Page 31 of Sam to the Rescue

“No, you did right. These guys are careful to the point of paranoia.”

“You think they suspect?”

“If they did, you’d know.” He doesn’t say because I’d probably be dead, which I do appreciate.

“Well, what do we do now?”

“We’re about to pick up one of their most experienced men for questioning on an unrelated charge. We’re betting with a man down, they’ll become desperate. Until then, sit tight.”

Tired, I crash on the couch and when Sam doesn’t call, my spidey senses tingle.

Fuck. What is she up to now?

Chapter 20

Sam

Uncle Vinny’s apartment house was built by Italian immigrants. I’m guessing that is why whatever is said in the hallways, echoes to all floors. So, when Suds says to Joey to keep me under lock and key, I stomp my feet and stick out my tongue. I swear to God, he treats me like a child. He can’t possibly mean I need an escort to go into Manhattan.

After pulling up the hallway stairs, I phone my Mom. “Is Mikey okay with you for a little while longer? I need to check on some stuff in the city.

“He’s fine. Do your thing. Go save the world.”

“Thanks. And, if you could, teach him to say momma. I’ll be home before dinner.”

Dressing for Fifth Avenue is no small task but I choose black jeans and a black leather jacket. The rest is all about attitude. In the car, I brush my hair, slather on face paint, and try not to look like I was woken at the ass crack of dawn to bail my husband out of jail.

Not wanting a huge argument on the bottom floor, I slowly lower the fire escape and sneak through my back window. From there, I hop two fences, race down the street behind ours, and call an Uber.

When I arrive at Patten Securities, Slate hasShabanaHosseini working with a sketch artist. Time on my hands, I park myself in a spare cube, open my laptop, and think. Who the hell would want my partner incapacitated and also know he suffers from PTSD?

The Navy is pretty hush-hush about what happened the day he was injured but I manage to find a short article about the tragedy. Stars and Stripes displays a grainy black and white photo, no-doubt taken from the driver’s bodycam, shortly before the explosion. A woman, covered head to toe in cloth, stands in the middle of a dusty, dirt road, cradling what would appear to be an infant.

The author uses the story as a warning to others while praising the two who survived, names withheld. Not finding any other stories, I mentally walk through our cases and list enemiesSuds and Sammay have made. First, we found Frankie-the-hitman’s pet. His ex could hold a grudge but she’s dumb as a post. His cat, not so much.

In the case of the weeping Mary, we followed a thief to Italy, but I don’t see him getting all bent out of shape, either. The serial killer porch pirate is behind bars, as is the woman who electrocuted the guitar player. Huh. That leaves the Buonanno crime family.

With them in mind, who better to call than my favorite underworld boss. “Hey Uncle Vinny. I got a question for you.”

“Heeeeyyy, Sammy. How’s my favorite niece? You divorce the bum? I know a nice Sicilian looking to move to the states. He’s got plenty of dough. He could set you up in one of those mansions in Bayside, overlookin’ the ocean.”

Oh my God, just what I need, one of his cronies for a husband. “Thanks, but I’ll pass. I do have a teeny-tiny favor to ask. Could you find out if Big Tony, or anyone, for that matter, is gunning for Suds?”

He chuckles. “That would be half of Brooklyn, including your immediate family.”

“Not true. My mom loves him and Dad is coming around.”

My uncle guffaws, then coughs like the pack a day smoker he is. “I got dis. I’ll put my ear to the ground and tell you what I come up with but then you owe me one.”

This is why I hate asking him for help. It’s best I state my ground rules right up front. “First off, I am never divorcing Suds and I am not giving you my first born. You can, however, have some free investigation time, depending on the value of your intel.

“You drive a hard bargain.”

“Learned from the best.” Leaning back in my chair, I grin because I caught him in a good mood and he’s willing to help. Things must be slow in mobster-land.

“Take care, kid. Start teaching Mikey Italian, capice?”

“I will.” Done working every angle I can think of, I duck into Slate’s office. “How’s it going with Shabana and the sketch artist?”