“Agh!” Justin cried out, in surprise and pain. He staggered backward, losing his balance, pinwheeling his arms in his fancy shirt, and in the next minute, he slipped on his slick marble entrance hall and fell flat on his designer ass.
“Next time you hit a girl, remember that we hit back,” Mary said with a smile, and she closed the door on him.
Then she ran like hell.
Okay, it really really hurts to hit someone with your hand.
Mary drove with her left hand on the steering wheel while she opened and closed her right hand, trying unsuccessfully to make a fist. Her fingers had swollen quickly, turning pink, and her middle knuckle killed her. She didn’t know if she had broken it, but it almost didn’t matter. She felt high, adrenalized, exhilarated. Filing lawsuits only went so far. You should get to hit somebody back. You might even have a First Amendment right to hit somebody back.
Mary considered it, keeping an eye on the road, and luckily the traffic was light, since nobody was driving into the city at the end of the business day. She had so much more to do. She got off 202 North and negotiated the King of Prussia construction that funneled her onto the expressway, going east to Philly. She whizzed past an orange blur of Home Depot, Chili’s, and an Outback Steakhouse, and accelerated.
Time for stage two of the plan. Mary had a zillion cell phone calls to make, starting with her new best friend. She fumbled with her Filofax, managed to find the number, then pressed it into her phone with a combination of teeth, nose, and little finger.
“Mac?” she said, when he picked up. “Jim MacIntire, from the News? This is Mary DiNunzio, returning your call.”
“Mary!” the reporter exclaimed. “I need to talk to you. I can’t get over what you said to me, what you think of me! What’s going on?”
“Here’s the scoop, Jim,” she began, then launched into the details of the suit papers Judy had just filed for her, including everything she had learned about the original patent that Giovanni Saracone had stolen and how Justin Saracone continued to profit. She answered every question as fully as possible, defaming both the living and the dead, because it only suited her purposes if Justin countersued her for defamation. She ended by telling Mac to be at the hearing for the restraining order.
“You’re going for a TRO?” he repeated, salivating audibly.
“Be there or be square,” Mary answered, then hung up with her teeth. She consulted her Filofax for the next reporter’s number, decreased her speed in a concession to auto safety, and plugged in the next number.
“Shannon,” she said when he picked up, then she told him the whole story, too, beginning at the beginning and ending with the TRO hearing at ten tomorrow.
“I’ll be there,” the reporter promised, and after that she took her life in her hands and called five other reporters, then she hung up, satisfied that the word would spread. Telling a reporter was almost as good as telling Skinny Uncle Joey, and Mary wanted to make as much noise as possible. She wanted the whole scheme brought to light and the Saracones dragged along, kicking and screaming. The Reinhardt deal would collapse, and as soon as the licensees found out that the validity of the original patent was being questioned, as well as subsequent patents relying on it, they could stop doing business with Justin. The licenses would fall like dominoes. Justin’s world — and his income — would collapse and end. One way or the other, she was taking him down.
Mary switched into the fast lane and was about to check on Keisha when her cell phone started ringing. She picked it up, recognized the number on the lighted display, and felt her heart plummet to her pumps. How could she be so happy and so unhappy in the same moment? “Hi, Bennie,” she said into the phone.
“DiNunzio, what’s up? You okay, or still upset over Cavuto?”
“No, I’m not.” Frank seems like years ago, and I have so much more to be upset about.
“And Brandolini’s doing what?”
“It’s quiet right now.” Or being filed in federal court.
“You’re letting it go?”
“Absolutely. It’s gone.” What had Judy said? Smooth as glass.
“Then you’re all ready.”
“Ready for what?”
“Don’t tell me you forgot!”
“Forgot what?” Mary asked miserably.
Forty-Two
The restaurant in Fairmount turned out to be dark, smoky, and crowded, putting Mary in an even worse mood. Another blind date was the last thing she wanted right now, with her hand killing her, a TRO hearing to prepare for, and a night’s sleep to catch up on, but she had no choice. Bennie had set it up a few weeks ago with a good friend of hers named Gary Haddon, and Mary had forgotten about it completely. She couldn’t have cancelled this late without arousing the boss’s suspicion. Or her fury.
