Jailbait (2 page)

He gave a startled snort.

“Here’s the thing, Godzilla. I don’t like big, scary guys breathing down my neck when I’m trying to get laid.” I kept my body close to the behemoth’s, shielding my Magnum from the other patrons. Then I snaked my free hand up the man’s admittedly ripped stomach and tugged out his gun, shoving it into my pocket. “Now I’ve got two guns, and you don’t have any. So unless you want to go back to your boss and tell him you fucked up a simple job like this, how about you answer a few questions for me? Then maybe I’ll give you your weapon back.”

“You working for her? Is that it?”

“I have the guns. If you had the guns, you could ask the questions. Who’s your boss?”

“You going to shoot me? Right here in the middle of this tavern?” He gave me a weak attempt at a grin.

I cocked the Magnum and stared the guy dead in the eyes. “Yes, I am.”

Though on the outside I may appear lovable and harmless, he must have seen something in me to know I spoke the truth. His face blanched. “I hope you ain’t doing it for her.”

“I’m doing it for the vague promise of a blowjob.”

The thug pointed his chin at the bar. “Whatever she promised, she’s not sticking around for you to collect.”

I didn’t turn around to check. “Did she at least order the tequilas?”

“Doesn’t look like it.”

“Shit. Can’t catch a break today. But I still would like an answer to my question. Who do you work for?”

“Sal Dovolanni. You recognize the name, shithead?”

I did. Anyone who knew about organized crime in Chicago knew the Dovolanni family. “How is old Sal these days? Still running underage hookers and selling crack to school kids?

The guy grunted.

“So… lemme guess. Sal hasn’t recognized the fact that Tangi is no longer interested in pursuing a relationship, and he uses you to scare away prospective boyfriends.”

“Is that what the skirt told you?”

“I’m asking you to tell me.”

“Maybe I don’t want to say nothing.”

I shoved the barrel of my .44 down the front of his pants, deep enough to tickle his balls. “I bet you liked that show
The Sopranos
. How’d you like to sing like one?”

The wise guy cleared his throat. “She and Mr. Dovolanni, they had a… thing.”

“And now she says it’s over, and Sal has a problem letting go?”

He shrugged.

“What’s her story?” I asked. “Failed actress? Escort? Stripper?”

“She tried to pick Mr. Dovolanni’s pocket. He caught her. Admired her moxie.”

“First
skirt
, now
moxie
? Do you think you’re in a Cagney movie?”

“Youse got a problem with how I talk?”

I jiggled the gun. “Just finish the story.”

“Mr. Dovolanni called it quits, gave her some walk-away money. But the dame wanted more, threatened to tell Mrs. Dovolanni.”

“And you’re here to persuade the moll not to do that.”

The bodyguard’s face screwed up. “The moll? Whazzat?”

I shook my head, then thought back to Tangi’s touchy-feely flirtations. I reached around and slapped my back pocket.

The little minx pinched my wallet. Son of a bitch.

“Go to the bar,” I said. “Pay my tab. I’ll leave your gun in the Dumpster alongside the building.”

“You’re really gonna give me my gun back?”

“Of course. I’m a working man, just like you are. Can’t begrudge a guy for doing his job.”

I took two quick steps backward, facing the guy and then hurried the hell out of there..

Two blocks up the street I ducked into a pawn shop and sold the gun for a hundred bucks. It was a nice gun that should have been worth more, but it was an under-the-table transaction, no paperwork, no serial number search. Then it was another three blocks to my condo, a posh residence that cost slightly more than it would have taken to carpet the place in hundred dollar bills. I studied the doorknob before sticking the key in, then turned it abruptly and went in fast, tugging out my .44 with my free hand.

Tangi was sitting on the back of my leather sofa, one leg trailing down, the other bent and on the armrest. On the end of her finger swung my Smith and Wesson handcuffs.

“I found these in your drawer.” She raised an eyebrow. “What exactly is it you do for a living, Harry?”

I tucked my gun back in my holster and closed the door behind me. “Those are for recreational use. My fur-lined ones are at the cleaners. Need another tequila?”

“Sure.” Tangi raised her arms, thrust out her chest and stretched. “This is a nice place,” she said as I walked into the kitchen. “You rich, Harry?”

“I do okay. Did you find anything worth stealing?”

“Lots of things.”

“Getting through my front door couldn’t have been easy. When I bought the lock, I was told it was pick-proof.”

