The Bootlegger's Goddaughter Page 2

  Sammy grinned. It was a little creepy. “You always were a clever thing, doll.”

  “Genius, isn’t it?” Nico said proudly. “I helped come up with the idea.”

  It was damned clever, I had to admit. Substitute your machine for the one in the bank. All your counterfeit bills pass the test. But the other counterfeit bills don’t, so no one suspects anything.

  Diabolical. And really, it wouldn’t hurt anyone if they didn’t know about it.

  Let me make this perfectly clear. I don’t go in for illegal activities myself. My goal is to keep a very clean nose. So clean it’s squeaky.

  But as far as our family businesses go, forgery doesn’t bother me overmuch. On the scale of crime, it’s sort of a soft offense. Take art, for instance. If your Picasso is not by Picasso, it’s still as pretty, right? (Or as ugly. I never quite got the fuss about Picasso.)

  However, I realize not everyone feels that way. Banks don’t, for instance. Which made me think about the next question.

  “How are you getting these into—no!” I hit my hand to my forehead. “Ignore what I just said. I don’t want to know.”

  “Are you sure, Gina? ’Cause it’s really rather clever,” said Nico, all excited. “We—”

  “Stop! Don’t tell me.” I cut him off before he could spill it.

  “As you wish, sweetheart.” Sammy reached behind him. “Here’s why I called. Thought you might be missing this.”

  He placed something familiar on the table.

  “My bag!” I cried. There was my shopping bag, recently stolen. How the heck did it get here?

  “Found this sitting outside the door when I came in half an hour ago,” said Sammy.

  I rushed over. “Is my purse inside?” Yes! There it was. I gave a sigh of relief.

  “That’s weird,” said Nico. “Is the money gone? Credit cards?”

  I retrieved the wallet and looked inside. “Credit cards are all here. The cash is missing. But I only had about thirty bucks.”

  “Weird that he didn’t take the credit cards. Or the presents,” said Nico.

  “Sure is strange, dropping off everything here. Why would he do that after going through the trouble of stealing it?” I rifled through the bag to make sure all the gifts were still there. Particularly my gift for Pete. Phew. All there.

  “Maybe he realized who you were when he checked the wallet? And didn’t want to get into trouble with the family?”

  “Yeah, that has to be it. But odd that he knew to deliver it here.” I was really puzzled. Sammy gave a long and telling sigh. “Here’s the envelope that was left on top of it. It was addressed to you, so I haven’t looked at it. But I have a suspicion.”

  I snatched the envelope from his hand and opened it. The note read:

  Sorry, Gina. He didn’t know it was you. Mario.

  “SHIT!” I yelled. “That moron Mario!”

  “What’s it say?” Nico took the note from my hand with two fingers.

  “Thought as much,” said Sammy, shaking his head.

  “You put Mario in charge of training the new street snatchers?” Nico started to laugh. “Oh, Sammy.”

  “It’s not funny!” I snatched the note back from him. “Mario is a total screwup. Remember what happened with the credit-card scam?”

  Mario is another cousin. Nico likes to say Mario had snuck out for a smoke when God was handing out brains. The last venture under Mario’s supervision was a total disaster. You don’t get very far in this business if you keep stealing credit-card numbers from your own relatives.

  Sammy shrugged. “Figured he was safer doing something manual, you know? Not with numbers and names. Not so hard to screw up.”

  Nico grinned. “Oh, Mario will find a way. That’s the one thing he’s good at.”

  “Can you believe it? The son of a bitch had the nerve to take my cash,” I said, double-checking the wallet.

  “Probably wasn’t Mario, Gina. Most likely it was the kid who did the snatch.”

  “Well, Mario should have better control of him,” I shot back. “What’s this family coming to, when you can’t even trust your own muggers.”

  “You two can argue about that on your own time,” said Sammy. “Nico, I need to talk to you about the other business.”

  That was my signal to vamoose.

  “Probably I should leave the room now,” I said, edging my way toward the door.

  “You do that, sugar. Go look at the lake or something.”

