Chapter 11
That evening, when Liam’s cell phone rang, it
was a welcome escape from the tension in the kitchen. He’d been
helping Mai wash the dishes, dishes she’d found in the shop,
washed, and set the table with. They’d kept busy all day, treating
each other nicely enough, but he could feel an apprehension
building between them. It was the big question. Would she come to
him again tonight? He wanted to tell her not to. That she couldn’t.
In the same breath, he was afraid he might shrivel and die if she
didn’t.
If only he could be so
lucky.
“Excuse me,” Liam said as he flipped
open his phone. It was Fia. “Hey,” he said quietly.
“Hey. Got some intel for you. Can you
talk?”
“It’s Sunday night. Haven’t you got
anything better to do than work at the office on a Sunday
night?”
“Football is on in every bar in the
city. Eagles are playing at home. I hate the fucking Eagles. You
want the information or not?”
“Hang on a second.” He glanced at Mai,
covering the mouthpiece. “I’m going to take this
outside.”
“Okay.” She smiled, drying a plate. It
was 1920s Noritake dinnerware. Simple. Beautiful. Of course, when
the plate was produced in 1921, the company was still called Nippon
Toki Kabushiki Kaisha, Limited. He’d bought the dishes in Nagasaki
in the late ’20s, thinking his mother might like them. He’d never
gotten around to giving them to her.
“Do you mind taking Prince out?” Mai
asked. “I’m not crazy about my dad going out alone after
dark.”
“Right. Sure. Good call.” He backed out
of the kitchen awkwardly. He hated that damned dog.
“Prince.”
The dog trotted out of the living room
and down the hall to where Liam waited.
“Leash is on the door handle,” Mai
called.
Liam scooped up the mutt. “You run, I’m
sending the pit bull after you, you got it?” he whispered in its
pointy ear.
The dog looked into his eyes and Liam
could have sworn it telepathed, Not a problem,
buddy.
Headed down the stairs, dog under his
arm, Liam spoke into the phone again. “Okay, sorry. I’m back. Hey,
are dogs telepathic?”
“How the hell should I know?” Fia
asked. “What’s going on there? Someone there? I thought I heard a
woman’s voice.” Her tone turned sweetly mocking. “Liam! Have you
got a lady friend at your place?”
So . . . word might be getting around
Clare Point by now, but it hadn’t reached Philadelphia
yet.
“It’s just Kaleigh. She’s been hanging
out here a lot. I don’t know what’s up with her.” He didn’t know
why he lied. Fia would find out. Everyone was going to find out. He
just didn’t want to deal with it tonight. “So what’d you find?” At
the door at the bottom of the steps, he set the dog down, and
together they went out into the dark.
“The Weasel, aka Salvador Machhione.
Born in Brooklyn, 1939, a distant relation to the Gambino family,”
she read. “Apparently hung out with his Gambino cousins, learned
some of the tricks of the trade from them. In his early twenties,
he started working for a guy named Carlo DeCava, who had a legal
front selling antiques and junk in Brooklyn. In the ’60s, DeCava
played the usual games: loansharking, racketeering. The young
Machhione was a go-getter and had a thing for import / exports. A
little stolen merchandise here and there—electronics, high-end
clothing—but then he started moving stolen artwork and such. He was
very good at what he did, apparently so good that he got too big
for his britches. In ’77, three guys who worked for DeCava were
found dead in a coffee shop. Nice, neat single nine-millimeter
round through each of their foreheads. Machhione was supposed to be
with them, but weaseled away.”
“Ah,” Liam said. “Thus the Weasel.” He snapped his fingers, leading the rat
terrier to the end of the building where there was still grass
growing.
“A month later, DeCava was headed to a
baptism at Our Lady of Lourdes. Never showed up, him or his driver.
Car was found abandoned. Never heard from them again. Machhione
divorced his wife and married DeCava’s only daughter, the old lady
DeCava retired to Palm Beach, and lo and behold, the Weasel was
suddenly the owner of the antiques store and all the business that
went with it.” Fia exhaled and then went on. “His name was tossed
around once in a while among the Feds for a number of years, but no
one could charge him with anything. Then in ’86 he was charged with
masterminding a diamond heist in South Africa.”
“Diamonds? Damn.”
