Final Justice, page 15
Peter could feel Angela tense up, but her face remained expressionless.
“Any of you guys from around here?” asked the cop, his tone softening just a bit.
“No,” came the collective answer. Several in the group told him where they were from and what school they attended.
“Looks like this just happened, probably within the last hour,” the cop went on. “Were you all inside Jack’s together?”
“Yes we were officer,” answered Freedman, his British accent very pronounced as he made a circling motion with his arm. “We’ve all been sitting around together chatting for over an hour.”
A tentative smile came on the cop’s face. “You’re from England, right?” he asked as Freedman nodded. “I love the way you Brits talk.”
Then the cop mumbled, “sorry, this isn’t what normally happens in Vermont.”
Fifteen minutes later, the police let everyone leave. Manolo and Freedman patted Peter’s back and waved good-bye to Angela.
“See you guys on the slopes tomorrow,” said Peter. Angela said nothing.
“Okay Angela, spit it out,” said Peter when they got back to the chalet. “I hate the silent treatment.”
“I saw the blood splattered all over your sweater,” she said, “and on the inside of your jacket.”
He didn’t respond.
“My God Peter, even though you don’t have a mark on you, I can’t help wondering if it was you who beat that guy to a pulp.”
Peter hesitated for just a moment before he walked over to her.
“What happened tonight is unfortunate,” he said, “but it’s not the first time someone has taken a swipe at me, and it probably won’t be the last.
“I can never allow anyone to talk that way to me, or to my family, and get away with it. Can you understand that? And accept it?”
She didn’t answer. She turned and walked over to the picture window, looking out into the blackness.
“Now, I do not wish to discuss this anymore,” Peter went on emphatically. He poured himself a glass of red wine.
“But you’re the one who said you wanted to talk,” said Angela as she turned back to look at him. “So start talking.”
He gulped down his wine and poured himself another. “Okay, I’ll tell it to you straight. I like you, I like you a lot.”
After a few minutes of silence, Angela asked incredulously, “That’s it? Nothing else?”
“Listen Angela, you and I have just spent five days together attached at the hip with no sex to distract us, at least none to distract you,” he said.
She started to giggle, then put her hand over her mouth to stop.
“I’m having some very serious thoughts about you,” he continued. “Thoughts I didn’t plan to have about anyone for a long time yet. You don’t need me to spell it out because you’re too sensitive a person not to understand what I’m trying to say.”
Her big saucer eyes stayed glued to his.
“You know, I almost didn’t come to that Mass for your father last month,” she finally said. “But my mother insisted. And now I have the feeling that my life has changed course because I gave in to her”.
Peter refilled his glass for the third time.
She sighed and walked over to pour herself a glass of wine. “Okay. As to the incident outside Jack’s, I wasn’t there, so I don’t know for sure what happened. I know that I’m rationalizing but it will have to do for now. As to the part about feelings, I can relate to what you’re saying. I feel the same way about you.
“So, let’s make a deal, you and I. We keep our relationship between ourselves—no mothers, no brothers, and no friends, until we both feel sure that the time is right to take the next step.”
“Done,” he answered without hesitation, walking over to take her in his arms.
As his mouth covered hers, he moaned and said, “Angela, won’t you at least reconsider the sex part?” His hands were caressing her back and as he pulled her even closer, she could feel his hardness.
“Mmm, you feel so good and I love the way you kiss me,” she whispered against his lips, “but a deal is a deal.”
“Deal? What deal?” he asked in between kisses. “I didn’t make any deal.”
“Yes you did,” she answered smiling. “Besides, I already told you. I’m saving myself for the right man, just like your mother did, and just like my mother did. I know it’s “hokey”, to quote you, but that’s what’s right for me.
“Now, kiss me some more,” she went on. “We can at least start practising for the main event.”
Chapter 16
Toronto, Ontario.
