Blue Molly (Danny Logan Mystery #5) (6 page)

I nodded. “We’re ready. We’re on your side.” I turned to Mike. “What do you think?”

He smiled at Sylvia. “I’ll fight.” He pointed to his eye. “I’m getting good at it. Besides, even if we don’t shut these guys down right away, at least we can help draw out whoever’s behind them, right?”

I chuckled. “Well, drawing someone out wasn’t really what I was thinking about. That’s actually kind of like tying a goat to a stake and waiting for a leopard to show up—it doesn’t always end well for the goat.”

Nine thirty the next morning, I was feeling good and manning the reception desk in our office. Our staff meeting had just recessed—I’d explained the Lyon case to the group and had received some good feedback. Afterward, I’d called the Lyons and formally accepted the case. They were excited. I leaned back, idly browsing a recent edition of
PI
magazine, waiting for Toni to finish making some copies so that we could reconvene and lay out a plan, when the front door opened and a thin man in a cheap gray suit stepped inside. He was probably my age—early thirties. His hair was on the longish side, brown and thin and swept to the side. A sparse goatee emphasized small, dark eyes and a narrow, beak-like nose. He had a nervous, shifty air to him—like a guy about to commit a crime, or maybe someone who’d just done so. Perhaps he was an ex-con. He slapped his gloved hands together, shivering. “Son of a bitch, it’s cold outside!”

I closed the magazine. “That it is. Girl on the radio said it’s the coldest day of the year.”

“Yeah—just my luck,” the man said, stamping his feet to shake some warmth back into his legs.

When he finished, I said, “How can I help you this morning?”

He glanced around the lobby, then looked back at me. “I’m here to see Toni Blair.”

I nodded. “Sure. Can I tell her who’s here?”

“Yeah. Rico Maroni.”

I didn’t recognize the guy, so out of habit I asked, “She’ll know who you are?”

He thought for a second and then nodded. “Oh, yeah.” Then he smiled. “Just tell her it’s her husband.”

I looked up at the man. “Say again?”

“Yeah—tell her her husband’s here. She’ll know.”

I stared at him and then slowly stood up. “You’re her husband?”

He nodded. “Yeah. Is she in? You going to call her?” he said, starting to act a little uncomfortable as I continued to stare at him.

I shook my head. “Nah, I don’t think I will. If you’re her husband, I suppose that’d make me, oh, I don’t know, maybe her Priest. Except I couldn’t be her Priest because . . . wait! We live together, and I think they frown on that.” I reached up and rubbed my chin, pretending like I was thinking. “Maybe it would make me her brother. Except . . . oh, yeah! She doesn’t have a brother.” I took a step around the desk.

Maroni took a cautious step backward.

I glared at him. “What kind of scam are you trying to run, buddy?”

He raised his hands. “No scam, dude. Really. Just call her—you’ll see.”

I was figuring out my next step when Toni walked around the corner.

I glanced at her. “Toni, this blockhead says he’s your husband. I was just about to toss his sorry ass right out the—”

And then Toni said the single word that surprised me more than anything else she could have possibly said. Or maybe it was the way she said it. She looked at the guy, eyes wide, and said, “Rico?”

I looked at her, and I was stunned. The way she regarded him, the way she’d said his name was like she was seeing a long-lost friend. She actually knew this clown?

“Rico?” she said again. “What are you doing here?”

I asked, “You know this guy?”

Still looking at him, she nodded slowly.

“Hey, Toni!” he said, smiling broadly and holding his arms out wide. “How ya been?”

Doc and Kenny Hale, our computer whiz, stepped into the lobby, curious to see what was happening. Given that the man had claimed to be Toni’s husband, I was still struggling to catch up. “You know him? He says he’s your husband—is he right? Are you two married?”

Doc and Kenny both glanced at me, then at Rico, then at Toni.

Toni looked at him for another second, clearly surprised to see him, then suddenly realizing what I’d just said, she spun around to me. “What? Are we married?” She looked at me, confused. “Are you insane?”

I shrugged. “He said he was your husband.”

