“...been awarded to her pussy instead of her?” Carla finished for him with a smile. She couldn't help but be amused by what a southern gentleman Don was. “Yeah, the FBI was a real good ol' boys' club back then.”
“Take it from a good ol' boy, Carla,” Don said, “it still is.”
“Okay. So you're telling me that if it comes down to it, I shouldn't do what she did, even if it means we might not make the case we need against the Mancinis. Even if it means Fred's killer goes free.”
Don sighed heavily. “Darlin', all I'm sayin' is no matter what decision you make, be sure it's somethin' you'll be able to live with. I'm behind you either way, but you're the one who's gotta look yourself in the mirror when this is all over.”
“Assuming I make it out alive,” Carla said.
“Hell, that ain't much of an assumption,” Don answered. “You're a mighty tough cookie, an' a smart one too. If you can't out-think them Mancini boys, I'll eat my hat with barbecue sauce. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm gonna go make sure Louie ain't shavin' his nether regions in there while he's at it.”
As Don put his hand on the doorknob, Carla said, “Hey, Don? For what it's worth, I still think Patty was a hero.”
Don smiled. “Me too, hon.”
Chapter 6
Gio
Gio parked his Corvette in front of the Evanston address he'd written down. He looked up at the sign for The Laughing Fish, a small sushi restaurant with a sign depicting a cartoon fish smiling even as a silver knife chopped its tail into neat sections. Then he looked down at the address again to make sure he had the right place.
Sure enough, this was where Mario had said he wanted to meet, and his champagne-colored Lexus was parked out front with his driver and bodyguard Bobby leaning against the hood. Bobby waved to Gio, who returned the gesture, confused.
Mario had said he wanted them to have lunch together, but why would he choose this place? As far as Gio knew, Mario had never even been inside a sushi joint. He tended to limit his dining to places specializing in Southern Italian cuisine—the kinds of commonplace Chicago eateries with red checkered tablecloths, recorded opera music, and huge platters of sausage and veal drenched in heavy red sauce.
Gio reached for the handle on the front door, then pulled his hand back when he saw the “Closed” sign hanging on the glass pane. Before he could give it too much thought, he heard the door unlock and a hunched, wizened Japanese man with bushy white eyebrows opened it.
“You are Gio?” he asked in a wheezing, tremulous voice.
Gio nodded.
“Right this way, please,” the man rasped, gesturing for Gio to follow him. Gio stepped in and the man locked the door behind them, leading Gio to a private room in the back. He looked around for other patrons or wait staff, but he couldn't see or hear any. There were small potted bamboo plants on the tables, and huge silk fans decorated the walls. Gentle flute music lilted through the sound system, eerie and haunting.
Ever since he'd been waylaid by the men in ski masks when he was 17, Gio had developed an extremely sensitive antenna for potentially dangerous situations. Associates and soldiers in crime families generally had to be somewhat wary in their day-to-day lives, but as Mario's son, Gio knew he was a tempting target for rival gangs who might want to ransom him or use him as leverage. Whenever he got a bad feeling about a situation he was walking into, he tended to trust that instinct.
Gio knew that some people might call him “paranoid.” But he was pretty sure those people had never caught someone taping them with a hidden microphone or been smacked around by a van full of strangers with baseball bats.
Slowly, Gio reached for the gun in his shoulder holster as they approached the door to the back room. The Japanese man opened the door and Gio saw his father sitting by himself at a table set for four. Gio's hand closed over the handle of his pistol—as the door opened wider, he half expected to see men on either side of Mario, holding him at gunpoint.
But the door opened all the way, and aside from Mario, the room was empty.
Mario stood, smiling and gesturing at Gio's hand in his jacket. “Hey, what's this? One day as a made guy, and you're already thinking of whacking the boss and taking over?”
Gio realized he was still gripping his gun and withdrew his hand, returning the smile. He suddenly felt pretty silly for suspecting an ambush. “Nah, I just thought...forget it. How are you, Papa?”
“I'm good,” Mario said, embracing Gio and patting him on the back. “You? Still recovering from your party last night?”
Gio thought about his encounter with Katie and bristled inwardly. “Yeah, thanks again for that,” he replied. “It was a lot of fun. So why did you want to meet me here? I didn't think you ate cooked fish, let alone raw.”