Elizabeth spent the morning walking through the Royal Ontario Museum, which was across from the hotel. She needed to think about last night. She would have preferred walking outside, but winters in Toronto could be worse than the Arctic, and it appeared that this weekend was going to be one of those. The temperature was minus ten Celsius, with the wind chill factor making it seem more like minus twenty.
As she huffed up and down the museum’s three levels of displays as part of her exercise workout, she told herself that she was just lonely; that Larry was unfinished business; that she needed to feel desirable again; that she needed a diversion from the guilt she’d been carrying around for over a year; that she wanted to feel young again.
After all, what woman doesn’t deserve this kind of attention, and this much passion, from a younger man?
At four thirty in the afternoon, Matthew DeLuca, wearing navy corduroy slacks and a Boston Bruins sweater, answered a knock on their hotel suite’s door. It was Meghan Lyons and her father Larry.
“Hi kid,” he said to Meghan, “come on in.” He walked over to the armoire in the corner of the large room and picked up a bag from Sporting Life.
“Here, this is for you,” he said as he handed it to her, smiling. “This way we’ll both be protected in case there’s a hostile crowd.
Inside was a Toronto Maple Leaf sweater with Meghan’s name written across the back, and underneath it, the number 007. She shrieked with delight and ran into the powder room to try it on.
Elizabeth smiled at her son, amazed at how thoughtful he could be. She was pretty sure that his selection of the number 007 was a bit of a friendly dig at her. But it didn’t matter. This little girl was in heaven. Elizabeth glanced over at Larry who was beaming at his daughter’s excitement.
Wait Elizabeth, she warned herself. It’s too soon.
“Okay, I’m ready,” said Meghan skipping out of the bathroom wearing her new sweater. She spun around in front of her father, and then picked up her shoulder pouch and put her pea jacket on. Just then the phone rang.
“Hello darling,” said Elizabeth, mouthing the word Peter to Matthew.
“Oh I’m so glad you’re having a great week. Will I see you before you back to school? Of course I’m disappointed. Okay, just a minute, and remember, I love you.”
She handed the phone to Matthew. “I’ll take it in the other room,” he said, turning to Meghan and pointing his finger at her. “Hey you, you the one with the Maple Leaf shirt, wait for me. I’ll be right back.”
“What’s up?” asked Matthew as he settled on his bed with the portable phone.
“I had a little incident a couple of days ago,” answered Peter. “Some drunk mangi-cakes mouthing off. It was looked after, but I think we should find out a little more about the situation. Call Lenny Bratuso for me, will you?”
“Okay,” answered Matthew. “But tell me, what happened? You can talk on this line.”
“Well, I’m at DeVillers’ chalet,” said Peter, hesitating. “Ah, this line must be okay too.
“Angela and I.
“Wait,” interrupted Matthew, his heart sinking. “Angela who?”
“You know. That Angela,” answered Peter, hearing his brother’s intake of breath. “She is really something else. But I’ll tell you more when we get back to school.
“But for now, this guy shot off his mouth as Angela and I were about to go into a restaurant. He was standing outside with two other dudes and they were all pissed out of their heads. Anyhow, after I got Angela settled inside, Manolo and Latchman came outside with me to have a chat with him. When the skinhead’s friends started to butt in, Manolo spoke to them, very quietly.”
“Hey, look who’s back!” shouted the ringleader. “The mafioso!”
His hair was shaved like a skinhead, his skin was pockmarked and his neck was covered in tattoos. As he started to move towards Peter, his two companions caught a glimpse of Yuri Latchman approaching from the other side—and what was in his hand. They tried to pull their friend away.
“Justin, let’s go! There’s gonna be trouble.”
Latchman lifted his arm back of his head, almost like a golf swing, and brought down a rubber billy club across the bridge of Justin’s nose. As blood spattered into the air, Latchman repeated the swing more rapidly, hitting him again in the face and then across the neck, right at his adam’s apple. He made a gurgling noise as he fell to the ground. Latchman swung back his leg and kicked him again in the face before Perry Manolo pulled him away.
