Luca, p.13
Luca, page 13
He didn’t have the courage to call someone and find out what happened. And even if he did, he had no phone because he was a fuck-up, just like his old man said.
“Hey, ‘bro. You looking for something special?”
Paolo recognized Crazy T, a member of the 22nd Street Boyz, and a local drug dealer. Before Paolo started working for Mr. Rizzoli’s crew, he’d done a lot of dope and Crazy T had been his main supplier. Paolo liked how the drug made him feel—self-confident, good-looking, like he was at the top of his game.
After Mr. Rizzoli’s warning the one time he caught Paolo using, Paolo had deleted Crazy T’s name from his phone and stayed away from the parties and friends who were part of that scene, fearful of jeopardizing his future in the mob. The Toscanis had kept him busy enough over the last few years that he didn’t miss the high, but he’d never been as low as he was now. He was done. Humiliated. Embarrassed. And, as soon as the mob caught up with him, he was dead. Why not go out feeling good one last time? Why not numb the pain?
“Yeah. What you got?”
Crazy T checked the street and came up to the steps. “I’ve got two bags on me. Just give me forty. Is that cool?”
“I’ve only got twenty so I’ll take one.” He handed over the money and Crazy T passed him a clear, plastic bag. It was about the size of a baseball card. Inside were two folded wax paper bags stamped in bold pink: “Pink Label.” Even cocaine had a brand name.
“Gave you a bonus ’cause it’s been a while and this is good shit,” Crazy T said in answer to Paolo’s unspoken question. “It’s new stuff from Mexico.”
“Thanks.” He stuffed the bag in his pocket.
“I’m still around, yeah. Just find me if you need more.”
“It’s just one time,” Paolo said. “Had a bad day.”
“Sure bro’. Whatever you say. But everyone who’s tried this shit has come back for more.”
Paolo sighed. “I’m out of work.”
“Yeah?” Crazy T cocked his head to the side. “You looking to make a few bucks?”
“I might be. What are we talking about?”
Crazy T shoved his hands into his overly large jeans, tugging them down until Paolo could see the waistband of his Calvin Kleins. “This new stuff is so fucking good I can’t keep up. I could introduce you to my supplier and we can divide up the territory. I’d take a percentage of what you earn as a finder’s fee and you get all the dope you want for free.”
“For free?” His eyes widened. “Are you shitting me?”
“No, man.” Crazy T shrugged. “There’s rivers of the stuff coming in to the city, and the head guy is cool with us taking what we need as long as we’re getting the product out there. He’s been getting pissed with me ’cause I can’t keep up with demand, so it would be good to have you on board.”
Paolo had never dealt dope before, but how hard could it be? He wasn’t a good salesman—hell, he wasn’t a good anything—but when he was high, he had all the confidence in the world. And he knew a lot of guys outside the mob. He could spread that shit around and make way more money than he had with the Toscanis. He would be able to afford to put Ma in the kind of care home where rich people went, and he could buy a nice car so he could take the ladies out in style. He wouldn’t have the respect the mobsters got, or the sense of family, and he wouldn’t have one hundred guys chomping at the bit to avenge him if someone gave him shit. But that dream was gone, and if Mr. Rizzoli spared his life, he would have to find a way to survive. Maybe he’d turn out to be good at it. Maybe even better than Crazy T.
“If I’m around tomorrow, then I’m interested.”
“Gimme a buzz.” Crazy T waggled his phone. “It’ll take about a week to arrange a meet.”
“I lost my phone. You know someone who can hook me up?”
“Sure bro’. I know a guy. He buys stolen phones, packages ’em up and ships them overseas. You tell him what you want and he’ll deliver. I’m heading that way.”
Paolo glanced down the street. Maybe sitting on the steps waiting to be whacked wasn’t the best way to spend what could be his last few hours on earth. A smart man was always prepared, Mr. Rizzoli said. Paolo wasn’t smart. And he wasn’t a man—not yet. But he could be prepared for the crushing blow to come. At best, he’d be able to get in touch with Crazy T and set himself up as a dealer. At worst, he’d be able to call his mother and say good-bye.
