Romano and Albright 01 - Catch Me If You Can (MM) (18 page)

“We’re not staying for supper,” I hissed at Dan.

“Whatever you want.”

“Caesar!” The bald head of my Uncle Tino gleamed almost red against the restaurant décor. My father insisted crimson velvet made the place look more authentic, but we all knew it was unflattering to those of a ruddy complexion. Shep had looked like a Martian.

Tino yanked me into a hug with gorilla-like arms. “
Ciao!
”

He whacked my back.

“Oof.
Ciao
, Tino.” As tradition dictated, I kissed his cheek. He smelled like family: Aqua Velva and cigars. I bet he had a pocketful of quarters and a stogie in his jacket. I prepared myself for more backslapping, cheek kissing and pungent aftershave.

He let me go with a smile. His suit was creased and his tie too skinny. As the oldest son, my Uncle Tino sported my grandfather’s flashy pinky ring. It twinkled on his fat finger. Tino’s smile faltered. “Who’s the cop?”

I’d brought a lawman into the place, and my uncle had ferreted the man’s vocation in ten seconds. Detective Dan, Mr. Big Dick. I didn’t know what to say.

Dan stepped up to the plate and shook his hand. “Dan Albright.”

Tino’s mouth flattened. He slashed at the air with his meaty hands. “You bringing a cop to the family supper, Caesar?”

“He’s not a cop. He’s a…friend.”

Tino watched him with a slanted eye. “If you say so.”

“
Ciao
, Caesar!” My cousin Joey arrived, his black hair tamed with product. We were the same age, but Joey was swarthier. He was wiry and wiggly and sharp as a blade. He shook my hand and stared with open curiosity at Dan. I’d never brought anyone to the restaurant, man or woman, since Shep. Except Poppy, of course. I bet you can figure out why.

“Wow. That’s quite a large medallion. Is it new?” I needed to keep Joey from asking any questions.

“You like? I can get you one at cost.”

“I’ll think about it.” I’d have to work on my upper-body strength to carry that much gold without straining myself. Joey winked at Dan. Dan didn’t wink in return. In fact, he looked like he was trying to match Joey to any number of most-wanted photos.

“Them jeans look good. You need anything else, you let me know.”

Dan glanced at my possibly ill-gotten pants.

“
Grazie,
” I said.

“How’s my Poppy?” Joey grinned widely. His appreciation of my best friend had never wavered.

I swallowed my lie. “Poppy? She’s…she’s…you know…she’s good. I’ll call you tomorrow. I think she needs a new accountant. She’s having some trouble.”

“What’s a matter? I’ll call her tonight. She’s my girl. Nobody messes with my girl.”

When I assured Poppy my family would take her under their collective wing, I’d been serious. I suspected they wanted to help her because, at the time, they also hoped I’d straighten out and get married. I never corrected them, so they’d fallen over themselves to get her going. That’s not lying. Not really. And now? She was a Romano. At times, I thought she fit in better with this group than I did.

My father joined us, his accent long gone. His apron was in place. “I saw her last week. She looks beautiful, but skinny. Business is booming. She’s a good girl. What are you doing here? You never come to see us on Monday. You got trouble?”

He just shook Dan’s hand without a word. As if they’d met before. “Hello, Mr. Romano. I’ve come back to steal your veal scallopini recipe.”

Talk about turning on the charm. It wasn’t going to work. I shot him a cool look, and he winked back at me.

“I stopped by to talk to you, Pop. I’ve got…to go…see a movie,” I ended lamely.

Everyone gawked at the two of us. “You finally got a boyfriend and he’s a cop?” Joey asked. He nodded at my new leather jacket. “Gay cop? I didn’t even know there was such a thing.”

Dan gave him a hard smile. “They don’t last long.”

My father saved me. “Talk to me? Why? You need money?” His bushy eyebrows rose hopefully. I’d never take a penny from him; only the free food.

“Money! You need money? What’s a matta? You knock someone up?” Paulie piped in. My brother had two plates in his hand and that white towel was still over one shoulder. I assumed it was fresh. “Isn’t that gallery guy you’re working for paying you?”

