Page 24

“Only a few.”
“Then most of the principal owed at the time he died was still there.” Annie blew air through thinned lips. “I know it’s none of my business, but why would this lender wait until now—years later—to collect?”
Carlita rubbed her thumb and index finger together. “My guess is money. I think he’s been sitting back, waiting for the interest to accumulate.”
“If so, this sounds sort of slimy,” Annie said. “And not the type of person I would want to borrow money from.”
“Me either. Unfortunately, it looks like Vinnie may have. What about the area?”
Annie wrinkled her nose. “It’s not the best.”
“I figured as much. What was Vinnie thinking, to buy a property over there? I guess he saw something in it nobody else did.” Carlita slowly stood. “Thank you for digging into this for me.”
“You’re welcome. Good luck. It sounds like you might need it.”
“Without a doubt.” Carlita thanked her again before stepping out onto the sidewalk. She glanced at her watch. It was almost time to meet Mercedes and Tony.
She stopped by the apartment long enough to drop Rambo off and ran back to wait for her children. Within minutes, her son caught up with her in the alley. Mercedes was only steps behind.
“Annie did a little preliminary research for me.” Carlita filled them in on what her friend had said.
“So, maybe the place is a dump and on a bad side of town, which is why this Lombardo guy doesn’t want it.”
“Could be, although Annie seemed to think it was still a decent deal. Remember, Enzo and Costanza made a comment about how Lombardo inherited the debt. Maybe he figures getting his money is a better idea. If so, we could be stuck with a real lemon.”
“Technically, I believe the only recourse the lender would have is to foreclose on the property. He couldn’t touch any of our other properties,” Tony said.
“Unless he got creative and used some underhanded tactics to get his hands on them,” Carlita theorized.
The trio climbed into Tony’s car for the quick trip. They passed by the touristy area, driving to a side of town Carlita rarely visited.
Boarded-up buildings lined both sides of Morton Street. Several appeared occupied. A liquor store. A laundromat. A check cashing business.
“Pops sure knew how to pick ‘em,” Mercedes joked.
“Thank goodness the Walton Square properties were in much better condition, not to mention a much better neighborhood. Had I showed up at this place first, I would have turned the car around and driven right back to New York,” Carlita said.
“And I would have been right there with you.” Mercedes slid over to the side window. “What is the street number?”
“It’s 8807. On this side of the street.”
Tony slowed, searching for building numbers. Finally, they found 8805. “It’s the next one up.”
Through the passenger side window, Carlita peered down a narrow alley. She caught a flit of movement. A man appeared, closely watching as their car crept past. “I’m not sure this is the safest area.”
Tony patted his pocket. “I have my gun.”
“Good. Who knows what we might run into.” Straight ahead, Carlita could see the outline. Two stories. Brick building on a corner lot. It reminded her of their apartment, a traditional Savannah brownstone.
A piece of wood dangled from the front door. Charred building numbers were barely attached. A tattered red and white awning hung above the small entry.
“It ain’t much to look at.” Tony stopped at the stop sign and turned right.
“Nope.” Carlita’s eyes squinted. “It’s bigger than I thought it would be. I wonder what your father planned to do with the place.”
“Bulldoze it and start over,” Mercedes joked.
Tony pulled alongside the curb and shifted into park. “Do you want to get out?”