She looked at him, then back at me. “Danny, would you give us a minute alone, please?” Before I could answer, she turned back to Maroni. “Rico?” Then she did a little finger-curl-beckon thing which normally meant “come over here” but, by changing the usual slant of her eyes, she turned it into a very clear “get your ass in here right now, dammit!” He understood and followed her into her office, where she closed the door behind them.

* * * *

Thirty minutes later, Toni joined us in the conference room. Kenny was chuckling as she walked behind him to get to her seat, to which she automatically responded by thumping him on the head as she passed.

“Ow!”

“Shut up,” she said.

“I didn’t say anything!”

“Yeah, you did. You were laughing.”

Kenny started laughing again. Toni sat down and when Kenny didn’t stop, she glared at him. “What?”

Kenny shook his head. “It’s just . . . it’s just . . .”

“Spit it out!”

“It’s just for six years, we’ve been calling you Toni Blair and now we find out that we were wrong and all this time we should have been calling you . . . Toni Maroni?”

* * * *

“I’m so sorry about Rico,” Toni said. We were driving to meet a couple of friends for lunch.

“Why are
you
sorry? You didn’t do anything.” I paused for a second, then decided what the hell, I may as well have a little fun. “Besides—everybody has a past. You don’t have to explain yours to me.”

She glanced at me. “I
don’t
have a past with Rico Maroni!” Hah! Got a bite! “There was never anything between me and Rico Maroni.”

“Listen—I understand. It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it.”

“Butt.” Oops—didn’t take her long to figure me out.

I laughed. “Really, it’s okay.”

“I’m so not talking to you anymore. Let me know when you’re done.” Fish off.

I held up my right hand in surrender. “Okay. I get it. The guy did something to piss you off pre-me. You set him straight. Now he shows up uninvited. You have nothing to be sorry about. No big deal.”

“I’m just sorry because it’s my problem, and I’ve brought it home with me.”

I glanced over at her, serious now. “You’re wrong there. If it’s any problem at all, it’s
our
problem. Together. No need to be sorry.”

She smiled. “Thanks.”

“What do you know about him, anyway?” I asked, swerving to go around an office supply truck that was doubled-parked on First. “What’s his deal?”

She shrugged. “Not much, at least not recently. He told me he just got out of jail.”

I smiled. “No shit?” I knew it. “What for?”

“He wouldn’t say. He said he wanted to get his life straightened out.”

“Oh—get his life straightened out.” I nodded. “So naturally he decided first thing to get hold of you?”

“I guess.”

“Why? And why would he say he’s your husband?”

“It’s complicated. And a bit of a long story.”

“Well, as it happens, we have a little time. But let me just start by asking, do you think he’s going to be a problem? And by that I mean
our
problem, something for the
two
of us to take care of?”

She didn’t answer for a few seconds, then she said, more softly than I expected, “Probably not.”

Not terribly reassuring. “Toni, what happened between you two?”

She closed her eyes and leaned back against the headrest. Then she started. “Rico is two years older than me—maybe even more than that—I don’t know for sure. But he was a senior at Lynnwood High when I was a sophomore. I was, what? Sixteen? I didn’t know him except by name, but I thought he was creepy—harmless, but creepy. He used to hang out with a group of losers by one of the school entrances—the one closest to my homeroom, naturally. He and his buddies would stare at me and my friends when we walked past. They used to whistle, even make lewd comments. We usually just ignored them. Rico used to joke around. He’d come up and say that he wanted to marry me—I guess that’s where he gets the ‘husband’ thing. I told him to get lost, but he didn’t. It kind of went on and on until one day I was at my locker putting stuff away, and he came up behind me. He says something like, ‘Hey, sweetheart.’ I knew right away who it was before he even spoke—he used to wear this god-awful cologne you could smell from across the parking lot. Must have bathed in it. He kind of leaned up against me, said maybe he and I should go out. For some reason, it totally creeped me out more than it normally did. I must have been in a bad mood or something.”

“What’d you do?”