She glanced around the packed bar, looking for Gary. He should be here already, since she was almost twenty minutes late. She had wasted so much time at home, trying on different outfits, finally deciding on a little black dress and black heels. She’d even changed her purse to match her outfit, which was one of those things that women thought essential and men never noticed. Mary wanted a good report card from this guy, even if she wasn’t looking for Mr. Right. Him, she had already met and married. Nobody gets two Mr. Rights in her life, even if she’s a good Catholic.
Mary didn’t see Gary at the bar. Bennie had said he was hot, hot, hot; a tall, thirty-five-year-old lawyer with black hair and an incredibly hunky body, because he was the Vesper crew’s stroke. Bennie had said that meant he was the best rower in the boat, as if Mary cared. He was supposed to be wearing a dark polo shirt and biceps. She peered though the carcinogens for dark hair and a dark shirt, but she didn’t see him. Maybe he was waiting for her at a table. The dining section of the restaurant looked like it was toward the back.
She waded into the crowd, ignoring the degrading sensation that men were looking her over, and the equally degrading sensation that they weren’t.
“Can I get you a drink?” asked a man to her left, and Mary looked over. He was tall, but skinny and bald. Not Gary Haddon.
“Uh, no, thanks. I’m meeting someone.”
“Maybe next time?”
“Mrphm,” she answered, just to be nice. Then a man turned to look at her from the far side of the bar, catching her eye. He was about thirty-five years old, tall, with thick, dark hair. He wore a dark polo shirt and had the requisite musculature. Gary Haddon. Wow! This guy was seriously hot, if you happened to have a sex drive, which Mary didn’t. She gave him a little wave with her good hand, and he waved back, then got up from the bar. She squeezed her way over, extending her good hand when she reached him. “Gary Haddon?”
“Mary? I’m Gary.” Gary smiled almost shyly, which she found instantly cute. He was a great height, maybe six two, and when he shook her hand, his grip felt warm and strong. “Nice to meet you.”
“You, too. Sorry I’m late.”
“No sweat.”
“Did you make a reservation or was I supposed to?”
“I think you were supposed to.”
Argh. “Sorry. Please don’t tell Bennie.”
“No sweat.”
Mary decided he was big on no sweat. Gary had a jock-y way about him for a lawyer, like Bennie. She could see why they’d be friends, even if Bennie’s biceps were bigger.
“Maybe they’ll have a table anyway,” Gary said, and they both looked at the dining section. There were about thirty tables and all of them were taken, to a one. Mary hid her dismay. This date would never begin, so it couldn’t end. Still, Gary seemed nice and he was really good-looking. For a stroke.
“Sorry, I should have called.”
“Forget it. I’ll check the wait.” Gary left her and wedged his way to a gorgeous hostess, who held the menus under her ample breasts, like push-up menus. Mary watched Gary speak to her, and he didn’t seem to notice the cleavage display. Nevertheless, she countered with a matching-purse display as he returned, his expression unhap
py. “Bad news. The wait is an hour, maybe more.”
Blind date hell. “Oh no.”
“I’m too hungry to wait.”
Good. Let’s call it a night.
“I say we find another restaurant.”
Oh. “Uh, okay, it’s too smoky here anyway.”
“I hate smoke, too. I quit smoking.”
Me, too. Wonder how he feels about Sinatra. Or Aerosmith. “Where else can we go? I don’t know this neighborhood that well. This is Bennie’s turf.”
“I don’t know it either, but we can go anywhere. I have a car. Come with me.” Gary turned around and plunged into the crowd, reaching back to clasp Mary by her good hand.
Hand holding? Mary let herself be tugged along, even though hand holding was a boyfriend thing, not a blind date thing. Still, it wasn’t an altogether unpleasant feeling. For once, she didn’t have to be in charge, and Gary took over very naturally. Maybe it was a stroke thing. Gary had them outside in no time, and Mary breathed in a gulp of fresh air. It was a lovely evening, the sky over the city darkening. Rush-hour traffic had died down, and there were only a few cars on the street. Just the same, Mary looked around, tense. There was no Escalade in sight, or anybody who looked like Chico or Justin driving any of the other cars.
