We finish up dinner, follow it up with some tiramisu and when Pete comes in and pulls back my chair, I take it as a sign my time is up.
Standing, I kiss my uncle’s cheeks, hoping to leave before he extracts payment for this meeting but no such luck.
He grabs my hand and catches my gaze. “Friday. Dress real nice and brush up on your Italian.”
Shit.“Will do. Thanks Uncle Vinny.”
“Don’t thank me. Just stay clear of the Gallo woman and be careful.” He throws Pete a meaningful look but I don’t get the gist.
They could be planning to burn down my apartment, leave a horse’s head in my bed, or it could simply mean my interview is over. With them, who knows? However, Vinny’s expression, more than anything today, shakes my resolve. Perhaps I should drop the case of the missing dead man.
While I was inside, the sleet turned to snow and now, it falls heavily. My boots are warm and waterproof but I wish I had my heavy jacket.
Shivering at the open door, I wave so long to Pete. “Best calamari in the city.”
“Stay safe. I fuckin’ mean it, Sam.”
“I will.” On the way home, I get this eerie vibe and pay close attention. Recently, I’ve gained a healthy respect for the brain’s early-warning system. Whoever is tailing me is good because I turn and no one is there.
A few blocks from home, the feeling overwhelms me so I reach into my purse. If my gun was in my holster, it’d already be in my palm, my finger on the trigger. Instead, I search while I run for my life.
The sidewalk glistens with black ice, making it more suited for a skating rink. Although it’s only mid-afternoon, most of the vendors closed up early because of the inclement weather. It might as well be midnight because there’s not a soul in sight. Even the train platform is empty.
My hand slips around the gun’s metal body as someone grabs my purse and yanks me back by the straps. I slip, my ass hits cement, and air whooshes from my lung.
As I struggle onto to my knees, a big guy in a hoodie looms over me. Sneering, he brings back his fist and shoots forward. I block with my forearm so instead of hitting my eye, his knuckles grind into my jaw. The blinding pain almost makes me black out.
Picturing the dentist bill if I don’t put an end to this, I kick the heel of my boot to his groin.
The impact is less than I’d hoped but my attacker staggers back. When he throws a second punch, it connects with my eye.
“Fire! Fire!” I scream at the top of my lungs and he turns his head in circles as if expecting flames.
I use his indecision to snatch my revolver from my purse, click off the safety, and point. However, by the time I aim, he’s running down the street and I don’t figure shooting him in the back is my best option.
I wonder about the look Uncle Vinny shared with Big Petey. Was this his doing? I could call the cops but it would bring my dad and a whole lot of men in blue asking questions about my business. Those kinds of things could ruin a private investigator forever.
Shit. I grab a handful of clean snow and put it to my throbbing chin while blood drips down my face. Gun in hand, I walk home.
The workers next door must’ve finished early and I almost miss their catcalls as I make my way to my loft. I latch the outside lock, dash up the stairs, bolt that door and the inside one as well.
At my table, shaking like mad, I collapse into a chair and call Suds.
When he doesn’t pick up, I tell him to text me and on wobbly legs work my way past our kitchenette and into the bathroom to check out the damage to my face.
Shit. I forgot the medicine cabinet isn’t installed yet so I pull out my cell phone, put it in selfie mode, and moan. My right eye is swollen and my chin is so purple, I wonder if the asshole broke my jaw.
Returning to the table with more ice, I research online and decide it’s not.
After, I walk over to the big picture window half-expecting to see the thug out there which is foolish. I saw him run off. Still, what if he wants me dead? I suppose I could camp out on my roof all night and if he shows up again, call the police.
Instead, I phone my cousin, Joey. “Can woo come and get me?”
I sound like I came from the dentist and Joey’s no fool. “Sam? What happened?”
“I got ’ugged. No ’ig deal.”
“Where the fuck is your asshole boyfriend?”
