The spiral staircase, which seemed like an awesome space saver, now looms in front of me, daring me to try it.
“Fuck you, I got this.” Gripping onto the banister as if my life depended on it, I slide one heel down at a time while Catrina sits at the bottom, looking worried.
“Let this be a warning to you, kitty. Never go to a strip club on a weeknight.” I consider calling in sick but Aunt Marion already warned us. She has zero tolerance for hangovers. Besides, I vaguely remember her in the front row, stuffing bills into a naked policeman’s G-string. Eww.
Coffee. I need coffee.
After caffeine flows through my veins, more memories of last night resurface, and Luigi comes to mind. I’m pretty sure Suds said we were going to search his apartment tonight.
Suddenly, an earthquake hits, shit starts falling off the walls, and my whole building sways.
A nightmare. I run outside only to find the guys next door are at it again. A gaping crack runs along the foundation under my front door. Dammit. This is the final straw. I copy down the name of the construction company.
This is it.No one should mess with a private detective suffering from a hangover.
After I finish at the salon, I could use a nap but instead research the assholes next door. Similar to Mrs. Gallo’s import-export business, there’s a ton of shell corporations. When I see one I recognize, my fists clench.
“Goddammit Uncle Vinny!” At my shouts, my kitty jumps up from where she sleeps behind my computer and eyes me suspiciously.
“No worries, sweetie. Your daddy and I are going to fix the nasty noises next door. Paybacks are a bitch, Vincent.”I can see I’m going to have to play dirty.
He’s got plenty of lawyers on staff and a hell of a lot more money than me and Suds. Still, I’m a former Fed and if he wants to go head to head, he’s got it.
Not only is he going to reduce the noise, he’s going to pay to have my building fixed or I swear to God, I’ll see he spends the rest of his life in Rikers.”
Yeah, that’s what a gallon of Long Island Iced Teas can do to a person.
I call Jason and get dirt on my uncle. So much so, it could put him away for a long, long time. Then, I attach it all to an email with an ultimatum. No more blind dates, and no more fucking with my life.
I just hit send when someone buzzes my door.
“Hey, Frankie. Come on in.” My former client, dressed all in black, moves cat-like into my office space. Without asking, he adjusts the blinds and parks himself in a chair.
“I hear you’re looking into shit better not looked into.” His dark brows raise.
Catrina, unaware the guy is a hitman, purrs over to his lowered hand and nudges at his knuckle.
“I assume you’re talking about Mrs. Gallo?” I park myself on the couch and pull my knees to my chest while he frowns.
“You got any other cases I might be talkin’ about?”
I shrug. “Could be. You never know.”
He reaches over to grab my chin and studies it. “Did one of her goons do that?”
“Yeah.” I rub the bump on my jaw, hoping someday the swelling will go down. If not, perhaps I could start a second career as a zombie extra.
“Why didn’t you kill him?”
“Bad for business. Picture the headline.” I frame a virtual image with thumb and forefinger in the air. “Local PI shoots man in the back.”
He nods. “Excellent observation. How’d he get the drop on youz?”
“I left my gun in my purse.” My cheeks burn as he shakes his head, mouth pursed.
“You shoulda known better.” His disapproving tone deepens my shame.
“I get it. Won’t happen again.”
