Dirty Trouble (11 page)

Forget it, I thought. Tony wasn’t in a position to do anything to me without returning to the psych ward for it. “Who would be that stupid?” I spoke the question out loud and pushed my thoughts away from the possibilities.

In the office, I sat and scribbled a list of snacks for the weekend. That numerous friends would be running in and out of the house was more than a possibility, especially now that I made the news. I’d be number one on the agenda before anyone hit the art show.

Off duty cops, their wives or girlfriends in tow, my cousins and other relatives would stop in. They had in the past, and this weekend would be no different. The house is on the main drag. Most folks walk right by it to get to the village green where the festival is held.

I leaned back in the chair and settled into the luxurious padded folds of leather. The windows faced the street, and one smaller window faced the driveway on the western side of the house. A tide of people ebbed and flowed in their daily routines as the sun drifted further west and daylight faded.

Chapter 10

A car turned into the driveway, and I watched my father maneuver along the side of the house. He always drove way under the speed limit, which sent my mother to Jupiter every time they were out together. My mother has a heavy foot, a habit we share.

I heard the car door slam. I called Lola at the deli as I rose from the comfort of the leather chair to greet my father. I hurried to open the doors for the tasty fare he probably spent the afternoon cooking. Stepping aside, I made room for him to enter.

Gino Esposito, my father, is a rugged man. Square-shouldered, olive-skinned, and heavyset, he sports dark hair peppered with white. He was a handsome devil in his youth and is still a looker now. At least, all my friends tell me that. He has charm, they say with wide grins, while I wonder where they got that idea. All I get is lectured.

The still-hot casserole accompanied a loaf of bread, warm and crusty, that nestled inside the foil wrapper. It wasn’t Italian food, but it didn’t matter. My father made it, and that was good enough for me. From the largest bag he slid a scrumptious cake, smothered in white butter frosting.

“Is that a chocolate cake in there?” I asked, pointing toward the confection.

“Yeah, your mother made it for you. She knows you like it that way, with white frosting.” He settled onto the stool as though he’d stay.

With a sense of foreboding, I fiddled with the casserole and pulled a couple plates from the cupboard.

“What’s with the accident, Lavinia? Why didn’t you mention it last night?” he asked, his gruff voice soft, as he stared at me.

My hands stilled, and I glanced at him. Dark brown eyes took in my appearance as Dad waited for an answer. Not some trumped-up story, not an excuse for my stupidity, but the God’s honest truth.
Did I dare tell him what I thought? Would he get berserk and start yelling at me? Hmmm.
I opted for the stupidity angle.

“It was only an accident, Dad. That section of the highway is always a nightmare. You know that. A racecar driver couldn’t handle it any better than we all do everyday. I just lost control of the car.” As I made an effort to make light of the situation, I realized how cowardly I was.

“Lavinia, did you see who did this to you?”

My father’s face held a somber look. I took a deep breath and shook my head.

“The car hit me from the left rear. I never saw it coming. Why?”

“This thing with Mafalda, it might be more than Antonio hustling stolen merchandise. Have you stuck your nose where it doesn’t belong?”

“No, I promised I wouldn’t. You know, Dad, I got the message loud and clear at dinner. Aaron didn’t understand what you were inferring, but I did. I won’t mess with the mob, honest.”

Earnest eyes and a solemn expression met mine, and he nodded.
Wow, this is big. No yelling, no recriminations, and, best of all, lots of food. Yeah, my dad loves me.

The door swung open after a single knock, and Lola strolled in. She gave my father a big hug and kiss on the cheek. When she hitched onto the stool next to him he smiled in a benevolent manner and asked how she was.

“Hungry, that’s how I am. How are you, Mr. E?” Her Julia Roberts smile was in place, and my father succumbed to it, as all men do.

With a roll of my eyes, I pulled flatware from the drawer and laid out napkins. I glanced at my father with a silent question, and he shook his head no. Apparently he wasn’t about to eat with us. Just keep us company while we sucked down the meal.

“Are you sure you won’t eat with us, Dad?” I asked.

