Callie’s Last Dance

25.

Las Vegas.

Gwen Peters.

“LET’S SEE IF I’ve got this straight,” Gwen Peters says. “You’re offering me five hundred dollars to meet you for a cup of coffee?”

“That’s right.”

“And Carmine Porello gave you my cell phone number?”

“That’s correct.”

“Tell him I’m not interested.”

“Five hundred dollars for ten minutes of your time,” the young lady says.

“If Carmine’s paying, make it a grand. But the answer’s still going to be no.”

“I’ll agree to the thousand,” she says. “When can we meet?”

Gwen pauses. “What did you say your name was?”

“Willow Breeland. And it’s not Carmine’s money, it’s mine.”

“What’s going on here, Ms. Breeland? Are you trying to set me up?”

“No. And you can call me Willow. I’m only eighteen.”

“It has to be a public place.”

“No problem.”

“What is it you want?”

“I’m the new girl.”

“At Club Six?”

“The same. Carmine talks about you all the time. I want to meet you and find out why.”

Gwen laughs. “You’re ambitious.”

“You have no idea.”

“I’ll make this easy. You know the Starbucks on Emerson and Valley View?”

“No, but I’ll find it.”

“Find it quick. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

“How will I know you?”

Gwen laughs. “You’ll know me!” She pauses, then says. “And I’ll know you, too.”

Gwen was right. When she enters the coffee shop twenty minutes later, a pretty young woman stands.

Gwen walks to her table and says, “Willow?”

“Hi, Gwen.”

She sits down, motions Gwen to do the same.

“You have something for me?” Gwen says.

Willow removes an envelope from her handbag, pushes it across the table.

“Please,” she says. “Have a seat.”

Gwen sits, picks up the envelope, lifts the flap, smiles.

“You’re certainly one of a kind!” she says.

“Thank you.”

Gwen looks at her watch. “Your ten minutes starts…right now. What do you want to know?”

“Let’s start with Roy.”

“What about him?”

“Is he capable of bringing down Carmine?”

“With the right backing.”

“Then why hasn’t he?”

Gwen starts to answer, then pauses. She looks around the room, carefully studying the customers. Finally she says, “Are you wearing a wire?”

“No, of course not!”

Gwen studies her a minute, then says, “Let’s go.”

“Where?”

“Rest room.”

“Why?”

“If you’re planning to ask me mob shit, you’ll have to prove you’re not wearing a wire.”

“Wait. You don’t mean-”

Gwen laughs. “That’s exactly what I mean!”