| |
Christy
––––––––
“Here?” From outside it seems almost boring. It’s a small shop with the windows closed off from eyes by white curtains. Black filigree lettering of Feminine Foundations is on the white sign by the door. Inside, I’m overwhelmed by lingerie that could only be described as decadent. Without a doubt it’s more expensive than anything I’ve ever purchased before. I don’t even have to check the prices. And it was one of those places where there weren’t price tags on anything.
“Yes, here. I had no idea you were so completely lacking in self-confidence and down on yourself. Like the name says, you feel sexy from the bottom up or in this case from feeling silk and lace against your skin.”
The woman behind the counter is gray-haired with a pixie cut to match her slight build and features. Her eyes are a steel gray and there is no word that fits her expression other than impish as she smiles knowingly at me. I can’t help but return her smile.
“Gertrude is amazing and will know exactly what you need. Gertrude, this is my best friend and she needs some help. We’re looking to catch the eye of Tony Sabatini and hold it.”
Her eyebrows go up as she smiles. “My goodness, Tony Sabatini. While it is easy to catch his eye, it’s the holding it that becomes the challenge. At least you are gifted in his favorite feature on a woman, a beautiful smile.”
Lisa laughs.
“Ah yes, I’ve heard the whole breast thing. However, as a true connoisseur of women, outer beauty alone will not hold him. He prefers his women to be well-read and enjoy the arts as much as he does. Tony appreciates all things of beauty. I’ve come across him often at the Art Institute on a quiet afternoon, his favorite rooms are the Impressionists. He has an extensive collection in his home, or so I’ve heard.”
Lisa straightens, as she frowns. “I didn’t know about the art thing. The books, yeah, with him owning a bookstore and everything.” She looks to me. “I didn’t think it would be a big deal. You were a huge book nerd when we were growing up. I figured you still would be.” She goes tense when she sees my own frown. “Aren’t you?”
“I used to be, but since I started working, life kind of took over. I can’t remember the last book I read. It’s been more than a few years since I managed to read anything for fun.” My stomach twists in worry. “I’ve read all the classics, pretty much. But I do love art, I’ve spent more hours than I can count at the Art Institute too.”
Unease fills me at the idea on some afternoon, I might have been in the Art Institute at the same time as Tony Sabatini. When things got stressful for me, I made my way to the Art Institute to be soothed by the beauty of the art—escaping into the vivid colors and brush strokes in front of me.
I had stopped reading as a means of escape because it annoyed Eddie to find me lost in a book. While there were times I missed it, having the ability to wander the creaking wooden boards in the large echoing rooms of the Art Institute was enough of a replacement for me.
“That’s good. Tony can’t meet with you until tomorrow. It gives you some time to spend catching up on the latest books. For now, let’s get you at least one bra and panties set. I’m also thinking either a baby doll or camisole set. What do you think Gertrude?”
“Hmm...I know just the thing. Let’s get you measured my dear.”
I’m led into a large changing room. It isn’t easy to undress in front of both Lisa and Gertrude. Only Gertrude’s casual attitude helps ease my discomfort. I give into the question I’ve been wondering. “So how do you know Tony Sabatini? Is it him coming in to buy for his women?”
“Tony has been in a few times, yes. However, I knew him first from his mother, Sophia. She was the sweetest woman with a spine of iron. Back in the day, I started at Marshall Fields. Sophia came in every few weeks and preferred honesty over people kissing her ass. Before long, I became her go-to shopper. Several times she brought her boys in with her to shop. Tony also came in and asked me to shop for her birthday and later his wife. It was Tony’s mother who urged me to open my own shop.”
A soft sigh, “And as I thought, you’re wearing the wrong size bra. You are a 42 double D, not a 40C. I’m surprised you can stand to wear this all day.”
Blushing, I admit. “I’m only wearing this because I knew I would be changing and wearing more form-fitting clothes. Usually, I’m in a sports bra. I own all of five real bras.”
“Ah, I understand. Let’s get you in your correct size. It will make a world of difference.”
