Lacey Luzzi: Sprinkled: A humorous cozy mystery! (Lacey Luzzi Mafia Mysteries Book 1) (8 page)

Meg expertly slid me a vodka diet with a lime and a pickle the size of my forearm. I bit in, moaning.

“Don’t do that,” Meg said.

“What? Eat?”

“Moan like that. I already told you I’m horny.”

“Not really – okay, whatever.”

“Those dreadlocks.” Meg smacked her lips. “You can tell that man is a free spirit. He is going to be into
all
sorts of new things. Gotta keep things spicy in the bedroom, you know? In my experiences, men with dreads are just another specimen entirely. A real treat. A real…
gladiator pickle
if you catch my drift...”

I choked on said bite of pickle.

Meg winked.

“Meg, I have to talk to you about something serious.”

“What’s that?” She pulled her eyes away from the man with what seemed like excruciating pain.

“It’s about some bad people,” I said as a teaser.

She slid her eyes to mine. Meg was a former cop that’d been ‘let go’ after punching out more than one of her suspects when they mouthed off to her. With a sailor’s vocabulary and a temper hotter than a tea kettle, her supervisors had agreed that a career change would be in everyone’s best interest. A bartender was the perfect job – she got to swear all she wanted, make inappropriate jokes all night long and nobody dared snap their fingers at her for a drink. When she took over the bar from previous owners, she’d actually
reduced
the number of bouncers.

“Spill, girl.” I had her full attention.

Keeping my voice low, I filled her in about the Russians moving into her side of town, how the whole thing connected with our stakeout extravaganza.

“I noticed some people talkin’ funny up in here,” she said.

“The Russians have stolen some of ‘the good stuff’ from some people I’m working for and it’s my job to get it back.”

Meg nodded approvingly. “Your first assignment since we kicked ass the other night?”

“If you call that kicking ass,” I hedged, looking around. Meg was still a former cop. And despite her less than pristine record, I wasn’t too keen to have people finding out my newest profession willy nilly. And I definitely didn’t want people to overhear.

“Bout time Carlos puts you on the real payroll.” She winked with understanding. “I’m glad he approved of our work. Now, you’ll finally make some money and be able to tip me properly.”

I rolled my eyes and half joked, “Not gonna turn me in?”

Meg wrinkled her nose. “Why the hell would I do that? I’d lose half my Monday thru Wednesday customers.”

“Touché.” As I
was
all too often her only customer, she must’ve been counting herself in that tally.

“Honestly,” she said. “The cops know about you and the Luzzi Family. But Carlos treats everyone alright.”

I glared at her.

“I said
alright
, I didn’t say he was the next Mother Teresa. He’s fair, and he keeps away from the Po Po. Nothing violent most of the time, and when it is, it’s for a pretty good reason. So as long as you guys keep your business to yourselves, I can tell you the cops won’t be bothering none of ya’ll.”

“What do you mean?” I asked. Ever since I’d know him, Carlos had always kept his cards close to his chest. Probably, one of the reasons he was still alive and successful. But it also gave me the feeling I hadn’t yet fully realized the extent of Carlos’ power in the Twin Cities arena.

Each new nugget I found made me fear and respect my grandfather a little bit more.

“All I’m saying is that Carlos rewards the police well when it’s in their best interest to keep their noses away from the business.” Meg cracked her knuckles. “Let me put it this way: say Carlos needs to move a shipment of
the good stuff
. Well, it’s not
really
hurting anybody, is it? So if he gives a little extra money to Officers Diego and Bretty boy to take an extra long coffee break while they’re supposed to be patrolling the drop spot…”

Meg trailed off.

“But that’s… that’s not legal,” I said. “It’s corruption.”

“Don’t look at it like that,” Meg said. “Carlos chooses wisely. He’s not paying off the corrupt assholes in the department. He’s paying off the Joe’s and John’s that have a wife and kids at home and could use a little extra cash.”

She put her hand on her hip. “In fact, you should feel good about your grandfather – he’s nothing if not fair. You know the Weavers? Smitty and his wife, Lana – they took a trip to Cancun courtesy of your grandfather. Without the money from Carlos they’d a never ‘ave been able to do it. Got five kids. Smitty’s as straight a shooter as they come. He just ‘forgot’ to read the Miranda rights when arresting your cousin Joey. The one with the orange skin. Joey ain’t no killer. He just happened to be carryin’ a little something that our society considers bad. Smitty let him go on account of a mistake…” Meg brushed her hands. “No harm no foul.”

