Bad Behavior(29)

"I'm not." I wasn't sure it was a good idea for me to cross paths with anyone from the U.S. Attorney's Office until I was better prepared with Castille. The sheer enormity of his case was beginning to worry me. That and the New York City indictment instead of the more logical New Orleans. The venue issue kept haunting me.

"He said it was urgent and it would be worth your while."

She followed me into my office. I sat down, sinking into my leather chair, and gave her an acid look. "You work for Jonesy now?"

She studied her cheap shoes. I paid her better than some knockoff Tory Burch kitten heels. Ugh.

"I'm just relaying what he said."

"He didn't give any more hints? Just some crap about it being worth my while?"

Those shoes must have really been something special, the way she kept looking at them instead of me.

"No, ma'am."

I supposed I could have dinner with him. Lincoln's reticence to tell me why he'd indicted Castille in New York was bugging me. I needed to know what was cooking in that head of his. My Friday demand was already pushing Vin to the breaking point, so no help there. Maybe Jonesy could give me what I wanted without me going all gooshy like I did with Lincoln.

"Set it. Have a car pick me up at whatever time."

"Eight. I'll make sure it's done. Also, you had another call while you were with Vinnie. It was-"

I waved her away. "I'll get to it in the morning. Remind me first thing. Do the same for any more calls that come in. I already have plenty to do." I eyed the stack of associate briefs that were stacked up in my in-box to review. "Go ahead and bring me a fresh box of red pens."

After working for two straight hours on that pile of garbage-interspersed with rare points of actual legal intelligence-I had a more healthy respect for the parts Vin and Drew played in the firm. I also had a mind to fire a couple more associates based solely on their misuse of "your" and "you're."



       
         
       
        

Jena buzzed on my intercom. "Ms. Pallida. Your car is here."

I dropped my pen and dumped several of the briefs in my out-box, hopefully never to see them again. I checked myself in my mirror and freshened my lipstick before going downstairs. More flies with honey.


Sal's was an Italian restaurant at the edge of Tribeca. It wasn't a tourist trap, thank God, and served some real-deal cuisine. I'd helped the owner get up and running a few years back. His father had been a client of mine after he and his family were run out of Little Italy for certain old-school business practices against other restaurants owned by rival families.

Bats and knives weren't the way to get things done anymore. Now, attorneys and well-timed New York Department of Revenue investigations into competitors were the way to go. After the dustup settled down, Sal's son, Tony, decided to move the family business to greener pastures. Tribeca was perfect-tons of rich people looking for good food within walking distance. Tony and his sisters fit right in, though Sal had his misgivings at first. Now they'd settled in, serving up a more posh version of Little Italy and good food. The whole thing was a front for other enterprises that I steered clear of, but the food was legitimately delicious.

"Ms. Pallida!" Trish, one of Tony's many sisters, greeted me. "We were going to send out a search party."

I let her embrace me, her dark curly hair tickling my nose. "I know. It's been too long. Work got in the way."

She pulled back and waggled her finger. "Don't let it happen again."

I looked around the familiar dining room. It was tastefully decorated with a penchant for the Italian history portrayed in the movies. Large stylized paintings of country life in Italy lined the walls-vineyards and fields, ornate architecture, friendly villas.

The restaurant was filled to the brim, conversations humming like electricity in the air. So many rich people all in one place made my mouth water. A fool and his money are soon parted, after all, and the room was no doubt full of fools. "Business still booming, I see."

"It certainly is. Pop will be thrilled to see you. Tony, too. Your regular table?" She stepped toward the sea of dinner-goers.

"No, well, I don't think so. I'm meeting someone. Tall guy, blond hair."

"The blue-eyed ladykiller? You lucky gal. He's at a table toward the back. I can move you both to your table, if you'd like. Something more private, romantic."

I shook my head. "It's not like that, Trish. And his table is fine."

"Fair game?" she asked and started smoothing her frizzy curls around her pretty face.