“No. No! I’m fine. I just need to talk to Pop for a minute.” They were beginning to circle around me, eager to pry and assist. I searched for an out. My mother sat at the back booth quietly observing my discomfort. Her glance went between Dan and me. She was drinking a dry martini, as she did every time the family gathered. She was in her usual position, ignoring my sister-in-law and reading a
People
magazine. She raised her glass to me with a tiny, amused smile and went back to her gossip rag. Donna was on her cell phone. Her yellow hair was teased in a claw, and I knew my mother was secretly itching to take a comb to Donna’s head. She’d wait to grill me in private.

“You in trouble?” Vito threw his arm around my shoulder and led me away from Dan to a faraway booth.

“Trouble? Me?”

“Maybe you sold some kind of fake art?” Tino added helpfully—almost hopefully.

“What? That’s terrible. No. I…I…I…just need…I…”

Paulie said around a mouthful of peppercorn bruschetta, “Hup. There he goes again. He’s gonna lie.”

I snapped my mouth closed and flushed. Dan waited by the door reading a menu. He asked, “So we’re not going to eat?”

My father slid into the vinyl booth. He sat across from me. “Everybody. Go away. Let me see what my son wants. He never asks for nothing from nobody.”

Vito patted my cheek with his chubby hand. “You’re a good kid. You let me know what I can do.” He squinted meaningfully. “Anything at all.” He stared at Dan.

I swallowed. “Sure, Uncle V. I will.” A vision of Dan floating facedown in the East River flickered briefly through my mind. But Vito was just a simple business owner. He wasn’t mob. Not really. “I’m good, though.”

Pop let them go back to their food and their wives and their not-so-subtle perusal of my guest. “So. What’s the problem? You need money, right?”

I sighed, thinking of Poppy. “Maybe. Right now? I need to ask you something.”

His expression was serious. “Anything.”

“I need to use the pick gun.”

My father’s hand snaked out and he smacked my head. “What are you thinking?”

“Ow!” The entire restaurant went quiet, the only sound Michael Bublé warbling over the speakers and Donna cluelessly chatting into her cell. I dropped my voice so the others couldn’t hear. They were all on pins and needles, I was sure. Dan appeared to be choking. “Ouch. I’m just trying to get my property back.”

“Then you’d ask this person for your things back. Something’s wrong. What happened? Who’s bothering you?”

“Pop. I just want to know if I can borrow the lock pick, and then I’ll do this, get my stuff, and no one will be the wiser.” I wasn’t going to wait for Dan. I was sick of waiting on people.

My father was a good guy, but he was still my father. “You got trouble? We got trouble. You tell me who it is, and we’ll get your stuff back for you. No questions asked.”

“It’s not like that.”

His mouth turned mulish. My old man drummed his fingers on the table. “You tell me. Does this have anything to do with that Sheppard boy coming in here yesterday?”

How do parents do that?

“No…well…not exactly. Not really. Not that I know of.” Lord stop me from talking.

“You can’t even lie without fumbling. How you gonna do this? It takes skill.” He pointed a thumb at Dan. “You got a cop right here. You ask him.”

“I don’t need anyone’s permission. How hard can that thing be? Joey’s been using it since he was eleven. Let me know. Call me later.” I slid out of the booth. “I gotta go.”

Pop watched us. Hell, they all watched us leave—the passel of them sipping on their wholesale booze and single shot espressos. Ready to kill.

Dan dropped the menu on the counter. “So…”

I walked out into the street, Dan dogging my heels. I was tempted to go home with him, have some mind-blowing sex, and then…what?

I looked at my watch. “I need to get back.”

“Caesar.” He latched onto my sleeve and stepped me into the alley next to my father’s restaurant.

I shook him off, but not angrily. “I’m still upset with you. I don’t like lies. I know why you did. I understand you didn’t want to…tip your hand. But you…and I…last night. That was…I’ve never really done that. And to find out I don’t even know your name was harsh. I was with a liar for three years. Secrets are one thing, lies are another.”

“Green is my mother’s maiden name. She and Mallory were in college together. Did you see the house? It says Green on the fucking door, Ce. And I don’t play games of secrets either. I left a career because I was supposed to keep secrets.” He stroked my hair back from my forehead, pushing me, crowding me into the side of the building. Brick met my back, but not roughly. “I like you. I want to fuck you every time I see you. You’re a loyal, smart, funny, honest, feisty little shit. You know what? I think you’re making excuses. You’re scared I’m going to hurt you, and you’re finding a reason not to trust me.”

Was I? I tried for smartass. “I don’t know what you mean.”

