Authors: Jack Parker
Scott looked at Donatello. "You don't like glass?"
"I happen to find glass quite useful. I have a friend who will make me any window I want at a moment's notice."
"Ever donate one?"
"Impressive."
Marlayna smiled like a Cheshire Cat. "I told you he was smart."
"So you did, my dear. Why yes, Mr. Crawford, I gave a gift of a stained glass window to St. Joseph's earlier this year."
Scott's case was fragmented and built on conjectures in part, but the seasoned journalist knew all conclusions had to start with hypotheses, even shaky ones. "Got a problem with the church?"
"Only when they donate their money to unworthy causes." The yellow toothy grin returned as he explained. "But that's a whole other story, isn't it Mr. Crawford? It's all about family in the end. One shouldn't forget where you came from."
Tessa opened her eyes at the veiled cue. Accomplished and well-respected journalist aside, Tessa was also, and maybe foremost, a mobster's daughter with a reputation to uphold, a family legacy to live up to, and walking away from a slap in the face, or in this instance, a whack on the head, was not even a consideration; justice was expected to be served.
She asked, "Where are we going?" but was ignored.
Scott kept his focus on Donatello. "The bible verse on the window – was that about family?"
"One needs to remind people from time to time of their roots and loyalty. I gave a gift to the church, I felt a need to speak the language."
"Just like you spoke the language when you killed Pascal DeMarco?"
"Be careful about laying accusations Mr. Crawford. You may not like the answers."
"Death is about revenge."
"Death is about order. It's neat, it's tidy and it's used in moderation."
"But for some reason the killing didn't end with DeMarco."
"What do you mean?"
"When you start killing women, people take notice."
"Ah, that they do. We only had to make our point."
"You mean Gail Lorence?"
"Yes. A bit of wolf, and all the loose sheep fall into line."
"But then Darla and Kate disappeared."
"I know nothing about that." Donatello cast a look at his daughter. "Tessa, would you like something to drink?"
"No, thank you." Instinctively, Tessa moved her hand to the bump on her head, grimacing even at the light touch. She growled through clenched teeth, directing her second comment to Ric. "Payback's going to be a bitch."
Surprisingly, he chose honesty, "I know," their eyes locking for a moment.
Her nose followed the smell of cheap perfume. "I'm surprised to see that you allow your 'goomah' to tag along with you." Tessa said to her father, while eyeing Marlayna.
"Manners , young lady," the elder Morgano reminded, "I would hate for there to be a problem and you miss your flight."
Tessa heard the woman huff in anger at the disparaging remark and squirm in her seat, but the look on Donatello's face gave notice to her, as well, to let it go.
They rode on in silence, the soft flicker of street lamp and headlight occasionally illuminating the car. The stereo was soft, playing classical Chopin; the pianist on tape, very talented. It was all very civilized.
Signs for the airport could be seen through the window. At last, the car slowed and then stopped. And yet, he wasn't sure that what he felt was relief. Scott had a random thought that they might not be given the opportunity to leave gracefully.
Ric got out first, offering a hand to help Tessa onto the sidewalk unloading area. Donatello leaned forward and closed the limo door, cutting off Scott's exit.
"A word, if I may," he said.
Scott had little choice. "What do you want?"
"You have a reputation. Connections." The deliberate pause implied much, and yet the other man's tone was businesslike. "I want you to come and work for me."
"Why me? Reporters are a dime a dozen."
"You want to expose the Xenex Corporation. I can do that for you. Marlayna will send along the relevant files in the morning, so that you can begin to write the first article. "
"And if I say no?"
"Someone is getting on that plane to Chicago, Mr. Crawford." The man pulled two airline tickets from the inside pocket of his tuxedo jacket. He extended them towards Scott. "I'm assuming you don't want Ric to escort Tessa home. He's a bit of a loose cannon, I don't really trust him."
Scott could hear the other two opening the trunk, unloading the luggage. Marlayna laughed a little, but offered no other information. Irritated, Scott refused to look at her. He felt foolish for trusting her. His gut should have known that a broken nose was too easy, the sense of security, a lie.
"You don't need me," Scott said, eyes narrowed, wondering what else was going on. How deeply had he already been played?
