The Goddaughter (2 page)

“I'll be over soon. Did you have any trouble?”

Angelo grinned. “Nada. Place is so quiet—”

“—it's like a morgue. I know. That's getting old, sweetie.”

He sat back. “No worries anyway. I'll manage the switch.”

I nodded toward the coffee counter. “You want anything?”

Angelo shook his head. He had thick curls like the kind you see on those chubby angel drawings that seem to be everywhere. “Nah. Can't sleep if I have caffeine at night. Besides, I'm just on a break. Gotta get back to the morgue.”

I took a sip of coffee.

“You know why he got hit?”

Angelo frowned and leaned forward. “Heard he slashed a hooker. I think he got too dangerous to keep around, and the New York people wanted him done out of the city. It wasn't us.”

I was thoughtful. That's what Uncle Vince had told me this morning.
It wasn't us
. Perhaps he knew I needed to hear it from someone else. Or perhaps it was even true.

“Come around to this side and give me a hug,” I said. “Then you can pick up my bag.”

Angelo got up and did that.

“Give my love to Aunt Vera,” I whispered.

“Done,” he said, and was gone.

I waited two minutes to finish the coffee, picked up Angelo's bag and went home.

In the privacy of my study, I took the dead guy's shoes out of the bag. Angelo would be taking a nearly identical pair back to the morgue.

I placed the shoes on the worktable. A special screwdriver helped me to disconnect the heel of one shoe from the body. The cavity was packed with stuffing to keep the contents from rattling. I carefully removed everything and counted.

Seven gemstones lay on the tabletop. Two were over two carats, and one was a beaut. A stunning pear-shaped sapphire, at least ten carats in weight. I looked through my loupe to see that it didn't disappoint—no visible inclusions.

They might strip-search you when coming through customs, but they don't usually take apart your shoes.

Which is a good thing, because we have a thing for shoes in our family.

CHAPTER
FOUR

S
ammy the String Bean phoned at dawn. Sammy is Vince's Jewish cousin and skinny sidekick. Yes, we can buy both our salami and mortadella wholesale in this family.

“We got a problem,” he said.

I groaned. I hate it when they say “we,” especially—dammit—before seven in the morning.

“Those rocks? They weren't supposed to come to us.”

“You gotta be kidding.” I was sitting up in bed now, wide awake.

“Vinnie says so. The Battalias in Buffalo? They were the pickup. 'Cept they didn't.”

“Why the hell not?”

Okay, I was miffed now. At least three hundred g's of hot rocks on my hands, and they weren't even mine. Well, of course they weren't mine…I mean, I wasn't supposed to have them. They weren't mine
and
I wasn't supposed to have them.

“Joey—the Battalias' pickup stooge—went awol. Got crazy with a dame he met in a bar in North Tonawanda—where do they get these names? Anyway, Joey didn't show, so Tony just carried on with the next part of the assignment, which was to meet with us. So the shoes came over the border with him.”

I took a breath.

“He didn't know what was in the shoe? Why?”

“'Cause they don't—didn't—trust the knob with knowing things like that. Not a rocket scientist. They just tell him to wear the shoes, and go visit whoever.”

“Whomever,” I said automatically. I didn't bother to correct the tense.

“You got it.” Sammy agreed. “And we weren't the who.” He snickered. It sounded like a donkey with laryngitis. “Hey, The Who—get it? We're not The Who
.”

Sammy is an acquired taste.

I was out of bed now, looking out the window. Bright sunshine filtered through the smog. I could see smoke plumes rising from the steel plants off in the distance. Hamilton does it best.

“So what does Vince want me to do?” I asked.

“Go to Buffalo. We're making the link with the Battalias now.”

“Drive or fly?”

“Drive. You know—go shopping or something. Women stuff. Border cops believe that crap.”

“Bugger,” I muttered. This was not part of my plan for the day. Actually, it wasn't part of the plan for my life. I decided to remind Sammy.

“Nope,” I said.

“Huh?”