  I nodded. Before I could pick up my bag and purse, he said, “Oh. I’m supposed to tell you Zia Sophia saw a crow.”

  “Enough about the crow already!”

  “She already knows about that,” said Nico.

  I let the cottage door slam behind me. I walked to the bench facing the lake and sat down, putting the bag beside me. The sun was dancing off the water now. You might even be forgiven for thinking this was a lovely September day, instead of crisp December. I wound my red coat about me a little tighter and adjusted the tie belt.

  Forget about crows, I told myself. Think about the good things in your life. Like Pete. He is a great guy. You are darned lucky to be marrying him.

  Pete is a sports reporter for the Steeltown Star, our local newspaper. He used to be a quarterback in the majors, before a leg injury took him out. He definitely looks like a football player. Over six feet tall, he has broad shoulders and dark blond hair. You hardly notice the slight limp, because the rest of him is so fit. He works out regularly in my cousin Luca’s boxing gym.

  Luckily, he has a good sense of humor. You need one if you are going to survive this family.

  Now that I was getting married, maybe I could actually leave the family business behind for good. Hey! I could change my last name. Did people still do that?

  It was a start. Gina Malone. That sounded pretty good. It didn’t sound like a mob goddaughter at all.

  Nico came around the bench. His red- and-silver ski jacket gleamed in the sun. Nico doesn’t ski. He just likes the colorful jackets that come with the sport.

  He sat down beside me, looking worried.

  “Gina, I might need your help,” he said. I groaned. So much for leaving the family business behind.

  FOUR

  My cell phone sang “Shut Up and Drive.”

  “That’s Pete,” I said to Nico. “Do you mind?”

  He smiled and shook his head.

  Pete said, “Just had a strange invitation. Your uncle Vince wants to meet me for lunch. Should I be worried?”

  I gulped and said, “Just a sec.” Then I signaled to Nico. “Vince wants to meet Pete for lunch,” I said in a low voice.

  Nico frowned. “It could be something totally innocent, Gina.”

  “You think?” I said. The words Vince and innocent didn’t work well in the same sentence.

  “Most likely he’s going to give Pete the ‘welcome to the family’ speech. You know the one. ‘You hurt our Gina, and I’ll break both your legs.’ ”

  “That’s more like it,” I said, turning back to the phone.

  “I heard that,” said Pete.

  “So not a bad thing,” I said, hoping it wasn’t. “Don’t skip this. You really have to meet him, Pete.”

  “I’m going to,” Pete said. I could hear the obvious amusement in his voice. “We’re meeting at La Paloma tomorrow. Sort of interested to see who else will be there.”

  “You be careful, Pete,” I warned.

  “I can take care of myself, babe.” His voice was low and sultry.

  Man, did I love this guy.

  I rang off.

  “What now?” said Nico.

  “I suppose we should go rescue my car.”

  ***

  It was sitting there just where I had left it, waiting for me. What a relief.

  Today was Wednesday, and we had wedding errands to do. We dropped Nico’s car back at the store, because I insisted on driving. It was easier on my stress levels.

  “What first?” I asked.


  “Let’s see. We need to double-check flowers, linens, the cake—”

  Before Nico could finish, a phone chirped. Mine doesn’t do that, so I wasn’t surprised to see Nico reach for the phone on his belt.

  “It’s Mad Magda,” he said, looking at the screen. His voice held a question. I looked over with interest.

  “You’re kidding,” I said. Mad Magda is one of the more colorful members of our family. She is also one of the oldest. She and her geriatric lover, Jimmy the Cat, helped me out with a little job recently. Yes, I know I said that as a rule I avoid the family businesses. It’s complicated.

  Nico gasped. “Oh no. How awful. Of course we’ll come right away. Yes. Yes. On our way.” He clicked off, and his black-rimmed eyes were wide. “Jimmy’s had a heart attack. We need to go there immediately. She needs help.”

  “Yikes! Of course,” I said as we tromped over to my car. “So the retirement home? Or should we go directly to the hospital?”