ELEVEN
“Shut up and drink.” Cissy read the sign above the small stage as they walked into Red 27, a well-known dive bar in downtown Vegas. “Well, this is going to be an experience.”
“I can’t believe I finally got you here,” Nicole shouted at Gabrielle over the pounding music. “You’re going to love it.” She smiled at the tall muscular dude beside her who had covered his shaved head with a gray knit cap that matched his gray T-shirt emblazoned with a howling wolf. “What do you think, Clint?”
Gabrielle shot Cissy an exasperated look as Clint, the Porn King, gave a bored shrug. Friday nights were supposed to be girls only, but for some reason Nicole had begged them to let Clint come along.
Gabrielle followed Nicole to the bar with a nervous Cissy almost plastered to her back, skirting around worn tables filled with Goths, ravers, and a smattering of punk fairies. Dread hawks, lazy hawks, and shark fins were the dominant hairstyles, the more brightly colored, the better. It was the polar opposite of the Vegas tourists came to see, from the tagger-decorated walls to the mobiles on the ceilings, and from the eclectic clientele to the X-rated shenanigans happening at the tables.
She’d resisted Nicole’s previous attempts to drag her to the dive bar, uncomfortable with being a police officer in a place known for turning a blind eye to illicit activities and hosting a less-than-savory clientele of bikers, punks, tattooed mongrels, and the odd assortment of criminals.
However, with her life in a tailspin, she needed a distraction. Luca hadn’t turned up for their date Wednesday night and she hadn’t heard from him since. Not only that, Theft was proving to be a major bore and she had exhausted her options for trying to get reassigned to the Garcia case. Cissy had suggested going back to Glamour, but after pushing her limits with Luca, Gabrielle had decided to walk on the wild side and check out Nicole’s favorite place to party.
An aging hipster in a green knit hat greeted Nicole with a kiss when they reached the bar.
“Welcome back, my friend.”
“King! These are my friends I told you about. The ones I’ve been trying to get here for ages. And this is my boyfriend, Clint. Can you make them something special?”
King gave her a wink. “Anything for you, princess.”
Gabrielle cut Clint a sideways look. He didn’t seem bothered about King’s kiss or the wink. She imagined King kissing her in front of Luca and had to bite back a laugh. Luca was the most possessive and protective man she had ever met. No doubt King’s lips would never have made it near her cheek.
“You’ve got quite the eclectic clientele,” Gabrielle said to King, grabbing a free stool at the bar while Nicole, Clint, and Cissy went to find a table.
“Keeps things interesting.” He poured three different types of alcohol, and what appeared to be random mixers in giant beer mugs and stirred them with a spoon.
Gabrielle grimaced as he put the brown frothy drinks on a tray for her. “What are those?
“Dive bar special.” King grinned. “Loosens people up.”
She found her friends at a wobbly table precariously close to the dance floor where everyone seemed to be dancing to anything but the beat.
“What is this?” Cissy tasted the drink and shuddered. “It tastes like one hundred proof alcohol. Is it legal?”
“It doesn’t have a name, but it’ll give you a buzz in less than five minutes.” Nicole took a big sip and nudged Gabrielle’s glass. “Drink up and drown your sorrows. You’ll get over him.”
“Maybe I should have ordered two.”
Luca’s brush-off shouldn’t have bothered her, but it did. Even though what they had was just supposed to be about sex, she’d been looking forward to seeing him on Wednesday night after her terrible day at work, especially since Nicole was spending the night with Clint. She’d stopped at a lingerie shop and bought something out of her most secret fantasies, something so pink and girly—all bows and ribbons and lace—that David would have laughed. She’d showered, shaved, and put on a little black dress over her garters, stockings, and bra, along with a pair of heels that Nicole had bought her the first time she’d ventured out after David’s death.
Anticipation had been a luscious treat. Humiliation had been a hard pill to swallow.
