Hopefully, when the cops come looking for my body, she’ll remember I stole a dish and will point out Mr. Missing Tooth in a lineup. These are my last thoughts as I follow my new best friend past the restroom, beyond the kitchen door, down three stairs, and into a dimly lit alley. After a few sharp turns between brick buildings, he opens the door of a waiting town car.
“Get in.”
Swallowing back acid reflux, I slide inside the back seat. The resounding thunk of the slamming door would worry me except for Mr. Lapa’s expensive suit. No way would he want it ruined with my blood splatter.
“Rose, Rose, Rose.” The bald head shakes and he tsk-tsks like Sister Mary McNulty, my first-grade teacher.
That’s my name, don’t wear it out.I successfully resist the urge to respond like I did as a kid. Back then, I got my knuckles wrapped and sent to confession. While this interrogation has some similarities, I’m afraid it may not end with three Hail Mary’s and a promise never to sin again.
“Why am I here?” I glance up into his devilish stare.
“I heard you visited a website you had no business attending.”
“It wasn’t me. I swear.” Holy shit, I should lie more often because I’m truly out of practice.
“Tell me. How was it you happened to place an order for a Smart Sissy?”
Thinking fast, I blame the first person who comes to mind. “Paulo. He must’ve done it.”
He slides a knife from under his laptop, pulls my head back by my hair, and pricks my skin with the steel’s cold tip. As a drop of blood drips down my neck and between my breasts, I rethink my assumption about his designer suit.
“Where’s the toy?” Mr. Lapa leans in so close, I can taste his last whiskey sour.
Dear Saint Anthony, if you help me with this, I will attend church, at least once a month.“I swear I never got it. I just assumed it was a scam.”
The secret to a good lie is to convince yourself it’s the truth. I didn’t get a doll which, as everyone knows, is pretty and cries momma. I have a fuzzy Elmo-like toy which scared the shit out of Catrina.
It seems like ages, but eventually Lapa drops the blade and makes a big deal of wiping my blood on a creased, pristine, handkerchief. When finished, he pulls a band-aid out of his suit pocket, shows me the X-man character, and places it on my neck.
After he kisses my boo-boo, he whispers in my ear. “The second the package arrives, you give it to Vincent. Don’t show anyone else, capisce?”
“Yup. Understood.”
As I start to open the door, he grips my forearm. “One more t’ing. Who’s the dog who’s been sniffing around your butt?”
I draw a blank, then it comes to me. “Oh, him? He’s a friend of a friend. He’s been smitten with me since skating in Rockefeller Center. He likes hot chicks on ice. Believe me, it’s nothing.”
“Tell him to get lost.”
“I’ve tried. You need to talk to my cousin’s husband, Suds. He works for Patten Securities.” Hopefully, the famous name will convince the thug to let me go.
As I’m picturing my body in the base of the new high rise, two blocks over, the locks click, the door opens, and the frigid air never felt better.
“Go.” Mr. Missing Tooth points toward the dark alley.
Shivering uncontrollably, I walk back the way I came, pay my bill, and sit in my Nona’s gold Impala. The heater hasn’t worked in a couple decades, so my sweat is solid ice by the time I get home.
Rather than have a long conversation with Joey, I remove my boots and sneak up the outside stairs. In Sam’s apartment, I pat Catrina, and creep down the inner steps, hoping Wheels is still zonked out.
At least one good thing came from tonight’s encounter. Sam is off the hook. Working for the FBI and being half-mafioso is dangerous. She’s crossed the line too many times. After this is all over, I am going to take Suds aside and explain how our family works. At some point, Vinny’s not going to be able to save her or me either, apparently. A mom, she needs a safer occupation.
Wheels, as I suspected, is still asleep on the couch. As I have done many times in the past, I stage the kitchen for morning, set my alarm, and fall into bed. If I’m lucky, I’ll get three full hours of sleep.
Chapter 11
Wheels
Disoriented, I bolt upright with a raging headache, grab my weapon, and absorb my surroundings. Apartment. Cat. Morning. I scratch my chin and struggle to recall what the fuck I’m doing here.
