Anna grunted. “What you mean we were way too obvious? You’re the one with the Mickey Mouse tie.”
Jake let it pass. “Yeah, well I dumped it; anyhow you know what I mean, babe.”
“Oh, I see. You mean I should like wear my backpacking clothes, make myself homely, huh?” She shifted her clothes around, looking for her underwear.
Anna, for god’s sake. That’s not what I meant. You got a period coming, or what?”
He ducked as she threw her bra at him. “You mean I flaunt my breasts; that’s what you mean.”
Jake grinned at her. His little boy mischief grin. “Anna, you’re so sexy when you’re mad.” He picked up the bra, read the label. 36DD. “You got matching panties to this?”
That made her laugh. “Jake, you’re such a pervert, come and find out.”
BG was a great help, thought Sammy De Maggio, grimacing. He sipped his wine. All he had on Emmy Parton was a Fargo bank account, a butterfly tattoo on her shoulder, and maybe she lived somewhere in Longfield. Well that narrowed it down to about three hundred thousand and more, plus the Bees fans invading town. His Uncle Mario could lean on the bank manager; that was one way in. At least he would get some advance warning of a withdrawal. If he read BG right, she would be a visitor following the Bees; therefore she’d likely hang out downtown around Smithsonian.
That’s why he sat in the Oasis bar at lunchtime, blending in with a glass of Sicilian red. He would have smoked except they were pretty strict about that, and he sure didn’t want a run in with some over-eager cop.
“You know what happened last time. We should give it a rest.”
“Anna, the Oasis bar is the most popular on this strip; even if that cop’s still staking it out, he won’t pick us out.”
“Yeah, the dyed mousy hair tied back in a bun, librarian glasses and baggy clothes is perfect, huh?”
He held up his arm. “Think of the $50K. We got a lot riding on this.” He opened the door and walked in.
They moved over to the bar. Found a gap next to the Guinea in the sharp suit. Jake nodded to him.
“You got ID,” asked the bartender.
Jake produced his. She looked flustered. “It’s in my other bag. I left it in the rooming house.”
The bartender was not impressed. He pointed at Jake. “Well he can stay, but you’re not coming in here until you show me your ID. House rules.”
They turned to go.
“Hold on a minute,” said the Guinea. He pointed a finger at the bartender. “I can vouch for her. I’m Sammy De Maggio. You got a problem with that, call my Uncle Mario. That is, Mario Coppola.”
The bartender didn’t a problem with that. His face said it all. “Yeah, I guess I acted a little fresh,” he said. “What you drinking? It’s on the house.”
Jake was a little uneasy, although he was sure that the Guinea was not an undercover cop, nor gay the way he looked at Anna’s bazookas. Even though she had dressed down, they were hard to conceal. And then she would stretch and push her chest out, just to let him know she had them. He had told them to call him Sammy, and join him for a drink or two.
Jake wasn’t too keen on that. “Yeah, we’re grateful and all that Sammy, but we’re just passing through.”
Sammy opened his arms. “What’s the rush, you guys gotta relax sometime?”
Jake looked at Anna. She smiled innocently back. He put the ball back in her court. “Anna, you going to tell Sammy about your friend?”
“What’s this?” asked Sammy, before Anna could say anything. She smiled.
Jake was aced. He picked up the ball and put it back into play. “We’re on the lookout for a girl who’s following the Bees.”
Sammy didn’t hesitate. “What she look like, this girl?”
“I got a cell phone picture.” Jake showed it to him.
“She’s not too clear; you got a name, maybe?”
“She calls herself Emmy, and she’s got a butterfly tattoo on her shoulder. You seen her around?”
Sammy went quiet for a moment and then said, “I only just got into town myself, but there’s someone who knows pretty much everyone here. I’ll give him a call.” He got up from his chair and pointed across to the lobby phone booths. “You stay here. Put another drink on my tab.”
When Sammy disappeared from view, Anna nudged Jake. “We’re out of here, he’s stalling. You see the way he froze when you mentioned the tattoo. He sure wants to talk to us bad.”
The uneasiness sharpened into focus. Mafia. Jake shot to his feet, dumped ten bucks on the table and dragged Anna out. The bartender strolled over and pocketed the tip. Big shot Sammy De Maggio would settle the tab.
“What are we mixed up in Jake? First it’s the cops, then the Mafia. Emerald Parton sure has got someone riled up.” They sat back in their rooming house, the afternoon bar hopping abandoned. For all they knew, hoods were trawling the area looking for them.
“One thing’s for sure. We need new clothes,” replied Jake.