“I’m sorry, Becca. I get why Anthony is foaming at the mouth without his phone. Trust me. If you guys do run into a problem before you reach 167th, get to the street level, find the first convenience store, and buy a burner phone. Call the Warwick and ask for room 2050. My guys who go on assignments leave messages there. I can reach it remotely. Otherwise, I’ll find you near North 167th.”
Becca nodded and one by one, she kissed us goodbye, for some reason making me last. But I got the longest kiss. “They just want the best for me,” she whispered.
“And you think I don’t?”
“I think you feel you need to throw me in the trunk of a car and drive me out of the city yourself.”
“Fuck, yeah. Why aren’t I doing that?” I turned to Gian with Becca pressed into my chest.
“That yellow Lamborghini won’t be noticed by anyone, will it?” Gian said.
“And it doesn’t have a trunk,” Bastien added.
“I have other cars, asshole.” I didn’t at the moment, other than my limo with the license plate Messina2.
I’d just steal a car. Except my luck, I’d pick a nice one with a computer that could be tracked in a matter of minutes. Or get pulled over by the cops and find myself arrested. Being in jail would destroy any chance of keeping Becca safe.
“Any car pulling up to her townhouse could be targeted as a potential escape method,” Gian said. “They’ll be expecting that. Better to let them think she’s still here, in her house. At least for tonight. Then we’ll come up with a cover story about where you are.”
We brought Becca to her basement and opened the door that faced the back of the house. A set of cement steps led to her yard.
“Gil, you stay here until you hear from me,” Vale said. “We both can’t just disappear. They’ll know Becca’s not in the house. Draw the shades, go in and out of rooms turning lights on and off so it looks like she’s here. You know the drill. Buy us as much time as possible.”
“But what if someone tries to bomb my house to kill me?” Becca asked. “Gil... My poor neighbors.”
I hugged her. “We’ll figure that part out. You’re sure that safehouse is...safe, Gian? Does your father know where it is?”
“No,” Gian said without hesitation. But he wasn’t his father’s only eyes and ears. “No one knows.” He turned away and opened the basement door for Becca and Vale.
After she kissed us again, she jogged up the steps and ran across her backyard. She hopped over the fence with ease, not waiting for Vale to lift her. My heart pounded when lights flooded that other yard and the sound of a really big dog with a throaty bark howled.
I took off toward the fence, Bastien trying to grab my shirt.
I got to the fence and swung my leg over, but I caught Becca’s black rainslicker reach the neighbor’s gate before three rottweilers reached her. Vale lifted her over with those mongrels nipping at her heels.
That last vision of her, the black slicker over her head, her tight jeans, and boots rushing away from that house, I feared was the last I’d see of her. Alive.
This business sucked.
Stomping back through the yard, Gian shook his head at me. “Do I need to say it?”
“No.”
“We know you’re a loose-cannon, Messina.” Bastien slapped me on the shoulder. “At least you’re predictable.”
Back inside Becca’s house, I grabbed Gian by the shirt collar. “And how are you getting to the Bronx to pick her up without being seen? We can’t afford for you to lead the hitman right to her.”
Giancarlo stared at me then Bastien. “You’ll just have to trust me.”