1 Assault with a Deadly Glue Gun (34 page)

"Would you shut up? Jeez, I can't stand it when you whine.
Grow up! Who's gonna find us? It's Sunday. Everyone's home in
the 'burbs, playing mommy and daddy to the rugrats."

"I'm sorry." Erica's apology came out as a whimper. "What are
you looking for? I'll help you. We'll get done much faster."

"Something that don't belong here. You'll know it when you
see it."

"I don't understand."

Dicky snorted. "You ain't gotta understand. Just open the
boxes. I'll do the understanding for both of us, Sweet Cheeks.
Capisce?"

Even if Erica didn't have a clue, I had a pretty good idea what
Dicky was hunting for. Actually, I had fifty thousand ideas. He
probably figured if I hadn't hidden the money at home, I might
have stashed it somewhere at work where no one would stumble
across it.

No matter how much I protested to the contrary, Ricardo still
believed I was pulling a fast one on him and had hidden the
money somewhere. Probably because that's what he would have
done.

I had to get back to my cubicle and out of the building before
Erica and Ricardo discovered me. The most direct path took me
past the Models Room. With the door open, there was too much
chance of their hearing or seeing me.

My only other option was to slip downstairs, make my way
across the length of the building to the stairwell at the opposite
end, and come back up, approaching my cubicle from the other
direction.

I turned toward the fire door.

"Anastasia?"

Shit! I spun around, feigning surprise. "Oh, Erica! Hi. I didn't
realize anyone else was here."

"Neither did I. What are you doing here?"

"Just catching up on some work."

I didn't see your car in the parking lot."

"I parked at the train station." I patted my stomach and
laughed. "My new exercise regimen. Trying to walk off Cloris Cal ories since I can't resist those goodies she's constantly waving
under my nose."

She glanced at her own stomach and giggled. "I know what you
mean.

"What about you? Why are you here on a Sunday?"

"I wanted to show Dicky my new office."

At that moment, a man who looked like he could be in the cast
of any number of Al Pacino gangster flicks stepped out of the
Models Room.

Neither Mama nor Lucille had done justice to Ricardo in their
description of him to Fogarty and Harley, although Mama had
come much closer. Lucille definitely needed her eyes examined.
Think Sylvester Stallone meets Steven Seagal meets King Kong,
and you begin to get an idea. Right down to the forest of thick
black hair covering nearly every inch of his exposed flesh.

Erica slipped her hand into Dicky's. "I'm glad we bumped into
you. I've been wanting to introduce you to Dicky." She tilted her
head back to catch his eye. "Dicky, this is my friend Anastasia. The
one I've told you about."

Then she turned her attention back to me. "And this is my boyfriend Dicky."

I wondered how much Erica had told Dicky about me-not to
mention everything else that had recently transpired at Trimedia.
Had she told him about Vittorio's pending lawsuit? How scared
she was of losing her job? She'd previously admitted having told
him about Marlys.

My Jessica Fletcher mode kicked in. I now knew who had killed
Marlys. And Vittorio. Motive? To help his girlfriend get rid of her
Simon Legree boss and move from Bottom Feeder to the higher echelons of American Woman. Vittorio bought it because his lawsuit threatened to destroy Erica's newfound success. Talk about a
supportive boyfriend!

I kept my hands shoved deep in my smock pockets and offered
Dicky or Ricardo or whatever-his-name what I hoped came across
as a friendly-and innocent-smile. "Nice to meet you, Dicky."

He stared at me without saying anything, only cocked his head
in a semi-nod, his features remaining as vacant as the motels on
the Jersey shore during a blizzard. Was he trying to figure out what
I had overheard? Wondering if I suspected he was Ricardo?

His silence unnerved me. "Erica tells me you're an independent
financial consultant?"

"You could say that."

I stretched my smile broader. "Well, I'd better get back to work
and finish up my project. Have to pick my kids up in a little while.
See you Monday, Erica" I waved as I started to head for my cubicle.

"I don't think so," said Dicky.

I turned around to find myself face-to-face with a very nasty
looking gun.

DICKY CLAMPED ONE OF his hairy paws over my forearm and
jabbed the nose of the gun into my ribs.

"My God, Dicky! What are you doing?" cried Erica.

"Shut up, Sweet Cheeks. Your friend here knows too much. I'm
gonna have to take care of her."

"Knows too much about what? What do you mean take care of
her?"

"Your boyfriend isn't a financial consultant, Erica. He's a loan
shark and a murderer."

"No!" Tears swam in Erica's eyes. "She's wrong, isn't she, Dicky?
Tell her she's wrong."

"Erica! For God's sake. Look at the gun! That's no Super Soaker
he's poking into me."

"I don't understand," she whimpered.

"You don't need to understand nothing. Just do as I say," said
Ricardo. "Unless you want to wind up just like your friend."

"But, Dicky-"

He spun around, jerking me with him. I tripped over his feet
and fell to the floor. My knees slammed against the rock-hard Terrazzo. When he yanked me up, he nearly ripped my arm from its
socket. I cried out from the pain.

"You're hurting her," said Erica.

