Deep (Pagano Family #4)(54)
The next few hours were quiet, with people coming in a couple at a time, for a slice of pie or a late burger, or maybe a cabinet. Once it was full dark, Donnie and Smash took turns walking the street in front of the diner, or the alley in back. Bev got the sense it was more to be moving and doing something than because they were especially concerned.
Bev got it. She was bored herself and spent about an hour in the storeroom reorganizing the shelves, simply because she was wearing the sparkle off the counter, wiping it down so often, looking for something to do. Around nine, she came out with a box of paper napkins and saw Donnie and Bruce back by his desk, locked in a quiet, serious conversation. They broke apart as soon as they saw her, and Donnie took the box out of her hands and went out front.
Thinking about Bruce’s complaints about her guards and feeling aggravated at the thought that Bruce was riding Donnie for being around, Bev put her hands on her hips and narrowed her eyes at her boss. “Was that about me?”
Bruce looked both surprised and guilty. “What? No! No, Bev. No. That’s something else.”
Bev didn’t believe him and she let it show.
He gave her a look and then blew out a sigh. “I owe him money.”
Well, now, Bev was the one who was surprised. “What?”
“Your ‘friend’ Donnie is a shylock.” Bev had no idea what that was, and it must have shown in her face, because Bruce added, “A loan shark.”
“I don’t understand.”
“It’s a long, sad, story, but the short of it is I almost lost the place some years back, during the recession. And then Sandy hit, and I didn’t get what I needed in relief. I’m to my teeth in bank loans and nobody would give me more. So I got the loan I could. I missed a payment. Donnie was just reminding me of that.”
“Wait. Donnie is a loan shark? Donnie? He was back here, what? Threatening you? Donnie?”
That made no sense at all. Donnie was sweet. A little bit dopey without being dumb. He liked Battlestar Galactica. And hot chocolate with marshmallows. She looked through the doorway and saw him laughing with Dink. He spent ten hours a day with her—often more. How was he a loan shark?
“Donnie?”
“Yeah. It’s fine, Bev. We worked it out.”
“That’s why you’ve been so grouchy about him being here today.”
He gave her a sheepish grin. “I won’t lie. It’s not great having the guy who’s going to break my arm next week if I don’t come up with the payment and the penalty sitting around drinking my coffee and eating my pie all day. Usually it’s good to try to avoid a guy like that.”
“Bruce, I…I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry.” Her head was still reeling.
“Don’t be, sunshine. I knew what I was getting into when I asked for the money.”
“Do you want me to…say something?” Could she do that?
“No! Absolutely not. This is none of your business. Okay? Don’t meddle. I hate meddlers.”
“Okay.” She kissed his cheek, then went out to the counter and opened the box of napkins, seeing her friend—no quotation marks—Donnie in a whole different light.
oOo
The rest of the night, the vibe was off for Bev. Bruce wasn’t as grouchy, but he was quiet. Bev felt guarded and kept staring over at Donnie, trying to imagine him breaking somebody’s arm. Dink was clueless as usual, singing to himself as he cleaned the grill and emptied the big dishwasher. Their last customer left just after eleven, and the last hour, everybody just tried to get as much of the close as possible done early, until Bev could turn the sign over and lock the door.
Sassy Sal’s was the last place open on its block of Gannet Street. All the retail shops closed around seven or eight—some of them earlier. On the whole commercial segment of the street, only Quinn’s bar was open as late. Even the other restaurants closed by ten. Sometimes, especially in the season, that meant good late business, people coming back from a night out and stopping in for a little something greasy or sweet. But on a quiet night, it often meant a sort of creepy ghost-town atmosphere.
This night was definitely creepy, and Bev was glad to turn the sign and then the lock at midnight. She knelt in the nearest booth so she could close the little café curtains, but Smash said, “Don’t. Leave ‘em open.”
She obeyed. He must have felt the creep-out a little, too. As she went back behind the counter, Donnie passed her, headed to the back, probably to check the alley again.
Everything next happened too quickly to process, but there was a loud crash, and then a series of bangs louder than anything Bev had ever heard before, and Smash was on the floor, his chest soaking quickly with blood. Bev hadn’t even had the sense or the chance to duck. Or to scream. She’d just stood there, staring dumbly, as three men with big guns—shotguns?—stormed into the diner. Smash had shot one before he was shot in the chest.
Then one of them said, “That’s her!” and came for her. She turned and tried to run around the other end of the counter, but her feet landed in a sea of broken glass and slid out from under her. She fell onto the body of the man Smash had gotten. Before she could stand again, ignoring the sudden pain from piercing glass, a hand grabbed hold of the bun she’d wrapped her hair into and yanked her to her feet.