Walking away from the tiny store, I hate how completely right both Gertrude and Lisa are. I’m already walking taller with my shoulders back as I wear out one of the two sets of bra and panties I could only afford because I’m sure Gertrude changed the price for me. The set I’m wearing is sheer black with lace edging, and the other set is red satin and lace. In the end, I have both a black lace baby doll and a silk camisole set in pink.
The afternoon is spent in a salon where I lose almost six inches of hair. Despite my fear over it, my hair is still long. However, it’s lighter and with the layers Lisa was insistent on, I’m finally able to see under all the hair I was hiding a pretty face. While I’m not sure I’m beautiful enough to catch and hold Tony’s interest, the plan doesn’t seem as crazy as it did last night.
It’s hard to hand over my credit card. What makes it even more painful is how few clothes we leave with: five dresses, six tops, four skirts, two cardigans, and two pairs of pants. Lisa was insistent Tony preferred dresses and skirts over jeans and pants.
At home, Lisa helps me unpack everything.
“Okay, give me your phone.” Lisa holds out her hand.
Warily, I unlock it and give it to her. She’s tapping away on it. “What are you doing?”
“Since you admitted you haven’t been reading, I’m downloading a reading app and giving you access to my account. I have almost five hundred books, most of them I’ve actually read. I’m going through and opening all the ones I want you to read immediately—like as soon as I leave. Until you see Tony, I need you to get into the mood and tune into your body. You mentioned a vibrator or two. You need to use them, repeatedly.”
My eyes go wide at her order. I haven’t used them in almost two years. I’m not even sure they will work.
“Don’t give me that look, Christy. These stories will have you reaching for your vibrator anyway. You need to connect with the Christy you were before Eddie turned you into...the you of now.”
She sighs. “Come on, this is not you. When we were growing up, you were braver and stronger than anyone I had ever met. Okay, I get you were that way because of what your mom was doing, which is even more badass. You didn’t become this shell and sink into yourself the way you have now. Fuck that, no. It’s bullshit. You are a beautiful woman. You are strong. Believe it, own it.”
“I wasn’t strong.” I argue. “I became what I needed to be to get through the day. Eddie said the same things my mom said. If you hear it long enough from more than one person—how you’re worthless, useless, and ugly... you begin to believe it.”
Lisa hugs me tight. “Hey, you aren’t, though. They were. That’s how they felt about themselves. It’s called projecting, and I’m adding another book you need to read if you believe any of that.”
Shaking my head, “It’s one thing to know it, but another to believe and let go of it.”
Nodding, Lisa sighs. “True, very true.” Her phone goes off with a text, and she swears.
“What?”
“It’s one of my clients. He wants to take me with him on a business trip to London.” She groans. “Tonight. His wife is busy with their kid. It isn’t often he can go alone. I’m pretty sure she knows he’s cheating on her. She keeps him on a pretty tight leash.”
“Okay?”
“I can’t go. I need to be here—”
“No, you don’t. Go. You have done so much for me. I’m good. I can take it from here. I mean it.” I’m firm. I refuse to let her miss out on something because of me.
Another text comes through, and she sighs. “Okay. Okay, here’s the money for tomorrow. Tony’s man at the door will make sure you have it before you even get to Tony. Do not take the gun in there. There is a metal detector built into the entryway. I’ll be gone about a week tops. You can do this. It will take a few days minimum to get him to get comfortable with you, do not rush it. It’s the difference between you walking away or ending up dead.”
“Yes, you’ve warned me more than a dozen times today. I’ve got it.”
“Read those stories, seriously. Until you’re sore, keep at it.”
I blush all over again. “Yes, okay. Done.”
She hugs me so tight it’s hard to breathe for a moment. “I love you. Be careful.”
“Love you too. Thank you. For everything.”
“I want to tell you not to do it before I get back, but I don’t want you to lie to me. Be careful. You’re beautiful, strong, you deserve to walk away from this in one piece.” Her phone starts ringing. “I have to go.”
