This Is How It Happened (23 page)

I walk quickly to Starbucks, a crisp, white envelope in my hand. I’m wearing sunglasses and my hair is tucked up inside a baseball cap. Not a sophisticated disguise, but still. I hope I don’t run into Nick Montana.

The bell on the door tinkles as I swing it open. I turn toward my usual table and stop in my tracks.

Dick is already sitting at our table. Two coffees. One for him. And one, presumably, for me. There are also two big chocolate chip cookies on two separate napkins. But I think both of the cookies are for Dick.

“You’re early,” I say, scooting out my chair.

“Surprise,” he says.

“Is this for me?” I ask, holding up the coffee cup.

“Least I could do was buy ya a cup o’ Joe,” Dick says, smiling sheepishly.

“Oh yeah. Why is that?”

He leans back in his chair and stretches his thick arms behind his head. I check to see if he’s carrying his gun, and am pleasantly surprised to see that Marlon Brando has left the building.

“You’re one killer business chic,” he says. “I did what you said with the business cards and the brochures, and already, I got too many lady clients to count.”

Glad to hear it,” I say. I imagine swarms of women, all wanting to hire Dick to plot some kind of pranks on their cheating husbands, boyfriends, whatever.

Dick says, “I never knew there were so many angry broads out there.”

“Remember what I said about the violent stuff,” I say, wagging my finger back and forth.

Dick nods and pats the spot on his jacket where his gun used to be. He even opens his coat and shows me that he’s sans weapon. “I’m hanging all that up, Jane,” he says, proudly. “Life’s too short, ya know?”

I smile and say, “Is this what they call ‘personal growth?’”

Dick chuckles and takes a big swig from his coffee cup. “Ouch. Careful, Jane. I just burned my tongue on this bad boy.”

I take a small sip from my coffee. I was expecting plain, black coffee. But Dick has sprung for the expensive stuff. I taste the froth from the cappuccino and realize that he even remembered to ask for low-fat milk.

“Want me to put some honey in your coffee?” I ask my favorite hit man.

Dick grins at me and flashes his white, white teeth. “I did it myself this time, Jane. I mean, I figure if a guy wants honey, he should have honey.”

Dick chugs back more coffee and says, “Ahhh. Honey bee does me right.” Then he looks at me across the table and gets down to business.

“So, what does my favorite female Don have in store for me next? You gotta tell me, Jane. I’m dyin’ ta know.”

I slide a plain, white envelope over to Dick.

“What’s this?” he asks.

“Your last assignment,” I say.

He turns the envelope over in his hand. Shakes it. Holds it up to the light.

“It’s not sealed. Go ahead. Take a look,” I say.

He opens the envelope cautiously, as if he’s worried about letter bombs. A single business card falls onto the table. Dick picks it up, reads it quietly to himself. His lips move as he reads.

“You’re one tough broad,” he says, smiling at me. “So I guess you want me to deliver this to Wonder Boy?”

“Please do. Oh, and make him sign for it,” I say. “You know. Pretend you’re a delivery guy with a clipboard.”

“No problem,” Dick says. “So, is it real? Did you really score this job or what?”

I nod. “I can’t believe it myself,” I say.

“If anyone deserves it, you do,” Dick says. He looks at the card again and shakes his head. “
Madeline Jane Piatro. Executive Managing Director, Organic Children’s Division, Giganto Foods,
” Dick reads. “I guess Wonder Boy is gonna shit his pants when he sees this.”

“He’s going to be even more surprised when he finds out that
I created
this new division for Giganto Foods.”

“Let me guess. Organic lunches for kids.”

I smile. “You know, you’re pretty smart for a tough guy,” I say.

“Watch it,” Dick says, pointing his finger in my face. He shoves the card back into the envelope and licks the seal shut.

“Why don’t you jus’ mail this sucker,” he says, tapping the envelope on the table.

“Carlton gets tons of junk mail. I don’t want it to get lost in the heap,” I say. “And besides, I like the idea of having him sign for it. That way, he’ll open it right away.”

“So, this is it?” Dick asks. “A business card?”

“That’s it,” I say.

“So you still don’t want me to break his bones,” Dick says, but I think he’s joking.

“This is going to be more painful. Trust me,” I say.

Dick grins at me. “You’re one tough cookie,” he says, chomping his chocolate chip cookie in half.

I’m surprised when he pushes the other cookie in my direction.

“I gave you the bigger one,” he says, and then my hit man actually winks at me.

“Thanks.”

