Angelina Bonaparte Mysteries Box Set Nanci Rathbun (i love reading books txt) 📖

cell phone back to me with a curt, “See you at Homicide,” and stalked off.

Chapter 4

There is no intensity of love or feeling that does not involve the risk of crippling hurt.

—William S. Burroughs

Bart’s office was located in one of the old ironwork buildings in Milwaukee’s Third Ward, populated in the 1880s by Italian immigrants, when the Irish moved up and out. Today, it’s a haven for art galleries and cafés, as well as upscale restaurants and clubs. The building was owned by the Family, with a high-tech security system, supplemented by round-the-clock guards. “Ms. Bonaparte,” the big woman at the lobby desk greeted me. “Attorney Matthews is in his office. He told me to send you and your client up. Please sign in.” She passed a clipboard to me.

“How’s school, Mary?” I asked. The security at Bart’s building consisted almost entirely of college students from nearby Milwaukee School of Engineering. It’s funny when you consider the typical geek profile of an engineer. Not so with Mighty Mary, a former bouncer, who could take an average-sized man. Mary resembled a guy on hormones or a woman on steroids.

She groaned. “Two more weeks until finals. After that, I’ll spend some downtime over Christmas with my parents. My boyfriend and I are considering a trip to Florida for some fun and sun.” She smiled.

“Sounds great,” I told her. “This is Adriana Johnson. Can we leave our stuff with you, Mary? Bart’s office reeks of smoke. Last time, I had to have both my coat and my briefcase cleaned. Do you know what they charge to professionally clean leather goods?”

She motioned to a shelf under her desk.

I removed my cell phone and tablet PC. “There’s a gun in the briefcase, Mary,” I said as I locked it.

“They’ll only get it over my cold, dead body,” she intoned.

Adriana’s eyes widened. I motioned to the stairs and we went up. On the way, I explained Mary’s checkered background and her decision to leave the “tavern security profession,” as she euphemistically termed her bouncer days, and study engineering at MSOE.

“Wow,” Adriana exclaimed, “that’s so cool. I mean, she basically reinvented herself.”

“Yep. And she’s probably ten years older than you are. It’s never too late.” I hoped it would give Adriana courage for her own future.

Both Bart and Bertha smoke like the proverbial chimney. Even Wisconsin’s strict Act 12, which bans smoking almost everywhere, didn’t stop them. Although they continued to break the law by smoking in a place of employment, at least Bart had an exhaust system installed, so the fumes didn’t penetrate into the hallway. Who would rat him out? Some Mafioso on a health kick?

I knocked and Bertha buzzed us in. We settled in his office, he in his oversized reinforced office chair, Adriana and I in the client chairs. Even those were built for a hulking man, which is what most of Bart’s clients are. My feet dangled about two inches above the floor. Talk about undignified!

I introduced Adriana to Bart and filled him in on her parents’ deaths and the resulting money situation. Then I explained about finding Petrovitch’s secretary that morning.

“Merda, Angie. This is bad, very bad. The back of her head blown off? And the brain matter was splattered on the front panel of the desk?” I nodded. “Only way for that to happen is if she was kneeling or bending down when the gun was fired. Sounds like an execution to me.”

Adriana covered her mouth with her hands and whispered, “Poor Dragana.”

I shook my head. “I missed that, Bart.”

“How many executions you seen, Angie?”

“That would be the first.”

“I figured.”

There was no reason to hide my concerns about Wukowski from Adriana. I took a deep breath. “Bart, I have to ’fess up.”

“About what?”

“You know I’ve been, uh, involved with Detective Wukowski from the MPD, ever since the Belloni case.”

“Yeah. Well, everybody has their guilty pleasures, Angie.” His smile was insincere.

“That’s not what I’m confessing, you idiot.”

He laughed.

“Bart,” I said, “I have a possible conflict of interest in this case.” That elicited a groan. “I’m not sure I can stay on the case.”

“Why not?”

“You know Wukowski. He’s hardnosed about non-professionals getting involved in police cases.”

“You’re not a non-pro, Angie. You work for money, right?” I nodded. “And you get results. Results Wukowski would still be digging for in the Belloni case, if you hadn’t been involved.”

“You’re right, Bart, but he and I weren’t, um, seeing each other then. Now, we are.”

“So you’re gonna play the ‘little woman’ card and bow out?”

“Dammit, Bart, you know me better than that! This is not a card game and I’m not throwing down with you!” I started to breathe deep, but stopped myself. The air in here was seriously problematic. “I’m simply alerting you to the situation and offering you the chance to remove me from the case.”

“Angie, if you don’t want to hassle with your man, that’s your call. I’ll respect it, reluctantly. But I’m not removing you from the case. You’re a professional and I trust you to act like one. No need to jump down my throat, okay?”

“Okay. But I’m only being honest when I tell you that I’m uncomfortable knowing information about the Johnsons, which might be related to Dragana Zupan’s murder, and not telling the investigating detective…who happens to be my lover.”

There. I said it. Lover. Not friend with benefits. Not casual sex partner. Lover, as in, the man I love? Lord Almighty, how did I get in so deep, so fast? And what will happen when I woman up and tell him? If I tell him. Maybe I’ll wait for him to man up and tell me. If he feels the same way.

Bart interrupted my reverie. “I can see how that would be difficult, Angie, but it’s not an either-or proposition. Adriana is not accused of anything. We’re simply acting in her best interests. I see no reason to withhold the information we’ve discussed from the police. After all, none of it implicates Adriana in the three