A woman in hospital scrubs covered in tiny penguins had materialized like a magician’s assistant to take the still full Compari glass from Uncle Mario’s hand.
Matt started to bid the old guy farewell when he realized Macho Mario Fontana was in lullaby land.
20
Intervention Convention
Aldo had reluctantly left Matt at his car in the Gangsters limo lot.
“I don’t know what you’re getting at, but it’s getting at you, my man,” Aldo had said in parting. “Time for a time out, maybe. I got some roles to play in your wedding, dude, and I don’t want to lose the opportunity.”
Matt bit his lip as hard as he thought driving home to the Circle Ritz. He turned in the parking lot on autopilot, surprised to find a black Chrysler speeding after him and cutting him off from turning fully into a parking space.
In the next moment a white SUV squealed around the corner to hem in both vehicles.
When a silent black Tesla followed, Matt got out of the Jaguar where he’d stopped it.
Frank Bucek got out of the Chrysler. Molina and Detective Morrie Alch jumped out of the SUV to join him.
“What’s this?” Matt asked. “I’m being arrested?”
“You ought to be.” Molina, dressed in a khaki pant suit with a badge gleaming on her belt, strode up to him. “Frank? Do you want to do this or should I?”
Behind them, Aldo and his rumpled ice cream suit lurked behind the authorities, shrugging.
“We were tailed,” Aldo admitted. “It’s been such a long time since any cops wanted to do so, I didn’t look. Sorry. They caught up with me after you left Gangsters.”
“I can’t drive where I want?” Matt was stunned. “You’ve been having me followed, even Rafi that time?”
Molina smiled. “I wouldn’t send a civilian on an assignment without having him checked from time to time. And you stumbled into some interesting criminals. We like where you drive. It’s been very instructive, but now it’s time for an ‘intervention’, as you might say.”
“You are throwing that at me?” Matt was furious.
Frank stepped between him and Molina. “Matt, you are in over your head. It’s not your fault. You should know even the ATF is involved as well as the locals and the FBI. It has an interest in any weapons at large in this country. The FBI put me in Las Vegas because of what you’re tiptoeing around the edges of. You have no right to risk yourself like this when you’ve found the woman you love. If one of my sons—and mine are still pre-teens, thank God—was doing what you’ve been doing, I’d have been so proud I’d cry and then I’d confine him to home for a month.
“You’ve bulled your way into a crime of the century. But you’ve got to give it up. You can’t go solo on this. You can’t risk everyone around you. You’ve got to let us pros take the reins.”
Matt stood still. In one way, he was relieved to shrug the suspicions and conclusions he’d been carrying off his back like a hiking pack. In another sense, he owned what he’d found out. He had earned his own conclusion.
Molina came around Bucek to face him. “Sometimes you’ve just got to let the past slide away. Sometimes you’ve got to let someone else show you the way. Isn’t that right?”
Matt looked up at the Circle Ritz, at the people who lived there who needed to be safe from intruders and old crimes coming home to roost.
He nodded.
Molina looked over her shoulder at Detective Alch, who was already holding up some color computer printouts. She slammed the flimsy pages atop the Jaguar roof. “You know this man?”
“Yeah,” Matt said. “Chuck Effinger. My…half-brother. My God.” He paged through the three sheets. “What happened to him?”
“Nothing good. He has a long minor-crime rap sheet, but in this case, he’s the assault victim.”
“What did they use on his arms?”
“Not sure. Hydrochloric acid. Sander. Blowtorch. They wanted him to talk and we’re sure he did. But not to us. He’d see us in Hell first.”
She looked into his shocked eyes. “I’m sorry. You need to know this is serious. You need to know we’re going to get these guys and are working on it even now, and you can stay away from these crooks and go and have your happy wedding, with Aldo and all the king’s men on security.”
She lowered her voice so only he could hear. “I’m sorry to blazes I referred you to such a compromised source. I’m putting security details on the Circle Ritz, the church, and the Crystal Phoenix. Nothing of this should touch you now. Okay?”
Matt nodded, still dazed. “Okay, Lieutenant. I did my job for you and I trust you to do your job for me. And mine.”
“I promise to get you and yours safely to the wedding on time.”
21
Midnight Louie’s Dream Wedding
Many people joke about “wedlock”. I suppose that is because the bride and bridegroom vow to be ever faithful and forego any romps of a romantic nature with someone else forever and ever.
Not a problem in the case of Mr. Matt, who is a proven celibate. That word is not to be confused with the ceremony’s celebrant, who is Father Hernandez and also one of these professional celibates.
But neither man was kidnapped and conveyed to the bottom of the altar steps of Our Lady of Guadalupe Catholic Church in a zebra-striped carrier!
(Although I understand that in olden days some brides were taken to the ceremony by force, hence the large number of groomsmen in weddings.) In our case, Fontana brothers.
I am royally annoyed by being confined, carried away, and treated like some human infant. Why? Am I not cooperative beyond all the usual behavior of my kind?
Do I not wear—again, when I was forewarned to fight it with every nail sheath?—the formal white tie around my neck. (On a breakaway band, so I cannot strangle if I get excited and try to run.) Please. Give me some credit. I know it is my job now to pose next to Mr. Matt’s gray pant leg, immobile as a Buckingham Palace guard, during the interminable mumblings of the prayers and sermons and vows, and not move a muscle. I must admit I do have the impressive head of thick black fur for the job, if not the stature.
The small white box with the all-important wedding rings inside has not yet been affixed to my tie-band.
Why not? It is safer on my neck behind the formidable thorn bush of my ever-ready shivs.
But no. I have been “parked” in my conveyance on the end of the front pew overlooking the aisle and forgotten. All around me enough rustle and bustle to launch a major Broadway show opening is going on.
I hear Danny Dove’s drill-sergeant basso voice projecting to the wooden beams high above, presumably representing Heaven itself.
“Places, people. Please. We do not have much time for the run-through before the actual-time rehearsal.”
Well, I am not a “people”, so I suppose sitting ignored is good enough for me. At least I have invited some of my own “guests”, my nearest and dearest, which I blush to reveal includes my business partner and semi-honorary “daughter”, Miss Midnight Louise.
We of Midnight Investigations, Inc. had a serious senior-junior talk before I allowed myself to be carted away from my Circle Ritz home, perhaps never to return again. (No one and nothing stops Midnight Louie from going where he pleases, but I may finally be too proud to come crawling back.)