“Not doing it,” I said firmly. “This wasn't part of the deal, remember? I came back to run the jewelry store and do appraisals when called upon. That was the deal. Not running courier, or playing Mata Hari, or anything else to do with the other business interests you and Vince have. I'm through with that. It's why I left in the first place.”

There was silence. I could hear the hum of the refrigerator two rooms away.

“Sammy?”

“I heard you. I remember.”

He ought to. I'd only been back for a year. And it took them two months to find me, and another seven to sweet-talk me back.

More silence. A whole lot more, in fact. I'm not good at silence. So I said, “I don't owe you anything. You got what you wanted. I came back. I'm looking after the store. Clients respect me.”

More silence. I can't abide silence. “Did you hear me, Sammy?”

“Yeah. Gotta go.” He hung up.

I stared at the wall for a moment, holding my breath. Then I let out the air with a whoosh. Well, that's that, then. I was feeling pretty proud of myself. First time I ever said no to them. This was a historic day. Damn, I was hot.

Then why was I so uneasy?

The phone rang in my hand. I looked down. Different number.

I put it down on the bed. Paced the room. Waited until all eight rings were done (exactly eight—Uncle Vince always counts).

No more. I wasn't going to be pushed around anymore. I marched to the bathroom, grabbed a hairbrush and started massacring my hair. I yanked the brush through the unruly curls until they got caught. Then I yanked some more.

They knew the rules. They knew I wasn't playing the game—not
that
game, or any game! And unless it was something really important, life-threatening, in fact—

I ran back to the bed and picked up the phone. I called my cousin Paulo, the lawyer. He was a smart guy. He'd be in the know.

“What's the deal with Sammy and the rocks? How serious is this?” I asked.

Paulo sighed. “Don't involve me in this, okay? I got too much involvement already.”

“Fine by me.” I hung up. Paulo always was a wiener. I don't know why I bothered to call him.

I moved to the walk-in closet and started whipping out clothes. Sapphire-blue skirt and matching jacket with cute little tie belt in front.
He's
got too much involvement. I've had involvement up the ying-yang for years and years. Where was that white tank top? Involvement was the whole reason I got out of this burg in the first place. Who needs family like mine?

Twenty minutes in the bathroom got me put together and presentable. All I had to do was get out of the condo—

The phone rang again. I let it go to the answering machine.

“Gina? It's your auntie. Sammy just told me.”

Oh frig. It was Aunt Miriam—Sammy's wife. They brought in the big guns. I picked up the phone.

“It's just a little trip, maideleh—can't imagine why you wouldn't want to do a teeny-weeny thing like that as a favor to your dear uncle who loves you so—”

I missed the rest because the door was being pounded out of the wall.

“Hold on,” I said into the phone.

I marched to the door and peered through the peephole.

Angelo stood there with two coffees and chagrin on his face.

I whooshed the door open.

“They sent you too?”

He nodded. “I'm supposed to say ‘please.' And Luca's on his way over with cannoli.”

Aunt Miriam was still squawking into the phone. Before I could put it to my ear, the cell phone in my purse starting singing “Shut Up and Drive.”

“That's probably Uncle Vito,” Angelo said.

“For Christ's sake! It's the full onslaught from all sides.” I threw up my arms. “You know what that means. This could go on for days.”

He shrugged. “Can you sort of speed things up a bit and say yes? I've got a lot going on right now.”

I whammed the door all the way open. It bounced off the back wall. “Might as well come in. One of those better have cream in it.”

I put the phone to my ear again.

“Aunt Miriam?”

“Gone to the can. She handed it back to me.”

“Sammy?” I sighed. “How desperate is he?”

“It's the border crossing. Doesn't trust anyone else to get through it without messing up. Think of it this way. The rocks don't belong here. You're taking them back to where they kinda legally belong.”

Yeah, right. As if the city of Buffalo were the rightful owner. I looked down at the floor. It didn't look back.

“Just this once, right? And you owe me!”

“Of course, doll. You call the shots.”

Yeah, and I'm Pamela Anderson's twin sister.

“All right. You want me to meet up with this Joey, right? The little skirt-chaser.”