Dicky waved the gun in her face. "So help me, you're really
pissing me off, Erica. I'm gonna smack you good if you don't shut
up!"

She sniveled as she backed up against the wall. Tears streamed
down her cheeks. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you angry,
Dicky. Please don't yell at me."

He studied her for a moment, then grunted. "Okay. I forgive
you. Go get that purple cord stuff that was on the shelf in there."
He motioned toward the Models Room with his chin.

Erica stepped inside and came out a moment later with a spool
of macrame cord. "This?"

"Yeah, that. Now we're gonna take your friend here out to the
car. Nice and quiet." He poked the gun deeper into my side. "Got
it, Sweet Cheeks?"

"Got it."

"Where are we going?" asked Erica.

"Never you mind." He jerked me toward the stairs. "You see
anyone, you don't say a word."

I nodded.

He dragged me down the stairs. Erica followed.

My mind raced. If Ricardo had killed Marlys and Vittorio, he'd
have no qualms about snuffing out my lights, as well. My only
hope was that his greed overpowered his murderous tendencies.
"If you kill me, you won't get your fifty grand," I said.

"Remember those friends I told you about, Sweet Cheeks?
You're gonna work for them full time." He dragged the barrel of
the gun down my torso. "Twenty-four/seven. No vacations. No
benefits."

"What money?" asked Erica. "What friends?"

"None of your concern," he said.

If I was going to get out of this situation alive, I needed Erica's
help. And the only way to gain that was to make her realize how
high Dicky rated on the Creep-O-Meter. "I guess you didn't know
your boyfriend helped my husband steal fifty thousand dollars
from my mother-in-law, did you?"

"No, that can't be true. Dicky? Tell her it's not true." Erica's
voice was a high-pitched whispery plea.

Ricardo squeezed my arm so tight it went numb. "That money
belonged to me," he said. "Karl owed me. We had a business arrangement."

"Don't believe him, Erica. He tried to kill my mother-in-law," I
said as he dragged me out the side door. A black sedan with New
York plates was parked directly in front of the door, its massive
trunk facing us. Scenes from The Sopranos flashed before my eyes.

"Grab my keys outa my left pants pocket," Ricardo ordered
Erica.

"Erica, please! You have to help me!"

Refusing to make eye contact with me, she stared at the blacktop and mumbled, "I'm sorry, Anastasia" Then she reached into
Ricardo's pocket and pulled out a set of car keys. "Here" She held
them out to him.

"Do I look like I got a third hand? Open the goddamn trunk."

Erica pressed the remote. The trunk popped open. No way was
I going in there without the fight of my life. I jerked and squirmed,
flailing my one free arm and kicking Ricardo in both shins. "Erica,
help me! He killed Marlys."

"Shut up!" He swung down with his gun hand, and everything
went black.

I awoke in a nightmare, my body slamming and banging and
bouncing back and forth, up and down, against the hard, rough
sides of a small, cold, pitch-black prison. My head throbbed. I
couldn't see, couldn't move. My arms were pinned to my sides, my
legs bound together, my mouth taped. In the distance I heard
voices. Shouting. Crying. I strained to listen.

"I gave you your big break, for crying out loud. Act a little
grateful, why dontcha?"

"But, Dicky, you killed Marlys?"

"So? Everyone hated her, right?"

"Y ... yes."

"So stop sniveling. She made your life miserable. I took care of
it. Did you a huge favor. You should be thanking me, Sweet Cheeks,
not bitchin' about the bitch."
"

I know, but-"

"But nothin'. It's not like you ain't seen stuff like this before,
being who's kid you are an' all. Watcha think I do for your old
man, anyways?"

"But you tried to make the police think Anastasia killed Marlys.
Why? She's my friend."

"Some friend. She tried to steal from us. Her husband was into
me for fifty G's. So's now I owe your old man, and that ain't no
good thing, Sweet Cheeks. Joey Milano don't like excuses. From
anyone. Besides, that's fifty G's less you inherit some day. You
wanna be friends with a bitch who'd steal from you?"

"N ... no."

"So's now you understand the gravity of the situation, right?"

"What are you going to do with Anastasia?"

"She's more trouble than she's worth. I'm gonna get rid of her."

Erica started sobbing. "Please, Dicky, please don't kill Anastasia.

"Would you stop with the blubbering!"

I heard a smack.

Followed by a gasp.

Then silence.

Erica couldn't take care of herself, let alone help me. She had
stepped from a controlling, abusive father, right into the arms of a
controlling, abusive boyfriend. And not just any father or boyfriend.

Erica Milano. From The Bronx. Home territory of the Milano
crime syndicate, one of the Big Five New York crime families. Talk
about a duh moment. She certainly pulled the polyester over our
eyes, acting like the poster child for Naivete Incorporated while
hiding her true identity-the daughter of Murder Incorporated.

If I'd had a free hand, I'd have slapped my clueless forehead.

I was on my own, and the first order of business was freeing
my hands. Ricardo had wrapped me like a macrame mummy. I
rolled onto my stomach and felt the contents of my smock pockets jab me in the thighs. Shifting my weight, I discovered my cell
phone still attached at my waist.