Angelina Bonaparte Mysteries Box Set by Nanci Rathbun (reading books for 4 year olds txt) 📕

a personal friend of Tony Belloni,” I said, “and I’m in a bind. The press is on my tail and I need to get to my office on Prospect without being followed.” I held three twenties out, smiled with sincerity and batted my eyelashes a little. “Give Tony a call. Please?”

He leaned down and looked into the car. “Hold on a minute,” he said, disappearing into the little shack where the lot personnel spent their time. He emerged with a folded newspaper and his head swiveled from it to me. “Ms. Bonaparte?” he asked, mispronouncing my name as he showed the cover page to me.

They’d resurrected a shot of me from last year, alongside a head shot of Tommaso Severson from his days out east. Yep, there I was, in all my glory, ass hanging out of a giant pipe.

He grinned. “Listen, there’s a spot in the back that we keep open for Mr. Belloni’s guests who don’t want to be … bothered. I’ll slide your vehicle in there. The rest are all monthly self-parking spaces, so anyone who wants their car out can get it without my help. I’ll give you a ride to your building, if you don’t mind my Corolla.” He gestured at a rusty Toyota that had to be more than ten years old.

“Perfect,” I told him. I shut off the engine, took the ignition key off the ring and handed it to him as I levered myself out of the car. While he parked, I idly wondered why a lot that basically ran itself had an attendant. Maybe he was a Mafia charity case. The Family took care of its own, as evidenced by Bart’s long-suffering association with Bertha Conti.

By the time he maneuvered my car into the special spot, I couldn’t see it from where I stood. He slowly hobbled back to the entry and escorted me to his Corolla, where he held the door for me. The inside was fastidiously clean, even though the seats were repaired with duct tape. Rodney carefully closed the door and rounded the car to the driver’s side. He eased himself in slowly, using a hand to lift his left leg in. Once settled, he asked, “Where to?”

I gave him the street address of the small dry cleaning store I patronized on Farwell. I could walk through and out to the back entry of my building.

“Sure thing, ma’am.”

“Call me Angie.” I set the money between us, on the bench seat. He waved it away. I let it lay there. “You’re a real life-saver, Rodney.”

He laughed and started the car. “I’m Julius. Rodney quit a few weeks ago and Tony hired me on as a temp. He said there was no point in making a new name tag if I didn’t intend to stay.”

That piqued my curiosity. “What’s your next step?”

“I’m starting classes at Marquette. Pre-law.”

“Impressive.”

“Well, I scored some points for being a vet, but I did well on the admissions exams, too.”

Were his limp and his facial injuries in the line of duty? “How long have you been out?” I asked.

“Eight months. I was at the VA hospital for a while. Afghanistan was not kind to me.”

I swallowed hard. “Are you making it okay? I know a lot of people who know people. It would be an honor to help you, however I could.”

“Thanks, ma’am, uh, Angie. I’m doing okay.”

I took a business card out of my briefcase and put it on the seat. “If you ever need some help, call me.”

“That’s real nice of you.” He pulled up to the curb. “I could walk you into your building, Angie. I’m not fast, but I won’t let anybody get to you.”

“You’re a sweetheart, Julius, but this is a stealth operation.”

He handed me a card with the lot rates on it. “Call me at that number. I can be here in ten minutes.”

“Deal,” I said, “and thanks.” I exited the Corolla, glad that he hadn’t refused my money and wishing that there was something more I could do for him.

The Vietnamese couple who ran the cleaners was watching a small wall-mounted TV when I entered. Apparently, the Severson story had hit the national news. Mr. Phan escorted me to the back door, where I quickly surveilled the alley leading to my building. Seeing no one, I proceeded across the slushy blacktop while he stood on the outside stoop and watched over me. I opened the service door and waved to him as I went inside. It was nice to know that he had my back.

It took me more than an hour to organize and write up my notes. Images of Hank resurfaced as I typed: the monk proceeding along the path in hooded robe and snow boots; the anguish as he explained why he had to abandon his family and why he couldn’t return to them; the imploring look as he whispered his last word, Love. I stopped twice to wipe away tears. If I hadn’t interfered, he would still be alive, I thought. And there would still be a chance for the family to reconnect. “I didn’t mean to bring you harm, Hank,” I whispered. Then I made a cup of tea and read the file, assessing what I could and couldn’t share. There were so many secrets in this one man’s life, with its layers upon layers of obfuscation. I’d welcome the familiarity of running background checks when this was closed.

Before that could happen, I needed to unmask the person who betrayed me by identifying Hank as Severson to the South Philly Mob. I printed the report and shuffled the papers into a neat stack. Reaching for the credenza, my hand stopped. Although I had the best security that Spider could install, I decided it would be wiser to store this file in the safe.

***

True to his word, Julius picked me up in front of the Phans’ store within ten minutes of my call. I drove with him back to the lot and got into the Escape. “I’m