“My car’s down the street,” Gary said. He released her hand, which she appreciated. A gentleman.
“Great.” Mary fell into step beside him. He was wearing tan slacks and loafers, and she took two little strides to his one long one, feeling like a windup doll.
“So, tell me about yourself, Mary.”
“Oh, there’s nothing to tell. I work for Bennie, I live in town.” And I hate talking about myself. “How about you?”
“Ha!” Gary walked with his head cocked, at listening angle. “You think you’re getting off that easy?”
Mary laughed. “I know I am. Now, let’s talk about you.”
Gary smiled. “So, you’re stubborn.”
“And you’re perceptive. Unfortunately.” Mary laughed again, vaguely aware that she might be flirting. But for once, she didn’t tense up. Maybe because she was outside? Maybe it was okay to flirt outside, where the flirting went into the air and didn’t land anywhere? At least it was dark. She tried not to think about it. “What kind of law do you practice, Gary? Bennie didn’t say.”
“You know, regular.”
Mary smiled. “You mean general practice?”
“No, I mean regular practice. Yes, I’m a regular lawyer. A regular guy.” Gary grinned again. They had reached his car, an older bronze Lexus, parked at the head of the line. He opened the car door for her grandly. “I drive a regular car. I even have a regular dog at home. Didn’t Bennie tell you?”
“Not a golden retriever, I hope. Our firm is lousy with ’em.”
“No, a mutt. A regular mutt.”
“What’s his name?”
“Joe. What else?”
Mary laughed as she climbed into the car and Gary closed the door gently. The Lexus interior was tan and smelled faintly of aftershave. A Norah Jones CD had been tossed onto the console and the cloth upholstery remained remarkably unfurry for a dog owner. “Either you’re a very neat guy or you don’t let your dog in the car,” she said when he climbed in the driver’s side.
“All of the above.” Gary turned on the ignition, gave the car some gas, and pulled out of the space. “So, you’re from South Philly, right?”
“Right.” You gotta problem with that?
“I love South Philly. We can eat down there if you want to. The Saloon, if you’re feeling classy, or Marra’s. South Philly Bar & Grill. Even Triangle Tavern.”
Mary smiled. “Any one of those is fine.” And not a website among them.
“How about Marra’s?”
“I love Marra’s.”
“Me, too. It’s a regular place.” Gary smiled, turning left onto the Ben Franklin Boulevard, where the traffic got heavier, funneling out of the city. They rounded Eakins Oval in front of the Art Museum, and Mary watched a herd of joggers running back from the river. A few couples walked together, carrying shopping bags, and businesspeople who worked late walked home, bearing briefcases or talking on the cell. It was a warm Spring night, and Mary pushed the button to open the window.
“I just put on the air conditioning.” Gary looked over. “Unless you want the windows open.”
“No, that’s okay.”
Gary turned the wheel, and the muscles in his forearm actually rippled. “You know, Bennie didn’t tell me you were so hot.”
Yeowch! Mary felt herself flushing. She was suddenly uncomfortable, being so close to him in the car, with him rippling and flirting. Plus they weren’t outside anymore, so there was no place for the flirting to go. Especially with the window closed. She felt nervous again as the Lexus picked up speed and curved onto the ramp for the expressway.
“I’ll take the expressway. It’s faster to hop on here and get off on Oregon.” Gary rested his large hand on the steering wheel and refocused on his driving for an awkwardly silent stretch. The car accelerated. Everybody always sped on this stretch of the expressway, near the old Vare Street exit, because they were leaving the city’s congestion for the open road. Mary’s gaze fell on the rearview mirror on her side of the car. In the darkness, she could see part of the chrome grille of a dark sedan, coming up behind them, fast. She couldn’t see the whole car in her parallax view, but she felt a tiny tremor run up her spine.
“Gary.” Mary edged up in her seat. “You see that car behind us?”
“The black?” His attention shifted to the rearview mirror. “Yeah.”
“It’s going kind of fast, isn’t it?”
“No, not really. You gotta keep up with the speed of traffic. My dad always says that.”
