Page 34 of Christmas with the Mafia
Regina grins and she yells, “Coming, Mr. Pettigrew.”
With a triumphant smirk, she wrenches the scarf off and runs to the door, flinging it open to reveal an old man bent almost double, eyeing the scene with suspicion.
Trent rolls his eyes as the old man barks, “Who are these men, Reggie, are they bothering you?”
“It’s fine, Mr. Pettigrew, they are helping me, well, it’s a long story, but I’ll be away for Christmas, so I want you to have this.”
She pulls a package off the shelf by the door and thrusts it into his arms.
“What’s this?”
“Your Christmas gift. I won’t be around for eggnog on Christmas Eve after all, so you must take it now.”
“Why, where are you going?”
I’m fast losing the will to live and interrupt, “With me. I’m sorry, sir, we really don’t have time to explain. Merry Christmas.”
I grasp Regina’s hand tightly and before she can react, I pull her down the hallway fast, resisting the urge to throw her over my shoulder and drag her out.
The sooner we get out of this building, the better for my sanity, and I only wish I could throw a can of gasoline behind me and light the match and watch the entire rat-infested place burn to the ground.
Seventeen
REGINA
I am fuming.How dare he pull me away from polite interaction with my neighbor.
“You’re angry.”
He states the freaking obvious as we sit in the car once again, hurtling toward God only knows what.
“Of course I am. I wanted to chat with my friend.”
“Your friend.” He sighs. “Then I have saved you in more ways than one.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Simon Pettigrew started off life as a reporter and worked his way up to be head of entertainment at The New York Times. His career ended abruptly when he was accused of fabricating stories for cash and subsequently snorting the proceeds up his nose. His wife left him, and his son, Edward, was sent to live with her due to the amount of child porn found on his computer. Subsequently, he spent some time in prison before being set free, where he was met with nothing. He now lives off the state and exists in the place you amusingly call ahome. Mr. Pettigrew is not and never will be your friend.”
I am speechless. I have nothing to say, and as Nico transfers his attention to his phone once again, I try to stop my head from spinning. I open my mouth several times to speak but close it again when the words won’t come.
Mr. Pettigrew.
My Mr. Pettigrew is a felon and rather a sick one at that. I cast my mind back to the pictures decorating his wall of his son. At least I thought it was his son, and I shiver. They were everywhere in his apartment. Pictures of him with his son, in the swimming pool, on the beach, in the bath at home. It never occurred to me before, but in every shot, the child was naked, and in some cases, he was too. I used to avert my eyes, but now I’m concerned that those pictures weren’t sweet memories; they were evidence.
“Close your mouth, Regina.”
Nico’s curt response makes me blink, and I’m surprised when his hand closes around mine and he says softly, “I’m sorry for your loss.”
“My loss?”
“Yes. You respected a man who deserved your contempt. You must be angry about that.”
“It’s not anger I’m feeling, more disappointment and shame that I missed the signs.”
“The signs?”
I nod miserably. “I don’t want to talk about him ever again. In fact, Simon who? I don’t recall his surname.”
