Lacey Luzzi: Sprinkled: A humorous cozy mystery! (Lacey Luzzi Mafia Mysteries Book 1) (30 page)

I hadn’t anticipated that my family would be the largest organized crime Family in all of the Midwest, or that my grandfather would run the operation from his castle tucked away in suburban St. Paul. And I
especially
didn’t imagine I’d take a job with him.

I’m not exactly Mafia material. For starters, I don’t like blood. I get woozy just thinking about losing a tooth. Second, I have absolutely zero fighting talents. For example, it took a plunger, a 911 call and a bottle of wine to handle my latest confrontation, and that was with a spider.

My Italian is sub-par, peppered mostly with swear words and the occasional food name, thanks to the Sopranos, and I prefer my coffee to be mostly sugar and milk as opposed to a bitter shot of espresso. I’m polite. I use please and thank you. My mobster rating is a big, fat goose-egg.

However, two years ago, my growling stomach had been speaking much, much louder than my rapidly deteriorating conscience. With no legitimate career opportunities in sight, I’d agreed to join the Family business.

Which is how I ended up having a staring contest with a sparkly pink invitation currently shedding glitter all over my newest sweat pants.

“Damn it.” I sucked in a bunch of air and blew a hearty breath in the direction of my crotch. About fifty percent of the sprinkles vanished from my pants and found a new home all over the interior of my Chevy Lumina, a car so impossible to steer that I needed to do a three point turn in order to merge onto the freeway.

I considered running over to the nearby gas station, which was owned by some relation of mine, to vacuum both my lap and the car, but decided against it for multiple reasons. The first was that I was late to work; the second – and most important – was that car services required effort and money, two things I was lacking this morning.

Most people wouldn’t be allowed to wear sweatpants to work unless they were a gym teacher or a yoga instructor, and as I was neither particularly bendable or the recipient of a college diploma, I didn’t fall into either of those categories. I was headed towards the Luzzi Family Laundromat, and while in some cases one might be considered admirable and even borderline heroic for offering to help with their grandparents’ small business, in my case it was downright illegal.

The Laundromat was a front for the St. Paul Mob and my grandfather, Carlos Luzzi, was the Godfather of the Twin Cities branch. He’d moved up from the larger Chicago Mafia a while ago, for reasons unknown but easy to suspect, and set up shop here. Now I helped him track down any stolen
good stuff
and find out why certain bodies were no longer alive.

I steered the Lumina carefully into the parking lot that the Laundromat shared with 7-11, cranking the steering wheel hard enough to give my palms blisters. I was twenty minutes late for my shift at the front desk, which was a unique position of ‘coin changer’ for the legitimate patrons and ‘lookout’ for the Family members who may be using the back room for reasons I purposely ignored.

Later by the second, I silenced my ringing phone and popped into the 7-11 to get a steaming cup of sugar and a dash of coffee. After filling the cup mostly with little marshmallows and fake frothed milk, I threw in a few packets of sweetener. In order to save calories where I could, I decided to use only two measly squirts of the non-fat creamer.

“Hello, Maria,” I greeted the sullen cashier. “How’s it going?”

“Do we have to do this?” She nodded at the donut rack. “Get them now; I’m only ringing you up once.”

I maybe blushed, but I grabbed three of the mini donuts. It was such a steal at only a dollar. I tossed some change on the counter and Maria handed me back a few pennies, tacking on an eye roll for extra measure.

“Bye!” I rushed out the door and dropped the pennies into a homeless man’s cup.

Maria ignored me as usual.

I arrived at the door of the Laundromat and realized my dilemma – I had both hands full, one with donuts and one with a gigantic coffee, and the door was a pull only. I squirmed and bent in half, feeling exceptionally incapable of life. Finally, after a long struggle with the handle, I’d hooked my pinky under the door and managed to pull it open an inch.

A rush of air nearly knocked my coffee from my hands as two Tasmanian devils flew from the Laundromat, pushing the door open and slamming me straight in the noggin with the glass window.

Lacey – 0. Door – 1.

Blood spurted from my nose, but I couldn’t bring myself to set either of the treasures in my hands down. I’d need my energy now more than ever – the wooziness from blood loss would set in momentarily, I was sure. Probably fried dough and sugar was a great solution.