Once she’s gone, I pick up my phone and bring up the reading app she had shown me. I’m blushing at some of the covers alone. Read the day away and masturbate, talk about a plan. As I consider everything I learned today about Tony from Gertrude, I study the print of Water Lillies on the wall above the couch.
Woman with a Parasol is on the opposite wall behind the television that I never turn on. Both of the Monet prints were ones I’ve had forever. Summertime by Cassatt, is in my bedroom on one wall and one of the many haystacks by Monet is on another. There are several Renoir and Degas prints in the extra bedroom that’s basically storage. This two-flat is much smaller than the large house where I filled almost every room with a print of some kind.
Hearing Gertrude talk about Tony, made him...I don’t know, more real to me. A man who loved art as much as I did, an avid reader like I had once been. It was clear he was an escape artist, as my brother Jason called me for getting lost and escaping into books then later art. While I was reading, I was the brave, strong person in the book. There was a happy ending and the bad guy got it in the end. As I consider it, I can’t help wondering what would Tony Sabatini need to escape from?
***
Tony
––––––––
“You’re telling me you think this is the best place to take the hit down?” I frown at how fucking open it is. There is no damn cover. The street is clean and busy even at almost ten-thirty at night on a Tuesday. Streetlights run all the way down the block. I’m in the backseat behind Vito who, as usual, is driving. Joseph is beside me, reading through the information on the hit.
“Yeah, he comes here for dinner then goes home from his second shift job. His wife has to be at work at five in the morning. She’s already in bed. He’s up for another two or three hours in front of the television, where he falls asleep most nights. It’s either here or at home. Getting him in the afternoon won’t work. He’s up at ten in the morning and doesn’t leave until right before his noon start time. He’s on the El, then takes the bus here, and walks the four blocks home.”
Considering my options, I let loose a curse.
“Boss, I’m telling you. I can take care of it. I’m good with it. There’s at least two cameras from here to his home. I don’t want you spotted on them. You’re too damn memorable. I know you prefer to be hands-on, but this is what I’m here for.”
I’m aware Vito and Joseph are often frustrated that after more than thirty years of them being with me, I remain hands-on.
It’s the way I was raised as a Sabatini. Our motto tattooed into our skin: It will be done. Leaving something to others, there was too much room for something to go wrong. In handling things ourselves, we could always guarantee we kept our word. If something went wrong, it started and ended with us.
“Take me to his place. What’s it look like outside? How hard is it to get into?”
Vito drives the short distance slowly. I eye the route for any nooks I could hide in. Nothing.
Joseph points it out. “His place is the blue two-flat. The lights stay off. His upstairs neighbor is quiet, a woman who keeps to herself. I wasn’t able to get her schedule. Last night after we got the order from Johnny, I drove by and her lights were out. They stayed off for the hour I sat here. With them off again, it’s likely she’s already asleep. It’s not hard to get into his place. The best way in is the backdoor. Simple jimmy of the lock, the wood is rotting away from the jam. No pets. The backdoor puts you in the kitchen and you pass their bedroom to get into the living room.”
Sounds good to me. “Park, Vito, up the street.” The black Cadillac Escalade we’re in will get attention in this neighborhood. While the area is in the middle of a rehab, and there are a few nicer cars—right now, the Escalade is memorable. Which is a bad thing.
Vito finds a spot halfway up the block between a ten-year-old red Camry and a shiny brand-new black Hyundai. Taking a deep breath, I consider my options. “Okay, let’s go over what Johnny gave us on this guy. Frank what’s his name, again?”
“Simpson, and he owes Johnny fifty large.” Joseph shows me the screen of his phone. On it, is a picture of a skinny guy who looks like he’s been up for days on a bender. Black hair, eyes, and a scar on his right cheek. I nod once I’ve committed his face to memory.
“He thought his dad dying would net him a payday, so he borrowed against it. There were two insurance policies, but only one of them worth twenty grand was paid up. The rat bastard is going CI on Johnny with the hope something he gives the feds will buy him a new life. Johnny’s contact in the FBI says the guy hasn’t given them shit, but what he has given them could get them a phone tap if they went in front of the right judge. The contact is pushing for them to get the wrong judge. The right one is due back from vacation in two days. We need to ice him now.”