“Big international fiasco,” Fia
continued. “Charges were eventually dropped due to a lack of
evidence. He was alleged to have gotten away with stealing about
six million dollars’ worth of some kind of rare pink diamonds I’ve
never even heard of. But the diamonds never show up, as far as
anyone can tell. He finally slipped up in ’89 and went to federal
prison for tax evasion and racketeering. He was released in 2010
due to health reasons. I guess they figured he was too old to cause
much trouble. Let’s see, that made him—”
“Seventy-one when he was released.
Okay.” The wheels in Liam’s head were turning. “You come across the
name Donato Ricci anywhere? R-I-C-C-I. D-O-N-A-T-O.” Liam snapped
his fingers. The dog was digging in the grass. Eating
something.
The dog ignored him.
Fia gave a snort of disgust. “I came
across, like, a thousand names. You asked me about the
Weasel.”
“I know, I know. Cut that out!” He
pushed the dog’s head away with his toe. He was eating something
disgusting in the grass.
“What?” Fia said. “Cut what
out?”
“Prince, knock it off.” Then into the
phone, “Dog-sitting. Don’t ask.”
“I have no intention of doing so,” Fia
answered dryly. “So you want me to check out this Donato
Ricci?”
He hesitated. The dog was still gnawing
on the unknown substance. It smelled like crap. Literally. He
scooped up the dog. “Yeah, if you don’t mind.”
“You’re going to have to give me a few
days. Might even be next week before I can get to it. I’ve got a
field assignment.”
“As soon as you can get to it.” He
thought for a second. “And see if you can find anything on a
Corrato Ricci, while you’re at it. C-O-R-R-A-T-O. They’re
brothers.”
Liam hung up with Fia, made an
instantaneous decision, and called Kaleigh. He had to get out of
here. He had to get away from Mai. He needed time to think. Time to
get ahold of his emotions. It was the perfect night for a road
trip.
“I haven’t gotten to the bottom of it,
but I swear it’s going to get cleaned up,” Kaleigh said into the
phone.
Liam walked to the door. “You’re damn
straight they’re going to clean it up, but that’s not why I’m
calling. I need you to do me a favor.”
“Sure. Hang on a sec. Connor’s
listening in on private conversations again,” she said in her best
nasty-teenager voice.
“Am not!” Liam heard.
It was Kaleigh’s little brother. At
fifteen, he was a pain in the ass. He would become a bigger pain in
the ass as time passed.
“Okay,” Kaleigh said after a few
seconds. “What’s up?”
“I need to go out of town for a day or
two and Mai and her dad are staying at my place.”
“So I heard.”
He didn’t respond. It was the vampire
network at work. “I’m not sure when I’ll be back. Can you just
check in on them?”
“I’ve got school. Mom caught me
skipping last week, so I’ve got to go. She’s threatening to go to
classes with me.”
“I was thinking about after dark.
Elwood and Jake were poking their fangs around here last night. I
think I’ll pay them a little visit on my way out of town, but if
you could just drop by and check on her? Make sure they don’t need
anything.”
“No problemo.”
Upstairs, Liam deposited the dog in the
living room. Mai had found a TV for her dad somewhere in the shop
and had hooked it up. Liam had no cable and the antenna on the
house was old, but Corrato seemed to be content watching
60 Minutes.
Liam stuck his head through the doorway
in the kitchen. “Something came up,” he said, stuffing his hands in
his pockets. He kept his gaze at her feet. “I gotta take off. Might
be gone a day or two, but you’ll be fine here.”
She turned to face him, a wet dishcloth
in her hand. She was a good cook. The shrimp scampi she’d made was
amazing. “Okay.” No questions. No anxiety. She didn’t look like she
even cared.
“Um, you’ll be fine here, but you
should probably stick close to the shop. Not . . . go anywhere.
Stores or whatever.”
She watched him carefully but said
nothing.
“I’ve got a friend. She’s a teenager,
but she’s cool. You can trust her. Her name’s Kaleigh. She’ll stop
by, see if you need anything.”
“Okay. Have a good trip.” She turned
back to the sink of dirty pots and pans. Just like that. No
questions. No whining about him leaving her alone at the mercy of
the mafia. Nothing about sleeping with her and dumping her. Not a
word.
Liam headed down the steps, totally
relieved that Mai hadn’t given him a hard time about taking off.
And oddly disappointed at the same time.
Late in the afternoon on Monday, Mai
was still busy opening boxes and sorting through the contents. Liam
had an incredible inventory, from what she could tell. She couldn’t
even guess at the value, but everything was so disorganized that
she didn’t see how he could sell much of anything. Right now,
customers couldn’t have gotten in the door if they wanted
to.
