Bosom Bodies (Mina's Adventures) Read online

  Diego removed the helmet and without getting off the bike, he said, “Buonasera Signorina, waiting for a ride?”

  Her mother used to call her signorina when she wanted her undivided attention. Mina felt like the wind had been knocked out of her. She shook her head. She didn’t want Diego to pick up on her feelings.

  “What are you doing out here?” he asked.

  “I’m having a chat with my buddy Herb.”

  Herb’s chest expanded a few inches.

  “I see,” Diego said.

  Damn that smile.

  “How about a movie—after you are done with your conversation with Herb, of course.”

  “Of course,” she echoed. “Are you serious about the movie?” She moved away from the guardhouse. She wasn’t sure where the conversation was heading.

  “Absolutely. What do you have in mind?”

  Mina cleared her throat. Did she dare? “Edward Scissorhands? You know, Johnny Depp?”

  He put his helmet on the handlebar, crossed his arms and looked at her. “Edward Scissorhands.” His eyes met hers. “Heavy-duty romantic stuff,” he said softly, without sarcasm.

  She didn’t know what to say. She couldn’t tell he if was teasing or agreeing with her choice. She fidgeted from one foot to the other, the paper bag with the cross-eyed angel in her hands. Oh, no, she had left the super glue and Ginger’s weights in Margo’s car.

  “Something wrong?” His voice was soothing. “You look like someone pinched you.” His eyes held onto hers.

  “Oh, no, I can’t remember if I left the stove on,” she lied.

  “How about we go and check it out before the movie?” He revved up the engine. “Meet you at the elevator?”

  She nodded, waved to Herb and crossed the street into the garage.

  Standing next to Diego in the encapsulated reality of the elevator was pure agony. She didn’t know where to look, how to handle herself. She couldn’t be too friendly, or too distant. She swung the paper bag. The cross-eyed angel probably had motion sickness by now. Finally they arrived at their floor.

  “It’ll only take a minute,” Mina said, getting the keys from her jeans pocket.

  “What were you cooking? More water?”

  He saw when she spilled the boiling water? He had been spying on her.

  Key in hand, she walked to her front door. She barely touched the door when it opened with a muffled creak.

  Chapter 11

  Mina found herself held flat against the wall, the bag with the cross-eyed angel crushed by her hips.

  “Shhhh,” Diego whispered, his hand pressed on her mouth, his eyes tight on hers.

  She nodded, stiff and terrified. He let go. Mina watched him move, no, slither along the wall, to her door, a gun in his hands. He nudged the door open with his shoulder and disappeared from sight.

  He had a gun.

  Where did he get a gun? Who was he, really? She was afraid to move, afraid to even breathe too loud. If Angelina came back to the house Mina would take care of her. No need for guns. Her fear morphed into anger. Whoever violated her home would be punished. She took in a long breath, exhaled, then straightened herself up and walked toward the open door. Her hand gripped the crinkled bag with the broken angel like it was her lifebuoy.

  Inside, her condo was dark. Only a slant of light came from her bedroom. The digital clock on the microwave flashed 7:30. No sounds. Where was Diego?

  Mina switched on the light. She gasped. The place looked like a tornado had ripped through it.

  What little furniture she had was damaged. Even the couch pillows were slashed open. The kitchen drawers and cabinets were wide open, contents scattered on the floor. The moving boxes were emptied on the carpet.

  Her body quivered, and her brain had trouble processing the sight. She felt sick. Diego came from her bedroom. Like a cat of prey, he moved soundlessly. Mina stared at his hands, no gun. He held her phone instead.

  Before she could voice a single word, he admonished her, ‘Shhh.” His arm around her waist, he lifted her and carried her out onto the terrace. Mina was frightened and mad as hell.

  When her feet felt grounded, she said. “You put your hand on my mouth one more time, and you’ll live the rest of your days minus one finger. Who did this?” She pointed beyond the terrace door to the inside of her condo, now in shambles.

