Lacey Luzzi: Sprinkled: A humorous cozy mystery! (Lacey Luzzi Mafia Mysteries Book 1) (7 page)

“How does he do it?” I asked the face of Andrey Shemyakin. “Carlos is a devil magician.”

I cranked the engine into gear and slopped the folder on the seat next to me.

“I hope it’s you,” I told Andrey. “You’re kinda cute.”

** **

Where are you?
I texted Clay.

His response was immediate:
Laundromat.

I zoomed the Kia towards the more debatable side of town (my side), and squealed into the parking lot that the crumbly laundromat shared with a 7-11. The windows were grimy, the parking lot littered with cigarettes, condoms, and all sorts of nasty wadded gunk.

I stepped into the cavernous room, much bigger on the inside than the outside, and approached the cozy little front desk where I’d spent many hours as cashier for the Family business. Cashier, I’d learned quickly, was code for lookout. I nodded to the unsuspecting patrons changing load after load of jeans, underwear, hoodies and bed sheets.

“What’s up?” I slid next to Clay, who was currently the lookout.

Unlike me, Clay didn’t need to take a ‘step up’ in the business. He made enough money working inside computers – hacking away at whatever challenge peaked his fancy. Carlos didn’t fully understand exactly what Clay did, but awhile ago, after Carlos had fired Clay for refusing to ‘get his hands dirty like a man,’ all of the money mysteriously disappeared from Carlos’ Family Fund bank account. And that was a lot of money.

The next day, Carlos had rehired Clay and paid him a higher rate to do less work. Miraculously, the Family Fund money made its appearance once more, as if it’d never been moved. Ever since, Carlos simply ignored Clay and signed his payroll checks. Of course Clay would never leave the laundromat; he used the easy income to fund his online poker habits and technology cravings.

“What’s up?” he parroted. I saw cards on the background of his laptop screen.

“This your only shift this week?” I asked. We each had to work two shifts at the laundromat desk, except for Clay who’d told Carlos he’d only do one.

Clay nodded, still engrossed in the game.

“Aren’t you going to ask me what I have to do for my first assignment?” I stared pointedly at him.

“What? Damn. The deck was hot. Sorry, what?” He finally looked up.

I lowered my voice and explained about the Russians stealing fifteen million dollars worth of ‘the good stuff’ from Carlos. “What
is
the good stuff, do you know?”

Clay looked at me like I was crazy. “Let me see that folder.”

“I think its drugs. Help me with the case.”

“Not a chance.”

“Then you’re not getting this folder.” I tucked it under my arm.

There was nothing Clay hated more than not knowing secret information, which was probably a large reason he’d concentrated his efforts on perfecting the art of hacking instead of learning about Christopher Columbus and multiplication tables like most fourth graders.

“Fine. I’ll help with the research.” Clay leaned forward, his black hair flopping over the side of his head.

I smiled and handed over the goods. “Thanks.”

I ran next door to my favorite 7-11 and filled up a large pumpkin spice latte: ¼ cup coffee, ½ cup mini marshmallows and ¼ cup steamed powdery milk. I took a sip of my pure, delicious heaven. I got to the register, eyeing the donuts greedily.

“Morning, Maria,” I said. “How’s it going?”

“Fine. Will this be all?” she nodded to my coffee.

“Hmmm, uh, mmm – yep.” I heed and hawed with my eyes drawn to the donut case, but a line was forming behind me.

“Are you sure?”

“Don’t do this to me,” I said through gritted teeth.

“Just checking.” The small Hispanic woman shrugged behind the counter and punched in my coffee price. “You positive?”

“Dammit Maria, fine. Two donut holes.” I fished out an extra dollar. Maria already had the correct change ready for my expanded purchase. To say this was our typical song and dance would be accurate. I grabbed two donut holes, inserted one into my mouth immediately, and shook my head at the 7-11 Manager who was eyeing me as if I’d stolen his precious sugar balls.

“Best sales person ever,” I told him, pointing at Maria. “Bye, girl!”

Maria was already busy with the next customer.

I swallowed both donuts before reentering the laundromat, since I hadn’t gotten Clay any.

“Get me a donut?” he asked as I approached the counter.

“I didn’t get any. I’m on a diet.” I patted my stomach.

“Sugar diet.”

“I didn’t specify.”

“You’ve got frosting on your teeth.”