Deepak calls me on my cell phone. I’ve skipped three tennis lessons so he’s probably afraid that I’ve dropped the class.

“I’m concerned, Miss Maddy. Very concerned. I think maybe Deepak was too hard on you?” he asks, in his pleasant singsong voice.

“Not at all, Deepak. You’re a fantastic tennis pro—the best,” I assure him.

“Then why did I lose my two very good students?” he asks.

I pause a moment. This means Nick didn’t show up at tennis, either. And I’m a little surprised. I thought he’d at least show up to see if I showed up. But I guess he doesn’t want to see me after all.

“I can’t speak for Nick,” I say. “But I’m starting a new job so I was wondering if I could switch to your Saturday morning class?”

“Sure, sure, Miss Maddy. No problem at all,” Deepak says. “I very much look forward to seeing you again. And seeing your most excellent skills on the court. By the way, do you know where I can reach Mr. Nicholas?”

“Don’t you have his phone number?”

“I thought so, yes. But then I check my records, Miss Maddy. Mr. Nicholas left me no contact information. No address. No phone number. Just his name.”

“Nicholas Montana?”

“Nicholas Nolt-Tee,” Deepak says, and his voice is utterly earnest.

Hmm
. Maybe I should’ve told Deepak my name was Catherine Zeta Jones.

“So Nick is a ghost, huh?” I ask.

“No ghost. He is a real live man,” Deepak says. He pauses for a moment and then says, “I thought maybe the two of you were romantic together.”

“Why is that?”

“The way he looked at you…when you were not looking,” Deepak replies.

“I barely know the guy,” I say. “But don’t worry. I’m sure he’ll show up in class.”

“I don’t know. Maybe he leave town. Go on vacation. Who can say? Only God knows these things,” Deepak says.

“Yeah. Only God knows,” I say.

Every good thing must come to an end, as they say. So, in the spirit of closure, I have my last meeting with Dick.

We decide to meet at Starbucks again because why mess with a good thing?

I’m wearing my usual street clothes. I figure since Nick dropped the tennis class, he’s probably also started getting his daily caffeine fix from another coffee shop.

As I swing open the door, I see Dick sitting at our usual table. He’s here to collect his payment. And I’m certainly not going to leave a former hit man in the lurch.

“So we’re finished,” he says, as I reach the table.

I scoot out my chair and plop down. “I guess that about covers it,” I say.

“I brought you a little present,” Dick says. He slides a clipboard across the table. On it is Carlton’s signature. Scrolled big and bold across the page. An exaggerated movie star signature.

“How did he look when he opened the envelope?” I ask. I don’t want to ask because it sounds catty, but I do.

“Captain Hook turned white as a ghost,” Dick says, grinning with his shiny, white capped teeth. “I’ve never seen a man’s face go the color of bleach before. Even when I’ve stuck my Marlon Brando into some dude’s mouth and threatened to blow out his asshole, I still haven’t seen a face go that white,” Dick says, chuckling.

I smile and say, “Nice job.”

Dick says, “You pistol-whipped that mother with a business card. I can’t believe it.” He shakes his head, and for a split second, I feel him looking upon me with admiration. I take this as my cue.

“Look Dick, about the money I owe you. Giganto is giving me a pretty decent salary so I was hoping…maybe I could give you some cash now and some after I get my first few paychecks. You know where I work, and I promise to pay you in full very soon. And with five percent interest…” I say, because I’m nervous. Do hit men usually accept payment plans?

“Please,” Dick says, holding his hand up in a stop signal. “I don’t expect no payment, Jane. I’ve learned more from you than I did with my old crew.”

He smiles. “Hey, that rhymes,” he says.

“Well, at least let me do something nice for you,” I say.

Dick puffs his cheeks out and does the Marlon Brando under-bite. He goes into his Don Corleone voice, “Some day, and that day may never come, I’ll call upon you to do a ser vice for me,” he says, in his perfect Godfather voice.

I laugh. “You really should be an actor,” I say. “But seriously, what can I do for you? This is quid pro quo, remember.”

“Send me some other female clients,” Dick says. “So I can get my new business off the ground.”

“Your new business?”

“Muscle work ain’t what it used to be,” Dick says, tapping his forehead. “You’ve taught me to use my ticker, instead. So, I’m only accepting female clients now. To perform nonviolent ser vices.”

Dick smiles broadly and shoots me a wink. “I hear it’s a killer.”

I look at Dick a moment. “Hey, I never thought I’d say this, but I hope you keep in touch.”

