“Indro—” he began, but I cut him off.
“I know that’s a dumb play, but what can I tell you, she’s a looker. Smart as a whip and tough as nails. Still, even with all of that, she’s a dame, know what I’m saying? You push her too hard and she’ll crack. I mean, you get that. Anyone would, am I right?”
Enzio took a sip from his drink, eyes darting around the room, hoping that someone would be able to help him. No one was paying attention.
“Yeah. I hear you. You know, Indro? I actually gotta get going.”
He started to move but I put my hand on his chest and pushed him back.
“Nah, you got nowhere to be until I’m done talking to you. And I’m almost done, Enz, I’m almost done.”
He settled back uneasily against the bar.
“Here’s the thing: she told me she got picked up against her will recently. Thrown in a van and taken out to a shallow grave. She said that they told her that if she didn’t drop my case, that’s where she’d end up. Know anything about that?”
He shook his head, sweat starting to bead on his forehead.
“I don’t know nothing about that, Indro. I swear on my mother’s grave.”
“Your mother’s still alive, you dumb fuck. So you’re telling me you weren’t there? That what you’re saying?”
“That’s what I’m saying.”
“Right. So when my attorney told me she saw a guy with a scorpion tat… just like that one,” I said, pointing to his hand, “you’re telling me it wasn’t you?”
“That’s what I’m saying to you.”
I looked at him for a minute, nodded and then suddenly grabbed his drink and smashed the glass against his forehead, sending him down to the ground in a heap.
I kicked him in the ribs repeatedly while he groaned and curled into a ball.
Leaning down, I whispered in his ear.
“Listen to me, you fucking idiot. Next time I hear that you or any of the Loggias messed with Sophie, I’m gonna come back here and burn this fucking place to the ground, with you inside it. You understand me, you piece of shit?”
Enzio nodded weakly. For good measure I kicked him right across the jaw, knocking out a couple of teeth, just as another crash from the bowling alley above hit in unison.
“How about that?” I said. “Another strike.”
I wiped off my hands on a cocktail napkin and headed out the way I’d come.
“Enjoy your game, gentlemen. May fortune smile upon you,” I said to the staring faces as I walked out the door.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Sophie
Bad habits die hard.
That’s something my pop used to tell me. Indro was on his way to becoming a very bad habit indeed. I only saw one way out of the mess I’d gotten myself into.
Indro Lastra had to walk out of the courtroom as a free man. Only then would I be able to continue on with my life. Maybe even then I’d figured out Indro had tangled his tendrils all through me, body and soul, but I wasn’t ready to admit it. I was still looking for a way to come out of that mess smelling like roses.
When the prosecution’s case hinges on an eyewitness, it’s law 101 to discredit said witness. It’s a lot riskier than you might think and can backfire and blow up in your face. The best-case scenario is when the witness is kind of a piece of work themself. Nobody wants to believe a scumbag, for obvious reasons.
The problem was, our eyewitness, Glen Gilberti, was a friggin’ Catholic priest. You don’t get much more trustworthy than that in Chicago. Between the strong Polish streak and old-school mentality of the Windy City, I’d have to find something really dirty to cast doubt on Father Gilberti’s testimony.
I’d been bothered by the fact Gilberti had just seemed to spring up from the earth about a year and a half ago. No family history, no credit score, no electronic footprint whatsoever, other than his lame ass Facebook page—which mostly consisted of re-posts of the St. Patrick’s Church official page.
Being as Gilberti was cooling his heels in witness protection, I had few options available to me. I wouldn’t get to see him until he came in for his testimony, and by then it might be too late.
What was a gal to do but dig out the nun’s habit she got for a goof back in high school? I think I wore it for Halloween after my ‘sexy nun’ costume got nixed by my pop. Anyway, it still fit, and looked legit enough to pass muster.
An added plus to the ankle-length habit: it was plenty warm. That little facet came in handy when I stepped out onto the street into the biting wind. Even my neck stayed warm, though by the time I made it into old St. Patrick’s Church my cheeks had turned bright red.
I timed my visit to coincide with Wednesday Mass. Parishioners packed the pews in neat little rows as altar boys strode past with incense. I made sure to make the sign of the cross as I stepped over the threshold. Some folks smiled at me, and I smiled back.
Rule number one for snooping around where you don’t belong is act like you do belong. I imagined my pop was rolling over in his grave on account of me cosplaying a nun, but a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do. I wanted Indro out of my life before things got too deep. Unexpected van rides and death threats are not the reasons I got into law. Exactly why I never took on mafia clients before Indro blackmailed me.
When you see the outside of St. Patrick’s, it looks like a friggin’ medieval castle. Ominous stone towers, thick walls, and a sense of ancient history. Inside it’s a lot more modern than you might expect, particularly the rectory.
I strode through a set of doors, nodding curtly at an elderly priest