Donatello smiled. "That's true," pausing for effect, he tilted his head towards the sidewalk, "but do you need Contessa?"
Taking the tickets, Scott opened the car door, stepping out with the others.
Ric handed him his suitcase. "Somebody must have gone back to your hotel and gotten your things."
Scott lifted an eyebrow but said nothing, guessing that not all of his things had been packed.
Ric climbed in to take his place and the limo left them at the curb. Tessa stood with her bag in her hand and another over her shoulder. Scott recognized both, pointing to the red designer bag that clashed with her outfit. "I knew there was a reason that I liked you. Not afraid to make a bold fashion statement."
Tessa didn't laugh. Scott could almost feel the cold shoulder as she turned and marched into the terminal, at the same time trying to put on the last shoe of a pair she'd pulled from her bag. Surprisingly, the two journalists were not followed into the airport. Donatello had obviously made his point and wasted enough of his evening. Marlayna apparently did not miss her handbag. The move was subtle enough that even Scott hadn't noticed Tessa's light fingers.
Scott asked, "Why?"
"Self-preservation," was all his companion said.
The two zipped through security with only a few minutes to spare and walked to the gate for one of the last flights of the evening. Only then did reaction start to set it. They'd both nearly been killed and the ride wasn't over. Scott's stomach rolled, and he swallowed the bile that rose in his throat. Scott stopped at a drinking fountain, took a moment to gulp some water thinking...
I need another profession.
In the background, he could hear their flight being called. Scott looked up and saw Tessa standing by the gate, holding the purse protectively, her weight shifting from foot to foot.
He wanted to reach up and touch the bruise on her forehead, ask her how she was, but instead he smiled a little and asked, "So, ready to go home?"
She said nothing.
Scott took the silence as a "yes" and presented their boarding passes.
After finding their first-class seats, Scott stowed his luggage, helped Tessa with hers, and took the designated aisle seat. "You're going to have to talk to me sometime," he said, unsure where her anger was coming from.
"Make an appointment."
"Fine," Scott grumbled, snatching a pillow and shoving it behind his head. "Tuesday, lunch. You buy."
Twisting in her seat, she glared at him. "I will seriously hurt you if I find you've been playing me."
"W-what?" He could barely get the word out.
"How long were you and Marlayna an item?" she questioned out of the blue.
"I told you; I don't get involved with women I work with."
"Oh, yeah. Well, we all know how well you stick to that rule."
The deliberate pause made him think, and glance down at her mouth. But he didn't rise to the bait.
Tessa raged on, "You can't play both sides of the fence."
"Why not? You do."
"Oh don't you dare. This isn't about me." A finger was pointed at him. "Marlayna, Ric, my father—it was like homecoming back there. What did he say to you?"
"You don't want to know."
She blinked. The hurt showed as she slid an inch or two closer to the window. "And that's all you have to say?"
"What do you want me to do, Tessa? Confess some grand plot? That your father sent me there to hunt you down, string you along, and bring you to New York so that you
wouldn't
have dinner with him?" He deliberately chose his words to show how ridiculous the idea was.
But the thought caught hold and bloomed. She couldn't shake all the coincidences. Where he chose to work, Darla, and he knew Dante.
Her voice was soft as she asked, "Ma tu sapevi chi ero prima che tu arrivasti a Chicago?"
"Don't try and read something into it if I say I understood what you said. I've lived in thirteen countries. I can speak Italian." Scott looked away.
She didn't.
"That's not what I asked you. Did you know who I was before you came to Chicago?"
The truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.
"Yes, I did."
Geography
Silence.
Tessa turned her head, looking away from Scott. She stared at the headrest in front of her.
He could have babbled something—maybe filled the silence with a feeble excuse, but he didn't.
The stewardess standing in the aisle asked if Scott wanted a drink.
"No, thanks," he replied.
"Would you like something , ma'am?"
"Red wine, please," Tessa replied, a plastic smile on her face.
Normally the window shade would have been pulled down, shielding any visual of the ground moving out from beneath her feet as the plane surged down the runway. But tonight, Tessa pushed the visor as high as it would go, gazing casually out the window at the lines on the landing strip. They moved faster and faster, until they were nothing but a blur, and she felt the lift of takeoff press her back into the airplane seat.
