“You didn’t do it?” I sniffed the air. “New cologne, Money? You smell like a burnt fucking weenie.”
“I didn’t mean I didn’t do it,” he said. “I did, but not directly. It was Whitney! She was blackmailing me. I’ve been involved in some underground dealings that she knew about.”
“Everyone knows about your dealings, Money.”
“Yeah, but no one had direct proof, and no one has ever threatened to go straight to cops with it. And for the record, she shot at you. It was a spur of the moment decision, she’d told me. But I did torch your apartment building. If you ask me, I did you a favor there. Shit, I even did Salemi a favor. Your building was ancient, and Salemi’s was just a wart on the earth.”
“You almost killed people who are important to my wife. She doesn’t like recklessness. You caused her stress, therefore me.”
“Her mom, you mean? Almost did you a favor there too.”
I shot him in the arm, and he fell to the ground. He cursed, kicking his legs, groaning. I stood over him and pointed the gun at his head.
“Wouldn’t do that if I were you, Bigatti,” he rasped out. “Grammy is in the Lambo, and she’s strapped with dynamite. I pull this—” he opened his palm, a quick glimpse at the detonator, and then closed it again “—she’s toast. Drop the gun.”
His window had been rolled down and I tilted some to check. Kitty’s mouth had been taped shut, and around her middle was an explosive device.
I dropped the gun.
“Kick it towards me.”
I did.
I looked at Kitty again. Her eyes were narrowed, but she wasn’t trying to fight.
“I’d be very careful if I were you. Be smart.” Money had my gun in one hand and the detonator in the other, and he was getting to his feet. Sweat ran down his face in rushing rivers, and his arm was bleeding freely. He rocked from side to side. “Whitney had taken some online classes and built it herself. It was meant for your wife.”
The mention of my wife made my entire body go hard. So did seeing my grandmother strapped to a bomb and silenced. Kitty could be a pain in my heels, but she was my pain in the fucking heels.
“Let her go,” I said, “and I’ll let you go.”
“No, no, no,” Money said. “It’s not going to work like that. I got your gun. I’m in charge. You die. Grammy might go free. She was sweet enough about it all. She understood. I might check out the wife later, just to see how I feel about keeping her alive. You’ll definitely be seeing that Buggy son of a bitch in hell. Then with the both of you gone, I do okay in Vegas for the rest of my life. End of story.” He lifted the gun and wasted no time putting his hand to the trigger.
A blast came from the Lamborghini and, at first, I thought maybe something had happened and Money detonated the dynamite. But I knew he wasn’t that foolish. If he hit the button, it wouldn’t only be Kitty leaving this world.
Money’s face registered shocked before he fell over. The detonator was clutched in his hand. I looked at him and then at the car. Kitty was standing on the side of it, her arms outstretched, the small revolver, who she called Pink Lady, clutched in her hands.
She’d shot the motherfucker.
In the head, no less.
I rushed to the side of the car and ripped the tape from her mouth.
“Get me out of this getup, will you, Baby Tullio?”
“Getup,” I rasped out, my throat hoarse probably from swallowing smoke all evening. “You’re strapped to enough dynamite to send us both into space and you’re calling it a ‘getup’?”
“Yes. The dynamite might be real, but that chooch and his dingbat weren’t smart enough to know how to hook it all up. Just like he wasn’t smart enough to take my purse away from me.” She patted it. “Or tie my hands and feet up.” She tapped on the hood. “Nice ride, though. What do you say we leave the rotten cannoli and keep the car?”
I grinned. “I should have known something was up when he called you sweet.”
“Yeah, I thought that was going to tip you off.”
“I had a lot going on tonight.” I surveyed the situation. “I don’t want to—”
She was already unstrapping the dynamite, and I rushed to take it from her.
“We’re burying this, just in case,” I said.
