V Is for Vengeance

knows what. Better to travel light so I don’t end up loaded down like a pack mule,” she said. “What about you? I figured you’d be taking off with your new lady love. What’s her name?”
    “Nora. How’d you find out about her?”
    “I know how you operate and I can get information from the same sources.”
    “She hasn’t agreed to go with me and now something else has come up.”
    “Uh-oh. That doesn’t sound good.”
    “It’s not. Two years ago I loaned a kid some money on a gambling debt. He owed a casino in Vegas and he came to me for cash to cover him. We made a deal and shook hands. I ponied up and then he tried to weasel out of paying. He offered me his Porsche in lieu of payment and I told Cappi to take care of it. I meant take a look and see if the car was okay. Cappi tossed him off the parking garage.”
    “I take it Cappi didn’t get caught or he’d still be locked up,” she said.
    “That’s not the problem. Turns out the kid was Nora’s only son. I knew her husband years ago, Tripp Lanahan. Guy drops dead of a heart attack at thirty-six. She mentions his name and I put it together in a flash. I thought I’d have a heart attack myself.”
    Lola sat down beside him. “What are you going to do?”
    “What are my choices? I have to tell her.”
    “No, you don’t. Are you nuts? Keep your big mouth shut. Otherwise all you’re going to do is fuck it up.”
    “What if she hears about it from someone else? Then I’m really fucked.”
    Lola’s expression was pained. “Oh, please. You know what this is like? Having an affair and then making a full confession. Leaves the guilty party feeling just fine, thanks. You get it off your chest and your conscience is clear. Meanwhile, you put the whole load of shit on your significant other who hasn’t done a thing.”
    “I want to be honest with her. Do things right.”
    “Get serious. She’s not going to forgive and forget. You tell her and it’s over. Is that what you want?”
    “I can’t live the rest of my life wondering if she’s going to find out.”
    “How’s she going to find out? You’re taking her out of the country. It’s a big world out there. What are the chances of running into someone who—lo and behold—knows what went on? You got what, a handful of people in on the story, all of ’em on your payroll. I wouldn’t sweat it if I were you.”
    He turned and looked at her. “I live with you all these years and this is how you think?”
    “It’s called common sense. Using the old noggin. Looking before you leap.”
    “It’s a rationalization. Finding a way to save your own skin at someone else’s expense.”
    “It’s not costing her anything. How’s she going to know?”
    And that was the question she left him with, last thing out of her mouth before he helped her carry her bags down to the car and watched her disappear down the drive. End of Lola. Over and done.
    Through the tinted windows of the limousine, the quality of the light changed, and he realized Tomasso had slowed at the mouth of the parking garage and was nosing the limo down the incline. Dante returned the report to his briefcase and idly watched the concrete walls slide by, support posts, low ceiling, the exit ramp coming up on his right. Tomasso pulled to the curb near the entrance to Macy’s. The backside elevators to the office floors were located to the right, often unnoticed by shoppers as they passed the spot, intent on something else.
    Hubert got out on the passenger side and came around to the rear to open the door for him. As Dante emerged from the car, the elevator doors opened and a young woman stepped out. Dante took in the sight of her—jeans, black turtleneck, and a big slouchy shoulder bag—with a curious sense of familiarity. It was unusual to see anyone in the parking garage at so early an hour. Hubert shifted his weight, automatically, blocking her access to his boss. The woman stopped and Dante saw recognition flicker in her eyes as she looked from his big bodyguard to the limousine. Dante couldn’t remember ever seeing her, but she seemed to know him.
    He was about to move past her when she spoke up. “Could I talk to you?”
    “About what?”
    Hubert said, “Miss . . .”
    “You’re Lorenzo Dante. I was just in your office looking for you.”
    “Who are you?”
    Hubert was saying, “Please, Miss. Could you step away from the car . . .” These were standard phrases he’d learned. Anyone hearing him would