“Tyou Mat!” snarled Latchman in Russian at the writhing body on the ground. Then he spit at him. “You fucking Nazis! I should kill you!”
Peter and Manolo held Latchman until he calmed down. The other two skinheads were standing in a frozen state, neither one able to move. Then Manolo walked over to speak to them.
“Unfortunate altercation, wouldn’t you agree?” he asked very quietly. They both nodded their heads and assured him that they had seen nothing.
“I appreciate your understanding. I won’t forget it.” Then he gave each one some cash and the two of them took off.
Matthew chuckled. “Yah, we all know how quiet Manolo can talk.”
“Anyhow, they took off with some money and a word of caution,” Peter continued. “Latchman said he’d follow it up personally, but now I’m thinking that we should know who they were for ourselves, just in case they decide to get greedy or something.”
“Okay Peter, I’ll call Lenny tonight,” Matthew said. “Do you want me to call you back or wait until I see you next week?”
“Wait, unless you think it can’t,” answered Peter.
Matthew quickly made a call to Lenny Brattuso before he went back to join his mother and the others.
He ruffled Meghan’s hair and said, “let’s go then kiddo. The Goalies of Oz await us.”
“Would you like a drink Larry?” asked Elizabeth after the kids left. She walked over to the bar. “Wine, hard drink, soft drink, or whatever?”
“Nothing thanks,” he answered, pulling her close. “Don’t you think it’s rather interesting how the game of hockey has played a part in our lives once again?”
Elizabeth could feel goosebumps on her skin as she anticipated his touch. When their lips met, Elizabeth again gave in to the delicious sensations overwhelming her. Then the phone rang and jolted her back to reality.
“Hi,” said Michael DeVillers cheerfully. “I’m running a little early and I thought I might pick you up sooner. I have to look at some property and I was hoping you could keep me company.”
She hesitated for only a second before answering.
“Yes, half an hour from now will be fine. I’ll meet you in the lobby.”
“Who was that?” asked Larry, obviously disappointed.
“A friend of my son Peter,” answered Elizabeth in what she knew was a monumental understatement. “He’s interested in a property that I want to sell. It’s the primary reason I’m here this weekend and I’m going to take him over to see it.”
Why are you lying? And so easily too.
“We’ll see each other tomorrow afternoon,” she said, easing out of his arms, “followed by a fabulous steak and lobster dinner for you and Meghan.”
Elizabeth DeLuca was the object of many admiring glances as she stood in the lobby of the hotel waiting for Michael. She was dressed in Versace—slim black suede pants, a cream silk blouse with collars and cuffs embroidered in cream lace, and a matching black and taupe suede bomber jacket. She’d let her streaked blonde hair grow longer and it hung loose, framing her high cheekbones and exquisite green eyes. On her feet she wore Ferragamo boots with low heels and slung over her shoulder was a suede tote bag.
When a steel grey Mercedes pulled up to the entrance, a door opened off the lobby and two well-dressed men went scurrying towards it. Elizabeth watched in amusement as the men flitted around the passenger side of the car, making it very difficult for Michael to get out. Finally, they stepped aside, but they continued to hover around him, bowing each time he spoke to them.
Who is he really? This man is receiving homage, not just polite respect.
She smiled warmly as Michael walked through the doors and saw her. Elizabeth held out her hand in greeting, pleased at the admiring look in his eyes.
“I feel as if I too should bow, or at least offer some token of respect,” she said smiling. “My goodness Michael, are you the owner of this hotel or what?”
“You are exquisite, as always,” he answered, taking her hand and kissing it. “Pay no attention to all that blarney. They do it for everyone.”
I think not.
Michael took her arm and headed out the hotel’s Cumberland exit.
The cold air was numbing, but Elizabeth just pulled her jacket tighter and did up the zipper as she walked beside him towards Avenue Road.
