The man sounded doubtful, but I wasn’t. I knew Gino.
“Now,” Vinnie said, “I’m even more intrigued.”
“I’ll give him a call after the art showing and maybe—”
“You could invite him to the art show,” Vinnie said. “That way, it would be more casual and Gino wouldn’t feel any pressure. We could meet and talk and see if there is a spark between us.”
A spark?
Was that what they were calling it?
“Cigar?” Vinnie asked as he reached into a compartment beside his seat. “They’re Cuban.”
Of course they were.
“No, thank you.”
I actually couldn’t stand the things, but this was Vinnie’s limo. Besides, I could see a small tremble in Vinnie’s hand telling me the man was nervous. Under the circumstances, I could understand that. I was nervous, too.
I had no idea what we were headed into, but considering someone had tried to kill us once before, I was pretty sure whatever it was, I wasn’t going to like it. If a cigar was what Vinnie needed to hold himself together, so be it.
I held up my phone so the driver could see it.
He was looking in his rearview mirror, after all.
“I can call him now and see if he’s got any plans Saturday?”
Vinnie glanced toward the front of the car. “If it wouldn’t be too much of an imposition…”
I dialed Clarke and then held the phone up to my ear.
“Sal?” Clarke asked when he answered. “Did you get everything turned over to the investigators okay? Lany’s pretty much biting at the bit to see you, so you might want to hurry home.”
“Hey, Gino.”
“No, Clarke.”
“Yes, I know.” I could only hope Clarke figured out something was wrong. “Hey, listen, do you have any plans next Saturday?”
“Sal, is something wrong?” Clarke asked.
“Absolutely.” I was so glad the guy in the front seat couldn’t hear Clarke’s end of the conversation. “There’s this art show Saturday. Kind of right up your alley. I was wondering if you wanted to go. I know it’s short notice, but time is of the essence.”
“Okay,” Clarke said. “How much trouble are you in?”
I chuckled, thankful that I had chosen a man with smarts to be my second-in-command. “More than I ever could have dreamed.”
“Is someone listening in on this conversation?”
“No, I’m getting a little bit of static, but it’s faint, almost as if it’s coming from a little ways away. I don’t think it’s you.”
“Is your life in danger?” Clarke asked.
I had the insane urge to laugh.
“Probably,” I answered instead, “but it’s too early to tell. It’s an art thing, and I’m not exactly an expert on the stuff. I barely know what I’m looking at. I probably wouldn’t know good art if it hit me in the face.”
Man, this was the weirdest conversation I could ever remember having, and that was saying a lot. I was married to a hot mess ninety percent of the time.
