Confessions of a Slightly Neurotic Hitwoman Page 16

  “What? You didn’t think he was helping you out of the goodness of his heart did you? That you were getting somethin’ for nothin’? Trust me, lady, you’re okay looking, but you’re not the kind of a woman a pragmatic man like our friend is going to turn himself inside-out for, if ya know what I’m sayin’.”

  I nodded. That, at least, was something I could understand.

  “So I told Gary the Gun that I wouldn’t pay up until I had confirmation that the bastard Cifelli is dead.”

  I looked around nervously. There was no one else in the cafeteria. No one to eavesdrop on this bizarre conversation we were having. “Gary the Gun claimed credit?”

  Delveccio nodded.

  I did my best to ignore the surge of relief I felt, knowing that Patrick hadn’t betrayed me and that I wouldn’t have to kill him.

  “Now, once the body turns up, I’m going to have to fork over the cash to Gary. Unless . . .”

  “Unless I kill him first.”

  Delveccio nodded. “You do that, and you get the payoff that’ll keep your niece here. How’s she doing by the way?”

  “She’s the same.”

  “That’s too bad.” For a moment that mobster almost sounded human. “She’s a cute kid.”

  “There’s something I don’t get.”

  “I get the feeling there’s a lot you don’t get, lady.”

  I couldn’t argue with him there. “This Gary, he’s a long-term employee of yours, isn’t he?”

  He shrugged. “More like a consultant. He gets paid to come in and do a job, and then he leaves.”

  “So why do you want him dead?”

  Delveccio considered me thoughtfully. I got the impression people didn’t usually ask him too many questions. “You ever hear of honor among thieves?”

  I nodded. My father had ranted about it when his wheelman ratted him out and sent his murdering ass to prison.

  “Everybody’s gotta have a code to live by. Gary doesn’t respect the code.”

  I nodded as though it made sense that a man who lived and breathed organized crime would be giving me a morality lecture.

  “If I were you, I’d be real careful with this one. Gary’s a sneaky bastard. And nasty. Guy’s got a mean streak longer than any I’ve seen. And trust me, I’ve known more than my share of really bad guys. You get a chance to take him out, don’t screw it up, or there will be hell to pay.”

  Since he was in a sharing mood, I decided to push my luck a little further. “Any suggestions on the best way to do it?”

  He chuckled. “I like you. You’re a ballsy one. That’s not my department. Ask our mutual friend.”

  “The one I can’t afford to pay.”

  “It’s business, Miss Lee. Tell him if he doesn’t help you, he’s got zero chances of getting paid. He’ll come around. It’ll cost you, though. You should know that nothing in life that’s worth having is free.”

  I nodded. That I understood.

  “Remember, the clock is ticking. Once Cifelli’s body has been found and officially identified, Gary the Gun will show up looking for his money. If you can’t take care of him before then . . .”

  The loaded, unspoken threat that he’d send Gary after me, hung in the air like a guillotine waiting to fall.

  “It’s my head that’ll be on the chopping block.”

  “Exactly. I’m glad we understand each other.”

  He picked up his newspaper and began studying it again, letting me know I’d been dismissed.

  I eyed the chocolate pudding on the far counter wistfully, but I knew there wasn’t time for it. I had to figure out how to kill another man.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  I WENT TO THE pet store and bought live crickets for God. At least I could afford his cut for helping me to kill Cifelli. The bugs made a racket in the car on the way home. By the time I walked through the front door of my apartment, I was happy to feed them to the lizard, if only to get them to shut up.

  “Ah, music to my ears!” God trilled as I stomped into the kitchen. “I can’t tell you how pleased I am that you’re honoring our deal.”

  “I told you I would,” I muttered, shoving the lid of his habitat aside and dumping the jumping insects inside. Slamming the lid shut, I picked up the enclosure and carried it into the bedroom. Without being asked, I turned on Wheel of Fortune so that the lizard could eat in front of the TV.

  “Very kind of you. Very kind indeed,” he crowed, chowing down on one of the bugs.