I lifted my forearm to my nose to try and stop the bleeding, but succeeded only in covering myself in blood. On the positive side, I managed to wedge my foot in the door and squeeze inside.

The Laundromat was full, as it always is mid-morning on a Saturday. All of the patrons froze the second I walked through the door: Moms in yoga pants watched in horror, shielding their whites from my gushing nostrils, men surveyed me with morbid curiosity, and one toddler burst into a wailing cry so loud it caused the room to burst into action after a temporary standstill.

Clay, my friend and cousin lumbered up from his perch on the stool behind the marble change counter and ushered me to the side. He was a rather large, over-sized child, with a face that could be handsome behind the pale sheen of a computer genius. He flipped his shaggy dark hair, and said, “Don’t bleed on the floor.”

“Tell the evil twins to watch where they’re sprinting.” I nodded at the two girls watching through the windows with wide eyes and angelic expressions. I swear the devil was trapped inside their innocent little bodies.

They were my Uncle Nicky’s kids; one of them had blond ringlets framing her chubby cheeks and the other had a sheet of black hair falling halfway down her back. They were both five years old, but not actually twins. In fact, they came from completely different moms. Besides women, Nicky’s vices included gambling, drinking and fantasy football. Sometimes in that order. 

Clay grunted. He fished a towel from behind the desk and handed it to me.

“Awright. I tan tade ober dow,” I said, gesturing for him to move from the seat. As the Family hacker and computer fiend, Clay could move money in and out of the most secure banks in the world with his eyes closed. He could set up a booby trap in his sleep. He’d been ‘fired’ from the business awhile back, but rehired when the Family funds disappeared. Magically, when Carlos started signing Clay’s paychecks once more, the money reappeared, completely untouched. Now Clay luxuriously worked one shift a week at the Laundromat and pocketed a higher paycheck than anyone else.

I was often envious of Clay’s trek down easy street, but I also benefitted from his cyber-expertise.

As roommates in a sketchy area of St. Paul, our rent split was rarely fifty-fifty. Clay had a bigger income, and I was good enough at math to convince him that I was broke and he was not, so I often squeaked by paying forty while he paid sixty. In return, I let him deck out our living room in blinking monitors and buzzing devices and barely ever complained when he left the toilet seat up or dishes in the sink.

Clay shook his head, already engrossed in a series of images on his screen. Like all of my relatives, Clay had a healthy gambling habit, which was often where most of his paycheck went. The only reason he stayed afloat was that he could often ‘coax’ the computers into let him win with a few tweaks to the behind-the-scenes program.

He barely glanced up as he clicked furiously. “They wanna see you in the back.”

“The back wroom?” I’d never been invited past the coin changing station before.

“Yep.” Clay bit his lip and muttered an inappropriate word. He clicked his mouse as if trying to kill it.

“Alwight den, I’ll just go on back.” I took a few steps and look backwards, double checking that he wasn’t pulling my leg.

Clay wasn’t looking my direction, however. He was distracted by a gangly red head lurking outside the building. The kid looked to be about fifteen, his hair so bright it was painful to stare at. Kind of like the sun. The freckles on his face were so distinct and plentiful that it was impossible to tell whether he was pale with dark freckles or dark skinned with light freckles. He had monstrous square glasses which blocked half of his face with their unbreakable-looking rims and lenses as thick as my pinky finger.

He noticed me and Clay staring and began to wave with vigorous pumps of his skinny little arm. Clay turned back to me, his movement as slow as a pig roasting over a fire, and his mouth open just as wide. I did a little shrug. Marissa and Clarissa, the evil twins, were also staring at the boy. They looked as if they considered him to be a particularly unusual and potentially deadly creature. The girls backed away as the red-head turned and spoke animatedly to them.

I turned and continued on my journey towards Carlos, hoping that the kid was especially annoying and maybe even a little bit dangerous. If he kidnapped the twins, I’d try my best to fake some tears. It might be possible, especially with the pain from my still bleeding nose.