“I could handle the talk, but I wasn’t going to let him start touching me. That was over the line. I already had my right hand in my purse in the locker, so I just reached in, turned around, and kind of held my breath so I didn’t have to breathe that stinking cologne. I sucked it up and put my left arm around his neck. We were like face-to-face. I smiled at him—he was surprised by my arm and because I smiled, I guess. But he was even more surprised when I popped open the switchblade I kept in my purse and pressed the point of the blade right up against his balls. No one could see what I was doing, but he sure as hell felt it when I twisted it back and forth a little bit, just to get his attention. His eyes got real big, and he gave this little yelp and tried to jump back, but that’s when he figured out why I had my arm around him—I had hold of him, and he wasn’t going anywhere unless I let him. But I didn’t. I told him to quiet down and be still. Then I made my voice get real quiet and raspy, like they do in the movies. I almost whispered. I said I wasn’t playing games with him. If he ever came near me again, I’d castrate him right there on the fuckin’ spot. Then I kind of wiggled the knife for emphasis.”

“Holy shit,” I said, smiling. I could feel her anger reach out from ten years ago—it still came through in her voice. “You were a badass even when you were just sixteen.”

She took a deep breath, then smiled. “Yeah. Guess it’s in my genes. But anyway, it worked. He must have believed me, because he left me alone after that.”

“I guess so.” I nodded and drove for a minute, then said, “So the obvious question is, why’s he back? Now? I mean, I don’t know if I’m typical, but if some crazy chick sticks a knife in my crotch and threatens to start sawing, I’d believe her and stay the hell away.” I smiled, then added, “Especially if she was smiling and using a low, raspy voice when she said it. That’s just scary. Question is, why didn’t he?”

She paused a second. Then, almost reluctantly, she continued. “Probably because it didn’t end with the switchblade episode. About a month after that, I stayed late for a project and was walking back to my car when I noticed some kind of commotion going on behind this van in the parking lot. I didn’t know what was happening, so I walked over. When I got closer, I saw three guys just beating the shit out of Rico. He must have come on to someone else’s girlfriend. He was all bloody and messed up. My immediate thought was ‘Good! Son of a bitch is getting what he deserves.’ I was just about to turn and walk away, but then I think our eyes met or something, I don’t know, and I guess I thought he just looked like a scared little kid—like a little kid getting tag-teamed by the neighborhood bullies.” She shook her head. “Not fair, you know? So then I couldn’t just walk away, even from a creep like Rico. So I ended up going over and helping him.”

I smiled. “
Knight gallant
. Sounds familiar. I take it you were by yourself?”

She smiled. “Of course. I came up behind them without them noticing and kicked the one closest to me right in the balls from behind. Pow! Sucker just folded. Then, before they knew what happened, I swung my purse at another guy. He leaned away and it barely missed, but I guess the other guys got shook up, or maybe they didn’t want to fight a girl. Anyway, they stopped. They helped their buddy up and left.”

I chuckled. “And Rico?”

She shrugged. “He was okay, bloody nose, a few bruises. He didn’t show up at school for a while, but when he finally came back, he treated me and my friends differently. He kind of changed. He left them alone, but he was always real nice to me after that. He even left me cards—Valentines, holidays, that kind of thing. He’d come up and ask how I was doing—nothing forward or anything, just friendly. I still think he had a crush on me, but he knew better than to do anything about it. Good thing, because he still creeped me out. I was polite, but I definitely did
not
encourage him. He eventually found someone else to bother, and then he graduated not long afterward. And that’s the last I heard of him.”

“Until now.”

She sniffed. “Yeah. Until now.”

“Boy, it’s good to be back at the old stomping ground,” Dwayne Brown said as he and his partner, Gus Symanski, walked in to meet us at Marinepolis Sushi Land on Queen Anne. Dwayne and Gus, or should I say, Lieutenant Brown and Senior Detective Symanski, were our good friends and regular sushi partners. They’ve been in charge of the SPD’s Special Projects division for more than three years, and we’ve been frequent lunch partners the whole time.

Dwayne and Gus actually introduced us to Sushi Land a few years ago, and it’s been our little group’s favorite since then (their favorite, really, since I don’t consider myself enough of a sushi fan to actually have a
favorite
sushi restaurant). Last year, somebody had the bright idea of trying out new places in search of something more elegant, more refined. In the end, we found both elegant and refined; we also came to the conclusion that it’s easy to spend more money in a lot fancier sushi joint, but you still just get raw fish and seaweed. It’s hard to beat Sushi Land for choice and, especially for working folks like us, price. If it had to be sushi, I was glad to be back.