I grew up with Westley and never once saw anyone stand up to him. Everyone just quivered. The only people besides Frankie Zanetti who might make my cousin lose his cool were his mom or mine.
I stared out the passenger side window as the Bakery at the Bay passed by with Frankie not even slowing the vehicle. He was too engrossed in his argument. I knew as well as anyone else that Westley would never quit, and from the sounds of it, Frankie didn’t plan to either.
I had stopped bringing boys home years ago for this exact reason. I didn’t have a father to introduce them to, but Westley stepped in to make a few good threats.
We circled the block with the two men arguing back and forth over Westley’s math skills and ransom bag organization until Frankie pulled into a parking space in front of the bakery. “You have an assault on your empire, Westley, and you better figure it out. I’m not sending Shiloh back until you can guarantee her safety.”
That threat sent Westley right back into his rage of yelling. This time, rather than reengage, Frankie tapped the button on his car steering wheel and hung up on my cousin. Something else I’d never seen anyone do and be heard from again.
I found it impressive in a weird way. Every time Frankie talked or looked at me, my therapy bills grew larger. I’d need a whole mental health retreat by the end of this.
Frankie held the door open and waited for Vonnie and me by the side of the car, cool as a cucumber. An ambulance and two police cars raced down Main Street behind us as he tapped the key fob to lock the doors and then led the way to the bakery entrance. Nobody was screaming, nor was a mob of people trying to flee the action.
I stopped to ask if we should have waited for the police. Surely they would have multiple questions about why someone shot at Frankie’s house and where exactly he bought a rocket launcher to blow up a van. But the lightness in Vonnie’s step and the way she tossed her hair back and forth like it was any other day in the fall had me keeping my mouth closed. Were we going to pretend we weren’t there?
Not only did Frankie kidnap me from my kidnappers, but he brought me to bizarro world. If this wasn’t the Twilight Zone, I was really worried about the people who lived in northern Maine. Did they put LSD in the water?
I shook my head, trying to figure out exactly what happened to my life, and then paused, giving my brain an extra few seconds to take in the bakery. This town was completely crazy. And the fact that we survived a shooting was slowly being overtaken by the curiosity that my kidnapper bought me to a bakery that had to be owned by a crazy person—a pink-obsessed crazy person.
Somebody really loved the color pink and every bright jewel tone with it. The walls were a glaring shade of pink that almost made you squint when you looked at it. And the bakery was a mismatch of tables all painted in deep, bold colors. A fake fireplace on the right had fall leaves wrapped around it. It was just… amazing. I loved every bit and wanted to make myself at home. It was like someone did exactly what they wanted in the space and didn’t care about decorating rules. She went with it. It was every woman’s dream.
“Ridge is in the back,” said a woman with dark brown hair standing behind the counter. The name Tabitha was embroidered into her matching pink apron.
So many things were attacking my senses I didn’t know how to process it all. The sirens made a steady stream of noise behind us, and now my eyes were being assaulted by bright colors. I was definitely in sensory overload. Under normal conditions, I probably would’ve complained or put up an argument, but as it was, I let Frankie lead me to a chair in the back of the bakery and sat in it. Vonnie mysteriously disappeared until I spotted her behind the counter.
Frankie pushed my chair in and patted me on the shoulder with a promise he’d be right back. “Get my girl anything she wants,” he said to Tabitha, giving her a quick nod before walking behind the counter and disappearing between two swinging bakery doors.
My girl?
“Bad day?” Tabitha asked, not questioning the fact ambulance sirens announced our entrance.
I nodded, unsure where to even begin and thankful when Vonnie took the lead. “You would not believe what just happened at Frankie’s house,” she said in an animated voice not full of fear or dismay but excitement. “I can finally say I’ve lived through my first shoot-out.”
Tabitha didn’t run screaming in the other direction. She glanced at the young woman. “What about last fall?”
Vonnie shook her head. “That doesn’t count. This time Frankie used a rocket launcher.”
That made Tabitha’s eyes light up, but not the way I expected. “Anderson won’t like that. Regular ammunition casing or heat seeker?”
“I only saw it through the window, but I’m pretty sure it was a heat seeker.”
“Any damage to the house? If it’s anything too serious, Pearl will have a fit.”
Just when I thought the conversation couldn’t get crazier, it managed to take a different twist.
“Nothing besides a few bullet holes, but they definitely took out a van on the street. Shrapnel flew everywhere, and my car is probably toast.”
I couldn’t handle the questions brewing inside me any longer. “Excuse me,” I said, drawing both women’s attention. “Why aren’t you freaking out?”
My cousin ran the worst gang in Chicago, and I wanted to freak. Frankie had a rocket launcher, and he knew how to use it.
Vonnie shrugged. “You get used to it when you live here.”
“You get used to rocket launchers and shoot-outs?”
“Well, that’s a little more unusual,” Tabitha said. “But it’s been worse.”
“You’ve had worse?” What did they consider worse?