  “I realize that it can’t be easy to live in a cage and rely on others for food and entertainment.”

  He cocked his head to the side and stared at me suspiciously. “What are you up to?”

  “I’m being empathetic.”

  “Hmmmm.”

  I don’t think he believed me, but he was too busy stuffing his face to pursue the matter further. I went back into the kitchen and heated myself a Lean Cuisine meal. I stood watching the plastic tray spinning in the microwave. When had my life turned into this? What could be more pathetic than subsisting on TV dinners and talking to one’s pet?

  Oh wait, I know: killing a man and having someone else claim the credit for it.

  “How’s Katie doing?” God called from the other room.

  At least that’s what I think he said. It came out a garbled mess. “I told you, no talking while your mouth is full.”

  Leaving my plastic dinner in the microwave, I shuffled into the bedroom and collapsed on the bed.

  “My mouf—isn’t full,” the lizard replied. “It’s only half full.”

  “I’m not in the mood for your smart-ass shit,” I muttered.

  “Why not? What’s wrong? We took care of that distasteful business this morning, earning—”

  “We?” I asked incredulously. “I don’t remember you doing any of the heavy lifting, buddy.”

  He ignored my interruption. “—the money to pay for Katie’s care. You should be overjoyed, but instead you’re moping around like a kid who’s had her bicycle stolen.”

  “This is much worse than that.” I knew what it felt like to have your bicycle stolen. In my case, the culprit had been my father, who’d pawned it for some cash so that he could bet on a racehorse. I still remember how sucky that felt, but this was definitely worse.

  “What are you going on about?” Apparently sated, he leaned back and patted his bulging belly.

  “I didn’t get the money.”

  “What do you mean you didn’t get the money?” The lizard sounded alarmed.

  “Someone else claimed credit for . . . you know.”

  “Who? That sneaky redhead?”

  “I thought you liked him. I thought you said he was wise and I should listen to him.”

  He glared at me. “Is that your pathetic attempt to be clever?”

  I shook my head. “Another hitman . . . hitperson, Gary the Gun.”

  “How? Why?”

  “How the hell should I know?” I exploded. “It wasn’t like I was there when it happened.”

  “So what’s going to happen to Katie?” When the lizard wasn’t complaining about his food, he seemed to have a one-track mind regarding my niece. I decided his concern for her well-being was his one redeeming quality.

  “I can get the money.”

  “How?”

  Sighing heavily, I burrowed my face in my pillow. All I wanted to do was sleep.

  “How, Maggie?”

  “If I kill Gary before Delveccio pays him.”

  “Which is when?”

  “When Cifelli’s body turns up. Once Delveccio has proof that Alfonso is really dead, he’ll hand over the cash.”

  “So then that’s what we’ll do. We need a plan.”

  “We?”

  “You’re not in this alone, Maggie. I’ll help you.”

  It felt oddly reassuring to know that I didn’t have to shoulder all the responsibility for this mess.

  Even if the other shoulders lightening the load were awfully small.

 
; Chapter Twenty-Five

  IT WAS GOD’S idea to call Patrick. Personally, I wasn’t too enthused about the suggestion, since I was afraid he’d demand his cut of the fee Delveccio owed me. A cut he’d failed to mention throughout our dealings. It made me worry about the other secrets he must be hiding.

  Patrick told me to meet him at an address on the other side of town at midnight, so I curled up and napped a few hours before our rendezvous. I didn’t even have to set an alarm. God woke me at 11:15, just as he’d promised.

  Driving to the address Patrick had provided, I was surprised to find myself outside a little boutique. Even in the dark I could see sparkly party dresses displayed in the window.

  “Crap!” I must have gotten the address wrong. I shouldn’t have been surprised. I’d screwed everything else up. Frustrated, I kicked the front tire of my car.

  “Did it do something to offend you?” Patrick’s familiar voice seemed to come out of nowhere.

  I whirled around. All I saw was shadows. “If your shin was handy, I would have kicked that.”

  Stepping out of the darkness, he approached me warily. “Why’s that?”