“Come on, Mr. E. Have some dinner and tell me what you’ve been up to,” Lola pleaded with another smile and won the day.

It’s tough when others have more control over your family than you do – but whatever works, ya know?

A smile curled the corners of my lips as I set another plate on the counter. I hauled the wine from the fridge and poured three glasses while my father dished up the fragrant casserole. With a gleam in her eyes, Lola peered at what he scooped from the casserole dish and started questioning my father about the spices he’d used.

Nothing about the accident was mentioned, and after we finished eating we readied to leave. Before going to his own car, my father walked us to the MINI Cooper and chuckled when he saw it.

“A petite car for a petite woman,” he said with a grin at Lola.

“Yep, it’s a neat little car, Mr. E. Goes a bazillion miles an hour, too. Zero to sixty in a second flat.”

“I’m sure,” he said, a wry smile on his lips.

Now if I’d made that statement, there’d have been a lecture on speeding and how I’d managed to crash my car. But since Lola was not a family member – and with her killer smile – she could get away with it. That’s life. Ain’t it
?

We climbed inside the car, the engine revved, and Lola swept from the driveway. She glanced around at the house, in search of something. I figured she was searching for Aaron.

“He’s not home yet,” I said with a smirk.

“I can see that. Is he out on business this late?”

“Yeah.”

We followed behind Dad’s car, then scooted along the four-lane roadway, after my father turned toward Cranston. We hit the Johnston town line in no time. Within a few seconds, we pulled into the car dealership and stopped at the front door.

The salesmen were inside, gawking through the windowpanes. Ah, look, potential customers, their hungry faces said. I bet their pulse rate hiked to abnormal proportions and they salivated. Car dealers are a bunch of sharks circling any poor slob stupid enough to come in off the street. Their craft is known as the art of the hustle.

Three reps approached us as we entered the building. Circling, bobbing, and ogling us, as though we were aliens from another planet, they smiled. God help me, I thought and turned toward the salesman I’d beaten down the last time.

His face held a resigned look as I approached him with a wide smile. Rising from the desk, he left the safety of his glass cubicle. A hand outstretched, he shook mine and we turned toward the rows upon rows of gleaming cars outside.

The suit he wore was in better condition than the last one I saw him wear. It had also seen better days. His shoes were scuffed, a frayed necktie lay knotted around his collar, and the shirt had a green booger attached to it. Wait, that wasn’t a booger but was dried up hamburger relish. Ugh!

“I wondered if I’d see you again,” he said. “How’s the Taurus running?”

Apparently he hadn’t heard or seen the news. I remembered to be thankful for the little things in life. Unable to relate the story one more time, I smiled and said, “Fine, but I’d like to purchase something newer.”

“We could take the Taurus in trade, you know,” he offered.

“No, that’s okay. The book value is probably too low. So, what do you have that’s good on gas, relatively inexpensive, and fairly new?” If he ever saw the condition of the Taurus, I’d get about a dollar ninety-eight, and a smirk, as a trade in value.

We’d entered the danger zone now. The salesman’s smile faltered as we ambled down the rows of overwhelming car confusion. I’m not a car shopper, and my eyes glaze over quickly with too many offerings to choose from.

“This Altima’s a great car, economical, and sporty. This model might fit your needs. Step over here, Ms. Esposito.” His eyes took on a gleam, and I knew the price would choke a horse.

The pale blue sedan glistened beneath the overhead lamps. These lights could illuminate New York City with no problem. The car lot was brilliant, and even though it wasn’t real dark, the lighting allowed for no guessing as to condition, on the part of a potential customer.

I stared at the smart-looking vehicle. Love at first sight, you might say, until I glanced at the list price.
Way over my budget.
Well, maybe not way over if I could schmooze the salesman. I looked around for Lola and saw her step quickly toward us.

The booger-shirted salesman glanced at me and then at Lola. He must have experienced
de’ja vue
, because his smile dimmed and a look of dismay replaced his previous expression. A fleeting pang of guilt hit me, but it only lasted a second. Hey, business is business after all.

“I’ll take her for a spin, if you’ll get the keys,” I said with a wide, enthusiastic grin.

