The Most Dangerous Dame

“A broken heart.” Scars had the kind of cackling laugh made specifically for giving folks the creeps. “You’re a real comedian, aren’t you? Doesn’t matter how they went down, Mick. Everyone knows you had a hand in it. Better watch your step.”

“Yeah, I keep hearing that. You want something, or you just drop by to bask in my charm?”

Scars grimaced, turning his face even more skeletal. “Mr. Flacco would like to speak with you in private. Let’s go.”

“Flacco wants to bump gums with little ol’ me? What an unexpected surprise. Lead the way, Ace.”

I put a little swagger in my walk as we strode across the crowded dining room, since a lot of folks were staring as discreetly as possible. I clapped eyes on the Black Widow as she glided across the other side of the room, coincidentally matching our pace and heading the same direction we did. Then No-Nose Nate excused himself from his table right about when we passed. Not exactly a good sign, but I wasn’t nervous or anything. Just taking note of the situation, was all.

I kept a reassured smile and a casual step as Scars led me down one of the private hallways. But with no heater and no backup I was pretty much as vulnerable as I’d ever been since I was hauled out the river with no memory. And things didn’t look like they were gonna get brighter anytime soon.

Chapter 5: The Godfather

Moe Flacco’s office was an architectural dream of polished wood from his massive desk to the floor, walls, and cornered pillars. There were only a couple of chairs other than the luxuriously padded leather one he sat in, because folks weren’t meant to be comfortable when standing before the Don. Real books lined the shelves behind him, each worth an individual fortune. His desk was spotlighted by a glass-stained aperture in the ceiling, and an entire wall section displayed a scenic view of New Haven from the ceiling-length windows. From that far up the lights looked like an ocean full of iridescent glimmers.

Moe stared out the window like a lord at his kingdom. He wasn’t a tall man. He wasn’t exactly a good-looking mug, either. His slightly oversized face resembled a bulldog more than anything else, but his tailoring made up for what he lacked in looks. He was clean-shaven and his white-capped coif was carefully cropped, severely combed back with every strand in place. He leaned back in his luxury armchair with his fingers steepled as his large, deep-set eyes stared into the void.

Ben the Bear was a hulking beast that stood behind Moe, civilized only by the suit he wore. Even that strained against his bulk. He had a wide head connected with a neck just as thick, so you didn’t know where his face started and his neck ended. The rest of his face kinda sank into that slab of tough meat, giving him a permanent squint and a complimentary sneer. His long jet-black hair was neatly pulled back from his face and he wore no tie, leaving his shirt unlaced enough to show off the silver chains that hung from his neck. Two fat rings glittered on his left hand. He glowered as if daring me to talk smack so that he could play piñata with my face.

No-Nose Nate leaned casually by the door, rubbing a finger alongside his gold-plated sniffer. He was a tall, whip-slender mug with a flair for style. Maybe it was to compensate for his face — a scarred, pock-marked mess only a mother could love. Even in funeral garb he couldn’t resist tipping his gleaming shoes with gold plate, matching the same gleam on his belt buckle and tie pin. He smiled lazily, but one hand was in his pocket. If he didn’t have a tight grip on a gold-plated snub-nose, I’m a flamingo dancer. We’d spoken on good terms a few times at the Gaiden but everyone knows that blood is thicker than water, especially when that blood has been spilled across the ground.

Then there was Electra Flacco, aka the Black Widow. Between her and her brother Nate it was obvious who got the looks in the family. Something about her sharp red hair color brought out an ethereal sheen to her skin tone, highlighting her delicate cheekbones and rosebud lips. Her long, slinky black dress was embroidered with ebony roses and decorative whorls. The clinging fabric covered her from neck to toe save for a diamond cut right above her modest bosom. She sat in one of the two leather-padded chairs, exposing a sinuous view of the shapely gam that slid from the long slit in her dress. The snakeskin patterns on the ebony hose gave her leg the appearance of an onyx serpent slithering up her gown.

She graced me with a demure smile, the type you have to worry about if you’re a step brighter than the average bulb. A smile like that can either pull you in between silk sheets or bury you six feet under. With Electra the outcome was more than likely both. Many a man would consider that a fair trade, given her drop-dead gorgeous looks.

I wasn’t one of them.