“Passed away,” Daddy said. “The big C.”
“I’m so sorry to hear that.”
“Yeah, it was a pisser.”
“But if he’s dead, he can’t do the job. So what’s the problem?” I asked, then turned right around and answered my own question. “Jesus, Dad. You were going to screw Wesley?”
“Not screw him,” my dad said indignantly. “His share was going to be perfectly reasonable. But I’d found the deal and I’d brought him in. I was taking all the risk. Gotta be some compensation for doing the legwork.”
“You’re taking all the risk, all right. Now that Wesley’s dead and you can’t make the deal happen, Muratti’s going to want his pound of flesh. Christ, Daddy,” I said, as I stood and started to pace. “Do you know what the mafia does to men who can’t deliver what they promised?”
“Why do you think I came here? They didn’t follow me,” he rushed to say. “I’m sure of it. And no one knows who you are. We buried that connection long ago. They won’t find me. How the hell could they find me?”
I hugged myself, numb with fear. “They’ll find you because they’ll never stop looking.”
“But Charles will eventually die, and the property will go to his niece, and then that will be that. Muratti will move on and I can come out of hiding.”
“Hiding,” I repeated. “That’s what you’re doing here?”
He didn’t answer.
“No,” I said sadly. “You’re not hiding. You came here looking for me to find someone to take Wesley’s place. You know as well as I do that a man like Muratti has a long memory.”
“Just one document, Catalina. Surely you know someone who can do just one document.”
“I’m out of the game, Daddy. Mostly, anyway,” I amended. “And I haven’t pulled an art con since Florida. I don’t have the connections,” I lied, because the truth was that I knew one person who could pull this off. But if I asked him, I’d have to tell him the truth about everything. And I wasn’t sure I was ready to do that.
I ran my fingers through my hair again.
“Let me think about it. Maybe I’ll come up with somebody.”
“Yes. Yes, you think.” He stood up and yawned. “I know it’s barely past five, but I’m wiped out. You got a place for your old man to crash?”
“Nope,” I said. “But come on. I’ll get you settled in a motel.”
His mouth curved down into what could have been a pout.
“Forget it, Daddy Dearest. It’s too risky for you to stay here. You have a mafia boss sniffing around you. Do you really think I’m going to let Flynn get caught in the cross fire?”
He made a noise that sounded like agreement. Reluctant, maybe, but agreement nonetheless.
I shook my head, exasperated. “It’s a motel, Dad. From the story you told me, you should be glad it isn’t a prison cell.”
“If it doesn’t have room service,” he said with a sigh, “it might as well be.”
nine
Evan Black lived on a boat before he moved into the high-rise condo he now shared with Angie. Tyler Sharp rented a suite in The Drake hotel that had once served as the residence for royalty.
But as far as I was concerned, Cole’s house put both Evan’s and Tyler’s addresses to shame.
He lived in Hyde Park near the University of Chicago and, yes, near the famous gang-riddled South Side that the old song about Bad, Bad Leroy Brown had made famous. I knew Cole had grown up in that part of the city, but he didn’t live in the dicey area now. Instead, Hyde Park was funky and eclectic. A place where pretty much anything goes.
And Cole’s house stood like the topping on a very delicious and exotic dessert.