  “No,” said Nico. “They were on an outing. It’s a little out of the way.” He gave me directions.

  I pulled into the right lane to turn. “I hope she called 9-1-1 first,” I said.

  “She’s calling it now,” said Nico.

  Weird, I thought. Why would she phone Nico before calling 9-1-1?

  Ten minutes later, we were still driving.

  “Are you sure she said past Caledonia?”

  Nico nodded. “I know the route.”

  “What route? Route to where?”

  “The truck route,” said Nico.

  “Huh?” This didn’t seem like a normal seniors’ outing. And besides, neither Jimmy nor Magda had a car. They didn’t drive anymore. So what the heck was going on?

  He seemed a bit fidgety. “I didn’t want to tell you, Gina. I know you don’t like to hear about…um…family business.”

  I groaned. “Oh no. Do not tell me. I don’t want to know.”

  “Except I think you might have to this time. There’s the truck. Pull up there, behind the ambulance.” Nico pointed with a thin finger.

  I parked, and Nico was out of the car before I could open my door.

  Jimmy was already on a stretcher. I rushed over in time to see paramedics lift the stretcher into the back of the ambulance. His eyes were closed, and his face was contorted in pain.

  Magda came up to us right away.

  “Thank God you’re here, Nico. And Gina.” She clutched Nico’s arm. Magda looked so worried, I wanted to hug her. “I have to go with Jimmy. Here are the keys to the truck. Can you…?”

  “Of course,” said Nico, taking the keys. “You go with Jimmy. Do they think he’ll be okay?”

  “Don’t know yet,” said Magda. She climbed into the back of the ambulance with surprising agility for a gal over seventy-five. “I’ll phone.”

  Within seconds the ambulance had pulled away. We both stared at it careering down the road with lights and siren on.

  I pulled my red coat tighter around me. It was getting chillier out. Or maybe that was the feeling in my chest.

  “He was driving the truck when the heart attack came on,” said Nico. “Magda managed to work the brake, or there could have been a horrible accident.”

  I shivered. How horrible. Poor Magda. And poor Jimmy!

  “So what do we do now?” I said. “Call someone to get the truck?”

  “Er…no,” said Nico. “I said we’d take care of it.”

  “You WHAT?” I looked over at the thing. It was a midsized transport with ten wheels, not a freaking pickup truck.

  “It was the least I could do, considering the state Jimmy was in, Gina. Magda can’t drive anymore. They took away her license, remember? And she should be with Jimmy anyways.”

  That was true. They had been together for years. Actually, decades. It was hard to imagine one without the other.

  I banished the thought from my mind.

  But that left another problem. I frowned at the truck. This wasn’t a good idea. Trucks move merchandise. That’s their purpose. This was a family truck, so it stood to reason that the merchandise might be a little warm. Okay, sizzling.

  Did I want to be seen escorting a truck full of hot merchandise? I did not.

  “Nico, do you really need me for this? Remember, I am allergic to anything illegal.” It’s true. I would look terrible in an orange jumpsuit.

  “Please, Gina. I promised her. There’s no one else I can think of to call. Mario and Luca are busy with…well, never mind that. And we can’t leave it here.”

  He had a point. We couldn’t leave it here at the side of the road. It was sort of obvious. Any minute the police might drive by and notice it. Yes, I try to avoid being involved in family business. But cop business is worse.

  Cops usually don’t bother a truck sailing down the road, doing its own thing.

  The sooner we got this over with, the better.

  I relented. “Okay. So we take the truck back to wherever it came from.”

  “We’re nearly to the drop-off point. Better to take it there. But there is a minor issue.”

  I stiffened. When Nico says “minor issue,” I brace for the worst.

  FIVE

  Nico gazed over at all ten wheels. “This is a really big truck.”

  “Yes,” I said, becoming suspicious.

  “I’ve never driven a big truck like this before.”

  “What?” I said. “You’re kidding me. How did you get out of all the family training?”