“But I think he’s going way too fast. He’s tailgating you.”
“Not really. Relax.”
“I can’t.” Mary couldn’t see the driver in her mirror, so she turned around in her seat, straining against the shoulder harness. On top of the grille glinted the slivery emblem of a Mercedes-Benz. Justin has a black Mercedes. “It’s a Mercedes!”
“Right. An SL. What a ride. If it’s the 500, it has a five-liter engine. One of the most powerful cars on the road.”
Oh, great. Mary was trying not to panic. The Mercedes was speeding up to them, but she couldn’t see the driver’s face in the darkness. “Is it a man or a woman driving? Can you tell?”
“No.” Gary looked in the rearview again. “Does it matter?”
“How long has that car been back there?”
“I don’t know. What are you worrying about?” Gary looked at her like she was nuts. “So he’s tailgating, so what?”
“Why would he? It doesn’t make sense.” Mary sized up the traffic, which was light as the road stretched out toward Jersey. “All the other lanes are totally open. Why doesn’t he just go around us?”
“I don’t know!” Gary laughed, softly. “Sit back down and relax, will you? I can’t drive with you popping around like—”
“How fast can this car go?” Mary blurted out, panicky.
“Fast. Not as fast as the SL, but fast.”
“Then lose this guy. If you can lose him, I’ll calm down. If you can’t, I’m calling 911.” Mary twisted back onto her seat, reached for her purse, and took out her cell phone, so it was ready.
“You gonna call the cops for tailgating?” Gary’s mouth dropped open, but Mary was beyond explaining.
“Just go!”
“Okay, sit back and hold on!” Gary hit the gas, and the Lexus surged forward with surprising power.
Mary fell back in her seat. They barreled forward as if the highway were greased for them, whizzing past the Oregon Avenue exit. Dinner could wait. She tried to figure out what was going on. Chico had evidently changed cars. He had followed her to the restaurant. He was going to run them off the road or ram them. Poor Gary, mixed up in this. In the wrong place at the wrong time.
&
nbsp; “Gary, go faster. Go!” She turned around and looked over her shoulder. The Mercedes was falling behind. She felt a leap of hope in her chest. “Go!”
“Sit down!” Gary shouted back, and as soon as Mary sat back down, he floored the gas pedal. The Lexus burst forward, shot like a rocket.
Mary looked back. The Mercedes was way back, evidently making no attempt to catch up to them. They had lost it! Thank God!
“They’re gone! Ha!” Mary heard herself laugh with nervous relief. She turned and double-checked, but the purplish headlights of the Mercedes were pinpoints. She exhaled, finally. The car could have been nothing, but she wasn’t taking chances. It could have happened the way she thought, but it hadn’t. Not this time, at least. She was safe again. The Lexus slowed, bringing its speed nearer the limit.
“What was that all about?” Gary asked her, almost laughing. “Are you crazy or what?”
“It’s a long story.” Mary looked over, and his dark eyes shone with that excitement men get from high speeds and St. Pauli Girl. Another disastrous blind date, but he might call her back. Guys love crazy chicks.
“Tell it, for Christ’s sake! This I’d love to hear.”
Mary sank into her seat, her adrenaline buzzing in her ears. Her heartbeat returned to normal, her mouth felt less dry. She tried to process what had just happened. How could she explain it? Should she explain it? And could she swear Gary to secrecy, or would he run back to Bennie and get her fired? He hadn’t come down yet, from his excitement.
“Hell, Bennie didn’t tell me you were nuts! He told me you were a nice, quiet girl!”
He? Mary must not have heard him right. “What did you say?”
“I said, Bennie never told me you were so wild! Wait’ll I get my hands on him!”
Her, Mary was about to correct him, then froze. He? Him? It was a natural mistake, but it would never have been made by a friend of Bennie’s. It would never have been made by anyone who had even met her. Mary’s thoughts jumped back in time. A regular lawyer? No dog hair in the car? Suddenly it all fit together. This man wasn’t Gary Haddon. This man worked for the Saracones. He must have followed her to the restaurant, then stationed himself at the bar. And she was in a speeding car with him, alone. She had to stay calm, and play along.