“How clean does this hit need to be, is what I’m trying to figure out. Johnny said make it look like a robbery, get his wallet, and put a bullet in him. With all the traffic on the street and cameras, I can’t do it without someone seeing something. I’m thinking I need to get into his place and hit him there. With the wife there, I’ll need to use a silencer. Which screams it’s a hit.” Closing my eyes, I focus on slowing my breathing. Touch the ice, breathe it in, let it wash over you. Exhale cold. Inhale colder.
The alert is loud. I don’t open my eyes. Joseph sighs with relief. “Johnny says do whatever needs to be done to keep him from talking.”
Joseph hands me a silencer. I take it and pull out my Sig P226 from my ankle holster. Threading on the silencer, I eye the quiet street. It’s almost eleven now, most of the lights are off inside the houses. Taking off my suit jacket and tie, I hand them to Joseph.
“You’re wearing your bulletproof shirt, right?” Joseph asks, always looking out for me.
Nodding, I undo the top two buttons. Without the silk jacket, also bulletproof, I don’t stick out quite as much if someone were to glance my way. The shirt is dark blue and won’t catch the light. All my clothes are cut to fit—they have to be. Even if they weren’t made to be bulletproof, my measurements are not off the rack.
I take off my watch and hand it to Joseph. The gold Rolex attracts too much attention. I would have long ago gone with a less flashy watch, except it was a gift from Dominic—bought with his first big payday. Anytime I considered changing it out, I remembered his pride when he gave it to me and couldn’t bring myself to take it off.
“Boss, he should be leaving the restaurant now. It only takes him about ten minutes to get home.” Vito warns me as he hands me my leather gloves, made for me and always worn for hits like this.
“Give me fifteen,” I mutter as I get out of the car, putting on the gloves.
Hands in my pockets, I make my way down the street to the home of the hit. It takes three minutes for me to get inside. There are fences on both sides of the property but not the front. Head down, I go around the back. As usual, Joseph’s description of the way in is spot on. I pull my Adamas knife from around my forearm and use it to get the door open. In less than thirty seconds, I’m in. Slithering into the quiet, unlit kitchen, I close the back door without a sound. I shut my eyes, count to twenty, then open them—orienting my eyes to the low light.
Making my way down the hallway, I pause outside the closed door of what is easily the bedroom as there is an open door to a bathroom across from it. My hope is she sleeps through it all. I don’t want to kill her, but if she wakes up and finds me, then I have to.
There is a lamp on in the living room. I find a spot and wait.
Less than five minutes later, movement outside the window catches my eye. Pulling my gun, I point it at the floor and wait. At the snick of the key in the lock, I flick off the safety. He opens the door. His hand goes out to the light switch. The lights go on, he sees me. All the air goes out of him. But he doesn’t look surprised.
“Hi, Frank.”
He opens his mouth. I don’t let him talk. I pull the trigger, center mass in the chest. Interesting, he goes face down instead of on his back. Whatever way he lands, it doesn’t matter. I move over him and finish him with a second shot to the back of his head. His body barely jerks from the impact. A glance back down the quiet hallway, nothing. I unthread the silencer and step over his body. Dropping the silencer in my left pocket, I bend down to return my gun to the holster on my ankle. I’m out the door sixty seconds after he entered through it.
As I walk back up the street, there is no movement from the houses along the way. I’m back in the Escalade. Joseph hands me back my watch. It’s been less than ten minutes since I left the car. I strap it back on, then reach for my gun and the silencer and hand both to him. He’ll dispose of them tonight.
“Call Johnny, tell him it’s done.”
Joseph nods.
I close my eyes as the ice floats away.
Fifteen minutes later, Vito stops. “Home, Boss. You want some company?”
Shaking my head, I open the door and slide out.
I unlock the wrought iron gate around my home, then make my way up the wide steps of the porch. Inside, I key in the code, the alarm chirps. Closing the door and locking it, I reset the alarm for exterior sensors only.