But he called my bluff. “Yes. You do.” He kissed the underside of my jaw, and then he stepped back. “See you tomorrow, Romano. Stay out of trouble. I’ll check Brandon first thing.”

I waited, leaning against the wall, staring after him. I heard his bike kick-start, and then he drove away, red taillight streaking down the block.

I went home. It was nine and I was damn tired. I showered. I shaved. I washed a load of clothes. I ate some ziti. I stared at Justin Timberlake’s ear. I shut off my phone and then I lay down in my lonely, cold bed with my library book—which was overdue—and Nana’s shedding overweight cat.

I was a spinster. It was official.

I had to return the van. Poppy left seven messages over the course of the night and early this morning. She said things like, “I’m sure you’re getting the hot beef injection right now, but I need my fucking truck, Ce. Where are you?”

And:

“I had to use Rachel’s brother’s car. She was a total bitch about it. Where the fuck is my truck?”

And:

“Call me. Jesus. This is why it’s unhealthy to not have steady orgasms with other people. Turn your phone on. I have to go to work.”

And finally:

“Ce. I think someone is stealing from me, like skimming the till or whatever it’s called. I think…that someone is trying to frame me…which is crazy, but Mallory Albright accused me flat out of taking some stupid painting of a lonely assed clown. As if I don’t already live in a circus. She said she’s hired someone to investigate me. I guess that’s your new boyfriend, right? That’s what you tried to tell me.” Long pause. “I just…I think I need some help. I’m having a really bad day.”

She wasn’t answering her phone now. What the hell was with these cell phones anyway? I was constantly at everyone’s beck and call, but they were never at mine.

I pulled the van to a stop on a side street. Ostensibly, I was heading to Posh Nosh to deliver the delivery truck. That was the goal. Instead, I was parked in a well-preserved neighborhood of historic brownstones. They faced each other in neat rows, their steps swept clean, the front doors lacquered. It was eight forty in the morning, the main roads were choked with trucks and school buses, the sun was shining all sparkly on the dirty city, and I had Joey’s lock-picking gun in my pocket. I was nervously reconsidering my options while sitting in the truck. This was probably a stupid idea.

I thought of Dan. He was going to be bent out of shape about this. But Brandon wasn’t dangerous, he was a thief. Dan was the dangerous one. Albright. The name alone helped stiffen my resolve.

The phone rang. Peter had landed earlier. “I need you to come in,” he said without even a hello. Three days he’d taken to call me back. “Where are you?”

“Right now? I’m in Park Slope. Didn’t you get my message?”

“No. Look, I’ll pay you overtime. Have you gotten any closer to finding the bust?”

“No, Peter, that’s not my job. I think you need to come clean, call the insurance company, file a report with the police, tell Mallory you have a compulsion, let Pappineau know about his head, and start taking some responsibility for your own business.”

“That’s not possible.”

Truer words were never spoken. I contemplated the skyline. “Look. I understand that you don’t want to lose your reputation, but you’re taking me down with you.”

“I’ll give you a raise.”

I sighed, “No. Peter, I quit yesterday,” and disconnected with the press of my thumb.

Another fifteen minutes slogged by, the sun heating the van. I was roasting in a long-sleeved Henley and a fresh pair of jeans. I took the tool out of my jacket pocket and remembered everything my cousin had said to me this morning. We’d had chocolate donuts and he’d taught me a new skill. Isn’t family special?

My phone rang again. This time it was Jean. It was uncanny how these people thoughtlessly phoned me on my supposed day off. “Hello, Jean.”

“What the fuck is going on over there?”

“Excuse me?”

From halfway up the street, Brandon stepped out of his brownstone and staggered down the steps. He appeared preoccupied, probably by his painful-looking face. He was even worse today; he looked monstrous.

“Mallory. She said we’d broken some kind of covenant. She thinks I put Peter up to taking some painting—and she pulled from the show. I had no idea what a lunatic she is. I’ve been fighting with her since yesterday. Kissing her ass and genuflecting for twenty-four hours. I want that show, Caesar, it’s career making. Peter called and said there’s been some kind of incident with one of the heads. I cannot handle another incompetent, you hear me? What the fuck is going on?”

Brandon raised his hand, waving at a passing taxi.

“How do you know Shep McNamara?”

“What? Why?”

“Humor me.”

“You know anything about Shep?”

“Yes. I know more about Shep than most people alive. We lived together for three years.”