“I didn’t pick it. I bumped it.”

Bumping was a term used for putting a key into a lock then tapping it in a precise way to align the tumblers. It wasn’t an easy skill to master.

“I like a woman who can bump,” I said. I poured two splashes of Patron into some rocks glasses and walked back to the sofa.

Tangi reached for one of the glasses. “I can grind, too.” She smiled wickedly.

Which, of course, had no effect on me. “So besides stealing men’s wallets and breaking into their condos, what else do you do for fun?”

She dangled one red pump on her toes. “Shoe shopping.”

“Did Sal Dovolanni take you shoe shopping?”

Her lips tightened for a second before her teasing smile returned. “Sal was good for a lot of things. Unfortunately I grew a little tired of those things, and he doesn’t take no for an answer.”

“Doesn’t take blackmail very well, either.”

She blinked. Recovering quickly from being called out, she leaned forward, resting an elbow on one knee and giving me a good view down her shirt. “Okay, that was a mistake. I shouldn’t have done that. But now all I want is for him to leave me alone.”

“If you want me to get Sal off your back, I can do that. But there’s a price.”

“Let me guess. You want to get on my back instead?” Another wicked grin.

“It crossed my mind.”

She gave a little nod, sat up straight and threw back her liquor. “So how are you going to do it?”

I took a step closer. “I was thinking doggy style first, then me on top…”

“I was talking about Sal.”

“So was I.”

She let out a laugh. “Really, how are you going to get him to back off?”

I snarled and drained my tequila. Then I wrapped my hand around the cuffs Tangi still dangled and tugged her off the back of the sofa and onto the seat beside me. “I’m going to make him an offer he can’t refuse. Now this is the part where you seduce me in order to seal the deal.”

“How do I know we have a deal? Sal isn’t some street punk. How do I know you can do what you say?”

I leaned in, my lips brushing her neck. “Hmm?”

“Come on, Harry. You’ve got to give me something.”

“I’m just about to.” I played my fingers up her shirt, caressing her spine.

“Harry…”

“Can’t answer. Blood rushing from my head to my erection.”

Moving my lips along her jaw, they eventually found hers and silenced Tangi’s next protest. She pushed her hand against my chest, a token bit of resistance, and then she melted like a candy bar on a hot skillet, though God knows why anyone would put a candy bar on a hot skillet. I mean, that’s just stupid. Ruins both the candy bar, and the skillet.

We fell backward onto the couch, and I managed to get her shirt open, my fly down, and both shoes off within a few seconds. Then the Love Machine got into gear.

The secret to fully satisfying a woman is patience, self-control, and a solid knowledge of female anatomy.

Since I lacked all of these things, I just went for the quickie. Two minutes later, I was zipping up and pouring two more drinks.

“Wow. I didn’t even need to take my underwear off,” Tangi said, pulling her blouse closed and fastening a couple of buttons.

“I want my wallet back,” I said. I handed her another tequila.

She took it and downed it in one gulp. “You’re still going to help me?”

“Help who?”

Her eyebrows creased. “With Sal, Harry. You said—”

“I’m just messing with you, babe. I’ll help out with Sal. It’s what I’m good at.”

“I hope so. Because you aren’t good at—”

“Easy, there, sugar. Now I gotta ask you a personal question. Do you mind if we get personal?”

“Didn’t we already get personal? At least, I think we did. It was all over so fast…”

“Tell me. What kind of lover is Sal?”

“He’s terrible. Like you.”

“Excellent. Have you ever posed nude for him? Did he take pictures?”

“And risk his wife finding them? Not a chance. What are you getting at?”

“Sal’s an older guy. How’s his eyesight?”

“His glasses are thicker than your—”

“Perfect. Now I need you to take off your clothes and step into my studio. We’re going to do a little photo shoot.”

“You’re kidding.” She frowned. “No, you wouldn’t be, would you?”

“Trust me, babe. By noon tomorrow, you’ll never have to worry about Sal again. Now let’s go get my Nikon and make some magic.”

Sal Dovolanni lived in a ritzy part of Lincoln Park. As far as mobsters went, Sal was strictly middle-of-the-road. Some drugs, some whores, some gambling, but none of the majorly important shit that those higher up in the Outfit did. That didn’t mean Sal wasn’t dangerous. But it did mean he’d probably be home when I came calling.

The bruiser from the bar opened the door. “You? Where’s my gun, you piece of shit?”