  He shifted uneasily on his feet. “Not all. That just wasn’t my thing, Gina. Remember, I was the family break-and-enter trainee. I was busy learning the ropes from Jimmy the Cat when you were getting the vehicle training.”

  Like most kids, we had to learn the family business when young. Really, it’s not much different than a family that owns, say, a variety store or gas station. The kids are trained to help out with the family business after school, before they can decide they want a different career.

  I wanted a different career. Nico was not so picky—at least, not at first.

  I forced myself back to the matter at hand.

  Nico nodded. “I’ll do anything you want for a month. Even clean your room.”

  “Nico, that worked when we were kids. It doesn’t work now.” But he had me smiling, as he knew he would.

  It had been years since I’d driven a transport. I gazed over at the thing. It stood there, almost like it was beckoning. Like it was daring me.

  I wasn’t very good at ignoring dares. The challenge called to me. There was just one thing.

  I turned to face him. “First, come clean.”

  “What do you mean?” Nico said, looking off in the distance.

  Like he didn’t know what I meant.

  “What’s in the truck?”

  “Oh, that.” He pawed the ground with the toe of his sneaker. “Nothing bad. Honest.”

  Having been part of this family for thirty years, I know when it is in my interest to probe deeper.

  “Define bad,” I said, crossing my arms.

  “I’m telling the truth. There’s nothing stolen in that truck. Scout’s honor.”

  He held up two fingers. They were the wrong two fingers. Nico never was a Boy Scout. They don’t have badges for hot-wiring cars.

  “Open the back,” I said, standing firm.

  Nico sighed deeply. He walked over to the back of the truck and hopped up on the tailgate. I watched as he worked the levers to open the doors.

  I waited until he jumped down and then took a look in the back myself.

  “Bottles. Cases and cases of bottles…of what?”

  “Nothing dangerous, Gina.”

  I got close enough to see the label on one. From a distance, the other labels looked to be the same.

  “Gordon’s gin. Why are we shipping so many bottles of Gordon’s gin?” I didn’t get it. Something was amiss. Now, if I could just think…

  “It’s not really—” Nico stopped and took a breath. “We’re just
doing somebody a favor. That’s all.”

  Why would Jimmy and Magda be driving a truck full of—

  “Holy shit!” I said. “Are we back into BOOTLEGGING?”

  Nico squirmed like a little kid. “Well, technically, we were never not in it, Gina. We never really left it.”

  “Oh for crissake.” I felt my heart pound. Here’s the thing about our past. Bootlegging is the way my family got started in their various businesses. You might say it provided the seed money.

  The Hammer is pretty close to the American border. So when Prohibition came about, my great-grandfather and his buddies got busy. Or was it my great-great? Doesn’t matter. Thing is, they were pretty good at making gin, and even better at sneaking it across the border.

  “I thought all the stills had been shut down before we were born,” I said, waving my arms in the air.

  Nico shrugged. “You can still make a lot of money bypassing taxation, Gina. But really, it’s a very secondary business for us.”

  I still had a whole lot of questions. But I was starting to feel that I shouldn’t ask them. The less I knew, the better.

  “Nico, this is a really bad idea,” I said. “Can’t we just call someone else to move this truck? I don’t want to be this involved.”

  “We’re not going far. Honestly, Gina, we can get the truck to its destination in almost the same time it would take you to track down someone to do it instead of us. And I can’t let Magda down. I promised we’d take care of it.”

  “This sucks,” I grumbled. That was the problem. I hated to let people down, especially Jimmy and Magda. They had helped me a few weeks back with the whole art-gallery heist. Actually, it was a reverse heist. But I’m not sure the cops would see it that way.

  Poor Jimmy. I hoped he was doing okay. Yes, I’d do this for him. I mean, let’s be realistic. We were nearly at the destination. What could possibly go wrong at this stage?

  “Hand me the keys,” I said. “Are you going to come with me or drive my car?”

  “Drive your car, so we can leave immediately after we do the drop-off.”

  I winced as I tossed him my second set of keys. I really don’t like terms like do the drop-off.