The glass of wine remained untouched in her hand. It sloshed in her glass and dripped onto her fingers. She pulled one to her lips, kissing the sweet alcohol. This was her poison. And yet, as she stared at the blood-like color, she had no desire to take another sip. She would resist.
Just as she would resist him.
The silence continued. Scott sat back in his seat, eyes closed. He looked calm and unaffected by his lies—his omissions. Too calm.
She flicked her drink at him. It splashed off his face, rolled down his chin, and wet the front of his shirt.
His green eyes popped open, face grim. "Feel better?"
"Not really."
"Too bad I can't return the favor."
Scott mirrored her posture, shoulders stiff, until the captain turned off the 'fasten seatbelt' sign. With that soft chime, and the announcement that he was free to move about the cabin, Scott did just that.
Tessa glanced in his direction, but didn't ask him where he was going. Obviously he couldn't get far.
He rummaged in the overhead bin and pulled a T-shirt from his suitcase. Methodically, he undid the buttons on the dress shirt and pulled it off, replacing the garment with the dry one. He then sat back down with Marlayna's purse.
"That's mine," Tessa grumbled, pulling at the leather strap.
"Really? Petty larceny will get you one to five." He took out Marlayna's wallet. "Wanna go for ten to twenty?" Several thousand-dollar bills were in the billfold. He flashed the inside and then passed the leather wallet to her. "Looks like we just moved up to grand larceny."
"I thought I could trust you."
"You can trust me. I'm on your side."
"Ha! You admitted you knew who I was..."
"So?"
Blindly, Tessa accepted the other woman's wallet while Scott pulled other items from the bag: a scarf, a pack of cigarettes, cosmetics. All were stacked neatly on Scott's tray table.
"So? You're not some rookie reporter looking for a big story."
"You knew that before. I haven't changed. I still want to find out who runs the Xenex Corporation, and who killed Darla. Don't you?"
She lifted one shoulder.
Scott leaned forward. "Let's try this again. All I said was I knew your full name, and that you might know more than you let on. What of it? If anything, it's me who should be nervous. I've been shot at and nearly blown up—on more than one occasion I might add—since you became my partner."
"Funny thing is," she added dryly, "same stuff's happened to me—ever since
you
became
my
partner."
He smiled again. "Don't ever say I don't show a girl an exciting time."
She rolled her eyes, apparently not appreciating his sense of humor.
Shaking his head, Scott said, "Look, I just got
thee
lecture from your Daddy. You're stuck with me."
She wasn't sure how to respond to that comment. Tessa's olive-toned fingers slid over the calfskin wallet. Flipping the brass clasp, she splayed the selection of credit cards and identification for viewing. Conversationally, she said, "The only one she's missing is Diner's Club. Oh, wait. There it is." She did not like this woman, for more reasons than simply the obvious, but…Tessa sighed; she couldn't put her finger on it.
Scott opened a lipstick tube, sniffed the contents. "The lady likes to buy things. Be interesting to know who pays the bills."
"Are you suggesting…?" her tone was mocking.
"I had no idea she was in his pocket. Although, I probably should have guessed something of the sort. Did your father talk about her?"
"I don't know…I don't talk to my father."
The cell phone in his palm was surprisingly empty of stored numbers. Only five were programmed in its memory, and Scott didn't recognize the names. Only one made him take note. She'd coded in 'D.T' on the speed dial, and the first thought he had was, strangely enough, "Deep Throat"—every newspaper writer's dream source.
Scott scrolled through the list again as he tried to think of any Post employee who might match the initials. His fingers itched to dial the number and see what happened, but given they were in flight, he couldn't.
Tessa continued to inspect the wallet. Business cards clustered in several slip pockets, not an unusual thing for a high-powered woman. Lifting one bunch from their stash point, she flipped through the collection. "Sometimes people write little notes on the back of these cards."
"Find anything?" Scott asked.
Tessa was turning each card over, inspecting both sides. "Would I even know if I saw something?"
The stack before her grew larger: one from a prominent New York City advisor, two different car services, a financial consultant, a building inspector and a councilman from Chicago.
Interesting mix.