  “Listen carefully.” Diego didn’t sound too concerned with her threats. “You’ll go back in there and make a lot of noise, like you just discovered the mess, then you call Dan DeFiore. I already punched his number in. Just push ‘call.’ You only talk to him, and you never mention my name. I’m not here, never was. Understand?”

  “What I understand—“

  He moved his hand close to her mouth, changed his mind. “You need to do this now. I’ll answer your questions later. Go.” He pushed her toward the door. She didn’t resist. He wanted a show? He would get one.

  Once inside, she let out a loud, “Dio mio, cos’e successo?” She cried out in Italian over and over, ran up and down the hall, opened doors and slammed them shut, all the time watching Diego’s reaction. At first he looked surprised, then amused. Finally, he rolled his eyes and motioned her to knock it off. She stopped dead, smiled, and pushed the call button on her phone when she felt Diego was about to come in and muffle her. Diego shook his head, about her performance she assumed, all the while standing between her and the front door.

  “DeFiore? Yes, Mina. Something awful has happened, you should come over and see for yourself, please. Yes, I’m alone. I need help.” Her voice shaking for real, she pleaded, but kept her eyes on Diego the whole time. She sensed something bigger than a break-in was at work here, but didn’t know what it was. Whose side was Diego on? What if he had her ask DeFiore over to ambush him? No one knew Diego was in her condo. Dio mio. Maybe he was in this with Angelina. This? This what? She inched nervously toward her bedroom. Diego followed a few feet behind, always positioning himself between her and the exit.

  The destruction in her bedroom was even worse than the living room. Some of the damage appeared senseless, without a specific reason, just because. It was personal. Even her clothes were off the hangers and piled on the floor. She was thankful the box with her family pictures was still at West Coast Software. Furniture and clothes could be easily replaced, not so the photos. She laid the bag with the broken figurine on the bathroom counter, so much for her guardian angel. Her adrenaline rush was wearing off. She sat down on the bed to wait, not even caring that Diego stood across the room watching her.

  It seemed only minutes had passed before footsteps sounded in the living room. She turned to go see who it was, but again Diego placed himself clearly in between. When he stepped aside, DeFiore was staring at her from the end of the hall.

  “Mina, what happened?” He looked at Diego and then did something peculiar, tapping his wristwatch with his index finger and raising his hand to show five fingers. “When did this happen?” The verbal comments were obviously meant for Mina while the visual was for Diego.

  The three of them walked toward the bedroom. Diego pointed to the night table where Mina kept her phone, he too lifted his hand and showed one, then two fingers. DeFiore nodded. Diego turned around and left through the terrace door. Mina was speechless. What had just happened? Someone broke into her house, did all this damage, probably wanted to do some bad things to her and these two macho men played mimes among the ruins?

  “DeFiore, are you going to let—“

  Voices and noises came from the outside hall. Sam, all smiles and blonde curls, came in with a few other people. Men. Mina recognized Sergeant Jones who helped her when Angelina drugged her. They arrived approximately five minutes after DeFiore showed up. Mina now understood the hand signals, and the discovery made her feel even more frightened. Diego and DeFiore were in this—together. Was she the pawn?

  DeFiore barked, “We need to get Ralph here.”

  “You think the place is bugged?” Sam walked around inspect
ing the damage.

  “Just a precaution,” DeFiore said.

  They all talked and acted as if she wasn’t there.

  “Mina was away when it happened.” DeFiore turned to her. “How long were you gone?”

  “Hum, most of the day. Adams wanted me to take the day off. I went to Del Mar with Margo. We got back maybe thirty minutes ago. I stopped to talk to the guard at the gate, and then I came home and found this. That’s when I called you.” She watched the reactions on the cops’ faces. DeFiore seemed relieved. Was it because she didn’t mention Diego? When Sam’s eyes met hers, Mina knew Sam had seen her driving by Ginger’s condo.

  “Mina, we’ll need to go through room by room, check for finger prints and other clues to help us identify whoever did this,” DeFiore said. “You should find somewhere else to stay for a while, how about Margo?”

