Page 59 of His Dark Vendetta

By one a.m., the only people left in The Dollhouse were me, Rocco, Mia, and the bartender. Mia was finishing her last appointment, but the rest of the patrons had left about ten minutes prior. The dancers were done by twelve-thirty, and luckily for me, Jenny’s last appointment was at eleven.

Rocco let me out of my holding cell, and I sat at the bar while he helped clean. I found a deck of cards on one of the tables and laid out a game of solitaire.

Mia walked up, her client in tow. “Can you let him out, Rocco?”

“Sure thing,” Rocco replied.

She stretched her arms overhead, and the big wall of bouncer led a short, wiry man with curly red hair to the front door.

“I’m beat,” she said and yawned.

“Same.” I flipped over a stack of three cards. “And I didn’t even work tonight.”

“You hungry? I’m starving.”

I was, but I learned to answer “no” to that question a long time ago. Nine times out of ten, I couldn’t eat whatever the person was offering and turning down food was awkward business. “I’m good. Thanks.”

She scrunched her nose. “I think I have some protein bars in my car. And I need to get my sneakers. Rocco?”

“Yeah?” He relocked the front door.

“Walk me to my car? I need to get a few things before we lock up for the night.”

“You got it. Keep an eye on her, Joe?” Rocco nodded in my direction.

“Yeah,” the bartender said and continued to stack pint glasses.

I went back to my solitaire game and imagined all the pudding I’d eat when I got back to Luca’s house.

The front door rattled like someone was trying to open it. When that didn’t work, they pounded on the glass. The bartender jogged over, unlocked the door, and Vito Balistreri walked in.

“They here yet?” he asked, unmistakable urgency in his clipped question.

“Vito,” the bartender said, surprised, and hurried to keep up with Mr. Balistreri’s quick strides. “We’re closed.”

He stopped. “They’re not here yet.”

“Who?”

“Luca. Dominic.”

“No. They left hours ago.”

He glanced at his watch. “I need clean towels and a bottle of vodka.” He pointed at the double doors that led to the back. “Where’s the best light?”

“Prolly the girls’ dressing room. What’s doin’?”

“We got trouble.”

“Well, Mr. Moretti said they’d be back before closing to pick up his lady.” The bartender jerked his head in my direction.

Mr. Balistreri turned to where I sat at the bar and narrowed his eyes. “What the hell are you doing here?”

ChapterNineteen

Luca

We parked a quarter mile apart on the long, straight stretch of Mass Pike. Sal had dropped off the fake U-Haul and the black cargo van at a gas station outside Needham about an hour before we arrived. He ran Vinnie’s scrapyard in Revere and had a refurbished box truck he painted to look like a U-Haul. The van he stole out of state and filed off the VIN. Both had clean throw-away plates. Didn’t need the job going south because someone spotted a stolen vehicle.

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