Then I asked, “You need me to do the math for you again, hit the high points?”
“I, uh, yes. I mean, no. Let me get a pen. Give me your address.”
“This Friday, Dick. No going back. Understand?”
“Yes, I understand.” He was deflated now, terse and quiet.
“I’m transferring you to my secretary. She’ll arrange your payment information.” I clicked him over to Carol and settled back into my chair.
“Angel is the right word for you.” Mrs. Sawyer dabbed at her eyes with a hand-embroidered handkerchief. “I didn’t know. He just, he just took it all. But you got it back!” She blew her nose. “I mean, look at you. Tiny little lady with that blond hair looking like a short Barbie doll, but you nailed him!” She pumped her fist in the air, to the chagrin of her middle-aged son.
I smiled and stood. “We’ll have to wait and see. He may still make the wrong choice.”
“He won’t. He’s a coward. You showed me that. And you got him by the balls!”
“Mom!” Greg pinched the bridge of his nose.
I laughed. Mrs. Sawyer had turned out to be a spitfire. We had something in common after all.
“I’ll have Carol call you as soon as the money hits.” I had a feeling Dick would pay. They usually did when I let them know upfront I had enough evidence to take down a Gotti.
I walked over to Mrs. Sawyer. She clutched her son’s arm and pulled herself up. I knew the hug was coming, so I just stood and took it. She smelled like flowery soap and some intense hairspray. Aqua Net?
“Bless you, Ms. Angel.”
“The pleasure was all mine.” It really was. My day had started off with a bang, thanks to her.
Mrs. Sawyer scooted her way out of my office behind her walker. Greg followed close behind, though she didn’t need any help. She almost had a spring in her step.
Once they were out of the office, I closed my door and plopped down on my pleather couch. My office was small, and nowhere near as swank as I’d been accustomed to, but it was home. I finally felt like I was on the right path, doing the right things. I was helping people, crushing the shysters that preyed on the vulnerable. I was in a much better place mentally and emotionally, calm even.
I’d been in New Orleans for six months, slowly building my small practice. This city. I shook my head. It was beautiful, hot, steamy, and more of a home than anything was back in New York. I’d even made a few friends here and there. They didn’t ask too many questions about my past, and I returned the favor. Maybe something about New Orleans made people a little more hesitant to ask about your past and a little bit more ready to accept you as they found you. At least that’s what I’d surmised.
I even adopted a cat from the local shelter. Romeo was an orange tabby who was missing an eye and all of his tail. He walked right up to me at the shelter and nuzzled me, as if introducing himself. Though he’d been the tough kitty on the block when he was younger, he was definitely a lover now, not a fighter. He would sleep next to me, making biscuits, kneading the blankets until he fell asleep. He lived like a little king, the finest toys, the best food, and all the attention from me his furry butt could stand.
Even so, something was missing. I moved here to set up my new identity and my new shop. But I wasn’t kidding myself, Lincoln was the reason I chose New Orleans. I wanted to feel close to him, even though he was still in New York City prosecuting Lester DiSalvo. I followed the case closely, enjoying every tidbit of dirt that came out on the younger mafioso.
I kept up with the whole fiasco, the tabloids headlining the “return of the king” as the elder DiSalvo was set to land in New York and support his “unfairly maligned” son at trial. Lincoln had even managed to make some charges stick against Leon without the help of my files. Or maybe my files helped, but DiSalvo would never be able to prove that’s where Lincoln got his information. The look on Leon’s face when he was arrested at LaGuardia was enough to warm even my sad heart.
He made bail in short order but disappeared on his way back to the Four Seasons. A good deal of his blood was found in the car, leaving no doubt as to his fate. The media had a ball with the “what happened to the mob kingpin” stories.
Not long after, I received an express package from New York with a “for Ms. Angel’s eyes only” notation on the outside. Inside were three of the most delicious cannoli this side of heaven and a note in Sal’s stark scribble: Come back and see me anytime, bella. It’s safe now.
I imagined Sal, and maybe some of Vinnie’s cousins, putting a vicious hurt on DiSalvo. It didn’t feel like justice, exactly, but for the first time since I’d fled New York, I felt some semblance of safety. Not home free enough to let anyone in on my secret; I still kept my head down, my nose to the grindstone. But I didn’t look over my shoulder quite as much. And I didn’t let fear rule me. I enjoyed New Orleans, the French Quarter, the river. I was a solitary wanderer. I imagined that Lincoln had walked along the same paths, had eaten in the same restaurants at some point in the past.