The man handed him a business card and a pen. Paulie scribbled something on it, then handed it back to Ira. “Give that to Tony for me.”
Ira didn’t even glance at it as he tucked it into his wallet. “That’s all?”
“That’s all.”
Ira leaned in and dropped his voice. “Your father called me in yesterday.”
“He’s pissed?”
“You should be so lucky. He wants this dealt with expediently and as neatly as possible. No collateral damage whatsoever to raise more questions.”
“Just get Tony that card and it will be.”
“You realize we never should have left New York. I told your old man it was silly to set up shop in the south. New people, new ways, whole new network and infrastructure. Between the Trafficantes and Gambinos, they brought too much attention to everything when they got popped in Tampa a few years back. This state’s full of Columbians now anyway, drugs, coyotes, and the gambling’s controlled by the Indians. It’s not a stable business environment for what’s safer and traditionally profitable. Too many gangs moving in for a cut. Then those 9/11 fucktards trained in Venice, it got Homeland Security involved and now they have a huge presence here. Trying to move shit in and out of this state is more trouble than it’s worth. They don’t have trade unions down here like they do up north. What, we’re supposed to make a living on teachers unions? Firemen? Wait staff? Migrant workers? Those poor bastards can barely support themselves as it is. There’s nothing down here anymore to really make money, unless you open a goddamned theme park and stick a rodent on the sign. Can’t even make money on real estate in this market.”
“No arguments from me.”
“We get you guys out of this mess, then we all go back north. We’ve got too many lucrative legal and grey-area enterprises we can focus on. We don’t need this shit. Me and your old man, we’re not young any more. Agreed?”
“Agreed. Thanks for coming.”
“What? You think I’m going to not come when you ask? I was at your christening, Paulie. Your father is one of my oldest and dearest friends. You’re like a son to me. We’ve all managed to stay out of jail this long, somehow, and I don’t plan on tarnishing that record at my age.”
When Ira left, the guards returned Paulie to his cell. He was in solitary confinement for his “protection,” according to prosecutors. Fuck that, they wanted to try to control who he contacted and knew in the general population he would be able to get messages out to his crew.
Paulie settled onto his crappy bunk and stared at the ceiling. Tony would arrange things. He was trustworthy, capable.
Sorry, Daph. Nothing personal, it’s just business. If you’d kept your mouth shut, I never would have known you were still alive and even if I had, I would have let you go.
Chapter
Ten
Daphne helped Alan prepare dinner. He’d just gotten off the phone with Jerald, who was now on his way home from the marina. In the three weeks she’d lived with the men, the three of them had quickly settled into a comfortable routine. Daphne was more than happy to take over the bulk of the household chores, as well as help Alan with his paperwork, in exchange for her room and board.
She refused to leave the house alone. She’d noticed that when Jerald went somewhere with her, he always carried a concealed handgun.
She felt safe. So much so that she sometimes went a day at a time without thinking about Paulie Scorsini.
It wasn’t unusual for the three of them to cuddle up together on the couch to watch movies or TV in the evening. She figured they simply viewed her as a younger sister, but she soaked up what affection they offered. They would never be hers, but in her mind, alone in bed, she could pretend.
Several times she awoke screaming from nightmares. One such dream caused Jerald to burst into her room, naked and with his gun drawn, with Alan, also naked, on his heels.
Once Jerald ascertained she wasn’t being attacked, he’d invited her back to their bed. She’d accepted, only because she’d been too terrified to sleep and knew the men would worry about her.
Unfortunately, they donned shorts before climbing into bed with her, but not before she’d managed to notice they were both well-hung.
Le sigh. Fucking dumb luck anyway.
“Why do you call him that,” she asked Alan after he’d hung up the phone.
“Hmm? What?”
“Tough guy. Why is that your nickname for him?”
Alan smiled. “You’ve see him. He’s not a total hard ass when it’s just the two of us alone. I’m special. I get to see the softer side of Major Carter.” He sighed. “He’s a tough nut. I let him be who he is. He shows me he loves me in the ways that count. I don’t have to worry about him playing games or running around on me. If he says he’s working late, that’s where he is. If he says he’s going to be somewhere, that’s where he is.”
“He showed me his Hemingway collection. I wouldn’t have taken him for a classic literature kind of guy.”
“Yeah, it’s pretty neat. Not my style, but hey, it’s just all part of the ‘Jerald Carter mystique.’” He teasingly used finger quotes around the phrase. “I gave up trying to get mushy sentiment out of him a long time ago. It doesn’t matter. What I really need is a stable, dependable partner who loves me, and that’s what I’ve got. I won’t force him to change who he is. I accept him the way he is, the same way he accepts me.”
“Unlike some men in the world.” She ran a hand through her hair. She definitely preferred it shorter. The men seemed to think it looked good on her.
Alan didn’t miss the gesture. “Any man stupid enough to think you look better as a blonde doesn’t deserve to have you on his arm in the first place, sugar. Why screw with perfection?”
Alan left to answer his cell phone. She already noticed a difference in her relationship with the men. Alan had no problem discussing intimate matters with or around her in a matter-of-fact way. She understood all too clearly why Jerald referred to him as a “WYSIWYG” kind of guy: What You See Is What You Get. She even had a running joke now between her and Alan, where he’d ask her for a judge’s score of the men’s night before, based on the noises she’d heard from their bedroom.
They never did that in front of Jerald, knowing it would make him uncomfortable. Daphne didn’t mind because it was part of Alan’s playful, fun-loving nature. And as much as Jerald sometimes felt a need to play down their relationship in public, Alan had an even greater need to have a person he could talk to and be totally open about it.
