Cut and Run

31

Two Louis Vuitton bags, one for makeup and hair, one for clothes, were all his mother was taking to Vegas but to Paul her packing process was slower than moving mountains. He was ready to shove his mother out the door when Tasha pulled up in the circular driveway, ten minutes too early, in her little Honda.

Not what I need, Paul thought, but he smiled and gave Tasha a too-quick, just-friends hug, knowing his mother was watching from a window.

Tasha leaned back from him. ‘I stink now?’

‘No. I’m tense. Bad, bad day. Getting my mother out of town.’

‘Introduce me. I bet I make her want to stick around.’

He took her into the hallway. Frank Polo and Mary Pat Bellini were already in the foyer, Frank wheezing, with Mary Pat’s two packed-to-the-brim bags.

‘Mom,’ Paul said, ‘this is Tasha. She’s a friend of mine.’

‘How nice to meet you,’ Mary Pat Bellini said and her smile seemed to rise like a fence as she shook Tasha’s hand. ‘What a lovely sweater.’

‘What a lovely home,’ Tasha said. ‘Paul has told me all about you. For hours on end.’

‘You’re catching me heading out the door.’ Mary Pat glanced at Paul. ‘Practically being pushed. My son thinks I need a little vacation. He doesn’t give a lady much choice.’

‘He can be real pushy,’ Tasha said. ‘But in the sweetest way.’

‘Mom, Frank’ll drive you to the airport. Have a great time. Don’t go crazy at the baccarat tables, okay?’ Frank looked surprised at the announcement of his assignment but he picked up Mary Pat’s luggage and carried it out to her Mercedes’ trunk.

‘Paul, darling,’ Mary Pat said. ‘You look like you’re considering a coronary.’

‘I’ll see you on Tuesday, Mom. Unless we got developments here and you need to stay in Vegas.’

‘I’m not being gone from your daddy that long, Paul. Forget it.’

‘Or away from Paul, either, right?’ Tasha said.

Mary Pat snapped a quick smile at Tasha. ‘Nice to meet you, dear.’

‘It’s great to meet the woman who raised Paul. The source of his brains and good manners.’

Mary Pat’s smile brightened but it was aimed at her son. ‘I’ call you when I get to my hotel, Paul.’

Paul kissed his mother, shut the door, watched Frank pull out past the extra guards at the gate. ‘Thank Christ she’s gone.’

‘The color went out of her face because of the color of mine,’ Tasha said.

‘That’s a terrible thing to say,’ Paul said. ‘She treats all my girlfriends bad. She was very accepting of you. I have lots of black friends.’

‘Business associates, yeah,’ she said, ‘but I doubt you have many black friends. Or friends, period.’

‘What’s that mean?’ Paul sounded hurt.

‘Friends are a luxury for a guy like you.’ Tasha ran a finger along his jawline, made her voice husky.

‘But I have you.’ He pulled her close, gave her a quick kiss. She allowed it, kissed him back, teased his mouth for a moment with her tongue. She broke the kiss. ‘Ralph did that credit check you asked for on Bucks and Frank and Eve.’

‘Great.’

‘I need five thou to give Ralph, sweetie. For this and finding Eve’s credit card. I got to throw him a bone.’

‘If he can wait, I can pay him and you more when we get the money.’

Tasha considered his offer with a frown. ‘They’re all clean. Nothing unusual. I don’t know if that helps you or not.’

He looked a little deflated. ‘Okay. Come inside. I need a favor.’

She followed him into the grand living room, her eyes checking each piece of furniture, noticing the rich silk of the draperies, the marble on the floors, the fresh flowers in every vase. She had imagined a former mob wife would lean toward zebra stripes and magenta, bad taste run amok. Instead the house was simple and elegant, all at once, and a twinge sounded in her heart. A lot of pain and death had bought this beauty and Tasha Strong fought an urge to smash it all, set it afire.

‘Dad moved his eyes a bunch more today.’ He led her upstairs and into a front bedroom. The room was dark, lit by the greenish goblin glow of medical equipment. Tommy Bellini lay in the bed, eyes at half-mast. Tasha expected a nurse but instead Doc Brewer was there, checking Tommy’s eyes.

