Confessions of a Slightly Neurotic Hitwoman (21 page)

He drew himself up to his full height. Which is really not such an impressive feat when you’re only inches tall. “
I
was an excellent lookout. You’re the one who took your sweet time pulling the trigger.”

“There was someone else there.”

He opened his mouth to respond, but hesitated, as though a thought occurred to him. “The branch that broke. The reason you looked away from Alfonso Cifelli.”

“That’s my guess.”

“Who was it?”

“Gary the Gun.”

“Your competition? That explains how he was able to tell the mob boss that the job was done.”

I nodded. “It also explains how he threatened me with blackmail today.”

“Blackmail?”

“He’s got pictures of me and Cifelli.”

“Pictures?”

“You know, for a guy who thinks he’s so smart, you’re pretty slow on the uptake.”

I left him to chew on that, changed clothes, and went in search of Patrick.

Chapter Thirty-Four

I
DIDN’T HAVE A
phone number for my murder mentor and he wasn’t at his man cave behind the boutique. I had no idea how to find him.

It did occur to me that I could call the police and ask for him by name, but I figured that would be in direct violation of his Don’t Get Caught rule. For all I knew, all calls placed to a Police switchboard would be recorded and maybe traced.

Eventually I decided to see if Delveccio was at the hospital. I reasoned that his employer must have a way of getting in touch with him. Since I was going to ask Delveccio favor, I made a point of wearing my black dress and heels. I figured
flashing my killer gams
wouldn’t hurt my chances of gaining his cooperation. I made a tottering beeline for the cafeteria.

Sure enough, my favorite mobster, excuse me, “alleged” mobster was there, deep in conversation with a pretty brunette. I decided that interrupting him wasn’t the best of ideas considering I was going to impose on him for his help, so instead I got myself a chocolate pudding. Okay . . . I got two.

I’d finished one before the woman got up and walked away. As soon as she was gone, Delveccio waved me over, his pinky ring glittering like a disco ball in the drab cafeteria. His gaze narrowed appreciatively as he surveyed my
sticks
.

“My daughter, Antoinette. She was asking if I knew what happened to her good-for-nothing-mother-fucking-scumbag husband.”

And I thought the conversations I had with my family members were loaded with landmines.

“You here to tell me you did Gary?” He sounded hopeful.

I shook my head. “I need your help”

“I told you. I can’t help you with this thing. It’s all you or it’s nothin’.”

“I just need to get in touch with our mutual friend.”

He stared at me for a long, uncomfortable moment. I did my best to project confidence and to hide my fear. “You gonna eat that?” He pointed at my remaining pudding, which I’d carried over with me.

“You gonna give me a phone number?” I said with false bravado.

He chuckled, scribbled some digits on a napkin and pushed it toward me. I slid the dessert in his direction.

“Good luck.”

I nodded. I needed it. So badly, in fact, that I’d taken the four-leaf-clover Aunt Leslie had brought with her, and put it on before I left the house.

It just so happens that a hospital is one of the few places around that still has pay phones, so I used one to call the number Delveccio had provided. Rubbing the necklace for luck, I held my breath as the phone on the other end rang three times.

“Hello?”

“Please don’t hang up, it’s me,” I begged Patrick breathlessly.

“Mags?” He sounded surprised.

“Uh huh.”

“How’d you . . . never mind, I can guess. What’s up?”

“I’m in trouble.”

“Are you in a safe place?”

“Is any place safe?” I countered.

I heard a crunch and figured he was chomping on one of his mints. “Can you meet me at my place?”

I nodded.

“Mags? Did you hear me?”

I’d forgotten he couldn’t see my nod. “Yes. Yes, I heard you. Yes I can meet you there.”

“Okay, I’ll be there within the hour.” He hung up.

I drove over to the street the apartment was on, parked under a streetlight, and double, triple, quadruple-checked to make sure my car was locked up tight, though I wasn’t sure what kind of protection I expected my windows to provide if Gary the Gun took a pot shot at me.

The street was deserted. And creepy. Fortunately I didn’t have to wait long. Within five minutes of my arrival, Patrick’s truck slid into a parking spot.

I leapt out of my car. “Thank you so much for coming,” I said as he slid out of his vehicle.

“What did you say to convince Delveccio to give you that number?”

“I gave him my chocolate pudding.”

He cocked his head. “Is that a euphemism for something I don’t want to know about?”

I laughed. “No. I just told him I needed your help and he traded me the number for a chocolate pudding. I think I got the better end of the deal.”

“That’s because you’re assuming I’m going to help you. Come inside.”

I followed him into his man cave. It was obvious that he hadn’t been expecting company. He hadn’t cleaned up.

An assortment of handguns and ammunition were laid out on the couch like produce at a farm stand.

Just what I needed to kill Gary, a shiny new gun. I stepped toward them.

“No touching,” Patrick warned. “Do you want something to drink?”

“Okay.”

I didn’t touch, but I did bend over to examine the weapons. I didn’t spot the Magnum I’d used to kill Cifelli.

“Soda, right?”

“Beer if you have it, I could use one,” I muttered, still studying the instruments of death, wondering which one could be used to bring about the end of Gary.

I heard Patrick open two beers and then a crinkling of a cellophane bag which I took to mean there’d be a snack served with the drink. I was up for that . . . as long as it wasn’t donuts.

“Here you go.” Handing me my beverage, he put his own down on the floor and started gathering up the guns to make a place for us to sit. When he was done with that, he sat down and patted the cushion beside him.

I looked around for the snack. A bag of pretzels remained on the counter.

“Okay, so tell me about this trouble you’re in.”

Refusing to sit, I instead paced the length of the couch nervously. “It’s Gary the Gun.”

“You promised you weren’t going to go after Gary.”