Jerald acted more reserved when it came to his emotions, but as he’d relaxed around her, she saw the deeper side to him. She could discuss books and music with Jerald in a way that bored poor Alan to tears. Despite his tough exterior, Jerald Carter definitely was a Renaissance Man.
* * * *
Two nights later, Alan was home alone with Daphne. Jerald had to lend a hand on a poaching stake-out over in Brooksville and wouldn’t be home until late the next morning. Alan sat cuddled on the couch with Daphne while they watched a TV special on Yellowstone National Park. He loved cuddling with her and felt glad Jerald also enjoyed her company. No jealousy to worry about.
“I’ve always wanted to go to Yellowstone,” Alan said. “I’ve heard a lot about it, but I’ve never been.”
“I’ve heard it’s beautiful.”
“You know what’s stupid? I’ve been to Georgia and the Carolinas, but that’s as far as I’ve ever been. I’ve never been out west before. Spent all my life living and working here in this state. I’d love to go fly fishing out there, exploring.”
“Has Jerald been there?”
“Yeah, a few times. Years ago.”
“You two should go.”
He hugged her. “You could come too, you know.”
“No, that would be private vacation time for you two. I’d stay here and hold down the couch. Make sure no one steals the newspapers out of the front yard.”
He laughed and kissed the top of her head. “You’re so cute, you know that?” The problem was he
did
think she was cute. Cuter every day. More than once he’d caught himself thinking about her in ways that made him hard. Not to mention she’d crossed his mind more than once while he made love with Jerald.
Having her in their bed would be no sacrifice.
Except no way she’d ever go for it. Jerald probably wouldn’t either.
He nuzzled his chin against the top of her head. “I wouldn’t feel right leaving you alone like that.”
“Three’s a crowd, Alan.”
“No babe, I believe three’s a ménage.”
She snorted, laughing as she tipped her face up to his. “You’re looking for trouble, teasing a poor single girl, aren’t you?”
He smiled. “Trouble is my middle name.”
And you’re a handful of trouble I wouldn’t mind having in the middle of my bed
, he wistfully thought.
* * * *
Alan had taken a charter deep sea fishing for grouper on his larger boat that day, thirty miles offshore and not due to return home until late that evening. They needed groceries, and Jerald asked Daphne go to with him. After a little gentle prodding, he finally got her to agree.
“I want to make a quick side trip before we hit the store,” Jerald said after they climbed in the truck.
“What?”
“I want your opinion.” They drove a few minutes north, turning down a dirt road that ran through a thicket of scrub oak and cabbage palms. The rutted shell track opened into a large, empty plot of land. “Besides my clothes and books and stuff, this is the only thing I kept from my divorce,” he said as he turned the truck around so the front pointed back down the road. He opened his door and climbed out. Daphne followed.
He dropped the tailgate and sat, watching the western sky. Past the expanse of sawgrass flats, the Gulf darkly glistened as the sun began its evening descent.
Daphne sat next to him in the truck bed. She loved time alone with Jerald as much as she did with Alan. Now that she’d gotten to know him better, it was nice having his steady presence around. Not as talkative as Alan, he provided a different kind of comfort.
The property was a little over an acre. She barely spotted a light in the distance, to the north, through the trees. Otherwise, there were no signs of nearby neighbors and it sounded totally quiet except for the breeze rustling palm fronds, and crickets and frogs sounding off.
“I’ve owned this for years. My uncle left it to me. My bitch ex almost made me sell it, but I’m glad I didn’t.” He stared at the Gulf. “I’ve always wanted to build a house here, but she didn’t want to live here. She wanted to live away from the water, scared of storms and shit. Said it was too buggy, too hot, too whatever.” He looked at her. “I thought I’d ask Alan if he’d want to go halves with me on it, build a house. For us. I pay the taxes on it every year and almost sold it after the divorce, could have made a fortune on it. But something told me to hold on to it.”
She smiled. Like this, with his defenses and stern, professional façade down, Jerald was so cute, so sweet. “Good thing you did.”
“So what do you think? Will he like it?” Jerald sounded nervous, uncertain. A tone of voice she definitely wasn’t used to hearing from him.
She leaned against him, hoping he wouldn’t move away. Alan would immediately cuddle with her, sling an arm around her shoulders and pull her closer. Sometimes Jerald acted more reserved. “This is a beautiful spot, Jer. I think he’s going to love it.”
She ignored the small pang, the voice of reality chiming in that there really wasn’t a place for her here long-term with them.
The Gulf slowly absorbed the sun. The sky ebbed and flowed with colors, blue melding into pale yellows and oranges that transformed into fiery pastels counterpointed by deep purples and grays above the clouds. Straggling lines of leftover clouds from the late afternoon sea breeze front dotted the sky.
Daphne smiled and pointed. “Those look like little series of hearts,” she said. “Like a whole line of puffy, cotton candy hearts.”
He slipped his arm around her shoulder. “Sunset hearts.”
Her heart raced as she snuggled closer. Why torture herself like this? The men had each other. There was no place in their life for her except as friend and maybe adopted little sister. They felt protective of her, wanted to keep her safe.
With her head resting on his shoulder, they sat like that for another fifteen minutes until the sky darkened to purple with the impending night. As the light faded, they got back in the truck and headed toward the main highway.
Before they reached the store, he spoke again, surprising her. “I love him, Daph,” he said. “I never felt this way about my freaking ex-wife, the way I feel about him. I don’t just mean the sex, either. He’s my best friend.” He almost looked embarrassed. “I never used to believe that soul mate bullshit, but being with him, even if it’s just eating dinner or out fishing, I feel calm, like it’s where I’m supposed to be. Does that sound stupid?”
She sighed. “No. It sounds like you’re in love.”
And Alan is a very lucky man.