Lola’s smile matched mine, and we hung around until the man showed up with keys and a dealer license plate. He slapped the plate on the car, and we took off at warp speed. There were things on the dashboard that glowed in neon colors. A speedometer, odometer, and lots of other inconsequential stuff glared brightly inside the dark interior. The new car smelled delicious, and the leather seat molded, soft and pliable, under my body.

We cruised along at a breakneck pace until flashing lights caught my attention.
Dang. Where did those come from?
I was about to receive a speeding ticket on a car that wasn’t even mine.

Disgusted, I eased the car into the break down lane, stopped beneath an overhead highway lamp, and waited as I slid the window down. Lola chuckled and I sighed, resigned to the fact that this was a crappy way to end an already lousy day.

“Ma’am, do you realize you were driving in excess of eighty miles per hour?” the trooper said in a familiar voice as he shined the flashlight into the car.

I glanced up to see Marcus Richmond staring down at me. His eyes opened wide. He reached for the car door.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Lavinia?” he yelled. “Out, now.” He yanked the car door wide open and motioned for me to step out of the car.

“I’m not getting out of the car, Marcus. Just give me the damned ticket.”

“You nearly got killed this week and you’re tempting fate again, so soon? Are you nuts?” He leaned down to look inside the car, his eyes rested on Lola. “And you’ve dragged Lola into this?”

“Marcus, I can explain—” I began, but he wouldn’t let me finish.

“For God’s sake, go home. You said you’d get some rest.” His tone sounded exasperated, his temper volatile as if he barely controlled it. “Lola can drive since you can’t keep your shit together for five minutes. This could have waited a few more days, you know.”

“I’m fine and I’m not going home. Since I need a car to get to work, I may as well get one now.”

His anger high, I figured he was beyond reason. I knew this from prior experience. Maybe Lola should drive. It would get him off my case, I thought. I turned and mumbled to Lola, who nodded.

I stepped out onto the pavement as Lola left her seat and scooted over to mine. I glared at Richmond and marched around to the passenger side of the car while trying to figure a way to get past this encounter.

Marcus held the passenger door open as I turned to enter the car. His hand snuck onto my arm and tightened. I glanced at him and waited.

“This wasn’t a good idea. You were speeding, Vin. Don’t let it happen again.” He bit the words out.

“I know, Marcus, I know.” Meek and mild has never been my strong suit. However, I know how to play cards. This was one time I needed to fold, especially if it kept my butt out of jail.

His eyes gleamed and narrowed. Yeah, like he believed my act for one second. The campaign hat dipped when he nodded, and I could have sworn he hid a smirk. When Marcus glanced up at me again it was with a straight face, so maybe I just imagined it.

“Is this your new car?”

“It will be if I can beat the salesman down on the price,” I said with a smirk.

“Poor bastard.”

“Yeah, but business is business, ya know?”

He glanced inside the car and said to Lola, “Go straight back to the dealership and keep it to the speed limit. Understand?”

“Sure thing, Marcus.” She smiled the Julia smile, and Marcus got that stupid look on his face – the one most men get when Lola flashes those pearly whites.

With a nod, he closed the car door and headed back to the cruiser. Lola and I glanced at each other with a shrug and a chuckle before she zipped into traffic. The nearest exit was a mile up the road. We turned off, swung back toward the highway, and headed to the car lot. Marcus followed us until we hit the Johnston Town Line before he disappeared.

The Altima handled like a charm, rode smooth as a dream, and felt perfect. This car fits me, I thought. Even if the salesman wouldn’t give much on the price, I was determined to have the car.

Our return to the dealership was met with hungry anticipation. The man knew I liked the car and he’d made a sale. We haggled over the price, and though I didn’t get exactly what I wanted, it came darn close. He pulled my previous file and set the paperwork in motion. The car would be ready for pick up in the morning.

After the hour-long wrangling, Lola and I headed to the donut shop for coffee. My body had wound down and I knew I’d pay for all this activity. Why is it that muscles don’t react immediately but wait a while and then become stiff? The accident happened two days ago. Things should be fine now.