"Barton Malone," Tessa mumbled, "there's a name that keeps coming up."
Scott snatched the card and scanned the generic information on the front. "Councilman Malone. After his press conference in Chicago I got my first 'be careful' warning from Detective Blaine and the note on my windshield."
She didn't respond.
Scott pushed. "Darla's family got a postcard...I got a note...same author."
Maybe she was absorbed in looking at all the business cards, but her lack of interest had to make him wonder.
Continuing to flip a few more cards over to read the back, Tessa finally said, "And you know this, Sherlock, because…?
"Same backwards 'e' on both."
"On both postcards?"
"No, the first postcard and the note," he said "I did mention it to you once before."
Scott stared at her for a moment, though she wasn't looking at him for her to notice his scrutiny. The writing on both cards to the Perelli's was not much better than scrawl but the second one had a different slant to the script and lacked the notable backwards 'e' of the first. The obtuse act didn't wear well on her.
"So, where is it?"
"Where's what?"
"The note?"
"Crumpled up and tossed on the Hilton parking lot."
"Well, that makes it a little hard to use as evidence." She almost appeared happy at his carelessness.
The topic was closed. Scott could tell by her body language, and simply, she had a point. Without the note, he couldn't really press his suspicions.
Strange choice of words though.
Scott began searching for some sort of secret pocket in the purse of a thousand things. He found one among the folds, opened the zipper, and extracted two loose keys. He added them to his pile. "How did she ever find anything in here?"
She let the wallet and business cards fall into her lap. Tired and reluctant to share with Scott, she sighed, "I don't know what I'm looking for. The woman carried too much cash and credit."
"Maybe, if needed, she wanted to be able to get out of town fast."
"We should all be so lucky."
"Okay, but…"
"But what?"
"But we just cut off her escape route." He pointed to the wallet
"There is no escape," Tessa said, barely above a whisper. Her gaze was distant, as if staring at the blatant truth.
His time with this woman had been short, barely 48 hours, but he didn't need to ask her to explain.
True to a spy novel, he picked up a powder compact and busied himself trying to pry the mirror from the front of the case, suspecting some sort of microdot underneath.
No such luck.
Disgusted, he began shoving everything back into the bag. "Tell me. Why were you so sure Cy had gone underground and wasn't dead?
"Does it matter?" she hedged.
"Maybe not," Scott said, while staring at her, "but maybe."
"I'd heard things through the grape vine," she said without looking at him.
"This grape have a name?"
"Nope."
Scott picked up the contents of the wallet strewn about Tessa's lap, adding them to the haphazard pile growing in the purse. It didn't matter that the credit cards were loose like playing cards, he'd probably courier the mess back to Marlayna as is.
She didn't want to discuss things; Scott decided he needed time to think. He made an excuse, "I'm going to catch a cat nap, you may want to do the same."
Leaning back the leather seat, he crossed his arms over his chest and closed his eyes, turning his face away. The air conditioning was cold and she mentally excused his closed-off body language as warmth generating rather than defensive.
The reporter didn't sleep. Instead, he reviewed the events of the last 24 hours and tried to make sense of them. He was no closer to solving the riddle when the plane landed. Scott collected all their personal belongings, handing Marlayna's purse to Tessa.
"It doesn't go with my outfit," he explained, trying to lighten the mood even though he felt distinctly separated from his companion.
He smiled at the joke. She didn't.
They had a car at the airport, Dante's Mustang, but Tessa advised against collecting it in the wee hours of the morning in the deserted garage. Scott couldn't argue with the logic, when she noted that their arrival would be known and any 'random ambush' well planned, but there was one small detail they appeared to be overlooking.
Scott asked, "But isn't Dante going to need his car?"
She'd wondered about that too, but it had been about a month since she'd heard from Dante; normally no more than a day or so went by without him giving her a call. But that worry would have to take its place at the end of a long list of concerns she had in connection with her twin brother.
"Let's just get a cab," Tessa suggested. "I want to go home. We can regroup tomorrow."
Given their location, it made sense to head to Tessa's place first, but it soon became clear that 'going home' would also not be the best plan. The cab cruised up to Tessa's apartment building, only to be waved off by a police barricade. Emergency vehicles lined the street.