It had occurred to her midmorning as
she was making an area to put lamps that Liam might not want her
picking through his stuff, or organizing it. But she had to do
something; otherwise, she was going to go crazy. And since she
obviously couldn’t go to her own shop and work, Liam’s was the next
best thing.
Besides, he had way too much baggage to be worried about something this
trivial. She could just tell: the nightmares, the
sad-beyond-his-years look in his eyes, the way he moved like a
caged animal. He said he wasn’t CIA, but she didn’t believe him.
She’d dated a CIA agent just after college and she knew the look,
the way they moved. Liam was so a spy. Or
something equally crazy. She just felt it in her
bones.
Which was yet another reason to get out
of here while she had the chance. The relationship with the other
CIA agent hadn’t gone well. She arranged books she’d unearthed on a
bookshelf on the back wall of the shop. She couldn’t believe how
many first editions Liam had.
Things with Robert had definitely not
ended well. She’d broken up with him when she discovered he slept
with a semiautomatic under his pillow. Loaded. There was also one
in the linen closet and one taped to the back of the toilet tank.
Also one in each of his cars.
She hadn’t checked Liam’s toilet tank.
Not to say it hadn’t occurred to her.
But who was she kidding? If she found
an Uzi taped to the back of the toilet tank, where was she going to
go? With her seventy-five-year-old, headed-for-senility father and
a five-pound rat terrier? The truth was that whether she liked it
or not, the only thing she could do was hope that Liam would be
able to help her figure this out. If she could just talk to this
crazy Weasel, find out what he wanted, if she had it, God knew
she’d give it to him.
A tap at the door of the shop caught
her attention. She saw a red-haired teenager with a backpack on her
back standing on the sidewalk. Liam had said he was sending a
friend by to check on her. This had to be Kaleigh.
Mai walked to the bottom of the
staircase. “Babbo? You okay?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” he shouted from
the living room upstairs. “We’re watching our
stories.”
Thank God for soap
operas.
Mai went to the door but didn’t open it
immediately. Better safe than sorry. “We’re closed.
Sorry.”
“It’s okay, Mai. I’m Kaleigh. A friend
of Liam’s. He asked me to come by. Can I come in?”
Mai hesitated, thinking she should just
tell her they were fine and send her on her way.
“It’s safe, really,” the teen said from
the other side of the door. “I’m, like, the safest girl in
town.”
Mai smiled and unlocked the door, even
though a part of her didn’t want to meet this Kaleigh. She didn’t
want to get to know Liam’s friends or in any way make herself a
part of his life. She was just sticking around because she had
nowhere else to go right now. She wasn’t going to make whatever
this was between her and Liam a thing. He’d
been amazing in bed; they’d been amazing together, but she wasn’t
naive enough to think that meant anything. He obviously wasn’t
interested in a thing, and she had bigger
problems right now than her lack of bedsheet action.
“Thanks for stopping by.” Mai stepped
back to let her in and locked the door behind her. “You really
didn’t have to. I’m fine. We’re fine. I imagine Liam will be back
tonight.”
“I don’t know about that. He gets antsy
sometimes, takes off. Could be days before he’s back.” She glanced
around the shop. “Wow. You do all of this? Is that a wall over
there?”
Mai chuckled. “That’s a wall. I think
there are four of them.”
“Liam’s been working for almost three
weeks and I think you made more headway in a day.”
“I’m good at organizing.” Mai opened
and closed her arms. “What can I say?”
“So, you need anything? Groceries or
anything?” Kaleigh wound her way through the stacks of boxes toward
the back wall where Mai had been arranging the books.
“Nope. We’re good. We went to the
grocery store yesterday. Liam and I.”
“Cool.” She stopped at the bookshelf
and dropped her backpack to the floor. “Now I’m doubly impressed.
He never has any food in the house except for Rice Krispies. Not
that I don’t like Rice Krispies, you understand.” She gave Mai a
look and grabbed a book. “Is this a first-edition Kipling? You’ve
got to be kidding me.” She glanced back. “But Liam’s, like,
thirty-five years old. It’s really time he got past the college-boy
thing and had some dishes and some food in his
refrigerator.”
“He’s got an autographed Samuel
Clemens, and a first-edition Henry James.” Mai pointed. “Well, he’s
got food now. And dishes. I took a box upstairs yesterday. He’s got
the coolest stuff lying around here. I don’t think he knows half of
what’s here.”