‘How is he?’ Paul asked. ‘I think he’s more alert.’

‘He’s the same, Paul,’ Doc Brewer said.

‘Our guest upstairs still unconscious?’

‘The same,’ Doc Brewer said. He patted Tommy’s hand and excused himself.

‘Brewer’s an idiot. Dad knows what’s going on,’ Paul said. ‘Knows I’m in trouble. He’s fighting up toward consciousness.’ He lowered his voice. ‘I was changing his diaper earlier and he was sporting wood. That’s a good sign, right?’

‘Sure, Paul.’ It surprised her he would tend to his dad.

‘Maybe he needs additional stimulants to regain consciousness.’

‘That’s not how comas work, sweetpea,’ Tasha said.

‘Well, Mom’s been reading to him. Or leaving books on tape playing next to his bed. All his favorite books. Robert Ludlum, Louis L’Amour. He loves those. And I run Mel Brooks movies on the DVD player for him.’

‘So read to him.’

‘What about a direct approach?’ Paul said. ‘You could do a lap dance for him.’

She blinked. ‘A lap dance.’

‘It couldn’t hurt. And he had a woody earlier, so he’s still got some juice in his brain.’

‘Do you ever hear yourself talk, Paul?’ A lap dance for a guy two seconds from choking on his own drool.

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘I admire your concern for your dad. Really. But you have millions missing, Kiko isn’t waiting forever for his money, you’ve got a guy half-dead upstairs you’re going to start torturing, you’ve got Eve and this Whit man gunning for you. The police could descend on you any second. And you want me to lap dance for your comatose daddy.’

Paul slapped her.

She fell back against the withered legs under the covers. His legs felt like sticks under the sheets.

‘Don’t mouth off at me. Especially in front of my dad.’ Like Tommy Bellini was going to open his eyes, shoot them a disapproving look.

‘You hit me, Paul.’ She slowly got up from the bed. ‘After all I’ve done for you…’

‘I hit you because I want you to realize the seriousness of my request. I didn’t ask you to do him, that would be gross.’ He took a step toward her. ‘Just rub against him. If it works, it works. I’m sorry, baby, please.’

‘And we could all get written up in a medical journal.’ She moved to the other side of the bed, keeping it between her and Paul. ‘Charming. He can wake up and slip the tip in my G-string.’

‘Tasha. I need my dad. I need him bad now because I don’t know what to do.’ He started to cry. More than cry. Blubber.

‘Paul, don’t.’ She was still spitting mad and the sight of tears on his face made her even madder. She hated to see a man cry; it turned her stomach.

‘Kiko’s gonna put my balls in a grinder. I got to have that money.’

If he had cried for his father, her heart would have softened toward him. But he was crying because he was afraid for himself. It wasn’t tears for his dad or for anyone else. She wanted to slap him.

‘Hush now,’ she said quietly. ‘Be strong, Paul.’

‘I need my dad. We’ve spent all this money to take care of him, he sure ought to get better.’

Tasha counted to ten silently. ‘Paul. Your father’s not going to recover. Ever. That’s clear to everyone but you. You’ve got to take charge, take responsibility.’ She touched his shoulder. ‘Let me help you.’

Her pager beeped. She glanced at the readout. Ralph, her computer hacker friend. She pulled a cell phone – a real one, not the clever little gun she carried that no one knew about except, now, Whit Mosley – out of her purse and dialed his number.

‘Tasha. Ralph sounded excited. ‘Emily Smith is using her Visa again. At Greystoke Hotel. The charge is for two rooms.’

‘Which rooms?’

‘Charge doesn’t say.’

‘Ralph, you are a god.’ She clicked off and turned to Paul, told him what Ralph reported. ‘You got ’em in your sights, sugar. Call Bucks, call your dogs in for the kill and act like a man.’ She lowered her voice, came to him, put a hand on his chest. ‘I done the work for you. I got a lock on Eve and her buddy. Now go make your daddy proud.’