  “Margo is sick, she ate some bad food. I don’t want to burden her. Maybe I can stay in a motel for tonight.”

  “It may be more than one night. I’d feel better knowing you are with people we can trust. How about Adams?”

  Something in DeFiore’s voice convinced her to agree with him, if only to get him off his protector role. “I guess I could drive over to Adams’s place,” she remembered, “if only I had my car, that is.”

  “Sam, you can handle this here, can’t you? I’ll drive Mina over to her lawyer’s house. She will feel safe there until we sort this out.” DeFiore turned to Mina, “Want to grab something for the night? Toiletries?”

  Without knowing where she would spend the night, Mina picked her pajamas and some undies from the pile on the floor. She went to the bathroom and grabbed her toothbrush, toothpaste and her small plastic bag with make up. Not sure why, she picked up the bag with the broken angel, then stuffed everything into her gym bag. “What if someone calls me?” she said to DeFiore.

  “Sam here will take a message,” he said. His hand on her elbow, he coaxed her toward the front door.

  They entered the elevator without exchanging a word. Mina felt numb. None of this made sense. What could she possibly have worth all that trouble? And the cops weren’t doing a thing. They should have been protecting her, instead they took her car, so she couldn’t even run. She wasn’t going to Adams. The last thing she wanted was another lecture about safety and responsibility and not getting involved with the wrong people. What wrong people? All this because she gave a ride to a wicked woman?

  “We’re not going to Adams’s house,” DeFiore said, matter-of-factly.

  Her heart skipped a beat. Where was he taking her?

  “Oh, are you offering me hospitality in one of your cells? What’s safer than that?” She tried to sound sarcastic, but was scared to death. They were now in the common garage.

  An attempted smile softened DeFiore’s face. He shook his head and pointed to his sedan. The miserly light supplied by the sparse lamps cast a strange shadow on the car, on DeFiore, and perhaps, on her life.

  She sat in the passenger seat, the gym bag with her few belongings pressed against her bosom. Eyes closed, she brushed away a stubborn tear trying to escape her lids against her will.

  This must be the way innocent prisoners feel when they get locked up.

  The green sedan crossed the gate and turned south. Her heart thumped in her chest. She couldn’t take it anymore.

  “I’m not going…” Mina and DeFiore spoke the same words at the same time.

  “You first,” he said.

  “I’m not going to Adams’s and…”

  “I already said I’m not taking you to Adams’s. Mina, are you afraid of me?” He sounded surprised and hurt. “I’m only looking out for your safety.” He patted her knee in a way that reminded her of her mother. “Until we figure out what you have that someone else wants so badly, I have to make sure no one can harm you. Understand?”

  “And how are you planning on doing that? By driving me around until…”

  He turned the car into a shopping center and parked next to a two-door, black, sleek-looking vehicle. Without answering her, DeFiore reached back and unlocked the rear passenger door. Diego got in, slammed the door, relaxed back against the seat and let out a satisfied, “Ah, feels better than riding a bike. Home, James.”

  Colorful neon lights on the store façade painted fleeting moods on their faces. Mina thought for sure something awful would happen any minute now and nothing would be the same again.

  Silence lingered, so did her anxiety and mistrust.

  “Diego here is not really a cook,” DeFiore said.

  “You don’t say.” Mina had no idea where she found that false assured tone. “He has a gun.”

  “Yeah, well, comes with the job.” DeFiore sounded more like a big brother than a cop. Was he being brotherly to her or to Diego? “Mina, he is sort of a cop, not a cop, cop—” He sighed again and looked to Diego who sat sprawled in the backseat, seeming to enjoy the situation.

  “Some cop,” she muttered. Maybe her mumbling touched a nerve, because Diego straightened up and began to talk.

  “I’m not a detective like Dan here. I’m sort of a—private policeman. Not exactly. Let’s say that I take my orders from the government, so technically I work for the United States of America. Is that good enough for you?”

  “You are one of the good guys then?”

  Silence.

  “It depends which side you are on. You are on the good guys side. Okay?”

  “Do I have a choice?” Mina asked.