I was kind of kidding. I forced my thoughts to be a little less evil as I trekked down the dimly lit, rather intimidating hallway. The back room was not a place people stumbled accidentally. And if they tried to, the culprit usually ended up with a rearranged face. Which would be easy in my case, as I was already halfway there with how my morning was going. I was a little afraid of becoming Mrs. Potato Head by stepping foot in this direction.

Miss
Potato Head, I thought rather painfully.

“Doll.” A dry, deep voice drew my attention upwards.

I pinched the bridge of my nose as an onslaught of blood rushed out. I took a tiny stumble as a wave of dizziness hit me and righted myself by grabbing onto Anthony’s arm.

The current head of security for our Family, I’d met him last month after being tricked into thinking he was my randomly assigned gym trainer. Much later, I found out he’d been hired by Carlos to be my body guard for the duration of my first assignment.

“What happened to your face?” Anthony glanced down at me, and though I could never detect any emotion from him whatsoever, I thought I caught a hint of either exasperation or worry. Or it could have been amusement. He’s really tough to read.

“Devil children.” One of my arms was still grasping his bicep for balance, which was nearly as large as the trunk of a redwood tree and at least half as thick. I wondered if his other body parts followed suit…

When I shook dirty thoughts from my head a moment later, I looked up and, this time, definitely saw the corner of his mouth twitch.

“Doll, you’ll have to let me go.”

I retracted my vice like grip on his arm, though my fingers had made as much indent as if I’d been gripping cement.

I cleared my throat and nodded at the door. “So, do you know what they want?”

He shook his head; his black hair lightly gelled into place, the thick waves looking delectable in the dim hallway light. Maybe it was the lightheadedness from blood loss, but I was suddenly overcome with a desire to stand close to him, press my hips against his, and stare deeply into his eyes…

“What are you doing? Are you feeling okay?” Anthony stared down at me. “You’re swaying back and forth more than a swing set.”

“I’m all good.” My words might have slurred a bit. “Nice outfit.”

I pushed passed him as he glanced down at his uniform spandex shirt and black track pants, a small tattoo on his neck peeking over the raised edge of the tight material.

“Lacey? What’s happened to you?” Uncle Nicky, father of the two devils, lounged back in a plush leather couch with a cigar dangling from his fingertips, the room foggy with smoke.

I took a moment to respond, soaking in the details of the coveted Back Room. The lighting was dimmed, the carpet thick and deep red, the vibe much like that of a hidden speakeasy deep in old Los Angeles. Black leather couches and chairs lined the walls and a full length mahogany table sat in the middle of the room complete with place settings and tall backed chairs. The Italians did all their business deals over meals.

Wine racks lined the walls not already covered by couches, the dust creating a smell that rivaled the scent of a musty library crossed with a priceless wine cellar. Cuban cigars and other illegal devices used to smoke things I wasn’t familiar with were contained in a special cabinet – I could see the expensive linings of the glass cabinet and the little thermometer keeping the case at the perfect temperature from across the room.

I forgot the question by the time I got around to responding. “Whad? Oh, dis.”

I let the towel drop from my nose, but immediately pushed it back as the flow started up again. “Your evil children.”

“Yeah. They’re tough nuts to crack,” Nicky agreed. He chuckled. “But obviously your nose isn’t.”

Carlos sat in the corner of the room observing the situation from afar.

“Hewwo, sir,” I nodded and instantly regretted that decision.

“Don’t bleed on my carpet.” Carlos blinked once and then turned back to Nicky and continued a discussion I must have interrupted with my entrance.

Trying to be subtle, I reached for the closest chair. I wanted to drag it from the carpet over to the patch of linoleum in a small corner that qualified as a kitchen. There was a small stainless steel sink, marble countertops and an oven. Saucepans decorated the ceiling and wine glasses hung precariously from strappy contraptions on the walls.

I winced as the chair tipped over and clattered onto the linoleum. “Sowwy.”

I yanked the chair upright and set its legs firmly on the itty bitty linoleum patch. I crossed one leg over the other and quietly changed out my blood soaked towel for a darker hand towel draped over the sink. I did my best to look dignified. I was positive I’d failed miserably.

Carlos and Nicky wrapped up their conversation amidst clouds of blue smoke, and Carlos turned his steely black eyes in my direction. “Thank you for coming, Lacey. I have your assignment ready.”