By the time they reached the traffic light two blocks to the north, Elizabeth was feeling terrific. The cold air and the brisk walk had invigorated her. When they crossed the street and started up Tranby Avenue, Elizabeth stopped in her tracks. Michael tugged on her arm until they reached a three-story red brick house.
“This looks familiar,” she said staring at him intently. “Or is it just a coincidence?”
“Caught in the act!” he laughed good-naturedly. “Yes, it’s true. The property I wanted to look at just happens to belong to a certain American woman named Elizabeth DeLuca. Could that be you?”
“Michael, what do I do now?” she asked cheerfully. “I need to sell this property, but I don’t want to appear too anxious. Santino used to tell me that the best way to handle real estate transactions is with controlled disinterest. So, should I pretend I’m not really interested, or should I clap my hands with glee that I’ve found a live one.”
DeVillers tossed his head back and laughed.
“You are a delight Elizabeth,” he said. “You have such a wonderful way of captivating people, especially a jaded businessman like me.”
She took out a key from her purse and they walked up to the doorway.
“The tenants moved out last month,” she said. “And there was no sense in renting it to anyone else once I decided to sell.”
Inside, the house was narrow—an open staircase was situated halfway down the main hall. The floors were stained in dark wood with stucco walls. As they walked through the main level, Elizabeth resolved not to let any memories from the past overwhelm her again.
“This house represents some very happy years for me,” she said as Michael tapped on the walls and ran his fingers along the windows. “I used the main floor to display some of our art collection, and the second floor was where I did my sculptures. The third floor was a large playroom for the boys who were often here with me.”
“I’m told by those who should know that you are a very respected expert in British art and antiques,” Michael said as they clambered up the narrow staircase to the third floor. “Did you ever think about opening a gallery of your own for profit?”
“No, not really,” she answered. “Santino wouldn’t have allowed it.”
When they finished walking through the house, Michael turned to her.
“The irony is that I was interested in this property before I knew that it belonged to you,” he said. “My company is developing this side of Avenue Road into what I hope will be upscale townhomes. My agents have been buying up options on as many properties as they can.”
“Is that because the real estate market is so depressed and you can buy properties for a steal?” she asked.
“Yes,” he answered. “And this house is smack in the middle of where I want to be.”
They went outside and walked around the house in silence for another few minutes. Then Elizabeth took one more look before the two of them turned away and walked briskly back to the hotel.
“Okay my lady,” said Michael, helping her into the car as the driver held the door open. “Enough business. I promise you a dinner that you’ll never forget.”
The entrance was narrow, with just a small neon sign overhead. It would be quite easy for someone who wasn’t familiar with it to just pass by.
Michael DeVillers and Elizabeth DeLuca arrived at seven forty-five and were greeted by Geoffrey, revered around town as the main man of Rodney’s. Elizabeth was surprised to see that there was no one else in the restaurant.
“What’s running good today?” Michael asked as he and Elizabeth eased themselves onto the only two stools at the bar.
“I recommend the Pine Islands, the Belon, and the large Mala-peques, Mr. D.,” Geoffrey answered.
“We’ll have a dozen of each,” said Michael.
“And bring us two red stripe beers and two gritstone ales with the oysters. I want the lady to have a taste of both to see which she prefers.”
“Yessir,” answered Geoffrey. “Shall I bring some bread and butter too?”
“Yes, and a bottle of Montrachet,” answered Michael. “You can put it on ice, opened, while we’re nibbling.
“Michael, how much can I eat and drink?” Elizabeth asked him smiling. “I’ll explode before I can finish half of what you’ve ordered.”
“It’s been too long since I was last here,” he answered. “And I want to taste everything.”
Elizabeth tapped Michael on the shoulder and signalled him to lean closer.
“Why is there nobody else here?” she whispered in his ear. “Is there something wrong with this place?”