  “I told you she can be a pain. Takes after her mother,” DeFiore obviously wasn’t paying her a compliment. “Mina, Diego is going to take care of you.”

  “I can take care of myself.”

  “Mina.” Diego put his hands on top of Mina’s seat, his back to the lights and his face close to hers. She couldn’t see his eyes but felt the intensity of his stare. “Mina,” he repeated, “I was investigating money laundering at Bosom Bodies. Not a big deal, I’ve done it many times. All was smooth sailing until you showed up with the fake hair, the fake lashes, and the fake—identity.” That pause. The man was a master manipulator. “I believed you when you said you were doing Ginger a favor. I believed you, although I know that’s not why they wanted you there.”

  “They? What do you mean? You know who is doing this?”

  Diego sighed just like DeFiore had done and sat back.

  She could hear the impatience in DeFiore’s voice. “It’s getting late, I need to get back to see what’s up with Sam. Mina, you are staying with Diego for now. I’ll have Adams bring you to my office tomorrow. We can talk about all this and see if we can get you your car. Okay?”

  “Whoooa, I’m not going with him.” She pointed to Diego. “I can stay in a motel.”

  “Fine, pick a motel and Diego will stay in the room with you. Get a suite. He’ll sleep on the couch. I thought you’d rather stay close to your condo in case you want to answer your own phone or get some clothes. My mistake. So, where should I drive you?”

  She didn’t answer. She was tired, tired of arguing, tired of trying to understand, just tired of playing the strong person. “Okay, I’ll go with Diego. Are you coming with us?”

  “No, Mina. I’m going back ahead of you. We have other problems, very serious problems. Diego will explain.” He turned to the back of the car. “Wait until everyone leaves the building before you take her up. If you can, use the stairs and the terrace. I want to make sure no one sees her and no one connects the two of you. Got that?”

  “No problem. We’ll get a drink somewhere. What do you say? Forty minutes?”

  DeFiore nodded. “Good night, Mina. Trust Diego. He’s on your side. I will see you tomorrow at my office.”

  He waited. She didn’t know what to do. “You need to get into Diego’s car.” He pointed to the black two-door.

  She felt a knot closing her throat. She couldn’t talk or she would cry. Diego got out of DeFiore’s car, opened her door and waited. She slid off the seat, the gym bag still pressed a
gainst her chest, and got into Diego’s car.

  Chapter 12

  Mina watched the taillights of DeFiore’s sedan morph into shrinking red dots and disappear in traffic.

  Gone.

  She stared straight into the empty parking lot, long after DeFiore left. Silence and tension filled Diego’s car. Missing were the curiosity and attraction she had felt, replaced by mistrust and confusion. What would become of her?

  “Look, I know this is awkward,” Diego interrupted her self-pity. “It doesn’t have to be.”

  “Oh? What would you suggest we do about it?”

  “Communicate. Would you like to stop for a drink and a chat, or is there something else you’d rather do to kill forty-five minutes? Sorry, I guess kill isn’t a good choice of words.”

  Mina thought about the situation—maybe he wasn’t the enemy. She turned to look at him. “Can we drive by Bosom Bodies?”

  Diego was sitting sideways, almost facing her. “The place is shut down. Forever,” he said.

  “I know. I didn’t mean to go into the restaurant,” she choked a little on the word restaurant. “I’m still in denial, I guess, about Barbara, Angelina, and—“

  “Me?”

  “Yeah, you too.” She watched the smile migrate from his eyes to his lips.

  Without a word, he started the engine, glanced at her safety belt, secured his. The car began to move and music came from the dashboard stereo, ‘Un bel di, vedremo’—

  Dio mio, a knife through her heart would have hurt less. Her grandmother used to play that song, on a big record player that looked like a dark box with a needle sticking out from a long, narrow arm. The needle would be on top of the record, and it would keep turning around and around. Every time it played, her grandmother cried in a muffled kind of way, like she was embarrassed about it. She would blow her nose into a large white handkerchief she kept in the pocket of her apron and try to hide her face.