  “You never mentioned I was going to owe you a cut.”

  He shrugged. “I figured our boss had explained it to you.”

  “He hadn’t!”

  “Let’s go inside and talk about this.” Placing his hand in the small of my back, he propelled me toward the store.

  “I don’t have your money.” If he was going to get angry at me, I preferred for it to happen out here on the deserted street instead of inside the empty building.

  “We’ll work it out. Come on inside.”

  I stopped in my tracks. “We can’t work it out. I can’t pay you.”

  His palm slid from the small of my back up to the base of my neck. I stopped breathing.

  “I got a pizza. Do you like pizza?”

  “Everybody likes pizza.”

  “C’mon.” Stepping in front of me, he led the way down an alley that ran parallel to the store.

  I hesitated, debating whether I should go after him or run for my life. I ended up following. The man knew where I lived and worked. There wasn’t much chance I could hide from him successfully for long.

  Unlocking a door, he guided me inside the building. He switched on an interior light. To my surprise we didn’t end up in the shop or a storeroom. We stepped into a small, studio apartment, complete with a couch and a big-screen TV.

  “Welcome to my man cave,” Patrick joked as he grabbed a pizza box off the kitchen counter. “I don’t usually have visitors. Hell, I’ve never had anyone here before, so I’m afraid we’re kind of limited in terms of seating space. The couch is it.” He thrust the pizza box at me. It was still warm, and the aroma wafting out of it was heavenly. “Have a seat on the couch.”

  Obediently, I sat on the sofa and balanced the cardboard container on my knees. I watched as Patrick grabbed a handful of paper napkins and a stack of paper plates. I wondered how many people he was expecting to feed with this single pie.

  “Beer or soda?”

  “Soda, please.”

  Grabbing a couple of bottles, he joined me on the couch. “I wasn’t sure what you’d like, so I got half plain and half with olives.”

  “Olives are my favorite.”

  He grinned. “I kinda guessed that.”

  “How?”

  “I am a detective you know.” Sliding an olive-laden slice onto a pile of plates, he chuckled. “You have like six different kinds of olives in your fridge.”

  I’d forgotten he’d peered into my fridge during his unannounced nocturnal visit. I wondered what else he’d noticed.

  “I know I owe you, but I can’t pay you.”

  “So you’ve said.” He took a bite of pizza and chewed it thoughtfully. “How come? You don’t think I earned it?” There was no challenge in his tone, just quiet curiosity.

  “Delveccio didn’t pay me.”

  Putting down his pizza with deliberate carefulness, his eyes narrowed at that, his features suddenly growing hard. “Why not?”

  I hung my head, suddenly ashamed by my failure to collect the money owed to me.

  “Talk to me, Mags.” Cupping my chin with the tips of his fingers, he applied gentle but insistent pressure, forcing me to look up at him. “What’s going on?”

  I shook my head, causing his hand to slide up my cheek. It felt so much like a lover’s caress that my breath caught, and my eyes drifted closed. Instinctively, I leaned closer to him, wanting nothing more than to lose myself in his touch.

  “Mags.” There was no mistaking the desire in the usually unflappable detective’s tone.

  My eyes fluttered open as he swept his thumb over my lower lip. I’d never in my life wanted to be kissed as much I did in that moment. And he wanted it, too. I could feel it in the possessive weight of his hand on my face and see it in his eyes.

  I waited for him to close the small gap between us.

  But he didn’t.

  Instead he pulled his hand away, as though burnt by a flame. Leaning away, he picked up his pizza. “Why didn’t Delveccio pay you?”

  The slap of rejection had me sitting back in my seat, trying to make sense of what had just happened. Or, more importantly, what hadn’t happened.

  “Delveccio must have given you a reason.”

  “Gary the Gun claimed credit before I got to the hospital tonight,” I mumbled, suddenly numb.

  “Oh crap.” He frowned at his slice. “Bad news. I told you that guy is bad news.”

  “But there is good news.” I sounded way too chipper.