“I didn’t ‘promise’.”

“All right. You told me you weren’t going to.”

“I wasn’t.”

“So what’s the problem?”

I took a big swallow of alcohol for courage. “He has pictures.”

Patrick took a long swig of his beer, sat all the way back in his seat, and closed his eyes, as though this conversation with me was giving him a headache. “What kind of pictures?”

“I screwed up.”

“Will you please sit down? You’re making me nervous pacing like that.”

Obediently, I perched on the edge of the cushion beside him. “I’m sorry.”

“What kind of pictures, Mags?” I got the distinct impression he was being deliberately patient with me.

“Of me pulling the trigger,” I admitted in a whisper.

His eyes snapped open. “Did you not pay one whit of attention to me? Did I not tell you right off the bat what Rule Number One is?”

“Don’t get caught.” Even though he’d stayed perfectly still and hadn’t raised his voice, I could tell he was steamed. I couldn’t blame him. “He’s blackmailing me.”

Tilting his head back, he chugged the rest of his beer without coming up for air.

“He wants me to pay him ten thousand dollars.”

He put the bottle down with exaggerated care beside the couch. “That’s not so bad.”

“A month. For a year.”

“Greedy bastard.”

“Or he’ll turn the photos over to the cops . . . not you.”

“Not me?”

“He said
that redheaded freak
. I assumed he meant you.”

“You think I’m a freak?” He sounded hurt. “Cuz I’m not such a bad guy. I mean sure, I do some bad things, but I’m a pretty good guy.”

I wondered if he’d been drinking before he’d met me, because I sort of doubted that one beer could make someone ramble like that. “I just assumed he meant you because I don’t know any other redheads.”

“I’m just trying to do what’s best for my family . . . families,” he said sadly.

“And,” I said, trying desperately to return his attention to my plight, “he threatened my family. I mean he confronted me in Katie’s room. He was waiting there. Studying my routine. Hunting me just like you said he would.”

Patrick shook his head. “I told you he was a bad man.”

“So now you understand why I have to kill him, don’t you?” Placing my beer on the floor, I twisted in my seat so that I could look him in the eye while I pled my case.

“I can’t let you do that, Mags.”

“You have to!”

“If I let you go after him alone, he’ll kill you for sure. I’m going to have to help you. You have to agree that we’ll do it together.”

“You’re going to help me? I wasn’t sure I’d heard him correctly. I was pretty sure that was in violation of a number of his rules.

He nodded.

“Really?”

His mouth twitched as though he was holding back a smile. “Really.”

I threw my arms around his neck. “Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!” This was more than I had dared to hope for. I thought I might have had a chance to convince him to arm me, and maybe an outside chance he’d help me hash out a plan of attack, but I’d never imagined he’d actually offer to help me.

For the first time in weeks, something was finally going my way.

Leaving my hands looped around his neck, I leaned back and searched his face. “You mean it, right?”

His stared at me, soaking up my expression. “I’ve never seen you happy before.” Gently, his touch as soft as a feather, he brushed the hair off my face with his fingers. He didn’t bother to hide his smile as he tucked it behind my ear.

I knew he was going to kiss me, and even though I knew it was probably a bad idea, I wanted him to. I let my eyes drift closed, inviting his approach.

“It’s a good look on you,” he whispered, before he touched his lips to my . . . forehead.

Yes, he pressed a chaste kiss to my forehead like I was a five-year-old. Pushing away from him, he jumped to his feet, stalked into the kitchen and dug into the bag of pretzels.

For my part, I just sat on the couch, too stunned to move. How had I misread his intentions so badly? I felt like the world’s biggest idiot.

“You want another beer?” he asked through a mouthful of crunch, opening the fridge and staring into it.

“Still working on this one,” I managed to choke out, snatching it up.

“Did he give you a deadline for getting him the money?”

“Seventy-two hours.”

“So we’ll have to work fast.” He was still standing in front of the open refrigerator, leaving me to wonder if he was memorizing the contents or trying to get what he really wanted to magically materialize. I found that I did the latter myself quite often when I was home.

A cell phone buzzed. Pulling it from his pocket he glanced at the caller ID and frowned.

I wondered which of his wives was calling. Even if he’d only had one spouse, it seemed to me that the man was never home.

“Hello?”

He closed the fridge door. “Yeah . . . okay.”

He held out the phone toward me. “He wants to know if I’m with the ballsy broad.”

I took it, trying not to notice that it was still warm from his body heat. “Hello?”

“So you asked for my help,” Delveccio boomed.

I held the phone away from my ear. “Yes . . . we made the trade . . . the number for the pudding.”

“I like you, Miss Lee.”

“Um . . . thanks?”

“Which is why I’m going to give you some more help.”

I waved Patrick over to sit beside me so that he too could hear the conversation. “What kind of help?”

“I’ve got . . . friends in the Coroner’s office. Word is some teenagers were messing around in the park and found a body.”

My breath caught in my throat. That meant it was time for Gary the Gun to collect my fee for killing Delveccio’s son-in-law.

“The thing is . . .” Delveccio continued, “they’re kind of swamped. There was a bus accident on the highway. So I’ve asked my friends to sort of stick the guy from the park in a back drawer, as it was. You get what I’m saying?”

I did. Tony/Anthony Delveccio was buying me some time.

“They figure they won’t get to that particular stiff for about two days. You get my meaning?”

“Yessir.” That meant I had two days to get rid of Gary the Gun, collect my fee from Delveccio, and save Katie.

The mobster chuckled. “
Yessir
. . . I could get used to that. You’ve got two days, Miss Lee.”

He ended the call. I handed Patrick’s phone back to him.

“I take it you didn’t tell the boss that Gary’s blackmailing you.”

I shook my head.

“Smart girl.”