Even now, she couldn’t stop berating herself for getting carried away, for being the pathetic widow so desperate to find love again she’d sit in her house all dressed up waiting for a man who had no intention of coming.
They are born to seduce, raised to seduce, and they will die seducing the nurse in the hospital. Well, from the giggles and low murmurs she’d heard from the other side of the curtain when she’d been in hospital, that wasn’t far from the truth. He probably had the florist on speed dial.
“If it makes you feel better,” Cissy said, “I thought he was too intense, especially after you told me how he tried to beat up Jeff. I mean, who does that?”
“Ah. Clint did.” Nicole glanced over at Clint who was watching two punk fairies dancing together. Her weak smile made Gabrielle’s stomach tighten in a knot. She’d only met Clint two or three times in the year Nicole had been with him, and each time she liked him even less than the last. She particularly didn’t like how submissive Nicole acted around him. The Nicole she knew didn’t do weak smiles or simpering gestures. She was bold and confident in a way Gabrielle had always admired, but that smile said something else.
“You never told us about that,” Cissy said.
Nicole shrugged. “Two weeks after we started seeing each other, we went dancing with a friend of his who was staying with him on a visit from Australia. His friend hit on me and Clint punched him in the face and threw him out of the house. Didn’t you, babe?”
Clint’s gaze sliced to her and away. “Yeah. Fucker stole my amp.”
“It wasn’t just about the amp,” she whispered. “It was me. He didn’t want his friend touching his girl.”
Gabrielle had a feeling it wasn’t about Nicole at all; it was just about the amp, like Clint said, but she didn’t contradict Nicole. Her friend had had a rough start in life and had spent most of her teen years in foster care. If she felt good about the story the way she believed it, then it wasn’t Gabrielle’s place to say otherwise.
For the next hour, they chatted over drinks, squeezed onto the tiny dance floor when the tunes were good, and tried to drown their sorrows when the house punk band took to the stage.
* * *
“Punk rockers should never attempt shredding,” Gabrielle said as she sipped the last of her drink. The alcohol had finally taken the edge off her tension, and she could breathe a little easier with Clint away at the bar. “Even if they’re trying to be ironic. And the front man sounded nothing like Hendrix and everything like he was trying to bend Jimmy Kimmel.”
“He was watching you dance.” Cissy gave her a nudge. “He couldn’t take his eyes off you.”
Nicole choked on her drink. “Give her a chance to get over Luca. It’s only been two days.”
“I was really crushing on him for a bit.” Gabrielle took another sip and realized half her drink was gone. “He was very different from David. Very protective and possessive. Dangerous and exciting.” She put her hand to her neck and realized she hadn’t put on her locket after Nicole had taken it off her in Luca’s restaurant. It was still sitting on her dresser beside David’s photograph.
Cissy lifted a manicured eyebrow. She always looked perfect, no matter where they went. Tonight, she’d dressed in elegant punk: a tight, form-fitting black dress with strategically placed lace panels, ankle boots and chain bracelets. “Are you excusing him for standing you up and not answering your texts?”
“No. I’m just saying I’ve never met someone with so much personality and presence. He’s all out there. He does what he wants and fuck the rules. It’s very refreshing after spending all my time with law-abiding types. He makes me want to be a little bit bad.”
“You should be bad!” Nicole’s eyes lit up. “We should be bad together.”
“Then you’ll need to ditch the deadweight.” Cissy tipped her chin at Clint, now talking to King at the bar. “What’s he really doing here? This is our girls’ night out.”
“He wanted to come and check out the bar.” Nicole stared down at the table. “He wasn’t really … interested … in hearing no as an answer.”
Before Gabrielle could find out what was going on, she sensed a disturbance near the door. She looked up just as the crowd parted to accommodate six feet two inches of breathtaking scowling male and two of his equally formidable friends.
“Oh my god! It’s Luca.”
“How did he know where you were?” Cissy frowned. “He’s either a stalker or he’s keeping tabs on you, both of which are illegal, I might add.”