“It was stolen. Believe it or not, there’s a criminal element in this city. Now be a good little lackey and tell your boss I want to see him. It’s about the moll.”

“The who?”

“The skirt. The dame. The broad. I’ve got information that Mr. Dovolanni will be interested in.”

“What is it, Tony?” Dovolanni’s voice crackled from the intercom embedded in the wall.

“Tony?” I smirked. “Of course your name is Tony. How are Guido and Vinni and the rest of the boys doing?”

The bodyguard growled at me, then hit the intercom button and called back to his boss. “It’s Tangi’s boy from yesterday, Mr. Dovolanni. Says he wants to talk to you.”

“Show the clown in.”

Tony looked like he’d rather crap in a bowl and eat it. Heaving a sigh, he held out his hand, palm up. “Your turn to give me your gun, shithead. Sure hope there’s no crime wave while you’re in talking to the boss.”

I opened my coat, showing him my empty holster. “Son of a bitch! Someone stole it already!”

Tony stepped toward me. “You won’t mind, then, if I make sure of that.”

I held out my arms to the side. “Have at it, you sexy thing.”

Tony gave me a pat-down thorough enough to make a TSA agent blush, only finding the envelope I had tucked into my breast pocket. He tugged it out and held it up. “What’s this?”

“Not a gun. They don’t make them that thin. You’re not worried I’m going to give your boss a paper cut, are you?”

Another growl. I snatched the envelope from him, and he motioned for me to follow.

“The mobster biz must be good,” I said, noting the expensive furnishings. Terrazzo floors. Crystal chandeliers. In the hallway, we passed a painted portrait of a dour-looking fellow with short, curly hair.

“That Mr. Dovolanni?”

“That’s
Mrs
. Dovolanni.”

“And he strays? I’m shocked. Handsome woman like that.”

Tony’s lips took on a little spasm, maybe suppressing a smile. He led me to a parlor, opened the wooden door and stood to the side.

I entered a typical mobster man cave. Thick carpet. Flocked wallpaper. Fully stocked bar. Leather and brass furniture. Framed photos of Sinatra and Dino. Sal Dovolanni sat behind an impressive oak desk, smoking a cigar.

Sal was smoking it, not the desk.

Half the size of his bodyguard, Sal Dovolanni was proof that not all Italian mothers knew how to cook. Judging from his gaunt cheeks and skinny chicken neck, he’d gone his whole life without a good meal. The sturdiest thing about him was his nose. Good thing, since he needed it to hold up those glasses.

At least he was prettier than his wife.

“So I heard my little klepto pinched your wallet.” He guffawed, a wet, rumbling thing that bespoke a lung cancer future. “You come here to try and get your money back?”

Tony joined in the laughter.

“Way to suck up,” I told Tony. “Now run along and let the grown-ups talk.”

“I think I’ll stay right here.” Tony widened his stance and clasped his hands in front of him.

I gave him my back. “I’ve got a proposition for you, Mr. Dolovanni.” I went with his surname because jackasses like this liked to be shown respect.

“Yeah? And what might that be?”

“My name is Harry McGlade. I’m a private investigator. I’d like to help you make a problem go away. And it’s a bigger problem than you might have assumed. Can I approach your large and intimidating desk? I need to show you something.”

Sal nodded.

I held out the envelope. With a flick of my wrist, I tossed it onto his desk.

He squinted down at it. “What’s this?”

“It’s an envelope. People use them for mailing documents. But it’s what’s inside that you’ll care about.”

Sal grunted. He took a silver letter opener from his desk drawer and slit the edge. Some photos spilled out. He picked one up. I suppressed a grin as his jaw went slack, and then he began to cough so badly his glasses fell off.

Tony craned his neck, as if trying to sneak a look from across the room.

“You want to do this in front of the hired help or privately?” I asked.

“Tony,” Sal wheezed. “Excuse us for a moment.”

“Mr. Dovolanni…”

“Get out!”

Tony shrugged and slunk out of the room.

“Where did you get these?” Sal demanded, grimacing at the pics.

“I took them last night. People are so helpless while they’re asleep.”

Sal dropped the photos on his desk and thumped them with a fist. “I’ll kill the bitch. I’ll kill her.”

“Technically, you’ll kill him,” I said, pointing to the penis I Photoshopped between Tangi’s legs. I’d gotten the idea from our chat in the bar, when I’d asked her if she was transsexual. Nothing like a bit of homophobia to knock a wise guy down a few pegs.