“Shit. The good stuff.” I wiped a waylaid sprinkle from the corner of my mouth. It was hard to get anything past this guy.

Clay reached over and grabbed my coffee cup and took a swig. His face screwed up in a grimace and he spit the hot liquid into the garbage can next to the desk. “What is this? A cup of diabetes?”

“Give it,” I said grumpily. “It’s my one vice.”

Clay raised his eyebrows. “One, huh? You were never good at math.”

I opened my mouth to retort, but he gestured for me to come behind the marble countertop and I clamped my lips shut real fast.

“Wow, you are fast, buddy.” I stared face to face with Andrey Shemyakin, a cutie with blue eyes, even if he was a bit skinnier than my normal tastes.

“This twerp is new to the Organizatsiya. I scoped him out and found a lot of info on your guys – they’re not fun people. You’ll have to be careful.”

My stomach dropped a bit at Clay’s serious tone. “How dangerous?”

“They arrived in Minneapolis six months ago. Since then, we’ve seen six homicides – all tied to them –”

“How could you possibly know that?” I asked. “Isn’t that, like police records and stuff?”

Clay gave me a patronizing look. “Child’s play, cousin.”

I nodded. “Sorry. Continue.”

“Seems they’re determined to claim the Minneapolis turf as their own. We have Saint Paul pretty much locked down. It’d take a pretty big event for them to overturn the fortress we have here. But Uptown, they’re determined to show everyone there whose boss. And it looks like the others are listening. They’ve got – let’s see here – Lyndale through, wow. They’ve got all of Downtown and Uptown in their hands already. This’ll be ugly.”

“Alright, alright. Enough with the terror tactics. Tell me what I need to know to get ‘the good stuff’ back.”

“You’ll need to know all of this because ‘the good stuff’ is going to be in Minneapolis, and you’re going to need to go and get it. Right into the lion’s den.”

I scoffed. “There’s no way they can own a city. Plus, there are some bars I like on that side of town. I know the bartenders. You’ve met Meg, right?”

Clay raised an eyebrow and ignored my question. “Gotta be careful who you talk to on that side. I suspect there might be new loyalties.”

“Nah, not a chance. Meg?”

Clay again raised his shaggy eyebrows. “I just said be careful. It looks like this Andrey guy is fresh off the boat and looking to make his bones. He was linked to two of the six homicides, though nothing was ever proven. If he managed to nab this fifteen mil, he’d be looking pretty good to his superiors. My money’s on him.”

“How sure?”

Clay stared me down. “When have I ever given you faulty information?”

“Not questioning, just asking.” I sipped my diabetes cup. “Alright, Andrey. It’s on, cutie pie.”

“He’s way to skinny for you,” Clays snapped.

“What are you saying?” I asked.

Clay looked at my cup containing a thousand million trillion calories. “Nothing.”

As I nursed my hurt feelings, I bid Clay a terse goodbye and headed out to my clunker. I pondered the task at hand, trying to decide how I felt about chasing after a group of organized, hardened criminals. Not only were they dangerous and ruthless, but they were smart. They’d be a tough match. Not to mention, it wasn’t like I was out trying to save a kitty from a mean guy – I was trying to rescue stolen drugs, which, to be honest, may or may not have been stolen in the first place.

Mostly, I felt confused. But deep down, I wanted to do well by Carlos. A fair man by nature, I found myself inherently trusting his judgment more than I probably should. And if he thought that chasing down the drugs was the right thing to do, then I was willing to bet he had a good reason for doing it. He didn’t dabble in petty, trivial problems. He only dealt with the important kind of problem, the type of issue scaling into the fifteen million dollars range, I reminded myself.

I reached my car and slipped into the driver’s seat. I turned it on and pulled onto the road, operating on auto pilot, my mind still whirring, miles away.

It was tough sorting all my feelings out, searching for ways to justify my actions in an area all sorts of gray. Most of all, I guess my loyalty to Carlos was strong enough to override the feelings of confusion. My gut told me I was risking a lot joining up with this crew, but at the same time, I had confidence in the Family. They would never let anything happen to me, even Nora said so.

…

Right?

Chapter 8

Later that evening after Clay had closed up shop and I was wired on sugar and caffeine beyond belief, I stood in the bathroom trying to curl my limp hair.

“I’m going out,” I called to the living room, where Clay had about six monitors glowing. “Wanna come?”