  Patrick eyed me suspiciously. “Oh yeah? What’s that?”

  “If I kill Gary before Delveccio pays him, the Cifelli money is mine.”

  “That bastard!” Tossing his plate of pizza on the floor, the redhead jumped to his feet and began pacing.

  “If you help me come up with a plan—”

  “Are you out of your mind?” For the first time since I’d known him, Patrick seemed to be on the verge of losing his grip on that constantly cool façade of his. It probably should have frightened me, but I was fascinated. “Gary’s going to know you’re pissed about him taking your money. He’ll be expecting you to come after him. He’ll be ready.”

  “So what am I supposed to do? Just let it go. I can’t do that. I can’t let Katie down. I can’t . . . I’ve lost them all . . . everybody . . . I can’t . . . I didn’t save . . .” My fear of failure had my words tumbling on top of each other like the cars of a train in a wreck.

  “Who have you lost?”

  The question was asked with a deceptive casualness that morphed my panic into anger almost instantaneously. He wasn’t asking a polite question; he was forcing me to address an issue I couldn’t bear to examine. “Are you really going to pretend you don’t know, Detective?”

  My sarcasm could have peeled paint, and he flinched.

  “I didn’t mean . . .”

  “What?” I spat. “You didn’t mean to pretend that you don’t know that my father is rotting in prison or that Theresa died in that car accident?”

  Patrick said nothing. He stayed very still, watching me carefully.

  His reaction, or, more accurately, lack of reaction, enraged me. Unable to sit still, I jumped to my feet, balling my hands into fists. “Or maybe you’d like me to believe that when you were checking up on me, you didn’t find out that my mother is locked up in the loony bin.”

  “Take it easy.”

  “Is it in the official police report that when my younger sister Darlene was taken by the animal who eventually killed her, I was too busy watching my mom, making sure she didn’t get into trouble? I should have been watching the kids but I was too busy baby-sitting my parent. Does it say that? Does it say that it’s my fault?” I was screaming at a man who could easily kill me, but I didn’t care.

  Instead of retreating, he took a step toward me. “None of what happened is your fault, Mags.” The pity in
his voice softened his words to just a whisper.

  I couldn’t decide whether it made me want to cry on his shoulder or punch him. My emotions were getting the better of me. I couldn’t afford to let that happen. I hadn’t gotten through everything I’d endured by indulging in freakouts. Taking a deep breath, I made an abrupt turn in the conversation, bringing us back to the business at hand. “You have to help me kill Gary.”

  Patrick halted mid-stride. “I can’t.”

  “You mean you won’t.” Suddenly deflated, I sank back down onto the couch.

  “Alfonso Cifelli was a thug. Gary the Gun is a killer. Chances are he’d get to us before we ever got near him.”

  “So you’re afraid of him?”

  “Damn right, and you should be too!”

  It occurred to me that if a cop/hitman was scared of this guy, and a mob boss wanted him whacked, that I was probably going after a genuine badass. “I’m in over my head, aren’t I?”

  Sitting down heavily on the seat beside me, Patrick buried his head in his hands. “Sweetheart, you’re in so deep, you’re not going to be able to figure out which way is up.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  I MAY HAVE FELT like crap when I showed up for work the next morning at Insuring the Future, but Armani looked even worse than how I was feeling. Her inner Chiquita had gone into hiding. There was no spark to her as she limped past my desk. She didn’t even acknowledge my deadpan greeting of “Good morning.”

  Something was really wrong, but I didn’t have the time or energy to wonder what that might be. It took all of my concentration just to get through my calls. I’m pretty sure I forgot to say, “I’m so sorry to hear that” on multiple occasions, but I really didn’t give a shit. All I cared about was figuring out a way to get Gary the Gun before he got me.

  Patrick had made it abundantly clear that I was on my own with this one. I’d asked him for a gun, and he’d refused, saying I’d just end up getting myself killed. So I was all alone. Except, of course, for God, who’d insisted I leave the TV set to the true-crime station, in the hopes that he’d find us some inspiration.