She glances up and waves me off with a shake of her blond locks. Former FBI, she can handle her uncle but he’s up to something.
I know it.
Chapter 4
Samantha
“Hey, Uncle Vinny.” I motion to the seat vacated by Suds as my mother’s brother gives the doorway one final dirty look.
Done irritating my fiancé, he kisses me on both cheeks and sits. “Sammy. How ya doin’? Did the bum break your heart yet?”
“Nope, but feel free to keep asking.” My finely-honed sarcasm translates to fuck-off and leave me be.
He ignores my tone and grins. “And how’s the new living arrangements?”
Suspicious, I lift my eyes and study his face. “Fine, why?”
He shrugs and opens his large hands in the air. “Niente, nothing. I thought I heard the church next door was comin’ down, that’s all.”
“Uh-huh. They’re building condos. They’re going to be brimming with millennials. Soon, Suds and Sam Detective Agency will have more work than we know what to do with.”
Nodding, he stands. “Let me know if youz guyz need my help.”
“With what?”
“Nice chattin’ with youz.”
“You, too.”Now, what was that all about?
The pizza in my stomach churns. He’s up to something. Whenever he helps, insert air quotes here, I pay a price of his choosing, usually in the form of blind dates.
Brushing off my worries, I get back to work. He’s my mom’s brother and although a mob boss, he’s still family. No one, not even the FBI, has any idea of the extent of his connections. Good thing, or I never would’ve been hired.
Distractions at an end, I spoof a caller ID, enter the digits, and press send. The alleged dead man’s phone rings twice before a woman picks up.
“Who is this? How did you get this number?”
“This is Doctor Pranayama’s office. I need to speak with a Mr. Gallo.” Trying to sound authentic, I lace my voice with equal parts irritation, urgency, and rudeness.
“I’m his wife.”
“Just a minute.” I count off twenty seconds while tapping the table, pretending it’s a keyboard. “He hasn’t authorized you. Do you have any way to contact him? I don’t mean to scare you, but this is quite urgent.”
“Ah, yes.” She rattles off nine digits. “That’s his cell phone. You should be able to reach him there. If not, call me back.”
“Thank you. Good bye.” Quite impressed with my lie, I dial again, and a man picks up.
“Yeah?”
“This is Dr. Pranayama’s office. You missed an appointment. I’m afraid we’ll need to charge you for it.”
“Huh? Shit. Listen. I’m sorry. My personal assistant fucked up. Can you reschedule?” He’s so upset I almost feel bad.
“We have a slot open tomorrow, are you available?”
“Not unless you can fly him to the Bahamas. I’m on vacation.”
“Oh, well then, have a nice time. We’ll see you when you get back.”
