once she’s strapped him in the car seat, she plops down next to me and pokes my arm. “Don’t deny it, when Vinny mentioned plumbing, your eyes sparkled.”
Shit.I stuff my hands in my pocket to retrieve my car keys and a piece of sharp metal hits my fingertips.Huh?
As I pull out the round object to study it, my FBI analyst snaps to attention. “What’s that?”
“Almost forgot, I found this slug near my boot and was diggin’ it out of the warehouse floor when the shootin’ began. I’ll ship it to Slate and get it analyzed tomorrow.”
My sweetheart points out all the Christmas lights to Mikey, then leans over to whisper in my ear. “Do you think Vitale justhired us to spy on the Feds?”