“You too,” Dick says, even though we both know it’ll never happen. Our worlds were never meant to collide. People from two different worlds don’t usually hang out after the fact.

Dick sticks out his hand in a formal gesture and says, “Nice meeting you.”

“The pleasure was all mine,” I say, slipping my palm into his broad hand. I was expecting his skin to be rough, but it’s as soft as a satin pillow.

“You’ve got soft hands,” I say.

“Soft hands, hard heart,” he chuckles.

“Oh come on, Dick. Don’t give me that tough guy routine. I know you better than that.”

Dick grins and stands from his chair. He tucks his thumbs underneath the lapels of his leather jacket and starts to glide toward the door. I watch as he suddenly spins on his heel and glances back at me for one last time.

“Oh, and Jane?”

“Yeah?”

“My name isn’t really Dick.”

I look at him and smile.

I leave Starbucks and skip down the street. For the first time in months, I feel free. Breezy. And light as a bird. I even hum a little tune.

At the corner, I bend down and retie the laces on my tennis shoes. It’s a gorgeous day in Austin, Texas. The sun is shining and a cool breeze is sweeping in from the hill country. The mountain laurels are in full bloom so the air smells of lavender.

Suddenly I hear a car and the sound of screeching tires. I look up and see a black Lincoln on the street in front of me. It jerks to a stop. Two men in suits jump out.

“DEA! You’re under arrest! Hands on your head!” one of them shouts. I think, but I can’t be sure because as I jerk my head up to see where the noise is coming from, the sun hits me squarely in the eye.

I stand up, slowly. With my hands in the air. I’m so still, I can’t feel myself breathing. For some reason, I think my heart has stopped.

My pupils adjust to the sunlight, and I see more clearly now. One of the men standing in front of me, conveniently, is Nick. And he isn’t smiling.

He flashes his fed credentials and a badge. “I’m agent Nicholas Montana, with the DEA,” he says, crisply. He nods toward the other gentlemen. “This is my partner, Agent Sanchez. We’re going to need to take you in for questioning,” he says, and then adds, “Right now, Madeline.”

So that’s that. We’re back to formal names again. No more Maddy. In the blink of an eye, we’re back to Madeline.

“DEA?” I ask, my voice cracking.

“Drug Enforcement Agency,” Agent Sanchez pipes up.

“I know what DEA stands for, but why am I being taken in for questioning?”

“Conspiring with your brother, Mr. Ronald Piatro, a known drug trafficker, and with Florence “Dickie” Ferguson, a known drug hit man.”

“Florence “Dickie” Ferguson?”

Nick points up the street. I turn and see Dick being dragged out of Starbucks. His hands cuffed behind his back. He’s shouting something out about being a “Legitimate Business Man!” He glances down the street and spots me.

I’ve still got my hands up in the air, as if I’m being arrested, thank God.

“I’m a legitimate bid-ness man!” Dick shouts again, sounding ridiculous.

“Yeah, that’s Florence Ferguson,” Nick says, motioning toward Dick.

“Now I know why he never gave me his real name,” I say.

Nick says, “What?”

“Never mind,” I say.

Agent Sanchez informs me: “You have the right for an attorney to be present during questioning.”

“Save it,” I say, sharply. And I see the hint of a smile streak across Nick’s lips.

Agent Sanchez pulls out a pair of handcuffs and Nick says, “Those won’t be necessary, Antonio.”

Nick takes me gently by the arm and leads me to the sedan. I notice that he shields my head when he slides me into the backseat.

Instead of getting scared and shaky, I suddenly become myself again. In the blink of an eye, it’s as if my body has regained all of the strength that had been sapped away that last year with Carlton.

I feel strong. Bold. Outspoken. Like I always used to feel.

“You know, you guys are really making fools of yourselves,” I say. “This is a huge mistake.”

Agent Sanchez starts counting out a list on his fingers. “Number one, criminal solicitation. Number two, murder-for-hire. Number three, conspiracy to commit murder. Do I need to go on?” he asks.

I notice Agent Sanchez is a short, squat, machine of a guy. He’s wearing a gunstrap underneath his jacket, and I can tell, because the bulge is clearly visible.

“There was never any murder-for-hire. Besides a little Robin Hood theft job of a bicycle and a wristwatch, it was all fairly innocent,” I inform him.

Nick turns around in the front seat and I see that he’s looking at me with regretful eyes. As if he wishes it weren’t really me sitting in the back seat.

“He’s dead, Madeline. It’s over,” he says, quietly.

The words sink in slowly.

He’s dead, Madeline. It’s over…