“Not so little,” Sammy said. “Joey is over three hundred. Used to play football for the Ti-Cats.”

“Oh,
that
Joey!” Missing a few brain cells after all those concussions, poor boy. “I've met him. Aunt Vera tried to set me up with him once.”

He laughed. “Joey with the precious goddaughter? Bet that went down great with Vinnie.”

“Like shoes on a goat.”

I hung up, took the coffee from Angelo and started looking for my passport.

CHAPTER
FIVE

M
y car is pretty nondescript. I'd love a hot little convertible like Pete's, but when you carry a lot of—shall we say
expensive
—merchandise, as a rule you opt for safe and staid. Doesn't tempt the joyriders.

I stopped for gas at my cousin Guytano's station. Some high-school kid was working the pumps, so I didn't stick around to say hi. Then I hit Main to stop at a bank machine. I saw an empty parking space across the street and made for it. Main is one way, and it is much easier to dash a block down to King than to turn left, and then left again, trying to find a space. Hard to explain, but if you live in a city of one-way streets, you'll get it.

I grabbed my handbag-cum-suitcase and bolted through the traffic.

Only one person in front of me at the
ATM
—I was in luck.

Two minutes later, I turned away from the bank machine and bashed right into Pete Malone.

“Jeez, you scared me,” I said, trying to catch my breath.

“I'm not so scary,” Pete quipped. One hand reached out to steady me. A spark shot through me at his touch.

“What are you
doing
here?” I blurt out. Was he following me? Normally, I wouldn't mind, but this was damned inconvenient at the moment.

“I was getting coffee next door. Saw you rush up.” He looked amused.

“Oh. Well, nice to see you. Pete, I'd love to stay and chat, but I'm in a big hurry. Call me, okay?” I turned abruptly, nearly tripping on the cracked pavement.

Pete was right beside me as I hoofed it, or tried to hoof it, back to my car. These shoes were four inches of stacked-heel torture.

“Wait a minute! We're having dinner tonight, remember?”

I stopped and turned. “Oh crap, Pete! I am so sorry. Of course we are. It's not that I forgot—it's just—”

BAM!

“What the hell was
that
?”

The whole ground seem to shake for a moment, and then someone screamed.

Pete grabbed my arm. Sirens blasted all over the place. Police cars came screeching—all of them, I swear—the entire Steeltown contingent. They careened up the street and slammed to a stop in front of the bank across the street.

“Run!” I yelled. What can I say? It's instinctive.

Pete just held me tighter.

“The big bad policemen won't get you. Promise.”

We stood across the street and watched the action at the other bank. Car doors slammed, and there was a lot of yelling. I tried to keep out of sight and peered out from behind Pete's shoulder. Man, he smelled good—like bread just out of the oven. Yum.

“Looks like a robbery.”

“Yup,” I said, watching more cops pile out and pull guns.

“Anyone you know?” Pete asked innocently.

I would have whacked him, but he had my arms pinned.

“Got to be first-timers, blowing a safe like that. No one blows up safes anymore.”

Pete raised an eyebrow.

“The trick is to get in and out fast,” I said in disgust. “You can't blow up things and do that.”

We stared at the lockdown from the alley between two buildings across the street.

“Well, that's just perfect,” I muttered. “What the hell am I going to do now?”

“Explain?”

“My car's over there, behind the wall of cops.” Think hard, Gina. Okay, I had everything I needed. Passport in pocket. I was wearing my new shoes with the custom compartments. I had a pair of ballerina flats in my handbag to change into after the drop. So I had everything to make the Buffalo contact, except the vehicle to get me there.

I could rent a car, maybe. Or I could take a plane. Probably quicker to drive, but a rental car might be trouble at the border. Okay, it's a plane and then a taxi from the airport.

“Pete, can you drive me to the airport?”

He frowned and released me. “Where the hell were you going today?”

Oh right. I was supposed to meet him for dinner tonight. Backpedal.

“Just to Buffalo. I was going to drive and be back in time for dinner, but I don't want to bother renting a car. Important meeting,” I said. I even nodded. That should make it look authentic.