As always, music is flowing out of the speakers that are in every room in my home. Today, Carmella left it on a classical station as she often does. Even though I know when she’s here alone cleaning and cooking she prefers, of all things, country music. I can control the music from various systems set up in rooms of the house, as well as an app on my phone.
My stomach growls, pushing me to the kitchen even though scotch and the escape of a book in my library are calling me. Walking into the kitchen, I bring up the app and change the music to my Dean Martin station. An exhale leaves me as his rich voice runs over me.
I scan the shelves of the refrigerator for something I can reheat easily. Carmella has added stuffed shells, one of my favorites. Taking out one of the glass dishes she packed it in, I put it in the toaster oven. Setting the time, I grab a bottle of water and sit down to wait at the kitchen table.
It’s still here, the file on Christina Teller. I’ve committed it to memory. I push it away as I consider the problem of Ms. Teller and her desire to kill me.
As her original plan had been rather simple, it would have also been maybe sixty percent effective. If she hated me as much as the file indicates she should, she would have gone for a headshot, And I’d be dead. If she had done what most people would, a shot to the chest since it’s not as hard to miss such a large target, the bullet proof clothing would save me. There’s a reason why my father ordered me to wear the suits, and I in turn, ordered Dominic.
Opening the file again, I flip to the last page where her pictures are clipped. One is from the funeral for Danny when she was, in fact, only ten years old. The other is a few years old, her badge from where she was a nurse at a hospital. In both, she is oddly older than her years. Lines that had formed on her small forehead when she was only a child are even deeper now.
Thirty only a few months ago. I’ll turn fifty-one in a few weeks. Christina is young enough to be my daughter. If I were her father, I’d put her over my knee, spank the shit out of her. Then I’d lock her in a room for a month until this shit worked out of her goddamn head.
I feel for the girl. I do. She had gone through hell, of that there is no doubt. I take no responsibility for it. The blame is on her psycho mother and her father for leaving his children with their mother, knowing she hurt them. Christina got through it to the other side. The life she made for herself was commendable—she hadn’t slipped into drugs or alcohol the way so many people in similar situations would have.
A few damn setbacks, and she’s going to dive back into the past instead of moving forward. It was easier for her to blame me. To turn me into the Boogie Man, than deal with the fact it was her own damn parents. It isn’t me she wants to kill—it’s her pain. But killing me won’t do it. For a person like her, it will only make it worse.
Reviewing her employment file, I can understand her shock at being fired. There was nothing but glowing reports. She had dedicated herself completely to helping people. She came in early, stayed late, giving all to her patients—leaving nothing for herself. Helping people, fixing people, gave her purpose. Was what gave her peace after all the shit she went through.
If she succeeded in killing me, there would be that high for accomplishing her goal. Then would come the anguish and the knowledge she had blackened her soul. Her regret will bring her the kind of pain she will never come back from. If she managed to walk away, I have little doubt she wouldn’t be able to live for long with what she had done.
The bell goes off on the oven. Even though food no longer appeals, I get up and retrieve it. Taking it back to the table, I eat without enjoyment. My cell goes off with a text; it’s Carlo. The message is brief, code for another hit. He wants to see me tomorrow. In visceral response, ice skims over me, ready to slide into my veins. It sends a different chill through me. No, not again. I had gone there, stayed far too long, and coming back from it was harder than getting clean from coke.
I’m yanked off-balance all over again at the sound of my doorbell. I frown as I wonder who it could be. It’s almost midnight. I check my phone for the camera. Thank fuck. Moving quickly, I key in the code and open the door.
Eve’s beautiful face is filled with concern. “Joseph hinted you might need company.”
Shame hits me, I hate the idea of using her. I ended our arrangement a few months ago. For almost four years, she had been my mistress. Until she wanted more, more I couldn’t give her. Eve had taken the end with grace and understanding.
She steps closer, her hand on my chest. “It’s okay. I need you too. Just for tonight. I won’t ask for more.”
I do not deserve her. But I need the escape her body allows.