“I don’t think a guy like that cares too much about what’s illegal and what’s not.” Nicole pushed back her chair, and gave Cissy a not-too-subtle head nod. “I’m going to help Clint at the bar. You want to come, Cis?”
Cissy hesitated. “His friends are … uh…” She licked her lips. “I just might stay and meet them. To be polite. Politeness is good.”
Nicole’s gaze flicked to the two men who stood at Luca’s back, almost like bodyguards, and her lips quirked in a smile. “If Clint wasn’t here, I would be polite, too.”
Luca descended like a hurricane. A drop-dead gorgeous hurricane. Gabrielle liked him in suits, but she loved him in the worn jeans he wore tonight, along with a tight Affliction T-shirt and a beat-up leather jacket. He looked badass in the most delicious way.
“Luca.” Just saying his name did strange things to her stomach. “What are you doing here?”
“You’re here.” He seemed curiously irritated even though he was the one crashing the party.
“I don’t recall inviting you.” She leaned back, played it cool like she hadn’t had the equivalent of six drinks in two hours, and the music wasn’t pounding through her body, people weren’t sexing it up around her, and she wasn’t thinking about getting him alone in the darkest corner of the bar, and reliving their Glamour experience all over again. “You always seem to crash our Friday Fun Night. I’m here with Nicole and her boyfriend and Cissy.” She gestured to her drooling friend. “You remember Cissy.”
Luca tore his gaze off her to give Cissy a nod, and then introduced his friends. “Mike and … uh … Rick.”
“You guys thirsty?” Cissy asked. “I was just heading over to the bar.”
They both looked to Luca and he gave another nod. “Go ahead. I’ll let you know when we’re leaving.”
“Thanks, boss.”
Gabrielle watched them go. The taller of the two had the body of a boxer, all thick, ropey muscle, his hair military short. His equally stocky friend shared Luca’s dark features but not his sense of style. She remembered them from the restaurant, but at the time she’d thought they were friends.
“Boss? Do they work for you?”
Luca folded his arms across his chest. “In a way.”
She sensed the topic was closed for further discussion, and moved on to the more-important question of his presence in the bar. “How did you find me?”
“Your neighbor.” He held out his hand, but she made no move to take it. “I stopped by your place to check the work the contractors had done and I saw Max in the next yard. Went to check it out. Talked to Mrs. Henderson. She mentioned you were coming here.”
“She’s nosy that way.” Relief flooded through her now that she knew he wasn’t stalking her and his presence here had a rational explanation. “She likes to know where we are, even though we’re contactable by phone. Nicole thinks she’s reliving her youth through us.”
“She cares about you,” he said. “I think she was worried about you coming here.”
“I seem to be undamaged so far.” She shrugged, sipped at the dregs of the drink she’d drunk too fast. “And I think we both know I can take care of myself.”
“Come.” He made an abrupt motion with his fingers as if expecting her jump up and do his bidding. “I want to talk to you outside where I can hear myself think.”
“I wanted a date the other night. I guess we’ll both be disappointed.”
* * *
Jesus Christ. He had to get her out of here. If they were seen together by anyone in the know, they could both be at risk.
The easy solution would be for him to leave. After all, he’d promised himself that he would end it with her after he caught the two Albanians who shot up her house, and now they were lying in the desert at the side of the road, a message to the fucking Albanian mafia that they had messed with the wrong girl. He felt like a bastard for standing her up, and worse for not responding to her texts, but it was for the best. Safer. For both of them.
And yet tonight, he had found himself in his car, driving down her street, telling himself he was just there to check the work the builders had done on her house. When he saw Max in the yard next door, he felt compelled to investigate. And when he found out she’d come to Red 27, he’d texted Mike and Little Ricky and told them to meet him there.
Red 27 was not a good place for cops to be.
“Something came up,” he said quickly, in response to her admonition.
“Was it something that paralyzed your fingers so you couldn’t call or text?” Her lips thinned and she sighed. “Never mind. It wasn’t supposed to be anything serious. You wanted to end it, and it’s over. I’m good with that.”
