Page 115 of Close Pursuit

She threw a twenty-dollar bill at the driver with her profuse thanks and ran into the lobby straight to the concierge’s desk.

She panted, “I need to find a man named Dominic DeMecci right now. It’s a matter of life and death.”

The concierge, a polished looking fellow of middle age looked appropriately alarmed. He answered in an undertone, “We’re not allowed to discuss our patrons, but if I were looking for Mr. DeMecci, personally I’d head for the Blue Moon Saloon and ask the bartender where to find him. The saloon’s that way.” The fellow pointed off to his left.

A cab screeched up in front of the hotel with a squeal of tires and brakes, and she didn’t wait to see who got out. She turned and ran for all she was worth to the saloon. Dawn was an old pro at being hauled around at a dead run and quieted as if she sensed the danger. Lord knew, she had enough practice at it.

Katie raced across the huge gambling floor, weaving between rows of garish and noisy slot machines, and slipped into the bar.

The western theme in here was unrelenting, and she bellied up to a brass-topped bar, breathing hard. The bartender wore a bandanna around his neck and a cowboy hat. He looked nearly as disgusted as a cat would at being dressed up like that.

“Drink, Ma’am?” he drawled in an accent that was pure Bronx.

“I need to find Dominic DeMecci. It’s an emergency.”

The guy’s ennui evaporated. “Through the swinging doors. Last table on the right.”

She nodded her thanks and hurried through slatted wood doors that led into a second room. Fake lanterns along the walls cast questionable light on a dozen large, round tables covered in red-and-white checked cloth.

She started toward the last table on the right, but a man in a well-tailored suit stepped into her path. He politely, but definitely, stopped her. “Bathrooms are out front. To the left of the front door as you come in.”

She answered, “Not looking for a restroom. I’m looking for Dominic DeMecci. I have a message for him from Alex, uhh, Alexei Koronov.”

Every eye at that back table riveted on her abruptly. Even the guy standing in front of her stared openly. “You shittin’ me?” he muttered.

“No shit,” she answered firmly.

“What’s that in the sling thing?” he demanded suspiciously.

Sensing that weakness would not play well with these guys, she snapped, “A baby. You wanna frisk her?”

“Let her through, Sergio.”

The man in front of her stepped aside.

A gray-haired man in maybe his early sixties sat in the corner facing outward. He was smaller than she expected. Slight. Fatherly looking, even.

“Mr. DeMecci?” she asked.

He looked up at her assessingly, and sharp intelligence shone in the dark depths of his eyes.Therewas the cunning mob boss she’d expected. “My name is Katie McCloud. I’m a…an acquaintance of Alex’s.”

“Give the lady a seat,” DeMecci murmured gently. One of the younger men at the table leaped to his feet with alacrity. He must be the junior hood at the table.

Katie sank into it, and jumping up guy asked solicitously, “Can I get you anything, ma’am? Something to eat or drink?”

“A bottle of water would be nice. Dawn could seriously use a bottle to calm her nerves.” The baby was squirming a lot and still fussing after being pinched and then jostled all over the place while Katie fled the Russians.

In a matter of seconds, a bottle of water was placed in front of her. Katie pulled the box of powdered formula out of the baby bag that had managed to stay on her shoulder through the mad race over here. She made up a bottle for Dawn while the men at the table watched on in silence.

“Have the bartender heat that up for her in the microwave,” DeMecci instructed.

Jumping Guy nodded and hurried out, bottle in hand.

“You have children of your own?” Katie asked politely.

“Four girls and two boys. And nineteen grandchildren.”

“Holidays must be a lot of fun at your house.”

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