the problem of Danny Gates entirely.
Ricky finally laughed. The sound was rich and familiar. “Okay, we kept tabs on you. So I guess you’re not calling me for a lift somewhere.”
“No. I’m already where I need to be.”
He heard Ricky accepting this in the ensuing silence. “You’re definitely still out then.”
“I’m out.”
“What do you want to do about it?”
“We need to meet and work out a stalemate.”
This time Ricky didn’t hesitate. “How about tomorrow?”
“No. Friday. I’m going to need a little time.” This, Danny thought, would be the true test of how much of their friendship remained. They both knew what he was going to do with that time. “Can you hold Carmine and the others off until then?”
“I guess I have to.”
Danny let himself breath again. Cautiously.
“I’ll meet you at the country club at one o’clock,” Ricky said.
Danny thought about that. As long as Ricky had kept his nose reasonably clean these past six years, meeting with him wouldn’t be a violation of his parole. It wasn’t against the law for an ex-con to meet with a suspected mobster—yet. “You haven’t been charged with anything while I was gone?”
“Bro, I’m way too clever.”
Same old Ricky, Danny thought. “I thought I was, too.”
Ricky ignored that. “Friday. One o’clock. In the Yellow Rose Café.”
Danny’s eyes narrowed hard and fast, like blinds slapping down to cover a window. It worried him that Ricky hadn’t chosen the Men’s Grill for old time’s sake. “Why the change?” he asked.
“Because the grill isn’t there anymore. Somebody blew it clear to China last month.”
“No kidding?”
“Sky-high, buddy. It’s a pile of rubble.” Ricky laughed again.
Danny didn’t ask if the Mercados had been behind the explosion. It was just one more thing he didn’t need to know. “All right. The Café, then. In the meantime you’ve got my back, right?”
“You’re covered.”
For now, Danny thought. After Friday, who knew?
He disconnected and shifted his shoulders back and forth, trying to rock some of the tension out of them. Then he cocked his head to the side. From downstairs came the thump-thump-thumping sound of a basketball hitting the gym floor. He grinned to himself. The kids had already come inside.
He returned to the stairs and trotted down, then he went still, holding the door to the gym open with one hand. Whatever was going on out there more closely resembled a game of keep-away than basketball. And it didn’t resemble keep-away much at all. He suspected this all had something to do with the woman who had pulled the kids inside onto the court while he’d been upstairs.
As he watched, she more or less tackled Cia on the hard flooring and began tickling her. The two of them came up gasping for breath. Somehow Cia managed to keep her modesty in that tiny skirt. Then the woman sprang to her feet again. Laughing, she scraped her hands through her hair, pulling it back from her face. It was a wild mass of curls that had hidden her features, but when it was swept clear, Danny saw delicate cheekbones and a spattering of freckles across her nose.
She was small, compact and she had the voice of a drill sergeant. She spun to one of the boys who’d stuck his tongue out at her behind her back—a new one who hadn’t been outside. “Keep it in your mouth, Fisk, until you figure out how to use it.”
“Hey, babe, I know how. Want me to show you?”
“Grow up first. Maybe we’ll talk in ten years.” She caught the ball that Lester shot to her. And fast, without looking, she threw it in the direction of Fisk. The boy was startled, but caught it. “Good job,” she said. “See? Your hands actually work for something besides picking pockets.”
Then she threw herself into the game, or whatever it was.
Her face changed, Danny thought. Her eyes went hot. Passion, he thought. It was there on her face, a hunger both for the release of the exercise and the need to win, assuming her game even had rules. Her hair bounced, all long, dark ringlets that made a man’s hand itch for palms full of it.
A new girl had joined the kids from outside, as well, he realized. She caught the sleeve of the woman’s white sweater. In an instant the woman stopped playing and turned, looking concerned. Then she slung an arm over the girl’s shoulder and together they moved off the court in his direction, their heads close as they whispered.
“Ah, man,” Lester said. “Damn Anita’s got more problems than an ex-con.”
Somehow Danny doubted that.
The woman made a semirude gesture in the boy’s direction and it shut him right up. Passion and kindness, he thought, and no-nonsense guts. He felt one corner of his mouth try to pull into a smile. Danny rubbed his palm over it to get rid of the reflex.
When she looked up and saw him, she stopped midstride. “Who are you?”
Danny lowered his hand and stepped out of the stairwell. “Danny Gates.” Her eyes were emerald green, he noticed, and she definitely had freckles.
“Is that your rattletrap out there?” she demanded.
“My what?” She’d lost him.
“Your car. There’s a car out there in my parking space.”
“There’s no assigned parking out there.”
“I always leave my car at the door. There’s an old yellow Dodge there now, in my spot.”
“It’s lemon.”
It was her turn to frown in confusion. “I beg your pardon?”
“Lemon. That’s what the salesman called it.”
“He might have been referring to its condition, you know, not its color.”
That snagged his pride. He walked past her. “Yeah, if the car in question is lemon, then that would be mine.”
“A rose by any other name…” She shrugged and pivoted to follow him with her gaze. “Are you leaving now? Because if you are, I’ll move my car back to where it belongs since the rain’s tapered off a little. I don’t want to have to run a block in a downpour to get to it when I’m done here.”
He stopped and looked back at her. It had been a while since he’d had occasion to handle a woman, Danny thought, but he was pretty sure he could remember how the routine went. Something told him that this one was used to having her own way, to giving orders. He’d have to fix that if she intended to spend any time around here playing with his kids.