I took the silence as a
Probably not tonight, dear cousin. Maybe another time.

“Cool,” I yelled back.

I looked at my botched hair job and sighed. Examining my medium brown hair on my medium-sized build with my larger-than-average mouth, I ranked quite unfailingly as ‘average’ on most human scales. Which would be fine with me, if my hair would just curl every now and again. Instead, it insisted on remaining perfectly straight, right past my shoulders, no life whatsoever.

“Alright, you win.” I bent in half and wet my hair, destroying all my hard work. I went to town scrunching it up with some mousse, hoping the faux curls would give it some volume. I flipped my head back up, nearly cracking my scull on the open mirror.

I swiped on a streak of lipstick and a couple dabs of mascara – already planning to forgo the tedious task of lining my eyes. I sighed. “Better.”

“Fine, respectable,” I amended under the mirror’s harsh gaze.

“I’m gonna go see Meg,” I said, stomping out to the living room in high heels, underwear and a bra. I had one arm in my dress.

Something twitched in Clay’s cheek. “Meg?”

“Yep.” I grabbed my purse, slipped on the remainder of my dress. My partial nudity didn’t matter – Clay’s eyes never left his screens.  

“Doesn’t she work in Uptown?”

“Yep. A pretty cool bar. Drink, it’s called. Heard of it?” I egged him on, knowing that he’d found out more information on the Russians than he’d told me.

“Lacey, that’s right in the heart of their little Russian nest. Don’t do it.”

“Meg and I are best friends. She’d tell me if there was something funny going on. And that’s exactly what I’m going to find out.” I swiped my prescription strength deodorant on my arm pits. If things were getting sketchy tonight, I didn’t want to pit out the entire time.

“That’s the place with those lava cakes and the – uh, giant pickles, right?”

“Of course. Why else would I be going? It’s the only place in town you can get a four dollar well vodka and a gladiator pickle at the same time. Ciao.”

“Wait.” Clay lumbered to his feet. He wasn’t an unattractive guy – he just had the sheen of a computer nerd (pale, almost translucent skin in direct sunlight) and was a bit soft around the waist. The rest of him was rather attractive: dark hair often pushed to one side, intelligent gray eyes and the height of a small tree. He was also a great hugger when he made the effort.

Which is what he was doing now.

“Groffff,” I mumbled. “What are you doing?”

Clay released his bear squeeze. “Just wanted to say bye.”

I watched him suspiciously as I walked towards the door and he returned to his seat and plunked away at his keys again. I suddenly felt a lot more nervous than I had seconds before. We were not an emotional pair, and I wasn’t quite sure how to take that hug.

“Scram,” he said. “You’ll be fine.”

And we were back to normal.

However, even as I closed the door, my heart jumped at double its speed, and I didn’t even notice my favorite piece of cuss-work glowing under the lamplight as I hurtled the crooked front steps.

Chapter 9

“I have been staring at that man’s ass
all
night.” Meg greeted me with a serious look the second I walked into a bar. I looked over and saw an extremely tall black man in the far corner, dread locks halfway down his back.

“Can I get a Gladiator Pickle?” I asked.

“Mmm,” she said. “Here.”

Meg produced a plate of fries from behind the counter and set it in front of me.

I waved at her. “Hello?”

“What?” she turned to me, tearing her eyes away from her target.

“Gladiator pickle. These are potatoes and grease and ketchup.”

Meg reached to remove the plate.

I yanked it away from her. “I didn’t say you had to take these away… I just wanted a pickle. Wow, you
are
distracted.”

“Sorry. You wanted a pickle, gladiator style.” Meg shook her head, seconds behind real time, off in her own world. “Sorry, but that man is driving me crazy! He’s all I can think about.”

“Ever seen him before?”

“Nope. He’s a newbie. Here ya are.” Meg leaned over the bar, her voluptuous chest spilling all over the wooden countertop. A ‘healthy’ sized chest, she said. Her doctors said overweight, but she often disagreed saying that the numbers on the scale shouldn’t be believed, since it’s all about how you feel. And Meg had more confidence than a Brazilian supermodel.

She was wearing little more than a black bra and a tight, bandage style dress she’d pushed around her hips into a makeshift skirt. A shiny belly button ring dangled from her navel and no less than nine holes were plunked in each of her ears – some of them in places I didn’t know were pierce-able.