“Sounds like Liam.” Kaleigh flipped
through the pages of The Jungle Book. “So,
he tells me you’re in a little trouble?”
Mai wasn’t sure what to say. Surely
Liam hadn’t told this kid what was going on with her and her
father.
“That why you’re here?” Kaleigh
asked.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea that we
talk about this. Frankly, it could be . . .
dangerous.”
“Hey, that’s cool. I wasn’t trying to
get in your business or anything.” She returned the book to the
shelf and reached for another. “I was just kind of surprised when
Liam told me you were staying here.” She flipped pages again. “It’s
just not like him.” She glanced over the book cover. “He must
really like you.”
Mai felt her cheeks burn. “He’s a good
guy.”
“A super-good guy,” Kaleigh agreed.
“Always coming to people’s rescue and such.”
“You mean he’s done this
before?”
“I really can’t say.” Kaleigh returned
the book to the shelf. “I don’t suppose there are any Rice Krispies
left? I’m starving and if I go home, my mom’s going to make me
clean my bedroom.”
Mai hesitated. The smart thing to do
was to show Kaleigh the door. She didn’t need to be making friends
in Clare Point. Not friends with Liam’s friends, for sure. But she
already liked Kaleigh. There was something about her that made her
seem wise beyond her years. “I can do better than Rice Krispies.
Come on.” She waved her toward the steps.
“No such thing as better than Rice
Krispies,” Kaleigh argued, grabbing her backpack off the
floor.
“No?” Mai asked, leading the teen up
the stairs to Liam’s apartment. “How about Rice Krispie
treats?”
The Weasel’s old stomping grounds in
Brooklyn had been fairly quiet Sunday night. Monday, Liam spent the
day poking around, first at the courthouse, then the best place for
info in town, the post office, where he talked to an old woman who
had known DeCava and Machhione. She’d gone on a blind date to the
homecoming dance freshman year with Machhione. Said he was a lying,
sly bastard back then.
Mrs. Ditonio, pretty lively for her
age, had then invited Liam back to her house for dinner. And
something else, he suspected. He passed on both.
Liam gleaned a few tidbits at a diner
at lunch and then hit pay dirt that night at an Italian restaurant
two blocks from where DeCava and later Machhione had operated their
antiques store and other assorted businesses.
What he learned wasn’t good news for
Mai and her father. Apparently, Uncle Donato knew Machhione from
high school and had been the Weasel’s consigliere for years. He had
been demoted when he made a business deal in Machhione’s name,
without Machhione’s knowledge. The only reason the Weasel hadn’t
offed Ricci was that the deal was successful and made a bucket of
money. There had been serious trouble between Machhione and Ricci
just before the boss went to jail. Liam’s informant, a
seventy-odd-years-old bookie named Anthony Pallota, didn’t know
what the rift was about, but he said word on the street had been
that Ricci had taken something from Machhione.
Bingo. Had the
Weasel gotten out of jail and decided to collect on old
debts?
Liam was pouring the old man his fourth
glass of Chianti when the door to the street opened. Liam’s danger
radar immediately went off. He and Anthony were the only patrons
left in the little trattoria. A bartender was putting glasses away
behind the bar. Liam hadn’t seen the waiter in at least half an
hour.
“Nope. Nope. Never heard what it was he
was supposed to have stolen.” Anthony sipped his wine. “Some said
he never took nuthin’. It just pissed off the Weasel that Ricci was
a better businessman than he was.” He gave a snort. “That and the
fact that the missus had an ongoing thing with Ricci for
years.”
Liam watched over Anthony’s right
shoulder as two men in their thirties wearing leather jackets
walked into the restaurant. They looked like they were trying out
to be extras on The Sopranos. One had a
tattoo on his neck. Something idiotic like a panther, its claws
bared.
They walked up to the bar and muttered
something. They weren’t from around here. Sounded like New Orleans
to Liam’s ear.
Liam flexed his hands beneath the
checkered tablecloth. Panther Neck glanced around. He spotted
Anthony’s hunched back. Maybe recognized that the old man was
drunk.
Liam ducked his head, blocking the
thugs’ direct line of vision with Anthony’s torso. The bartender
served the guys each a shot of Jägermeister, with a beer
chaser.
Anthony rambled on. He didn’t know
where Liam could find the Weasel, but he was around, all right.
Retired. Out of the business. Enjoying his freedom.
The two at the bar flew off their
barstools straight at Liam without any warning. Vampires were like
that.