I nodded. “So, it’s not really
bad
, right?”

“Not at all,” Meg shook her head. “Smitty says he’ll owe Carlos til the day he dies. First vacation that family’s had in fifteen years.” Meg patted my shoulder. “Tough for you to believe, kiddo, but you’re grandfather’s not all bad. He’s tough on everyone, but he’s not ruthless unless you deserve it.”

“True,” I said. “It was always like that growing up, I guess.”

“Exactly,” Meg said. “But I’d hate to be on his bad side…”

She shuddered.

I nodded at her assessment. “So, anyway, tell me about the Russ-”

“Hello,” Meg said, widening her eyes to quarter-sized dimensions. “The Russsstic Inn, you heard of it?”

Meg’s question was directed at a lithe, sexy-in-a-nerdy way man topped with dark, curly hair.

I snapped my head up, thankful that Meg was smarter than the average person. Though her personality was anything but subtle, she understood when business was business and secrets were secrets. One of the many reasons she made a kickass best friend.            

“Never,” he said with a cocky smirk, his dark eyes flicking towards my feet before resting on my face. “I’m new around here. I’m Michael.”

Meg alternated between staring in my direction and ogling the newcomer.

“Oh, hi,” I said, finding my voice. “I’m Lacey. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Have a seat,” Meg encouraged, glaring at me. “Lacey’s forgotten her manners.”

I grinned at him. “How’d you find out about the bar?”

“I live around here,” he said flippantly. “Just wandered in.”

I shot a suspicious glance at Meg.

“I was walking my dog.” He shrugged shyly, and gestured to a gorgeous Golden Retriever tied out front.

“What’ll ya have?” Meg asked, giving me a stare so pointy it could’ve poked an eye out.

While he settled on Johnny Walker of some color label, I studied him – handsome, tall, just enough muscles to not be skinny. Plus, he had a wonderful dog. Men with dogs were more sensitive than others, in my experience. Unless they were bulldogs or something and wore spikey collars and nipped at my heels.

Meg handed him the drink and he slipped her a bill – of what amount I couldn’t tell, but judging by the size of Meg’s eyes it was quite large.

“Keep it,” he said. He smiled at her in a way that was so innocent and sweet I just wanted to swoop him up in a hug.

Then, he turned to me and his soft eyes warmed me from the insides out. He started speaking, but I couldn’t make out any of the words – I was too busy staring at his lips, which quirked up in the corner as he spoke, a cute smile just a half a second away at all times.

I went through my mental ‘lip’ checklist:
Not too large, not to small, not too dry, not too slobbery – this guy’s got it all.

“–heard of it?” he asked, waiting expectantly.

“Oh, uh, no. Sorry. Never heard of it,” I said quickly.

Meg was looking at me rather funny. “You’ve never heard of the Backstreet Boys.”

“Oh, sorry.” I blushed. “Heard of those peeps.”

What was I saying?
I felt like I’d turned into a nervous ten-year-old.

Michael’s eyes crinkled into a smile. “It’s alright. I’m a computer programmer, so I’m used to people dozing off when I talk.”

“You’d love my cousin,” I mumbled.

“Your cousin?” he asked. “Is he a programmer, too?”

“Of sorts,” I said. Then, seeing the look of genuine curiosity in his eyes – unlike most of the guys I’d dated and their blank stares, I elaborated. “Clay. You’d like him – or, well, he’d like you definitely. Huge computer geek.”

“Sounds like he’d be my type,” Michael said thoughtfully. “Maybe I’ll meet him sometime. Would you like to grab a drink this weekend?”

“Um,” I said, looking helplessly at Meg. “I will be right back.”

Michael looked confused, while Meg looked quite livid. She grabbed me by the ear and dragged me around the bar, catching a few weird stares at my
ouches
and
stop, that hurts!

“He’s sexy, rich – probably – and super into you. What’s your deal?” She stared me down.

“I – I don’t know.” I cringed. “I’m sorry, I just…”

“You just what?” Meg put her thick hands on her hips. “I let my dread-locked lover boy walk straight out of here in order to help you with this man. For
both
of us – I’m not letting you say ‘no.’”

“Fine, fine.” I agreed. “Don’t you think it’s at all suspicious he just
happened
to run into us and
happens
to live on this side of town?”

“No,” Meg said bluntly. “I don’t.”

