Jake shakes his head no. “We’re talking about some nasty bastards, Tony. Your dad and his sister might have done the right thing. Worked well enough for fifty years, didn’t it?”
“True.”
Jake sits back and plants his palms on the desk. “The Giordano angle gives us another avenue to explore. I’m going to sit down with my FBI friends to see what they know about him and pick their brains on next steps.”
“Will they be pissed that it’s taken me a day to reach out to you?”
He chuckles. “Probably, but I think you hit the nail on the head about their knee-jerk reaction. Giordano’s probably wanted in the US, and that would override whatever concern the feds might have about the safety of Brittany and Francesco. The missed phone message may turn out to have been a blessing in disguise.”
Sounds like I’ve done something right. Inadvertently, of course. “So, you’ll talk to the FBI.”
He nods.
I twist in my seat in a bid to get comfortable behind the desk, but there isn’t enough room to stretch, so I stand and push my arms straight up above my head. My fingers touch the ceiling when I do so. How in hell does Menzies work in this cubbyhole?
I hope to God Joe doesn’t get wind of the FBI’s involvement. “The FBI is being careful, right?” I ask.
“Sure. This isn’t their first go round with these people.”
“Will I have any idea what’s going on?”
Jake thinks that over for a long minute before he replies, “I’ll keep you in the loop as much as I can.”
I slap my hands down on the desktop and lean over to hover above Jake before asking, “Meaning?”
“What you need to know, you’ll know,” he replies curtly.
“Where will you draw the line on that?”
“Need to know. Any plans need to be tightly held for operational security.”
I think I know what that means. I won’t be told a thing.
He gives me a tight smile. “Yeah, just what you’re thinking. I’m not telling you a damned thing about whatever operational plans we decide upon.”
Probably a wise idea. I resist the instinct to challenge his decision. He’s not going to bow to whatever pressure I try to exert. Nor will he respond to a heartfelt plea from a worried father. He’ll stand his ground and do whatever he thinks best. It’s a quality I’ve come to admire—even when it doesn’t get me what I want.
“One more thing about Giordano,” I say.
“Jesus, Tony. I thought you’d already told me everything.”
I shrug. “This is a little vague. He said he might be able to help out with Brittany.”
“How?”
“I’m not really sure. The Ndrangheta is a bigger outfit than the Lucianos, right?”
“Oh yeah.”
“Would the Lucianos follow an order from Italy?”
Jake thinks on that for a long moment. “I don’t know. Maybe.”
“What if Giordano threatened them?”
“I don’t see it, Tony. I doubt the Ndrangheta is willing to put that much effort and risk their prestige over a matter as minor as this is. At least to them.”
“What if they get something in return?”
“You’ve got more money tucked away somewhere?”
I shake my head. “No. Giordano mentioned me owing him a favor if he intervened.”
“What did you say?”
“Nothing, really. He caught me off guard.”
“What the hell else can you do for him of not pay some sort of ransom?”
“Helping him out if he ever needs legal work done here.”
“Jesus,” Jake murmurs while he runs a hand through his hair. “Whatever he asks won’t be legal. You know that?”
I nod.
“But if it gets Brittany back,” he muses.
“Exactly.”
“Cross that bridge when you get to it?”
“I’m kinda thinking that way,” I agree.
“I don’t know what to tell you. These are dangerous people, Tony. Cross them, well….”
“I’m not even sure he can help,” I mutter. “Hell, he might just pocket my two hundred and fifty grand and walk away with it, leaving Papa to twist in the wind.”
“Yeah, that’s possible,” Jake says unhappily. “Guess you’d better decide how you’re gonna play that favor conundrum.”
I nod. “If it will get Brittany back, what choice do I have?”
“Helluva spot to be in, pal. I wouldn’t presume to tell you what to do. Detective Plummer says that you should tell him to go to hell. Jake Plummer says you gotta look out for your daughter’s safety. Whatever you decide, be careful with these people.”
“I will.”
“I need to get to work, Tony. You go out first in case this Joe character has eyes on the place. I’ll visit with Zack for a bit and then slip out the back door.”
I’m fully immersed in desperation and melancholy by the time I get home. Commiserating with Puckerface after I feed him underscores Brittany’s absence. I wonder if—just like Mama’s roses—nursing Puckerface along will end up being my way of trying to hang on to a piece of my daughter. I try to drown my sorrows in a fresh bottle of Maker’s Mark that takes me through the afternoon and into the evening.
I stir in fuzzy bewilderment when the ringer on my phone wakes me up. My neck is bent into some sort of pretzel shape that refuses to yield to my attempts to roll or straighten it, my leg is asleep, and it’s pitch dark in the living room as I fumble about for the phone.
“Hello?” I ask sleepily when I finally find it and connect the call.
“It’s me,” Trish says in a tone that is equal parts concern and annoyance. “I haven’t heard from you in a couple of days.”
“Sorry,” I mumble. She’s been so sweet and discreet, touching base now and again, not pressing for details, just letting me know she’s thinking about me and hoping for the best.
“Have you been drinking?” she asks.
“Maybe.”
Her voice softens. “Maybe? You’re an adult, Tony. It’s legal. Can’t say I blame you.”
Misery loves company. Should I ask her over?
“No news about Brittany?” she asks, throwing a damper on whatever carnal thoughts are stirring.
“No news,” I mumble. Mafia visitors notwithstanding.
“Okay, then. Please keep in touch.”
“I will.”
“Now, go sleep it off,” she suggests
