Beyond Mariano, up the sidewalk, is a dog. He’s skinny but tall, and he’s trotting toward us. I tug at Mariano’s coat. “Let’s keep moving. Let’s cross the street.”
Mariano glances over his shoulder, and then turns back to me with a wry smile. “Well, look at that. You are afraid of something.”
“I’ve never claimed otherwise.” I tug at his elbow. “Let’s get going.”
“Going to the heart of gang territory by yourself? Not scary. Being alone with a man who I’ve just told you has a bad reputation? Not scary. But a stray dog you’re three times the size of? Terrifying, apparently.”
“Dogs don’t like me, okay? They never have.” The dog is now galloping toward us, his long tongue flopping out of his mouth. “My archenemies in this world are children, dogs, and my Home Economics teacher, so if we could please move faster . . .”
As the dog closes in, my body reacts without my permission—I screech and take off running.
“Piper, don’t!” Mariano calls. “That’ll make him chase you. Just stand still.”
The dog barks. He’s closer than I imagined, and another scream bubbles out of my throat. I cower against the cool brick of a building and brace for the impact. For the feel of teeth breaking through skin. “Mariano! Help!”
The dog’s wet nose touches my leg, and his paw presses against my thigh.
“Your bag, Piper.” Mariano’s words are laced with laughter.
I crack open an eye. Mariano stands on the sidewalk, hands on his narrow hips, smirking. The dog has braced himself against me with one paw. He’s a skinny thing, with dirt-brown fur matted against his body. His nose is buried in my shopping bag. The bag that holds two chicken sandwiches.
With a trembling hand, I reach past the dog’s muzzle and into the bag to retrieve the packed lunch. I chuck the sandwiches as far as I can. The dog barks gleefully and sprints after them.
An exhale shudders out of me. “That was terrifying.”
“I know. I was terrified that you’d run back to the train station without me.”
I brush dirt from my dress. “I don’t like dogs.”
“I noticed.”
I eye the mutt, whose mangy tail wags as he feasts. “Let’s get away from here.”
Mariano offers me his arm, and my knees are so weak that I don’t even mind leaning on him as we walk to the lunchroom.
It isn’t until we’re inside and seated at the counter that I realize my master plan to flirt the details out of the proprietor has been foiled.
Stupid dog.
CHAPTER
NINE
You’re Johnny Walker?”
The man’s straight teeth gleam white, and he winks a dark eye. “Unless you want me to go by a different name, little lady.”
“I just thought . . .” I start the sentence before I realize there’s no good way to finish. I just thought you’d look more like a man who couldn’t get a date unless he paid them. “I didn’t expect you to be Italian.” I try fluttering my eyelashes like I’ve seen Mae do with Jeremiah. “Why, you look like you could be Valentino’s brother.”
I swallow. It’s not that much of a stretch. Johnny Walker certainly has a face worthy of the silver screen, and he can’t be much older than early thirties. Still, it’s an uncomfortably forward thing to say to a man. Especially an older man.
But Johnny only smooths his narrow mustache and winks at me again. “Always fancied myself more like Douglas Fairbanks, but you ladies go crazy for Valentino.”
“Oh, Fairbanks was dashing as Robin Hood, but there’s just something about Italian men.” I punctuate this with what I hope sounds like a shy, girlish giggle. I don’t let myself look at Mariano, who sits stiffly on the stool beside me.
As ridiculous as Mariano must find my flirting, Johnny leans against the counter. His smile is wolfish, and the weight of Nick’s pocket knife is suddenly comforting.
“He’s a busy man, Piper.” Mariano’s brusque words break into the silence. “Ask him what we came for.”
Johnny glances at Mariano for the first time, and anxiety squeezes my lungs. Will he recognize him? How often is Mariano around here? I knew it’d be better for me to come in alone.
“This is my bodyguard.” The words spill out. “My daddy is very protective.”
Johnny turns back to me. “A beautiful girl like you? That’s smart. Now, how can I help?”
“I’m looking for someone.”
“Ah.” Johnny’s word seems to say, of course you are.
“I’m sure you’ve had tons of people in here since that article came out about the girl from Detroit using your telephone.”
“It’s just the strangest thing.” Johnny straightens. “This neighborhood is tight-knit. We live here, work here, and play here. Why, all my girls live within a block of this place.” He makes a sweeping motion to indicate the waitresses. “Ally over there lives just upstairs, even. It’s nutty to think something like what happened to the Detroit girl was going on in our backyard, because it’s just not like that here.”