She turned and went back to the bar, shooting a sugary smile at Michael and leaving me rubbing my red, sore ear.

“Hi, mayday behind the bar.” I rolled my eyes as I sat next to Michael. “I’d love to grab a drink with you.”

“Great.” His eyes glinted with what I hoped was excitement. “I’m really looking forward to it. I’ll pick you up – your place, Thursday at six.”

“Oh, no, that’s not necessary.” My thoughts drifted to the art on my front steps. “I can meet you somewhere.”

“Don’t start. I’ll be there – Thursday at six.” He winked, finished the last swig from his glass. He leaned over and gave me a swift kiss on the check and strode out the door without looking back.

“Damn.” Meg shook her head. “How do you do it?”

Meanwhile I stared after him, my hand pressed to my cheek, the spot where his lips had touched still tingling pleasantly.

“Thursday at six.” I shrugged. “How he’s going to find the place, I have no idea.”

** **

“I’m getting a trainer,” I announced to Clay the second I walked in the door. In my jacket pocket I’d found a couple hundred dollars from when I left the estate. Carlos may not believe in giving things away for free, but it didn’t stop Nora. And she wasn’t scared of him. Not that Carlos would come close to missing a few thousand, let alone a few hundred bucks. One of his shoes cost that much – and he had an impressive selection of footwear in his walk-in closet.

“For your date?” Clay hadn’t moved from his glowing den consisting mostly of computer monitors.

“Yeah. It was strange – I wouldn’t say he’s traditionally handsome, but there’s something about him…” I trailed off. “How did you know I have a date?”

Clay’s cheeks glowed a faint pink, which was a stark contrast to his normally pale complexion. “You say you’re going to get a trainer
every
time someone asks you out.”

I eyed him suspiciously. “So? I mean it this time. I’m going tomorrow.”

I stomped out of the room, my high heels crunching on the leftover glass from the morning’s light bulb debacle. “And I don’t believe you. I don’t know how you snooped, but I’ll find out.”

I slipped out of my little black dress and stepped into my much comfier, much airier pair of old soccer shorts (bright purple) and an ex’s sweatshirt (neon yellow). Looking like a bag of skittles gone awry, I rejoined Clay in the living room and plopped into the bean bag that counted as a lazy boy.

“Find anything more on our guy?”

“Andrey?” Clay took a huge bite out of what looked like the carcass of a cow. “Yep. What do you wanna know?”

“Do you have his address?” I wrinkled my nose and got up to put in a bag of popcorn.

“’Course.”

“Let’s stake it out.”

“Nope. No way, I told you I stop at research. You wanna freeze your ass off all night – that’s your prerogative.”

“Who says it’s gotta be cold? I’ll bring a blanket.”

Clay rolled his eyes. “Because that’ll help when you have to sprint away from a gang of crazed Russians.”

“Who says I’m going to get caught?”

Clay looked at my neon outfit.

“I didn’t say I’m wearing this,” I said. Even though it was
so
comfortable, and I really hated any pants. Jeans, yoga pants, tights – any variety of material meant to constrict my figure was the devil’s work.

“Who’s your date with?” Clay looked up from his computer, indicating more interest in my love life than he had in years.

“He’s some guy – probably Italian. Dark hair, dark skin,” I sighed. “Muscles,
great
lips.”

Clay raised his eyebrows. “Is Michael picking you up?”

“AHA!” I whirled around from where my bag of popcorn was exploding like crazy. “I knew it! How’d you find out? Talk to Meg? Install a camera?”

Clay’s cheeks morphed from pink to streaks of red. “No. Just a lucky guess.”

“Spill the beans, or-“

“Fine, bring me your purse.”

I grabbed my purse from my bedroom, its contents scattering everywhere as I yanked the wrong string. Tupac was in the most inconvenient place as usual, stepping all through my belongings as if looking for gold (aka cat nibble). Growling, I handed the lumpy material over to Clay.

“See this?” He pointed to the fake gold button on my knockoff Wal-Mart purse. It was so knockoff I wasn’t even sure which brand it was knocking off. “Tiny camera. Transmits picture and sound right here.”

He clicked a few buttons on his keyboard and up popped a beautiful, HD photo of Michael, who was looking much hunkier than I’d remembered.

“So that’s why you want me to date him. You think he’s cute.” I nudged him.

“No.” Red coloring streaked his ears. “He knows a lot about computers. He would be fun to talk to at family events if you were to get married.”